#the markers I use to identify faces that apparently aren’t the right way to do it

[raskies456]

james Holden looking guy blazing his selfies to my dash???????

[lost-your-memory]

Old friends, aliens and curiosities - Part III

Listen, I can’t stop thinking about this gifset made by @lonely-night in which H.G Wells (Warehouse 13) & Lena Luthor (CW Supergirl) are old friends and working together in the present to retrieve a curiosity (A ping, darling) meant to kill Lena.

So this is VERY AU-ish and with a crossover no one knew we needed but well, we do. Here’s the third part (it covers the fourth gif, I think) with a little help from Winn and Claudia. Also, I’m making the plot up as I go, sorry about any inconsistencies.  Next up, Myka finally arrives to National City and meets the infamous Lena Luthor. 

---

The voices rising behind the doors of her office pull Lena away from a very urgent email and she lets out a quiet curse, in Irish. She groans and reaches out for her interphone.

“It’s alright Jess, just let her in. She won’t take no for an answer anyway,” Lena sighs, already letting herself fall against the back of her chair. 

Sure enough, Helena Wells enters her office, dramatically pushing the double door open before striding straight to Lena’s office. 

“Hand it over.” 

Lena arches a surprised brow.

“Good morning to you too, HG ... “ She retorts, irony dripping from her tone. “Now, what is it I’m supposed to hand over to you?” 

Helena looks pissed, the frown above her eyes deep and permanent. 

“The artefact, Lena. The one you designed yourself, apparently,” Helena replies, curtly.

“I did what now?” Lena gapes, taken aback. 

Helena’s frown deepens, much to Lena’s amazement. She didn’t think it was possible.

“L-Corp is the company behind some kind of … alien detecting device, programmed to recognise any non-human DNA,” Helena states, slowly and cooly. “It’s what has been modified to kill you.” 

Lena lets out a chuckle.

“That’s not possible.”

Helena’s frown disappear as she arches a brow of her own.

“It’s not,” Lena insists. “That device was created to help identify non-human, it’s harmless. You just put your thumb on a button and the microchip processes your DNA. It turns green if you’re human, red if you’re not.”

“It doesn’t sound like a weapon,” Helena nods but she still looks annoyed. “Could the microchip be reprogrammed into something else?”

Lena goes to reply but then pauses, looking thoughtful. 

The chip was designed to host a tiny software the L-corp bioengineers programmed in association with a team of highly skilled developers but only to process DNA, to recognise markers and transmit the information as to whether or not it was human. 

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. I’ll have to ask around,” Lena retorts, slowly.

“Well, don’t ask the team that originally worked on it, maybe?” 

“Why not?” Lena protests, not liking the insinuation. 

Helena gives her a pointed look.

“Someone clearly managed to do something to the device to make it so it would kill, but not anyone. You specifically …” Helena explains, thinking out look. “Until we know more about how it happened, I’d say maybe we don’t pull any alarm … I know the level of skills you put in your products so, to be able to hijack it like that and make a weapon out of it ... the person behind the artefact must be some genius too. Like maybe … the ones you employs?” 

Lena doesn’t reply but the thought doesn’t sit well with her. Helena keeps looking at her with suspicions in her eyes and it’s extremely annoying.

“Alright,” Lena sighs, unhappily. “I still need to be sure it can be reprogrammed so I’m going to call … a friend of mine. “

Surprise takes over the suspicion in Helena’s eyes, before it mutates into mischief. 

“You have friends? Beside me, I mean?”

Lena rolls her eyes. She’s walked right into this one.  

Still, Helena is nothing if not single-minded. She crosses her arms over her chest and then sighs “Just hand over the artefact, Lena.”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Lena growls, pushing her chair back so she could stand up. “I don’t have the artefact.” 

She walks around her desk and heads for her liquor cabinet. 

She understands where her friend is coming from but she’s tired of being accused of things she didn’t do. In between the Super, the government, the DEO and the dead Luthor heirs piling up in National City cemetery, she’s been accused of pretty much every evil on the planet. 

“Bit early for a drink, don’t you think?” Helena muses from behind her and Lena just flips her before pouring herself an unhealthy amount of Scotch. 

She brings her glass back to her office and then reaches out for her phone. She searches for a specific name in her contacts and then dials.

“Hello Winn,” Lena greets warmly as soon as Winn picks up. “I need an engineering favor, could you drop by L-Corp at your earliest convenience?” 

She smiles when Winn replies he’ll be there in twenty. He doesn’t sound too surprised, just excited at the prospect of working with her again. 

“Who’s Winn?” Helena asks when Lena hangs up.

“A friend,” Lena replies with a smug smile. “Yes, I do have friends beside you. Winn used to work at CatCo but nowadays, he’s ...“

Lena pauses and wonders if Helena is aware of everything that’s been going on in National City lately. 

“Ever heard of the DEO?” Lena asks, knowing full well she could get in trouble for even mentioning the name of the organisation. 

“Yes,” Helena shrugs.

Lena smiles because of course Helena knows about the DEO. After all, they’ve both worked for the Warehouse, another extra normal government organisation doesn’t seem like a big deal. Not even one that works and deals with alien.  

“Well, he’s one of their tech guy,” Lena explains with a wave of her hand. “He’s extremely smart, far more than they give him credits for. I’ve always wanted to poach him for L-Corp but he’s loyal to a fault, he’s going to stick with Supergirl until the end.”

“Supergirl, uh,” Helena muses, sounding a big distracted.

“She’s everywhere,” Lena nods before sipping at her Scotch.

“I’m going to call Claudia,” Helena states, seemingly out of the blue.

“Erm, sure?” Lena blinks, looking a bit thrown off.

“When your friend arrives, I mean. They’ll have a look at the chip and nerd around together, we’ll get our answers,” Helena explains and Lena watches as she pulls what looks like a --- 

“Helena Wells, is that an iPhone?” Lena gasps, mockery lining her tone.

“Shut up,” Helena groans as she calls her friend. 

---

Half an hour later, Winn is bent over the coffee table and Claudia’s face is occupying the entirety of Lena’s huge TV. 

They’re talking too fast, exchanging orders, ideas and suggestions while using a vocabulary that even Lena sometimes doesn’t get. Pieces of the device are scattered all across the table and Winn sometimes moves the tablet so that Claudia could see better. 

“I need access to the software, can you plug me in?” Claudia asks, her slightly disembodied voice echoing through the office. 

“Sure, one second,” Winn replies, pulling out a laptop from his back and setting it up on a corner of the table. He’s fast and sure and Lena watches, a little mesmerised, as he plugs everything together.

“All good, let me know if it works?” Winn asks but Claudia is already squealing in delight as she enters the software.

“Oh whoa, this is … top notch code,” Claudia breathes, sounding very admirative.

“Why thank you,” Lena laughs, amused. “Now, the important question is … can it be hijacked and turned into a weapon?”

“Easy tiger, let me work my magic first” Claudia mutters, hands flying over her keyboard so fast it crackled across the office. “So, while I am at it, did you two bang, in the 17th or 18th century? I can never remember which one …” 

Lena swears under her breath as Winn lets out a strangled gasp. His eyes become so wide they look about to bulge out of their orbits. 

“Whaaaaaat?” 

“Whoops, sorry I thought you knew!” Claudia winces, her face slightly distorted by the format of the TV. “Sorry!”

“You’re … from the past?” Winn asks, looking at Lena as if she suddenly had three heads.

“Aren’t we all?” Helena laughs next to Lena, looking utterly amused by the situation.

“No I mean … you … 18th century?” Winn squeaks, clearly struggling to stay conscious.

“Breathe, Winn. Breathe,” Lena sighs, motioning for her friend to follow her lead. She inspires and then exhales and watches as he does the same. “Yes, I … was around in the 19th century.”

“19th! I was way off,” Claudia laughs but when all eyes turn to glare at the tablet, she shrugs and focuses on her work.

“It’s … complicated. I got bronzed for centuries but at some point, the system malfunctioned and I was suddenly free, but in the 21th century” Lena explains, eyes traveling back between Winn and her decanter. 

“How did you … managed to have such an extensive and lively background then?” Winn asks, frowning. He looks pale but his eyes are shining with wonder. “I mean, you’re supposed to be the daughter of Lionel Luthor, infamous sister of Lex Luthor … Not to mention your mother, who was a piece of work … No offense.”

“None taken,” Lena lets out a dry chuckle. “I made a deal with Lionel Luthor. I handed over a big part of the fortune I had amassed while being in the bronze and he created some really plausible story for my existence.”

Helena arches an impressive brow but Winn shakes his head.

“No one ever dug deeper? I mean, you do look extremely good for someone who’s over two centuries old but come on, no one ever asked why you never aged?” 

“You never did,” Lena counters with a smirk. “You’re the DEO most talented IT guy and yet, when you checked my background, everything was legit, everything added up. So why would anyone else bother?”

“That’s …” Winn pauses and then relents “... accurate.”

“Sorry to interrupt this lovely story, although you still didn’t reply to my earlier question,” Claudia chimes in, looking very amused. Lena only rolls her eyes but Helena chuckles affectionately. “Anyway, I found something.”

Lena, Helena and Winn focus back on the TV, on which Claudia is now sharing her own screen. Lines of code are scrolling down until she highlights something. 

“See this?” Claudia asks, moving her cursor above a few lines that seems innocuous enough. “It’s like a backdoor to the code, something that allows access to anyone who knows where to look. I don’t know exactly how it works, it seems to be really specific but it’s the answer you wanted. It is possible to access the software on the microchip and from there, anyone who knows how it works can reprogram it. To turn it into a weapon tho, it would require some really specific engineering skills …”

Winn steps forward and the way he looks at the code makes Lena think he’s seen it before. He’s frowning and searching for something.

“You know who’s behind it, don’t you?” 

Winn startles and fidgets with his hands, looking slightly uneasy. Behind him, the lines of code disappear as Claudia’s face returns to the screen. 

“Winn?” Lena insists, taking a step toward her friend. “What is it?”

Winn looks torn and Lena figures it’s because he is loyal to Supergirl first. It stings, but she doesn’t waver and she takes another step. She’s barely taller than him, with her heels, but she still towers above him.

“It’s …. I’ve seen this code before, but I didn’t think …” Winn starts to ramble, nervously looking around. “It’s … the same code that was used by Lord technology, I found something similar in the drones he’s sent to … spy on … Supergirl, years ago.”

Lena frowns.

“Maxwell Lord? Didn’t he left years ago after Myriad?” 

“So we thought, but he’s nowhere to be found …” Winn replies, his voice rising a little from how nervous he was. 

“Maxwell Lord was a very public figure and I heard rumours about him still mooning over Cat Grant, his disappearance is a little strange don’t you think? Did someone investigate this?” Lena pushes, knowing that at least Alex Danvers must have asked about the former tech CEO.

“Alex tried but then with everything that occurred …” 

“Right,” Lena sighs. 

Cadmus took over pretty fast after Myriad and then, it had been one shit storm after another, until Helena Wells all but barged into her office a few months ago. No time to dwell on the absents. 

“Do you still need my help or can I return to my chess game with Myka?” Claudia suddenly asks, startling everyone in the room. 

“Myka’s back?” Helena muses, sounding both surprised and slightly dejected. 

“Yeah, since yesterday,” Claudia answers. “Pete’s still in Chicago though. According to Steve, it’s not exactly going well.” 

“Of course it’s not,” Helena scoffs and to Lena, the underlying jealousy is deafening. It’s well hidden behind disdain but Lena has been around Helena enough to recognise the signs. “You could join us, if you’d like? I have a feeling this is going to require some kind of intervention, soon enough … Your help, along with Myka’s, would be greatly appreciated.”

Lena bites the inside of her cheeks to stop the laughter that threatens to burst out. 

She’s never seen Helena try so hard to catch someone’s attention, it’s a little embarrassing. Even Winn looks a bit uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other and fidgeting with his hands.

“Oh, uh …” Claudia stammers. “Listen, I’ll ask Myka. I’ll text you the answer. Gotta go, bye!” 

Before anyone could answer, the video link goes off and the news immediately resumes back on Lena’s TV. It shows Supergirl saving a bus full of young children and Lena instantly reaches for the remote to turn the screen off.

“Well, that answers it,” Lena muses to no one in particular. 

She finally caves and goes to her decanter, offering Scotch to both Winn and Helena. They both accept and after a minute, they all sit around the couch with a glass in hand.

“Winn, will you investigate the mysterious disappearance of Maxwell Lord? I don’t think it’s him but still …” Lena says, seemingly lost in her drink. “I still don’t know what I could have done to make an enemy of him but then again, it’s not a surprise.”

“So popular,” Helena sasses from her side of the couch, in between two sips. 

“I’ll get on it right away,” Winn retorts, finishing his drink and standing up. “I gotta go, duty calls but I’ll keep you posted. If your friend Claudia comes around, will you let me know? I’d love to pick her brain about a software I’ve been working on …”

“With pleasure,” Helena nods, offering a tight smile to Winn. He nods and then waves at Lena before exiting the office.

“Who’s Myka?” Lena asks as soon as the door closes behind her friend. She keeps her eyes on Helena and doesn’t miss the sparkle that shines in the inventor’s eyes

“She’s … an agent, she works for the Warehouse with Claudia,” Helena says over the rim of her glass.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Lena rolls her eyes. “I meant, who is she to you? Don’t try to deny it, I’ve seen that look in your eyes before.” 

For a moment there, Lena thinks Helena is seriously about to ask what look but then the inventor shakes her head and sighs, looking melancholic.

“She’s … fascinating,” Helena admits, her voice lowering as she gets all dreamy. Lena barely resists the urge to pull up her phone to snap a picture. “She’s smart in ways I can’t quite comprehend, her mind is quick and remarkable and she’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Her heart … She tries to protect it, behind walls made of protocols, laws and orders but it’s pure and generous, giving.”

Lena can only stare, taken aback by the raw affection in her friend’s tone. 

The only person she’s ever heard Helena talk about in that way, all soft and loving, was her daughter Christina.

“I’ve hurt her, multiple times,” Helena confesses and her voice breaks ever so slightly. “I’ve almost killed her once and then … I kept running away. She’s chased after me for a long time but I was blinded by … grief, despair, anger. I didn’t realise how … dear she was to me, not soon enough anyway.” 

The words are like an echo of her own feelings and Lena’s heart aches for her friend. She knows the feeling well. She had National City’s most beloved hero chasing after her for month, trusting her, believing in her and constantly supporting her, no matter what. She’d slowly started to believe it, that’s the worst part. That until it all crumbled under the poisonous revelation her fake-brother offered her before she pressed the trigger. 

Lena leans forward and places a comforting hand over Helena’s thigh. 

“Believe me, I understand. More than I could ever tell …” Lena whispers, thinking back on a pair of bright blue eyes filled with hope and loyalty that told volume of faith and trust. Those are eyes she can never trust again. 

“Supergirl?” Helena inquires, looking at Lena with understanding shining in her brown irises.

“Yeah,” Lena nods, removing her hand from her friend’s lap. “I still don’t want to talk about it though.”

“Fine by me,” Helena simply replies.

They finish their drinks in companionable silence.

[technohumanlation]

Whumptober Day 14

The ever so lovely @whumptober2019 made a list of prompts to complete every day for the whole month of October and I’m giving a shot at it this year! 

As always read what you can handle and do not read if you are squimish to any of the warnings.

Tear Stained

Warnings: Blood. Violence

Characters: Sixty, Nines, Connor, Hank, Sumo

hell yeah week two complete! Almost halfway there babes!

Sixty gets locked in his dream and does some harm...

The android would never get used to the fact that his past memories would resurface through dreams at night. Sixty was an experimentation. A plaything for scientists and developers to see how many modifications and features they could add to the RK800 model before it would face the metaphorical blue screen.

It was in his third week of being alive he had found out the truth from a corrupted file his brother had discovered:

Observation Notes: favorable response to Amanda. No direct signs of disobedience.

Test 10: External stimulus including yet not limited to positive and negative influence such as pain, sexual arousal, environmental terrain and climates, combat, and or body mutilation.

Test 19: manipulatioNNN

Test 20: response to environmental change

Test 40: Additional sensitivity added to senses

Test 65: knowledge of environmental weapon usage Observation notes: Creative knowledge of using environmental items to use with harmful intention is expansive. Casualties: 7. Immediate action not taken. Data has not been deleted.

Test 66: knowledge of man made weapon usage

 Observation notes: Effective use of downloaded database of weapon usage, accuracy        99.8. ToTAl Casualty Count: 15. Immediate action notnotnot     taken. further       testing:         >>>green-light/   

And so on and so forth. Again. And Again. The dreams of needles and probes. The sensations of drowning and having lungs filled with too much air. The feeling of pain and pain and pain and-

The lack of proper recharge was affecting him. And no one seemed to notice.

One night, the exhaustion was just too much. He had fallen into an emergency stasis. While the Anderson Household was still awake, Sixty slumbered a restless sleep.

Files began to corrupt and overlap. A hidden software was roused from the hidden depths of archived files.

>>>Test 20: reVis3d

313 248 317-60 woke with a start, his eyes widened before relaxing, scanning the room around him. It was white. Painfully clean and painfully blinding white.

The white walls were suddenly pixelated triangles peeling away to reveal the dark room he had been once slumbering in.

>>>destroy designated targets.

A voice from beyond rumbled. A laugh barked out.

Three targets.

Sixty rose from the twin-sized bed with smooth and slow motions, not to make a sound to alert the bodies highlighted in muted blue beyond the walls that held him.

He opened the door to the bedroom he had been contained in. A setup, no doubt, orchestrated by the scientists that controlled and tested him. He had to obey.

“Sumo no! Down.” Another voice ordered. A bark. Another target was added. A Saint Bernard. A beast of a dog but older. It would be a minimal threat.

“God, if he gets ahold of that, he'll throw up all over the couch again." The voice was clearer this time, no longer muffled by the walls. It was raspy yet loud.  

“Sumo is a good boy, aren’t you?” A voice that sounded oddly like his own called back to the seasoned one.

He slunk down the hallway identifying the targets now.

Their names scrolled into his vision, sorting them by threat levels. Damage would be done to his chassis. But such setbacks were nothing so long as he completed his mission. And when he completed his mission, he would be thrown into another environment, he would have to successfully solve.

If not, they would dig into his mind, sort through the programs with brutish hands and eager ideas. He would lay upon the cold table. Awake or asleep. He felt their proddings either way.

The first target was the RK900 model. A model that replaced the prior RK800 series. He would be the strongest. But perhaps...

The human would come first. They were so delicate, after all. One blow, and it could be left to die on the floor. It would be easy.

Sharply focused eyes slid to the kitchen counter nearby. In a vase filled with pens and markers, rested a heavy letter opener.  

It was the only weapon he could improvise, and that was within reach. It held a sharp edge, but with enough force, it could burrow into the plastimetal of an android.  

It would slice flesh easily.

Slowly and carefully, he made his way towards the androids, human, and beast as they continued to speak of this "Sixty". He crouched low spinning the letter opener in hand so that it rested comfortable and just so, right in his palm.  

313 248 317-51 was the first to notice him. “Sixty? What are you doing back up? Are you feeling better?”

Hank scooped another tortilla chip fulled with salsa. Who he assumed was Sumo followed the hand with concentration just as intense as his own. “Hey kid, the gears are winning!” A beer was taken to his lips.

>>>“You are allowed two tonight."

A voice that wasn’t his own mocked his mind. Was it a glitch? He forcefully and quickly dismissed it just as fast as it came.

“Sixty?” The 313 248 317-87 spoke to him in familiar concern. >>>Situation in danger

>>>T4K3 4CT10N >>>!

He charged forward, his expression remained stoic to the task at hand. He went for the human.

During a commercial break, they spoke in low murmured voices. They turned concerned when the topic regarded Sixty.

“There’s nothing that can be done for the memory relapses.” Nines supplied sipping at a packet of chilled thirium. “It’s how we process through corrupted memories, bad parcels of additional information or stimuli.”

“The only way to solve his troubles would be to delete them.” Connor piped up from the floor. He was sitting with his legs crossed, preventing the dog from eating the chips and salsa Hank was snacking on.

Hank chew and swallowed the bite. “The kid doesn't want that." He shook his head, wiping the crumbs on his fingers on his pants. He chased the snack with a sip from his beer.  

“Maybe he’ll get some rest tonight, kid s’been having a rough time...”

Nines sighed, agreeing.

From behind, the floor creaked. Nines looked up, his eyebrows pinching in concern. “Sixty?” Against the flickering light of the television stood the said android. “What are you doing back up? Are you feeling better?”

Hank scooped another tortilla chip filled with salsa. Connor gently pulled at Sumo’s collar as he followed the hand with concentration.

Hank looked over his shoulder “Hey kid, the gears are winning!” He sipped at his beer.

Something wasn’t right. Nines was the first to notice. “Sixty?” Nines rose from the recliner head tilting to reveal a swirling yellow LED.

Hank lowered the beer upon the worried tone his brother took on.

Something sharp glinting in the dim lighting from the television was the only warning.

Sixty had charged, his intent focused on Hank. Harshly, he gripped the old man by under his chin and pulled his head back, revealing his neck. The beer was dropped and spilled upon the floor.

Sumo growled and barked.

“Sixty!”

Nines had charged into the android just as the blade was pressed into skin. His hands were ripped away, freeing the man.  

Hank stood from the couch, turning to face the android, pressing a hand to the cut that bled from his neck. "Sixty what the fuck?!" Connor moved to stand in front of Hank, arm out protectively.

Nines slammed him into the opposite wall of the living room, pinning him and his arm that held the bloodied letter opener with a deadly grip. "Sixty, what do you think you are doing?!" Nines face twisted in betrayal, anger, and concern.

Behind Connor turned towards Hank. “Are you okay?” Connor murmured.

“I’m fine, fuck...” The old man looked up more so in worry than anger.

The room grew cold and silent upon Sixty’s words.

“I don’t know who Sixty is. I am not Sixty.” He replied evenly.

The pained expression upon Nine’s face morphed into confusion, his grip weakened ever so slightly. It was a moment of weakness Sixty needed to knee the android in the stomach and push him back. Sixty threw his arm in a wide arc. The letter opener had sliced across the android’s face. Nines gasped at the blow.

The extended cut began at the chin, across his nose, right eye, and ended at his forehead. Artificial skin broke away for white plastimetal underneath.

Nines stumbled away, bowing over as he cradling his bleeding face.

Connor abandoned his protective stance in front of Hank as soon as Sixty made a move to attack Nines again.

“No, snap out of it!” Connor barked. His LED swam a panicked red and yellow. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You are stopping the inevitable.” His cool voice claimed as a harsh blow was cracked across his jaw. He gripped the android by his shoulders and slammed his knee upward into his chest. A pained grunt escaped the android. He took a stumbled step backward.

The room became still again as Sixty asses the situation with cold and sharpened brow eyes. Apparently, it was proving difficult for the android to take down his targets more so than he initially thought.  

“Inevitable…?” Nines echoed. He stood up once again, the right eye a milky white from the damage.

Connor didn’t make a move to attack unless Sixty did. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I am functioning properly," Sixty observed to himself. "The test will be completed."

“Test?” Connor’s eyebrows pinched in confusion.

The two brothers looked at one another. It was Nines that said it aloud.

“He’s locked in a dream.”

“No, a memory.”

Hank shook his head, his voice loud. “That makes him go crazy?”

The loud voice was enough for Sixty to attack. It was as if the prey had suddenly moved, and the predator had to strike before it's meal was lost.

“Connor, get him under control now!" Hank ordered. “I’m in no mood to deal with a tornado in my living room!”

The android had wrapped his arms around his brother from behind, pulling him back. He dodged the knife as Sixty waved it wildly.

“Sixty! Snap out of it! You’re home! You’re safe!”

The crazed android turned in his grasp, elbowing him in the face. He pinned the android against the wall, but in doing so, Connor took the opportunity to interface with his brother.  

Connor’s hand was the first to bleed white and glow. “Come back to us.” He gritted. He forced the connection as much as he could through strong firewalls and chaotic commands that scrolled endlessly.

But he was thrown out. Sixty was free once more. He raised the knife and held it with a clenched fist. It moved with impatient intent.

A pained grunt left Connor. The air went silent. Shakily Connor looked down to his shoulder, where the blade was delved into him to the hit. His hand was glowing blue once more, and so was Sixty's. The youngest brother finally succumbed.

Sixty’s hand peeled back to reveal white plastimetal underneath.  

Among the firm and steady commands, behind the heavy need to eliminate all threats using the environment, he felt pain. Pain not of his own.

He was lost to the white of the cyberlife lab, lost in the fear to fail, lost in the dream that had him trapped against his will. Against the white walls, he heard his family confront him, helpless to fight against the commands, powerless to stop his own actions. In the end, he was weak against his creators. Even if Cyberlife was gone, he would forever be their puppet attached to their strings.

A burn came to his eyes as clarity came with each weary blink. His body relaxed. His nerves calmed, and his mind became less cluttered.

Brown, lost, eyes followed to the tight grip he felt in his hand. He wish he hadn't. rA9 he wish he hadn't. Horror crossed his face as his grip lessened, and his hand began to shake.  

“Oh God. Con...Connor, I..."  

Commands forced their way through the interface, blocking the connection from his brother. Pleading eyes looked into similar brown. "They're taking over again. You need to get away! I can't stop them!" Despite how hard he tried to keep his voice firm and authoritative, his body trembled violently. But instead of doing as he warned, his brother wrapped his arms around him and held him. Tightly.  

Slowly, thirium began to stain the jersey he had worn for watching tonights’ game. Sixty closed his eyes, fighting a shaky hand that raised to grip the knife again. “P-Please...”

Besides them, Nines took the remaining bounds towards the duo. Above where Connor held Sixty's wrist, he too made a forced interface. Sixty whimpered upon the intrusion bowing his head forward into the crook of Connor's neck.  

After but a moment of feel ice run through his veins, commands, and programs disintegrated into nothing as Cyberlife’s strings were cut by the superior RK unit among them.

"We have you," Nines promised. "It's alright."

Sixty dropped his hand to his side handle and looked at his brother upon the large gash across his face.  

Tears spilled forth. "I'm...I..." The flood came through. The one thing that they couldn't take away from Sixty was the ability to feel his emotions with such intensity. It's what made him alive.   He looked around the room. "Hank? Hank? Is he? Did I?" As he panicked, he felt Nines swim through his mind, closing all the doors that lead to the haywire commands. His eyes had closed in concentration. Connor remained connected to his brother in need, as well.

Tears rolled down his cheeks in heavy streams staining his shirt with the equally heavy drops.

“I'm here, kid." He stepped forward and made sure to hide the blood with a hand against his neck. "Nothing bad." He explained.

Sobs wrecked from his lips, and suddenly, like a computer had been forced to shut off, Sixty's body went limp.

Connor yelled out in alarm.

Nines took his brother from under his arms and sighed. He opened his eyes. "It's alright, I manually placed him in stasis. I implemented a program to halt all running programs and background commands so he could get some rest and properly sort through the memories he was currently working through. He'll be alright."

He placed a hand on his forehead to steady the youngest brother. “Connor,” he nodded towards the knife in his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

“There's a first aid kit in the bathroom, under the sink," Hank said. "We are more than not fine." He huffed.  

Sumo came out from hiding and lobbed his way over to his master with a whine. “It’s okay, big guy. Just another night at the Andersons...”

He flicked his gaze from Nines to Connor and then to he android resting on the floor with a wary glance.   

[chille-tid-universe]

The Trails Converge

Segments of the following story are taken with permission from the prepared scripts of our Dungeon Master.

~~

Fires burned around the ruined encampment as the two humans walked up to the group. The man observed the wreckage around him as if he had seen all this world had to offer, and was definitely over it. Beside him, the girl seemed an afterthought, though she bore her longbow with steady suredness, and kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.

“What happened here?” Robyn repeated, directing her question at the newcomers.

“We were not a part of the battle,” the man responded, staring down at Robyn. “We were busy watching you.”

Isolde stepped forward, crossing her arms. “So you didn’t help anyone? You know, apathy brings about the end times.”

The man grimaced and glanced at his companion, an unseen message passing between the two. He then stepped away from the group, turning to face the shattered hill in the distance.

“Not so fast,” Isolde called out, raising a hand and speaking a spell. At once, wild vines erupted from the ground at the man’s feet, twirling up his legs. The man paused, turning to raise an eyebrow at her, before stepping through the vines. Icthuarrux had trotted to block his path, lowering her white head to stare steadily into the man’s eye.

The man turned back to stare at the paladin. “Get out of my way, so I can find out what happened.”

Flustered at how easily he had broken the plant bonds, Isolde gaped at him for a moment before the young girl spoke up, seemingly surprised at herself for talking at all, “Please just let him do his work.”

With a gesture, Isolde dispelled the ensorcelled vines. “Next time, my vines will have you,” she promised.

“Doubtful,” the man muttered as he stalked off.

The girl seemed to realize she had been left alone with people who were not overly fond of herself or her companion. Attempting to rectify this, she stuck her hand out towards Robyn, identifying her as the group’s leader. “Sorry we didn’t introduce ourselves sooner. My name is Ciri, and my mentor is called Revain.” After names had been exchanged, Ciri continued. “We came to this place to investigate the army of gnolls. They aren’t supposed to be gathering like this. Revain thought there must be something going on. Only…” She glanced around the countless dead. “We didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Just to clarify,” Isolde said, “my horse died, and you both were just watching?”

Ciri shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking like she’d rather be facing down an army of gnolls than this irate paladin. “We had to be sure you were fighting the gnolls for the right reasons. Revain says there are too many adventurers who prioritize glory or wealth over doing the right thing.”

“And how do we know you’re doing this for the right reasons?” Charlot asked.

Ciri seemed to be struggling for an answer, so Isolde interrupted, “Maybe they’re not vegans.”

Ciri shot a look at Isolde, asking, “What’s a vegan?”

Robyn stepped forward, cutting through the air with a hand. “There isn’t time for this. We need to be helping the survivors.” The group set about combing the wreckage, locating survivors by their cries or movement in the otherwise still piles of bodies. Though the dead greatly outnumbered them, there were a handful of survivors, each of them spared by some kind of protection during the attack; one man had been entangled in a tent; a small child’s mother had thrown herself over him, shielding him with her body. 

As the remaining prisoners were gathered, stories began to align. A band of orcs had appeared, slaughtering huge swathes of gnolls and prisoners alike, but that had not been all. Handfuls of prisoners had been kidnapped yet again, pulled away from the slaughter grounds amid shrieks and dying.

By this time, Revain had returned from his investigation. He gathered the adventurers and Ciri. “It’s as we suspected,” he began, looking to Ciri. “The damage to the hilltop can only have been done by magical means. It appears that someone - or something - blasted through the hill to make an entrance to the valley. There are tracks leading into the valley, and back out.” He turned to Robyn. “Do you have a map of the area?”

The adventurers all exchanged glances. Isolde piped up, “Maps bring about the end times.” Revain suppressed an eye roll and turned back to Robyn.

“We mostly use Archimicarus - that’s Idu’s falcon familiar. He gives us the bird’s eye view of wherever we go.”

Revain looked thoughtful for a second, then nodded. “That should do fine.” He then strode to a group of the survivors, and returned a few seconds later. “No one appears to know much about what’s in that direction.” He nodded beyond the shattered hill. “From the passage, I could see a band of orcs as they reached the plains below, heading south. We’ll need to follow them.” With a last nod to Ciri, he departed, walking swiftly to the hill.

The adventurers all looked to Ciri. Oskar finally asked, “Does he often leave people behind?”

Ciri bit her lip, looking in the direction Revain had left and back to the group around her. “He tracks best alone. He’ll leave markers for us to follow.” She turned to see Robyn squatting over an improvised fire, her cooking pot out and a broth of herbal soup already being stirred. “Um… We should probably leave. Now.”

Robyn gave a heavy sigh and glanced to the nearest survivor, waving her over. “Once this comes to a boil, take it off the heat, and you’ll be fine.”  Taking another look at the tear-stained face, she added, “Oh, and, my consolidances.”

Ciri opened her mouth as if to speak, but Idu placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not worth it.”

~~

Above the field of slaughter, the group found the passage through the hillside, with Ciri pointing the way as she noticed Revain’s markers. Up close, the damage was even more incredible; it was as if a giant had thrown his fist through the hill, knocking it clear through to the other side. The resulting collapse of the hole had sealed most of the tunnel, but upon closer inspection there was a clear, almost deliberate way through to the other side of the hill.

Unfortunately, the tunnel was barely large enough for Isolde, and Icthuarrux was many times larger. With teary eyes, Isolde took the magnificent horse aside, stroking her long head and murmuring for her to watch after Loran. The great beast tossed her head, whinnying as she trotted back down the hill. After wiping at her eyes, Isolde returned to the group as they picked their way through the rubble.

On the far side of the newly excavated crevasse, there was a small plateau. A series of crude but apparently sturdy ropes and rope bridges lead along a circuitous route from the plateau down to the plains below. The path had pitons and guide ropes in places, but many more showed signs of hasty disassembly. It was clear that Revain had taken the time to reassemble key parts of the path, and the group spotted the ranger as he reached the plains, jumping lithely from the final ledge to the grassy field below.

From this height, the group could spy the Delimber River glistening off to the south, as well as the forests surrounding the hills reaching into the plains. As the group made their careful way down the side of the plateau, Revain continued further, no longer visible. Ciri took a moment as they reached the plains to find a clump of tied together grasses, and nodded in the direction Revain must have tracked.

~~

Eventually, the markers lead them right to the Delimber River, where they discovered Revain, standing still by the banks and looking dumbfounded and more frustrated than usual. “The track ends here. I haven’t been able to find whether they went up or downstream.”

Nula noticed a set of markings in the mud by the river, long shallow lines that might otherwise have been overlooked. “Those look like beach marks from barges,” she said, pointing. “I reckon there were three, four barges beached here for a short time, not too long ago.”

For once, Revain looked almost impressed. “Good catch. That would explain how they got so far ahead. Now we just need to figure out where they went.” He turned to Idu. “Think your falcon can find anything?”

Idu nodded, closing his eyes as a falcon’s screech was heard overhead. A minute later, though, Idu shook his head and opened his eyes. “They must be moving fast. Archimicarus couldn’t find them on the river.”

“They might have just traveled downriver,” Nula suggested. “Current would be working with them.”

“We need to know for sure,” Revain said, pacing the bank for any other clues he might have missed.

Isolde straightened up from where she had been bending over one of the lines in the mud. “This isn’t from around here,” she announced triumphantly, holding aloft a twig of pine needles. She tilted her head, recalling the surrounding woodlands. “Nearest forest with pine trees would be… the Misty Forest, to the south of here.”

Revain almost smiled. “Guess we’re traveling downriver.”

As the group began to walk down the riverbank, Isolde called out, “Wait!” Half a minute passed, and then the rest of the group could hear the steady gallop coming from across the plains. Isolde let out a laugh as Icthuarrux neighed, and then the majestic horse was before them, bearing Loran on her back.

“She seemed to want me to ride,” Loran explained, clearly disheveled from the wild run. “She took off, and I couldn’t do anything but hold on.”

Isolde walked up, helping Loran down to her shaky feet, then gave Icthuarrux a warm hug. “Guess she couldn’t bear to be without me, and brought you along to look after you. Good girl.”

Loran straightened up after a deep breath. “If I’m already here, I want to help get Pel back.”

“Come or don’t come,” Revain growled, staring up at the sun. “The longer we wait, the further those orcs get.”

As they began walking, Isolde whispered loudly to Robyn, “I think Revain needs to get a horse. I believe it would improve his disposition.”

~~

It was decided that Idu would ride Icthuarrux as they traveled along the Delimber River, borrowing Archimicarus’s sight to try and spot any sign of the orcish band. This was only slightly complicated by Icthuarrux’s aversion to Idu’s pet snake, Abu, and it took a few minutes for Charlot to finally offer to carry the serpent while Idu was riding. (The snake immediately slithered into Charlot’s armor, sending shivers down his spine the whole length of the march.)

There was still no sign of the orcs by the time they reached a suitable crossing. The Misty Forest bordered the south of the Delimber River, so they took the opportunity to cross over and continue the march from the southern bank. Not long after that, the group came upon four barges beached further ahead, and Revain was able to pick up the trail once more.

The trail lead them, as expected, into the Misty Forest, where their pace was arrested. Cold tendrils of the eponymous mist trailed along the forest floor, and visibility was greatly hindered. Icthuarrux’s coat seemed almost to gleam in the filtered light, and the group huddled around the large horse, lest they find themselves suddenly astray. The only person who seemed unperturbed by the gloom and dank was Revain, who nevertheless stayed much closer to the others as he continued to follow the tracks of the orcs.

Eventually, something broke the muted quiet of the forest. A roar, as if from a savage beast, pierced the air, followed by a string of orcish swearing. Revain signaled for the group to quietly move forward.

They came to a clearing in the ubiquitous trees and found the source of the noise. A pair of owlbears were loudly attacking a group of orcs. Isolde quietly observed that the two appeared to be a mated pair, eliciting a shush from Revain. The ranger turned to the rest of the group, beginning to outline how they could quietly snatch one of the orcs on the periphery and extract the location of the other orcs from him, when Isolde cried out, “For nature!” and galloped past the others, swinging her lance as she raced towards the fray.

“We need one alive!” Revain yelled, teeth clenched in irritation.

The owlbears were fighting side to side, swiping at the orcs as they darted in to poke with spears and swords. There were half a dozen orcs arranged in an arc around the beasts, laughing and taunting as they attacked. They barely noticed as Isolde rode up behind them, swiping at their backs as she passed.

This distraction seemed to be just what the owlbears needed, however, as they ferociously clawed and bit at the turned backs of the orcs, taking half of them down in a frenzy of limbs. The remaining orcs seemed to think better of their initial attack, and turned to run off into the woods.

Ciri stepped from behind a tree and loosed a crossbow bolt at one of the runners, smiling to herself at the thud of its body hitting the forest floor. Nula and Isolde ran after the final two. Barely fifty feet later, Nula had knocked out one orc, and Isolde ran through the final monster, turning to see the owlbears retreating warily. They kept an eye on the strange newcomers until they were well into the wood, at which point they turned tail and loped off between the trees.

A few minutes later, the final orc was tied up and propped against a tree. Revain nodded to Nula, who slapped him awake. As the orc blinked in the dim light, Nula hit him again. “Where are the other orcs?” she bellowed in orcish.

The orc straightened, eyes squinted as he stared up at the half-orc. He spat at her and growled, “Traitor to your kind.”

“Do you speak Common?” Revain asked, laying a hand on Nula’s shoulder. The orc gave a curt nod.

Nula shook off the hand. “Listen here, pretty boy, you’re going to talk. Or else.”

The orc gave a guttural laugh, more a croak than anything else. “I do not fear death,” he mumbled in Common.

Charlot held up a hand, ghostly light flickering around it. “Let’s see how true that is.”

Nula nodded. “I wonder how many times you’ll die before you give us what we want.”

The orc adjusted himself in his bonds, glancing from Charlot to Nula, then to Revain. “What do you want to know?” he asked, voice low.

“Where are the other orcs?” Revain asked, before Nula could respond. The orc seemed to think a moment before responding.

“What if I answer?”

Revain stared into the orc’s eyes. “It’ll be quick and painless.”

The orc nodded, addressing Revain. “East side of the forest.”

“How many are there?” Revain asked, hand lightly resting on his sword’s pommel.

“Scores,” came the reluctant answer.

Revain’s hand tightened. “Exact number.”

“Scores.”

Isolde pushed past Revain. “Can’t you count?” She held up a gauntleted hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

The orc’s expression hardened, and he did not respond.

Revain sighed deeply, then strode forward and sliced neatly beneath the orc’s chin. As life seeped out from him, the orc’s eyes seemed to cloud over, and then a horrid noise burst forth from his mouth, impossible with such a wound.

Uzza gasped, and the others turned to her. “That was Infernal.”

“What did he say?” Robyn asked.

“Be back soon.”

~~

It took a few minutes to gather the bodies of the orcs and pile them on a makeshift pyre. Revain had dealt with enough demons to know that leaving corpses around was a surefire way to shoot oneself in the foot.

As acrid smoke climbed and mixed into the forest’s misty air, two figures stepped out from the trees. Hands went to weapons, but the elf and wolf did not appear to be tensed for battle. Revain called out, “Who goes there?”

The elf halted, the wolf stopping at the same time. “I am a ranger of the Misty Forest.” He gave a slight head bow. “The proper question, is who trespasses?”

Revain held out his hand as Robyn began to step forward. “We are following the trail of a band of orcs who are hiding here. They have kidnapped many and slaughtered more, and we intend to bring justice to them.”

The elf seemed to relax at this answer, and he nodded. “We know of the orcs’ presence here.”

Robyn stepped past Revain, drawing a scowl from him. “Then help us,” she said in Elvish.

The forest ranger seemed taken aback for a moment as he considered the half-elf. A moment later, he shook his head, and responded in Common, “The elders will not allow us to risk our forces against such a host.”

Charlot scoffed. “Then we’ll do it without you.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the youth. “What makes you think you can handle them alone?”

“We must,” Charlot replied simply.

The elf nodded, as if it had been the expected response. He then turned to the growing flame in the middle of the clearing. “Why are you burning bodies in our forest?”

Uzza explained the infernal warning, and Revain explained how corpses that were ash could not be possessed.

The elf nodded, again seemingly satisfied with their responses, and turned to leave. As he passed the nearest tree, he turned back. “Make sure you do not destroy our forest, travelers. We may lack the strength to oppose the fouler visitors here, but we shall exact a price for any negligence.”

As the elf left earshot, Revain shook his head. “Damned elves.”

~~

The group watched over the pyre as Revain tracked ahead. It was almost an hour past when the ranger ran into the clearing, catching his breath as he pointed the way he had come. “We need to go. Now.” He was then off again. Ciri seemed taken aback; in all her time with Revain, she had not seen him this agitated. As the others began complaining that the elf had threatened them over the fire, she cut them short.

“Loran, Idu, and Oskar, you can stay here and watch over the flames, alright? The rest of us, let’s follow Revain. He must have found them.”

~~

Minutes later, the group had caught up with Revain. He had located the orcish camp; a wall of forest timber stood in a clearing, and within rose many tendrils of smoke. There was a small guard posted at the only entrance, which the group handily dispatched. Within the walls was a sprawling war camp. Visible were tents, cooking pits, and crudely constructed pens, some of which were empty while others housed livestock. Adjacent to a nearby stream were five stakes across from one of the empty pens.

The group stood in the shadow of the wall for a moment, starting to discuss their plan, when Revain straightened up, as if responding to some unheard call, and sprinted toward one of the tents. The others called in whispers after him, but it was no use. Shrugging to themselves, they followed him into one of the larger tents.

Within the tent, piled high in one corner, was the greatest amount of wealth any of the group, save Revain, had ever seen. Coins of copper, silver, gold, even platinum, all twinkling in the torchlight. This amount of gold would have allowed for each person present to live comfortably for the remainder of their lives, and set up their descendents quite handsomely, as well.

But those riches were still dwarfed by the sheer number of magical items carefully stacked on the far side of the tent. Although the adventurers had only come across a handful of magical items in their time together, they were fairly certain the assembled menagerie of oddities were in fact magical - perhaps it was the undefinable aura of majesty, perhaps the slight glint on what should be well-worn components. With so many items of power in one place, it was easy to guess that at least a few powerful artifacts lay in rest among them.

There was a fine cloak that shimmered almost imperceptibly; countless weapons, armor, shields, and general tools for adventuring. Among the rest were an eerie doll, eyes sparkling with intelligence, surrounded by at least four different instruments. Atop a gloriously worked set dwarven plate armor was an impeccably delicate silver diadem inset with sapphires. Whirring and clicking sounds emanated from a copper amulet on a chain necklace.

Laying on the ground by itself was an extraordinary warhammer, emblazoned with runic ropes that seemed to writhe before the adventurers’ very eyes. Each person’s gaze was drawn to the warhammer within seconds of entering the tent, and after a moment Isolde stepped forward, shrugging to the others as she reached for the smooth, iron bound haft. With a surprised grunt, Isolde stumbled; the hammer seemed attached to the floor. She grinned back at the others sheepishly before redoubling her efforts, gripping the hammer tight with both hands, planting her feet to either side, and pulling. A string of curses later, Isolde gave up; the hammer had not budged in the slightest.

Charlot and Nula were exchanging snickers when the humorous spectacle was interrupted by the violent sound of cracking wood. Revain was bent over to the side, crowbar in hand, prying open a chest. As the lock finally gave, Revain gingerly reached in and removed a large oval of granite. He cradled the stone in his arms and, almost as an afterthought, reached into the chest once more to remove a delicate bolt of cloth.

Revain straightened up and paused, as if in thought. All at once, his face blanched a deathly white. He gravely spoke to the others, “Grab what you can now. We have very little time.”

He handed a pouch to Robyn, who exclaimed as the inside opened many times larger than the outer fabric. At the ranger’s instruction, they began shoveling as much as they could into the wondrous bag. As Uzza began to fit an impossibly large set of armor into the pouch, Revain stopped her. He grabbed five sets of gear (weapons, armor, and a few of the magical items) and set them off to the side. “They’ll need these,” was the only explanation he gave.

~~

~~~

~~

She couldn’t be sure how long it had been. Not too long, by the stars. But long enough. She couldn’t remember everything, which was probably a blessing. If she ever made it out of this, she made a point to thank some deity or other for that.

She remembered Melpomene falling, remembered the tears in her eyes at the end of her fall, the scroll fluttering from her fingers in the rush of air. She remembered Nissa viciously defending Pock’s fallen form. She remembered Wun Way calling out in desperation. She remembered valiantly fighting on, bound in fiendish chains, shielding her companions as the shaman beared down on her with scorching sorcery.

And she remembered the strangest thing by far from that day; it was not the fake wizard, it was not the accursed altar, no. It was when the devils, wrapped in writhing chains, turned to protect her and her companions from that bloodthirsty she-orc.

“This is not the agreement,” one devil had said.

“We are to take them to Guthrum,” the other had added.

Yes, that was certainly the strangest thing that day.

~~

Brienne woke up later.

Gravity was not what she remembered, and she quickly learned why. She was bound to, and hanging from, a strong sapling recently plucked from the ground. Slung beneath it, hanging from only hands and feet, she swung like captured game. She slowly passed over the ground, ferried by two orcs, who rested the sapling on their shoulders as they walked. Peering around, she saw each of her companions similarly bound.

And that was how they came to the Misty Forest, bound and gagged, unarmed and unarmored. All their wondrous items confiscated. Although clothed, they each felt naked.

The Misty Forest was properly named; heavy mist coated the forest floor, and seemed to cling to Brienne’s clothing as she was carried, leaving her feeling soaked and unpleasant. Slung down near the ground, what she remembered most were ferns and weeds, but she could have sworn she saw something, or perhaps someone, in the canopy of the forest, silently hidden, looking down on her and her companions. She was so exhausted she couldn’t call out for help.

Eventually they stopped. They appeared to have taken the group to some sort of camp; and a big one, at that. Brienne couldn’t see much of it, though. She was bound upright to a stake near a pen where human slaves were kept like livestock.

Once upright, feeling returned to her hands, feet, and other extremities. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, more of a searing and violent pain. Judging by the muffled cries around her, Brienne’s four companions were feeling the same.

They stayed there for a long time. They weren’t fed, and were only given enough water to survive. It rained at one point; Brienne remembered, because she felt cold from the downpour, but also because she managed to catch some rainwater in her mouth; after the stagnant water of the previous days, it was delicious.

Brienne had more time than she cared for. This was the first long period she had been without her magical circlet, which had enhanced her mental ability, and losing it was almost as much pain as she physically felt. Almost. The world seemed to drag by, and she felt her mind stuck moving in slow motion, as if entrenched in a quagmire while stars spun overhead. Frantically, with each moment of each day, Brienne tried to think of a way to get out, to free her companions, but without her circlet, it was hopeless.

She could almost feel an answer showing itself to her, waving right in her face, but she could not work out how to solve it. At first, she grew frustrated, her mind unaccustomed to the slowness it had been unburdened from for so long, but soon after she became despondent, and thoughts of failure plagued her too long waking hours.

Then, one morning, she was loosed from her stake, bound, and marched through camp directly to the largest tent.

He wasn’t what she remembered. She had only seen a few glimpses back then, and she had been focused on other things. But this orc was not what he had been. He was bigger, and stronger. He emanated a presence of fury and rage. He sneered when he saw her.

Inside the tent Brienne was strapped into a chair. The shaman was there, as well, almost gleeful as she peered down on the defeated fighter. Brienne smelled burning charcoal.

After she came to again, the first thing she felt was pain: white-hot and humiliating. Brienne had been branded.

She was loosed from the chair and escorted out of the tent, across the camp, and given to a guard. She saw her companions standing there, as well, all similarly branded.

Guthrum appeared soon after. He looked over the party with grim satisfaction. As he stood there, someone, no, something, approached him. It stunk of rot. It looked like an orc, a dead orc, with a long tail and pointed horns. When it opened its mouth, it sounded like Common spoken by an insect, filled with clicks and buzzing.

“Guthrum, servant of Baalzebul,” it said, “I have returned from the northern hills with your warriors. The spawn on Yeenoghu have been smote down. Baalzebul thanks you for your cooperation and will reward you in Maladomini. I will now continue to serve you as my lord has directed, until the fulfilment of your contract.”

“Then it won’t be much longer,” Guthrum replied stoically.

And now, Brienne was atop a pile of wood and pitch. Bound to a stake, branded, awaiting her hellish fate. She saw her companions. Together, they formed five points along a large circle. At the center of the circle she saw slaves. Some she recognized from before, but others were new. Brienne’s eyes fell on a little girl. She was crying.

Guthrum stepped forward and began to speak.

~~

~~~

~~

After grabbing what they could, the six rushed after Revain, racing through the forest. Before too long the trees began to thin, and they spied a large crowd of turned backs ahead. Their approach had not gone unnoticed, but somehow the magnitude of the moment delayed any confrontation.

Beyond the crowd were five people,a large human warrior, a half-elf, an aasimar, and two gnomes. They were bound to stakes in a circle around a group of prisoners, kindling and logs stacked at the base of each stake. About a dozen prisoners cowered in the center of the circle, all horrified. Some continued to cry out, pleading with their captors, while others looked resigned to their fate. Inside the group, they spied Pel, crying and clutching the rags of an unknown woman. Before they could do anything, the biggest, nastiest orc any of them had ever seen or could even imagine stepped forward and began to speak.

“Let the sacrifice of these wretched souls fulfill my contract with Baalzebul! Soon we shall all join the eternal battle on the banks of the River Styx!”

A wave of malevolent energy emanated from the orc-corpse lieutenant, and the fuel beneath the five prisoners burst into flames. The fire slowly began to burn through the grass, carving straight lines from each prisoner to the others, and before they’ve proceeded half the distance it was clear the flames were burning a pentagram into the ritual site. In the center, the prisoners began to wail in fear and rage.

The adventurers gazed on, stupefied by the sheer horror of what they were witnessing, unable to move. Perhaps it was the shock of everything, perhaps some subtle will from a being beyond themselves. Perhaps both. Regardless, the seven onlookers felt rooted in place, watching in horror, willing themselves to do something, anything, but unable to act.

From behind them, the adventurers heard a faint clanging sound, then another, louder this time, followed by an enormous creaking and a monumental crack. A blurred piece of metal whizzed over their heads, straight into the pentagram, headed right for the human warrior. Tension and anxiety swept like a wave over each member of the group, save Revain, who actually smiled.

Right before the projectile slammed into her, storm clouds coalesced instantaneously in the skies above, and thunder echoed across the High Moor. A great lightning bolt crashed down to earth - right on top of the woman.

In the pentagram, Brienne heard a loud voice echo in her head. “My hammer chose you, now show me you’re worthy.”

~~

Wun Way, Pock, Nissa, and Melpomene heard Guthrum’s words, they saw the fire leap to life beneath them, they felt the blistering heat. They didn’t want it to end this way, and certainly not this soon. But a feeling of hopelessness washed over them, and they felt like the only thing left to do was wait for the end. A small spark of resistance screamed out in each of their minds, but it was overpowered by lethargy.

This didn’t make sense, they were fighters, why weren’t they fighting? The four began to panic, but soon even that was suppressed by the overwhelming force of will sweeping over them.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar rang out above them, and Brienne was bathed in blinding light. Their lethargy was washed away. Brienne stepped out of the light, electricity crackling about her, wielding her magnificent hammer. Hope sprang forth within them. As one, they resolved to fight their way out of this.

Or die trying.

As Brienne stepped forward off her pyre, Guthrum reached to his belt and hefted the axe he had taken from her side. In his meaty hands, the Battleaxe of Goblin Slaying looked more a toy than a weapon, but its wicked edge still seemed sharp. To either side of him the demon-possessed corpse and shaman stood, clad in Melpomene’s Cloak of Protection and wielding Nissa’s Rapier of Life Stealing.

Brienne looked at the three orcs, then turned to face the nearest stake to her own, Pock’s. At the same time, the bystanders at the edge of the crowd seemed to have had their spell broken. Revain was already dashing through the assembled crowd of orcs and devils, heading for the closest stake, Melpomene’s. As he sliced through her bonds, he gave a curt greeting. “Whoever you are, the egg told me you’d need these.” As the ropes fell into the fire, he unloaded the armor the coatl egg had instructed him to bring, along with a dagger and sword.

Despite the madness around them, Melpomene flashed a dazzling smile. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Across the circle, Wun Way felt her optimism returning with Brienne’s incredible escape. Suddenly, the world around her began to dim, and a single moonbeam pierced the otherwise cloudy sky to fall on the half-elf. A voice like a laughing lyre breathed into her ear, “Accept the aid of Sune.” The bard felt a warmth spreading through her chest, and a second later her bonds lay on the pyre, and as the moonlight faded, it lingered on her hair, where a blood-red rose had suddenly appeared, entwined in a braid that had not been there before. Grinning from ear to ear, Wun Way ran across the burning field, calling, “Revain! Fancy meeting you here!” as she reached the ranger and accepted her gear.

They were joined a second later by Nissa, grumbling about stakes built for “giant folk” but otherwise grinning from ear to ear, especially as Revain revealed her armor and crossbows from under his cloak. “Payback time,” she growled, kissing the arm of a crossbow as she surveyed the surrounding orcs and devils, who were starting to react to the amazing turn of events.

The demon inhabiting the orc corpse was the first to respond. With a shout that sounded like nothing earthly, it hefted an icy blue spear and slammed the haft of it into the ground. With a rumble, a wall of ice materialized, breaking the outer ring of the pentagram and separating Melpomene, Wun Way, Revain, and Nissa from the newcomers who were fighting their way through the assembled orcs.

The shaman then lifted her fetish-covered arms and spoke a phrase of power, then hurled a ball of fire over the newly made wall of ice. The ball expanded as it flew, and impacted the ground in the midst of the group of adventurers, sending them diving to the ground and incinerating several of the orcs they had been fighting. The only person unscathed was Isolde, who had rode faster on Icthuarrux’s back, and was bearing down on the pentagram as Brienne reached Pock’s stake.

“Nice armor,” the gnome commented as his friend tore the ropes apart. “Mind if I try it on later?” Brienne glanced down at the chainmail woven from lightning and smiled.

“I don’t know if that will work, Pock.” The gnome shrugged, rubbing feeling back into his hands and turning at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

“You there,” Isolde called, hefting a suit of gnome-sized armor and a sparkling shield. “These belong to you?”

Pock looked back at Brienne, who nodded before hefting her warhammer and sprinting for the middle of the pentagram. “I think so,” Pock called, jumping down from the pyre. “Does the armor have my name written on the inside?”

Isolde paused to read the inscription on the backside of the plate. “Namfoodle Scheppenberen?”

Pock nodded to himself as he reached Icthuarrux’s flank, and craned his neck back to see the paladin. “Probably mine, then. Not too many people with that name.” He accepted the armor and paused a moment. “Would you mind helping me into it? It’s a bit of a hassle, and I think we don’t have much time.” While the paladin dismounted and began buckling the plate armor to the gnome’s frame, Pock raised a hand and spoke an intricate incantantation. A glowing warhammer, not too dissimilar from the one Brienne was now wielding, appeared before a group of approaching orcs and whacked one of them to the ground.

Guthrum had finally roused himself, and was now running into the thick of the minions swarming the group at the icy wall. The great orc let loose a wild battlecry, filled with sentiments of rage and bloodlust, and tossed a spear at Revain even as the orcs around him rallied themselves and hooted in excitement.

Behind the wall, the adventurers had recovered from the fireball, and were now under assault by a pack of orcs and a bearded devil. Charlot threw up his hands as the devil pulled back to strike, and unleashed a spell. The devil’s eyes widened as his limbs grew stiff, and within moments he was completely immobilized. Charlot hastily stepped back, nursing a bruised shoulder and glancing about at the rest of the attacking orcs. Uzza called out to him, and strands of golden light arced from the tiefling to her battered allies, rejuvenating them and filling them with hope. The two clerics nodded at each other and focused on the frozen devil, sending necrotic bolts and heavenly infernos to obliterate the fiend.

Meanwhile, Isolde had placed herself between Pock and an approaching band of orcs, headed by another bearded devil. Isolde tried to keep them at bay with her lance, but they marched steadily forward. Suddenly, Isolde heard a quiet “Excuse me” from down below, and as she glanced down she saw the now armored gnome walking through Icthuarrux’s legs, head still inches away from her belly, his sparkling shield levitating around him. As Pock advanced to the savage orcs, he raised a hand, and the air around him burst into a frenzy of activity. Spectral images flickered in a sphere around the gnome, startling Isolde before she realized that they were passing through her harmlessly. Not so for the orcs, however, and two of the four fell to the ground immediately, clutching their heads and gibbering. Impressed, the paladin guided Icthuarrux around the remaining orcs as they batted ineffectually at the ghostly figures tormenting them.

Near the ice wall, the orcs had closed in around Wun Way, Revain, and Melpomene. Nissa had slipped through the press of bodies and was now halfway to a nearby hill, at which point she turned and began firing into the crowd of enemies. Taking advantage of this distraction, Wun Way spent a moment in preparation and then flung out her arms, singing a word of power as half a dozen shining darts flew in arcs to burrow through the chests of as many orcs, each of which toppled to the ground. As his forces were thinned, Guthrum let out a furious howl and began to run for the ritual circle. Hearing their master’s displeasure, the remaining forces redoubled their efforts, lashing out at the heroes and adventurers.

At this point, Brienne had made her way through the rising flames of the pentagram to reach the prisoners in the center. There, the prisoners were bound hand and foot, with their ropes leading to a stake dug into the ground. Brienne easily ripped the stake up, and motioned for the prisoners to leave the ritual circle. As they began moving, Guthrum reached Brienne, and pointed a finger at one of his underlings, calling out, “Beelzebul compels you.” The lesser orc let out a strangled cry as its flesh began to dessicate. Life force burst from its chest, to flow into Guthrum’s outstretched hand. Invigorated, he slashed at Brienne with her own battleaxe. At the last second, she raised the warhammer and absorbed part of the blow. As the axehead struck her lightning-crafted armor, though, several fingers of crackling electricity arced out to lick at Guthrum’s arm, sending him back a step, what little hair he had standing on end.

As Isolde passed the group of orcs, she glanced to the side and saw Guthrum bearing down on Brienne. Thinking fast, she yanked her oak medallion from its chain around her neck and, taking quick aim, lobbed it into the air. Her shot was true, and as Guthrum recoiled at the shocking feedback, he was struck in the forehead by a curious wooden amulet. More surprised than harmed, he reflexively took another step back, which was probably all for the best, as a moment later the medallion fell to the burning soil and, in the blink of an eye, a proud oak tree sprouted where Guthrum had just stood, breaking a junction point of the pentagram. Isolde let out a triumphant cry as Guthrum raged.

Sensing its master’s anger, a nearby orc ran into the pentagram, seemingly unfazed by the growing flames, and dashed at Brienne, brandishing a crude blade. As its edge hit the fighter’s brilliant armor, however, the chainmail became tendrils of lightning that incinerated the unlucky orc. Brienne glanced at the charred corpse and grinned, hope rising within her chest. That grin froze, however, as she noticed the fire burning through the trunk of the oak, and a second later, the flames turned an ugly crimson as the ritual was completed.

As the flames finally connected the five points of the pentagram, fire filled the ritual circle. While Guthrum seemed unaffected, Brienne felt searing pain the likes of which she had never experienced before. As her vision returned, she saw a horrific sight. Of the dozen prisoners, half had fallen to the ground, writhing disturbingly as the other six screamed, from pain and fear and horror. The corpses, consumed by hellfire, were not a pretty sight, and the remaining survivors stumbled with great effort away from the bubbling, bloating bodies. Brienne’s heart caught in her throat as she scanned the dead, but the little girl she had noticed was being carried by one of the other prisoners, crying as she batted at her smoldering smock. Relief washing over her, the warrior turned to the cackling shaman, who was practically dancing with glee as the hellfire rose higher into the night.

As the hellfire erupted in the clearing, part of the icy wall sloshed away as harmless water which sizzled and turned to steam immediately. The steamy air concealed the fighting as Revain pulled his sword free from the corpse of a strangely barbed devil, and the ranger turned to face the possessed corpse. Though its limbs seemed only connected by a few strands of sinew and sorcery, it was fast, and as Revain tried to parry, the frozen spear cut a shallow wound across his arm. The burning cold that followed left Revain reeling, and he felt his movements slow as the world around him blur. He shook his head and batted away another attack, glancing at his allies.

He was just in time to see Wun Way fall to the last of the bearded devils; the bard felt the caustic burning of its poisoned tentacles as she slipped from consciousness, dozens of shallow cuts painting her torso red to match her hair. As the devil roared to the sky in triumph, Melpomene slashed at its exposed throat, sending its head toppling to the ground. Spying her friend on the ground, Nissa called out to the adventurers who were cleaning up the remaining orcs. “Can one of you heal? We have a woman down over here!” Uzza began running.

The prisoners finally broke free from the inferno and threw themselves at a group of bushes nearby, hiding inside as the battle continued. Seeing them run to safety, Brienne began pushing through the heat to the shaman who was now focusing on Revain. A grey aura cloaked her gnarled hand as she made intricate gestures, and a moment later, the ranger disappeared in a quirk of light. Seeing this, Brienne felt hot anger flowing into her. The aura remained around the shaman’s hand, and her eyes were partially closed as if focusing on keeping Revain wherever she had sent him. Brienne intended to make it harder to keep that up.

As she began running to the orc, a thrill ran up her arms. The warhammer seemed to shiver in anticipation, and Brienne tried to think of the last time she had gone this long in a fight without hitting something. “Mjolnir is impatient.” The unbidden thought came into her head, and she recognized the voice from before. In spite of the dead and destruction around her, in spite of the lives that hung in the balance, in spite of the demonic forces against which she fought, Brienne smiled. This was what she was meant to be.

With a mighty roar, she hefted Mjolnir with both hands and lobbed the warhammer at the shaman. With unnatural balance, the hammer spun, striking the shaman just at the right point in its rotation, hitting with a metallic CLANG that echoed in the clearing. The shaman faltered for a moment, the aura around its hand weakening. As if she had been doing this her whole life, Brienne felt the tug of Mjolnir, and pulled on empty air. As she closed her fist, the warhammer materialized in her grasp. By this time, she had reached the shaman, and with an arcing two-handed swing knocked the shaman from her feet, sending her bodily through the air. As she hit the dirt, the aura faded, and Brienne saw Revain reappear where he had been a minute ago from the corner of her eye, disheveled but in general still on guard.

Finally recovered from having a tree thrown at him, Guthrum stalked through the harmless hellfire to where Brienne stood over his shaman. “Not so fast,” he growled, unleashing a flurry of blows at the shining fighter. Brienne raised Mjolnir, wishing she had her shield, and deflected the blows she could, but still taking several heavy hits. With each blow, bolts of lightning connected the pair, and electricity crackled along the lengths of the stolen battleaxe.

As the monstrous orc’s assault let up, Brienne spat out some blood and tightened her grip on the wondrous warhammer. “I can do this all day.”

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Nula struck the final blow on the last remaining orc, knocking him over onto a pile of his fallen comrades. Behind her, Uzza rounded the corner of the icy wall and darted for Wun Way’s fallen form, pressing her hands to the bard’s bloody temples and chanting under her breath, feeling her divine powers seep into the unconscious half-elf. Wun Way’s breathing stabilized, and she felt the infernal burning cease as her eyes shot open. The first thing she saw was the tiefling’s face, lit on one side by hellfire, the icy blue wall behind her. “Pretty,” Wun Way mumbled, before shaking herself and jumping to her feet. She glanced around and reached inside for her magic, sending a wave of healing to dance between her nearby allies before tossing a dagger at the horned corpse attacking Revain.

Nissa darted past the demonic corpse and dove behind a boulder, peeking around to fire a series of bolts at the shaman as she got to her feet. The other adventurers turned from the corpses to converge on the remaining three orcs and orc-corpse.

The corpse glanced about, displeasure clear on its rotting face, and barked a phrase in a guttural language. Guthrum roared back, “I am in command here!” but the corpse was already running back to where he and the shaman flanked Brienne. As the demon approached, the shaman pulled out a bloodstained scroll that looked familiar to Brienne. The orc began chanting, and Guthrum let out a howl of irritation as, in a flash of crimson, he, the shaman, and the possessed corpse disappeared.

Melpomene wiped her sword on a fallen orc’s tunic. “Of course, now the scroll works,” she grumbled.

The air hung heavy as the assembled group stood, tensed, wanting to believe it was over, but not trusting the world to be so kind. After a few seconds, though, Robyn ran across the clearing, calling out Pel’s name as she rifled through the wrong brush, trying to find the survivors. 

As the adventurers and heroes began to formally introduce themselves, clumps and pairs formed. Isolde trotted up to Nissa and peered down at her diminutive form, asking if she was also against the end times. Nula let out a low whistle as she walked over to Pock, asking if his captain was normally this bad ass, to which Pock simply replied, “Always.”

A moment of panic occurred as the bushes beyond the clearing rustled, but then Idu, Oskar, and Loran stepped through, bringing about a loud welcome from the adventurers. A few seconds into Nula’s explanation of what happened, Oskar roared, “I missed it?!”

Brienne felt her heartbeat returning to normal levels, and in her hands Mjolnir seemed to almost purr with satisfaction. Slowly at first, her lightning-wrought chainmail began to unravel, individual chains separating into errant sparks that flew off into the air, then all at once the remaining electricity jumped straight up into the sky like a reverse lightning bolt. Thought she couldn’t be sure, she thought she heard laughter echoing in the clouds. Perhaps it was only thunder.

[tisfan]

Ad-vengers in Babysitting

for @ifdragonscouldtalk ‘s challenge, Avenging comes in Small Packages.

“Hey, platypus,” Tony said, mock cheerfully. “You busy? I could use some backup here.”

Rhodey could always tell when Tony was fronting. It was a skill that Rhodey had developed out of sheer self-defense. “I’m not currently on duty,” he said, carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong, sour patch? Why would anything be wrong?”

“Aside from the use of the word backup, and also, the alarmingly there’s-nothing-wrong-here voice you’re using. Don’t bullshit me, Tones, just tell me what it is.”

“I… might need you to track down a bad guy for me and smack him around a little until he gives you his magic hourglass.”

“Uh… you might want to start at the beginning? And like, should I be taking notes, and where the hell is the rest of your actual team?”

“Right here, sugarlump,” Tony said. “They’re… uh… All about four to seven years old.”

“Okay, on my way,” Rhodey said. He shook his head and twisted the grey chased black bracelet that he wore all the time, even though it was against a dozen uniform violations. His suit was not -- and would never be -- as cool and responsive as the Iron Man armor, but that was because he couldn’t afford to be down on Tony’s lab every single day and letting Tony fuck with it. (Also, Rhodey had no intentions of going through the nanobot injections, he’d seen the scars Tony had from that, and no thank you.)

But the bracelet would notify his armor that he was on the way -- even with the prosthetics that Tony had rigged up for him, Rhodey just wasn’t as fast as he used to be -- and get everything ready.

“Stay in the suit,” Tony cautioned him. “This de-aging dust is pernicious.”

“Yeah? So how old are you right now?”

“‘Bout thirty, ish. Hard to tell, really,” Tony said. “I’m in the suit, which doesn’t exactly come with a rear-view mirror for me to admire my makeup in.”

“You put the suit on and it kept this from happening?”

“Well, I popped the faceplate and he got me with a little bit of the dust, so I think the sealed environment keeps it out.” Tony said. “I’m leaving the suit on because Bruce has temper tantrums and a five year old Hulk is destructive as shit. Just sayin’, kid’s got some anger management issues. And let me tell you, I need serious therapy for smacking a five year old around, even if he was a Hulk. Well, mostly I just sat on him, but still. This is not enhancing my calm at all.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what they mean by babysitting, Tony,” Rhodey said. He stripped out of his jacket, tie, and regulation shoes before letting War Machine close up around him. Ah, he loved being in the armor. Even after the fall, he still felt safe inside… like, if he died in the armor, it would be the best possible death.

“Boot me up, baby,” he told the suit as he stepped in.

“Good morning, Colonel Rhodes,” ROXY said, her voice fond. She was still a little stiff, not quite as expressive as Friday, or as JARVIS had been, but Rhodey loved her, too.

(more below the cut)

“Okay,” he said as soon as he kicked off from the ground. “Give me the sitrep.” He got a brief look at Tony in the HUD, face at least a decade younger, the lines eased around his eyes. Then someone -- probably FRIDAY, because Tony’s girl just had that sort of sense of humor -- gave Rhodey a pulled back shot from a security camera.

Iron Man was sitting awkwardly, metal legs in a criss-cross pattern, holding a tiny little tea cup in one enormous metal gauntlet. A princess tiara was perched precariously on top of the helmet and a fluttery, purple glitter cloak was thrown around his neck.

“Aren’t you precious?” Rhodey chirped, delighted. “Oh my god, I totally want like full-color photos of this. I might even get one of those life-sized cardboard cutouts, Mrs. Nesbit.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” Tony said.

“You need me,” Rhodey sing-songed. “So, tell me about this villain.”

“Um, totally cliche bullshit type of guy,” Tony said, and the HUD threw up several pictures of a skinny dude in a yellow spandex suit that looked homemade, along with a blue, shimmery cloak. He was carrying an hourglass that was almost two feet tall and probably weighed at least fifty pounds, based on the way Mr. Skinny was bowed over. “Calls himself Chronos.”

“Like the greek god of Time?”

“Linear time, at least,” Tony said. “Could be. He looked more like he was going for the Piers Anthony novel character. Anyway, he threw a handful of this dust out of that hourglass at Cap. We didn’t even realize anything was wrong for a while. Cap delivered the beat down on the guy’s minions--”

“He has minions?”

“Well, he did,” Tony said. “Cap busted ‘em up pretty good.”

“And you guys are all safe?”

“Relatively,” Tony said. “As long as I keep drinking tea, Nat’s happy, and if she’s happy, then Bruce is staying mostly not-green. I haven’t seen Clint in a while, and that’s worrisome even when he’s a grown up. Steve’s drawing pictures on the walls, that’s probably permanent marker -- oh, no, Cap, come on, can we keep the sketches to the walls and not on Thor?”

“Thor’s a baby, too?”

“Yeah, it’s both adorable and weirdly concerning,” Tony reported, “because he can still lift that stupid hammer of his. I swear, it’s a fingerprint, or DNA coded or something, because there is no way in the world that some three year old with a questionable vocabulary and the drinking habits of Howard Stark is worthy.”

“Baby Thor is swearing?”

“No, he’s threatening to wreak havoc,” Tony said. “Blood-thirsty little tyrant. I’ve got him snipe-hunting, at the moment, to prove his prowess.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, you bet your shiny metal ass I did,” Tony said. “Also, Wanda and Viz are missing, also worrisome, so, reinforcements on the babysitting end would be good, too.”

“Yeah, gonna give the baby avenger nanny job a miss. So, uh, what do you want me to do about the villain?” Rhodey asked. He checked his surroundings; damn he loved being able to just leave the driving to his AI, that was so handy. He knew Tony had sometimes used travel time to actually sleep, which was a little more than Rhodey wanted to do, but it was convenient to not have to worry about deployment.

“Find him, take the hourglass away from him, and go badger Strange into doing the bibbity bobbity boo schtick,” Tony said. “Wait, Nat, honey, can you get down from there, sweetie? Come on, just… yeah, there we go. What did I say about climbing on the furniture?”

“You think this is magic?”

“It sure as fuck isn’t science,” Tony said.

“Mis’er Tony,” a piping voice said, and the kids were all so young that Rhodey had no chance of identifying which one it was, “waz fuck mean?”

“Better wash your mouth out, Mr. Tony,” Rhodey said, in all seriousness. “You’ve got impressionable children around you.”

“Bite me, sugarbear,” Tony said. “Fuck is a bad word, and you shouldn’t say it where your Uncle Rhodey can hear you.”

“All right, Tones,” Rhodey reported. “I’m eleven minutes out. Don’t let the Spy Kids get you down.”

“Just hurry up,” Tony pleaded. “My rates for babysitting go up if I have to feed them.”

“Look at it this way,” Rhodey said, “at least none of them are in diapers, still.”

“Remind me when all this is over and I’ll tell you about Captain America and the Winter Soldier flooding the bathroom by trying to rescue one of the toys they ‘accidentally’ flushed down the toilet,” Tony grumbled.

Rhodey laughed. “You can’t say you don’t deserve this,” he said.

“I absolutely do not deserve-- stop laughing at me, honeybear,” Tony complained. “Ack, gotta run, Clint’s climbing up shit again.”

Rhodey grinned. “Record all this for me, Friday, you sweet thing, you,” he said.

“Already on it,” Friday reported.

“Good girl.”

“It’s not very often that the B-listers get to save the day,” Sam said. He’d been doing his thing down at the VA when the assemble call came in and decided that the team could handle it. Sometimes, comforting vets who were suffering from PTSD was way more important than busting up some third-rate knock off villain.

Apparently this had not been that time.

“I hardly consider myself a B-lister,” Dr. Strange said. He was doing that annoying, floating thing again, the damn showoff.

“It’s okay, man,” Sam told him, nudging Strange with his shoulder. “You’ll get your time to shine. I mean, you’re not quite as handsome as me, but you’ll make a really cute doll.”

The cloak that Strange always wore shoved Sam away. Sam had never been able to figure out if that cloak responded to Strange’s thoughts or if it had some sort of agenda of its own, but it hovered around the man like a velvet attack dog, and Sam had seen it do some pretty nifty tricks that a fancy bit of flannel should not manage.

“Your thinly disguised jealousy is an ugly thing, Mr. Wilson,” Strange said.

“What are we doing again, here, banter?” War Machine thudded across the street and dropped another one of the time-lord’s minions into the pile. “Also, they’re called action figures, Wilson,” Rhodes commented, turning his War Machine mask in Sam’s direction, which always made Sam a little nervous. It wasn’t Sam’s fault, exactly, that War Machine had taken a bad hit in the airport battle, but it kinda was, and guilt was a slippery subject.

 “Just thought you needed a new story for the parties, Colonel,” Sam said. “The one with the tank is getting old.”

“This one begins to show some signs of regaining consciousness,” Strange said, and he did that weird… thing with his hands; glowing golden runes in moving, twisting circles appeared. The minion was wrenched to his feet by invisible hands. “Will it help if I threaten you first, or would you just like to tell us where we might find your boss?”

“Oh, just turn him inside out as an example for the rest of these assholes,” Rhodes suggested. “I’m tired, I’m bored, and I didn’t get coffee this morning, before Tony rousted me to come deal with his cleanup issues.”

Sam was pretty sure that War Machine without coffee was more terrifying than Strange, but each to their own.

The minion, on the other hand, just looked stubborn.

“They’re all a bunch of stupids,” a tiny little voice said.

Sam whirled around so fast he almost got whiplash. “Oh, hell no, what… no, no, this is not… Vision, what the-- how are you even a kid?”

Vision, a tiny purple toddler, was floating nearby. He was holding hands with an equally tiny Wanda Maximoff. “A question that concerns me as well. But it has, it seems, happened, and we must deal with it. Wanda and I have located Chronos, if we might be of some assistance.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know y’all ain’t supposed to be out running around when you’re toddlers, right?”

“Hey, Tones,” War Machine was already on the communicator with Stark, which was just as well, because Sam didn’t want to deal with telling an already stressed out Iron Man that they’d found two runaway mini-vengers. “We found your runaways. Flying preschoolers are hard to keep a hold of, I get it, man, I do, but…”

“Chronos left behind a unique radiation and trans dimensional signature. Between Wanda and I, we were able to follow it.”

Strange flicked his fingers in one of those convoluted patterns; he always looked more stiff and formal than Wanda, whose magic danced from knuckle to knuckle like she was listening to her own personal rave. Sam couldn’t always tell if that was a result of Strange’s injuries, or differences in their training, or something else entirely.

Lines of shimmering blue symbols extended from Strange’s hands and circled the two children, coiling around until--

“Leashes?” Sam blurted. “You made magical mommy leashes?”

“It seemed, somehow, appropriate, given the circumstances,” Strange said. “After all, toddlers are trouble on the best of days, and magical, flying toddlers likely to be more taxing than most.” He looped the glowing runes around his wrist. “This way, we should be able to keep track of them, at least.”

The two flying kids looked like surreal helium balloons more than anything else, but working together, Wanda and Vision managed a spell that drew a brilliant yellow, crackling line between the mind stone in the middle of Vision’s forehead all the way to wherever Chronos was.

“I gotta say, that’s a neat trick,” Sam commented. He kicked off from the ground to scout ahead. “Even if if looks like something out of a damn video game.”

“It is the traces of his effects on us that Wanda’s spell is able to detect, pointing in the direction of the source,” Vision said. He was always a bit pompous, sounding like Tony’s old AI, which in turn supposedly sounded like the Stark’s old butler, but hearing that voice and those tones from a tiny little purple gummy bear of a kid was super disconcerting.

The line was as the crow -- or, in this case, the Falcon -- flies, so Sam zipped along the line, hoping the guy hadn’t done something like gotten on an airplane in the meanwhile. “I don’t suppose you can tie them up outside on the corner lamppost or something, while we bash some baddies?”

“Mr. Wilson, that would be very irresponsible,” Strange said. “Maybe we should leave them in your tender care while the colonel and I deal with the situation.”

“No, I ain’t drawing straws to see who stays the kids,” Sam said. “I got nieces and nephews and I have done just as much uncle-duty babysitting as is mandated by the state of New York--”

“Perfectly qualified, great, thank you for volunteering,” Strange said.

“Man, shut the hell up.”

But, of course, he got stuck with watching after Viz and Wanda while Strange and War Machine went inside to kick ass. Taking names was optional; he’d heard a rumor that Strange had taken one man’s name permanently -- like the dude never remembered his name again. Even nicknames. It was weird and scary and petty as hell, but it did make one a little leary about going up against the Sorcerer Supreme.

Chronos didn’t seem to have gotten that memo, so Sam was stuck outside, entertaining two highly dangerous, low on patience, kidlets. The usual things that Sam did to keep his sister’s kids out of trouble did not go over well with Viz -- being a synthoid apparently kept playing video games on Sam’s smartphone from being quality entertainment.

“A’ight now, Wanda, is that a real tiger there, or are you puttin’ a whammy on me, because I don’t appreciate no whammies,” Sam said. He was pretty sure it wasn’t an actual tiger, like escaped from the zoo sort of critter, but it was entirely possible that Wanda had gotten bored and decided to import a tiger. Or grow one from an alley cat.

“Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me--” Viz started, and then they were both singing that stupid song from Monsters, Inc.

“It’s a work in progress,” Sam muttered as the tiger disappeared in a puff of scarlet mist. “Why is it that you even know Sully and Mike, Viz? I didn’t think you were big into cartoons.” He pressed one hand over his chest, willing himself to calm. Down. No tigers. There were no tigers here, damn it.

“I do have access to my… former self’s memory stores,” Viz explained. “And Mr. Stark was particularly fond of showing a wide variety cinema to Captain Rogers.”

Movie nights. Sam sighed. It’d been a while since the Avengers had had movie night. “Huh. Do you like that sort of thing? Like, when you’re a full sized synthoid and not a pint sized technological terror?”

“I am fond of popcorn,” Viz said, thoughtfully. “And hearing the thoughts of my companions about the movies, although I find most cinema to be… less than engaging.”

“Popcorn, popcorn, popcorn!” Wanda bellowed. She jumped up onto Viz’s back, wrapping her arms around his throat. “Gimme a biggy pack ride!”

“I’m quite certain what you meant was a piggy back ride,” Viz corrected her, gently, which was probably just a bad move, because no one appreciated that shit. And yeah, there went Wanda sticking her tongue in his ear and blowing a loud, wet raspberry.

“I know what I said!”

“That was truly unnecessary,” Viz complained, but nonetheless, he hooked his hands under Wanda’s knees and trotted her around in a circle. Which worked great as a distraction right up until Strange’s magical leashes got all tangled up around Sam, and the three of them ended up stuck together like the world’s most awkward slinky.

On the plus side, War Machine came out a few minutes later, carrying a huge hourglass. He turned it over, opened the -- Sam assumed, bottom -- and sprinkled a little bit of dust on each of the kids, like some sort of metal Tinkerbelle.

“Hey, watch it with that stuff,” Sam protested. “Don’t need to be any older than I already am.”

“With age comes wisdom,” Rhodey said.

“Yeah, I’m good man. Wise enough, thanks.”

There was no possible way that the War Machine’s faceplate could indicate sarcasm.

It did anyway.

Tony was sleeping.

Steve, probably the oldest of the de-aged Avengers, was playing an entirely age-inappropriate video game on the playstation while the Winter Soldier was poking someone’s smart phone, looking up cheat codes and walkthroughs. Apparently kid-savvy with tech outweighed both of their “I was an adult in the 30s, don’t expect me to care about your smartphone” stubbornness. Or, as Rhodey had often thought, privately, they were both perfectly fine with tech, the two of them just liked yanking Tony’s chain. A hobby that, most of the time, Rhodey could get behind.

On one side of Tony was curled a just-barely toddler Thor, Mjolnir in his arms like a teddy bear.  

Peter Parker was the only infant, but still apparently sticky as velcro; he was clinging to the front of the Iron Man’s suit, napping, thumb shoved firmly in his mouth. There was drool dripping down his chin and onto the suit.

Black Widow was still having a tea party and had managed to talk Clint into wearing a purple princess dress and glitter flats and drink pretend tea out of little plastic cups while discussing the neighbor’s begonias. Hulk was a great, green toddler, nearly as tall as Tony was as an adult, but he was sitting, criss-cross, on the floor at Tony’s feet, petting a cat.

Where the hell had they gotten a cat from? Rhodey didn’t know if he wanted to know.

“KITTY,” Hulk bellowed, softly, as Rhodey tiptoed around the sleeping and resting avengerlettes.

“Yeah, I see that,” Rhodey said. “Hope Bruce likes cats.”

“PUNY BANNER LIKE KITTY!”

“Yeah, okay, so we have a Compound pet,” Sam said. “I’ll have Friday put in an order for litter and food. Or something.”

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Come on, wakey wakey, old man, time to give your kids back.”

Iron Man very gently wrapped one armor-clad arm around the sleeping Parker. “Shut up, sour patch. I just got them napping. ‘S everything okay?”

“Well, aside from the World War Twosome traumatizing themselves by playing Outlast 2,” Rhodey said, “we have a cure. And the baddie’s on his way to prison. And Strange is trying to figure out how to get the hourglass back to the person it belongs to, more power to him.”

“A cure,” Tony said. The facemask peeled back and a somewhat less aged Tony looked up at him. “Almost sorry to hear that. These kids are a lot of work, but--” he stared down at Peter, then smiled, a little dopey and sad. “I kinda like it.” Tony shifted a little until Thor was sleeping on the floor, still curled around his hammer.

“Yeah, thought you might,” Rhodey said. “You’ve always been Team Dad.”

Wanda was sprinkling the re-aging dust on various Avengers. Steve and Bucky suddenly growing back into their adult selves did not seem to keep them from fighting over the PS4 controller like rowdy teenagers.

“It was just… you know… nice,” Tony said.

Rhodey glanced around. “Kinda thought you might think that.” He handed Tony a pair of little ziplock baggies. “Save it for a special occasion.”

Tony’s eyebrows went way up.

“Just sayin’, Tones,” Rhodey said, “that it might be nice to spend an afternoon as kids again, don’t you think?”

Tony’s eyes softened. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely!”

[xsparklingravenx]

Shadow Mine 4

Title: Shadow Mine

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Characters: Hank, Connor, Gavin

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,862 

Summary: Connor and Hank arrive at the crime scene, only to find Gavin Reed already investigating. As personalities clash and information is revealed, Connor realises that there may be more to this scene than meets the eye. With the pieces lining up for a potential tragedy, he'll have to act fast to make sure that no one is hurt, and keep himself out of danger in the meantime.

AO3

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

The drive to the crime scene was a quiet, tense thing.

The truth was, Connor enjoyed driving. Most cars nowadays were self sufficient in that they could drive themselves and make their own decisions, but Hank still drove an old fashioned manual thing that had probably been built in the 2020’s. While Hank’s shoulder was recovering, Connor had been given control temporary ownership of the vehicle, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to give it up when Hank recovered. There was a sense of freedom in being in control of a giant, metal, moving contraption, and Connor had to admit; he did feel a bit of thrill when he drove it slightly too fast.

He didn’t feel thrilled right now. In fact, he was mostly driving on auto-pilot, his processing power mostly focused on his thoughts for the case. Was this stress? Was he stressed? Ridiculous. It was ridiculous. The RK800 model didn’t get stressed. The RK800 model was meant for delicate situations that required the utmost calm, it was Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype, it was—

Another car pulled out too quickly in front of him, and he barely hit the breaks in time. “Woah, what the fuck was that, Connor?” Hank snapped. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d left the drive. “You trying to cause a goddamn accident?”

Connor shook his head. “No. No, I wasn’t.”

“Sure about that? You’re too quiet. Don’t tell me you’re still upset because you couldn’t figure this case out with literally the bare minimum.”

“I’m not. Upset, I mean. I’m not upset.” Connor stared straight ahead at the road. He’d slipped back into his older self for a moment then, thinking of himself as an it instead of a he, as a machine instead of a deviant. If anything that only proved that he was stressed. If his hands hadn’t been on the wheel, he would have covered his face in embarrassment. All these very human feelings, and he didn’t know how to compute a single one of them.

“You know, Connor,” Hank said. “I’ve noticed something about you.”

Connor wasn’t sure if he liked the tone Hank was using. It was a little bit concerned, but there was irritation there too. He started monitoring Hank’s stress levels (mid-to-high) and in the background, he calculated the likelihood of him liking whatever came out of Hank’s mouth next.

Low. Nearly in the single digits low.

“You’re the worst fucking liar I’ve ever met.” Hank continued. “And I’ve had to interrogate some real idiots.”

As always, Connor’s statistical data had been spot on. “What? I haven’t lied to you.”

“And there it is again.” Hank laughed, a genuinely amused sound. “You know what a tell is? Of course you do. You interrogate people, you look for them yourself. Well, guess what Connor, you really must be human, ‘cause your tell is as fucking obvious as a doped up chicken.”

Connor didn’t know quite how to respond to that. He felt so entirely scrambled that he was certain some of his wires had to be crossed somewhere. “I see.” is all he managed, before he asked, “So what is my tell then?”

“Your LED flashes red for a second before you say it, you idiot.”

Connor winced. That was indeed obvious. “I see.” he said again. “That’s…interesting to know.”

“Anyway,” Hank said, “now you know I can read you like a book, dial it back on the crap. Stop beating yourself up over what you don’t know. I’m not those dipshits at Cyberlife, I don’t care if you can or can’t piece something together with scraps. You don’t have to impress me, Connor, I’m not going to switch you off and leave you somewhere if you don’t perform.

Connor drove the rest of the way there in stunned silence. Before, he’d always worked under the threat of deactivation if he didn’t complete his work to standard. So was that it? Was that the reason behind why he felt so knotted inside? Was it because he felt like he had already failed somewhere along the way? He thought of Hank being shot in a room while he was so far away, he thought of the promise he’d made to Clara, and wondered if Hank was right, if Hank had managed to figure it out before Connor had even started making connections.

Was it that he was scared of botching his mission directives?

The crime had occurred in an underground parking lot. When Connor pulled up, he was immediately greeted with the sight of Gavin talking with a man his scans identified as one Martin Decker, the dead android’s human partner. “For fuck’s sake,” Hank muttered under his breath as Connor killed the engine. “The hell is that asshole doing here? I thought Fowler was sending us specifically.”

Apparently not content with asking rhetorical questions, Hank threw the car door open with his good arm and went marching up towards Gavin immediately. Connor took a moment to canvas the scene, checking where the forensics team were already placing their markers and where the android’s body was, before deciding to follow. He too was interested in why Gavin had shown up. He’d already been out once this morning, but then again, so had Connor, and that hadn’t stopped the Captain requesting his presence either.

Gavin saw them over Decker’s shoulder, his expression turning sour as they approached. To his credit, though, he stayed professional. He finished his conversation with Decker, who looked distraught, before walking past him to meet them halfway.

“What the hell,” he said to them, his voice more a growl than anything else, “are you doing here?”

“Funny, was about to ask you the same fucking question.” Hank replied. “Fowler called me, said he needed the best on this case.”

“That motherfucker. He pulled me into the office when I got back and said the same crap.” Gavin’s eyes flicked between the two of them before finally settling on Hank. “What a joke this is. Send your plastic toy on his way to the dead android over there, and I’ll tell you what I got out of the cop.”

“Subtle as a fucking freight train, aren’t we Gavin?” Hank shot back. “Use some goddamn tact, I’m pretty sure from the look on Decker’s face that he valued his partner, so tone your down your bullshit on this.”

Gavin crossed his arms. Connor stepped out in front of Hank, tired of the back-and-forth-arguing that was getting them nowhere fast. “Detective, it would be beneficial to all of us if I heard what was said as well. I need more information if I am to accurately work through this case, so please, feel free to share what you’ve heard anytime soon. We’re both waiting.”

Gavin looked like he wanted to argue the point, but Connor had already determined that the likelihood of him doing so was incredibly low. The man was a detective; despite his argumentative nature and his inherent dislike of androids, it still took a great level of skill and dedication to reach his rank. He wouldn’t compromise an investigation, Connor knew, out of straight up pettiness.

“You don’t know when to stop pushing, do you? Swear to God, you pieces of junk are more trouble than you’re worth.” Gavin clicked his tongue. “Decker and his partner, the PC200, he called him Zack, were out on patrol when they heard reports of an injured android, a female AX400, in the area. The two of them apparently split, the PC200 checking down here while Decker surveyed the perimeter. They hadn’t been apart long when Decker heard gunshots, three of them. By the time he got here, the PC200 had shut down and it was over.”

He laughed at the end of his recap, a bitter sound. Connor couldn’t identify the emotion behind it. “Looks like our cop-killer friend is getting sloppy already, only two victims in. Plenty of people saw it to call it in, which is why Decker and his partner responded to the call. Least we know it’s a female android now. Really narrows it down.”

“I thought Fowler said that the cause of the shut down was because the AX400 tore out the victim’s power-pump-part-thing.” Hank pointed out. Connor resisted the urge to tell him the correct name, knowing he would forget it immediately anyway. “Why the hell would there have been gunshots?”

Gavin jerked his thumb towards Zack’s body. “Yeah, the pump was cause of death. Doesn’t mean that the AX400 didn’t pull the same shit that it pulled with Glennister this morning. Three shots, one to the leg, two to the chest. We’ve got one sick piece of plastic on our hands.”

Gavin’s voice was beginning to grate on Connor’s audio processors. Time to leave. “I’m going to go and analyse the scene, Hank.” he said, heading towards where Zack’s body had been left. Yellow markers pinpointed pools of thirium and the torn out pump regulator, but other than that, there didn’t seem to be a great deal of evidence to go around.

He shifted uncomfortably as he got to the body. It felt like someone was staring at him, but when he turned around to check back on Gavin and Hank, both of them were caught up in a heated debate. Nothing. Must have just been nothing, a blip in his sensors, something to do with deviancy that he didn’t understand.

Kneeling down to Zack’s body, Connor let his eyes pick out what would be necessary to the investigation. As Gavin had said, three gunshot wounds became immediately obvious; one to the upper right leg, destroying much of the inner workings, and two to the chest. As before with Glennister, he’d been shot in the leg first. The shots to the chest had followed afterwards. He analysed further. One bullet had entered from behind, the same as the initial one. The final shot had been fired from the front.

Like he’d done in the alleyway, Connor crafted his models in his mindscape, stick-like figures of Zack and the AX400, and began working out their movements. Zack entered the parking lot, sharp movements. Gun drawn? No. Androids belonging to the police force were allowed to carry weapons now, but their usage of them was still severely restricted. Zack would not have drawn his weapon unless the situation had seemed absolutely dire at the first look. Gun not drawn. Zack was unarmed.

If the situation hadn’t looked bad at first glance, that meant the suspect must have hidden. Connor already knew the AX400 was good at staying out of sight; she had managed to get the jump on Glennister and hide from Clara when she’d come down the alley. There were plenty of cars around to hide behind.

Back to the reconstruction. Where had she been hiding? Easy answer. He placed her model behind the car that was next to Zack’s dead body. The model of Zack approached warily, and then turned his back. AX400 moved out from the car. First round fired.

Upper right leg damaged. Error warnings would have popped up in Zack’s vision. Compromised? Not yet. Zack could still see, still react. Upper right leg went offline. Zack was disadvantaged, would not have been able to fight back effectively. He would have been able to reach for his gun, though. Why wouldn’t he have reached for his gun?

No. He had reached for the gun. Desperately. That was why the AX400 had fired again from behind instead of waiting to walk around to his front. Second shot hit. Zack fell forward on his knees. Damage significant, error warnings would have compromised effectiveness. Connor remembered being shot in the back at Stratford Tower when he’d chosen to rescue Hank. Though he had shut down nearly instantly, he could still recall the moment those bullets had struck, the way his vision had filled with innumerable warnings, the way he hadn’t been able to see or hear or do anything over the top of them.

Those few seconds before he had died had felt like an eternity. He had not yet been deviant, not yet really felt emotion, but there had been something there in that moment. He didn’t remember it well now, couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but he knew he never wanted to experience it again.

He was getting distracted. Back to the reconstruction. The AX400 had approached the same way she had done with Glennister, walked around to the front of Zack and fired again. There was a forty seven second gap between the two shots to the chest cavity. The second shot had not killed Zack, though. No. He’d still been alive.

Connor knew what came next. His model of the AX400 knelt down, and without missing a beat, she tore Zack’s thirium pump regulator from his chest and threw it aside.

Zack shut down twenty five seconds later.

Reconstruction complete. Connor backed out of it quickly and stood again. It had not been a quick death. It had been drawn out and it had been brutal and it had been cruel. As he stared down at Zack’s body, he found his thoughts catching, like they were caught on a loop.

How could one android have done this to another? The deviant in Stratford Tower had torn out Connor’s pump in desperation, not out of cruelty. He could understand that, he understood desperation. What had happened to Zack, on the other hand, was beyond his comprehension. What would drive an android to be so merciless towards her own kind?

The uncomfortable feeling of being watched returned, dragging him from his thoughts. When he looked around, though, no one was looking his way. Something was off. Something wasn’t right. Something was—

Realisation hit him like a punch to his own thirium pump. He turned quickly on the spot. “Detective,” he said, addressing Gavin. “Did you and the other investigators make sure the area was clear?”

“What?” Gavin’s conversation with Hank finished abruptly. “Of course it’s clear. You see anything in here?”

“No, I don’t think you understand.” Connor said, his tone rising with urgency. “Did Officer Decker say that he saw the AX400 on his way in here? Has anyone seen the AX400 leaving this area, or were the only eyewitness reports from before the time of the incident?”

Silence. Gavin didn’t seem to know the answer, so Connor took matters into his own hands. Scanning the area, he started running through his probabilities as he looked at each of the cars.

If he was right, the AX400 was still here.

Connor’s processors were the most advanced Cyberlife had to offer, and it showed in his results. He moved past the cars with practiced ease as he searched for the one that would be the perfect hiding spot, the exact one where he would choose to hide if he was in her position. She was armed. She was dangerous. But, judging by her previous two kills, she also had a specific style, and it was one that she seemed like she wanted to keep to.

If that was correct, then his probability of being shot was very low. If that was correct, then the probability of any of them being shot was very low.

“Connor!” Hank hissed from across the parking lot. “What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m solving this case, Lieutenant.” Connor said, adopting Hank’s title in an attempt to keep the situation light. Humans appreciated that. Connor appreciated it too, now. Too much severity made for tension, and tension made way for mistakes. “You know me. I never fail my mission.”

He made it to the car that he believed her to be hiding behind. It was a sleek thing, aerodynamic, new model, something produced recently. Another car was parked in front of it, hiding it from view, and all that was behind it was a gap and then the wall. It was the perfect hiding space for a criminal, android or not. Connor stepped alongside it carefully, his steps quiet and slow.

“Connor,” Hank said again. “What the fuck are you doing now? Our killer’s not going to be here, she would have scarpered ages ago.”

Pausing as he went to look behind the car, he took the moment to make sure he was absolutely ready. He needed all of his attention on the matter at hand. On three, he thought. One. Two.

Someone shot out from behind before he was ready.  

The AX400. In one swift movement she was on her feet and barrelling into him with the kind of speed only something non-human could possess. Connor’s processors worked fast, especially when compared to a human brain, but the AX400 was an android too, could process nearly as fast as he could. Caught off guard, still in analysis mode and not prepared for a fight, Connor had no time to react. Her momentum sent him crashing to the floor, the impact jarring his systems momentarily.

“Shit!” he heard Hank shout. Chaos, suddenly, movement and sound all indistinguishable as Connor pulled himself back together. The AX400 leapt over the other cars and bolted for the exit, throwing one of the forensics men she crashed into across the floor. “Someone go after her! Now!”

Connor pushed himself to his feet, but Gavin had already set off after her. No chance. He had absolutely no chance. Humans ran out of breath. Humans had limited stamina. Androids were not plagued by either fact. “I’m going!” Connor called to Hank, and without waiting for a response, he took off after her too.

The parking lot the incident had taken place in was only a short way off from a busy road where shops and parked cars lined the streets on either side. As Connor skidded around a corner that would take him to the most populated area, he was reminded of another chase he’d had with an AX400, Kara, which had ended with the two of them on a highway and Connor only missing being struck by a car by mere millimetres. He couldn’t afford to take that kind of risk here, not when he was no longer being backed up by Cyberlife. If he died here, it would be as a human’s death was; final.

Gavin was on the other side of the street, but his progress was being hindered by the crowds. Connor managed to catch a brief reading of the AX400 further up, but the volume of people was making it difficult to pinpoint. He couldn’t waste time. If he could get in front of the other android, he could intercept her further up, minimise risk to the people around and to himself.

Probability of success was low, 23%, but he had to try. Hank had often gambled on percentages lower and had come away a winner, and Connor had ways of improving his chances.

He ran. Expertly, he weaved in and around the other civilians, predicting their movements in advance so he could plot his route. Left, right, run straight, duck beneath. His analysis went far enough ahead that his movements were all but a set of pre-recorded commands that he could follow through. He was catching up with Gavin. Probability rose. 31% chance of success. 33%. 36%. 40%.

He was just starting to think that he had it when the android did something he hadn’t managed to predict at all. As Connor made it level with Gavin on the other side of the street, she turned suddenly, darting out into the middle of the road and amongst the incoming traffic. Car horns filled the air, but she was sprinting amongst the cars as if she didn’t fear being struck.

Gavin’s eyes followed her into the road. Connor knew what was about to happen before Gavin even changed direction. “Don’t do it, Gavin!” he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the roaring of cars as they passed him by.

There were too many cars parked along Gavin’s side of street for him to see be able to see the incoming danger, and there wasn’t a crossing until further up. He was running out blind. Why would he run out blind like that? No time to speculate. There was a car coming that would hit Gavin straight on if he made it out into the road.

Connor only had seconds before something terrible happened.

It wasn’t that time moved slower when Connor was running numbers in his head; it was that his processors worked so fast that time didn’t particularly matter. Two options, thousands of potential outcomes. If Connor ran for the AX400, his chances of catching her remained at 40%. He could possibly end this case here and now. It would all be over.

On the other hand, if he didn’t somehow stop Gavin from being hit by the oncoming car, his chances of survival were poor, only a mere 8%. The number had come from Connor’s analysis of the speed, the model of car, and matching those two facts to previous accidents involving the same factors. It was a grim number. Too low. Even if Gavin did survive, the injuries would be catastrophic.

Back to the decision. If Connor caught the suspect now, he could save any her potential future targets, but Gavin would likely be killed. If Connor saved Gavin instead, she would get away and would likely kill again.

But even if he did choose to pursue her, his chance of catching her was still low to begin with. He ran another calculation, worked out another probability; his chances of saving Gavin if he intercepted at the right trajectory and speed? High. 87%.

Chance of getting killed in the process?

Equally as high.

Connor had never paid attention to that number before. It hadn’t mattered when he’s had infinite bodies to be backed up into. The mission always came first. It had to, when Cyberlife was involved.

But now? Connor didn’t want to die. He’d experienced too little of this new world to just shut down now. He had a mission to still complete, another case with Hank to figure out, he had a life to live.

That was the deviant in him thinking. It pained him, but it was true. As much as he wanted to live, he knew that he couldn’t just stand by and let Gavin die. It would haunt him. If he let selfishness win out over everything else and didn’t intervene, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

87% chance of death? Hank had gambled on higher and still lost. Probability wasn’t a sure thing. It was a chance, and one Connor had to take.

A decision made in a fraction of a second, one he would have to accept no matter the cost. Connor ran out into the road, going straight for Gavin. Car horns were loud, angry noises in his audio processors. The thought struck him that they might be the last things he ever heard.

Gavin was in arm’s reach. The screech of breaks told him that the self driving car he’d run out in front of had identified the danger, but Connor knew they would not be enough. He had seconds, if that.

He would need to put everything he had behind pushing Gavin back. Too little strength could get Gavin out of the way, but would leave Connor in the road to be struck down. He needed to clear them both of the car. Failure was not an option.

With his momentum and trajectory decided, he threw himself at Gavin, all of his weight behind it. Gavin’s eyes went wide as the force threw him back, letting out a grunt as the blow took all the wind out of him. They both went back and down, slamming into the pavement. Connor’s systems froze on him briefly on impact. Humans and androids alike gasped and moved away at the commotion.

Distantly, Connor heard the car pass behind them as everything came back online in him again. Alive. He was alive. They both were.

He rolled off of Gavin and stared up at the sky, and heard the other man struggle to catch his breath beside him. He was fine, Connor’s secondary sensors told him, not seriously injured. He’d succeeded. He’d done what he’d set out to do.

“What the—” Gavin began. He was trying to get to his feet and failing at it. Connor understood on some level; he didn’t want to stand up and probably couldn’t even if he did. The AX400 would be long gone by now anyway, there would be no point in giving chase. “What the fuck just happened?”

Connor sat up, straightening his tie. The action helped ground him. “I think I just saved your life, Detective.” Connor replied. “People usually say thank you.”

Gavin did not say thank you, but that was probably more because he had nearly just been killed and was still recovering from how hard Connor had struck him. He was very pale now. Maybe that was a result of his near death experience. Human reactions differed from person to person.

As he continued to checked over Gavin, his audio processors picked up some kind of fuss that was disconnected from the people around him. Familiar. It was very familiar. Someone was shouting his name. Oh yes. Someone was indeed shouting his name. Obviously the rest of the investigation team had caught up with them, and he had no doubt they’d all witnessed his reckless act.

Hank came storming through the crowd and hauled Connor to his feet with his one good arm. Connor allowed him, not having it in him to resist. “I’m okay,” he began.. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m only going to ask that you save the lecture for later when I’m functioning at a higher—”

Hank pulled him into a crushing, one armed hug. Connor stopped speaking, surprised and confused. It would have jarred his injured shoulder. There was no way that the action wouldn’t have caused him significant pain.

“You suicidal fucking lunatic!” Hank hissed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I needed to decide between chasing the suspect and rescuing Detective Reed. It proved more pressing to—”

“You know what? Don’t answer that question. Jesus fucking Christ Connor, I thought you were going to die out there, you know how close that car came to hitting you?”

Connor did in fact know, but decided to leave out the matter of his 87% probability rate. “I’m okay, Hank.” he said. “I let the suspect escape though.”

“You think I give a damn about that? You scared the hell out of me!” he let Connor go and grabbed him by his shoulder instead. “Fucking hell, Connor, you’re going to kill me. Don’t go throwing yourself out into danger, you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Connor said. It wasn’t a lie, his audio processors were working just fine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you any distress. I just had to do what was right. Do you think it was the right decision?”

Hank looked at Gavin, who had managed to get himself sitting at least. He sighed. “Yeah, kid. Yeah, I think it was, even if I don’t agree with you putting yourself in shit for it. Christ.” He called over to the rest of the team. “Get someone the hell out here, ambulance or someone, I don’t care, Gavin looks like he’s about to keel over and I don’t need more shit on my goddamn plate. Connor, if you think you can get there without throwing yourself into another fucking road, please go and get the car. We’re going to need to head back and debrief this all to Fowler. Absolute joy.”

Connor was about to leave, when he heard Gavin rasp, “Wait.”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to look down at him where he still lay. “Yes, Detective?”

“I—” Gavin coughed. It looked like Connor had hit him harder than he’d anticipated. “Shit. Don’t think this changes anything, it doesn’t, but I’m not stupid. I owe you for that, you just saved my life.” he paused, his eyebrows creasing. “Why’d you do it?”

Connor frowned. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

Gavin laughed, a hoarse sound. “Right thing to do. Right fucking… I can’t believe this. Get the hell out of here, Connor, Hank gave you an order and I’m sick of seeing your plastic face.”

Connor glanced towards Hank, looking to share his surprise, but the other man was already surveying the area, looking for any sign of the AX400. Was this a personal victory? He wasn’t sure. Gavin’s tone didn’t have any of the usual poison to it, but it was difficult to ascertain whether or not that was because of what had just happened.

I owe you for that. It had to mean something, whatever the case was.

“It wasn’t an order,” Connor pointed out as he turned away to leave. “It was a request. I do listen to those from time to time, when they’re reasonable.”

Gavin didn’t reply.

[ncityislove]

Mini Skirt

➳Genre: smut smut smut smut

➳Warning: obviously sexual content, cursing

➳Word Count:3k+

a/n: I don't really like this one but I'm working on a better one rn so look out for that and send requests if you want

It was another cold December morning and a cool breeze sent a wave of goosebumps over your exposed flesh. Unfortunately, you made a bet with your closest friend, Jimin, to steal the scented markers your little sister was a tiny bit too fond of. So last night, you stealthily snuck into her room while she was in the bath and swooped them up. You waltzed into the living room to show the markers off to Jimin, sticking your tongue out at him, but when he snatched the markers to inspect them, an evil smile spread across his face. You frowned at his expression, "What's with the look? I won." Before any more could be said, your baby sister came stomping in the living room with her pink sticky robe littered with cartoon frogs wrapped around her. 

"Where's my markers! I know it was you two!!"

Jimin tried to stifle his laugh but it was no use. He took one glance at the pouty-mouthed little girl and he was flailing his body all over the room. You sighed. 

Your sister's eyes landed on the handful of marked in Jimin's closed fist and snatched them with all her might. "Don't you ever try to take my second most favoritest markers ever again," she said. 

"That's not a word, first of all, and second, since when did your scented markers become your second favorite?" You asked. 

"These aren't my scented markers, you idiot! These are my Crayola super markers!" and with that, she stomped off to her room. Jimin burst into another round of laughing fits and you shuddered at what was to come. 

Now, though, you stood in the school parking lot shivering your ass off in a bright red mini skirt and a crop top. This was the punishment you served for losing the bet. Never in a million years would you have been caught wearing a skirt, especially a mini skirt. They were uncomfortable and you didn't like catching the sleazy high school boys eying your legs thinking disgracefully sinful thoughts about you. You stuck to jeans and a tee most of the time, so this was far beyond your comfort zone. 

People parked their cars and chattered with their friends, some pausing to stare at you before entering school. 

'Five more fucking minutes. Just five more then I can get the hell out of here.'  You thought to yourself. 

Then that's when something happened that you never expected. A shiny black Benz pulled into the parking space right next to you and lo and behold the most beautiful man in existence stepped out. His large and toned frame took three long steps (which would normally take you about five steps) to the passenger's side. His raven locks slid over his eyes as he opened the door and a girl wearing all black took his hand and got out of the car. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders before coming in your direction. 

The girl threw her head back in laughter at something the boy said and a smirk played on his lips at her reaction. When his eyes landed on you, you froze on the spot, quite literally. His dark eyes never left yours as he got closer and closer. The girl was talking about something and laughing but the boy didn't appear to be listening, as his eyes were on you. And that's when he passed you but mumbled "Hey, y/n." before disappearing through the school doors. 

You managed to blink at this point. "Hi...Jungkook," you said even though he was long gone by now. Your heart pounded against your chest. Jungkook wasn't the most popular guy in school but he was definitely the hottest. He refused to go to parties or attend the basketball games or anything the popular kids did at all for that matter. He was friends with them of course but only hung out with them at each other's houses. At least that's what Jimin told you, but it wasn't like he could know for sure anyhow.

The bell echoed outside the building, knocking you out of your thoughts and you ran inside in relief. You squeezed through the sea of people and headed to your first class of the day, anatomy. You took your usual seat and rubbed your bare arms in an attempt to stop your violent shivering. Jimin paused by the doorway to peek in and giggle at you then walked away. You cursed him in your head as you continued to rub your arms frantically. 

"He doesn't seem like a very good friend," said a deep voice behind you. You jumped. A familiar sculpted face came into view with a heart-stopping smile attached to it. 

"Oh n-no, he's really cool he ju--" 

"It was a joke," he said laughing. 

"Oh," you said, blushing. 

"Here," he chirped, wrapping his black leather jacket around your shoulders.    

You opened your mouth to protest but he put his finger to his lips, stepping backwards to his seat on the other side of the room. 

The second bell sounded, which meant you had no choice but to wait to return his jacket. Not that wanted to keep it or anything...

The teacher began his lesson on identifying body cavities, but you couldn't pay attention. You kept thinking about how odd it was that Jungkook of all people had talked to you today. He never did before and you almost choked when you thought of the sound of your name rolling off of his lips. Was he flirting with you just now?

'It must be the skirt.' You thought. 

The normal reaction would be irritated at a guy only talking to you because of a skirt you were wearing but for some reason, your heart fluttered at the thought of him. He wasn't such a big deal to you before but now... but now his charming toothy smile was permanently glued in your brain. And when you looked over and caught his gaze on you, you felt an odd sensation in your stomach. 

Before you knew it, class was over and a smiling Jungkook was hovering over your shoulder. 

"You know the bell rang a while ago," he said. 

You looked around to see the class empty except for the teacher and of course you two. You were so deep in thought, you didn't even notice. 

You started to clear your desk but Jungkook grabbed your belongings from you and carefully placed them in your book bag for you. 

"C'mon, I'll walk you to your next class."

You hesitantly stood and followed him out the door. You both walked in silence before your curiosity made you speak. 

"Why are you being so friendly?"

Jungkook looked shocked by the question at first but he recovered quickly and his almond eyes glittered as he smiled at you. 

"Because I need a favor." 

"A favor?" You repeated. 

"Yeah, you're pretty smart, right? I need you to tutor me for the test tomorrow." There was a test tomorrow? You really should've been paying attention in class today. 

"Can't you get someone else though? You hardly know me at all," you said, halting your steps, as you’d reached your next class. 

Jungkook's smile widened. "But I want you to tutor me." 

"But-" 

"Shh," he said putting his fingers on his lips once more. "So it's settled. You're my new tutor."

"Come to my place after school. Your buddy Jimin knows where I stay; he'll drive you there. And don't forget to bring my jacket," he said turning in the opposite direction. 

You looked down at the large jacket hanging on your shoulders and back up at Jungkook who was now chatting with his best friend, Taehyung. What the hell just happened? Did he really just invite you to his house? And how does Jimin know where Jungkook lives? You trotted to your second period but your mind was still stuck on Jungkook.

You waved at Jimin as he drove off down the street. Your head spun as you made your way down the brick path that led to a large cabin. Apparently, Jimin and Jungkook were childhood friends but drifted apart in high school. Why he never mentioned that before, you didn't know, but at least you had an explanation. 

Your hands shook as you neared the burgundy door and you hesitated to push the doorbell. You suddenly wondered why you forced Jimin to bring you here. He kept insisting you didn't go but wouldn't tell you why. He must've had some logic behind that right? You decided not to go after all. You were on the last stoop to the large porch went the door flung open.  

"Where are you going?" asked Jungkook. 

"Umm.." 

"Never mind just get in here. My brain is going to explode if you don't help me soon," he mumbled as he grabbed your arm, dragging you into the large house. It was different from you expected. Well, you weren't expecting anything actually, but you didn't think it would look the way it did. 

The living room mirrored a pop art painting. The couch was bright purple and the coffee table was a cherry red color, which surprising looked good together. Each wall was a different color contrasted by the plain, dark hardwood floor. The room was so colorful that Jungkook, dressed in all black, stood out. Pictures of a young boy sharing the same smile that Jungkook bared, were hung all on one wall. Some had him posed professionally and others had him showing off a trophy or a medal of some sort. 

Jungkook continued to tug your hand until you reached the kitchen where the island was flooded with papers and half-finished worksheets. He pulled out a stool and motioned for you to sit. When you did, he sat next to you and rummaged through his unorganized book bag, looking for something.  

"Is it okay if we work down here? We can go to the dining room if you want," he said. 

"Here is fine," you replied. 

Jungkook sighed and tossed his book bag to the ground. "You don't happen to have an eraser do you?"

"Yeah, let me check."

    You pulled out your pencil pouch and handed him an oversized eraser. He chuckled at it before he took it, and you would've asked why he laughed at your eraser if you weren't so distracted but your fingers brushing. He hunched over his worksheet and erased a few of his answers before turning to you. 

"You changed."

You scrunched eyebrows in confusion. 

"Your clothes. You're wearing jeans now."

"Oh! Yeah, it wasn't my choice to wear it, to begin with."

He smirked. "Then why'd you wear it?"

"I lost a bet."

Jungkook scoffed. "Jimin has always been a pervert."

Your hand flew to your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter and Jungkook looked at you with amusement in his eyes. 

"Too bad you changed though. I really liked it on you." 

You felt your face heat up and Jungkook was clearly satisfied by your reaction because he winked at you before sliding his worksheet closer to you. 

"So, I don't get this part," he said pointing at the paper. "What's the synonym for anterior and posterior."

"It's in the textbook, dummy. It's called the dorsal and ventral, see?" you said pointing at a diagram on the paper. 

The raven-haired boy tilted his head like a puppy and your stomach churned at his cuteness. 

"This is dumb," he said filling in the answer. 

"It's not, you just have to read the textbook," you said smiling. 

"Nah, let's just take a break," he said returning the smile. 

"So, about that bet..."

"Oh god," you said rolling your eyes. 

"What?" he said chuckling. 

"You're obsessed with that skirt."

"I am not!" he said poking your side. 

"Don't poke me," you said pushing him lightly. 

"Hey!" Jungkook yelled standing up to push you back. 

You pushed him back harder except maybe it was a little too hard because you lost your balance and the chair tilted over causing you to slide off of it. You yelped expecting to feel the cold tile floor on your face but instead, a pair of strong arms caught you mid-fall. You looked up to see Jungkook gazing at you with a concerned look in his eyes, an expression you've never seen on him before. 

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure are clumsy," he said in a teasing tone. 

You scoffed. "I know."

There was a silent pause and you realized how close you two were. His face was mere centimeters from yours and your heart started to race so loud you were sure he could hear it. Jungkook slowly stood up, making sure you were perfectly balanced on your feet but didn't release his grip on your sides. You stared at each other wordlessly and a blush crept into your cheeks. 

"You can uh... let go now," you said nervously biting your lip. You were afraid if held you any longer, he would surely feel the hard drumming of your heart if he couldn't already. 

"How can I let you go when you're looking at me like that?" He said as his eyes darkened. Your lips parted in surprise. 

"God, you don't even know what you're doing to me." 

Jungkook's lips inched closer and closer until they landed on yours. His pillowy lips moved gently against yours as he turned your body so that your chest was on his. 

He kissed you so long and passionately that you're legs turned to mush. He grabbed your hips and pushed against the counter just as you were about fall. His grip became tighter as the kiss slowly morphed from gentle to rough. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you, if possible, as he slid his tongue into your mouth. You moaned involuntarily gaining a groan from him in return. Jungkook lifted you onto the counter with ease, leaving trails of kissing down your neck as he did so. 

"God, I wanna fuck you right here on this counter so fucking bad," he said, panting. 

"Do it." You said surprising the both of you. 

A devilish smile played on his lips before his mouth crashed back onto yours. His hands roamed under your shirt as he began to grind his hard member against your crotch. The friction was heavenly and you whimpered in pleasure.  

"I really wish you still had on that tiny skirt," he mumbled against your lips.

"I think it's still in my book from ear--"

Jungkook immediately pulled away making you stop mid-sentence and frown. He dropped your book bag next to you on the counter.

"Put it on."

You looked at your bag then back at him.

"Now." he demanded. 

You quickly obeyed and took out the neatly folded skirt. You shimmied out of your jeans revealing your lace panties and slowly slid the skirt up your legs, teasing him. 

Jungkook licked his lips, staring at the cloth covering your wet core. Once you had the skirt on, he wasted no time and lifted you back on the counter, attaching his lips on your neck down to the hem of your shirt, which he tore off of you and roughly threw on the floor. He trailed his tongue up the crevices of your breasts before he unfastened your bra throwing it across the room as well. Your bodies heated up as he moved to kiss you, twisting and pinching your nipples in the process. You swirled your hips over his now very prominent boner and he hissed in your mouth. 

Jungkook lifted your skirt so that is was bunched up at your hips and kissed in between your thighs. He sucked and nibbled on your skin, leaving behind little red marks. The feeling of his soft pink lips so close to your core was already driving you crazy and he hadn't even touched you there yet.

Jungkook suddenly licked you through the fabric of your underwear and you sighed in euphoria. His hair nuzzled your stomach as he hooked his teeth on the hem of your panties and pulled them down your leg. He bit his lip at the sight of your dripping heat. 

"Did I get you this wet?" Jungkook began to rub your clit slowly. "Huh? Did I?" he asked again. 

You hummed an answer causing a cocky smile to grow on his face.”Is that so...What if I do this?

Jungkook delved two fingers inside of you without warning. You groaned in ecstasy.

"You want more? Tell me you want more," he whispered in your ear before catching the flesh in between his teeth. 

"I...I want more," you said in between moans. 

Jungkook cocked his head to the side, pretending he couldn't hear you.  

"Please, I want...more," you begged. 

Jungkook snickered. "That's my girl."

Jungkook's face disappeared between your legs before swirled his tongue around your clit, sucking on it softly. You screamed a stream of swears which only made him want to make you scream louder. He was determined to make you cum and by the way you moaned his name it seemed like you were getting pretty close. 

You entangled your fingers through Jungkook's hair, tugging at it roughly, causing him to moan and send heavenly vibrations through your body. Jungkook pushed his fingers back into you, curling and scissoring your walls like there was no tomorrow. 

"Mmmm" you moaned. 

"That's it, baby. Moan for me," Jungkook grunted. 

Jungkook sped up his fingers, making you cry out his name over and over. It was then that Jungkook couldn't wait any longer. He had to get inside of you and he had to do it quick. He could've came to the sounds of you screaming his name alone. Jungkook hastily unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down, along with his boxers, to his ankles in one swift motion. His dick hit his stomach and you licked your lips hungrily, mesmerized by his size. 

You folded your legs under you so that you were sitting on your knees and grabbed Jungkook's shirt and pulled him to you so that you were face to face. The sudden act of dominance turned him on even more and he planted his lips onto yours, kissing you briefly. You bent down to level yourself to Jungkook's rock hard cock and licked the pre-cum off of his pink tip. He took in a sharp breath as you moved your tongue on his writhing member. You took him into your mouth bobbing your head up and down his shaft and he grunted in appreciation. His tip hit the back of your throat, making your eyes water. 

Jungkook took your hair long hair and gripped it tightly into a temporary ponytail as you took more and more of him into your mouth. 

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. 

Jungkook pushed your head down forcing you to take in his entire length. Your nose touched his stomach and he cursed loudly. You tried to come up for air but he yanked your hair, taking full control and began thrusting himself into your mouth roughly. 

"I bet you like this don't you? You like me fucking your mouth like this?"

You looked up at him, tears in your eyes, humming in agreement. 

"Shit, I'm gonna cum if you keep looking at me with those pretty y/e/c eyes," Jungkook said, pulling you off his dick. 

"Lay down and spread your legs," he husked. 

You laid your back against the cold counter and Jungkook lifted your legs over his shoulders, impatiently. He paused at your entrance looking at you one last time before slamming into you. 

"Oh my--fuck!" you yelped. 

Jungkook grunted as he slid in and out of you over and over. Your tits bounced every time he thrusted into you and the only sound that could be heard was your skin colliding. He filled you up so completely and so well that you saw stars. Small noises escaped your throat as Jungkook pushed deeper into you. 

Jungkook didn't hold back as he buried his cock in your walls. His messy hair jumped with life with every thrust and sweat trickled down his back, making his shirt stick to his body. You pulled him in for a kiss and he moaned in your mouth when he tasted himself on you. He bit your bottom lip and sucked on the sensitive skin on your neck sending you over the edge. 

"I'm g-gonna cum, Jungkook," you whined. 

Jungkook pumped his dick into you faster than before, making your toes curl. Your breathing became heavier as you neared your orgasm and you could tell Jungkook wasn't far behind either. His eyes never left yours as he watched your face flooded with pleasure and lust. He wrapped his large hand around your throat holding you down. 

"Oh, Jungkook!" you screamed. 

"Scream it louder, baby. I want the whole fucking neighborhood to know how good I'm fucking you," he said. 

"Jungkook! Shit, oh yes, right there," you moaned. 

Jungkook lifted you up a little to get a better angle and pumped himself into you, hitting your g-spot. 

"Fuck y/n, I'm almost there."

With a few more sloppy thrusts, you came long and hard on his dick and Jungkook came a few moments after. 

Jungkook pulled out of you and propped his elbows up on the counter, breathing hard. 

"Damn," he sighed after catching his breath. 

Your body was too exhausted to move and you were one-hundred percent sure you would be sore the next day. 

"We should study together more often," Jungkook said smirking

. You attempted to respond but you were too exhausted to even move your lips. 

Jungkook stood up after composing himself. “I can definitely learn a lot from you," he said slapping your ass before retrieving your scattered clothing.

[lamesorrow]

Dig, dig, dig

After seven hours spent shovelling sand in the searing heat of Uldum Varius was slowly starting to think that the Thalassian reverence of the sun was severely misplaced. Thick beads of sweat tickled mercilessly as they trailed down his stomach and back, pooling in the indents between each tired muscle. His shoulders on the other hand were starting to burn despite sun-protecting ointment he slathered all over his body in the morning, unsubtly implying that he will soon be shedding peeled skin all over the place like an oversized lizard.

Still, duty was duty and as such there was nothing Varius could do but pick the shovel up himself and dig. Unsurprisingly enough, while plenty of scholars were very excited about going to Uldum to uncover priceless Titan-made artifacts, the diggers were much less eager to work in the sweltering heat.

People often had a (very) inaccurate picture of archaeology as a gentle thing, one that was all about revered scholars using tiny brushes to lovingly sweep the dust away from half-unearthed relics. The much less romantic reality was that the main tool of an archaeologist was a shovel. The bulk of the work was done by the diggers.

And what to do in the absence of the diggers? Why, the Blood Knights were the next best thing.

Varius sighed deeply. He was being very unfair now, of course; he didn't have to dig. He was technically the coordinator of this expedition after all. It's just that he's always been the kind of person who preferred to have the work done rather than undone, so seeing the untouched excavation site rubbed him the wrong way. It was more of an internal imperative than an order to follow.

Lost in thought, he almost missed the red wooden pole that the archaeologists used to mark the end of the interesting perimeter.

Varius stabbed the shovel into the sand and placed his hands on his hips. He critically regarded his work. A swatch of land had been sectioned off with red string and dotted with marker flags to identify places that held a realistic promise of precious artifacts from a bygone era.

The knight grunted and reached for a small square of cloth that he had folded and tucked behind his belt to stop the sweat trailing down from his spine. The tissue was a little damp and became considerably damper when he used it to wipe his chest and neck.

He instinctively looked around, eyeing the nearby hills for enemies and friends alike. He saw several dark shapes of sentries posted where he wanted them to be and no sight of anything else, be it the locals or the Alliance. Good. The few diggers that let the gold cloud their judgement for long enough to make them agree to join this expedition were safe to, as Lei—as surveyor Brightcloud put it, “play around in the dirt.”

Brightcloud himself was nowhere to be seen. No doubt the sight of sweaty elves insulted his delicate sensibilities. Since the expedition started Varius hadn't seen him leave the main pavilion during the day even once, and even long after nightfall the best the world could see of Leinan was just a flash of his ornate robe as he quickly made his way to his own aircane-conditioned tent.

That thought made Varius exhale softly in relief. Their relationship was short-lived and happened to fizzle out right before the Reliquary was scheduled to embark on the expedition to Uldum. It was way too late to find a replacement for either of them, so Varius had to go through this awkward post-breakup period with no chances for even a bit of solitude and privacy. The memory of Leinan's words still stung painfully whenever he let his mind wander.

You don't care enough.

You don't spend enough time with me.

You would make time for me if you loved me.

You don't make me feel wanted.

You don't love me any more.

I don't love you any more.

Varius sighed.

He was a soldier and he loved like a soldier; in the free moments, when he could afford to think about his own matters. Warmly but quietly. Without much pomp or fanfare.

That was not enough for men like Leinan Brightcloud. He wanted to be courted, fawned over, constantly showered with gifts and attention. Varius understood that, he really did, and he tried, but whenever he came home after a long night spent escorting a convoy and fending off pirates, mercenaries and thieves, all he wanted to do was take a quick bath, collapse on the bed and sleep for a week... Not go to the opera, check out that cute little bakery that opened on the opposite side of the city, make a detour to visit the botanical garden and finally walk all the way back home just to be roped into making love for approximately three hours. Oh, he forgot about the wine. With Leinan Brightcloud one never forgot about the wine. There would've been wine. Plenty of wine.

And then a repeat of that the next day. And the next. And the next.

It was a little cruel to admit, but—despite the sadness and disappointment—Varius' quality of life went up considerably since that breakup. For starters he was actually getting enough sleep to be at least remotely functional again.

He looked up again and froze when he saw the flap of the pavilion ripple and move away. For a second he fully expected to see Leinan's face—but no. It was just Melathara, armed with her white parasol. Varius felt his shoulders sag in relief and instantly felt bad about it.

Mel waved at him cheerfully and made her way across the dig site. Between a bright orange dress, an equally orange headband and kaldorei-style laced-up sandals she looked like she was on her way to attend a beach party rather than conduct important research. That unpretentious approach to life was easily Varius' favourite thing about her.

He watched her approach with a small smile that only grew wider when he noticed a large glass jug in her hand.

“I see you're being your usual overachieving self again,” Mel called out happily. “How's it going?”

“Hard to say. Difficult to make a proper test pit in these conditions, but... two more levels and I think we're going to know whether or not these are a waste of time,” Varius said, nodding towards the markers that dotted the site.

Mel handed him the jug and he almost dropped it when his tired, puffy fingers closed around icy glass. “Ice,” he whispered reverently. “Mel, I love you.”

She laughed loudly and affectionately slapped his shoulder. Then she groaned and wiped her hand on the expensive fabric of her dress. “Sunwell, you're sticky. I've changed my mind; give me that jug, you're going to drop it.”

Varius obediently let her take the jug back and took a few steps away from the dig site to avoid accidentally damaging any artifacts—there was no realistic way of that happening now, but at this point protecting the excavation was a deeply-ingrained instinct he didn't bother fighting.

He gasped loudly when Mel poured cold water over his hands. Soothing coolness breathed some life into his tense wrists and swollen fingers. Varius sighed gratefully and slowly rubbed his hands, trying to work the moisture into his dry skin.

“Bend over,” Mel said. “I'll cool down your neck.”

He obediently folded himself in half and reached for his ponytail to keep the hair out of the way. The splash of cold water over his sun-warmed skin could only be described as shocking, but in a good way. Cold droplets trailing down his shoulders made him shudder in intense relief.

“Thanks, Mel,” he sighed contentedly and straightened out his back. His friend smiled at him.

“Don't mention it. I was dying to get out of that tent anyway.”

Varius hesitated and cast a cautious look at the pavilion.

“How is...?”

“Leinan?” Mel rolled her eyes. “Drowning his grief in wine, swearing that he's never falling in love again and proclaiming that all Blood Knights are emotionless bastards. He's pretty insufferable, really, but that's his usual state of being. Once he reaps his share of condolences and consolation he's going to forget all about it. Trust me, I know him.”

Varius nodded. On one hand, that was comforting—he didn't want Leinan to suffer. On the other hand... it was a little hurtful to be made aware just how forgettable he apparently was.

Mel instantly picked up on his discomfort. She shook her head and gave him a lopsided smile. “No, Vari, don't you worry about that. I told you: I know Leinan. He's a vapid, shallow bimbo.”

Varius winced, prickled by the instinct to defend his (former) boyfriend's honour. As brutal as it was, Mel's statement was... not entirely wrong, but it was definitely not right either; those several months they had spent together had assured Varius that Leinan Brightcloud was a witty, quirky and inquisitive individual. Yes, he was a little prone to theatrics and drama, but which nobleman wasn't? Varius couldn't even blame him for being spoiled and attention-seeking, not after attending that one memorable family reunion and seeing how the nobleborn children were being treated. All shortcomings of Leinan's character were simply a product of his upbringing and to hold it against him would be cruel.

“You have a terrible taste in men,” Mel added, not at all helpfully. Varius grunted.

“Maybe I should stop trying,” he said dryly and reached for his shovel.

“Or maybe you should let me try to fix your bachelor status.”

Varius gave his friend a disbelieving look. “Aren't you the one who set me up with that Farstrider?” He asked incredulously. “The one who insisted on being called 'Wolf' and glared at everything? And smelled like damp leaves?”

Mel scoffed. “It was a trial run!”

“It was a disaster, Mel.”

The mage snorted. Even she couldn't argue that, from the looks of it.

“Okay, fine,” she agreed reluctantly. “But there are plenty more fish in the sea, you know. For example, I was thinking about introducing you to my cousin Elberan...”

Varius raised his eyebrow. “The one that spends extraordinary amounts of gold on vintage Magic: The Sundering trading card games?” he asked, feeling amusement pull at the corners of his lips.

Mel gave him a sour smile. “For a man whose love life consists of a string of awful relationships, you sure are picky,” she said dryly.

“If you want to send me on a blind date with one of your relatives then maybe don't make me listen to endless lists of things you don't like about them.”

Varius rolled his shoulders. Sunlight was already warming up the damp skin on his neck, but there was still work to be done. Cold water helped, but not nearly as much as Mel's presence did. The knight glanced at his friend and gave her a wide, shameless smirk.

“Besides,” he added, knowing full well that his next statement would be enough to make Elberan run away screaming if he ever heard it, “I've always liked Hearthstone better.”