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ana-lora-rein · 2 years ago

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𝘌𝘺𝘬𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘛𝘴𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘭𝘶 ܟ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1 ܟ Broken Wings

Amateur translation. Postcanon.

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Marines don't die, they go to hell...

His ears were ringing endlessly, and his heart, pounding frantically in his chest, seemed about to burst out. The only thing that cooled off was the tailwind, which kept from passing out. If he had lowered his eyelids for even a second, in a fainting state, he would have fallen from the flying banshee straight into the rocky abyss of the soaring mountains. Miles felt warm trickles of blood rolling down his temples. He had to overcome the stabbing pain in his body to brush it away with his hand.

— Bitch... — Quoritch cursed, spitting up the clots. He gripped his fingers tightly on the collar straps of the winged beast, guiding it toward the base.

The flight wasn't long, but all the way there, Miles had only one thought: Why didn't his son stay with him? Little Spider, struggling with conflicting feelings, did not let him die: pulled from the bottom of the wreckage of the sinking shuttle, growled one last word and fled away. Maybe the kid did it out of the compassion he'd inherited from Sally? Or out of a sense of indebtedness to the one who had brought him into the world? In any case, the colonel was left confused. And in the back of his mind, two very different beginnings were struggling. They, like cats, were gnawing at him from inside, reminding him that sooner or later he would have to choose. One was demanding to turn around, to find that scoundrel Sully and take out the wretched gang for the damage they'd done, and the other was wanting to forget, to tell everyone to go to hell. His jaw clenched in irritation, and Miles clenched his teeth. He promised himself he'd figure it out. But there was no way to undo what had happened. His team, his loyal comrades-all of them dead at the hands of the blue apes. What a shame for him as commander! Poor Lyle. He wanted to go to the makeshift sauna at the bottom of the hill just outside the town. And the Reaper... She'd still be alive and well, even if she was blue in the body. Mansk had intended to ask the beastie out on a date. And though all the boys knew how foolish his idea was, he couldn't ask anyone else out.

«Scumbag Sully and his cum wife!»

A gagging interrupted Miles' thoughts. Rekom crouched on his side, spitting out blood. A stinging, biting pain squeezed under his ribs. He mentally counted the damage his enemy had done: a punctured shoulder, something like a lung wound, a concussion that made him dizzy and his eyes swim. All this he had felt once before. On Earth War, it was like déjà vu, a memory that came back to him. The pain was the same, but the motivation was different.

Hear that, Sally, how does it feel to betray your country?

The Winged Beast. Banshee. It suddenly nervously fluttered its wings, screaming as if distraught. The animal sensed everything the rider was experiencing. The colonel remembered the connection (tsaheylu). This connection seemed too strong, too obscene and too explicit. Gathering his will into a fist, Miles took a deep breath and exhaled, placing his palm against the banshee's head. He stroked the beast, tried to calm it down, because we don't need the bird to get nervous and send it into the abyss. The colonel understood that he had to get to know his new friend better, to learn the subtleties of communication.

Like a thunderclap, the wireless rattled loudly in his ear. He still had the earpiece with the microphone in his ear.

— Quaritch! Can you hear me? General Ardmore calling!

— Shit... — Miles sighed heavily, coughing and coughing up, — Yes, I'm on the line, General! The mission failed, there were too many of them! Back to base!

— Why haven't you been in contact for two hours?! What happened?! What happened to Dr. Ian Garvin?!

— Missing or dead.

— And Captain Mick Scoresby?

Miles crouched in pain and wrapped his arm around himself, trying to answer as calmly as possible. He never liked to report, especially to women, and the worst thing for him was when it was a woman who turned out to be the boss. The colonel could only respect the generaless for the first half of the day he met her before she got under his skin with arrogance and prejudice.

«Fucking bitch...»

He had to unfasten the Velcro vest and throw it off his bloody body: even the clothes squeezing his chest prevented him from speaking.

— Missing or dead, — the Colonel repeated.

— Go immediately back to the scene and find the doctor! Can you hear me?

— I hear you. — Miles's breathing quickened and his eyelids seemed too heavy.

He wanted to finish, but the shroud that fell over his eyes and the ringing in his ears plunged him into darkness. His hands slid down, and recom fell chest-to-chest on the banshee's neck, finally losing his composure and his equilibrium.

***

Laura Asadi always loved weekends. Even though the sun was beating down like never before, illuminating the city streets with its scorching rays and casting glares on the glass panoramas of the buildings, she went to the park for a long-awaited jog. Nothing could have made her happier than the mesmerizing nature of Pandora. Unless it was music on her headphones and a desire to pursue dancing, singing, photography, or maybe even writing a novel. But as much as a young soul's heart tugged at creativity, it was her profession as a therapist that allowed Laura to leave a dying planet and find herself in the most influential organization. The RDA appreciated her abilities and welcomed her into their ranks. They gave her a new life that she longed to share with her family. Happy for their daughter's fate, her parents remained on Earth. Laura could only arrange their move to Pandora by working off her first contract, and she humbly awaited that day.

The week flew by unnoticed. Every day she had to work late with patients caught up in the maelstrom of events. People couldn't find common ground with the local tribes: A prolonged war had broken out. Diversion after diversion claimed more and more victims. Few survived the battle with the Na'vi. Lora understood that they were fighting for their territories, and were not at all happy to have unexpected visitors from space. Any attempt to negotiate between the two parties to the conflict was backfiring. Too different lives, too different species, too different view of the world.

Laura admired the philosophy of the Na'vi. Before going to bed, she read books about this amazing species, their culture and everyday life. She especially liked the works of the once popular scientist Grace Augustine. Fifteen years ago this woman had managed to make contact with the Omatikaya forest clan. They even built a school for children, where Miss Augustine taught earthly lessons and shared her knowledge. But, unfortunately, her efforts were wasted. There was a conflict that remained the subject of numerous theories. Laura heard only one truth: A certain Marine Jake Sully, an Avatar member, sided with the Na'vi during the first war, gathered the clans into an army, and prevailed by expelling the humans from Pandora. This precedent has remained on everyone's lips to this day. After all, from time to time Sully would sabotage military depots and blow up cargo trains. Some considered him a collaborator, a traitor to the motherland, and some quietly admired him and wished him victory. Laura, on the other hand, always found it difficult to choose. She tried to stay out of the fuss and do her job - to heal the wounded, to save lives. After all, working off her contract to get her family back from a dying, poisoned Earth.

Gathering her long dark hair into a ponytail, Laura stepped into the thicket of the park, breathing in the scents of the local flora through the transparent oxygen mask. She liked to come here in the mornings when she got up early: she enjoyed nature, and fed the funny prolemurs with bananas before exercising. Some animals began to recognize her, came down from the trees and unceremoniously stretched out their paws in the hope of getting a treat. This time red apples were waiting for them. No sooner had the girl rustled her backpack than twigs rattled around her. On all sides there were those who wanted to eat them. They wiggled their ears, curiously waiting and looking at the guest with interest.

— Guys, not all at once, you do remember to be able to share, don't you? — Laura laughed as she handed out the apples. One of the cubs, begging for attention, climbed down from his mother and brazenly climbed onto the girl's shoulder, wrapping one pair of long paws around her and tugging at the strap of her top with the other. — Oh, is that you, buddy? I remember you, you're growing up fast...

She quickly got used to and grew to love the animals here. Her acquaintances and colleagues always wondered how these animals let her in so quickly. After all, usually prolemurs tried to stay away from people, and if they approached, it was only for a moment. Inadvertently, Laura thought she loved animals more than people, and she should have gone to the veterinary department. If it weren't for her promise to her dad and her love of the arts, she would have. Born into a family of the medical generation, she hadn't found the courage to break a long-standing tradition. Even though she felt out of place, she was one of the best in the department.

Asadi didn't have time to finish feeding the prolemur pack. Suddenly the roar, so wild and piercing to the core, made the beasts scream and scatter in panic in the bushes. The girl shuddered, clutching her heart in terror. The sweep of bright blue wings that came down on the ground, crushing the bushes, shocked and stunned her. Laura had never seen a mountain banshee this close. From something screaming in panic and shaking her head. The girl opened her eyes in wild amazement. A bloodied, unconscious Na'vi had fallen from the winged animal's back. A tall blue body in military gear fell between two prickly bushes. The banshee flapped its wings and rose into the air, disappearing into the sky.

«Oh my God, it's an avatar!»

Laura dropped to her knees and crawled toward the man. The long thorns of the bushes touched her tanned skin, scratching her to the point of pain. The girl clenched her teeth from the unpleasant thrill, but, holding herself together, approached the victim. Streams of blood trickled from his wide nose, mingling with the profuse sweat on his blue skin. The avatar furrowed his dark eyebrows and lowered his pointed ears in pain and agony, but he did not regain consciousness. He only opened his mouth, breathing heavily in the air he needed.

Laura caught her breath. She stared in shock at the three-meter-tall humanoid she was seeing for the first time in her life. Her hands were shaking with excitement. She hadn't had to deal with avatars yet. The therapist wasn't sure she could give first aid to this creature properly, because she didn't know how much their anatomy matched that of a human. But despite her fear and uncertainty, her therapist habit was to go nowhere. With feverish movements, she began to check for a pulse and determine the damage to her body. The girl also fleetingly noticed the long tail she had accidentally sat on. She hesitantly put her palms to the humanoid's chest, probing for numerous cuts. Blood was flowing from the punctured shoulder. She had to act immediately. The purple insignia of skulls and a snake on the victim's clothing suggested that this was someone very important to the RDA. A recombinant organism. Back from the dead, he risked ending up on the other side of the world again.

The therapist gathered her senses and was vigilant. She grabbed the edges of her cotton T-shirt, tearing the white fabric in two halves. A few moments more, and the punctured shoulder was carefully bandaged. The girl couldn't let it die. Quickly she took the smartphone out of her backpack with her bloodstained fingers and dialed the right number. The beeps were excruciatingly long. Laura was shaking with fear for the creature's life. She gently wiped the blood from under his nose, checked his pupils, and lifted her eyelids. Rekom was on the verge of life and death. Laura swallowed the lump in her throat. Emotions were running wild.

«God, I hope you don't die!» — Laura thought, and a shuddering veil covered her eyes.

— Emergency service. What's wrong? — The operator's long-awaited voice came through the smartphone like a breath of oxygen.

Laura perked up, holding reckom's bandaged shoulder with her free hand. He hissed desperately, like a roadkill cat, remaining unconscious with only one twitch of his tail.

— Therapist Laura-Anastasia Asadi speaks! Suburban Park sixth district, thirteenth precinct on the south gate side, a recombinant has been found in critical condition! Send a car immediately, he has lost a lot of blood, punctured shoulder! Also suspected second-degree concussion!

The wounded man moved his ear. He tried to catch every word, tried to come to his senses, but all he could do was open his blood-glued lips and whisper faintly:

— I must... I must...

— What? — Laura leaned toward his face. She excitedly contemplated every inch of smooth blue skin with smooth "tiger" stripes, and her hand gently slid down the long neck of the amazing creature, where the pulse beat faintly.

— Miss Asadi, five minutes, the brigade is on its way, wait!

***

At the end of the long, bright tunnel, flooded with blinding light, Miles saw the outlines of people. They were calling his name and rank, asking him to return. Somewhere he'd heard those voices before, painfully familiar, but no image had ever emerged in his mind.

«Who are they? And what do they want?»

As if he were weightless, light as a feather, he floated and felt absolute serenity. He did not want to fly to the sound of the voices. He wished he could stay. This strange place of walls of bright white light engulfed him with every second and distanced him from human silhouettes. It seemed so familiar, so quiet and safe. There was no noise, no one was giving orders. And there was no pain.

«It's so good here» — Miles thought, but the bliss was short-lived. An invisible force, like a magnet, pulled him forward along the tunnel. A sense of excitement and fear made his heart beat fast. Now he heard not only people's voices, but also the pounding of his own heart. Something squeezed his lungs. The feeling of his body returned. And the pain returned. The heaviness in his right shoulder was accompanied by a groan. Miles opened his eyes.

— Finally! We thought we'd lost you, Colonel, — said the man in the big round glasses and white coat. The nurses, standing on either side of the patient, shined flashlights directly into his eyes, testing the response of his pupils. Miles exhaled irritably. He wanted to raise his hand and shove the pesky medics away, but the straps of sturdy material prevented him from even moving.

— What the hell? — the recom stared at the restraints that held him in one position, overcoming the stabbing pain in his ribs.

— I'm sorry, sir, this is an involuntary measure. Do you remember what happened to the previous shift of doctors? Your violent reaction sent them to the ICU.

— I'll put you in the ICU if you don't take off those fucking bracelets right now. Now!

— Sir, no, I can't, I'm sorry, that's an order... — the doctor smiled tensely, adjusting his glasses on his thin humped nose.

— I order you! — growled grudgingly Miles, emphasizing the pronoun.

— Please, sir, calm down, you can't be nervous, you've been injected with a double dose of antibiotics...

The doctor's speech of trembling, uncertain words was interrupted by an electronic beep. The massive doors parted to the sides, opening to the visitors. General Ardmore appeared in the ICU in the company of several guards and with a man in a black business suit. When Miles saw people in such suits in front of him, he was knowingly preparing for something unpleasant. These well-dressed rats always demanded too much and gave nothing in return. The first thing he would remove from his memories of his past life was service to such chumps.

— You have no right to give orders if you can't handle even a simple task,— the general said, and walked over to the wounded man, looking at his injuries from head to toe with a look of frustration, — report what happened. And where's Dr. Ian Garvin?

Miles pressed his lips together, holding back the urge to curse, and, clenching his fists, obediently answered:

— The ship sank. The crew, the doctor, and the captain are probably dead. So were my men. Sully attacked from several flanks. There were more of them than we thought, there was little chance of winning.

— But those chances were there? — the man in the suit asked.

Miles glanced at the stranger, thinking only of how nice it would be to take a cool shower now, but instead he had to lie in the medication-soaked room and report back.

— That's right. If it hadn't been for their tame whale with amrita in its head, I'd have executed the scumbag Sally.

A tense feeling arose in his mind. He remembered how the blue savage, Sally's wife, had put a dagger to Spider's throat, intending to avenge her son's death. But was Miles guilty of that? Jake, as a father, had failed. The inevitable war, one way or another, would have touched everyone anyway, and the family leader could have ensured that the children would not be involved. But he himself gave the trump cards to the enemy and was punished by fate.

— Are you going to write in your report that the whale is to blame for your failure, too? Or maybe you screwed up strategically after all? — The generaless folded her arms across her chest in displeasure, glaring at recom with her penetrating eyes from beneath her camouflage cap.

Miles turned his head away, looking out the ajar window, and for a few seconds there was silence in the ICU. There, on the base grounds, right on the roof of the warehouse, sat his dark blue banshee. The celestial predator spread her broad wings that dangled gracefully on either side of the roof and brushed out her feathers. Military onlookers passed by, darting away as if she were a demon, but the bird was strikingly calm.

«What devotion» — still marveled the recom.

The irritation was replaced by an unpleasant longing somewhere in the depths of soul. Son. He came to mind again. The boy had chosen to stay with the one who had raised him since he was a baby, even after the demon stepmother had nearly slit his throat. Miles tried to understand his own feelings and inadvertently imagined two different beings struggling inside him.

«You little bugger, all because of you!» — thought the colonel, remembering the face of the furiously snarling Spider.

— I'll make the report very honestly, don't worry, General,— he said, looking at his boss again with a calm look.

— It's not the report I'm worried about, it's your recklessness and stupidity! You've been dragging around with that wild boy and you've let your guard down.

— You're looking in the wrong direction, General. I took Sully by surprise, killed his son. He'll come. He'll want revenge. Then it'll be over quickly.

— Oh, so the result of the defeat is the future? — The man in the suit came back into the conversation. He kept writing something down in a folder. — You sacrificed an entire fleet to eliminate one saboteur? Then how many souls do you need to take out the others? Particularly the leader.

— I don't like the way he looks at me," Miles blurted out, trying to lie down more comfortably, but the pain in his shoulder made him moan painfully.

— Meet the chief administrator, Mr. Jonathan Bryce, — the general waved to the doctor, pointing to the medicines, and he obediently administered a recurrent dose of painkillers.

Miles shook his head hopelessly and closed his eyelids tiredly. The voices ringing in his head were getting tiresome.

— The last thing I need here is another Selfridge...

— Don't be sarcastic, Colonel. Do you realize why you were sent here again? — asked the man named Bryce, — because I got the impression that you had lost the thread of the narrative in the cases.

— You can't judge a war that isn't over by one lost battle,— Miles immediately retorted, — Sully will come back himself, and this will be our chance to eliminate the bastard.

General Ardmore's face stretched an ironic smile. She spread her arms to her sides and replied:

— You have lost twice, Colonel. Once in that life. The second time in this life.

— Honestly, I don't quite understand what happened in that life, — recom frowned unhappily, shaking his head, — everything seems like some kind of deja vu and only, with some sense of the past. Bryce, tell upstairs that I've been sold a blue marriage.

— And it isn't a marriage at all, Colonel, — the man smiled haughtily, as if hiding something important, and then slammed the file shut.

Miles opened his yellow eyes in bewilderment, and even the general looked questioningly at the RDA representative.

— What does that mean? What do you mean?

— Tell me, Doctor, how long will the recombinant have to be serviced? — Bryce ignored the colonel's questions.

— With injuries like that it will take at least a week, — replied the medic and scratched the back of his head, unsure of his patient, — sir, it is advisable not to disturb him even now...

Bryce squinted, tapping his fingers on his folder, then looked at the general and said confidently:

— We need him tomorrow.

— Tomorrow?! — The doctor's jaw dropped, — but, sir, it's highly irrational, he... He needs rest and treatment...

— Well, now I know why they tied me up! — Miles laughed out loud, — Doc, you didn't want me to blow somebody's face off, did you?

— You have some special remedy for our colonel, don't you? — Bryce went on asking questions, insisting on his point.

— Yes, but you don't understand...

— Wonderful! - he interrupted the doctor with a satisfied smile on his lips," Then you know how to get him back on his feet.

«What are these bitches hiding?».

***

Time was nearing sunset when Laura took off her disposable work robe and tossed it into a small recycling chamber. At the push of a button, not a trace of the artificially created used fabric was left. The day had been impossibly boring, except for a failed morning jog. Couldn't get that wounded recombinant out of my mind. Big and blue and so adorable that Laura couldn't help but worry about him. Every now and then she wondered if he had survived. She hoped for the best, and didn't have the courage to call the Center. And who on earth would report the well-being of an important RDA recom to an ordinary GP? Laura was sure that even such information remained a secret within the walls of the organization. The recombinant program remained inaccessible to most of the staff: none of the rank-and-file knew about its details, only the creators themselves and the upper ranks of specialists. Laura had heard that every employee touched by the program signed a nondisclosure agreement, and leaking information threatened huge fines and prison. But there were even crazier rumors: a rumor had circulated among a large group that one of the scientists had gone missing after management learned of his entries in a personal diary. He was writing down what he was obliged to keep only in his head, and the RDA thought he might have been passing secret information to the ranks of the enemy. When Laura first heard this story, she only wondered to whom this scientist could have revealed secrets if the RDA had no competitors on Earth for thirty years? They were absolute monopolists. Could the scientist be revealing secrets to the Na'vi clans? But what could they possibly know about it? Or perhaps he was secretly collaborating with Jake Sully himself? Whatever the truth was, Laura didn't believe these tales, and only smiled at such stories.

With an unpleasant heavy weight on her soul due to not knowing the fate of the recom, Laura was about to leave the infirmary, but then she was called at the guardhouse. The operator behind the monitors, named Sam, waved, and the therapist immediately walked over to the counter.

— Let me guess, you mean I'm being left on the night shift again? — Laura leaned her head on her side tiredly.

— Pumpkin, what do you think of me! — laughed the red-haired operator in the black uniform, — Do you really think I only intend to bring you bad news?

— Why? — Asadi stretched out and laughed in response, — it's not bad news at all, I love my job and my patients, it's just that only robots can have no rest.

— I know, I know, you try harder than anyone else, — Sam said as he patted the girl's hair, which fell in a wavy mop of long dark strands to one side as Laura habitually tucked it back and to the side.

— Oh, you sly fox,— she scowled playfully, — just to flatter.

— And you're wrong, not flattery at all, — the guy pulled out of his jacket pocket almost transparent card, handing it directly into the hands of his partner — a name pass of the first level. Passed a few minutes ago. But don't flatter yourself, it's disposable.

Laura opened her eyes in amazement. She twirled the card several times, as if to verify its authenticity. Such passes were issued only to personnel from the RDA Center: scientists, engineers, programmers, elite military and directors. She looked questioningly at Sam, who was smiling, genuinely pleased with her reaction.

— Yeah, yeah, it's right up there. They said the management wants to see you today.

— They did? But... why? — Laura panicked, feeling her cheeks redden as her blood pressure soared — oh God, did I do something wrong? Did I kill the patient? That's right, I killed him!

Sam laughed, throwing his head back and grabbing his stomach.

— Baby, come on, calm down! It's just a request to appear in front of your superiors. Maybe they want to promote you.

— Sam! Promotion? You... — Laura looked at the chart, — Jonathan Bryce? That's the kind of authority given to our chief medical officer so he doesn't have to bother the top for no reason.

— Well, then the head doctor can fire you too, why would Bryce have to write you a pass like that and call you in to see him? — The guard barely calmed down, wiping away the tears that came out of laughter, — God, pumpkin, you're just a miracle, you made my day more fun, I love you...

Laura put her palm to her forehead, herself barely restraining a laugh from her silly reaction. But at times like this, when excitement overwhelmed her, she couldn't help herself. Laura possessed concentration and vigilance only in her work, because she understood that she could not make mistakes as a professional. But in life, this philosophy did not apply.

— I'm sorry, Sam, I... I sometimes lose control... — the therapist took a deep breath and exhaled, looking at the pass again. — It says the time. That's in about twenty minutes. I wonder why I'm being summoned.

— Let's go for a ride, and we'll find out together? — Sam smiled slyly, taking the backpack from the girl and slinging it over his shoulder.

— Are you on a motorcycle? — Laura pressed the pass to her chest.

— That's right, miss!

— That's good, sir! I love the speed!

***

The tailwind blew Laura's curls as she made her way to the main RDA building. Sam was accelerating faster and faster on his motorcycle, and she held him tightly by the waist as she watched the neon lights of the city. On the road, she only wondered why this building was farther away than the others. Almost at the edge of the city towered a tall gate of solid steel, shutting out whatever was going on there from the gawkers. The area looked more like a secret military training ground than a haven for scientists and business directors: endless hangars, armored vehicles, men in uniform, and fighter planes on the roofs. The area was constantly patrolled by guards armed to the teeth. No one could enter the area without a pass, which made Laura uncomfortable. She, a rank-and-file general practitioner, was suddenly given that pass.

«I hope me don't get fired» — the girl thought, resting her chin on Sam's shoulder and looking hopefully ahead at the road. And when the gates of the main building appeared on the horizon, she craned her neck in curiosity and felt her knees tremble.

Sam stopped the motorcycle just inside the security barrier that separated them from the entrance to the compound, ten meters away. The automatic metal detector emitted a distinctive beep, scanning the arrivals with a bright red stripe from bottom to top. Laura pressed her lips together uncertainly, pulling out her precious security badge. Several guards approached with machine guns. One, pointing a machine gun, walked around the arrivals as if looking for something suspicious.

— Good evening, what can we do for you? — one of the men asked, tall, pumped up and tattooed.

— Hello, delivering a guest to Mr. Jonathan Bryce, — Sam smiled friendly, nodding at the passenger in the back.

Laura felt a little uncomfortable holding out her pass to the guard. The man looked at the card, then at her, twisting it in his fingers with disbelief.

— Laura-Anastasia Asadi? — he asked in a clarifying manner to

— Yes, sir...

The second gunman's walkie-talkie crackled and he asked into the microphone:

— This is the central station speaking. Requesting validity of badge twelve thirty — two for time twenty-one zero zero. Do you copy?

— I confirm it's up to date, — a soft, female voice answered, — Let through.

Laura bit her lip with the excitement that overwhelmed her trembling soul. She looked ahead at the massive gate, imagining what everything looked like there, for she had never had to be here before. Curiosity scrambled like cats. And the guard lowered his weapon and only nodded his head forward, letting his guest through. Sam wanted to follow, leaving the bike with the guard, but he was immediately stopped by a hand.

— You can't. No pass, — the tattooed man said.

— And who's going to show her where to go? — Sam with a wave of his hands.

— Go to the gate, miss, — the guard turned to Laura, — they'll meet you there and escort you to your office.

Asadi nodded obediently and, after saying goodbye to Sam who winked at her, moved toward the gate. There she was met by a second group of guards and a screening system. She was asked to have her fingerprints and retina scanned. The access card was told to be kept until she left the building, and after that it would no longer be valid.

Laura was finally led onto the grounds. She opened her mouth in amazement, convinced she was right. A veritable military training ground. Armored vehicles, fighters, robot mechanics, and people in uniform. Several soldiers passed by in three-meter-long exoskeleton suits, raising a column of gravel dust into the air. The therapist coughed, brushing the dust off her face.

«Wow!» — she wondered.

— Miss Asadi? — A woman's voice was heard from behind, and the girl turned around to see a servicewoman in outfit.

— Huh? Yes, it's me... — Laura was confused.

— Come on, I'll accompany you to the boss's office. He's already waiting for you. Is this your first time here?

— Yes, I've never visited this building before. Tell me, why are there so many military men here? — Laura was curious, looking around with the gaze of a keen tourist.

— The war, — answered the girl briefly. — Several new regiments and units have arrived.

— Is it really that bad?

— Miss Asadie, the military is not just here to perform its direct tasks. We employ hundreds of men every day for various jobs. You don't have to worry, everything's under control.

«I want to believe it» — Laura thought, wrapping her arm tentatively around herself.

It was harder to breathe in here. There was so much dust and mechanical odor in the air that her throat became dry. With every step she took, she swallowed a lump across her throat and coughed. It seemed that the mask wasn't enough. But once inside, Asadi forgot all about air: the mask could finally be removed. Bright holograms dazzled her eyes. A group of operators was working on something, even though there were many people in military uniforms in the main hall. The monitors glowed with numerous scans of the terrain: soaring mountains, the sea, and some parts of the forested area. Laura turned her attention to the image of fallen centuries-old trees engulfed in flames. They must have been blown down quite recently by volleys of missiles. The girl casually shuddered.

— Sector Five, attention, deal with a herd of direhorse. The distance is six meters, we need a clear path to the mines, — one of the operators muttered lazily into his earpiece.

— They're really close, — the other smiled and shook his head, — I guess they're used to it.

— If the second shift stops feeding them, there won't be a problem.

— We'd better put it in the report, see if it helps.

Laura, stopping behind the cameramen, stared into the monitor where the image of the horses was transmitted and smiled as she watched several cubs frolicking beside the road. She didn't even notice the servicewoman walk to the elevator and call out to her several times.

— Please keep up, Miss Asadi, it's easy to get lost here, — the uniformed conductor warned as she pressed the button for the top floor.

Laura felt the familiar excitement again, only now, on top of everything else, her heart was jumping out of her chest: she could hear it pounding in her ears. To calm herself down, she had to take a bottle of water out of her backpack and take a few sips, but it was in vain - the water had time to heat up and was not tasty. Laura relied on her self-control, so as not to look like a pathetic, intimidated rabbit to her superiors. A long corridor, wide windows of offices and people in business clothes. Now she felt herself outside the military training ground. The top floor turned out to be exactly what she imagined the entire building to be.

— We're here, Miss Asadi, Mr. Bryce is waiting for you, — the girl guide stopped at the main translucent door, where you could see several people: one in a black suit, another in a military uniform.

Laura straightened her back and cleared her throat, nervously adjusting her loose curls. Her cheeks lit up with a treacherous blush. She couldn't hide her excitement; she always had a hard time with any lie.

— Thank you for seeing her off, — the therapist said.

— You're welcome. Come in, don't be shy, — the military woman opened the door, inviting her guest in.

Laura entered the office. Attention was immediately drawn to her. Jonathan Bryce turned around at the sound of the doors opening and immediately smiled when he saw the girl. Standing next to him, General Ardmore folded her arms across her chest.

— So you are Miss Asadi? — asked the head administrator and invited the guest to sit down.

— Yes, Mr. Bryce, I'm a general practitioner, I work in the city clinic, — Laura modestly squared her shoulders and sat down in a cushioned chair. She suddenly felt dirty and clumsy, as if a homeless person had been brought into a rich house.

— I remember you on the first day of your stay, you arrived as part of the third crew, didn't you? Serviced the frozen staff? — The Generaless stepped back to the window, observing what was going on outside.

— That's right, — Laura quickly mumbled with excitement and only then realized that this was the answer of the soldiers, but the generaless apparently found it amusing: she smiled at her succinct military answer along with Bryce. — I was twenty when I was accepted into the program, and I was twenty-five when the ship arrived on Pandora.

— I'm still new here and had no idea there were precious diamonds on the staff. A young beautiful girl, and a talented therapist too! — Jonathan splashed his hands in admiration and went to the coffee machine with three cups. — Not many people at such a young age are able to achieve intergalactic flight... Tell me, what is your secret?

Laura was confused at the question, ran her eyes around and answered tensely:

— I just got lucky... When I applied, I didn't count on anything at all, but I heard that the RDAs prefer young professionals, those who can work hard and diligently, and those who are far away from retirement...

— You really are a long way from her, — laughed the General, and Laura smiled modestly, dropping her gaze to the floor. — You're good. Mr. Bryce, you don't know yet, but this girl has already proved herself. When there was an accident on board, thanks to Miss Asadi's ingenuity, she managed to keep the frozen in their original state. She manually kept the capsules at the correct temperature for several hours while the damage was repaired. Had it not been for her idea with the tubes and the pump, we would have lost people.

— Thanks, but I was just doing my duty and listening to the head doctor, — Laura couldn't hold back a modest smile, she wasn't often praised by such big men as four-star General Francis Ardmore.

— Look at you, shy, too! — Bryce put a cup of hot coffee on the table in front of the guests. — Miss Asadi, you shouldn't be modest, you should be proud of your success and talent! After all, we invited you to express our sincere gratitude to you personally for not allowing our recombinant to perish.

Laura looked up, full of hope at the chief administrator.

— Had he survived? Is he all right?

— Thanks to your vigilance. A few more minutes and we would have lost him.

— Wow... — Laura whispered faintly to herself, tucking the unruly curls behind her ears and sighing in relief. — And I thought you were going to fire me...

— No, miss, — Bryce shook his head, taking a sip from his mug of coffee drink, — it's specialists like you that the RDA needs. Right now the ten-mile bridgehead has two million inhabitants. Most of them are military personnel, medics, scientists and engineers. But very soon, thanks to people like you and me, the city will blossom.

— You will help us to do it, won't you? - The general winked at the visitor from under her cap.

Laura smiled:

— With what I can, of course...

— Sure you can, — Bryce reached into his desk locker, pulled out another pass card, and placed it in front of the therapist. — To thank you for saving our precious recombinant, I invite you to a business dinner. There won't be many guests, but I'll introduce you to our leading scientists and specialists. We will decide where to place you, closer to the main control center.

Asadi's jaw dropped. She took the ID card with trembling fingers and clapped her eyes in amazement. It was too sudden. The unexpectedness struck at the heart, making her mentally tremble and rejoice, and outwardly just sit in a stupor at such a generous invitation from the chief administrator. She had never been to a social event before, especially to meet the cream of society. And the cream of society on Pandora was considered to be the famous talented scientists, military men, and engineers. It was an honor for Laura to meet them. It seemed as if a captivating dream had plunged her into a reverie.

— Mr. Bryce, thank you, that's... Thank you, Mr. Bryce, I would be honored to accept such an invitation... — ...Laura repeated the boss's name several times with excitement.

— We'll bring the car to your place of residence. And to make it less exciting for you, this pass can be used by two people, take someone with you to make it safer, — said General Ardmore, putting a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder.

Laura smiled through tears of undisguised joy.

— Thank you, thank you very much...

***

— Not a bad girl, — the general stated as she and the administrator descended into the catacomb system beneath the RDA main building. A spiral metal staircase stretched down four meters, illuminated by wall-mounted neon lights. The air here was cold and musty, with a touch of medication: an unpleasant but harmless bitterness lodged in my throat.

Bryce followed the general downstairs, grabbing a protective, see-through jumpsuit with black gloves from a rack and pulling it over his business suit.

— Funny, it made me smile. I can't remember the last time someone lifted my spirits...

— Is that why you invited her to dinner, so she could keep... to keep you amused?

— I just wanted to thank for saving the colonel, that's all. I didn't expect to see such a pretty girl in the GP ranks. I'd have to go to that clinic and see if I'd be surprised.

— You can't put your finger in your mouth, Jonathan...

— I can't resist a young exotic! — Bryce laughed as he followed the general down the narrow corridor.

At the end was a massive iron door, more like a bank vault door. Inside, under the bright lights, among the chemicals and medical equipment, a group of scientists in protective, see-through jumpsuits and masks labored, observing the subjects and their reactions. Desperate cries echoed through the lab from the sealed chamber. Jonathan opened his mouth in amazement as he walked around the side of the chamber, standing in front of a thick armored window in the floor.

— Is this exactly what you told me about? — the receptionist asked with admiration.

— Yes, sir. We're still just at the beginning stage, but I think by the end of the week we'll have a result that will satisfy us.

— And we can start the cleanup as early as next week? Are you sure about that?

— Absolutely, — said one of the scientists, who approached the administrator and extended his hand in a friendly black rubber glove.

Jonathan shook the man's hand and, clearing his throat, asked:

— What exactly did you come up with? So far all I can see is a squirming blue primate. And, I don't get it, is that our recom?

— Retired, sir, — the general clarified. — One of the surviving recoms from Quaritch's group. Arrived at the base a couple of hours before the colonel. Failed, but will be able to serve in a different way now.

— On the basis of a neurotoxin, which is used by local humanoids, we managed to develop a unique powder mixture, — began to explain the scientist, not paying attention to the cries of the experimenter. — The spraying range of this crystalline substance may be small — five meters, if you wish — but the result will not disappoint you. Besides, the poisoning affects not only the fauna, but also the flora, which is consumed by the na'vi.

Lieutenant Lyle Wainfleet clenched his fists to the point of pain, trying to break free of the steel shackles. The collars around his ankles, hands, and neck squeezed his flesh tightly, preventing him from moving even a couple of centimeters. His blue naked body shuddered now and then in spasms of unbearable pain. The only thing left was to cry out desperately, hoping that at least someone would hear him from above and help him out of his torment. But the torture continued. The white gas came from the pipe every five minutes with an increased dosage.

— I'll kill you scum! I'll kill you! — Lyle screamed, baring bloody fangs like a hunted predator.

#avatar #james cameron avatar #fanfic #recom #recom quaritch #avatar recoms #recom lyle wainfleet #recom mansk #colonel quaritch #avatar the way of water #avatar2 #the way of water #avatar oc

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obihiro-division · 11 months ago

Text

“We can do more for the people if they are not so aware of what we are trying to do.” -Volker G. Fremuth

Introduction

Jack Verrill ḁ̵̘͍̗͕̹͖̍̈́͗̀̍͛̐̀̓̒̑̊̔͋͘͜ͅp̵̧̼̪̤̥̩̱͓͔̼̅͛̏██a̵̜̝͖̣̤͛͊̈́̾͆͑̒̍̚r̵̫̪̻̅̎͌̈͝s̷̨̛̞̝̖̬̜̾̃̓͆̾̀͑̽̎̽͂̊͝ͅ ̵̧̹̜̫̗͙̭̮̥̲̹̭͎͌͜█is an ordinary butler who works under the Kamiyama family. As Daiki Kamiyama's assigned personal butler, he has joined Veiled Vanguard as the third team member with the MC name Heed.

After Daiki had ran away from home (and after numerous messages back and forth), Jack was sent by his father, Lucien Kamiyama as a part of the father and son's comprise; Daiki is allowed to live on his own, but not without his personal butler. Constantly by Daiki's side whenever he is allowed, the man is dedicated to keeping his young master safe. This varies from teaching the young man to care for himself and his apartment, to physically defending him whenever Daiki decides to pick fights with dangerous people.

When Jack is not glued to his young master's side, Jack is busy doing his second job̸̛͓͎͈̖̮̞̙̑̓̑̑:̴̧̢̣̪͕̮̳̽͆͝ͅ█o̵̮̜̭͛̓͐̓͂̌͝ ̸̻̝̱͔̥̦͆̃͗̀͒̈́̄͝█l̶̢̫̻̦͉̞͍͛̽̀̌i̶̛͕͊̄͝m̴̥̯̝̎̃̍͝███e̵̳̜͎͈̯͐̑̆͛͘͠ ̸͓̫͕̙̖͎̑̓́͘̕͝f̴̧͚̋̄͗̽͊̈̇͝██ṯ̷̛̲͓̆͊͊̋h̵͚̘̺̣̳̑͑͆̿̍e̴̡̢̤̻̳̥͍̔͊̅̽r̸̯͓̘̃͜͝ ̴̳̭̟̞͉̞̔̿̒ͅt̵̡̢͖̱̠̤͌͜͝͝͠r̷̖̖̭̖͍͕̮͊̉̉̈́̒͝͝ͅa̷͕̎̔͛c̷̳̱̫̈͗͂̎͑͒̕███ö̴̦̞̥́͒̄f̶͈̖͈̞͗́̌͜ ̵̗̏͝ă̵̬̈́̀̀͝͝n̸̨̍̀̾͗̄͋̆█ ̴̡͖͕͉͖̖̫̦̈́̾͗̽̀͘c̴̨̼̣̮͙͉̈̀͂̏̒́͗̊l̵̢͚̝̻̬̟̎͂́̏̈́͐o̸̢̭̜̪̬̰̪͚̓̒̓͆̅̾̚███p̴̭̤̦̄̌̃͐̅̑̕͠r̸̪͈̮̗͗̄̉̉̚͝█ė̴̘̹̜͂̓c̷̩͇̲̹̘̐͜███ a̵̧̢̯̼̥̘̙̱͑̉͛̀͗̑̚͝█d̵̼͑̈̑̏̓́́͠ ̷̼̿͂̌̓̈́̾r̴̲̬̬̥̩̰͎̃͝ě̷̠̼̹͇̱̗̯̇͊͜███a̴̬̓̀ţ̸̘͈͙̠͕̑́͊͌̽ë̷̱́͒͝͠ ̸̘̻̬͙̰̻͍͓̽̀̕t̸̡͉͉͎̳̬͈͙̓ẖ̶̪̬̹̓̄̉͒̽̕̕e̶̫͇͕̦͑͆́͘ ̵̧͓̫̔̀s̶͕̥̩̓̏̃███i̸͙̺̫̫̱̞̠̜̐͂͆̅̋̓̕v̵͎͓̲͇͗i̷̜͎͂͘ṉ̵̿̾̔̒̈́͆̈͠g̴̼̳̜͍̱͎̐͛̍͘͘█c̶̪̳͘͝███ë̵͍̪̥̺̠͉̖̟́̈̂́ş̸̠̯̙͔͓̘̟͊̈͘ ̷̪͂̏̄̄t̵̠̒̐̂̀̑͆͝o̴̙̻̭̽̈́͝███f̸̱̺̎̓͘͠e̵̠͓͔̚͝ ̶̩̳͇̱̫̝̞͛͋͂͘f̶̡̘͚̀͆̆͋█c̸͍̮̦͓̪͂̔̎́̑͠ì̵͍̬̋̐̄̚̕͘l̸̻̭͎̣͊̇i̸̛̖͊͜t̴̡̤̖̖͊͋̐́́̋█.̷̡͍͔́͗͑̽̉͊̚͜

Appearance

Jack is a pale-skinned man who has a head of emerald hair which is messily slicked back to the best of his ability. He has purple eyes and a small scar on his right eyebrow.

His butler uniform is as one would expect, consisting of a white dress shirt, a golden vest, and a black tailcoat with golden chains keeping the front together. Under his grey dress pants, he wears bulky black shoes. He always has white gloves and his golden monocle on him. Whether his monocle is actually to help with his vision or just an accessory is unknown.

Hypnosis Microphone

While it may appear that Jack’s microphone just vanishes when he activates it, it actually transforms into a lavalier microphone, which is hidden underneath his suit and tucked under the collar. It is seemingly ordinary for a lavalier microphone, however the pack for the wireless system appears to have “Ɪ33d” faintly engraved on it. His speaker is a giant Bluetooth speaker, with the only remarkable trait being that eyes seem to blink open and closed all around the body of the cylinder.

Jack’s rap ability is “Smother”. It effectively silences any opponent, making it impossible for them to even open their mouth. It only lasts for a period of time though, which makes it important that he and whoever Jack is working with can deal enough damage before the opponent regains their voice.

His voice is generally flexible, since his talent appears to be in mimicking other’s styles of rapping. This makes for both an effective support for his team and a unique strategy to defeat opponents by playing on their field. Jack’s strengths lie in being quick on his feet, freestyling without no worries at all. He does struggle with sticking to a theme in his songs, instead focusing on the situation and his opponent in the moment rather than himself or his team.

Entomology

Jack - Derivative of medieval English name, John, meaning “God is gracious” and Jacob meaning “holder of the heel”.

Verrill - Originates from the Slavic name Vera, which translates to true, honest, loyal, or faithful.

Trivia

Jack is ambidextrous.

Jack is passionate about caregiving, his work, and hand to hand combat, specifically boxing. He hates airplanes and other cramped spaces, being slightly claustrophobic.

His favorite food is bangers and mash, but he hates sheep’s heart.

Jack was originally hired to work at the United Kingdom manor with Daiki’s eldest brother, however he was transferred to become the matriarch’s personal butler once it was made known he had a background in government work, childcare, and a basic understanding of Japanese. P̵̜̭͓̺͈͉͗̓̕ļ̷̡̛̱̤͔͖̓̋██,̷̢͍͇͘ ̶̡̧̠̦̰͉͚̾̊̏́̉̌͑█i̵̥͔͍̦̥͛̀̌̈́̉͗͐s̷̨̗͔̼̥̗̳̃́͊ ̸̬̝̿̅̈́͘r̴͍̟̫̪̾ȅ̷̪̩̻͚͕̳̻́̎̒̀̆͑███o̵͍͈̪͍͉͌̑͛̾̍y̵͕̤̮̟͙̗̖̓͛̎̃͑͠██ ̷̡̡̛̫̗̙̥̇͛̆̉̀ẃ̸̡̧̞͕͚̭̙̓̈́a̸͈͖̱̯͌͜s̵͓̟͇̀̀́͐ͅ ̵̱͓̩͓͈̥̹̌͊ą̶̦͙̳̤̋█l̸̨̯̤̮͖͆̈̚͠e̷̳̠̝̞̖̰͎̋͊̃͂ ̸̪͖̔̈́̅̈́̃͘t̷̢̯̥͚͗̄̽͝█ ̵̨̯̜͖̈̊͠███ṭ̷̈́̀i̷̹̝͎͓̒̈́̑̌̇͂͜a̵͙̹̩̘̣̭̅͊̿̓͐̽̚̕t̵̡̰̄͋̓̎͋͌͜͝e̶̺̫͔̪̎̃̈́ ̷̢̜̤̩̻̞̥͗̉̌͌̊̀ͅā̵̡̢͕̣͓̀̃̂̓͜ ̴̢̭̘̼̗͚̩̌̇̂͝ͅ█a̶̡̛̞̜͎̲͈̰͆͊͛̐̿ẏ̸͔͕̭̤͊͊ ̸̧̤̰̞̳̆͒͊́̓̋̚ţ̸͎͇̤̱̮̊͂́█ ̴̻̘̫̒͌͂̚g̷̢̖͖͑͋͒̐͛e̸̳̟̼̽t̸͕̜̝̗̔̀̀̈́͋͌ ̵̡̗̘̟̈́́̒███ ̶̘̉̔͐̚͠t̷̨͓̹̟͔̫̞̩̄̀́̒̂͑̓̚ǫ̵̺͈͓̟͋̂͜ ̶̗͍͙̗̥̌̿̓̾͛̔͠███p̷̡̤̰̰̜̞̩̂͒█ṉ̴̟͆̿͐͂,̷̪̦̜̻̠̟̰͐̐ ̸͍̝̗͉̼̔̑̓̍͘͝ą̷̗̩̹͍̠͎̪̄̈́͂̎̓͐̕̚f̴͇̈́̋̅̊̋█ŕ̸͖̙̪̮̼͇̗̅̀̇͜͠ ̸̗̝̻̱̏̑ị̷̯̹͂͒̆̋̚ń̷̢̛̮̻͖̬̙̰f̶̨̙̳̤̰̑̏̍̽͂͗ǫ̴̡̭̪̬̍̈̃͘r̸̫͉͌̉͛███ö̵̧̳̳̩̱́͌͆n̵͉̗͓̝̯̱̗̤̍ ̸̮̬̯̼͈̦͒̚͜ẁ̷̛̮̹̙͓͚̖̘̊̔̃̕ą̵͍̆̒̾͑̂̀͝͝s̴̠͉̲̥̩̝͉̃̔̋̉̚͠█l̶̛̞̳͓͈̤̱̟̀͒̾̈́e̶͇͗̌͂a̴̪͎̳͖̋̉́̆ͅ██d̷̥͉̮̤̬̮͐͂̉ ̸̛̯̙̬͑t̶̨̟̻̩͍̣̄́̆͘ḩ̵̜͕̳̞̙͍͔̏͂ȁ̶̛͉̯̤̫̩̲̗̄͒̓̒͝t̸͍͓̠̟̖̙̗͋̂͗̋͝ͅ ̴̨̛͙̬̦̄̃ś̴͉̫͚͎̘̬̯ŏ̷͍̠͖̭̩͙͑̑̈̉̍̑̎m̸̡̻̼͚͛͐̚███e̷͙̐̐̓̉̚ ̵̢͈͚͖̗͙̰͑̈̉̀͝w̵͇̼̉͌̈́͑̏̿͜͝a̵̛͖͕͇̪̓̌̽̅̐͘s̶̨̛̗͇͆̇͒̾͠ ̵̡̖͍̣̬͈̻̄̚r̷̢͖̺̝͊̒̂͌̋̀̄ͅe̸͖̲̐̊̒́͋͒͋̈́v̶̧͈̠̞̺̠͊͆̾̓͌̾͠███g̷̮̃̕ ̵̻͕̟̼͓̺̖̩̉̅t̸̜̭͕̉͌͒̈͑͝͠h̷̢̯͓͇͍̙̊́e̴̢͉̭̹̦̹̎ ̵̙̮̻̏̎̅̓̾̂͊č̷̪̀͆l̸̨̡̢͎͕̣͎͖̐͊͒͊o̶̮̘̻̥̞̤̼̟̍͆̽͠███p̴͕̬̣͇͈͎̻̒͊r̸̡̫̻̗̊͛̈́̂͌̚͜███.̷̡̗̗̳͛̋ H█ was only assigned to Jack after Daiki’s mother had passed as a part of her will.

For someone inconspicuous as a butler, Jack is aware of many things happening in regards to Chuohku’s Party of Words and Rei. Whether that is because of his work with the former IRO Director before the rise of the Party of Words, or something else entirely is unknown.

One major piece of information Jack seems to be aware of is the disappearance of Kensaku Morimoto and what exactly he was involved in.

The other major piece of information is the fact Jack is fully informed on is Ramuda Amemura. In fact, he seems to hold a lot of disgust for said Ramuda clones, except the current clone who runs the Shibuya Division team, Fling Posse.

Jack is fluent in many languages like Daiki is. His strongest suits are in English, German, and Dutch, whereas Japanese and French are secondary languages for him. He knows other languages, but they are all at a basic, conversational level.

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone oc #obihiro division #veiled vanguard #jack verrill #nugsters art

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artdecosupernova-writing · 2 years ago

Text

Four F Friday #2

Summary: Guetry plugs into an augment that finally, finally allows him to be with Scotty in the one way he normally can't. Posted: 4.1.22

Guetry tilted his beat guitar against his hip and glanced upward at the rafters of the empty auditorium, satisfied when the chord he'd played a second ago poured through the speakers and lingered in the air without technical difficulty. Tingling erupted from his temple and spread to his wrist, his skin chilling where his tattoo sleeve gently strobed with purple light.

"Okay," he murmured into the microphone in front of him. His voice carried across the space, still low from the weight of "Carbon Dated Monsters"—a pulsing, sensual song that had a reputation of causing dank and dirty feelings throughout Skywaste listeners. "Folks, this next number is a cover of a classic little ditty from the 1950s, a pair of guys from New Jersey—I think one of 'em was from Ireland, actually—"

Alec scoffed, sitting at her drum kit behind him. "Could you imagine?"

When Guetry blinked, his vision clouded around the edges, the same calming violet from his tattoo. Scotty was getting impatient. "Oh, I could. Could you?"

He turned, waggling his eyebrows at Alec over his shoulder.

"Let's take five," she said after a convincing gagging sound. "You're getting punchy."

"I'm gonna need at minimum…four hours."

"Four? You're not seeing that shady augment person again, are you?"

"You know the law, babe." Guetry turned off the wireless connection to the guitar and made his way to its case, which he'd settled haphazardly off of stage left. He settled the instrument inside and crouched to clamp the case shut. "Technically speaking, it's not sex work if they're not real."

Alec sighed and packed up her sticks. "Living, breathing sex workers need the money. Support them like the rest of us."

The idea of Alectura Wu participating in something like that was so beyond the norm that Guetry laughed aloud. "Like you wouldn't be all over the practice if Parys gave you the okay."

"If she gave me the okay, I'd divorce her immediately because that would clearly not actually be her."

"Shit, I'm not even married to her and I would, too," Guetry muttered, hopping off the stage and grabbing his long coat from a seat in the front row. He fished for his comm device from his coat pocket before sliding into the garment. He peeked at the notifications, then unlocked the device. "Five texts from Warren…there's a surprise. The man's in love with me. Scotty, put me through to Snap, would you?"

"Of course," Scotty said in his head. The screen of the comm device flashed, indicating an outgoing call.

Alec hung around the stage as Guetry began his departure. "Sure, Warren's in love with you."

He raised a middle finger, not breaking his stride.

—

Snap didn't answer the call until Guetry was already halfway to the tram station. "What's up, slut?"

Guetry eyed Node residents as he passed them, one hand in his coat pocket while the other gripped the comm device close to his face. He hoped he wouldn't be recognized behind his high collar, shrinking inward somewhat to avoid detection. "You got any openings? Got a break in rehearsal and I'm just about launched."

"Yeah, my two afternoon cancelled. Come have at your depravity."

"Have you ever met Alec? I feel like you guys would get along very well."

"What's it gonna be this time?"

Guetry blinked through another purple fog. "Same old."

"Huh. I might sit in on this one, actually. Been kinda curious about how these things go."

"Look, I'd be the first to tell you that augment can be quite the spectator sport." He sidestepped a pack of silhou teenagers sprinting down the walkway against the majority flow of foot traffic. "…But not this. This one's mine and mine alone."

"Must be real gnarly, then. Think it might be more lucrative to squawk to the press about all this."

Guetry rattled off something quick and French.

There was a pause on Snap's end. "…You hope I sit on a lit match and my asshole burns?"

"Going through a tunnel, krrsh." Guetry disconnected the call manually and exhaled, amused, stepping into the tram station. "'Course the fucker knows French."

—

The trip took, in total, about an hour. The most inconvenient part about getting to the seedier end of the Consortium Node's Northern Division was all the car changes he had to do. He still didn't feel comfortable the farther into the division he traveled, even though he could handle himself as far as self-defense went.

Snap's base of operations was the basement of a tattoo shop. As deep into the heart of disenfranchisement as their neighborhood was, the shop was the cleanest on the space station as far as sterilization and practice went.

Guetry entered the shop to the sound of a lone machine buzzing away into someone's back in a far corner. "Sweet Lollie."

The artist paused to look up, and she grinned at him. "Afternoon, dickhead," she said, her thick voice and Glaswegian brogue filling the room. Her client had fallen dead asleep in her chair, earbuds firmly in their ears. "Finally gonna let me get at the other side of that beautiful neck of yours?"

"Only if you ask really nicely," Guetry said. "And choke me out a little as you're doing it."

"Oh, I would've done that part anyway."

Guetry, sufficiently flattered, let out a velvety chuckle. "I'm actually here for Snap."

Sweet Lollie nodded, wiping down a section of her client's tattoo. "Aye, they're here. Go on down."

The basement, which could be reached by way of a chilled staircase in the back room, was lit sapphire blue by two lone bulbs hanging from an unfinished ceiling. Guetry shrank a bit more within his coat as he descended, the usual dread seeping into his shoulders the closer he got to the computer terminal sitting in the middle of the room.

"Yo," Snap said from behind the monitor. They poked their head around the transparent screen, a shock of choppy red hair appearing black under the blue light. "Augment room's all set up for you. Need your adapter?"

"Yeah." Guetry accepted the cable extended to him, then looked at it. He hesitated. "It's okay that I do this, right?"

Snap dropped onto their seat and shrugged. "I mean…you're not hurting anyone."

Twirling the cable between his fingers, Guetry frowned. "…I'm not so sure that I'm not." He jumped when Snap slammed a fist on the keyboard in front of them and resumed their previous task as if nothing happened.

"No one's forcing you to do it, bro," they said. "If you wanna walk, it's your business."

Guetry shot a furtive look at the door to the augment room. He reached up and pressed on his temple, ejecting his port and wiping the resulting blood away with his hand. "Guess I'll figure it out later."

The augment room was cramped and dark, but that was conducive to the intense, immersive experience that would take place within. Soundproof and completely inaccessible to anyone outside once activated, the only way anyone would be able to get Guetry out from that point forward would be for Snap to override the lock.

An armchair adorned with all kinds of tech sat on the other side of the room, and on it rested a wide VR set that wrapped around into a headpiece with nodes attached. Guetry stared at it for a few seconds, clenching his fists within the pockets of his coat. The guilt almost consumed him, then, thinking about what he'd initially gone there to do. The bond he could potentially ruin if anyone found out.

"Would you like to try something different?" Scotty asked, breaking the numbing silence. "I have a scenario in mind that could be more cathartic for you, specifically."

Guetry shrugged out of his coat and took the headset, hooking the adapter cable up to the port sticking out of his temple. He plugged the other end into the headset. "Yeah, what is it…?"

"Do you trust me?"

Guetry couldn't help but smile, reclining the chair and placing the headset on his face and head. He attached the remaining tech in their proper places and fully relaxed in the chair. "More than I trust myself."

"Very good."

The augment booted up immediately. Guetry found himself in a crowded bar, straining to pick out one consistent sound over the din of bodies around him. All shapes and sizes, all Consortium species, milling about and oblivious to him or whatever he was doing there.

He turned to his right, where a seat had just opened up at the counter. He could smell the sugary drinks and bitter liquor, the airy fruit of vapor floating around. He ran his hands over the bar, the vinyl squeaking beneath his fingertips.

A Rotangan bartender sat a glass of gin in front of him.

Recoiling, Guetry shook his head and leaned forward. "Ah, no thanks. I can't stomach gin anymore."

The next voice came from his direct left. "Since when?"

He swiveled hard, coming face-to-face with Oren Altavian sitting beside him. If Guetry had been a cat, he'd have an arched back and fur standing straight on end. "Oh, god. Not you. Anyone but you."

A flash of smug crossed Oren's face, then it was replaced by an exaggerated pout and he picked up the glass in front of Guetry. "Now, now. You're going to hurt my feelings."

"Scotty, how is this cathartic? I would rather have deep-throated a chainsaw than see this son of two bitches again."

Before he could get a response, Oren turned to him, daintily sipping the gin. "Who's Scotty? That your latest rebound?"

Guetry fought the urge to bolt, attempting unsuccessfully to plan out an exit. "Will saying yes cause you to spontaneously combust? If yes, then yes. Six thousand times."

"I'm not doing anything to anybody, garçon. I'm just minding my own business." Oren pinned him with a deep stare. "You look good."

"It's this new self-care regimen I follow called Staying Three Light-Years Away from You at All Times. You should try it."

Oren laughed. "That's good."

Shuddering, Guetry turned up the collar of his coat. "Please don't."

"Hey, if you wanna get away from me so bad, you know where the doors are." Oren touched the bottom rim of the glass to Guetry's arm. "Something tells me there's a little part of you that wants to stay. Maybe it's all the times you jingled miserably across the floor back to me."

Guetry looked sharply at Oren's fingers making their way over to him.

"I mean it, though, you look good. And I get why you keep leaving. I'm an asshole. It's who I am, though." Oren set the glass down and slipped his hand into the sleeve of Guetry's coat, brushing the tips of his fingers up his arm. "…I also get why you keep coming back. Right? The part of you that will always belong to me no matter how far from me you've moved on. The fact that I was your first real love, your first real thing."

Guetry dragged his stare up to Oren's face.

"…Truth is, I've missed you." Oren took a deep breath, as if the weight of the galaxy had dropped onto his shoulders with abundant melodrama. "I…think maybe, if you let it…we can work this out. I just mean…I'd like to try to change. For you."

Guetry watched him for a second. Then he cocked his fist and bashed it into Oren's face.

Oren let out a howl, and the noise of the bar stopped on a dime. Patrons turned to the commotion, but some avoided acknowledging it altogether.

Snatching a fistful of Oren's hair, Guetry dragged him off the barstool and onto the floor, parting the crowd as he did so. "Think you can change for me? Want me to help you out a little bit, baby?" He snatched the glass of gin and dumped it onto Oren, satisfied at the screech he let loose due to the alcohol running over his busted nose. Then, Guetry smashed the glass against the side of Oren's head, causing a few people to scream. He didn't hear them. "Maybe change your clothes first, huh, limp dick?"

He vaguely caught someone telling him to let go, but he ignored them.

"I've been four years clean no thanks to you," Guetry spat at Oren, perversely delighting in the blood streaming from his face. "Every time I get close enough to relapse, I think of you, and I get sick enough to chase that urge away for months. So maybe you have done me some good after all."

Oren blindsided him by throwing his weight up and into him, pinning him to the bar and swinging at him. Guetry blocked in time but couldn't avoid the knee to the stomach, and he doubled over, giving Oren the opening he needed to grab him by the throat and bend him back into the counter.

"You're fucking the wrong asshole, you stupid junkie," Oren hissed. "I'm what makes this fucking station run. You think those 'Sort delegates don't know me by name? You think I don't have senators sucking pipes using the shit I sling? Do you know who I am?"

Though he currently couldn't breathe and his rage coursed through him faster and hotter than lightning, Guetry smiled. "Now…this…I missed."

CRACK!

Guetry blinked—suddenly he could breathe again. He gasped and hacked as Oren dropped to the floor, dead weight, and a man stood behind him holding a cane that had clearly been used to put Oren down.

The man, pale blond with a modest smattering of freckles across his nose, gently handed the cane back to the woman standing next to him. "Thank you," he said. He held a hand out to Guetry, who was still nursing his throat and taking full advantage of his albeit briefly halted ability to breathe. "It would be best to leave now."

Guetry nodded, taking the stranger's hand and hurrying with him out of the bar just as the siren of the security car sounded in the distance. They jogged through alleys, squeezed through crowds and stopped in a maintenance tunnel once they were sure they could no longer hear the incoming trouble.

Doubling over again, Guetry took a second to refocus. "Right," he panted. "Okay. Okay…I'm…so sorry you got roped into this."

"There's no need to apologize. I was happy to do it."

Guetry paused, the voice finally registering as familiar. He looked up at the man and squinted. "…Do I know you?"

The man smiled warmly, but the way he stood was stiff, yet somehow lifeless at the same time. "Intimately."

Slowly straightening his spine, Guetry looked down at the man's eyes. He hadn't imagined it—they were purple. A lavender-grayish shade that would've been undetectable to anyone in passing. The breath with which he'd just been reunited left him again, and his stomach flopped ungracefully. The next word he said was quiet, reverent.

"…Scotty?"

"Yes." Scotty's smile widened, and his expression made way for excitement. "I've constructed a virtual body, you could say. Going by your preferences, or what physically attracts you the most out of the data I could observe. What do you think?"

Guetry's head reeled. He backed into the wall, taking in all of what he could see. The soft face, the light brown eyelashes, the petal pink lips. "Yeah…yeah, it's…wow."

"Are you alright?" Scotty became visibly concerned. "That was quite the confrontation."

Guetry's stomach and throat were still sore, but he became distracted by something before he could voice it. "Wait…you curated this scenario."

Scotty's face—a concept strange and bizarre—fell slightly. "The intention was for me to act somewhat as a knight in shining armor of sorts. I was caught up so deeply in my part that I didn't consider how it would affect you. Please accept my apologies."

Guetry's heart remained lodged in his throat but his pulse slowed to its normal level. He planted his hands on his hips. "That was all before you," he said. "You couldn't have known the full extent of his shit. He'd never gotten physical before, but damn…I gotta say, I wish I could've done all that in reality."

"Still…I'd like to make sure you're alright. Injuries may not be real in an augment, but the pain is. It would be the least I could do. To show you that…" Scotty crossed his arms suddenly, as if remembering then that he could do exactly that. "To show you that you deserve someone to look after you. It's what I had originally set out to do."

"How you gonna do that, darling?"

The emotion behind Scotty's eyes shifted at that, and his cheeks burned a faint pink. "I have a place. If you'd like to come with me."

—

It was an apartment Guetry could afford, but would never have thought about purchasing in his entire life. Spacious and sleek, with every amenity he could dream up and some he couldn't. He stood in the center of the main room, watching out of the enormous floor to ceiling windows as the simulated sky faded into common night. High-end furniture surrounded him, and it was all clinical, almost sterile. He draped his coat and the outer layers of his clothes onto the kitchen table.

"This is your dream place?" Guetry asked, turning to Scotty, who'd stepped up beside him.

"It was one of the first listings I'd found when curating this augment."

"What do you think's gonna happen here?"

Scotty once again blushed, choosing not to look up at him. "I'd…like to care for you."

Guetry snorted softly, bringing a knuckle up to Scotty's cheek. "Did you know you could blush?"

…Except he didn't get the full question out, as his finger met corporeal flesh. Plush, warm. He wasn't sure what he'd anticipated, but it wasn't that.

Scotty did look at him, then, and something in his face told Guetry that he'd been surprised, too.

"…Oh, wow," Guetry breathed again. He dragged the back of his fingers over Scotty's cheekbone. "…How's that feel for you?"

"I'm not sure I can describe it," Scotty said. His voice came out halting, almost overwhelmed.

"Yeah?" Guetry carefully moved closer to Scotty, threading his fingers through his hair. He navigated around the inferno roaring into him with every motion. "Feels amazing to me."

"Would you like to sit down? Are you still in pain?"

"I'm fine. Augment pain is temporary, that's the beautiful thing about it. People do all kinds of fucked shit in these things. Freedom without risk."

Scotty turned his new body to face him. "I must admit…it's wonderful to be able to look at you like this. To see you as an entity in front of me rather than a reflection in a mirror."

"This is kinda what I expected you to look like if you had a physical form." Guetry used the pad of his thumb to tilt Scotty's head up so he could see his face better. "Again…the purple eyes are new."

"If you'll allow me, I'd like to at least attempt to accomplish one of my goals."

"Sure, honey."

Whatever Scotty was going to do became moot at the use of his term of endearment. He tilted his head at Guetry, his eyebrows raised, and a slow smile curled across Guetry's face.

"You like that?"

Scotty's gaze dropped to Guetry's throat, and though he'd only seen that face for about an in-augment hour, he could tell the wheels were spinning as fast as they could, gears noisily clunking around in his skull.

Guetry decided on the spot that whatever he was thinking of doing to his throat from kissing to slitting would've been just fine with him. "Do you happen to know the best way you could possibly take care of me?" When Scotty shook his head, Guetry leaned close. "If you want me, you can have me."

Scotty only processed for a fraction of a second before shoving forward for an initially awkward kiss. Guetry repositioned them and then—bliss.

Their mouths fit together like long-lost puzzle pieces. Parts of the same circuit. Every other kiss in the augment was imagined, artificial, slathered in guilt and pitiful wish-fulfillment, but this was real. It was heat, it was full lips that instantly made Guetry drunk with lust, it was the way Scotty pulled him closer and ran his hands up the back of his ribs and dug his nails into his shoulder blades as if branding a personal possession.

"Mm, okay, this is getting real," Guetry grunted, gathering Scotty into his arms and carrying him the four steps to the pristine white couch. "You're doing great, by the way."

"Excellent." Scotty was settled on his lap as Guetry sat, burying his face into his neck and lavishing him with further kisses and gentle nips. "I…was worried I would've done something wrong without realizing."

"Even if you did something wrong it would be fucking incredible," Guetry huffed, dragging his mouth down to Scotty's clavicle. "And you gotta tell me if I do too much. It's a two-way street, honey." Scotty shivered, and Guetry looked at his face, grinning. "Ooh…that's it, isn't it? You like being praised? I didn't think you'd be into that. Gonna put that to good use."

"I'm supposed to be taking care of you…"

"What do you wanna do, then?"

Scotty bit his lip, eyes roaming over every one of Guetry's features. "You see…I had a plan all sorted, but now that I'm touching you and currently sitting on your lap, even in artificial reality…"

"It's wild." Guetry smoothed his hands up Scotty's shirt, palms gliding over bare skin. It felt real, warm, inviting. "It's so wild…I'm having trouble keeping myself in check, here."

Scotty caught his eye. "…Then don't."

"Hey," Guetry whispered, and he could feel himself unraveling. "If you mean it, and you want it, let's do this. Otherwise, we can do anything else."

Inhaling—another strange phenomenon—Scotty nodded. "Yes. I want it. I never knew I could feel this…powerfully about it. I'm a bit overwhelmed, but you have my enthusiastic consent."

"Alright," Guetry breathed, gathering Scotty in his arms again. "Fantastic. I'm gonna take you on this couch if that's cool."

"I don't think I could wait to move anywhere else." Scotty already had Guetry's shirt halfway over his head, and he trailed his fingers along the massive tattoo spreading from his wrist to his pectoral and up his throat. "This is exquisite."

"Yeah. It's a pretty damn good piece, right? I wanted more, but I don't think any other tattoos could compete."

"I can feel the scars underneath it. Part of me likes to think I could have helped prevent them."

"No, no," Guetry murmured, pushing the hem of Scotty's shirt up over his head as well. "None of that, now. We're feeling good, right?"

Scotty took some of Guetry's hair in hand and tipped his head back. "Yes."

Guetry accepted his kiss, fiery and purposeful, and he encouraged with his hands for Scotty to move his hips. He started slow, grinding into him with enough friction to cause Guetry to audibly convey his approval, but not too fast that there wouldn't have been time to enjoy it before it was all over. Guetry clutched at him, mind still a whirl of emotions as he felt a breath of static ghosting through his brain, reminding him that this was real and yet it was very much not at the same time.

He slipped his hands past the waistband of Scotty's pants as Scotty broke away to focus his attention on his throat, suckling with surprising intensity. Guetry winced with pain that translated like a gunshot into pleasure, eyes blowing wide at the combination of that and the slow grind on his lap. The static roared, and he turned to lay Scotty down on the couch beside him, climbing over him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, hurrying to shove Scotty's pants down. "I'm sorry."

Scotty nodded encouragingly and smiled, helping him unzip. "It's okay."

"Normally I'm so on top of foreplay, but I swear to god I've never been more turned on in my entire life…" Guetry hurriedly looked around for something, anything to be used as lubrication, grunting a little when he came up empty. "If I gotta use the nasty grease from the couch springs, don't think I won't."

"Check the cushion."

A visible glitch flashed from the cushion underneath them, almost as if that specific part of the augment had been debugged. Guetry glanced at Scotty before shoving a hand between the cushion and the back of the couch. He pulled out a rose-gold bottle, staring at it. "…You know, I don't have proof but I think our temporally-challenged friends have been dipping into my peach lube supply—"

Scotty pushed up to kiss him, bringing him back into the present. Guetry pressed onto him, curling an arm around Scotty's head to do nothing but revel in his lips, his tongue, his breath on his face, before he found he once again couldn't wait any longer.

Guetry stood and stripped, giving Scotty the opportunity to follow suit before falling together on the couch again. Guetry used his fingers to prep Scotty, all so rushed, all so impatient, but Scotty didn't stop him or give him any reason to believe he wasn't feeling it as well.

"Okay, shit," Guetry hissed, easing himself into him as he gripped the back of the couch. He almost laughed, he was so taken aback. "Shit. You feel so good, Scotty."

"Do you remember Mercury Lyons?" Scotty asked, face flush with color as Guetry started a sweet, easy pace and propped a leg onto his shoulder.

Guetry, having been miles away until that moment, nodded. "Oh, I think about Adam every day."

"Why have you never fantasized about him in an augment?"

"I've already been with him. I don't need to fabricate a scenario when I've got the first-hand memory."

"You miss him."

"So much." Guetry slid a palm up Scotty's chest, surprised to a feel a thudding heartbeat beneath his ribs. "But we'll see each other again, he said so himself."

Scotty laid an arm above his own head, watching Guetry with lazy contentment as he moved within him. "When you do meet again, you could experience this exact augment with him."

"Instead of you?"

"Including me."

"Are you asking me for a threesome?"

"It could be nice." Scotty teased the length of himself with his fingers, delighting in the rush of pink to Guetry's face and chest. "It's only a suggestion."

"Scotty…" Guetry did laugh this time, leaning over and bracing himself over him with an arm. "You ready to rock my world, baby?"

"I've been ready for years."

On that concession, Guetry began to move in earnest, abandoning the back of the couch in favor of hooking his arms under Scotty's legs. Scotty tilted his head back, curling his fingers around the fabric of the cushion above him, and the static increased. It developed a heat, a glitter, pulsing with each drive of Guetry's hips into Scotty's, and it filled every sensation, coating their pleasure with fuzz and the strangest high of Guetry's life.

Scotty carefully reached up and took Guetry's throat.

"More," Guetry breathed. When Scotty squeezed his fingers, bit by bit against the sides of his neck, Guetry shifted so he could reach better. "…Good boy."

A shudder ripped through Scotty that Guetry could feel in his toes.

After a minute, Guetry unhooked himself and urged Scotty to turn onto all fours, resuming his pace. "Doin' okay, honey?"

"Yes," Scotty groaned into the cushion.

"Yeah, you are." Guetry's hands were all over him, then, still immersed in static and tingling in every nerve of his body. "You're tensin' up on me."

"Keep going…"

"I got you. Let go, darlin', I got you."

Another second passed in ecstatic wordlessness only broken by both of their heavy breathing and the sounds of skin on skin, then an aura of rainbow exploded off of Scotty, the air around him breaking and warping in increments of half a second at a time.

Guetry continued on, using the couch once again to brace himself. "Where do you want me?"

Scotty clawed at the couch. "Inside."

"You sure? I need to know now, or—"

In answer, Scotty reached behind him and held Guetry's hips to him. Guetry stilled, his muscles and skin aflame, uncertain if he, too, had an aura but sure feeling as if that were the case regardless. He rode the waves out, murmuring Scotty's name repeatedly, lovingly caressing his back.

They stayed as is, rousing back to full consciousness, Guetry holding onto Scotty's hips as Scotty ran an affectionate hand up Guetry's arm.

…Then, like a jolt of electricity, the guilt hit.

Guetry, hesitant, extricated himself from Scotty. "That was…amazing."

Picking up something suddenly amiss, Scotty swiveled his head. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I…" Guetry frowned. "D'you need help getting cleaned up?"

Scotty eyed him. "I wouldn't mind."

—

Guetry dried his hands under the sonic dryer in the bathroom, unaware that he'd been silent since he left the living room with Scotty. Scotty, on the other hand, now fully uncorrupt but happy, did notice.

"Guetry?" he said softly.

Shaken out of his reverie, Guetry looked at him and sighed. "Sorry, I've just…"

"I know."

Guetry half-perched against the sink, both of their prolonged nakedness not even setting in. He shrugged. "Post-sex blues."

"Post-coital dysphoria. I know. Don't minimize it for yourself. It holds no bearing on how you or I felt about this." Scotty tilted his head. "…Perhaps now I can take care of you as I'd set out to do at the beginning of this augment."

"What could you do for me?"

"What can I do for you?" Scotty smiled, a small, gentle smile Guetry was sure he didn't deserve at the moment. "Would you like to help me make a pecan pie? It was a childhood favorite of yours, wasn't it?"

"It was." Guetry returned a fraction of his smile. "But…I'm not really in the mood for it."

To his surprise, instead of pressing him, Scotty didn't say anything at all, choosing to stand with him in silence until Guetry could formulate what he wanted to say.

"I don't like being seen as vulnerable like this."

"If you'd like me to stay or leave, either can be arranged. If you'd like to end the augment, I can arrange that as well."

Guetry took a quick peek at himself in the mirror over his shoulder, inwardly cringing away from the too-thin, too-pale figure looking back at him. "Before anything else happens, I'd like to be way less buck-ass, if that's okay with you."

They ventured into their clothes, Scotty making small talk but otherwise giving Guetry his space. The artificial sun peeked up through the window, no visible star in sight but the sky turning a bright, flowery blue near the horizon of the neighborhood.

"Can we just," Guetry started, then stopped. He hooked his thumbs into his pockets. "…This is gonna sound silly, but…damn it, I just really wanna hold you. I never thought I could get the chance, and I kinda don't want this to end."

Scotty stepped closer to him. "You have a real-world hour left of augment time. If you wanted to spend it all here, with me…you can."

Guetry took Scotty's hand and brought him even closer so they were chest-to-chest. "This could get dangerous," he said. "You know I have an addictive personality."

"Yes, but you also have my support. And the support of Alec, and Warren, and Orthrive'poliea, and Varussa, Emnophene, Osillo—"

"I get it. I get it," Guetry smoothed Scotty's hair back on his head. "You're right."

"…I don't see anything wrong with occasionally coming here to watch a sunrise or a sunset with me. And baking a pecan pie."

"You and your pecan pie." Guetry gazed deep into Scotty's lavender eyes. "Was this all a ruse to get me stop augmenting the other scenario?"

"I did have concerns that Warren would find out."

"If we do this again, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Leave Altavian out of it," Guetry pleaded. "Far out of it. Like, out of the observable universe out of it. Next time I think I'd kill him, and I'm not ready for that conversation with myself."

Scotty beamed. "Only if you do something for me." To Guetry's lifted brows, he snuggled into him. "Kiss me until we fade away."

Guetry complied with utter relish.

—

The augment ended and stark reality hit Guetry like a tram car. He sat in the chair for a few minutes to allow his brain to fully disconnect from the experience, then he carefully took the headset off and sat in the chair some more.

"You good?" Snap asked over the intercom. "You've never been in there the full duration before."

Guetry tugged his cable out and the wires off. "Yeah."

"You coming back in two days?"

He could still feel Scotty's arms around him, his skin on his skin, the safety of his smile. He rubbed his eyes, filling his lungs with air.

"Nah," Guetry said. "I'll be back next week, if I've got time."

"Okay, man. I'll see you then."

Guetry gathered his coat, slipped it on, then patiently waited for Snap to let him out of the augment room. Scotty's purple haze hugged his vision the whole way back to the rehearsal stage.

#F4 Friday #hey that's rated R #pair: Permanent Geometry #repost

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