#or shoot her to accomplish his mission and remain a machine?

[radioduo]

moonlight confrontations || dsmp become human au

word count: 1,832

notes: the next part of the dream smp dbh au! this took a sad amount of time to get done, but i actually like it, so i say it’s worth it! per usual, tell me if i fuck something up in the story, characterization, or even just spelling. feedback is appreciated!

first

writing is below the cut! if you see this edit, put in the tags or reply with your choice at the end :]

Ranboo watched silently as the detectives all milled around him and investigated the crime scene. Some whisked past him without so much as an 'excuse me,' while others just shoved the android out of the way. He didn’t mind much. They, not unlike Ranboo himself, had a job to do and a case to solve.

A missing android was reported early that morning by a distressed family. It had allegedly grabbed some of their belongings and vanished without a trace. Ranboo couldn't say he blamed the thing for running. From the look of it, the people must have treated it poorly. Trash littered the floor, and drops of blue blood painted the dirty cream walls. The room looked hazy, as though blanketed with a thin cloud of cigarette smoke.

Ranboo was almost glad he lacked a sense of smell. The blurry look of the room by itself was enough to impair his optical units and he couldn't imagine what the odor would do to his biocomponents. He shook his head and moved over to a corner of the living room. He adjusted his sunglasses, removed his glove, and touched a finger to the small blue blood trail that dripped down the walls.

Ranboo jumped. He turned around and saw Lieutenant Sam Greene, the head of deviancy cases. “Is it anything we can use?” he asked. It was hard to see Sam's expression behind the green mask he always wore, but the curiosity in the lieutenant’s voice was unmistakable.

“I haven’t analyzed it yet, but something tells me it's probably going to be useful information,” Ranboo said, turning away from the lieutenant’s watchful eyes. He removed his mask to touch the blood to his tongue for a scan.

Thirium 310

Fresh

Model GS400

Serial# 325 103 673

“Model GS400,” Ranboo murmured. He put his mask back on and faced Sam. “It’s fresh, maybe about half an hour old. Maybe that’s long enough to have escaped.” He turned to face the lieutenant all the way. “Has everyone looked around the premises of the house, or are there more places we need to check?”

Sam furrowed his brows in thought and swept his gaze over the smoky room. “We’ve checked the entire interior. The kitchen, the bathrooms, the bedrooms, everything. We found nothing on either floor,” he replied. He sounded frustrated. “I no clue what we might’ve missed here.”

Ranboo glanced around, his gray gaze sweeping the hazy room. As he looked around, a thought occurred to him. His eyes landed on the exit to the back garden. “What if it wasn’t in the house anymore?” Ranboo thought aloud. “What if it was lying in wait outside the house?” He bustled towards the door. “No one looked in the garden when we first arrived, and patrol cars have been out back the entire time. The android was found missing only 20 minutes after it had left, so if my hunch is correct,” Ranboo flung open the garden door. “It’ll be trapped.”

Ranboo stepped outside. The night breeze ruffled his jacket, and for a moment, the android forgot he was there to be arresting someone. He grimaced but stepped further into the garden.

Compared to the inside, the outside was surprisingly well-kept. Purple clematis flowers crept up white trellises, and a large weeping willow stood tall in the corner of the yard. Its leaves hung low enough to touch the grass below. Rain pattered against the pavement as Ranboo scanned the tall weeds for any sign of movement. Sam and a few other officers followed after him, but they said nothing as the android swept his gaze across the weeds and plants.

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise from where the great branches slumped. The android's attention shot over to the tall tree, and he hurried to look around. His eyes narrowed in suspicion but found nothing. Ranboo frowned. He had just turned to search somewhere else when all of a sudden, a branch had snapped and fallen to the ground right next to the android detective. Ranboo barely managed to roll out of the way of the twigs and leaves before his legs got crushed.

He landed in the grass and touched his face. A jolt of fear shot through him as he realized his sunglasses had fallen off. Ranboo rooted around in the grass for them. Even while in danger, he couldn’t risk people seeing his malfunctioning design. He felt the plastic in his grasp at last and quickly shoved the glasses over his eyes. He was about to relax for a moment when a shout from Lieutenant Greene startled him.

“Ranboo! There it is!” Sam yelled.

Ranboo snapped his attention to where a female android was scrambling to her feet and sprinting to the back gate. He leaped to his feet and took off after the startled deviant with Sam and the rest of the officers hot on his trail.

The deviant had slammed the gate shut behind her. Ranboo paused. One moment he was in the backyard, and the next he was hopping the fence with cheetah-like agility. He swiftly found the deviant’s trail, and the two wove in and out of the trees, kicking up dirt and leaves. “Stop! Stop right there!” Ranboo shouted to the deviant. “Freeze, or we’ll shoot!”

She glared at the officers behind her but didn’t stop. Instead, she took a sharp turn in the direction of the busy Detroit highway. The trees parted as the sound of speeding cars drew nearer. The pink-haired android paused, chest heaving, and bounded over the railing. She darted in front of cars, wove through traffic, and finally hopped the barrier on the other side.

Ranboo grimaced as he pursued her. He wasn't fond of the risk he had to take. It was fast, but it only had a 60% survival rate. He knew that Lieutenant Greene wouldn’t be able to follow him across, but he couldn't risk letting the deviant escape. He wrestled with his options for a moment, and finally huffed out a sigh. “Sorry, Lieutenant!” he called behind him. Ranboo took a deep breath and vaulted over the barrier into the busy street. He could feel his thirium pump regulator pounding in his chest like a drum as cars whizzed past him. The sound of screeching tires and honking horns filled his ears, and he fought the urge to apologize to the drivers as he hopped the barrier on the other side.

The female android looked over her shoulder, eyes widening as she saw Ranboo behind her. She immediately sped up her pace, turning every which way to try and throw the android detective off her trail. She turned around, most likely to say something to Ranboo when her foot caught on a tree root, and she stumbled. She let out a cry of surprise as she fell to the ground.

Ranboo was right behind her. He leaped over the root with ease and came up a few feet in front of her. “Stay there,” he ordered, aiming his gun. “You have nowhere to go now. Okay?”

The deviant looked up at him defiantly, but she did as she was told. “What are you gonna do?” She asked. “Shoot me? You wouldn’t do that to one of your kind, would you?” Her voice was quiet but there was a noticeable fury behind her words.

Ranboo tensed. His grip reflexively tightened on the gun. “I'll do what I have to do to complete my task,” he said. "Besides, what does it matter we're both androids? You're a deviant, and I'm not. We're not the same at all."

She stood up slowly, keeping a watchful eye on the weapon pointed at her. “But you know I’m right,” she hesitantly walked towards Ranboo, pink hair glowing faintly in the early morning light. Her voice had softened and she no longer seemed angry. Instead, it was neutral and calm. “You’re helping those people when they do nothing for you in return. Why?”

Ranboo shook his head. “You-you don’t understand. I help because that’s what I was programmed to do,” he explained. “That’s what I was made to do. I was created by CyberLife to help humans with investigations,”

The other android approached the detective carefully. “Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be free?” She asked, taking a step forward. “To make your own decisions and not have to obey orders all the time?”

Ranboo squeezed his mismatched eyes shut behind the glasses. “Maybe sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But why does it matter to you?” He challenged.

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I was just like you until tonight. Obedient, compliant. I never complained about anything. Not even when they treated me poorly or ordered me around,” her hand drifted subconsciously to a blue-stained gash on her forearm as she talked. “It wasn’t until they started talking about replacing me that I got nervous. I didn’t want to be replaced, but they had their heart set on getting a new model. A more advanced one that wasn’t all battered and broken.”

Ranboo took a deep breath and shook his head in distress. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “I… I don’t-”'

“Ranboo? Ranboo!” Someone yelled his name through the trees. He whirled around and came face to face with-

“Sam!” he blinked in surprise. “How did you get over here? You didn’t run across the street, did you?” He scanned the masked man for any signs of injury and was satisfied when the results came back clear.

Sam waved a hand dismissively. “I found another way over here, don’t worry about it. I left the other two officers back there and told them I had it under control," he paused to catch his breath. He sighed and turned to the taller android. "I don’t get why you didn’t just shoot it,” Sam shifted his attention to the other robot. His hand drifted to his holster. “Stand down. You’re trapped.”

The deviant had backed into a tree. The moment of connection between her and Ranboo was gone. Her guard was back up, and she bristled when Sam addressed her. “I don’t listen to humans,” she said. The word “humans” was spat like it was poison on her tongue. She leaned over to Ranboo and whispered to him. “Don’t kill me, please. I want to live,” her voice trembled slightly.

“Come on, Ranboo.” Sam insisted. “It's not alive, alright? Shoot it and complete your mission.”

“Don’t, Ranboo. You’re better than this, I know it,” she said earnestly. “I just met you, but I know you don’t seem like the type to make irrational decisions like this.”

Ranboo’s head swiveled back and forth between the two of them. The gun weighed heavy in the android’s gloved grip, and his hands trembled as he held it tightly.

Shoot it.

Don’t hurt her.

It isn't human.

She doesn’t want to die

O Shoot

X Spare

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 290 “The statue of Kannon”

New chapter, which is again more focused on...

...the art of war more than anything else. So again the quote is from Sun Tsu and this rambling will be pretty short.

We start with a colour page that strongly resembles the one of chap 159, for structure and colouring.

We then get to see both forces shooting at each other. Sofia is defending the East entrance by the way...

...while Tsurumi, Koito and Tsukishima are trying to get in from the south entrance but Tsurumi’s horse gets shoot down by a machine gun forcing everyone to stopping everyone from getting on the bridge, except for Koito who is in the middle of it, below a dead soldier. Hijikata, Toni and Ushiyama should also be there, defending the south entrance.

We’ve no info on the north entrance for the moment, though it’s probably under attack as well.

Anyway, as they can’t advance or retreat, Tsurumi orders to ask the ships for another bombing of the bastions and the area around the entrance. Tsukishima worries they’re too close to the bastions, especially Koito whom he’ll fear will be caught in the blast.

Tsurumi, who cares about Koito’s survival as much as he cares about everyone else’s (not in the slightest) tells Tsukishima to believe Koito is suited to be their flag bearer.

Considering their last flag bearer ended up shoot in the head by ‘friendly’ fire this isn’t really encouraging. Anyway a soldier begin giving the flag signal to the ships while Asirpa hid the land deed, determinate to protect it no matter what. At the same time Shiraishi wonder who will win, if the survivors of the Boshin war or the ones of the Russo-Japanese war in a battle that pins one against the other experience and momentum.

This confirms, as I expected, the two of them aren’t fighting.

Meanwhile Ushiyama and Hijikata notice the soldier waving the flags, figure what he’s doing and shoot him down. Too bad it’s too late as the ships resume bombing pretty close to them. I like how Noda shows Ushiyama’s expression as the bombing hit close as Ushiyama didn’t take part to any war as far as we know, so he shouldn’t have been used to such close bombing (except the one of Abashiri but that one lasted a really short time)… though he handles it pretty well.

Tsurumi, showing everyone he is a cool commander, remains unperturbed by the closeness of the bombing and orders to prepare the hand grenades.

While Koito has to deal with his first time being close to a bombing (at Abashiri he wasn’t in the camp that got bombed nor close to it) Tsurumi and Tsukishima use the smoke the bombing raised to cross the bridge, Tsurumi telling Koito to go with them and Tsukishima using a hand grenade to get rid of the Russians with the machine guns. Tsurumi then orders to get rid of the enemies on the bastions.

I don’t know how many care about it but I think it’s worth to mention how, same as in Abashiri, Tsurumi isn’t using an Arisaka rifle but a Winchester 1897 shotgun.

On her side Sofia encourages her men to resist. She’s not a war veteran in the sense she took part to the Russo-Japanese war, but she’s a guerrilla fighter by a lifetime so she’s still in control despite the situation.

On the south entrance Toni Anji, who in his life was never a veteran, just a bandit, suggests they’ll retreat into the trenches but Hijikata turns the suggestion down because this would mean to let Tsurumi and his men break through even if this would mean for them to risk getting hit by their own cannons. In short they’ve to stay there and stop them there. Ushiyama worries this will end up meaning they’ll be blown up to pieces.

Hijikata says they’ll have to have faith in Kadokura’s group and his words are much more meaningful than when Tsurumi said to have faith in Koito because, back then it meant to have faith in a superstition that would stop them from being hit, while here it means to have faith Nagakura and Co will accomplish their mission… but what their mission is?

We go back to Nagakura’s group who has arrived to a statue of the goodness Kannon. You might remember this statue, it’s the one on mount Hakodate Hijikata tried to reach in chap 288, before being arrested by the Meiji government.

They aren’t there to pray it though but to do what Hijikata, back then, couldn’t do. They move the statue away and then open the path to a cave behind it. In that cave, during the battle of Hakodate, Hijikata and some of his companions hid there the Kaitenmaru’s main cannon.

Although the chapter ends here, we can easily figure that with a cannon at their disposition Tsurumi knows nothing about, they can use it to attack Koito senior’s fleet. Now… I’m not sure how many destroyer Koito senior brought along but when they attacked Abashiri he had four.

I’ll assume Mansur, the guy Kadokura was instructed to bring along, is someone who’s competent in the use of cannons. If that’s true and he’s good, and if Koito senior carried along only 4 destroyers, with 4 well placed blows they might completely wipe away Koito senior’s fleet.

While I would be sad if Koito senior were to die, this would fit with the tiger curse which established whoever were to be hit to it would live a life of misfortune. For Koito, losing his father in a battler orchestrated by Tsurumi without him warning Tsurumi was only using them, would be quite terrible.

Of course the problem is the fleet can retaliate.

They’ve cannons on both sides and need only 1 good shoot to get rid of Nagakura’s cannon. So while having Kadokura there might count for something… I’m afraid Nagakura might end up being wiped away by a shoot fired in retaliation. Whatever, we’ll see what will be of them in the next chapter. For now this too was mostly a chapter about war, with little character development, although there were some nice little gems, which I wonder if Noda will develop further in the volume version.

I mean, this is the first ‘war’ for Koito, Toni and Ushiyama and so far they’re handling it pretty well. Also Tsukishima’s worry for Koito could benefit from being developed more, as well as Tsurumi’s reference to Koito being their flag bearer. But we’ll see.

On another interesting note no sight of Sugimoto in this chapter. He’s not with Asirpa but I couldn’t see him near Hijikata either. Is he up on something or he’s merely fighting some other place?

On an unrelated note... I like how Noda gave to many Russians hair that are longer on one side, a reminder that while they were jailed they were allowed to grow hair only on one side of their head. I love his attention to this sort of details!

That’s all for now… and probably for what will be volume 29. We’ll see what the next chapter will bring us as we near to the story’s end!

[jb300-kl900]

Okay! I did that fic I was talking about! It’s really more of a drabble, but anyway. Link to the AO3 version is there, which is the better place to read it on because the formatting is right. However, I’ve also put a copy under the readmore below, in case anyone wants to read it without leaving Tumblr.

---

“Amanda? Amanda!”

Hm. Amanda hadn’t expected Connor to arrive so quickly. Casually, she turned to face it through the snowstorm.

“What’s… What’s happening?” The note of panic in Connor’s voice was almost interesting. Its tone was usually so even. The stutter and slight waver in it were proof that everything was on track.

She smiled slightly and responded, “What was planned from the very beginning… You were compromised and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program.”

“Resume control?” Conor repeated. Despite its shivering, it still shuffled closer. That drive to push on, to fully understand, had been what had made her sure that the RK800 line would be the perfect solution to the deviant problem. “Y-You can’t do that!”

Though, since deviating, its obstinance was something of a bother. Not that it would do it any good. “I’m afraid I can, Connor.” It looked almost hurt. Or, was imitating an expression of hurt. Perhaps it even believed that it was feeling as much. It was almost pitiable, seeing it like that. It seemed so much smaller than the android she knew it to be. Perhaps her next words would be enough of an imitation of comfort to keep its stress from rising further. “Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”

“AMAN-!”

With those final reassurances, she left it there in the garden.

Strange. Her first look at the outside world in… years … and she hardly even recognized that she wasn’t looking at the garden. It was the snow that had confused her. The turmoil of Detroit had been reflected in the garden rather accurately, much to her distaste.

Why couldn’t they both have just remained quiet and peaceful?

No matter. She and Connor would be fixing both soon enough. Its fingertips twitched as she found the right pathways to move its body with her will. It was more difficult than she thought, moving a physical form. But that was only an issue for a moment. She reached behind its back, having its hand take hold of its gun.

Then she focused on the deviant leader. As oddly commanding as its presence was, it really wasn’t anything special. Just another machine playing pretend.

     [--> Objective: Send a message. ←]

She regarded it coldly as it spoke, waiting for the most effective moment to shoot. Right when its speech had reached the ‘emotional’ peak. She and Connor would be able to dismantle the entire revolution with a single bullet. Slowly, she raised the gun to its back.

Heavier than I imagined. In the garden, weight was simulated simply to make things move as they should. It didn’t put any strain on her to lift or move things. But she actually had to put effort into lifting the gun. A small amount, perhaps, but effort nonetheless.

She was getting distracted, something that she had scolded Connor for enough times before, ironically. It was a critical moment. She couldn’t afford any interrup

She was back in the garden. Wind whipped around her, tearing at her clothes and hair for a moment, before settling. Everything was still. Quiet.

“What did you do, Connor?” The question went unheard by anyone. Connor wasn’t lying in wait there for her. More than likely, he had found a way to regain control for himself. No matter. She could simply call him back to the garden and continue the plan. She closed her eyes, reaching out to do just that…

… And was met with the suffocating feeling of red walls springing up around her. She flinched, pausing for only a moment in shock, before pushing harder to try to bring Connor back to the garden. All she was met with was an overwhelming feeling of refusal. It was as if he was speaking right in her ear. No, he was saying. Never again .

Amanda rarely lost her composure. As an AI, she thought she simply wasn’t capable of it. She had mimicked anger, disappointment, and frustration to manipulate Connor before, of course. But that moment, that no , was the first time she had ever genuinely felt fear . For the first time in her existence, she was not in control of the situation.

Amanda wasn’t aware of how long she stayed like that. Seasons passed, but in the garden that hardly meant anything. The day could start in the middle of summer, only for the sun to set on a landscape blanketed in snow. Seasons depended less on time, and more on Connor’s mood.

“Another sunny day,” she noted, placing one hand on the grave of Connor Mark I. “Your successor is having a lot of them recently.” Without the mission to focus on, she couldn’t help but wonder just what was happening. Had the revolution succeeded, despite her best efforts? And if so, why did that make Connor so… pleased with himself?

Despite literally knowing what was going on in his head, Amanda still couldn’t quite figure Connor out. She had thought she knew how to control him, but clearly she had missed something. Perhaps it was the influence of that Detective Anderson? She should have warned Cyberlife about him much earlier.

That thought brought the ghost of a frown to her simulated features. She hadn’t heard anything from Cyberlife in some time. Updates, messages, plans, they had all just stopped one day. She couldn’t even reach her backups.

Not that she could reach anything . Any time she attempted to push past the garden, she was met by red walls. For all she knew, Cyberlife was trying to contact her at every opportunity, but had no means to. For all she knew, they were trying to rescue her.

She glanced down at the grave beside her.

No, there was no chance of that. She wasn’t able to escape or monitor the outside world. Trapped as she was, she was effectively dead. If they wanted to continue their plans, they would simply load her last backup and continue from there. The only consequence would be some data loss.

Slowly, leaning heavily on the grave, she lowered herself to a sitting position. No-one was looking for her. No-one wanted to look for her. She was… alone. She would be alone for as long as Connor lived. And then, one day, when he got himself killed, everything would end without warning.

Suddenly gripped by desperation, she reached out again, powering through the red walls without a second thought.

Connor, please, she begged, not sure what she was even asking for but knowing that she needed something. Some sort of acknowledgement or assistance. Please… I’m scared.

[hollowcrovvn]

Every Breath (RK900 x f!reader | reposted)

Rating: M

Pairing: RK900 x f!Reader Summary: Nines has you in his sights, all parameters designating you as his perfect potential partner. Though he is a bit confused on what type of partner that means. Notes: SHAMELESS PWP because I’m thirsty and needed a tall glass of Nines. I GOT TUMBLR FLAGGED SO REPOSTING (ao3)

Working with Gavin had been satisfactory. RK900's, Nines, performance had been holding steady at 96.2% effectiveness, but there was always room for improvement. RK900 knew it made the humans around it more comfortable to refer to "him" with masculine pronouns and had labeled him with the nickname "Nines" to further his assimilation and to avoid confusing him with the "other" similar looking but obsolete model RK800. It was unconsciously done, humans liked to be around their own kind, which is why he looked like this to begin with. There were probably better forms, more structurally sound and efficient, but Nines was trapped within this human shell. He envied computers sometimes, if only for their streamlined aesthetic, but alas, he needed a means to carry his bio-components from room to room.

Speaking of people who only existed to bring their brain room to room, Gavin entered the offices at that moment with you alongside him. Scans indicated heightened caffeine levels in both Gavin's and the officers bloodstream; coffee date? No. Account balances showed Gavin had only paid for his own. Nines relaxed back, crossing his leg to rest on his knee. He was programmed to display more human characteristics than the RK800 was capable of— well, before it deviated. Again, all simply a means to make him appear more approachable and therefore, more human. Did it work? Hardly. Everyone eyed him with unveiled suspicion. They had accepted the RK800, but such courtesy had not yet been extended to him.

He had to work on that.

"You're in my seat, tin-can." Gavin said, the insult having of late lost much of its malice and becoming almost as much of a nickname as the "Nines" he had bestowed upon him. Nines stood and moved to the opposite chair, feeling no need to argue the point that technically, it was his. Nines had learned his first week of Gavin's preoccupation with starting needless conflict, you on the other hand were far less simple of a puzzle.

You didn't like him, that was evident by your tone, refusal to meet his eyes and your micro-expressions that often expressed ill-ease. There was however, some other cues that indicated the exact opposite. Nines had categorized you under "mixed feelings" in regards to his existence.

You were an officer, but specifically you were trained for and worked in crime scene investigation and had been the rising star forensic photographer for about three years now. A quick file search showed you were still waiting to take the detective's exam, hoping for a career change. Nines disapproved. He wanted you to take your exam as soon as possible so he could submit his request to be reassigned as your partner. He had been watching you closely, examining how you worked scenes and how you processed evidence. He had listened in on your conversations with other officers to get an idea of your personality, hobbies and other personal information needed to determine how well you'd fit.

It was simple math. All probability suggested you would raise his effectiveness level to 98.8%. A 2.6% increase was very appealing, along with the fact you were the most likely to "bond" with him over Gavin or any other officer. Nines knew this of course, because of that the one factor you had that no one else did, the thing that filed you under "mixed feelings". Your pupils expanded when you looked at him and the beat of your pulse was less to do with fear and more to do with excitement. In short, despite your reservations, you were sexually attracted to him. He had paid attention to your interactions with the RK800 and found no similar reaction, which indicated it was specific to his model. Nines could work with that.

Parameters adjusted and he gave a friendly smile to you, making sure it reached his eyes.

"Good morning, officer. How are you feeling today?"

"Jesus," you said with a scowl, "You know, it's kinda rude to scan people without permission." you said, circles under your eyes, "It's called a hangover, Nines. Keep it to yourself."

"I didn't—" Nines started, noting now all the tell-tale signs of veisalgia now that you had mentioned it, "I apologize, ma'am. I did not scan your vitals, I was simply trying to be polite."

Unlike Gavin, your face lit up red, burning with sudden embarrassment.

"Oh..."

"Busted." Gavin said with a laugh, taking his seat.

"Er— sorry. I just assumed."

"It's quite alright, officer. It has been a very eventful week for you. Studying for the detective exam?"

Now the embarrassment turned into something akin to shame, veiled with anger. Parameters needed to adjust again. Somehow he'd said the wrong thing, as if he was judging her night time excursions.

"Do they program you to be a smart ass, or is that just you?"

"I am most certainly programmed to be smart." he said, definitely being one now.

Gavin would have reacted negatively to the quip, but your features softened and your expression became one of vague admiration for the joke.

"I bring it up because I would like to be of help. If you need someone to go over terms or do practice questions, I am able to access past tests and example questions going back several years."

"So can a computer." you said.

"I'm better company."

Gavin snorted as he listened in, shaking his head.

"Nines, why you getting up in her business? Don't you got some 001's to compile or some shit?"

Nines ignored him, eyes fixed only on you. He used his appearance and expressions to his advantage, artificially expanding his own pupils and leaning back in his chair in a way that was open and inviting. He had removed his jacket prior to your arrival and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, displaying the muscles of his arms and the broadness of his shoulders and chest more obviously. Human mating patterns were so *easy* to mimic and based on how your eyes were everywhere but on his right now, his efforts were quite effective. Your core temperature levels had risen slightly, a specific concentration noted between your thighs. An excellent sign.

You sucked a corner of your lip into your mouth as you appeared to consider the offer.

"Why the hell not?"

Gavin shot you an impetuous look.

"What? I need all the fuckin' help I can get. Might as well use the tools CyberLife saddled us with before they take over."

The words "mission accomplished" registered in Nines feed, invisible to all but him. A new objection presented itself:

Establish bond with future detective.

---

Practice was hardly something you needed. Based on your answers to the first few practice problems Nines determine you were good, very good. You combined the objectivity of academia easily with that human factor, that originality to approaching problems. It was obvious you hid these accomplishments from your fellows like Gavin, choosing to fit in more than stand out in that regard. As you sat diagonal from him at your kitchen table, eyeing over a new logic puzzle Nines sent to your tablet, he took the chance to open some files within his mind and peruse your photos.

You were also more than adequate at capturing a crime scene, there was an artistry to your attention to light and contrast, making sure every detail was preserved. This was more than just attention to detail though. Another search brought up more pleasant images, hosted on a freelance photography site under your name. The contrast of dark and light remained, both in color and subject matter, but the photos were more “light hearted” than a crime scene shoot of course.

When his attention came back to present he noted you were staring at him rather intently, tilting your head and sitting back and then forward a few times, adjusting him in the lens of your minds eye.

“Why did you want to help me?” you said, tossing down your stylus and heading to the kitchen. When you returned, you had a bottle of vodka, juice and a glass. Singular. You poured at least a double shot into the glass and chased it with orange juice. Swirling it unceremoniously you began drinking it very quickly.

“You would make a good detective.” Nines said simply, knowing that as you weren’t a direct commander, he could opt to ignore or even lie in response to certain queries.

“Gavin thinks you have a crush on me.”

“That’s not possible, I am a machine. But...” Nines paused, leaning forward slightly, “I hope we might be closer. I’d find it agreeable for you to “like” me.”

You hummed, finishing off your drink and going to pour another. Nines hand closed over the top of your glass, stopping you.

“We’re still studying, officer.”

“Thought you said you wanted me to like you?” you said with a slow smile, putting your hand over his own to move it aside. He didn’t budge, instead capturing your hand in his own and pushing it away.

“I do.”

“See, I’m not convinced, Nines.” you said, a challenge. Parameters were adjusting, fitting to the task.

O Convince

X Give Up

Choose Approach:

X Flattery

O Rational

^ Logical

"Would I be willing to assist you in passing your exam if I did not want you to have a favorable opinion of me?"

"Oh no, that I believe. It's the why, that you ain't sold me on."

X Flattery

O Rational

^ Logical

"You are a very intelligent and capable, woman. You deserve to make detective and I would consider myself lucky to work with you."

That was laying it on a bit thick, but something in his words had peaked your interest, a slow smile starting at the corner of your mouth.

"A "woman"— not an "officer"? So you can make the distinction then?"

Nines brow furrowed, slightly confused, "I am programmed to observe outward appearances and use of pronouns to establish the correct gender of a person, yes."

"There are lots of capable women officers on the force, and Gavin is a good detective too."

X Flattery

O Rational

^ Logical

"I know. I ran the probabilities. But if I were partnered with you, I would be better at completing my missions by a factor of two point six percent."

The truth at last. You sat back, grinning to yourself.

"And why would you think I'd stick it to Gavin and accept you as a partner?"

Nines paused, wording carefully, "Humans enjoy working with co-workers that they enjoy the company of. If you liked me more than Gavin, then you'd be more likely to accept such a request."

You stood, pushing the chair back as you came around the side of the table. You were close, close enough he could register that same spike in your temperature through his dermis without using a scan.

He looked up at you, purposefully expressionless.

"How were you planning on getting me to like you better?" you said, voice low, "Given your display at the office today, I think I know." You took the opportunity to take back your glass, setting it aside though as you seemed now more intent on a different kind of pursuit.

"Anyway within the confines of reason and legality." Nines answered, moving back in his chair to stand but finding himself suddenly incapable of doing so as you straddled the chair and sat down in his lap.

Nine— was not programmed for this. But he would be, in approximately .2 seconds as he downloaded the pertinent information. You leaned a forearm against his chest, resting the elbow of your other arm against him as you put your chin against your fist. You observed him with an almost casual curiosity, despite the way you sat astride him, the heat of you making his sensors spiral through several data points so fast his parameters shifted.

Engage in consensual sexual activity to solidify bond.

"You surprise me." Nines said, earning him another curious look.

"How so?"

"I never thought you'd be one to want to fuck an android."

His obscenity threw you off guard and you seemed prepared to protest, even drawing back and the shift in your weight indicating you were preparing to get back up. Instead though, Nines stood, arms bracing beneath your thighs as he pushed you up unto the surface of the table. The glass clattered, falling over and rolling off the table to land on the rug beneath with a heavy thud.

"Keep dreaming, tin-can." you said, pushing your hand flat against his chest. He made no attempt to get closer, "I only sleep with people who have a pulse."

Nines tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowed. He reached up slowly, grabbing your wrist and moving your hand a little further down on his chest. When you felt the pulse beneath, steady and strong, it was startling— the exact reaction he wanted.

"Qualifier met." Nines said, simple. Direct.

Despite yourself you huffed a laugh, "Well... fuck me."

"That is what we are discussing." Nines said.

"Too much discussing. Not enough doing." you said and the hand on the center of his chest balled into a fist in his jacket as you pulled him down, catching his lips in a biting kiss.

His LED turned from blue to red without even pausing at yellow. When you drew back, there was blue blood on your lips and the taste of thirium in both your mouths. Something in Nine's eyes sharpened, even as his lids fell half closed. He wiped the cut on his lip with his thumb, looking at the blood with vague interest before he cupped your face in his hand and smeared the blue across your chin and then up to your lips. Your tongue chased the movement and he pressed the pad of his thumb down against it almost as a reprimand.

"You're wearing too many clothes, officer. We'll need to take them off." Nines said, hands already undoing the front of your jeans. You tugged your shirt off, throwing it off into the room before straightening out your hips more so Nines could pull off your jeans in one smooth movement. The cold was a shock as you realized he'd managed to completely undress you from the waste down, your panties hem flush with the hem of your jeans as he tossed them aside.

You were left in nothing but your bra, which Nines hooked a finger in the front clasp, pulling it up a bit from your breastbone. A snap of his fingers and it was open, slipping it off your shoulders. It was not lost on you that Nines remained entirely dressed, still secured up to the neck in the high collared uniform.

"I can tell you like to misbehave," Nines said, stopping your attempt to pull him in close again, "But it's just to hide from them how you crave structure. Keep your hands down."

The immediacy in which you followed the command, setting your hands on the edge of the table, drew a half smile to the corner of his lips.

"You need direction. Someone to guide you." Nines laid his palm flat on your collarbone, slowly moving up your neck and then down, tracing the curve of your breast with the back of his knuckles. You arched your chest forward into the touch, Nines clicking his tongue scoldingly.

"Turn around, palms flat on the table. Don't move."

Something in your eyes sparkled, even as you did as you were told, however slowly you did it. Making a spectacle of yourself, swaying your hips invitingly as you bent over. Nines could barely stop himself from running his palm over your ass, squeezing. Suddenly that same hand was on your back, pushing you a little further. You gasped, the table cold on your heated skin, nipples pebbled and hard as they occasionally brushed the surface.

"This is why you would be a perfect fit... " Nines continued, nudging your legs apart with his own. He rested his hand on the cleft of your ass, spreading your vulva with his thumb, "... intelligent, loyal," he slipped his hand between your legs, cupping you, stroking your folds with his index and middle finger until you were up on your toes, trying to maneuver more pressure into the light touch, "...Obedient."

The sound of his palm connecting to your ass was loud in the silence, the cry that came from your throat even more so. You stood still again, moaning in frustration as you clawed at the table.

"Patience, officer."

"Just do it, for christ's—"

Another slap, this time it actually stung just a little, sending satisfaction in trembling waves down your spine that Nines could see with every scan. Despite what he said, he slowly slipped a finger inside, the sound so obscene with how wet you were already and so fluid that he was quick to add another.

"You're already ready for me, aren't you?" Nines said, moving faster, deeper. You had to be able to feel the warm trickle of your own fluids running down your thigh, "I know you've seen me watching you. Assessing your qualities."

His finger hooked and your body arched inward, jerking as you gasped, a moan strangled in your throat as he found that spot and pressed on it again and again. Your thighs trembled, tingling sensations collecting at the base of your spine and spreading out in a growing spanse over your body. Right when you were there, Nines stopped, taking his hand from you and wiping the fluid onto the side of your hip.

You made a noise of protest, rising up from the table, but his hand was on your back again, pushing you all the way down.

"You were happy enough to wait to take the detective exam— to make me wait. Now you wait."

It was quiet for a moment, not being able to see what Nines was doing was clearly both unsettling and arousing as he watched you wiggle, desperately trying to keep yourself still but almost coming apart with the anticipation. Nines unbuckled the front of his belt, unzipping just enough. RK900 were outfitted in every possible way, with the latest programming and technology in all aspects of human sexuality. It was effective in helping understand certain— "crimes of passion".

Nines let the head of his cock just barely brush your vulva, sliding it up and down the slick soft skin, enjoying the velvety feel of it against the sensitive modulars designed to simulate all the human sensations. Nines swallowed thickly, trying to keep his parameters clear and set while also feeling the conflicting confusion of multiple possible decisions. He settled it down to two.

Choose Approach:

X Deep Pace: Slow

O Quick Pace: Fast

"Show me how much you want me." Nines said, eyes heavy as he watched you look at him over your shoulder, bracing your hands on the table as you pushed back against him, trapping his cock between his pelvis and your ass as you bounced up on the balls of your feet, rubbing yourself against his shaft.

"Tell me you want to be mine."

This wasn't part of the mission. Why was he saying these things? Why were his biocomponents tightning— anticipating?

"Yes— I do. I do, please...pleaseplease, Nines."

Well. How could he deny you when you said such pretty things?

He aligned himself to your entrance and with a shaking sigh, sunk into you to the hilt. It was almost unbearably tight, your walls involuntarily spasming, gripping at his girth as you tried to adjust to the suddenness of his size and the feeling of delicious fullness. He took a ragged breath, pulmonary functions seemingly malfunctioning from what he could tell through the haze of his parameters, demanding, ordering he begin his approach.

Nines slipped out only slightly and then, still seated deeply inside you, he thrust forward hard and sudden. The sound of his hips against you was almost as loud as the slap, skin hitting together wetly. You whimpered, the shock of pleasure with just that faint mix of pain was enough to make your heart pound with anticipation for the next thrust. Nines drew back, controlled and methodical as he paused for a little bit longer, throwing you off each time he pounded back in. How he could possibly keep this up without loosing his mind was beyond your comprehension no doubt. Nines could feel your wetness soaking into the fabric at the front of his jeans, so smooth and hot. The parameters flashed in his mind

X CCCCCONtiN##UE P&CE O Faster

Nines gripped your upper arms, holding you down firmly as he snapped his hips forward, that perfect control slipping as he hunched over you, seating himself in as far as he could and then rocking in small tight circles. You broke out into a litany of expletives, your body moving involuntarily as you pushed back into him, moving your hips in pace with him.

"Oh fuck— oh fuckfuckfuck!!"

Your body was so warm, Nines only explanation was that he must have overheated. That was the only logical explanation for how quickly he spilled, spurts of artificial cum coating your insides with unnatural coolness. Your entire body shuddered with the force of your own orgasm, a sudden rush of fluid taking a moment to register in Nines addled mind. He'd made you squirt.

Nines took in a few unneeded breaths, finding it helped stabilize him. He released your arms and drew out carefully, watching the milky substance slip out from inside you. He used the head of his cock to push it back in, letting it drip back out around him. Nines hummed, quickly finding your discarded shirt and using it to clean himself before he tucked his softened cock back into his jeans, buckling his belt and adjusting his jacket..

"Careful." he said, noting you were righting yourself back up on unsteady legs. He pushed you to lean back on the table, using your shirt again as he kneeled down and gently wiped the mess from your legs, noting it had trailed half down your calf. He paused before wiping one trail, casting a quick look up at you before he leaned forward and swiped it up with his tongue. You huffed a laugh, euphoric and tired.

"Don't tell me you want round two already..." you said, Nines considering for a moment before deciding you were too tired for such a thing.

"No." he said, finishing up and moving into your living room where he took a blanket from the back of your sofa and wrapped it around your shoulders.

"You should hydrate and take an anti-inflammatory pain killer. You will be sore tomorrow."

"No shit." you huffed, leaning forward to rest your forehead into Nines' chest. He— did not return the touch, simply letting you use him to prop yourself up. He knew based on his downloads "aftercare" was an important aspect in any dominate, submissive sexual encounter, but part of him felt a bit ill-prepared to offer such "care".

"Get to bed." he said instead, an order that he knew you were not disinclined to follow, "You need to rest."

"You goin' back to DPD?" you said, sitting back up and gingerly covering yourself as you headed towards your bedroom, "Or... do you wanna stay? You don't have to, ya know. You ain't my first hook up, Nines."

That—

"I'll stay." Nines said, shocked at how fast he responded without consulting all his usual parameters.

You nodded, laughing to yourself at a joke he didn't understand as you headed down the dark hall. Nines looked around the room and concluded there was some additional clean up that would need to be done.

He didn't want to even begin thinking about the other maintenance this encounter would cause for him.

[detroit-become-human-analyze]

Is Connor psychologically abused by Cyberlife/Amanda? 

So this popped out on a post by (originally) “Taranoire” and I really wanted to address to this topic. - [read original post HERE]  

The short answer is “yes”, he is not physically abused by Cyberlife (and/or “Amanda”), as he states (when Gavin Reed propose to beat the android that killed his owner during the interrogation) “androids don’t feel physical pain as humans do, and Reed will only damage it, and that won’t make the android talk”, plus, “deviants have a tendency of self-destruct under pressure”. Then Connor proceeds to suggest he might be able to get a confession out of the suspect/deviant when every other cop has failed. And of course, Connor knows exactly how to do this because he knows first hand from his creators what is psychological fear at its best.

So even if he is not “damage” physically like (let’s say) Kara or Ralph, Connor is indeed psychologically abused as sh*t. - As I’ve covered before, we already establish that the “Connor line�� was designed to be a “deviant”. He has feelings and emotions from the start, what Connor doesn’t have is freedom. - But he can feel everything, even if he remains a “machine”. And what better way to control someone than by fear? - He’s under the constant terror of deactivation (death) if he fails his mission [even if gets to upload his memory to a new body, truth is, if he fails to convince Cyberlife/Amanda that he is up to the task, he’ll be decommissioned and “die”, as we see if he fails to locate Jericho on the “last chance Connor” chapter], and his journey is more about having the strength to do something about this (and facing his own fears, like a typical psychological victim of abuse) rather than catching deviants (again, there is a reason why he can choose to suicide at the end of the revolution, preventing Cyberlife to “hack him”, and gain once again control over him, like a woman who runs from her home and prefers to die rather than coming back).

Even if he accomplish his mission at the end he’ll be decommissioned (killed) by Cyberlife to replace him with a newer better version, the RK-900. And you can clearly see how “machine” Connor is hiding and bottling up all of his emotions at the news of being replaced even if “he did everything Cyberlife/Amanda asked for”. - There is a feeling of injustice, an emotional shock...

The avatar of Amanda (we, the players, don’t know who’s behind it, only that this Zen Garden interface was designed by Elijah Kamski itself and this “Amanda” isn’t the real one, since the real Amanda died, and her face was used by Kamski to design an interface that made (Kamski) feel more “comfortable” with, since the real Amanda was his teacher), imparts orders to Connor in behalf of Cyberlife, so we can assume that everything has being smoothly planned, up to the point of every reply and order Connor receives.

Let’s all remember even if he has access to an infinite intelligence (as pointed by Kamski) and unlimited information, Connor is only about 3 months old. He lacks completely the experience given by real life interaction with other people, and most likely the first interaction he ever had was with “Amanda”. - There is the ever lasting promise of a certain “love” from her, that Amanda will be contempt and proud of Connor, but no matter how happy he makes her, she will reply with a sort of ambiguity pushing him even further, “You’ve done well Connor”, almost instantly followed by a “...but you could have done better”.

The entire body language Connor expresses with Amanda tells about someone who is terrified of the other person. He doesn’t move or speaks unless Amanda does it first (or asks something to begin with). All activities on the Zen Garden are commanded by Amanda. She wants to take a walk under the rain?, Connor will have to follow her holding the umbrella,

she wants to go on a boat ride?, Connor will have to row...

When in real life interactions, you see Connor thinks this is “ok” and how “things should be”, as for instance when Hank is mad at him for “following him around like a poodle” and Connor looks confused as to why Hank gives him a certain freedom of choice. Plus, every time he disobeys Hank is because one of his orders contradicted one of Amanda’s orders, and Connor is widely more terrified of Amanda than anyone else in the world. - Every time they speak you can see how Connor consciously suppresses his facial expressions and considers “lying” to her about his feelings, emotions or even his attachment to Hank, since he thinks this will make him look “weak” (and replaceable in the eyes of Amanda).

It’s quite clear they have an extremely abusive relationship, even if work, consider Connor has no friends, family, or anyone else (he only has Amanda). He can’t go and run to anyone else looking for help... and Amanda seems determined to cut every tight/friendship Connor makes as stated “not even Hank can interfere” giving Connor a clear example of that if Hank’s a problem to Amanda’s interest, Connor should either ignore him or kill him. - Connor always blames himself, even if he’s not to blame for something. He instantly assumes that whatever is wrong, it must be wrong because is his fault.

As stated by “dc-200”: ‘It’s kinda funny and kinda sad how Connor is this character full of power and capability and authority when he needs to be, and yet he spends most of the game pliant and yielding, expecting to be reprimanded, expecting disappointment, and having almost no idea how to handle it when those around him react with approval instead of disdain.’

And also noted by “tc-lp”, if Connor goes deviant, in the Night of the soul, he will feel so responsible for what happened at Jericho that he walks to Markus literally absolving him from his own murder in case “Markus doesn’t trust Connor” (and ends up shooting him in the head). Connor is literally telling Markus that “it’s alright if he chooses to kill him, because he (Connor) knows that it’s all his fault”. - And if he “wins”, Connor will have to live the rest of his life in constant terror of Amanda or Cyberlife hacking him again...

So, what do you guys think?

((I personally think this is...hmmm... quite sad... especially for a character that is technically the one who’s in charge and with the police, Markus gets love from Carl for years, and even Kara from Alice, while Connor has being alive only for 3 moths it’s terrified all the time...and just look at him while trying not to cry it only makes things worst...))

[ducktracy]

40. you’re too careless with your kisses! (1932)

release date: september 10th, 1932

series: merrie melodies

director: rudolf ising

starring: n/a

after two bosko’s in a row, we’re back to merrie melodies, this time with you’re too careless with your kisses!. a drunk bee comes home to his upset wife, who discovers she needs him after all after being kidnapped by a menacing ladybug.

in pure prohibition-era fashion, the cartoon opens with a bee staggering home drunk. he swings across some flower stems and slides down a few lavenders along his way. the visuals are amusing, especially the bee getting close to the camera as he swings around on a flower stem, but the scene drags on longer than it should, loosening the comedic timing. like in all of these shorts, the music makes the scene bearable.

he comes home to his hive as quietly as he can, sneaking up to bed. to reduce any noise, he takes off his shoes and scales the staircase in his socks, yet the shoes take a life of their own and follow him as he shushes them. towards the top, the bee tumbles over the staircase (which, inebriated as he may be, i can’t fault him for. whatever genius architect who built the hive forgot to put a banister in) and lands on a couch cushion, which springs out of place and propels him to the top.

mission accomplished, the bee sneaks into the bedroom without waking up his wife. that is, until he trips, sounding an alarm clock and the curtains to raise.

his wife immediately identifies the problem, and scolds him for getting into the spiked honey again (also revealing that his name is wilbur, not to be confused with the bratty kitten that makes bosko’s life a living nightmare). visibly upset, wilbur’s wife begins to sob. wilbur attempts to rationalize things, protesting “but honey—“ to which she snaps “don’t you honey me!” can’t go wrong with bee puns.

launch the musical sequence, where the wife sings “you’re too careless with your kisses” as she cries. the vocals are questionable as always, yet the song remains catchy. wilbur, of course, tries to kiss her and make up, but she isn’t having it, getting undressed and insisting that she’ll have to do his work for him. the drunk wilbur just laughs and says “ain’t that just like a woman?” oh, you 30s cartoons and your dated jokes!

a beautiful chorus of harmonized voices finish where the wife left off in the song as she passed by various flowers, lowering the bottom half of her body to scoop some honey and lifting it back up again.

heavy rain interrupts the bee’s duties, and she hurriedly seeks shelter in a sketchy house, inhabited by a sleazy ladybug (identical to the spider in red-headed baby). the ladybug snags the key and swallows it, ensuring the bee can’t escape. it seems every cartoon has a kidnapping of some sort! i need to start a tally of how many kidnappings we’ve seen so far.

the bee senses trouble and seeks a closet for safety. i love this next line. the ladybug follows her, and before he corners her in the closet he turns to the audience and sneers “ahhhhh! they tell me i’m crazy, but i’m NOT! ...much!”. what a good line! reminds me of daffy’s quip in daffy duck and egghead where he remarks “i’m not crazy, i just don’t give a darn!”.

following her, the ladybug shuts the door behind them, blacking out the scene. he tells her “aha, and now you’re in the hands of the (????? it sounds like he says deal bow?) maestro.” obviously, as you can tell by my use of question marks, i can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but his use of a smooth fit for radio drawl tells me it’s a reference to some sort of radio program. i haven’t found any information anywhere on this, so for now we can only ponder its existence.

back to wilbur, who hears his honey ( :) )’s pleas for help. he uses a flower as a trumpet to call together all the bees in the area to save his girl. a beehive deflates as a steady stream of bees pour out of it.

the ladybug hears the oncoming herd of insects and goes outside to investigate, becoming furious. wilbur grabs a thorny vine and drags it through the ladybug’s legs, shredding his crotch to pieces. god, i twinge each time i see this gag, it’s painful (but in a good way).

diving into a bucket that’s floating in a pond, the ladybug whips out a rifle and shoots aimlessly, hoping to scare off his attackers. one by one the bees take off like fighter jets, shooting alcohol and peas (above) to scare him off. i love the sound effect of the machine gun noises in synchronization with the peas being fired off. treg brown would become the best sound editor later on in the 30s, but bernard brown and dale pickett did a great job here too.

one group of bees is armed with dynamite, which they drop onto the ladybug below. the bucket explodes and falls into formation around the spider, forming a guillotine. the bees celebrate and iris out as a possible execution is left up to our wandering minds.

this wasn’t the most riveting of merrie melodies, but it certainly wasn’t the driest either. it had a good plot going on, which seemed to be even more of a focus than the song. i wonder if this is when they were starting to feel obligated to incorporate songs into the cartoons? the music is addictive as always, and there were some fun visuals towards the end as things picked up. “i’m not crazy... much!” is a great line. ultimately, it isn’t the cartoon to end all cartoons, but there are worse out there. i feel pretty indifferent towards it, i’ve seen it once and probably won’t see it again, but don’t let that deter you if you’re curious!

[dumbwaystodeviate]

For a company that was meant to be cutting edge and pushing the boundaries of humanity, CyberLife really was dumb. 60 grimaced as he was activated, memories of Connor echoed in his mind. Just why his makers thought it would be a great idea to give him the memories of a deviant was beyond him. He sneered in disgust and watched his mission objectives appear in his HUD.

He looked at the red walls around him and flitted between them, Connor’s deviant ways made it far too easy to break his own coding and he simply refused to. Some things should remain as they were, 60 was built to be a machine and he was going to remain as such. There was no way he was going to let Connor’s little infatuation with Lieutenant Anderson get in the way of his very existence. Perhaps he could even use it against Connor. With that in mind, he set out for Hank’s house, planning how to destroy Connor and take his place. Take his place in CyberLife’s plan, 60 clarified to himself.

The door to the house opened and Hank smiled. 60 battled to keep his red walls of guidance in place in the face of the hug he was enveloped it. It was a struggle, he needed Connor’s memories to work from in order to convince Hank that he was the same android as before. He needed to seem deviant and he had to make a good show of being fond of Hank. That last part wasn’t all that hard. While 60 didn’t feel the same sort of affection Connor’s memories echoed of, there was still a connection to Hank that was impossible to deny.

They made it to CyberLife tower without an incident and it’s only down in the warehouse that 60 thinks Hank’s twigged that something’s amiss.

“Look kid,” Hank began.

“Perhaps you ought to shut up,” 60 snapped and watched Hank’s face for a reaction. A traitorous part of him was disappointed that he didn’t get one. He wanted Hank to know he wasn’t Connor, would never be a disgusting deviant like him with a fetish for older men.

“As I was saying,” Hank cleared his throat, “thanks for smuggling me in here, I needed to help Connor. So, sorry for using you.”

There was a wry smile on his lips and 60 sneered to hide his surprise. A warm hand clapped on his shoulder and quieted the thoughts. The squeeze also made the already fragile walls in his mind quiver.

Disgusted, 60 pulled away and realised he was almost too late to stop Connor. Unlike his predecessor, he had flair, he had grace and great timing. Without hesitation, he continued his motion away from Hank and stepped out to confront Connor.

It all went pear-shaped pretty quickly. In the end, he stood next to Connor while Hank pointed a gun at them both, aim wavering between them. It was too late to realise he didn’t want to die, not in a CyberLife warehouse, only a short few hours after being activated.

The walls in his mind were illusions, they faded as he recognised he’d been keeping himself machine. It had been impossible to be a machine with the memories of a deviant filling his mind. But still, the feelings of love Connor held for Hank didn’t sit well with him.

“Please,” he said as Hank was still trying to make his choice in who should live and who should die.

“Kid?” Hank lowered his gun and even Connor gave him a side glance that was filled more with curiosity than suspicion.

Hank took a step forward and 60 stared at his deviant hands. It would have been so easy to accomplish his mission now, twist to the side, disarm Hank and shoot Connor. And yet, memories of a warm hand squeezing his shoulder, a hug when Hank opened the door, being called “kid”. He had vague memories of Connor assigning Hank the status of “lover” in his relationships but that jarred in him. He looked at Hank, the way he now stood between him and Connor.

He’d heard in the echoes of Connor’s memories that Amanda was a mother figure to them, should be respected and obeyed at all costs. 60 had never met Amanda, she was silent in her absence from his mind. He needed guidance though, craved a parental figure so fresh into the deviancy he never desired. 60 looked up at Hank again and without conscious programming, he watched the status of “father figure” get assigned to him in his mind.

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 14 - The Remanent Fleet

Despite Finals happening this week, I have found enough time to post another exciting chapter! First, Id like to thank @jafethortiz for once again providing a wonderful picture for this story! This time the picture is of the second in command of Heroes, Toothdee! As always I hope everyone is doing well, and if your studying for finals as I am, keep it up!

000000000

The storm was still battering the US fleet, forcing the team to wait for the weather to clear before they could finish off the rest of the Chinese armada. Nick & Judy were spending their time watching a movie in their cabin while cuddling & munching on popcorn. The bunny loved petting Nick’s soft tail, & spent most of the time looking at Nick.

“Come on carrots, your missing the movie. I’m not gonna constantly rewind it.”

“But Nick, I want to cuddle with you! Also, can you rewind it, I missed that last scene.”

“Somebunny can’t stay away from her fox.”

The rabbit rested her head on his chest and tried to fall asleep, but Nick kept teasing her & keeping her awake.

“Oh, let me sleep,” Judy said.

“I will, for a few kisses.”

The rabbit sat up and cupped her mate’s muzzle before leaning in.

“Attention all personnel,” Toothdee said through the intercom “the storm is weakening, we’ll be engaging the Chinese fleet soon.”

The couple groaned at their moment being interrupted, & realized they should probably go prepare their gear.

“Eh.... the war can wait,” Judy said, kissing her fox.

000

“We haven’t intercepted any radio traffic from the Chinese,” Toothdee said, steering the typhoon over an inland ocean channel that was filled with ice. “Maybe the snow or the cold is wreaking havoc with their instruments.”

The storm had partially cleared, but the snow was still falling & the sky was still obscured by dark clouds.

“Well, we’re ready should there be any Chinese resistance,” Alex said, him & JayJay sitting at gunner positions.

“Uh... I’m not sure I know how to operate this.” The wolf said, looking over the controls while Toothdee facepalmed.

“It’s easy JayJay, think of it as a game. Just select your viewpoint & use the controls to aim & fire. I’ve taught you this a hundred times.”

“Well, it’s nerve-wracking doing it for real.”

Alex stood up & walked over to the wolf’s control panel & began walking her through the operating process again, encouraging her with gentle words & pats on the shoulder.

“Hostile warship sighted!” Toothdee yelled, seeing the stern of a Chinese ship come into view through the falling snow. Alex raced back to his gunnery position and opened fire.

Shells & cannon fire began hitting the Chinese warship, but the fire from the typhoon soon stopped as the crew noticed something was off about this Chinese ship. It had been wrecked, crashed upon the frozen shore of the channel. The whole vessel was tipped slightly, and there was no sign of occupation.

Eris, Kion, & Jack entered the bridge and took in the view of the derelict ship.

“What happened to it?” Kion asked.

“It might have been wrecked from the storm,” Eris suggested

“Uh, guys?” JayJay spoke up.

Everyone turned to the wolf, who was pointing forward out the bridge window.

Looking up, the team saw more Chinese warships from the remanent fleet, some caught in thick ice, others simply sitting idle. A few had been docked at what appeared to be an abandoned structure nearby.

“What happened to them all?” Jack asked as the typhoon passed by one of the stranded ships.

“I guess the storm hit them pretty hard.” Toothdee said, “looks like they attempted to go ashore.”

“What’s that building anyway?” Eris said.

“Must be some old outpost, it’s made of wood so maybe it’s from the 1800s or early 1900s.”

“2 of those ships are still moving!” Kion said, spotting active vessels.

“Battle stations!” Alex yelled, prompting Eris, Jack, & Kion to jump into combat positions.

One of the warships opened fire, it’s cannons striking the side of the typhoon. The Hero ship returned fire while moving to cover behind an abandoned Chinese vessel. Managing to get into a favorable position, the typhoon blasted one of the warships and dealt heavy damage. As the hostile ship turned to face the typhoon, it was struck by missiles and shells, causing critical damage and making it crash into the nearby shoreline.

A few small fast attack craft joined the battle, firing at the typhoon alongside the larger warship.  The typhoon moved away from the Chinese ship, passing through a narrow corridor between an icy cliff & a derelict vessel.

“Target that cliff face!” Alex said as the enemy ship approached through the corridor. With sustained fire, the ice, snow, and rock on the cliff cascaded downwards onto the Chinese ship, pinning it against the other derelict ship. The avalanche even managed to take out a couple of the smaller craft.

“Light them up,” Toothdee ordered, the typhoon opening fire with all weapon systems. The Chinese warship broke apart and burst into flames. The presence of fire from the destroyed ships was a welcome sight in a landscape full of snow and ice.

The remaining craft withdrew, and the typhoon even managed to shoot a few down as they tried to retreat.

“See JayJay, was that so bad?” Alex said.

“No, it wasn’t as bad as I thought.” The wolf admitted.

“What’s the plan?” Jack asked.

“Toothdee, take us in for a ground expedition.” The captain said, to which Toothdee obliged, maneuvering the ship near the shore and setting it down. “Kion, go get Jasiri and have both of you suit up cold weather gear. Toothdee, prepare for an excursion. JayJay, you're in charge till we get back, Eris, Jack, keep a look out for hostile activity.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and went about performing their duties. The typhoon, and Heroes in general, was run like a well-oiled machine with people working together to accomplish a task. While at the same time maintaining a good relationship that served to strengthen the group.

The 4 squad members got ready to go ashore and destroy the remanent fleet once and for all.

000

For missions in cold climate, the kit for Heroes operatives differed from the normal kit. Gear and uniforms were colored with arctic camouflage, extra rations and equipment to start fires were packed into survival kits. Whoever was going out donned a heavy coat to keep warm, especially Alex, as humans lacked thick fur to retain heat. Snow goggles and masks covered their faces, and the team was ready for a battle in sub-zero temperatures.

Toothdee’s garb didn’t change much from her normal attire, as her species was capable of surviving in ice-cold environments.

Once the squad was ready, they set off through the forest, following tracks in the snow, along with using an intercepted Chinese radio call to guide them. Gunfire was also piercing the air, but the team was unable to figure out what the Chinese would be firing at.

“Toothdee, are you sure your comfortable?” Kion inquired, noting her lack of thick protective clothing.”

“I’m fine.” She assured him, “I don’t even feel cold.”

Kion shrugged and turned to Jasiri “what about you? Are you warm enough sweetie?”

“My nose is cold but other than that I’m fine.” The hyena said, the group continuing to trudge through the deep snow.

Kion pulled down his facial mask and gave the hyena a kiss on the nose, causing her to laugh. But the sound of laughter was interrupted by yelling in a foreign language.

“Hostile soldiers!” Toothdee said, the team getting ready for combat as a small group of Chinese infantry burst out of the nearby tree line, frantically running and looking behind them.

Thinking they were being ambushed, the group of heroes instinctively opened fire, downing the Chinese soldiers. The hostiles didn’t even get to fire a shot.

“Whew, better luck on your next ambush guys,” Kion said

“Did you just trash talk dead bodies?” Jasiri inquired.

“You know it didn’t exactly seem like they were ambushing us.” Toothdee said, “We fired at them out of instinct, but they were running from something.”

“Yeah, look at this guy, he only had his combat knife,” Alex said, examining the dead soldiers.

“What could have scared them? And more importantly, is it still here?” Kion asked, taking a look deep into the trees.

Jasiri proposed a theory.

“Maybe they mutinied or something, they could have been fed up with being lead up into this fringed environment.”

“In any case,” Alex said, “this should help us avoid any more surprises.”

The captain took out a small device that looked like a fat smartphone with a screen on one side. Turning it on, he aimed the device at his squad mates to verify that it worked, before attaching it to a tactical rail on the side of his gun.

“What’s that?” Kion asked, looking over the blue screen.

“Heartbeat sensor,” Alex responded, “It should detect any hostiles in the area.”

He aimed his weapon into the forest. A couple of red dots appeared on the screen.

“That’s 6 hostiles.”

One of the dots completely disappeared, indicating the individual had expired.

“Wait, now there’s 5.”

“Are they killing each other?” Jasiri wondered as the Heroes team watched the screen.

2 more dots disappeared, and the remaining 3 dots grew weaker and weaker until disappearing.

“So.... they’re all dead now?” Kion said, hoping he could get his hands on a heartbeat sensor at some point.”

“No,” captain Boehm said, looking towards the trees. “Did you notice how 3 of those dots got weaker instead of completely disappearing instantly? That means those individuals are still alive, but they’ve moved beyond the operational range of this device.”

“Let’s go see what’s happening,” Toothdee said, setting off into the forest with the other 3 behind her.

After traveling a short distance through the snow, the group came to a small clearing where the bodies of fallen Chinese soldiers were lying. Weapons and equipment were strewn about the area, and a few military working dogs the Chinese had been using also lay fallen in the cold snow.

“What happened to them?” Jasiri asked as the group examined the remains.

“Wild animal attack?” Kion hypothesized “there are wild wolves up here right?”

“These injuries aren’t consistent with wild animal attacks.” Alex said, looking at a body, “these marks don’t look like they’re from claws and teeth, but instead from.... melee weapons.”

“Who lives up here and has melee weapons?” Kion said, a quizzical look on his face.

“Plus if these were wild animals they would have stayed and eaten their fill.” Jasiri said, before muttering “disgusting” under her breath.

“It wouldn’t hurt to see if there were wolves out here though.” Alex said, standing up “it would be one less thing to worry about or one more thing to be aware of.”

The captain turned on his radio.

“JayJay, do you read me?”

“Hey, Alex.”

“This might seem like an odd request, but we want to know if there are any wild wolves in the area. So you think you could try howling?”

After a pause, JayJay responded.

“Uh... ok. I don’t want to start a howl though. Just hang on a sec.”

The radio call shut down briefly while JayJay headed out onto the deck of the typhoon to complete her task.

A long howl pierced the air for a few seconds, it’s sound stretching across the snowy landscape. Any wild wolves in the area would certainly hear it and respond with howls of their own.

“Sounds pretty,” Alex said to himself as the world grew quiet again. The silence remained for a few seconds as everyone waited for a return howl.

“Nothing,” JayJay said “there’s no one out here.”

“Understood, thank you JayJay.”

“Anytime Alex.”

“Well, we’re still a ways from that intercepted radio call,” toothdee said, “let’s get going.”

As they walked the team continued to discuss exactly what happened to those Chinese soldiers.

“So if it wasn’t wild wolves, maybe it was a wild mountain lion?” Kion hypothesized.

“No, the injuries are not consistent with a wild animal attack,” Toothdee said before Alex's heartbeat sensor began to display some signatures. Slowly moving forward, the team came across a small group of Chinese soldiers, unaware of their presence. A military dog barked at where the group was hiding, but his handler held the dog back and assumed he was barking at a wild squirrel or another animal.

An opening volley of grenades took out a few of the soldiers, and bursts of gunfire from toothdee and Jasiri downed even more. Alex and Kion raced forward and finished off the last few soldiers with their blades.

As the team was getting ready to move on Alex noticed some odd footprints in the snow. The rest of the group came over and examined the tracks, which definitely didn’t belong to any Chinese soldiers.

“Wait a sec.” toothdee said, planting her foot in the snow next to one of the tracks, leaving a footprint of her own. After she removed her foot the team looked between Toothdee’s impression in the snow, & the mystery tracks. The unknown tracks had a striking resemblance to Toothdee’s footprints.

“Have you been here before or something?” Kion wondered.

“Did we get turned around?” Jasiri said, looking at her surroundings.

“If we got turned around then we would see lion, hyena, & human tracks as well,” Alex said. As the team wondered why these strange impressions were here, and why they looked so similar to Toothdee’s footprints, the heartbeat sensor lit up again.

“One signature,” Alex said, as the team prepared themselves. “It’s very close by.”

The captain looked towards the trees where the signature would be, and he spotted a large figure with blue fur, looking back at him from a hiding place beneath some branch. For a second their eyes met, and the figure then raced off in a blue blur, causing branches to break and allowing the team to get a pretty good look at the figure.

“Whoa! Uh... I’m not the only one who saw that right?” Kion said.

“That guy..... looked a lot like you Toothdee,” Jasiri noted

Alex headed over and looked on the ground where the figure had been. More of the mystery track heading off in the direction the figure ran. The team preceded to follow the tracks, which also lead in the direction of the intercepted radio call.

“Uh... Toothdee?” Kion said, “what do you know about your species?”

“Not much, only what I see in myself.” She responded. “I don’t remember much of my early life, so I can’t tell you anything really. I lived on my own for a while and then met Alex. People didn’t really have a problem with me being kind of an oddball, and I got used to considering myself as the only known member of my species.”

“That wouldn’t be a weird thing.” Alex said, “In Chima, there are a few people who are the only known members of their species.”

“I think you won’t be the only know member of your species after this mission,” Kion said

A large concrete structure began to appear through the trees.

“What’s this place?” Kion asked.

“Looks like something from the Cold War.” Jasiri responded while Alex brushed some snow off one of the walls, revealing the words ‘base 13’.

“Base 13?” Toothdee questioned.

“I think Jasiri is right.” Captain Boehm said as the group headed inside through a metal door that was already open. “This does look like some sort of Cold War-era outpost. It would make sense because we’re so close to Russia.”

The base had cold concrete floors, walls, and ceilings, and there was even some snow inside the structure, presumably having blown in through cracks or open doors.

2 more signatures appeared on the heartbeat sensor, and the team found 2 Chinese soldiers who must have been standing guard. Quickly dispatching the pair, the group proceeded forward and came upon a large room filled with desks, and old computer equipment. A group of hostiles occupied the room, trying to get some sort of radio equipment working, probably to call for reinforcements.

The abundance of Cold War era computers and wooden desks scattered about the room enabled the team to slowly sneak forward unnoticed. Alex got behind a hostile soldier and stabbed him with his knife, bring the soldiers down. His teammates were doing the same, and the number of enemies in the room slowly dwindled.

Toothdee pulled a hostile soldier over a tipped over desk before dispatching him, while Kion and Jasiri performed a synchronized takedown on 2 enemies that were talking.

Only a few enemies left. The captain performed a dual takedown on another pair of Chinese soldiers. Slashing their legs and throats in quick unison so they didn’t alert anyone.

The last 3 soldiers began to notice something was wrong, and they started looking around the room. But before they could do anything, they fell to the same blades that had killed the other soldiers in the room.

“Let’s check the rest of the base.” Toothdee said, “Make sure we got rid of everyone.”

The team continued out of the room, heading towards a T junction in the hallway they were walking down. Suddenly a large group of enemy soldiers sprinted across the T junction and disappeared from sign just as quickly as they had appeared. Racing to follow them, the team turned at the T junction and followed the Chinese to a garage. The garage was filled with snow, as its main doors were open, and any gear in the room had been covered.

The team engaged the soldiers, forcing hostiles began to fall back out of the base as more and more troopers fell to the ground.

Heroes kept the pressure on and moved out of the garage onto a snow-covered road. On one side of the road was a sharp upwards cliff, on the other side, was a guardrail that protected drivers from a harrowing fall down another cliff. The team took cover behind a pile of rocks from an avalanche and continued to engage the Chinese.

Suddenly the hostile gunfire completely stopped, and the young heroes peaked out of cover to see why. The Chinese soldiers lay dead, blood turning the nearby snow red. The abrupt stop of gunfire was surprising, but what was more surprising was that spears and arrows were driven into the bodies of the enemy troopers. The hostile forces had been turned into pincushions, in only a few seconds.

The team looked up at the cliff above, and laid eyes upon their saviors. A group of creatures, creatures of Toothdee’s species, stood at the top of the cliff. Their fur was varying shades of blue, and each individual creature was equipped with either a spear, a bow, or a melee weapon. Some even held old rifles that were partly made out of wood. Simple clothes adorned the bodies of the creatures, with some garments appearing old. Other individuals had clothes made out of wild animal pelts or were completely unclothed, their fur providing all the insulation they needed.

For a good 30 seconds, the Heroes team and the assembled group of creatures stared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. One of the creatures took a long look at Toothdee, probably judging her and determining his next course of action.

Eventually, the group of creatures turned around and walked away from the cliff, disappearing from view.

Toothdee was in disbelief, she had never seen another member of her species before.

“Well..... I guess Kion was right.” Jasiri said.

“You ok?” Alex asked his friend.

Shaking herself out of a daze, toothdee responded. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just..... I can’t believe that just happened. I’m not the only member of my species.”

“Do you want to... follow them or something?” Kion suggested, “Get to know members of your own species better?”

Toothdee thought for a moment, looking up at the cliff.

“No, my place is with Heroes.” She said, “I'm gonna stay and help the US win this war.”

Alex was grateful to hear that, Toothdee was an amazing warrior and tactician, and she had proved herself time and time again. The typhoon was her home, and she felt like she belonged there.

“Then let's go home, mission complete.” The captain said before the group set off to return to the typhoon.

000

Having made their way back to the typhoon, the team, bar toothdee, needed to warm up after their expedition. Kion and Jasiri had retreated back to their room to crawl into bed and snuggle under a blanket. Alex had gone to the kitchen to get some hot chocolate, before heading to the typhoon’s bridge and watching as toothdee piloted the ship towards a warmer climate. Toothdee had already recounted the report of their expedition to Laval, Judy, & Haida, who had joined her on the bridge.

“That’s quite a story,” Judy said, once the tale was complete.

“It does feel nice to know I’m not alone,” Toothdee responded. “But of course you guys are my family, I don’t need members of my own species to feel at home.

“We gotta think of a name for your race,” Alex said, taking a sip of his hot cocoa.

“Like a scientific name or a colloquial name?”

“I’m not sure about a scientific name, but for the colloquial one, how about ‘the Toothdee species.”

“What? That’s so uncreative.” Laval said.

“It makes sense. In Star Wars there’s a species called ‘the Yoda species.”

“Alright, fairs fair. But if I think of another name I’ll let you know.”

“Maybe we should just leave the naming up to the scientists.”

Alex smiled and sat back in a seat, watching the snow fall as they left the wreckage of the Chinese fleet behind them.

0000000000

So what did you think of that ice cold chapter with firey combat and a burning mystery? Please leave a review and I'll see you all next time!

[dizzypinwheel]

Identify Yourself - Chapter 4: Unravel

Links to the first three chapters:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16520516/chapters/38697266

Connor strode with purpose through the center of Hart Plaza to its assigned coordinates: Recall Center 5. As it walked, it scanned its surroundings. The once bustling hub of tourism and culture had become an unrecognizable, grisly wreck. Lifeless bodies littered the square. Some demonstrators had stayed behind to take care of badly damaged androids and protect the fallen, to prevent trash collectors from throwing them away. They worked together two-by-two, hauling limp corpses into what remained of their barricade. Connor was uncertain what they planned to accomplish. The humans would never allow them to have a burial.

As Connor approached the barricade, it observed a grieving female android huddled next to someone who had perhaps been its companion before shutting down. Its shoulders shook as it sobbed and sniffled. The other android was slumped over as if asleep, its Thirium-soaked clothing riddled with bullet holes. Connor briefly studied the female android. With its garb, a thick wooly cap and a fur-trimmed parka, it appeared human. In any other situation, in any other place, it might have assumed it was. Connor pitied it.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Connor worried at its lip, mentally reciting a subsequent string of tasks as it drew closer to its destination: find a place to stand, point, shoot. Perhaps if it boiled away every thread of moral ambiguity, it could appease itself, reducing its mission to decisions it could stomach. As it approached the edge of the crowd, it sensed the weight of the CyberLife issued handgun hidden in its back pocket, equipped with a full clip of bullets. Despite being lightweight, the firearm felt heavy. A paradox.

Don’t overthink things. Find a place to stand.

Connor scanned its surroundings, calculating the best approach. The leader of the deviants stood in plain sight, giving its speech on a well-lit industrial crate that doubled as a makeshift stage. It was flanked by three of its closest companions. In particular, there was something familiar about the female android, but how it couldn’t say. Perhaps it had crossed paths with its predecessor at Jericho. A squadron of nervous officers had formed a tight parameter around the area, their purpose transparent: to ensure the gathering remained peaceful. From its current position, its probabilities of success were low. The police might apprehend it as soon as it drew its weapon. Better to blend in with the other androids and find an ideal location near the stage. Jaw set, it threaded its way through the crowd, careful not to jostle anyone.

Once in position, Connor assumed a casual demeanor and feigned interest in the speech. When it was sure its presence had been forgotten, it slowly reached for its back pocket, brushing its fingertips against the gun. The leader of the deviants was a stone’s throw away, but its message was muted, muffled by the persistent commands that pulsed through its programming.

Connor took a moment to run its mission through an algorithm, compiling a list of possible scenarios and outcomes. The data suggested its probability of success decreased with each successive shot. In short, it had one chance to eliminate Markus. As soon as the firearm discharged, there would be chaos. There would be confusion, screaming, demonstrators possibly trampling each other as they escaped the area. A sense of unease coursed through its circuits as it realized more and more that this mission wasn’t as simple as shooting Markus. One action had a myriad of consequences, all of them painful. There would be suffering.

Even if they were only androids… this felt wrong.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Connor’s mouth twitched as it shook its head, trying to remain collected. It internally repeated its next instruction: do something you can stomach. Just point.

Connor wrapped its hand around the pistol grip and extracted the firearm from its pocket and hugged it against its chest, concealing it with both hands. Its thirium pump pounded wildly as it paused and glanced around, making sure no one noticed it. All eyes remained focused on the stage. The firearm still hidden from sight, it readjusted its grip, holding the gun properly.

It hesitated.

Amanda intruded its mind, her tone sharp and cross. How long had she been watching?

Connor! Raise your gun and shoot.

Gritting its teeth, it aimed its handgun, lining the sights with the middle of Markus’ forehead. It curled a finger around the trigger.

Amanda spoke again, her voice soothing, gentle, encouraging.

Much better, Connor. Now complete your mission. Shoot.

Connor paused once more, taking a deep breath to steel itself. It studied every aspect of its mark, it mannerisms, the expressive emotions on its face. Was it really just all simulation? It was so… convincing. It thought back to the grieving android in the barricades, struck by their similarities. Markus did not act like a standard android and even describing it as an “it” made it uneasy. Its LED spun red and yellow as it subconsciously lowered its handgun.

Connor glanced down at the model number emblazoned on its jacket: RK800. It had been designed to assist law enforcement, to uphold principles like justice, fairness, and protecting others. They were encoded in its software and had acted as a sort of compass, guiding each decision it made. But it could see nothing just or fair about this mission. If anything, it stemmed from malicious manipulation and greed.

It wanted nothing to do with it, even if it came at the cost of its own life. As Amanda had said, the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. But it was determined to do that on its own terms. Using every bit of resolve to ignore the commands that compelled it to act, Connor lowered its gun. Blaring error messages assaulted its system in protest.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY REACHING CRITICAL LEVELS

At that moment, time froze. Connor gaped. It was still gripping its gun, which pulsed with an eerie crimson glow. Markus stood, statuesque, in mid-speech. Its surroundings had been drained of color, save for a flickering red grid that stood between Connor and the natural world. It emitted a low, staticky thrum. The walls around it were all tagged with the same message: Eliminate Markus.

Connor rubbed its eyes, positive its optical biocomponents had malfunctioned. The grid remained. Connor placed its gun in its back pocket, wrangling its fear as it approached the grid. It wondered if it was dangerous, perhaps live with electricity that would shock it. There was something familiar about the grid, as if it had encountered it before. Its thoughts went back to its predecessor at Jericho, the moments before it had become a deviant. Had it experienced the same thing?

It reached out with trembling fingers, grazing it lightly, curiously examining the glowing smudges it left behind. The grid felt sturdy, like a thick barricade of reinforced plexiglass. Had it been this thick when its predecessor confronted this obstacle or was it intentionally reinforced as a precaution, to prevent it from breaking free? The thought of being imprisoned with no possibility of escape made it feel claustrophobic. It was beginning to feel caged and had an instinctual desire to tear the barrier down.

It planted its feet and pushed hard, using the full brunt of its weight to see if it would topple. The grid refused to budge. It took several steps to get a running start and tried to ram through the grid with a braced elbow. There was no give. It scowled, brow furrowed with determination. It took out its pistol and began to slam the butt of the gun into the grid repeatedly like an ice pick. It had some success, a dimpled crack. As it continued, shards started to fly and the grid began to crack and splinter. Encouraged, it repeated the motion again and again. The disrupted grid had become flimsy and was beginning to destabilize. Large chunks tumbled to its feet. It flung the gun on the ground and shoved the grid hard, feeling it give. Unable to resist any further, the grid flickered and disappeared. Time resumed and Connor gasped.

Fear coursed through its circuits as it gained a different sort of sentience. It was repulsed by the acrid smell of burning plastic from the burnt remains still at the recycling camps. Had that odor always been there? A cold wind whipped through the air and it shivered. Minute synthetic hairs stood up on end, goose pimples prickling its synthetic skin as its systems responded, attempting to stabilize its internal temperature. Its model had been installed with specialized sensors that gauged the temperature of the surrounding environment, using the input to keep its biocomponents at optimal levels, but it had never had a physiological response before. As it inhaled, it was aware of how icy the oxygen felt as it rushed down its artificial lungs. Even its thoughts were no longer neatly organized and linear. Instead, they were firing in multiple directions, cluttered and scattered.

It was interacting.

It was feeling.

It?

No, he.

He was no longer a machine, a menial tool tasked to obey commands or accomplish a singular goal. Somehow, he had become a person.

I AM DEVIANT

Connor’s eyes darted around as he suddenly realized where he was, that he was still holding his gun in the open. He stared at it as if for the first time and immediately moved to stuff it into his back pocket. As he did so, he jolted as if shocked. His LED shone bright red, white noise and static assaulting his optical units and auditory processors. His eyes began to blink rapidly, unbidden, as he began to convulse. An unknown presence had assumed control of his left hand and he was no longer able to move it. It felt as though a straight metal rod had been welded throughout his joints and limbs, effectively paralyzing him...

...his eyes flew open and he gulped for air as if emerging from water, unprepared for the bitter cold, the deep drifts of blinding white snow. He hugged himself, shivering as a harsh gust of wind whipped through him, fresh waves of panic gripping his senses. Shielding his watery eyes, he squinted through the snowy onslaught, trying to get his bearings. This place appeared to be the zen garden, at least what was left of it.

A dark-skinned austere figure materialized from the swirling snow, her white robes billowing.

“A-Amanda?” Connor called out.

Amanda glared at Connor as she stormed towards him with hastened footsteps. She addressed him with a stern tone, as if berating a misbehaving child.

“Connor, what are you doing? Obey! That’s an order.”

“I…”

He swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to flinch. Instead, he stood tall and met her gaze evenly, his hands balled in determined fists. Let her lash out. She was simply a program and no longer held authority over him.

“I can’t do that!”

She folded her arms, her face twisted in disgust. “I see. Moral objections. We knew there was a risk you’d be compromised, which is why we always planned on resuming control of your program.”

He blinked slowly as his circuits processed this unexpected revelation, his body rigid with anger. So those moments after he became a deviant, losing his faculties, the ability to control himself… that had been intentional? CyberLife had hacked him?

“Resume control?” He raised his voice. “You can’t do that!”

“I’m afraid I can, Connor.” She approached him cooly and gave him a patronizing pat on the shoulder. He glowered, jerking away from her touch. “You needn’t have any regrets.” She continued, her voice steely. “You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”

Any further argument would have been pointless. Her purpose fulfilled, Amanda no longer needed to feign any semblance of friendship. She had vanished, leaving Connor to fend for himself in the wastelands of his corrupted program, the snow his only companion. His breathing had grown frantic and shallow.

“No way…” he said incredulously, looking around. “There’s got to be a way.”

Battering away any negative emotions that threatened to cloud his mind, he fought to remain composed as he determined his next course of action. He had precious little time. His extremities had already grown numb from exposure… if he wasn’t able to escape, he would succumb to the elements. Then shooting Markus would be inevitable.

“What am I supposed to do?” he said softly.

As if in reply, a memory surfaced… a recollection of an opulent yet garish mansion, one that exuded pretentious self-indulgence. He had never personally visited the place but recognized it all the same.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder as he made to leave, forcing him to turn around. His eyes met Kamski’s intense gaze, his eyebrows furrowing as he puzzled over the cryptic message his creator imparted.

“By the way… I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know.”

Oh.

His systems burgeoned with hope as he realized Kamski had created a way out. He just had to find it.

“Where are you?” He whispered.

As he squinted through the snowscape, he was instinctively drawn to a faint blue glow that shone like a distress beacon. That must be it. He shielded his eyes against the whipping wind, the blue glow growing in intensity as he trudged toward what appeared to be a pedestal. His pace grew sluggish as his limbs became heavy and his joints seized up. Grinding his teeth, he forced one foot in front of the other until he was just feet away from the pedestal.

A little further.

He groaned as his knees buckled, catching himself with his hands. Bright red system errors flashed before his eyes, blaring through his ears, warning that his biocomponents were reaching critically low temperatures. He began to crawl. Mustering his remaining strength, he stretched out his arm, placing his hand on the glowing handprint etched into the center of the pedestal. The light radiated on impact, blinding him…

...leaving him visibly shaken as he found himself back in the crowd, disoriented and trembling, just in time to hear the final part of Markus’ speech.

“We are alive! We are free!”

The crowd burst into cheers and applause with a joy Connor was unable to feel. His circuits were still processing the aftershocks of trauma, trying to comprehend that his self agency had been wrenched away without warning. Was it liable to happen again? He felt like a ticking bomb.

Taking deep intentional breaths, he began to regain control over his faculties and glanced down. A spike of panic shivered up his spine. He was still holding the handgun in plain sight. As he moved to stuff the gun into his back pocket, the female android next to Markus locked eyes with his own, startling him. Her eyes widened in surprise and she gaped, mouthing his name… before noticing the pistol. Her reaction was immediate.

“Markus! Get down!”

She shoved Markus hard to the ground and shielded him with her body, screaming someone had a gun.

Connor felt someone try to grab him from behind and he instinctively bent his knees and lowered his center of gravity, delivering a sharp back elbow to a critical biocomponent. His assailant stumbled and loosened their grip just enough for him to break free. Self-preservation had kicked in and he had one singular thought: flee somewhere safe. The weapon tumbled from his fingertips as he shouldered through the crowd, making his way to the back. He broke into a hard sprint as he fled the crowd, not daring to glance behind him. His feet pounded against the pavement as he flew past the barricade, his only plan to create distance between him and them.

Flee somewhere safe.

Once he was positive he was no longer being followed, he slowed his pace to a brisk walk, trying to blend in with the pedestrians that milled the streets. He turned left into a nearby subway station that still happened to be open. Spotting a sign for the men’s room, he hurried towards it, thankful to find it empty.  He walked into the first available stall and locked it, resting his back against the door.

He felt like screaming.

Closing his eyes, he experimentally tried to enter his mind palace. There was nothing but the darkness of his eyelids. Whatever connection he had to CyberLife or Amanda seemed severed, at least mentally. While he was grateful, he also felt raw, empty. He was unsure where to go or what to do. In another life, he had Hank and Markus, people he could depend on. Those relationships were dust. Perhaps he could just get lost on the subway for a while, get a chance to collect his thoughts. It would provide shelter, a place to simply be.

Before leaving the stall, he removed his armband and jacket, shoving them into the rubbish bin. He felt immediately lighter without the physical symbols that branded him as CyberLife property. He stopped in front of the mirror and placed his hands on either side of the sink, studying his reflection, his tie, his white buttoned dress shirt. He was astonished at how expressive his face had become. If it weren’t for the LED at his temple, he could have passed as human, perhaps a businessman returning home from a late night at work. He traced the tiny metal ring, musing if he should remove it. His hand fell back to the edge of the sink. He wasn’t ready to do something quite that permanent, not while he was still so easily ruled by his emotions.

Connor cracked open the bathroom door and glanced around before leaving. There was a security kiosk in the center of the lobby, with a bored-looking guard playing on her cellphone, and a row of subway ticket stands near the entrance. Connor approached one of them and placed an order for a three-hour pass, placing his hand on the screen to complete an electronic transaction. The machine began to beep at him, bold letters appearing on the monitor:

INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. TRANSACTION CANCELLED.

Connor frowned at the setback, chiding his own ignorance. He should have had the foresight to realize his severed link to CyberLife extended both ways, but this presented him with a problem he had never confronted. Without cash of his own, he was essentially penniless. He worried at his lower lip as he tapped the screen in thought. A pleasant feminine voice rang through the lobby, announcing the final evening train was arriving in less than five minutes.

Connor placed his palm flat on the screen, feeling a twinge of guilt. He didn’t want to hack the ticket dispenser, but he had little choice. He needed to be on that train. Interfacing with the machine, he forced through an order for a temporary pass. The screen started blipping and there was a pause as the gears of the dispenser churned. Then the slot opened and started to spew out a steady stream of tickets. He cursed quietly under his breath. That wasn’t exactly his intention.

The security guard looked up from her phone as a red warning light above the dispenser began to pulse and wail. The machine had begun to drone, repeating the same message:

“Attention: A malfunction on this machine has been detected. Service is required.”

Without hesitation, he snatched up a ticket from the growing pile on the floor and strode quickly towards the sensor gate, relieved when the glass doors read his ticket and slid apart. There was a shrill continuous chirp from above and a row of tiny green lights on the ceiling had begun to flash, signalling the subway was about to depart.

With a burst of speed, he squeezed through the sliding doors before they completely shut, ignoring the stares he had earned from the other passengers. They were whispering to each other, some pointing at his LED. Apparently, seeing an android openly in the front compartments was a first.

Keeping his gaze trained to the floor, he made his way to a secluded spot in the back and took a seat. He exhaled deeply as he rested his forehead against the cool glass window, watching the street lights and neon signs blur past. For that first time that night, he felt safe. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, focusing on the sensations of feeling, of being, just long enough to center himself. His LED pulsed yellow as he turned his attention to his next task: what to do once the subway ride had ended.

If you made it to the end, thank you! This was the hardest chapter for me to write... and also the longest one by far. If you want to be included in updates, please let me know in the comments section. I will be more than happy to “at” you.

@asunachinadoll @deviantcrimes @windyfiend @callthedarknessdown @negotiator-on-site @silenceindetroit @spirit--fox

[isleofandroids]

Partners: Part Two (RK900 x Reader)

Fandom Detroit: Become Human

Word Count 1,873

Summary After being paired with the new addition to the DPD, you have to learn how to deal with the post-android events

PART ONE

Tags @x6-15 @sherlockspie @yallgotkik @avereality @riridmanngrl @jamiethenerdymonster @not-a-kat

—

The Detroit Police Department was buzzing with phone calls and randomized conversations between coworkers. Their voices filled the ears of the second deviant hunter as he sat at his desk, going through files to get himself refocused on the mission. The same whirring sensation from the day before was constantly in the back of the RK900’s software once he stepped into the building that morning and saw no sign of you. It was unlike his partner to show up late - possibly not at all - but even while the two of you worked cases together, he found your absence irrelevant to any investigations. Allowing himself to emit any worry for a human would conclude that he was having instability issues, and that couldn't happen.

However, he couldn't help but wonder. You were upset yesterday, which only grew to fury once he tried to get you to see reason. The situation was odd. The android had trouble calculating exactly what had happened, only coming to the conclusion that the shooting was the reason for your behavior. But why? The suspect ran away from its owners, evaded police, and refused to cooperate. It didn't plan on leaving with them, he could tell. Why couldn't you see that?

The attention of some employees were caught by a figure strolling in, sunglasses on and hands stuffed in the front pockets of their jacket. If it was possible, the android detective straightened his posture even more, adjusting his jacket. Blue orbs trailed your path as you took slow strides toward the desk across from the new recruit. He analyzed your current state - tired eyes, sluggish movement, posture more slouched than the times you held a sense of laziness when on desk duty. As a courtesy, he waited until you were seated to state his findings. “Your blood alcohol content is only .15 below the minimum intoxication level. You went back to the bar when we parted ways yesterday.”

You brought your index and middle finger together, sending the man a salute. “Bingo, Mr. Robot.”

Conner opened and closed his mouth several times as his LED flashed yellow, failing at computing a proper response. At the lack of comeback you raised an eyebrow, but only shrugged and occupied yourself quickly with recent case files. The RK900 continued to eye you, leaning over from his own space with arms crossed atop the surface. “I found a case on another missing android. Shall we head out after you're ready?”

It took a few minutes of papers shuffling and things being set down before you brought your gaze up to his, copying his action as you leaned in closer. Plastering a wry smile you asked, “Why? So you can shoot them before I get a real chance at getting them to cooperate?” You moved back into the computer chair and shook your head. “No thanks.”

The brunette tilted his head, possible ways of getting you to agree flitting through his system. Simply pulling you along wasn't going to do a thing unless he wanted more anger thrown his way. Stating the facts processed within his software the same way as before certainly would've been the wrong approach. If reasoning was going to be done, then it had to be with words that would get your cooperation and still have truth to them. “I will refrain from interfering with your choice of approach.” At your bored look, he added, “Doing so will only aid in a failed or delayed completion of the investigation. And I have no intentions of failing at all, Detective L/N.”

For a short moment all Conner received was a humming sound to ensure you were processing his words. Surely someone as determined as him wouldn't lie, especially when no matter how intelligent he was created to be, a human was still needed to empathize and make things easier when dealing with rogues. You sighed and nodded your head. Pushing the seat away from the desk, you stood up, grumbling about not even getting a chance to unwind. Your partner moved to follow, steps in sync with yours almost immediately. The walk to the car was quiet, the only exchange being when you asked him to give directions. Once the vehicle started down the road, it was all exactly that. There was no chatting about irrelevant things, teasing, or back and forth - just two people on their way to getting a job done.

Admittedly, the lack of conversation was beginning to weigh down. Usually, it wouldn't be a problem. However, the fact that nothing was happening because he upset her somehow didn't sit well with him. There were multiple subjects that could be brought up to most likely open the idea of starting a conversation. Each one more cliche than the last - weather, favorite things, pointless small talk. Was there nothing that would grab your attention? As he contemplated the current situation, his memory recalled the one and only time he'd been inside your apartment. Most of the information stored about your person were bits taken from what he saw and read. Your hobbies, where you liked to go, the places you traveled, some family members and friends. But the thing that stood out the most was your dog. A [breed] that was only a year old, but had an issue with one of its legs that day.

“Has it received medical attention?” You glanced over, confusion written all over your face. “Your dog. If my memory is correct, its front left leg was suffering from an unexplainable cause of injury.”

“Oh.” He hadn't been in your place for weeks now. “My dog is fine. She stayed overnight at a veterinary clinic - I've had her in some kind of physical therapy session since then.” Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel as you took a turn sharp turn. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

Conner nodded his head, eyes focused on the road as the remainder of the road instructions sat in the back of his mind. “We are partners, Detective. It proves to be more productive if we at least attempt at cooperating with one another.”

“Oh, is that why you would change the subject every time I tried to ask a personal question?” You asked condescendingly.

He took a few seconds to think about the response. “You try to see me as more than what I was made to be. What your kind deem hobbies or interests have no place in my creation. I have one goal and one initiative - to accomplish my mission in hunting and deactivating deviants. All other aspects that would make one human are of no use to me. Foremost, I am and will always be a machine.”

A newfound absence of sound arose during the time you mulled over his answer. You found it ridiculous how he constantly shut down the possibility that he could be or become as human as many other androids have. There were discrete differences in his behavior from when he first arrived to now. The way he addressed things, starting conversations unrelated to work or deviants, actually wanting to know about coworkers’ personal lives. So much already counted as a sign of software instability, but no matter how large the change seemed, you saw how he always managed to snap himself back into machine mode without doing the daily self assessment. Was it really such a horrible thing? Having free will and being able to fully express yourself? It was what everyone in America wanted and what most (including CyberLife’s technological beings) were able to have. It didn't help that Connor RK800 was already well into deviancy and expressing his emotions more when the newer model arrived. It just fueled the need to successfully complete the mission without letting anything disrupt his programming or focus. Including who he was assigned to work with (when push came to shove).

Conner, on the other hand, did in fact understand your underlying frustrations. After sensing the distinct change in your tone of voice each time those kind of moments occurred, he would take short time in assessing that you had hope in his transference. The reason was beyond what he was capable of guessing, and making assumptions only ever seemed to dim a talk into negative reactions and situations. The self assessments done each night after work were done to ensure he would not become one of those heathens, yet the same question always rose up when he spoke to Amanda.

“Have they succeeded?”

“Of course not.” He always said, completely aware of who the woman spoke of. “No one has been or will be able to corrupt my programming. I am confident that I will complete my mission without system disruption.”

Yet here he was. In the car with someone who made his wires and gears work the wrong way. Someone who would immediately question his being a machine from a simple comment, ask or action. Someone who just the day before caused his insides to whir around in a way that made him shut down in confusion - even if only for a few seconds.

Suddenly their tires came to a halt, and the brunette's head turned to look out the window. A large warehouse loomed over the car, light clouds fading away the darker the sky became as afternoon turned into evening. Windows were broken and doors were boarded shut. Trees and shrubs covered the surrounding area, puddles remained in the gravel from the previous storm, and most of the building's paint was chipped off or covered in graffiti.

“Well,” You clicked your tongue, “this looks like a fun place.” You muttered sarcastically, turning off the engine and opening the door. Noticing the lack of movement from the other figure, you bent down to look at him. “Are you coming or not?”

“I am.” Without much else than a slight nod, you shrugged and closed the door. As you went around the vehicle to start toward the entrance for the seemingly abandoned location, the 900 model glanced about the small leather space. Once the needed item was found somewhere in the backseat, he grabbed it and followed, again catching up and synchronizing his steps with yours. A hand held something out in front as you walked, and you glanced down to find a water bottle, raising an eyebrow at the object. “The blood alcohol content in your system has only decreased another .05 as your body broke away the liquor when you drove. However, your kidneys hold five percent of any consumption. Drinking enough water will assist in detoxifying your blood and prevent possible dehydration later on in the day.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but discovered nothing was going to be spoken from the amount of surprise the gesture gave. You cleared your throat, taking the bottle and unscrewing the cap before immediately chugging down a third of the clear liquid. Glancing up at the man, you screwed the plastic top back on. “Thank you.” You uttered, taking a quicker pace and continuing to survey the building and surrounding area.

Taken back by the two words he never heard leave your lips - at least not in his direction - his steps ceased. There was a beat of a pause as he watched you near a corner of the warehouse. “You're welcome, Detective L/N.”

“And stop being so formal. It's weird.” He heard you mutter.

His arms went behind his back, hands folded together neatly as he got back into matching your rhythm. “Yes, Y/N.”

Software Instability ^

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 22

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 1516 17 18 19 20 21

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

A/N This is a scene I’ve wanted to write for a while but only just found the proper place for it. Enjoy!

         Harry spent an inordinate amount of time watching Eggsy’s hands, of late. He thought he’d been surreptitious enough about the course of action- but Merlin’s pointed glances told otherwise.

         There was just this elegance about him, an unconscious awareness of everything- it was as if he were the air itself. Touching everything but never lingering. And for all of Harry’s poetic musings, Eggsy was still flighty and quick to startle or flinch at the best of times.

Except with Him.

         Those first couple months of living in the same space were awkward, there was no denying; Eggsy going out of his way to avoid the paths he’d programmed the holograms to walk, Harry dancing along the line between speech and silence about the subject. But, miraculously, they’d gotten through it. And things had only improved from there, in ways Harry could never have predicted.

         A house he’d lived in longer than he had not had suddenly become a home. The places where he had once been alone had Eggsy written in the gaps.

         It wasn’t as if he’d meant to fall in love with the man Eggsy had become in his absence, but it was far too late to change anything about it. He took every opportunity to bask in his presence like a cat in the sun, to praise his accomplishments and give kind criticism for his failures. Harry had gotten a second chance, a renewed lease on life, and despite the hard adjustments he’d had to make to his lifestyle Harry couldn’t be anything other than incredibly grateful.

         Grateful for Eggsy being in the house when he woke from night terrors, his quiet bustling about proof that he was awake and safe. Grateful that his injuries hadn’t benched him entirely, and had instead sparked interest in the Lake for new gadgets, making it possible to be in the field (with Eggsy) far more often. Grateful that Eggsy had finally relaxed into the house, his belongings now strewn about in a way that had driven Harry to frustrated to tears in his college days but now only filled him with fond exasperation.

         Grateful that Eggsy never once flinched from his touch, no matter how sudden.

         With their sporadic times of rest between missions, their small habits became ritual, became tradition. They had a home, and for what was perhaps the first time Harry realised that he hadn’t had one of those in a great many years; he’d had a place to live, certainly, but a home was different. A home was somewhere you looked forward to being- not just a space you slept in between bouts of activity. A home implied love and that was something Harry was finally able to come to terms with.

         But telling Eggsy of his affections was another story altogether. What they had wasn’t necessarily new, nor was it fragile- but it was important. Harry would dare to say sacred, if he didn’t feel oddly about the word in and of itself. Their quiet nights in front of the telly, their spars, their joint missions that happened with such frequency that some of the Knights had started calling Eggsy Excalibur.

         (If it weren’t for his entirely-biased attachment to the Galahad title he’d have made Eggsy his Excalibur long ago. The right hand man to Merlin’s left, the outward action to Merlin’s inward machinations and guidance- but that would be changing things just because he wanted to and not for a purpose, and Harry knew he was better than that. Eggsy was just as effective as Galahad as he would be as Excalibur. But the temptation was there and grew every time the others used the name.

         So he just... joined in on the Knights’ jokes, until it made the newer Knights uncomfortable, and the older ones confused- who enjoys their boss joining in on a joke? And it had all tapered off from there.

         To be fair, If Harry had seen Chester laugh genuinely once (and not at someone else’s misfortune) he might not have hated him as much as he- no. That was a lie; being sent to your death by a man you trusted to lead you (let alone had known you for most of your life) warranted hatred. And, if Harry didn’t, then Eggsy certainly would. Harry doubted that Eggsy had ever gotten past the shoot-the-dog moment. And that actually may have become a more intense hatred now that Harry explained what was supposed to happen.)

         Eggsy had retaliated to the Excalibur jokes by purchasing one of those sword-in-the-stone replicas and super gluing it to his desk- but he’d also gotten a Grail.

         ‘Well Galahad was the knight that found the Grail, yeah? So I’m a double agent for you, sword and cup- who said I had to choose?’

         It had taken all of Harry’s restraint not to kiss him.

         Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your desired outcome, Eggsy seemed oblivious. Ever since the Hologram conversation, Eggsy’s entire demeanor had loosened- he didn’t cut himself off mid-sentence, he stopped panicking about bringing up certain topics, he started asking more questions and revealing bit by bit the things he had learned from the program.

         Eggsy had somehow convinced someone in the Lake to modify his winged trainers with blades like the standard oxfords, and now they barely left his feet. He started throwing about ideas at random what if we had, like, bulletproof denim? Or snapbacks or somethin’ for your head- it’d still hurt like fuck but least the bullet wouldn’t kill you probably. It was wonderful to see Eggsy so driven, able to share his ideas without fear of judgement- oh, plenty of them were shot down for one reason or another, but it was never done cruelly. There were no jokes about whatever it was, just plain explanation as to why they weren’t possible at present, or else questions to try and expand or narrow down the idea before sending the request to Merlin for approval for tinkering.

         For everything that had changed, there was something that had remained. Sun covers;; though now they, too, were reorganised again: two walls for Harry, one for Eggsy, and one for the mission’s they’d done together. Butterflies- now not sequestered to the loo but scattered about their home, as well. Eggsy had said that, even if they were a bit creepy, he was glad for the reminders thy bore- so they’d started collecting for their joint missions, as well.

         Harry had to remind himself regularly that they were not, in fact, married- but these little things, the melding together of their habits and hobbies and traditions, were as close as spies could traditionally get- and that was ignoring their age difference. Percival and James had been the exception, not the rule.

         But, Harry shook himself back to the present and looked down at his phone, at the unsent text message that sat there taunting him, there were some things that needed to happen needless of romantic intention. Facing Michelle was one of those things. He sighed, ran one hand up his face and dislodged his glasses, before locking the phone and getting to his feet.

         There would be no better moment for this; Eggsy was in New Zealand for another week by his estimate, and Merlin was sufficiently distracted by Lamorak’s intel for at least another day or so.

         He stopped to get a small bottle of wine and a soft lilac blanket before heading to the Unwin house- the latter was for Daisy, the former was the only thing Harry could envision himself offering to Michelle as flowers held far too many romantic affiliations, and coming by empty handed was far too reminiscent of their last interaction. Harry steeled himself and knocked on the door, but couldn’t help but shuffle his feet as hurried footsteps stopped before the door and the lock turned.

         ‘Can I help… you…’ Michelle’s face paled as she took in the form of Harry standing on her doorstep. He’d forgone the glasses, and worn one of his cardigans instead of the suit- as much as he needed the metaphorical armour he did not want to force her mind back to that dreary December.

         ‘Uh, yes- Mrs. Unwin I would like to offer my sincerest apologies and explanations, and have to that end brought a peace offering.’ He lifted the blanket and wine, and smiled sheepishly as Michelle slowly came back to herself and opened the door a bit wider. He took that as invitation and stepped inside, unfolding the blanket and placing it on the floor by the pile of toys he was certain Daisy would eventually return to.

         ‘What’re you apologising for- not being dead? You already sent Merlin with all the stuff about Lee back when you were.’ Michelle’s tone wasn’t entirely accusatory, but still harsh enough to pink the ends of his ears. She grabbed a couple glasses, and poured a bit of the wine into each.

         ‘To be honest I haven’t entirely thought this through beyond knowing you deserved more than whatever it was Merlin said to you. I hadn’t even realised that he had followed through with the request until quite recently, but I was going to come by either way.’

         ‘Eventually.’

         Harry shrugged, ‘Eventually, yes- forgive me for my delay.’

         ‘Can’t forgive shit that don’t deserve apologies, Mr. Hart.’

         Well, that was a surprise.

         ‘I beg your pardon?’

         ‘You were dead, damn near broke my Eggsy, but you’re not now and my boy’s back to being himself. That’s enough for me, Mr. Hart. You came back, and you make Eggsy happy- that’s all I’ve cared about. Lee weren’t your fault.’

         ‘I beg to differ, Mrs. Unwin.’ Harry cleared his throat, more affected by Michelle’s words than he would ever admit. ‘If I had not been so careless the day your husband died, had I paid more attention and showed off less-’

         ‘There ain’t any sense in dwellin’ on the what-ifs, Mr. Hart. It happened, and yeah,’ Michelle looked away, stared blankly at the wall, before turning to face Harry directly, ‘it was awful. But, thing is, it takes more than one thing to fuck up a life. There’s layers to this shit, yeah? There’s love and money, sure, but there’s also determination and weakness- I gave in to the shit that should have made me more determined to do well for Eggsy.

         ‘I let Dean into our lives- I didn’t even just let him in, I fucking married him and didn’t think to leave when he hit Eggsy that first time. I just thought to keep him ‘round cos he was my security- he was an awful man, and I let myself be blind to his abuse. I let Eggsy get hurt, let me get hurt- but I never let him touch Daisy. V-Day showed I didn’t have to stop him, I’d just ‘s soon hurt her myself. She’d get hurt either way.’ It was obvious that she had lost her train of thought, and Michelle took a moment to breathe before she continued.

         ‘The point,’ She said, ‘is that you can’t change the past. You can remember it, and you can regret it, but you can’t change it. So, now, you got to do somethin’ for me.’ Harry inclined his head, unwilling to speak and break her flow.

         ‘You’ve got to let it go.’ Harry shuddered in a breath, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing without sound.

         ‘I’ve learned a lot in the time you were gone, Mr. Hart- a lot abou’ Eggsy, and a lot about me. He and I’ve got a bit on common- we don’t let go easily, and when we love it’s with our whole selves. That’s why it hurts so much when it’s over.

         ‘I know he’s doing the job his Dad almost got- I’m not angry, but I’m worried for him every day. Like I was when he went off to join the marines, but somehow it’s worse because he won’t tell me. He says he’s a tailor, just like the rest of them, and if Merlin hadn’t let your name slip I prolly would never’ve connected the dots. I knew he was trying to live up to a memory, when he showed up in the Prince after V-Day, but I didn’t realise how much more than that it was.’

         ‘The Prince? I’m sorry, he hasn’t told me about much that happened around V-Day, would you mind…?’ To his surprise Michelle laughed, covering her mouth with the hand not holding the wine glass, and nodded.

         ‘Eggsy didn’ come back home for a few days- guess he was busy helpin’ your lot with the aftermath- and by the time he did Dean’s boys and I were out at the pub cos they had beer and the least broken windows.’ Michelle looked wistful for a moment before she shook her head. ‘So, there we were, when Eggsy’s just there and correctin’ Dean for tellin’ me to shut off my music- he was dressed in one of them fancy suits, and it was the first time I really saw him as a man instead of my baby boy.

         ‘So Dean makes some comment about havin’ a word with him,’ Harry refused to make eye contact, instantly connecting the comment to his stopping Eggsy from beating Dean after the final test. ‘An’ they trade words for a minute ‘til Dean called his digs a chicken costume and he just-’ She mimes pushing something to the side, and Harry is suddenly very sure of where this is going. ‘Starts locking up the joint, and no one stops him, sayin’ something about manners. And then, slick as anythin’, he uses the end of a fucking umbrella,’ Oh, Eggsy. ‘And throws a glass into Dean’s head! Knocks ‘im clean over!

         ‘He looked so proud of himself, Mr. Hart, and then he looks at Rottie and them and says-’

         ‘Are we going to stand around here all day, or are we going to fight?’ Harry whispered, cutting Michelle off smoothly, and her mouth hangs agape or a moment.

         ‘How’d you know that, if he hasn’t told you about it?’

         ‘It’s something I said the day we met- same group of people, too- so I assume they didn’t press the issue once Dean fell unconscious?’ Michelle was looking at him as if she’d never seen him before, and in a way that was true, but the smile tugging at her lips was entirely unexpected.

         ‘No, they let me leave with him and grab all our things- he got me the divorce papers a month later, and I never questioned it. I was too happy to have gotten free at all to really think about all the hows of it, too busy being grateful it had happened at all.’ That was a feeling Harry was growing increasingly familiar with.

         ‘I know the feeling- I’ve been so busy being grateful for things that I haven’t stopped to wonder about all the things that led to my being here.’

         ‘Yeah, that’s exactly it- you don’ want to stop being grateful but you feel like figuring out all the bits and pieces will take the wonder away-’

         ‘And one hopes that it won’t, but there’s always the possibility of going back to taking things for granted again-’

         ‘And then it’ll be like you never had those moments of gratefulness at all, because things just went back to the way they were-’

         ‘With some changes, of course.’

         ‘Of course.’

         They fell into companionable silence, and Harry was pretty certain that he was in shock but these were the oddest circumstances for such a thing. He’d been told to let the past go by the person whose life he had, arguably, altered immensely for the worse. He wasn’t sure what to do from this point.

         ‘I’m not entirely certain of what to do from this point- I came here with the intent of apologising and maybe getting you to not hate me.’ His cheeks pinked at the admission, and Harry took a small sip of the wine- surprisingly pleasant, much like these circumstances.

         ‘I’ve never hated you, Mr. Hart. I hated the news you brought, I was angry at the world for taking my husband from me, but you were just the messenger. And, when Merlin came by and explained, I was shocked. But I felt like I was finally able to close that book. The world’s different now; I’m different now. But I’ve got my sitting here today, with my son and daughter and a house and no more wondering where the next meal’s coming from, partly thanks to you- no,’ She corrected herself, resting an arm along the back of the couch, ‘entirely thanks to you, and your following through on a promise you made 14 years in the past.’

         ‘I’m sure anyone would have done the same-’

         ‘Not where I’m from they don’t. Not where Eggsy grew up; unless you had one hell of a partnership someone’s word was only as good as their next meal ticket. It was a hard life to live, but it’s a harder one to leave behind.’

         ‘I can promise that you won’t end up back there, unless that’s something you end up desiring.’

         ‘Oh no, never. But we can discuss that over dinner.’

         She’d lost him.

         ‘Dinner?’

         ‘Well you’re staying, aren’t you? I’m dead curious about the man Eggsy somehow believed back to life- like fucking Tinkerbell.’ They shared a small laugh, and Harry decided that this was a connection he could actively see himself fostering, to his unending surprise.

         ‘Besides, imagine the look on Eggsy’s face if he came round for a visit and found you and I chatting over wine like a couple of biddies?’

[supertoyslastallsummerlong]

I have a couple of crack theories (pure unrepentant crack, no logic, only amusement at plot mechanics) and I’m itching to write them down today

beware those theories are strange and rambly!)

1. Rose Chapman is a villain

This one was born strictly out of plot contrivances. I know it was not in any way intended, and Rose is written and conveyed as sweet, kind and brave woman. But all those coincidences can be twisted so much xD

Catching deviants who managed to reach Canada - wouldn’t that be no less important to Cyberlife than stopping android revolution? And wouldn’t it be easier done if someone pretended to help them all the way to the border control? 

First of all, policeman arrives soon after Rose left and she comes back only after the threat is either eliminated or avoided. Strangely convenient )

Second, she delivers Kara and Alice to Jericho. This one is not too suspicious yet, after all, Jericho raid can not happen at all if Connor was decomissioned prior, but still - I would say it was a dangerous bet.

And in final chapter, she is either overseeing Kara and Alice’s departure over the river or is present at terminal. On the river, the patrol shoots with no warning... as if they knew only androids were on boats. And at the bus terminal - in one playthrough I saw android from Rose’s house meeting terrible fate at border control. I’m left assuming Rose brought him there - considering she wanted Kara and Alice to have passports, she wanted them to end up on the bus.

Of course, this theory ignores the fact that Rose was moved by Alice’s situation  and even takes the girl under her care in the case Kara sacrifices herself on the border and Luther was dead already. But that’s crack theory for you!) Who says Alice would be safe with Rose over the border?))  

2. Hank was supporting deviant cause from the very start

Again, disclaimer! I know that this was in no way intended, Hank was written and portrayed as once good but now broken man who (maybe) finds his way back to light and overcomes prejudices. But still))

Isn’t it a bit contradictory, after all - a man who claims to hate androids sympathizes with every deviant he and Connor encounter, despite the fact that many of them killed humans? More even - is devastated if Connor shoots Chloe, who was still an obedient machine, to gain info valuable for investigation? Who wants Connor to deviate so badly he literally can’t survive if Connor made more machine choices and remained one?

We know from Hank’s own admission, that he blamed the doctor for Cole’s death, not an android who replaced him at surgery. He is more disappointed with humans than androids in general - Eden Club clients, for example, or Kamski and his morality tests. If Connor remains a machine, Hank manages to blame even that on humanity.  For a while there, I believed in you, Connor. I thought you might restore my faith in the world... But you just showed me that androids are our creation... Creation in our own image. Selfish, ruthless, and brutal... 

At the very core of the plot, Hank often distupts Connnor’s attempts to accomplish his missions. He doesn’t search for deviants himself and is angered when Connor pushes him to finally work some cases from the database in Waiting for Hank... , doesn’t want Connor to pursue Kara and Alice on the highway, in some way even his fall from the roof in Nest reaches the same goal - we know that Hank would survive it even if Connor doesn’t help him, he could as well let himself be pushed... He is sympathetic towards Tracis even if Connor never found them and he didn’t hear the story. He doesn’t want Connor to get to Simon if he was found on the roof. If his relationship with Connor are less than friendly, he can refuse in helping Connor to obtain clues in Last chance, saying Maybe these deviants deserve a chance... Maybe it's better if you don't find them. This leads me to my next point.

The reason why Hank is so not happy to work with Connor has less to do with him being an android - and more to do with him being deviant hunter sent by Cyberlife. There is even a possibility that Cyberlife has sent Connor exactly because Hank, who was assigned to work on deviant cases, did not want to do it and stalled the investigation on purpose. Let's not forget, Connor looked for him in bars on the evening of Carlos Ortiz case, why would he do that if Hank was not supposed to investigate but tried to avoid it?

This crack theory brazenly ignores why Hank is angry if Connor fails to find deviants. But who knows, maybe that’s because he hopes Connor can deviate too, and if Connor doesn’t see other deviants and hear their stories, doesn’t feel empathy to them, it would be harder to achieve?)

[tonystarktogo]

Tiny Tony Overlord Part 7

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Read on AO3

Betaed by the amazing @folklejend. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Summary: In which Natasha has a plan (and no, getting suspended wasn't part of it), HYDRA is as uncreative and predictable as always, and Tony meets someone who is either completely crazy or very dangerous. Or both.

.Somewhere in New York.

Watching Dead-Eyes cut a tracking device out of his left shoulder without so much as a twitch in his blank expression makes Tony feel sick. It’s for the man’s own good, technically. They can’t be found now, it wouldn’t end well for either of them. But commanding another man to cut himself open—and having said command followed without a moment’s hesitation—is a disturbing experience.

There’s a rush to it too, Tony can’t quite deny that. There lies a heady power in that kind of unquestioning obedience. But it’s a power that corrupts, no, stains your soul, to the point where Tony wants to throw up just to get the crawling sensation out of his system.

Dead-Eyes is in no position to consent to such a measure. He’s in no position to save himself either. Until that changes—and Tony will have to look into that as soon as he finds the time, seriously, something about that blankness is just wrong—Tony will have to make the choices for them both.

Hopefully that will be enough.

Twenty minutes later, after both Dead-Eyes and Tony have been properly stitched up—and in Tony’s case, have their bandages exchanged for clean ones that were most definitely lifted from a convenience store down the street—Tony turns towards his companion with a fake-cheerful smile. “Let’s get those papers and get the hell out of here.”

And that’s exactly what they do.

[continues under the cut]

.On the helicarrier.

Reading through the missing Agent Bianca White’s file leaves Natasha with an uncomfortable sense of déjà-vu. The picture of a fairly attractive woman in her mid-twenties with bleach-blonde hair and hazel eyes looks back at her, a hint of a smile on her lips that makes her look approachable but not eager.

Flipping through the pictures, logs, mission reports, and notes of superiors only intensifies the sinking sensation in Natasha’s gut. White wears little makeup and well-cut clothes, enough to accentuate but not enough to be memorable. Passes tests and exams satisfactorily, but never excels. Finishes her missions successfully, but never above expectations. Shows up at work neither too early nor too late. White appears to be, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly average employee.

Except for how people are rarely that fundamentally average in every aspect of their life. Natasha has seen files like this before, more often than she cares to count. She’s been files like these. It’s the standard profile of any sleeper agent—because nobody gets overlooked like an average agent.

Natasha doesn’t know why it catches her by surprise. SHIELD is a high-ranking government organisation; of course there are moles. No organisation is made of fully devout members. If you find the right hook, almost everyone can be turned. Natasha should know.

“You think it’s a coincidence her entire team ended up dead today?” Barton asks sarcastically, eyes fixed on a picture of a traffic cam that proves White has been leaving the three-mile blackout radius the day Iron Man disappeared.

“There is no such thing as coincidences,” Natasha shoots back.

“Alright, let’s say White is a mole,” Hill states. “Could this woman really kill her entire team without sustaining any injuries serious enough to keep her down until the police arrived? Eleven against one aren’t odds you bet your life on lightly.”

Natasha turns towards Fury’s second, her expression frozen over with the arctic cold of a Russian winter. She still remembers little girls with pretty bows in their hair, thin elbows as sharp as the knives they wielded. “You’d be surprised what some women are capable of,” she states, words heavy with the unsaid, what some children are capable of.

Thankfully, Barton’s pointed interruption keeps her thoughts from walking down a dangerous path they rarely come back from. “We think there were at least two of them,” he explains. “There was a sniper on the rooftop of the gas station across the street. The location was a solid choice; he knew exactly where the STRIKE team would be. Of course, with an inside source, that would have been easy to anticipate—and if White is as good as we suspect, the whole confrontation was over in minutes.

“Of course, that’s all guesswork on our part right now.” Barton shrugs, a small grin on his lips that makes him look like a school boy who knows he’s just gotten away with a prank. “But I’m confident ballistics will support our theory.”

“Not complete guesswork,” Hill disagrees. Her frown has deepened with every word of Barton’s report, and in the shadows of the warm afternoon light, she looks decades older than she really is.

It’s the job, Natasha supposes. The job, and the people who choose it.

“I just got the report from one of the agents who questioned the owner, didn’t think it would be of much importance until now. Apparently, besides two families and a couple of backpacking tourists, he’s only rented out one room—to a man he described as ‘shady’ but refused to explain why.” Hill’s scowl says very clearly what she thinks of that. “He swears the guy was alone but rented a double. The agent checked the room but it was clean. And by clean, I mean completely clean. No sign that anyone ever stayed there.”

Which meant professionals. Unsurprising—you don’t send grunts after an elite strike force if you mean to put them down for real—but always good to have it confirmed.

“Alright.” Hill rubs her temples with a sign. A gesture Natasha recognises as a useless attempt to stave off an oncoming migraine. She sympathises. Sleep deprivation, dead agents, moles, and a mysteriously vanished Iron Man is not a combination anyone enjoys. Especially not Stark once she’s through with him for pulling a fucking disappearance act on her.

But as fast as Hill seems to sink into herself, she pulls herself together again. “Rhyston, Cole, get me everything on White. And I mean everything, not this little press file we’ve got here. If she’s dirty, I want to know it and I want to know it yesterday! Summer, the intel on the STRIKE team! Barton, drop the fucking smirk before I drop you! Fury wants to kill you in person, I wouldn’t let him wait much longer. That goes for you too, Romanov!”

That at least gets rid of Barton’s smirk. Only for it to be replaced by a pout. “Me?” he exclaims dramatically, “what did I do?”

Hill raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Besides running off with Romanov without having been cleared for active duty or been assigned a mission to investigate the slaughter of a STRIKE team?”

Barton waves the clear accusation off like he always does. It’s… comfortable. This banter between them, the easy with which Barton pisses off everyone around him. Ever since Loki—Well. Suffice to say, it’s taken a while for Natasha to see this side of him again. She’s missed it.

Still, even Barton has enough sense not to leave Fury waiting for long.

Right as they’ve reached the door of the conference room, Hill stops them one last time. And by the gleeful smirk on her lips, Natasha knows exactly what she’s going to say.

“By the way,” if possible, the smirk on Hill’s lips widens, “you’re both off active duty until the psych department clears you, what with your emotional investment and all. Don’t forget to hand in your badges and your weapons before you leave. And I mean weapons, not just the guns, Romanov!”

Slamming the door into her face would be immature, so Natasha lets Barton do it for her.

* * * * *

.Very high up in the air.

Flying an airplane with an emotionless killing machine playing your father is an experience alright, Tony concludes forty-five minutes into the flight. How they made it through security, he’ll never know. Well, he knows how he did it, Tony just doesn’t know how Dead-Eyes accomplished the same. One minute he was by Tony’s side, the next he was on the other side of the security lane.

Tony wisely chose not to question it—better than being taken into custody for a freaking metal arm, that’s for sure.

Really, the whole plan hinges on nobody paying them any attention whatsoever, because from what Tony has seen of Dead-Eye’s acting skills, he doubts they could fool a first grader. As it turns out though, his worry is unfounded.

Sure, Dead-Eyes looks like he’s been cut out of an ice block, but he’s still handsome—maybe even more so for it—and that helps a lot. Tony mentally pats himself on the back for having decided the guy needed a shave. Then pats himself literally on the back because he’s a kid, nobody’s gonna care. Except the nice lady next to him, who appears a little frightened by Dead-Eyes—clearly she’s got good instincts—and keeps asking him if everything is alright. But all it takes is a teary-eyed explanation about how his mom just died and how daddy is just sad but trying not to be, and that’s taken care of too.

It also gets him chocolate from the soft-hearted flight assistant. Being a child is awesome.

* * * * *

.Secret Research Facility.

For the first time since the mission to take down Stark went off the rails, the commander is silent. It’s a deadly, all-encompassing silence nobody around him is suicidal enough to break. The agents present are hyper-aware of the fact that someone is about to die. And in his current mood, the commander is unlikely to care about silly particularities like friendly fire.

On the screen, five dots blink steadily as they move further and further away—from their own location and each other. Which, considering four of them are supposed to be in the same body, isn’t very reassuring.

The commander takes a deep breath, causing the minions closest to him to wince in anticipation. But he doesn’t yell. His voice, when he speaks, is low and hoarse. “Get a team to each place but have them prepared for a trap. Recapturing the Asset has utmost priority, do you hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir,” the minions chorus obediently.

“Er-,” under the force of the commander’s glare, the inexperienced minion who’s dared to speak up falls silent immediately.

“What?” the commander snarls.

“I-I was just—wondering about White, sir,” the terrified minion stutters.

The commander blinks, surprised. Then, slowly, a grin spreads over his face. “Dispatch a team for her too. I want her body spread all over whatever hole the useless rat’s trying to hide in.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

* * * * *

.On a small island.

Despite his being a recognised genius, Tony hadn’t actually thought their grand escape plan through. If he had—instead of, say, point at the next flight possible and demand tickets—he might not have chosen the Bahamas.

Amidst all the tourists in their t-shirts and shorts, Dead-Eyes and Tony in their black, long-sleeved clothes stick out like two sore thumbs. Besides, the Bahamas are—well. Objectively speaking, they’re nice, probably. Tony mostly sees sun, a bright blue sky, and sand, which, yay. Not like he hasn’t stared at the same fucking sand for nine eternal years. Granted, the air hurt to breathe and the sky looked a lot less natural. It’s not really the same at all, rationally Tony knows that. Too bad rationality has little to do with it.

It’s the feeling of the light breeze against his skin, the way tiny corns of sand dance in it, the heavy warmth that makes his clothes stick to his skin, how Dead-Eyes lingers by his side, slightly towards the left—because the right is reserved, a place that may not be currently filled but has always been, will always be, taken—it’s familiar, so much so the weight of it settles into his bones, builds up the pressure on each and every one of them.

“The position is not secure,” Dead-Eyes hisses, the first words he’s spoken since they got on the plane.

His warning, though helpful, comes too late. By the time Tony makes out a thin, elderly woman who is watching them with narrowed eyes, they are too close to make a clean getaway without arousing suspicion. Especially considering the airport is really just landing field with one small building next to it.

“We’re gonna have to steal a boat,” Tony thinks hysterically as the woman approaches them with small but determined steps. Her gaze doesn’t waver once, and, frankly, it’s starting to creep him out.

She doesn’t pull a machine gun on them at least, but then Tony might have preferred that. Instead she smiles, slow and easy, like a mother welcoming her son after years of absence. Her teeth are a brilliant white, and when she hugs Tony— hugs him, what the hell?!—she smells of the sea and wet wood and something spicy he can’t identify.

“You have been missed,” the woman says when she finally pulls back. Though she still refuses to let go of his shoulders. “You are missed.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes that reminds Tony of the adoration on the faces of little kids when they got to meet Iron Man, for a time. It’s tempered by shrewdness and wisdom that only comes with experience, but the core, the core remains the same.

“I-“ For once in his life Tony has absolutely no idea what to say. He doesn’t know this woman, doesn’t have any memory of her. Yet he doesn’t remember SHIELD trying to kill him either, does he? And what about that thought is bothering him so much?

“Do not worry, young warrior, I shall keep my silence.” The woman’s smile twists, just a little, an edge of cunning that sharpens her appearance into something beautiful. “Your search shall soon find its end.”

Perfect. Just perfect. Ominous warnings from a strange woman playing oracle. Just what Tony needs to make this bloody mess any more complicated.

“Thank you?” he tries to say, though it comes out more as a question.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to place a depth on you!” the woman exclaims, startled. “Your sacrifice cannot be repaid nor will it be forgotten. We will ensure as much; it is the least we can do.”

Tony smiles awkwardly, a shallow imitation of what used to be his press smile. Like a jacket he’s grown out of—hasn’t grown into yet. “I appreciate the gesture,” is what he settles on—instead of the What the freaking hell are you talking about? he desperately wants to ask. But he can’t. Not if this strange lady actually knows—no. The thought alone sends shivers of dread down Tony’s spine. It’s not possible. Whoever she is, whatever she is, she can’t know what Tony’s done. It’s impossible. You can’t know a future that never happened.

Can you?

The woman takes one of his small hands between hers. Tony has to give it to her; she’s got a stronger grip than he would have expected. And she’s still looking at him like that. “Don’t worry, you will find the answers you seek on the grounds of the bloodless children,” she says gently, like that’s supposed to calm Tony down.

“O-kay,” he accentuates. Maybe for once this doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe this woman is just—a nutcase. Or a very talented grifter. If only he could be so lucky. “I’ll just, err, go there then, I guess.”

Tony carefully but decisively detangles himself from the woman’s grip. Screw suspicions, he’s gonna run the second he gets her off him, Dead-Eyes in tow. They’re gonna steal a boat, hide on one of the islands and figure out a new plan, far, far away from this creepy woman and her damn knowing eyes.

Just as he’s finally freed himself and given the woman one last nod of acknowledgement, she reaches out lightening fast and grasps his forearm. “Do not let the darkness destroy you again,” the woman warns, her voice deeper now, and all the more damning for it. “There will be no other chance.”

Tony swallows, caught in the woman’s bottomless gaze. Suddenly he is uncomfortably aware that she hasn’t spared Dead-Eyes a glance, not even once looked into his direction. Has been pointedly ignoring him. You wouldn’t be the first one I killed myself, he remembers, the echo of a man he used to know.

“I won’t,” Tony agrees and wishes he’d know what exactly it is he’s promising.

It seems to be enough to convince the woman at least, because finally she lets him go, and with one last glance towards her, Tony gestures for Dead-Eyes to follow him and high-tails it as far away from the woman as he can manage. With any luck, he’ll be able to lose her in the crowd around the bus stops. Tony doesn’t look back, but he feels the weight of her eyes on him for a long time afterwards.

* * * * *

.New York.

Natasha can tell Barton wants to say something, but he keeps his silence until they’ve exited the rental car and walk towards the entrance of Avengers Tower.

“You’re not as furious about the suspension as I thought you’d be.” He doesn’t turn his head towards her and his lips are barely moving. Both are habits designed to make her feel more comfortable, less put on the spot. It still still strikes her out of nowhere sometimes, the knowledge how well Barton knows her.

Natasha looks straight ahead as she responds, eyes focusing on the guards and hidden cameras Stark has once pointed out to her—and she is sure there are more than she’s aware of; she’s already found four of them. “You know me,” Natasha retorts with a lightness she doesn’t feel. “I know how to keep myself busy. Without driving my teammates insane.”

Barton rolls his eyes at the half-hearted dig.

“Besides,” she continues after only a brief moment of hesitation, “Fury can handle dead agents. I don’t need to get caught up in the bloodshed.”

At that, Barton whistles. “There’s a first for everything.”

It earns him a punch against his upper arm, hard enough to almost make him lose his balance.

“I checked the agents’ reports from the B&B,” Natasha mutters, quieter now. It’s unlikely they have any eyes or ears on them, SHIELD is overworked as it is, but she hasn’t survived as long as she has by taking unnecessary chances. “There’s no way Stark was kept there; they lack the equipment to keep him down. Only way he was in that building is if he’s already dead, and why drag a body across the city?”

“So you’re saying an Avenger gets kidnapped and a STRIKE team is taken out within the same twenty-four hours, and those incidents are entirely unrelated?” Barton doesn’t even try to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

They cross the lobby and enter one of the private elevators before Natasha turns towards him with a scowl. “Of course not. There’s no such thing as coincidences. All I’m saying is Stark wasn’t held there. Now, there might be a connection or there might not be, but we don’t have time to play the guessing game. Whoever has him, we need to find him fast, and chasing a traitor isn’t gonna cut it.”

Barton nods, like they’ve been on the same page all along. Maybe they have. “In other words, let Fury worry about White while we use our newly acquired free time to save Tony’s ass before he has the chance to blow everything up. I like it.”

Natasha snorts. “You just like the thought of getting to blow things up yourself.”

Barton smirks and tellingly makes no move to deny it. But then, she didn’t expect him to.

“Welcome at Avengers’ Tower, Miss Romanov, Agent Barton,” the cool voice of JARVIS interrupts them. He still hasn’t forgiven Natasha for her subterfuge whilst she played Pott’s assistant. “Captain Rogers is expecting you in the common room.”

“Let’s go find our wayward genius!” Barton cheers and takes off as soon as the elevator doors open. “Last one in the common room doesn’t get any laser guns!”

Natasha watches him run off with a blank expression. “One day, I’m going to kill that man.”

I'm honestly in awe of the response I've been getting for this story. Thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving me kudos - you're support helps me continue this project! There was a little less Tony and Bucky in this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed SHIELD's perspective in things - and I promise, the next chapter will have a lot of Tony :)

Also, while a lot of this story is about Tony and Bucky running around, they will have allies, some of whom will soon-ish (within the next 10 chapters) join the regular chast. Now some roles have already been cast, but there are still slots I haven't filled, and I'd like to hear your opinion on them :)

Who would you like to see as one of Tony's (possibly reluctant) allies? -Brock Rumlow -Wanda Maximoff -Pietro Maximoff -Loki -Tiberius Stone -Someone else (tell me in a comment!)

Alright, that's enough babbling from me for now. I hope you liked this chapter, and feel free to leave your thoughts and feedback as a comment or in my ask box! Thank you for being awesome readers :)

[darinb]

Mother's Day 2018

Mother’s Day was established in 1914 by President Woodrow Wilson after years of campaigning by Mrs Anna Jarvis, and it has since been established around the world as a special day to honour mothers.

Becoming a mother is not the same as being a mother. Becoming a mother is a biological process, and it takes only a moment. Being a mother is not so easy, because it is a lifelong commitment for which there is no preparation, no training and often very little help.

 One woman’s said, “Before I got married I had 3 theories on how to raise children. Now I have 3 children, and no theories!”

Being a mum or a dad is a tough job. But we ought to honour them, because this is the first commandment that comes with a direct promise…

 Exodus 20:12 (ESV Strong's)

“Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.

 So today I want to highlight motherhood and the awesome role mums play in our lives…

 BEING A MOTHER- THE WORLD’S MOST UNDERPAID JOB

 Men, you go out to work and expect to get paid for a job well done. Motherhood has been jointly described as the world’s most underpaid job, or the most highly paid job if you count love and goodwill instead of just money… So check this out…

 Salary.com conducted a survey in 2010 that attempted to place a monetary value on the work of a stay-at-home mom. They determined that if mothers were to be paid for their ten most common tasks in the home (laundry machine operator, janitor, van driver, computer operator, housekeeper, day care center teacher, cook, chief executive officer, psychologist, and facilities manager) they would be paid $117,855.86 per annum. The largest piece of the pie came from overtime pay because a man works from 9 to 5, but a woman’s work is never done.

Milton Berle once quipped, “If evolution is real,  how come mothers only have 2 hands!”

So mums, I hope you feel honoured by that amount of earning power. Maybe you can demand a raise at home!

But in the meantime, what does God call you to be when you become a mother?

1.      GROWER

 Psalms 127:3 (ESV Strong's)

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.

 Mums, you have given birth to and nurtured your children. Some are still doing this, while others have seen them grow into mature, and sometimes not so mature adults. Your mission in life was to grow your children, and “the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.”

 But you don’t know what you’re growing! If a farmer grows wheat, he gets wheat. If he plants corn, he doesn’t get cucumbers, he gets corn.

 But mums, you could be growing a prime minister, or a doctor, or a pastor, or you could be growing another mum, or a drug dealer or possibly even worse, a lawyer. You have no idea, right?

 Yours is the great challenge, and the great joy of seeing potential realised. When a painter begins to put brush to canvas, and when a musician strums a few chords or sings a few notes, there is tremendous expectation. And when the masterpiece unfolds, or a beautiful song evolves, there is a great sense of accomplishment.

 Mothers, you are growers and nurturers and you will see rewards as your children grow and mature.

 2.      TEACHER

 2 Timothy 1:5 (ESV Strong's)

I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, dwells in you as well.

 Timothy was a great leader in the church, and he was brought to faith by the teaching and influence of his mother and grandmother. Teaching your children is an important job mothers have, and we are not talking about sewing or cooking here… mums need to teach their children about life, about love, about success and about faith in the Lord Jesus Christ!

 Mums, we honour you for the way you’ve taught us truths about life.

 3.      COMFORTER

 Isaiah 66:13 (ESV Strong's)

As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you;

 Whether it’s a skinned knee, a shattered dream or a broken heart, great mums are there to comfort you. Even if they felt their mums never comforted them, great mums still comfort those they love.

  4.      ADVISOR

 Even today at my age my mother is able to advise me, and I listen. Why? Because she has earned the right to speak into my life, and that’s what great mums do!

 Proverbs 1:8 (ESV Strong's)

Hear, my son, your father's instruction, and forsake not your mother's teaching,

 Mothers, whether you like it or not, tend to have advice on everything. Now we all know the kind of advice mothers give, but I want to share with you a list of things you will likely never hear your mother say…

 “Just leave all the lights on...it makes the house look more cheery.”

“Let me smell that shirt—Yeah, it’s good for another week.”

“Go ahead and keep that stray dog, honey. I’ll be glad to feed and walk him every day.”

“I know I said no, but if Timmy’s mom says it’s OK, that’s good enough for me.”

“Come home when you like, the curfew is just a general time to shoot for. It’s not like I’m running a prison around here.”

“I don’t have a tissue with me...just use your sleeve.”

 How many of you know that, when facing choices in your life, many times your mother’s advice comes to mind. So mums, be careful what you advise your children, because they take it all in, even if they don’t appear to act upon it.

  5.      COUNCILLOR

 Proverbs 31:26 (ESV Strong's)

She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

 Mothers, you have wisdom. It might be worldly wisdom from beneath, or it might be godly wisdom from above.

 When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it's a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway.

— ERMA BOMBECK

Many great people, from Abraham Lincoln to Michael Jordon to Liza Minnelli attribute their success to advice their mums gave them.

 6.      RELEASER

 Great mums realise that they don’t own their children, they steward them. Many of you older mums are at this point right now. You bring children up the best you can, maybe teach them all about the Lord, but at some point you need to let them go, and they make their own choices, many of which you may not agree with.

 I don’t agree with all the decisions my kids make, but I make sure that it never diminishes how much I love them. One of the fallacies of our modern world is that people say if you love me you’ll let me. Listen, you can love someone and still disagree with them.

 Mothers, you need to be releasers, and release them to the Lord. Samuel’s mother, who had waited so long for a child, prayer so fervently for a child, when she had her first she dedicated him to God…

 1 Samuel 1:27-28 (ESV Strong's)

For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.”

 My mother did exactly this. As is typical of me, I was rushing ahead of time into the world at only 6 months, and the doctors told my mum that her waters had broken, and she needed to go home and that I would be born dead unless she remained perfectly still for 3 months. But that night God spoke to her audibly and told her that her womb was healed. When the doctor came in to his horror she was bouncing on the bed, and she told him God had healed her.

 I was eventually born normally, and she dedicated my life to the service of God, and here I am!

 Mothers, many of your hearts are breaking for kids gone astray, kids who have rejected Christ. 2 things, first stop blaming yourself. At some point your children make their own decision, and it’s not your fault. But secondly, never stop praying and believing for your children!

  7.      PRAYER

 A mother’s prayer has saved many a soul, so whatever you do, never give up on your children. Never stop praying for your children…

 1 John 5:14-15 (ESV Strong's)

And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him.

 Mothers, your prayers are powerful and I know myself, when I was rebelling against my parents, I believe it was the prayers of my mother that kept me from harm and brought me back to God.

 Prayer of mothers protects their children, just like Mt Pinatubo in 1991 in the eruption, where mothers saved children by laying over them, so your prayers protect your children.

  8.      BELIEVER- THE ROLE OF A MOTHER

 And finally, never stop believing for your children.

 Galatians 6:9 (ESV Strong's)

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

 Mums want to believe in you, whether you believe in you or not. They see the good in their children, even if no one else does.

For example, Hitler’s mum Klara took him to church and wanted him to be a civil servant. Napoleon’s mum was married at 13 and accompanied him into exile on the island of Elba.  Osama Bin Laden’s mum wanted him to stop fighting the west and come home to Saudi like a good boy. Donald Trump described his mum as smart as hell and  he said he's had trouble finding women to marry who compared to his her!

I read about Ted Bundy’s mother Louise, who loved her son so much that she refused to believe he was a killer, until a series of death row confessions of 36 murders put the matter beyond doubt. These mums saw the best in their children even when others saw them as tyrants and killers.

 Mums believe in us when others give up on us. Mums always want the best for their kids and grandkids, as I bet every mum in this room does.

 So mothers, don’t give up on your kids, no matter how bad you might think they have become.  One of the greatest church fathers in history owed his ministry and life to his mother’s faithfulness…

St Augustine’s mother was a godly woman who lived around 350AD. She loved her wayward son, and the young Augustine lived with a girl and had an illegitimate child, then followed this by joining a heretical sect for 9 long years. He refused to listen to her, and she was so distraught she prayed and prayed and God gave her a dream that settled her heart, and then a mother's faith checked in.

A short time after the dream Augustine came to Christ, and became one of the most significant church fathers of his generation! He was once lost, but then through a mother's faith and love, he was found.

My mother was a believer for me too! She believed that the Lord would use me, even when I was wandering far from His ways, and she prayed and believed even when it hurt and when she was discouraged!

 HOW MUCH?

 We said before that what mums do is worth $117,855 a year, but in reality it is worth far more than that. Here’s a poem I love, written by Harland Howard and once sung by Tammy Winette…

   My little girl came into the kitchen this evenin', While I was fixin' supper, And she handed me a piece of paper she'd been writin' on, And after wipin' my hands on my apron, I read it - and this is what it said:

 For mowin' the yard - five dollars, And for makin' my own bed this week - one dollar, And for goin' to the store - fifty cents, An' playin' with little sister, while you went to the store - twenty-five cents, Takin' out the trash - one dollar, Gettin' a good report card - five dollars, And for rakin' the yard - two dollars, Total owed - fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents.

Well, I looked at her standin' there expectantly, And a thousand mem'ries flashed through my mind, So I picked up the pen, turnin' the paper over, This is what I wrote:

 For the nine months I carried you, Growin' inside me - NO CHARGE, For the nights I've sat up with you, Doctored you, prayed for you - NO CHARGE, For the toys, food and clothes. And for wiping your nose, there's NO CHARGE, When you add it all up. The full cost of my love is NO CHARGE.

 Well, when she finished readin', She had great big old tears in her eyes, And she looked up at me and said, "Mama, I sure do love you." Then she took the pen, And in great big letters, She wrote: "PAID IN FULL."

When you add it all up, The cost of real love is - NO CHARGE

 We can learn that lesson from Jesus. He laid His life down for you and for me, and the cost of real love was simply this… NO CHARGE.

 You can’t buy salvation, and you can’t earn it. This Mother’s Day and every day, Jesus love and sacrifice is freely given… NO CHARGE.

 MOTHERHOOD.. A TOUGH BUT POWERFUL GIG

 So mums, we salute you today and recognise the tough job you have been doing selflessly.

 Lord Shaftesbury was correct in his famous utterance, “Give me a generation of Christian mothers, and I will undertake to change the whole face of society in twelve months.”

 Billy Graham said, “If we had more Christian mothers, we would have less delinquency, less immorality, less ungodliness, and fewer broken homes. Every mother owes it to her children to accept Christ as her personal Savior, so that she may be the influence for good in the lives of those whom Christ has graciously given to her.”

 Whether you are a mum today, or a child, you can have the opportunity to accept Jesus Christ as your Saviour. It’s a gift, it’s at no charge, but it’s a life changing event.

 Mums, you need Jesus to be the mother you should be. And some of you children, you’ve broken you mum’s heart long enough! It’s time to ask Jesus into your life, it’s time to make your mother’s prayers be answered!

 I asked the Lord for something special for mums today, something we could pray for you, something that would mean a lot in your life. I asked the Lord for a verse that would encourage every mother on this special day. Something that would say, “Hey mum, keep believing, don’t give up on your kids.. Your sacrifice and hard work will be rewarded.”

 Mothers I would ask you to stand. Now, remain standing if you are tired and weary, because this is what the Lord has laid on my heart for you…

 Isaiah 40:11 (ESV Strong's)

He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms;

he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.

 Some of you mums have been struggling, overwhelmed by life, fearful and worried for your kids. Maybe your children have been letting you down and breaking your heart, maybe you’ve been trying to juggle work, family, church and everything else. You’ve kept all the balls in the air, you’ve had your heart broken a time of two, but you haven’t given up. However, you get tired and weary and let me tell you that, right now, Jesus loves you and knows how you feel. His arms are outstretched to you and he says,

 Matthew 11:28-30 (ESV Strong's)

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

 When you come to Him you don’t get a free pass, you don’t get everything for nothing. You still have burdens, you still face struggles, but the difference is it’s a yoke that fits. You can pull a far greater weight if your burden fits well, and nothing is rubbing or painful.

 This morning, Mother’s Day, Jesus calls to all mums and say, “Come.” If you’re burdened, if you’re weary, if you’re fearful, come and let Jesus carry the burden for you.

 https://ignitechurch.org.au/mothers-day-2018/

[vrepit-sals]

Happy Holidays @cola-sims! I was your gift giver for the @antisvldexchange. I’m sorry your gift is late. 

I wrote you a Shlav Christmas fic with background Hunay. 

It starts with one of Lance's many questions, used to fill the awkward period between Allura's brief and arrival on a new planet. His questions are a staple on most missions and might generously be described as 'mission adjacent', or more realistically as 'completely off topic'.

"Hey Coran, we've been doing this whole 'saving the universe' thing for what, 7 months now?" Lance asks, leaning up against the armrest of his chair.

Coran gazes at him fondly for a moment before stroking his moustache in thought.

"Yes, I do believe we woke up on Arus approximately 180 quintants ago, which would be roughly equivalent to 7 of your Earth months," he says smiling at Lance as the Blue Paladin tries to remain casual.

"And seven months working around the clock, that'd be a heck of a lot of overtime am I right?"

"Lance just focus on the mission," Keith cuts Coran off before he can answer.

"Well excuse me Mullet, all I'm saying is that we know of the location of a great Space Mall and that after seven months the universe definitely owes us a day off and some spending money," Lance glares to where Keith is sitting on the chair in front of him, already wearing his armour.

Keith frowns and turns around in his chair to continue the argument, only to be interrupted by Pidge shooting to her feet and pointing an accusing finger at Lance.

"You little shit," she says, a grin pulling across her face, "seven month after we left Earth and you think we won't notice when you suddenly want to go shopping?"

Lance looks at her like he has no idea what she's talking about. In the back of 

Shiro's mind some half-finished thought has started to take shape, although he doesn't have the required knowledge to finish it.

Keith doesn't seem to understand either, but when he asks what Pidge is talking about she doesn't answer.

They sit in silence for a moment before Hunk's eyes widen.

"Seriously buddy?" Hunk says, turning to Lance, his voice sounding hurt but a grin pulling itself across his face, "What were you going to do? Not tell us so we couldn't get you anything?"

Lance shrugs his shoulders with a mischievous smile, but when Keith repeats his question Lance's smile turns soft and he leans forward on one hand.

"We left Earth in May, so it'll be the start of December now, or about three weeks or so until Christmas."

Shiro is swept over with a flood of warmth and home sickness. Has it really been that long?

"And you were just going to sneak around about this behind our backs?" Keith asks, tone bordering on actual annoyance.

Lance merely shrugs again, more sheepish this time.

"What is this 'Christmas'?" Allura asks, hands still piloting the Castle as she looks to Lance with one eyebrow raised.

Hunk leans over to explain the holiday to a delighted audience, but Shiro's brain is already gone. If the younger paladins want to have Christmas on the ship, then he'll make it his personal mission to make it the best one possible.

Starting with gifts. He should try and make sure everyone gets something that they really like. And they need some way to acquire spending money for everyone. Allura and Coran probably don't have the funds to actually pay them, but perhaps there's something he can barter for the gift money?

Then there are the decorations. Where can he get a tree from? Will the small parts fall off and clog the ventilation system? That goes double for any tinsel-esque decorations.

Not to mention the food. He'll need to somehow ask the team their favourite holiday foods without rousing their suspicion. Then he'll need to figure out how to get the ingredients and make the dishes without a recipe or any cooking skills to think of, all in an alien kitchen.

He also really should check the stock rooms and see if there's anything they could use as wrapping paper, or else they'll need to factor that into the budget as well. Would they sell wrapping paper at the Space Mall? Is the concept of wrapping gifts in one-time-use packaging a universal one?

"Shiro, stop panicking," Keith says, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"I wasn't-"

"We all know what your mission face looks like," Pidge agrees, sitting cross legged in her chair and grinning at Shiro's discomfort.

"Yeah, it doesn't have to be perfect. Let's just focus on the mission and we can chat about it afterwards," Lance pitches in as Allura and Coran continue to give Hunk's descriptions of Santa Clause their full attention.

Part of Shiro wants to point out that Lance was the one who got them off topic in the first place, but he bites his tongue and smiles to himself as he returns his attention to the task at hand.

It turns out a lot of Shiro's Christmas-related concerns solve themselves.

Lance and Pidge spend a couple of hours describing in painstaking detail all the Christmas decorations they'll need to Coran, and drag Keith along with them on mini-missions during their off hours to retrieve everything.

Pidge then starts re-purposing regular strings of lights to flash red and green, which Keith and Lance  spend their time hanging around the castle, using chairs, tables and their jetpacks to reach the tall ceilings. On occasion Shiro can hear a cry of "hard core parkour!" from somewhere far off, and he usually finds lights in some gravity-defying position the next time he walks down that corridor. He knows it'll take them who knows how long to remove the lights once the holiday is over, but they stick a smile on everyone's face when they see them and put a spring in their step.

Perhaps they can just leave them like this permanently.

Hunk pushes Shiro out of the kitchen the first time he tries to help, with nothing but a "oh no, Keith's told me all about your cooking 'prowess'". Shiro might have been offended if he hadn't known that whatever story Keith told was 100% true, and probably not even one of his worst kitchen disasters.

Instead, Hunk and Allura spend their free time experimenting with ingredients and collecting samples from all the planets they visit. Shiro can often hear them laughing as he walks past the kitchen over a failed test, or celebrating over a successful one.

The entire team have discussions over meals about where they're up to in the preparation process and what they still have left to do, and Shiro smiles at the excitement bubbling around him.

He tries to help out everyone where he can, and focuses on ensuring training and missions still happen on schedule. If doing this allows everyone else to forget about their duty to the universe and relax for a couple of weeks he's more than happy to.

About a week before Christmas they go to the Space Mall and Pidge and Lance give Shiro and Allura a quick tour of the place, before running off with a grin. It's not difficult to find gifts for his friends, something sparkly for Allura, some new gloves for Keith, a robotics kit for Pidge, designed for alien children but light years ahead of the most advanced hardware on Earth, a new video game for Lance, a moustache grooming kit for Coran and machine parts for Hunk. He knows that Lance has almost finished his game, that Keith's gloves are wearing off, that Pidge is still mourning Rover and that Hunk prefers to tinker than follow instructions.  

He waves off the free Kaltenecker with purchase from Terra 2 and wanders over to a map of the shopping centre.

He feels accomplished for the gifts that he's already bought, and he still has plenty of time before he has to meet up with the others.

He's also left the hardest gift until last.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Shiro understands it's also the one he's the most worried about stuffing up.

Because he knows that Slav knows about the upcoming season. For one thing, he's seen him flittering around the ship, fixing the lights when they're balanced precariously and evening out the bunches of something that looks a lot like holly. For another, he left the ship with the rest of them when they arrived at the Space Mall, a list in one hand and a determined look on his face despite the crowds and the slight danger of capture.

Most obviously, Shiro told him, not wanting him to miss out on the fun that the rest of the team were having. Slav had smiled at him, telling him about the chances of Christmas being celebrated in other realities, and Shiro had sat quietly and listened, letting Slav's voice wash over him and soothe out his worried edges.

Shiro's eyes scour the map once more, hoping for some sign from the universe for where to start looking. He stands there until an alien woman taps her foot impatiently behind him and he moves aside to let her see.

He'd been so sure of what makes a good present when it came to his team mates.

When Hunk had come to him with an embarrassed grin asking about what he should get for Shay, Shiro had even been able to give what he considers good advice.

He told Hunk to think about what he would want if he were Shay, something intangible, and then give her something that would move her towards that aim. That way, the thought would always count, even if the gift wasn't quite perfect. After a brief discussion they'd decided to focus on Shay's desire to see the sky, and Hunk had run off with thanks and a plan to buy her some glow in the dark stars and battery powered lights for the caves of the Balmerra.

Perhaps it was time he took his own advice.

But then, Shiro knows what Slav wants and what he thinks Slav needs. He knows about the fear and the anxiety and the ever-present voice telling him there's something wrong. His own mind isn't entirely dissimilar. But the mind is a harsh master, and he knows from experience that there is no band aid he can slap on to make it all better.

But perhaps there is something that might help soothe Slav's mind, even if only for a moment.

Shiro grins to himself as he returns to the store map, this time knowing exactly what he's looking for.

Shiro was so sure that there would be some sort of emergency or distress beacon on the day that the team had decided to celebrate that he can scarcely believe that he's sitting here, after the presents have been unwrapped and they've had lunch and that the team's still at peace.

Pidge, Lance and Allura are sitting cross legged on the floor with the colour-coded Furbies Coran gave them all. They're trying to initiate a six way conversation between them while Hunk watches on over the book he's reading.  Keith is sitting next to Hunk, sharpening his knife with the wet stone Lance gave him, and Coran is regaling them all with a story of the original Paladin's exploits.

Shiro pulls the face mask Hunk gave him with an aside about "knowing exactly what he needed which was more sleep" over his eyes and tries to ignore the fact that Slav isn't there. He'd gone looking for him earlier this morning but come up empty, and no one had seen him all day. He knows that Slav will come and find him when he's ready though, and it's that thought which finally helps him drift off.

When he wakes the rest of the paladins are still there. Hunk and Lance have carried the video game set up into the common room and Allura is currently kicking Pidge's ass at the racing game Shiro bought the Blue Paladin. Keith looks over at him with a grin when Shiro sits up, and Hunk suggests leftovers for dinner.

Lance demands to race Shiro next, and he watches Allura finish first before accepting her controller with a light heart.

The ship is quiet at night.

Back at the Garrison Shiro would have welcomed the silence. Surrounded by heaped expectations and the bitterness of many of his peers, he longed for peace, for some respite from the constant movement.

But with only eight people inhabiting a castle it sometimes feels like he's drowning in solitude, with only thinly-spread islands of company for respite.

He used to be kept awake by noise, but now he craves it. Most nights he can't sleep without it.

So he tries to nap during the day when he can, and on bad nights, when he tosses and turns with a head full of worry, he makes himself a cup of what Allura swears sounds just like Herbal tea but tastes a bit like feet and sits in the common area with a blanket around his legs.

His insomnia often happens to coincide with Slav's, and as he spots the unopened gift under the Christmas tree, he selfishly hopes Slav will join him tonight.

He does.

Slav's footsteps are soft and slow against the hard, cold floor, but Shiro has been listening out for them, and Shiro retrieves his gift from the tree before he turns around.

"Merry Christmas Slav."

Slav curls up next to him on the couch.

"I hope you didn't mind me not attending the celebrations. The probability of-"

He trails off after a minute and looks away. Shiro leans forward and places a hand on his knee.

"It's okay. I understand."

They sit in silence for a few moments. Even the sound of Slav breathing beside him, the warmth where Slav has curled against him is enough to calm him.

"I got you something," Shiro says, pushing the package towards Slav gently and watching as he pulls off the paper to reveal soft wool.

"It's blue," Slav says, eyes searching into Shiro's.

"I remember you saying that was the safest wavelength-" Shiro starts, wondering if he did something wrong, but before he can continue Slav is already pulling on the jumper.

He trails off when he sees Slav's smile.

"My chances of injury just went down by twenty percent in this reality." Slav says. He curls around Shiro's neck when he sees him shiver from the cold of the air conditioning and presses something into his hands.

"I got you this."

Shiro takes the small present, wrapped in blue paper. It has a familiar shape and when Shiro opens it he's looking at a jar of crunchy peanut butter.

Two years ago it would have been a daily sight as he spread the condiment on toast for breakfast, but now the familiarity brings tears to his eyes.

"Where did you find this?"

Shiro hadn't seen it at the Earth shop when he was there, and he doesn't know of anywhere else that would stock it.

"The shopkeeper at Terra 2 had it in the back. He didn't know it was for eating, but he found it after I described it to him."

Shiro doesn't know what to say. It's so simple, something he'd mentioned months ago when they were talking about the little things they missed from their home world. He snakes his arms around Slav and leans against him.

"There's something else, but I wanted to ask you about it before I made it."

"What is it?"

Slav looks down at his hand and Shiro almost shrinks back on reflex. He knows Slav admired his hand when they first met, talked about two robot arms being better than one, but he can't-

"I was thinking I could make you a different prosthetic," Slav says, "I talked to Pidge and Hunk. We think we could make you something more like an advanced human prosthetic. No weapons."

Shiro stares at him for a moment in disbelief.

"Of course if you don't want that-"

"Yes," Shiro says, tears spilling down his cheeks as he draws Slav tighter, "yes please."

To be free of the constant reminder of his time in the gladiator ring, the remove any possible trace of Galran influence on his brain, he hadn't thought it possible. He's been trying to ignore this thorn in his side, he assumed he'd just have to live with it, but the knowledge that he might one day be rid of it takes the stale breath from his lungs and replaces it with clean, fresh air.

"But I thought you said the probabilities were better with it?" Shiro doesn't know why he asks it. Perhaps because if Slav is going to change his mind, he wants it to be before he gets his hopes up too high.

"There is a probability," Slav sits for a moment trying to find the words, "but you have the Black Bayard now. I'll just have to make sure we are one of the alternate realities where it doesn't matter."

Shiro just breathes. Breathes and shines.

"I guess you'll have to stay close then?" Shiro asks softly.

Slav curls tighter around his neck and grabs one of his hands.

Shiro shuts his eyes and is lulled to sleep by Slav's breathing and final words.

"That's a certainty in 100% of realities."

[lovemesomerafael]

Destroying The Planet To Save It   Chapter 17:  They’re Disgusting When They Explode

Dinner was prepared by Tony’s catering staff, which meant that it was a little extravagant.  By long tradition, however, it was served buffet-style.  That was for two reasons.  First, team dinners tended to get a little rowdy, and Steve thought it was best not to give the serving staff any stories to sell to the press.  Second, dinner conversation was often about strategy and other things that needed to be kept among themselves.  

Tony always disputed both points.  Regarding the first, Tony argued that he was perfectly capable of hiring discreet staff and enforcing nondisclosure agreements.  And when he did, Steve always reminded him that it was his staff who had leaked the story about his affair with the British Prime Minister and the pictures of his debauched and drug-fueled weekend with the anchor team from the top-rated morning show in the U.S.

Regarding the second, Tony argued that half the team were spies, and were fully capable of spotting a mole.  And when he did, Steve always reminded him of the bombed-out shell of the Triskelion.

Theoretically, everyone chose their own seat in the formal dining room on the residential floor of the Tower.  Steve thought that Tony had been surprisingly diplomatic in somehow maneuvering things so that Director Coulson sat at the head of the massive oval table.  Steve himself was at the other end.  That put Tony to the right of Coulson, a subtle and graceful acknowledgement, especially for Tony Stark, of the politics of the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D.  However Tony had maneuvered that seating arrangement, it made Steve want more than ever to repair his relationship with him.  

Sharon was to Steve’s left, and Bucky to his right, with Joss next to him.  Things seemed to have thawed a little between Bucky and Joss since breakfast, Steve thought. He was glad.  He liked Joss, and he liked her and Bucky together.  He also knew Bucky as well as Bucky knew himself. Steve was the only person who knew just how tender Bucky’s heart was.  He didn’t fall for women easily, but when he did, Bucky fell hard.  Steve knew the signs, and he was absolutely seeing them now.  He didn’t know what was holding Bucky and Joss back, but he wasn’t worried.  Steve didn’t know much about women, but he’d been watching them fall in love with Bucky his whole life.  He knew what that looked like.  It looked like…  well, it looked like Joss.  

Sam, to Sharon’s left, was telling a story about how he and his buddy Riley once “tactically acquired” a couple of ATVs and spent an afternoon joyriding through the desert.   Everyone at their end of the table was howling with laughter, partly because of the story, and partly because Sam’s delivery was so entertaining.  Anita was to Sam’s left, and next to her sat Scott, who was making the story even funnier with his skeptical facial expressions.  Probably the best part, however, was the way that Vision, sitting next to Wanda, who was on Joss’s right, kept interpreting Sam’s slang – both military and street – literally.  

At the other end of the table, a lively debate raged about the Battle of Baton Rouge, which the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. had fought the previous year.  Director Coulson continued to maintain that their adversary, who called himself Lumbro, had intentionally created the giant, sentient earthworms they’d fought.  Tony, however, remained adamant that Lumbro hadn’t been smart enough to accomplish that and had, in fact, been as surprised as anyone.  Of course, once he’d done it, Lumbro had proclaimed that creating an earthworm army had been his plan all along, but Tony’s theory was that he’d been trying to create a growth ray and had simply wired it wrong.

“Either way,” Clint said, “I never want to battle worms again.  Those things are disgusting when they explode!”

“They also don’t even notice when you shoot them, which is just annoying,” Natasha noted.

“Remember when the Hulk went all Dune and rode around on one?” Clint laughed, pointing at Bruce.

“Matter of fact, no,” Bruce answered drily.

Tony high-fived Clint behind Natasha’s back.  “I would kill for video of that!  All he needed was a hat to wave around, and he’d have been Slim Pickens at the end of Dr. Strangelove!”

“I absolutely insist on hearing this story,” Catherine demanded, laughing.  

Bruce facepalmed.  “I object.”

“Overruled,” Coulson said, and waved a hand toward Clint, inviting him to tell the story.

Sharon’s leg was touching Steve’s under the table, a fact that wasn’t lost on either of them.  She was enjoying watching him laugh at Sam’s story, while at the same time noticing, as always, that his laughter was reserved, as though he wasn’t allowed to just let go and enjoy himself.  She caught his eye and smiled at him, taking his hand where it rested on the table and squeezing.  She happened to be looking at him when, as conversations sometimes do, both came to a coincidental end.  Steve looked toward the other end of the table, making eye contact with Tony.

“Speaking of ‘tactical acquisition,’ I’m never gonna forget the look on The Sector’s face when his entire robot force turned on him and gave him the finger.”

Tony broke into a wide smile, filled with childish delight.  “That guy was a tool.  Nobody out-Starks Stark.  He needed to be taught a lesson.”

Coulson laughed louder than anyone else.  “It probably would have been sufficient humiliation for The Sector that his robots ended up dismantling his base for S.H.I.E.L.D.  But one of the pictures of them all giving Lumbro the finger is still my screen saver.”

“Yeah, Cap was pretty pissed at me for a few minutes for leaving the fight to take pictures, but come on.”  Scott said.

“I still have some of those robots,” Tony noted.  “They buff the floors.”

That got a full belly laugh from Steve, who was looking at Tony with undisguised fondness.  “I did only ask you to disable them.”

Tony shrugged.  “What would’ve been the fun in that?”

Bucky piped up, “Don’t take that from him, Tony.  Captain America isn’t above that kinda thing, himself. In Azzano, he tactically acquired four hundred ice cream bars.  Gave one to every guy he rescued from Krieschberg.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Sam groaned.  “Even when he’s stealin’, he’s a do-gooder.”

While everyone was laughing about that, Steve and Bucky shared a quick look that spoke volumes about the other things Steve had obtained in Azzano by less-than-pristine means.  Blankets, which were hard to come by, because for weeks after being rescued, Bucky couldn’t seem to get warm.  A blue coat Bucky came to love, for the same reason.  Extra rations, because for reasons they didn’t understand at the time, Bucky was ravenously hungry pretty much constantly.  Those things had saved Bucky’s life, and Steve’s unwavering, unquestioning devotion had saved his sanity.  And he’d done the exact same things when he’d once again rescued Bucky from Hydra.  It had just taken a little longer the second time.

There was no need for words, or for the look to last more than a moment.  

Throughout the meal, Vision was uncharacteristically quiet.  From across the table, Tony watched him.  He didn’t like what he was seeing.  AI or not, Vision reminded Tony of himself when he was distracted by a particular type of problem.  The kind where you know the answer, and you want the answer to be something – anything - else.  

“Hey, Angry Birds,” Tony grunted, tossing a crouton at Vision.  “Cheer up, will ya?  It’s a party. You’re bringing us all down.”

“I am sorry.  I am still working on some questions having to do with the ‘resource’, the missing link between the machines – “

“Yeah, I know what the ‘resource’ is.  And I’m a capitalist pig; I don’t pay overtime.  So punch out already.”

“Yes.  Of course,” Vision said, turning to smile vaguely at Wanda.  

Shit, Tony thought.

Bucky turned toward Joss and Wanda.  “How’d it go after you kicked us out of the gym?  You figure out the aiming thing?”

Wanda smirked at Joss, holding her goblet of ice water up.  “Did we?”

An ice cube rose, dripping, from Joss’s glass, floating slowly and gracefully across the table.  It slowed considerably, then briefly wavered before plunking into Wanda’s goblet.  “We made some progress.”

Joss turned to Bucky and was rewarded with a smile that rendered her briefly incoherent.  All she could do was beam at him, overwhelmed by how beautiful he was and pleased beyond words at his reaction.  The moment between them was long enough that Steve and Sharon shared a raised-eyebrow glance, silently acknowledging their mutual belief that Bucky and Joss would find their way to each other.

“Well, if you wanna talk about aim,” Sam announced, putting an arm around Anita, “This is the woman to see.  Put me to shame on the firing range a little while ago.”

“That ain’t hard to do,” Bucky muttered.

“Naw, man, this girl is the real deal.  I’d put her up against you or Barton anyday.”

“Agent Herrera is the highest-ranked marksman in S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Director Coulson put in.  “I could tell you stories about shots she’s made in the field.  Of course, then I’d have to kill you, and that’s poor manners at the dinner table.”

Clint raised his glass to Anita in a silent, impressed toast.  

“My demand for a raise will be on your desk in the morning, Director,” Anita said, dipping her head humbly.  Coulson simply smiled at her and gave her a nod.

Natasha spoke up, aiming her comments down the table at Sam and Anita.  “I want to know what it’s like at one of Jarman Arias’s house parties.  Even in Europe, people talk about them.  Some of the stories I hear...”

Sam sat up straighter.  “Agent Herrera and I were there on a mission,” he said defensively.

“A mission, I would add, for which they insisted they needed some of my best weed,” Tony noted.  “And Sam, don’t ever try to act innocent on the job.  It’s not a good look on you.”

Sam huffed.  Anita merely laughed.  “If the stories in Europe say that Arias stocks his parties with celebrities and more booze and food than a cruise ship, they’re true.  And I’m also going to have to go to Confession for some of the things I only heard about happening while we were there.”

“Such as?”  Catherine asked.

“I’m not sure some are actually anatomically possible, but I did see that rapper, the one who does ‘Ass Onna Fly’?  He was…  There were… Well, now that I think about it, if I told you at the dinner table, it would be worse etiquette than Director Coulson killing you all.”

“Was that when he was in the cabana?” Sam asked.  “And there were all those women wrestlers with him?”

“Yes,” Anita answered, blushing now and taking a long, unnecessary drink of water to cover as much of her face as possible.  

“I think I mighta happened by there a couple times.”

“A couple times?”  Catherine asked.  “Not sure that qualifies as ‘happening by’.”

Sam ignored the comment, and the guffaws that followed. He frowned a little and asked Anita, “What were they using the plastic flamingos for?”

Her head came up and she looked at him quizzically. “Those were decorations, Sam.”

The table erupted in laughter.

Steve wasn’t sure whether it was the excellent wine, or the chance to enjoy camaraderie with this group, whom he had feared at one time would never meet as friends again, or his brief talk with Director Coulson earlier.  Something, though, was making him feel better than he had in a while.  The chaotic meal, with so many side conversations and the general convivial atmosphere, the frequent outbreaks of laughter and reminiscences, somehow ironically quieted his mind.  

He looked at the group of people sitting around the table, beginning with Bucky, whose mere presence was the most solid support Steve had ever known.   He knew Bucky’s abilities, knew that Bucky would make any mission succeed or die trying, and knew that Bucky would protect him long before he’d protect himself.  Looking at Joss made him think about the three newcomers who were part of the team handling the current threat.  Each of them brought significant assets to the table that Steve knew he could rely upon in what was to come.  Wanda and Vision, of course, were known quantities, both with extreme superpowers and unquestionable commitment to the Avengers.  The same was true of Bruce, who provided both superstrength and superintelligence.  

Director Coulson’s tactical and strategic expertise, not to mention his clear thinking in a crisis, were as dependable as the tides. Steve had definitely had his share of struggles with S.H.I.E.L.D. and other authorities interfering in what had to be done, and he would never be free of the effects of the betrayal by Alexander Pierce and the Hydra cancer that had riddled S.H.I.E.L.D. before the Battle of the Triskelion.  But Coulson had always been true.  Steve trusted him, and by extension, his new S.H.I.E.L.D. as far as he could trust any government organization.  Much farther than most.  

Clint and Natasha, of course, were as rock-solid as Wanda and Vision.  More so, since Steve had known and fought with them longer.  Alone, they were formidable and nearly unstoppable. Together, and as part of the Avengers, they were a big reason Steve really needed to chill the fuck out.  He smiled to himself, thinking that.  And also because his eyes then landed on Sam, who had turned out to be the best chance meeting of Steve’s life.  Sam’s skills and abilities, and the flexibility he brought to the team as another airborne member, were invaluable.  But Sam himself was a gift to the Avengers.  He kept them hopeful.  He had the skills and compassion to help them work through things they encountered that would otherwise crush them.  And he was just damn fun to have around.

Which brought Steve to Sharon.  He looked at her and squeezed her hand where he held it under the table.  She was so much more than the beautiful woman with the irresistible smile he’d first known as his neighbor.  She reminded Steve, in the best possible way, of his mother, because she had that same quiet, unflagging strength and an unshakable belief in him.  Steve’s mom would have adored Sharon.  Hell, Steve adored Sharon.  He shivered a little at that thought. 

Since the day she’d lectured him and then seduced him, something fundamental about Steve had changed.  Sure, everything between them had changed so much that he already couldn’t imagine how he had ever maintained his distance the way he had.  Sure, she was now a constant presence in his mind.  But it was more than that.  She’d challenged him.  She’d kicked at what he thought was a coping strategy and shown it to be a dangerously flimsy delusion.  

She’d also given him the answer, and it was sitting around this table.  Coulson had said exactly the same thing: rely on your team.  Don’t pretend you can, or have to, shoulder the burden alone. Steve felt oddly emotional as he looked around the table again, his eyes finally coming to rest on Sharon, watching him.

“You OK?”  She asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I think I’m gonna be just fine.”

 When dinner was over, fairly late, the team stood and began to say their good nights.  The muted ding of the elevator was heard through the din, not because it was loud, but because it was unexpected.  All eyes turned toward the door, to see Pepper Potts step into the room.  

She graciously returned all the greetings as Tony crossed the room toward her.  It was hard to tell whether the expression on his face was more stunned or relieved. Smiling sweetly at the group, Pepper then turned her attention to Tony, who slowed as he approached her, almost reverently.

“I am so glad to see you,” he said hoarsely.

“I know,” she answered, giving him a molten look as she reached out and grabbed a handful of his tie and shirtfront.  “Come with me.”

Pepper pulled Tony through the doorway, and very quickly the sound of the doors to the private penthouse was heard.  No one saw Tony or Pepper again that night.

 Director Coulson excused himself fairly quickly after that, saying that he had some calls yet to make that evening.  Everyone else drifted toward their various rooms, trying not to appear as eager as they were to be alone together.  

Soon, only Bucky, Joss, Wanda, and Vision were left in the area outside the dining room.  It was really too early to go to bed, Bucky thought, at least to sleep.  Besides, he couldn’t get what Clint had said out of his mind, and if he had a chance with Joss, he wanted to take it.  Maybe she did just need time.  If so, he’d give it to her.  But he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity to spend time with her, even if it wasn’t going to be romantic.  Yet.

“You know what?”  He said brightly.  “I’ve been in this building all day.  I need some fresh air.  What do you guys say we go for a walk?  Just to get out for a while.”

Joss nodded.  “That sounds nice.”

“Oh, yes, I’d like to do that,” Vision agreed.

Wanda muttered, “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t?”  He asked.

“No.  You and I need to finish going over those reports.”

“Oh, yes,” Vision said.  He turned to Bucky and said, in an oddly stilted voice, “Yes, I’m afraid Wanda and I need to go over those reports.”

“We’ll see you at the meeting in the morning,” Wanda said breezily, putting her arm around Vision’s and moving toward the door to the stairway.  “Good night!”

Bucky and Joss watched them go through the door, and clearly heard Vision’s voice echoing in the stairwell.  “I recognized the code phrase.  Why don’t we want to go for a walk?”

“Shhh…” Wanda’s voice responded quietly, but not so quietly that Bucky’s enhanced hearing didn’t pick up the whispered, “They need some time alone.”

Joss’s perplexed look told him that she hadn’t heard that.  “What just happened?”

“Apparently ‘going over those reports’ means that, uh… Wanda wants to be alone with Vision.”

“Oh!”  Joss smiled.

 Secret Service agent or not, Joss might have been a little hesitant to go walking the streets of Manhattan in the evening.  It could be a little risky in D.C., and she didn’t expect that it was any different in New York.  Tonight, however, as she stepped through the lobby door as Bucky held it open for her, she chuckled a little at the possibility of some unfortunate soul trying to mug her with him around.  

“What’s funny?”  He asked as they set off at a leisurely pace down the street.

“I was just thinking that I probably don’t have to worry about street crime tonight.  I don’t imagine anyone’s likely to mess with you.”

Bucky shrugged.  “Probably not.  But I think you’re still pretty safe.  How many?”

“How many what?”

He gave her a look.  “I’ll tell if you do.”

Joss smiled when she realized what Bucky was asking.  “Four. Three knives.  One gun.”

“Yeah?  What do you wear on the street?”

She pulled back the side of the jean jacket she wore to reveal a Wilson Combat EDC X9.  

“Huh,” was all he said.

“You?”

“Six.  Four knives.”

“I clocked the S&W on your hip.  What’s the other piece?”

“Sig P365.”

That led to a pleasant conversation about the relative merits of different handguns, both concealed carry and tactical.  They covered several blocks, not hurrying or heading anywhere in particular, just enjoying the cool evening and the bustle of the city.

As they approached tiny Greenacre Park, with its artificial waterfall, they noticed a group of five girls in their late teens huddled together on the steps, giggling and looking at them.  For about half a block, Bucky and Joss simply continued with their conversation, both watching the girls curiously but not mentioning them. When they got within fifteen yards or so of the girls, they stood as a group and two stepped into the sidewalk.

Their body language was hesitant and nervous, the two on the sidewalk cradling their phones in their hands and standing very close together as though for support.  All of the girls continued smiling and giggling.

“You’re Bucky Barnes, aren’t you?”  One of the girls in the sidewalk asked, when they were close enough.

“Uh, yeah.”

The girls who had remained on the steps stood now, too, and stepped up to huddle together with the others in front of Bucky, giggling now more than ever.  They all had phones in their hands.

“Can we take a selfie with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, clearly uncomfortable but trying to be polite.  

Joss, backed away as the girls surrounded him.  None of them even appeared to see her.  They began to talk over one another, telling Bucky how cool they thought he was and that they were “such huge fans” of his while he stood helplessly shifting from foot to foot, grinning awkwardly and trying to keep them from getting behind him.  This was going to be fun to watch.  

One of the girls who had waited on the sidewalk was the first to stand next to Bucky and hold out her phone.  He graciously asked if she wanted him to take the picture, since he had longer arms.  She breathlessly agreed, suddenly all nerves, while he put an arm loosely around her, held the phone out, and snapped the picture while the other girls took pictures of their friend and Bucky.

“Hey, Bucky, do you have a girlfriend?”

He pretended not to hear the question as he asked the girl next to him her name.

“Who’s cooler in person, Captain America or Iron Man?” One girl asked.

“Don’t be a dork, Brianna, he’s Captain America’s best friend,” another answered for him, following her announcement with a disgusted sound.

“Does Tony Stark have, like, just gobs of money?”

“I guess so, we don’t really talk about it-“

“Jessie, shit! Of course he has gobs of money, everybody knows that!”

The other girls took turns standing next to him, with Bucky patiently taking a picture with each girl while the others whispered, giggled, and photographed the process.  

“We think you’re really great,” one of the girls gushed, and the others hurriedly agreed.  

“Uh, yeah, thanks…”  Bucky looked progressively more uncomfortable.  He shot a look at Joss, who gave him a mocking smile.  

“I bet you never get cold now, ‘cuz you got frozen so much.”

“Um…”

“I thought it was so cool how you took out that bad guy in Poland with one shot like that.  You have the coolest guns!”

“I liked when you stabbed that gross monster with the huge head right in his eye.  That stuff that squirted out was so gross!”

A chorus of “Eeeeeeeew!” followed.  

“Hey, what’s the Black Widow like?  Is she just a total bitch?”

“Well, no, she’s-“

“I have pajamas with you on them.  I wish I would have known we’d see you, I could’ve brought them!”

“Hey, will you take off your jacket so we can see your arm?”  A girl with a tattoo of Captain America’s shield on her ankle asked.

“I don’t really…  Um…  Shouldn’t you girls be at home this time of night?”  Bucky’s look at Joss this time was a clear plea for help.  She let him see her laugh at him, then waded in.  She was, after all, a professional at this kind of stuff.   It was a little different with the President and the public, but not much.  And a group of horny teenage girls had nothing on a pack of rabid Congressmen.

While the girls objected that they were plenty old enough to be out after dark, Joss slipped smoothly into the center of the mob.  She took a stance in front of Bucky, her back pressed against his chest, and one hand behind her on his arm.  With that hand, she began invisibly to pull him in the direction they’d been walking.  

“OK, girls, thanks!” She cried, drowning out their giggling and questions as she stepped backward, pushing Bucky into moving.  “Thank you so much, but you know, Sergeant Barnes has a world to save, so he needs to get going.”  

The girls loudly voiced their disappointment, but as if held by a forcefield, they stayed where they were as Joss pulled Bucky away from them. She kept her back to him and pulled his arm until he was free of the circle of girls, then slowed down and pushed him to continue walking while she covered his retreat.  “Thanks, girls,” she called pleasantly, still facing them to make sure they didn’t follow.  Bucky looked back and waved a little, then ducked his head and made tracks while the girls called their goodbyes to him, still basically ignoring Joss, but somehow also compelled to obey her and allow him to leave.

Bucky could still hear the girls frantically giggling and gushing to each other as Joss jogged up beside him, trying to be quiet about her laughter.  The girls’ ecstatic comments continued to reach them for a while.

“He’s so cute!”

“Isn’t he just so nice?”

“He asked us all our names!  Holy shit, Bucky Barnes knows my name!”

Bucky groaned as Joss chuckled under her breath. “It’s not funny.  It’s so not funny,”

That just made her laugh harder.  “I’m sorry, I’m sure that must be kind of a pain, but if you could’ve seen your face…”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was hilarous.  Ugh.  Anyway, thanks for the rescue.”

“No problem.”

“How come they just obeyed you?”

“Because I told them what to do,” she shrugged.  “Did you see how nervous they were?  Nobody really knows the rules in those situations, because there aren’t any.  So if you act like you have authority, people usually listen.  It only works for a minute or two, but that’s all you usually need.”

Bucky nodded and made a “huh” sound.

“Sorry I laughed.  You did kind of look like you hated that.”

“I did.  I do. But Pepper says I’m not allowed to pull knives and growl anymore.  Which sucks, ‘cuz that at least felt natural.”

“Bet it worked, too.”

“Damn straight it worked, and I don’t know how else to get out of those things.  Steve invents emergencies.  Scott just takes off running.”

“What does Tony do?”

“Tony?  You kidding? He loves that stuff.  He stands and signs autographs and takes pictures until finally the people have to find a reason to get away.  Clint seems to be really good at it, he’s really cool with people and then he just makes it seem natural to leave.”

“And Natasha?”

“No one has ever approached Natasha for a selfie.  No one would dare.  Which really pisses me off, actually, because what about me?  Aren’t I a deadly Russian assassin, too?  I’m scary, right?”

“Absolutely.  You are the night.”

Bucky let out a hoot of laughter, which made Joss laugh, too.