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serawritesthings · 5 months

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AMBIVALENT MINDS

Pairing | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem! Reader Summary | There was no doubt an air of mystery surrounded Simon, and while you hadn't seen him in years, his sudden appearance rendered you shocked, to say the least. It doesn't come without complications, though, resurfacing feelings that should have been laid to rest. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, angst-heavy, description of violence, very sad :D Word Count | 12k A/N | Hello once again lovelies! I have recently been working in this fic about Ghost, where I had an idea that I thought was very fitting for him. I'm so used to writing for Arthur, so I'm a bit nervous, but I thought I would challenge myself for this one! I really hope you like it, and if you do, don't hesitate to let me know. I would much appreciate it! ♡ Also, I'm still head-deep in my Arthur Morgan phase, so the next fic will probably be of him. Enjoy!

Stoic had always felt like a suitable word to describe the ghost that haunted your mind. Lacing every corner of your thoughts, he strayed, forever walking the memories of your past–unwanted and unwilling, unidentified, and under no sense of obligation to you or anyone else.

His presence had become a looming shadow, casting a heavy gloom over what you so profoundly wished to forget. No matter how hard you tried to escape those clutches, he held on too tightly, etching his essence into the fabric of your consciousness as the echoes of his footsteps reverberated through the corridors of your mind, a constant reminder of what you wished could be undone.

But it left you more unsatisfied than initially prepared for, finding the distance between you to be nauseating, like the miles only made the hurt seem to grow closer until it was seeping into your very bones. Although reality had a funny way of keeping up with you, clouding the past in its grasp, so now, it only felt like someone else’s experience and not your own–oddly comforting and discomforting all at the same time.

Simon always seemed to have that effect on you, and it was always the most challenging part for you throughout the years you spent together. One day, you would find the rough exterior grow gentle as it warmed the harsh edges with the soft look in his consistently monotone eyes; the other day, sharp and cold orbs cut through you like a splicer–like you were a stranger.

It was hurtful and increasingly confusing, making you wonder if you had been in a one-sided relationship all this time. He kept many parts of himself a secret from you, heavily guarded behind thorny walls, as even the slightest inquiry made him shut you out completely. The struggle you went through to gain his trust was like tiptoeing through a glass field, every step bordering on agony.

He never told you where he lived, only ever sleeping at your apartment even though it was too cramped. And, as it came to his private life, he didn’t speak a word but almost knew yours entirely from the number of questions he asked and your willingness to keep talking the moment you got started.

Funny that his nickname spoke so well with his aura, for that was exactly how you had perceived him now that you had a clear look at him that wasn’t shrouded with love and admiration. In reality, you didn’t know who he was under all those layers and cautious ways, your conversations made up of carefully guarded expressions and chosen words, the depth of emotions often hidden behind a veil of protection.

Somehow, he had felt, well, real? More real than the faked chivalry you were so used to when you were brought up, parents having more wealth than you deemed necessary amidst their strive towards perfection. Compared to their stale kindness and expectations, Simon was a welcomed change, as exciting as he was human.

For a younger you, he was fascinating and shrouded in a prolonged mystery you begged him to tell you. But he never did, always preaching about the unsafety of his life and no less job, that you were better left unknowing–for your sake. So curious and unbelievably stupid you were at the time, not realizing the danger that surrounded Simon and how it could affect you.

You understood him, though, and you did for a long time, but for obvious reasons, it grew exhausting to harbor a love for a man like that. You were young and naïve, only surpassing your early twenties that were spent on edge with an older man you weren’t sure could love anyone, no less himself.

In the shadow of your own accord, the best years of your life passed away, and through long days of studying for your medical degree and battling the struggles of barely seeing him–wondering where he was most of the time–you set your sight on other things, naturally.

For this reason, you always reminded yourself that he couldn’t be loved because he didn’t want to. The thought bruised you because for the longest time, you couldn’t imagine being without him. Thank God that time heals wounds, for the thought grew dim; despite his looming presence, you couldn’t shake from your mind, even though you tried your damnedest.

“I wonder where you went just now, missus.” The warm tone of Gretel filled your ears comfortingly as it cut through the obnoxious clicking of the pen you tormented anxiously. Stopping abruptly, you glanced at the woman writing in a patience journal, focused but somehow acutely aware of your absent-mindedness.

“Oh, sorry.” You spoke quietly, the luminescent light flickering above you as you straightened your back, getting ready to continue your work. “Just stuck in my thoughts…” You trailed off with a sigh, avoiding her questioning gaze as she peered at you over the bundle of paper.

Although a sharp and hardworking lady, Gretel had a knack for seeing straight through you. It was a shame since you always prided yourself on your ability to stay undecipherable, a thing you learned after the heavy supervision you had been under when you were younger.

You could almost swear she was psychic, for she always had this look in her eyes, like every thought that passed through your mind was the most obvious thing in the world, and you felt just as ashamed every time you thought something filthy in her presence.

“Hmm, I know that look, dear. Why don’t you finish up and go home? Rest your mind for a while. Lord knows we have a lot of work to get done tomorrow now that the doctors have been slacking off lately,” she hummed unamused at the last statement, turning back to the endless words loitering the pages, glasses hanging low on her nose.

“Oh, you sure?” In all actuality, you weren’t interested in going home anymore. It felt too empty these days, the eeriness seeping into every corner of the house. Here, you at least had people around you every minute of the day, patient or college, and burying your head in work seemed more of an appealing way to deal with your emotions than staring endlessly into the white tapestry of your wall without a single second of sleep.

“Course I am.” Wishing you away with her hands, you glanced uncomfortably at the snow falling outside the window, hoping to stay in the hospital's warmth. But alas, you knew better than to question her, so you finished your work in silence, the loud drag of your chair notifying Gretel you were on your way.

“Any plans tonight?” She sent a mischievous look your way, expectantly. “A special someone, maybe?”

“No.” You only let out a breathy laugh, giving her a look that spoke too much of your answer. “No, I uh, I’m going to bed.” Cringing at yourself, you shut your eyes when your back was towards the inquiring woman, chastising your inability to make up a lie instead of telling her the sad truth.

“I don’t believe that, a fine woman like you staying home on a Friday night?” She put down the papers and put all her attention on you. “Blasphemy, if I’ve ever heard it.”

The corners of your mouth lifted slightly, appreciating her attempts to lift your mood. It was depressing, though; you could admit that. Earlier, you had heard both the younger and older coworkers gossip about the nightly adventures that awaited as the clock turned 5, feeling like shrinking into the floor at the lack of excitement in your life compared to theirs.

“What about that mystery man that came through here some time ago every time you got off work?” Her words made you stop in your tracks, the now remaining cold, stale coffee you were forcing down your throat spilling down the corners of your mouth, staining your shirt.

“Oh, dear, let me help you.” As the woman rushed towards you, your mind grew numb at the thought of the man you had tried so hard to push toward the back of your mind. Truthfully, you hadn’t thought about him for quite a while, but Gretel’s words forced you to face the cold eyes that stared back at you in your mind, ultimately ruining your every attempt.

“Sorry, I just-” Her reprimanding voice cut your apology short.

“No need to apologize,” she shushed you, grabbing the cup from your hands before you dropped it, smiling heartily in comfort as your cheeks flushed a bright red.

You gladly left the building after your mishap, and although with a large coffee stain under your jacket to showcase your bad luck, it felt relieving to be outside in the fresh air instead of your work’s stale smell of disinfectant and latex. More so, to avoid another possibility of embarrassing yourself somehow.

Gretel hadn’t pestered you more about your apparent surprise when she brought up Simon, but you could feel her eyes scrutinizing you when you weren’t looking. You pondered if she would be disappointed if you let her know you were mere strangers to each other, bordering on a heavy dislike from the abrupt end you faced.

When you grew tired of trying, you presented him with an ultimatum that took weeks for you to muster up the courage in order to speak of it. It felt more like he was the one to break things off with you than the other way around, which wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. He didn’t even get angry as the tears of distress from his lack of emotions ran down your cheeks when you questioned him, wondering why he stayed.

The look on his face wasn’t giving away an ounce of hurt, only remaining detached like he always did, like your talk was a major inconvenience. Your distraught voice didn’t affect him as you begged him to listen and realize, it took so much away from you always to be mindful of him.

“You never let me in, Simon. I feel like I’m tiptoeing around you all the time, like the smallest thing I say will set you off.” Whenever you spoke of this, it felt like he dissociated. You might as well be talking to a wall the way he seemed to bounce every word back at you, eyes observing you under the dim light of your kitchen where he leaned against the counter.

There had been something strangely different about him this time, though, as he came to you in the middle of the night, disturbing you, who had just managed to fall asleep after an increasingly tricky work day. It wasn’t that you disliked him coming to you, but he never told you why after being gone for so long, which troubled you.

“I don’t even know you! You never tell me anything, and you know almost all there is to know about me.” You gazed at him questioningly, only gaining a blank look back. Crossing his arms, he gazed out the small window of your kitchen as the rain made its way down the glass.

When you stepped into your apartment after your long walk from work, the memory hit you tenfold: everything looked remarkably the same as that day–the last day you saw him. If you focused hard enough, you could almost see him still standing there, watching you indescribably as you poured your heart out to him, begging him to stop shielding himself from you.

Now that you looked back at it, you almost felt embarrassed for how you behaved compared to his composed self, but you couldn’t hold back your frustration anymore. The pain and defeat you felt had boiled over, making you wonder if he had viewed you as childish for the words that poured out of you uncontrollably.

Taking your stained shirt off, you changed into something more comfortable before burying your head in the sheets, wanting to melt into the fabric so you could resume the ignorance of your past the following day.

It didn’t work, though, as you could almost feel the comforting rumble of his voice under your head like the sheets had magically turned into his chest, the steady beating of his heart pulsing heavily against your cheek. The fold in the linen grew into the familiar, scarred skin under your palms, your fingers tracing the ruined tissue that stretched far as the coldness of him heavily contrasted with your warmth.

The low chatter of your ancient TV grew distant as sleep started to pull you into its embrace. In the last remains of wakefulness, you could feel his coarse fingers caress your cheek before pulling some strands that covered it behind your ear–lingering on the soft curves as it hurled you closer to dreamless slumber.

“Stay quiet.”

Your eyes opened wide at the sudden breath that hit your ear; not a figment of your imagination, but someone whispering the words harshly against you. Your first instinct was to scream, but you found a broad, gloved hand already covering your mouth, muting the sound successfully against the otherwise quiet apartment–despite the low buzz of the TV in the background.

A heavy weight had you trapped underneath it, and you trashed wildly against the hold. Your movements grew limited, though, and as you moved, you found yourself pressed even firmer against the mattress, the voice you could recognize anywhere rumbling dangerously at you when you didn’t listen.

“I said quiet.” It felt like water as cold as ice washed over you when the familiar voice reached you, rendering you quiet and unmoving in pure shock.

You didn’t get much time to ponder over your current predicament, hearing quiet yet rustling footsteps step slowly on the creaking floor panels of your apartment. The hair on your arms rose when you realized others who were unwelcome walked outside the room, the creeping footsteps only growing closer to your bedroom door.

As they did, the hand covering your mouth slowly released its grip, but not before pushing a finger against your lips. You obeyed, feeling him pull you closer so you were pulled taut against him, having no choice but to follow his lead as he stepped away from the bed. Every movement was cautious and quiet as your back was pushed up against the wall beside the door, your whole frame covered by a broad back that towered before you.

It was Simon, no doubt. You were sure of it as you gazed up at the man, the broadness of his shoulders, the tall height, and the gruff voice that had called you out earlier. From what you could see from his back, he was dressed differently; a mask seemed to cover the whole of his head down to his neck, pulled into a sweater of the same color as a thick vest could be seen from underneath it.

In a hasty motion, you felt his hand graze the skin of your stomach as he pulled what appeared to be a gun that was strapped against his body from the waistline of his jeans.

Your breath hitched at the sight, the clicking noise as he loaded the metal slowly cutting through the quiet room, backing up even more so you were pushed tighter against the wall. The footsteps had ceased now, and for a while, you pondered if they had ever been there in the first place, wondering if this was reality or just a depraved dream your exhausted mind had conjured up in lack of excitement.

But then, you saw the door handler move slightly out of the corner of your eyes. Craning your head towards it in fear, your view was obscured though as Simon moved to shield you even further, lifting the gun as the door creaked open, the soft light of your hallway lamp illuminating the room, a giant shadow now apparent on the walls from the figure outside.

The door remained open, and the seconds ticked slowly like ages passed; your trembling hands made their way to Simons’s sides, grabbing his waist as you tried to keep your breathing quiet, heartbeat picking up as he placed a gloved hand on yours for a second to then wrap around the handle again.

What transpired next could only be likened to a horrible nightmare: the muted sounds of a suppressed gun going off, a body falling like a ragdoll down on the floor of your bedroom, dark blood seeping into the fabric of your rug from the man now laying there, completely and utterly lifeless.

Left staring at Simons’s back when he rushed towards the figure, he checked the man’s pulse in a quick motion. You couldn’t form a single sound, neither could you think straight as shock flooded you at the sight, eyes growing wide when you started to register what transpired.

Still remaining pressed against the wall in disbelief, you heard the low rumble of Simons’s voice speak into his intercom, eyes staring at you briefly through the holes in his mask before raising up, putting it back in his pocket while stalking toward you in big strides.

Grabbing your shoulders, he pushed you gently but hastily out the door, pushing your head to look forward as your gaze was transfixed on the dead man, finding it increasingly absurd to see that sight in the bedroom you had just slept in.

In your haze, you had found yourself being led into the kitchen, lifted up with strong arms on the counter as he grasped your cheeks in his gloved hands, finding your eyes unfocused and clouded.

“Hey, you okay?” His voice rumbled low in his chest as his eyes sought yours, patting your cheek gently to gain your attention. You craned your neck slightly to look up at him, eyes covered with black paint under the mask, seeming so familiar yet different from the man you knew.

“Simon?” Your voice was quiet, confusion lacing the edges as tears started to brim the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming emotions that hit you after the apparent shock that rendered you frozen.

“You’re alright,” he told you; as he swept his thumb over your cheek, a tear fell, bringing your head to his chest as his arms wrapped around you, gripping his waist in distress. Shushing you, he let you lean against him for a while as you sobbed, terrified of what had just transpired and what he had done.

You could still see the emotionless eyes staring back at you in your mind, the thought of them still lying in the next room shooting pangs of anxiety through you. Just like that, he had fallen to the floor, and through your tears, you started to feel the confusion fill you and the shock at what Simon had done.

He had killed a man. Also, he was dressed like a madman, wearing a mask and a vest, with a gun strapped into his jeans. He had been prepared to kill, and that thought hit you like a train as you felt your tears freeze, the arms around you caging you in until you started to push on his chest frantically, begging him to step away.

“What did you do!?” Distressed, you hit Simon’s chest in protest, feeling claustrophobic at having him standing so close after what he had just done. He didn’t budge, though, grabbing your arms tightly as he bent down to look you in the eyes.

“Stop that.” Sternly, he tried to get you to stop moving, but you didn’t listen. Still, uneasiness lingering in your thoughts.

“You killed him!” He hushed you with a dangerous look in his eyes, pulling your hands to your back so he could grip your wrists with one hand, stepping closer so he was pushed against you with the other hand gripping your chin forcefully.

“Listen!” He hissed loudly, making you stop your trashing when he did. “I need to get you out of here, got it?” You only stared at him frightfully as he spoke. “You need to stay quiet and keep close to me. Can you do that?”

When Simon didn’t get an answer, he closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, the fabric of his glove pulling your wild hair behind your ear.

“If you don’t do as I say, you’ll face the same fate as the man in your bedroom, understand?” You nodded slowly, and as he released your wrists in caution, he gave you a nod back when he realized you were listening to him.

“No matter what, you stay behind me. Got it?” His voice grew monotone as he took hasty strides towards your window, checking the empty street outside your apartment for a second before lowering the blinds. The kitchen grew shrouded in darkness, only the moon shining through the blinds. Taking a deep breath, you wiped your tears as you tried to gather yourself.

This wasn’t how you planned for your night to go. Just like any other Friday night, you were prepared to sleep the night away, not being witness to a murder, no less by your ex. He had been secretive through the years you spent together, and sure, you had made up various insane scenarios about his background. There had been crazier assumptions than Simon being a murderer, but that didn’t make the thought any easier.

Thinking about it made you shiver, wondering who he was beneath this facade he kept up and if this had been the case when you’d known him. Had he been hiding this from you all this time? You couldn’t help but feel betrayed, even if it was only you assuming. But then, he probably knew you would have one or two things to say about his, well, occupation.

Your first instinct was to keep your distance, but you realized you had no choice but to follow his lead if you wanted to escape this chaotic mess. Somewhere along your distressed mind and trembling hands that were a blend of his actions and being told you might have been killed tonight, his presence made the situation less grim, the usual safety he carried around him soothing your stress.

It wasn’t unusual, for he had always prioritized your safety–almost bordering on possessive. It had been a significant problem for you, seeing as it reminded you of your parents, whom you left when you turned 18, not wanting to be under that kind of supervision anymore. Countless memories of gruesome fights flashed before you, remembering the mood swings that turned Simon into a completely different person, words chilling and inexcusable action plenty.

Although many times horrible, his eyes had always been set straight on you, and despite them being sharp and calculated, you could almost feel the warmth radiate from them when they fell upon you. A hand on the small of your back, a large frame shielding you from others’ curious eyes and his sight, ever-so-watchful on you.

He was a man of actions, not words, and always picked you up when needed, walked you home, and even stayed in your apartment every chance possible, deeming it wasn’t a safe neighborhood. You had Simon to thank for the reinforced locks on your doors and windows, as well as the taser and pepper spray still in your purse to this day.

Cautiously, you trailed behind him as you moved through the hallway, the light above you flickering as you felt his hand planting itself on the small of your back as he reached around you. Pressing you closer to him, he took measured steps that echoed through the walls, not a single sound from the apartments surrounding you.

There was obviously something he wasn’t telling you, and there were so many questions you wanted to ask. Who was that man creeping through your apartment, and why, for all reasons, did Simon manage to be there at the right time? It felt too surreal to hold legitimacy, but somehow, you were thankful he was.

Simon’s gaze, once penetrating, had been soft when it met your wide ones a few minutes ago. It had always been rare to find him vulnerable, rarely getting a glimpse of the man behind the stoic eyes, but it reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. The rare glimpses of love he showed were enough to fuel your own at the time, running on the tiny specks of affirmation that he might, in fact, love you like you did him.

But there was a twinge of something else, a draft of loneliness clouding them that you had never seen before. It shot a pang of sadness through you, although unwillingly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had someone else to lean on when you left him, or had you been the only one?

Blinking the reminiscent thoughts away, you refused to direct your thoughts toward the pity that always laced your feelings regarding Simon. There hadn’t been anything you could do to help him anymore when you left him, and you had to put yourself first for once and realize that what you had was growing increasingly more destructive with time.

You were glad you cut it off before it got any worse, wondering many times how it would have panned out if you hadn’t left. And more so, he hadn’t given you a single reason to stay when you left, only gazing into the air like you weren’t there–not begging you to stay like you desperately wanted.

“Where are you taking me?” A worried curiosity started to take hold of you, and amidst your cautious eyes and careful steps down the stairway in the apartment building, the thought of who the now-dead man actually was and if there were more around swirled in your mind.

You only got a miffed head turn in response, glaring at you through the black paint as he raised a finger to his clothed lips. Getting his notion, you kept quiet behind him, sock-clad feet following his every step on the dirty, laminated floor. You didn’t see a single person on the way down, and it felt eerie despite it being in the middle of the night with everyone asleep.

As you descended on what you now realized was the entry floor, you suddenly felt yourself pulled roughly against the corner of a wall, face right before Simon’s chest. You heard voices coming from the opening of the building, sirens audible in the background as the sound of traffic lessened when someone closed the door–voices growing nearer by the second.

You gasped out loud at suddenly being trashed around, but when you saw the broad arms of Simon encase your head with his body pressed up against yours, you relaxed. Craning your head hastily to gaze up at him, you already found his eyes staring intensely at you, although faltering when he met yours in what you might have interpreted as shyness.

Your gaze flickered, unsure where to look now that he was so close to you. You opted to plant your eye on his chest, the folds and curves of the sweatshirt following his ample muscles that were hiding under the fabric, bulging when his m muscles flexed.

A deep, red blush grew on your cheeks, and you chastised yourself for being so obvious, wondering if he took notice. Redirecting your gawking, you tried looking towards the side but found his large arms blocking your view as he leaned down further to shield you from, well, you weren’t so sure.

After some time, you heard the hurried voices pass as the footsteps grew distant. As you looked up at Simon, relieved, you found him already stalking towards the entry door, grabbing your upper arm when you stumbled to drag you behind him.

It was freezing outside, the chilly air seeping into the thin cotton of your pajamas as you cringed when your feet stepped on the snowy sidewalk, now wholly wet. You didn’t have time to ponder it, though, being directed towards a black car poorly parked a few meters away, like the driver had been in a hurry.

The street was empty, aside from a few other cars littered around the streets, heavy with the snowfall that had been falling a few hours ago. It wasn’t a neighborhood with a good reputation, and often you read about the crime and dealings held in the dark alleyways and corners of the city. You didn’t have too many options, though, the already low pay from your nurse job being even lower since you just got out of school.

The seat underneath you was cold when Simon pushed you through the door, slamming it so hard that the sound echoed in the quiet street. Running quickly to the driver’s side, he wasted no time in starting the engine, tires screeching as he belted through the tightly built buildings into the highway.

His eyes were strained, staring firmly ahead, ignoring all laws of speeding when he drove faster–not that there were any other cars around. Confusion clouded your face as you stared at him staying taut against his seat, glancing worriedly in the rearview mirror every other second.

“What’s going on, Simon?” You asked him, voice audibly stressed, gripping the seat tightly and craning your head to look behind you. There was no answer, as expected, and it only managed to fuel your anxiety as you watched his jaw tighten under the taut mask caressing his jawline. It didn’t deter you from continuing to demand an answer to why you were in this chaotic mess in the first place and what his part was in it.

The engine’s rhythmic hymn provided a backdrop to your growing unease, prodding him to speak. “Simon!” You pleaded, but he remained silent, navigating the empty streets with a determination that intrigued and frightened you–the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air, thick and stifling.

Simon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and you were shot with a sharp, almost challenging look. “There’s people after you,” he snapped, voice cutting through the air. “But I can’t lay it all out for you now, so just do as I say.”

“What?!” You gripped the seat to turn around, seeing the road behind you devoid of any other cars. “You can’t be serious!”

His gaze, shielded and focused, hid the more profound truth–that the dangerous shadows tailing you were a consequence of his own actions, a perilous side of his life that had unexpectedly spilled into yours when he basked in the euphoria of being loved by you. The bonds you once shared had been like an anchor but now grew into a chain, its links forged in the crucible of his regrets.

You were left staring ahead while damning his stubbornness to not speak through the rest of the ride. The long way allowed you to think about the last hour and how absurd it was, especially seeing Simon again, which you had thought would never be the case some time ago.

Somewhere, deep in the crooks and nooks of your heart, it soared at seeing him again, prodding heavily at the memories you kept at bay, memories that hurt too much to consider many times. You examined his body that too many others bulged in pride and confidence, but to you, hunching slightly in exhaustion, fingers flexing nervously against the wheel.

He had grown much taller and broader since you last saw him, with an air of maturity surrounding him that you hadn’t noticed before. Admittedly, you were both grown adults now, more so since he was older than you, and it felt quite different to be near him. You were unsure if you had romanticized the few good parts of your relationship that weren’t shrouded in misunderstandings and miscommunication or if you actually missed the first and only man you had ever loved.

The air in the vehicle grew tight as time passed, but at least it was warm as he had put the heat on blast when taking notice of your shivering frame. The strain of emotions from the moments leading up to now seemed to get a hold of you, and in a tired haze, you felt your lids droop heavily as you tried to keep your focus on the road.

After some time, though, your head fell heavily against the door, neck craning uncomfortably as your body succumbed to the heavy load of the day. It felt like seconds had passed when you woke up from your deep slumber, head fitted into warm sheets covering your body in heaps as small orange lights shone through the blinds.

As you blinked slightly, you still felt the heaviness of sleep hanging over you, bare feet rubbing against the bedding as you snuggled closer into the warmth and familiar scent that surrounded you, once more falling into a dreamless slumber without wondering where the hard, plastic side of the door against your cheek went.

It wasn’t until the evening sun settled high in the sky that you awoke again, this time wide awake. Only, it wasn’t your bed; instead, dark, blue sheets covered your frame, shielding you against the coldness of the apartment–only now noticing a black jacket twice the size of your body wrapped around you.

–

Slightly dazy and confused, you rubbed your eyes that complained at having to remain open, sitting up straight. So, last night hadn’t been a dream? Smiling lightly, you realized your night had been much more action-filled than your colleagues if that counted for something.

“Hello?” Your voice broke through the silence, quiet and cautious, yet sure Simon had to be nearby. When the silence stretched on, you cast the blanket aside to recognize the familiar chill wound around your legs that weren’t shielded by the jacket.

Grimacing, you pulled the sides of the jacket closer to you, wondering if the heat was off. There was no mistake that it wasn’t yours, the wooden floor under your feet creaking audibly as you stepped over some planks that were missing, observing the small cracks that stretched on the walls and bedroom door that had been wholly wrung off its hinges, now leaning against the wall.

Walking into the small hallway, you stepped over the various objects loitering the floor, bending down to examine what appeared to be some old paperwork among the dirty shirts that couldn’t have been cleaned for a while.

Scrunching your nose, you grabbed the fabric to put it on the old plastic chair that missed one leg, wondering where you had ended up. You heard the slight thud of something falling towards the floor as you did. Gazing down in confusion, the appearance of a small portrait caught your eyes, not having been there a second ago.

Raising your brows, you bent down again, picking up the shiny paper as you observed the familiar smiling face. You remembered the day vividly, the memory making the corners of your mouth chirp up lightly as it flashed before your eyes.

You had rarely gone out with Simon, being told by him that it was too dangerous for you to be seen with him. Despite your disagreement about it, you often spend long days in bed, the smell of homemade breakfast wafting under your nose and the feeling of starved hands moving desperately, heatedly, now filling your mind.

You were buried in your bed sheets; face blushed with hair spreading wildly around you like a halo as you gave Simon a toothy smile, begging him not to take the picture through endless giggles as his hand tickled you playfully. He had just made love to you, tender in his own way, and told you he wanted to show you how beautiful you looked to him at that moment.

You placed the marred picture back into the heavy combat jacket you had laid on the chair just now, curious of the torn edges and suspiciously red substance covering it in some places. Had he kept that picture all these years?

“Simon?” Walking further into the apartment, you grew worried, wondering where Simon was. That’s when you heard the low rumble of his voice, talking in a hushed manner.

Tiptoeing faster, you caught sight of his large frame leaning against the kitchen sink, gazing at you monotonously when you entered as his mouth worded undecipherable words before ending the call, pulling the phone back into his front pocket.

As you placed the puzzle pieces together, you realized you were in his apartment. That explains it, you thought to yourself as your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the dire state of it. You couldn’t help but be surprised, never imagining that Simon lived in such a pigsty. It wasn’t that it was untidy; it was more like someone hadn’t been here for ages and ignored the dire need for renovations, looking like it would fall apart at any moment.

Your wide-open eyes met his calculating ones, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he cleared his throat before you could. “Sleep well?” He raised his brow as the question hung in the air, eyes caressing your form as he took you in.

“I, uh…” you trailed off, scrunching your forehead as you tried to find the right words, completely and utterly overwhelmed at where you found yourself. “Yeah, I think so.”

You got a nod back, still staring intensely into each other’s eyes as you wondered where to start the questions that burned in your mind. “You,” you stuttered. “You’re here.” Your fumbled words grew into more of a statement than a question, confusion lacing your expression.

Simon only gave you a look in response, and had you been looking close enough, you would see the corners of his mouth chirp up slightly, unwillingly, of course.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out. “No, what am I doing here?” Shaking your head to clear it, you dragged a hand through your wildly tousled hair before trying again, glancing at him in irritation. “What’s going on?”

He straightened up from his leaning position but didn’t step closer, still rendering you shying slightly away from his intimidating posture as he towered over you, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket slightly–nervously fidgeting your feet on the cold planks.

He nodded towards one of the old chairs surrounding a smaller table, beckoning you to sit down. Cautiously, you shuffled into the small kitchen, sitting tentatively on the chair as you hoped it wouldn’t break under your weight. Simon, though, stayed in his place, watching you indescribably before leaning his hands on the end of the table.

He glanced sideways like he was giving something a heavy thought before directing his gaze toward you again. “You’re in trouble,” he said. “The man I killed yesterday, he had been sent out to kill you.”

You froze in your seat as you felt shivers of utter fear running over your back as your heart began to race, its erratic beats echoing in your ears. The silence enveloped the room was broken by the ominous sounds of your breath, each inhaling a reluctant acknowledgment of the palpable reality you had dreaded.

Kill you? Why in the world would someone want to kill you? The fear grew into a hand that tightened its grip around your chest, making it harder for you to draw breath. Noticing your struggle, Simon’s hand flexed slightly as if he wanted to reach you amidst the panic but decided against it. Instead, he draped the mask he had been wearing over his head, revealing the piercing gaze accompanied by the blonde tufts of hair, messy from wearing the balaclava as the remains of sweat wetted the roots of his hair.

“Hey, it’s alright. He won’t get the chance now.” You weren’t sure if his words had been meant to provide you with comfort, but seeing him without his mask made you feel slightly safer.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You only got a grunt in response as he straightened up, turning away from you to look out the window. “Who was he?” You asked, trying to crane your neck to get more glimpses of his face that he had shielded from you until now.

There was something different about them, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. They seemed tired, though; the bags underneath them were hard not to notice, heavy and swollen as the whites of his eyes were shielded under a light redness.

“Kessler.” He let on, words short. Noticing your silence, he sighed. “Victor Kessler”

“But why was he in my apartment?”

Rubbing his eyes, you saw the muscles tense in irritation. “He did… something he shouldn’t, so he got expelled from the task force,” he said. “We’ve been keeping a close eye on him every since, but revenge isn’t a fool's game–not for him, it seems.” He felt your gaze on him, sighing again when he realized you weren’t satisfied by the answer.

“Look, I don’t know. Revenge maybe? He was going to use you to get to me; knowing you being dead would give him the reaction he wanted. Either way, you don’t have to worry about him now.”

“Why would…” As his words sunk in after you started to speak, you stuttered, caught off guard. “Why would he use me of all people?” To say you were baffled was an understatement. What you had with Simon was a story from years ago, a thing of the past, which meant there was no reason for you to be the target of their malice.

You felt his eyes on you, but as you looked back, they returned to gaze out into the dark street lightened by the snow and the flickering streetlamp. There were many things you didn’t know of, many things he hadn’t told you–mostly because of secrecy and his stubbornness, but also from the humiliation he would face if he did.

He never thought about how strange it would be for you to wake up and suddenly see him in your apartment after all these years, but Simon didn’t think as he belted towards your building complex in sheer panic when he got the notion just in time.

Without your knowledge, he had been watching you ever since you decided to leave, dead set on never letting you out of his sight. It wasn’t for some sick, deluded reason as many may think, but more of a worry about how he had involved you into his life that he knew couldn’t be escaped, how your safety was compromised when he was too weak to leave.

“It doesn’t matter.” His response was short and conceit, brushing off your inquiries. You pondered over his words that fell reluctantly from his mouth, growing dizzy from all the questions that surged within you at the information.

“You’re a soldier?” He smiled slightly at your conversation change, unbeknownst to you, as his back faced your questioning glances. “Special force operator.”

“Oh,” you mouthed silently, like his words resonated with you. The Simon you had known for most of your life was a soldier? The thought was strange, but it connected some dots for you and the mystery that had always followed him. Special force operator?

“What’s that?”

“We handle things regular troops can’t touch, take missions that others don’t dare.”

“What, like superheroes?” You managed to get something that was supposed to be like a laugh but intertwined with a scoff.

“No, it’s not about playing superhero, love. It’s about being the one who gets things done when the stakes are their highest.” He felt your gaze burning on his back, closing his eyes as the word fell out against his will, like a habit.

He had sometimes called you that when you were together, the endearing term slipping out occasionally. You chastised yourself when you felt the familiar yet strange fluttering in your stomach when hearing it leave, cautiously raising from the chair like Simon was a provoked animal, even though he remained utterly still where he stood, not minding you.

You glanced shyly as you approached him, still not used to being in his presence after such a long time. “So, that’s why you always were so secretive, huh?” The fabric of your jackets touched slightly, the feeling making him glance down at you in a concealed startle at suddenly having you so close. He looked away as you glanced up at him, refusing to let him get away with a grunt as an answer this time.

“You could’ve gotten hurt if I didn’t.” He looked indecisive when your cold fingers lightly placed their way on his hand that rested on the window sill, dark eyes avoiding yours. The skin under your palm was freezing now that his gloves had been removed, the scarred tissue you knew so well contrasting heavily against your unspoiled ones, pads rough and rugged.

Worming your nimble fingers through the backside of his hand, you observed the difference quietly, leaning your head on his big arm tentatively. The muscle tensed under you, his body growing taut under your touch as he had always done, mostly when he came back from what you, at the time, didn’t know the cause of, bruised and apprehensive.

You relaxed slightly when he didn’t pull away, glancing into the street silently. You should still have been terrified to the bone, but safety had always been a given when Simon was near you, and now you understood why you had felt that way. It made you somewhat sad to realize he didn’t speak to you about who he was, but somewhere, you understood why he hadn’t, why he still didn’t tell you the entirety of the situation.

What rendered you speechless was that he had been keeping track of you for this long since he was aware you were in danger. While you had been trying to forget him and move on with your life, he kept tabs on you, ensuring you would be safe.

“You should have told me.” He shook his head immediately, stepping away from your touch, shivering as he still felt the lingering drag of your fingers on his hand.

“I’m glad I didn’t.” You scrunched your brows at his response, stepping toward him but not getting any closer as he grabbed your upper arms in warning. “You’ve only seen me now because you’re in danger, alright? I’ll let you be once you’re safe. I’m unsure if Kessler has any other connections, but I have people who will look it up before you leave. I also had someone go through your apartment and make sure to remo-”

“I don’t want you to leave, Simon.” You interrupted him mid-sentence, words leaving you before you could think them through. It was dangerous for him to be here since he raised feelings inside you that had been buried a long time ago and were best kept locked away; you couldn’t help it, though, for the good moments you remembered were so devastatingly wonderful–making your now boring life pale in its memory.

He stilled at your words, a profound conflict littering his blue eyes as he gazed into your guilty ones. Raising your hand, you placed it on his cheek, running it tentatively over his skin. You thought he would pull away, so you were surprised to see his eyes fluttering shut at the contact, almost leaning into your touch.

The air surrounding you grew taut, with an underlying tension from the warmth spreading low in your belly. Swallowing nervously, you couldn’t help but step closer to him, bringing your arms around his waist to place your palms against the broadness of his back, breathing in his scent as you pushed your cheek flat against his chest.

You shouldn’t, but there was a pull you had no choice but to follow, wondering if it would feel the same as before. You felt his arms wound around you, your lips trembling at the familiar feeling you remembered always used to leave you breathless with devotion.

Simon pulled you tighter towards him, thinking of how he had remembered you feeling against him on the cold, unsure nights, only a gun strapped to his back and a picture of you in the pocket closest to his heart.

Sometimes, when he was sure he was taking his last breaths, he would grab the piece of printed paper, dust it off from the ashes of war as his blood-soaked fingers swiped over the picture, coloring you in a tint of red as he remembered how you had looked the day it was taken. It’s what kept him going when he didn't feel like pushing on.

He wasn’t afraid of dying, neither was he of going to hell, for every day that had passed without you in it, only a picture as proof, already brought him into the scorching fire as the devil himself tortured Simon by only being able to watch you from a distance, all because of his own choices.

It was his fault, of course, that he had chosen this path, but when he met you, it was too late. No longer could he hide from the life he had chosen, having to sacrifice you so he could keep you safe. If that wasn’t torture in itself, he wasn’t sure what was.

The warmth that enveloped him ran like fire up his veins, all sense of logic falling out the window as he basked in your touch, suddenly grabbing your waist and hoisting you around his, stalking in significant strides towards the counter. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, feeling the coarse stubble rubbing against your cheek as you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his hands wander their way under his jacket that covered you, finding sanction around your waist as he sighed at the feeling of your nose trailing up his neck.

Bending his head down towards yours, his lips desperately sought yours, all restraint gone as the chains holding him back fell towards the floor in a loud clank, pushing your body taut against his.

Fueled by his affection, you bask in the tenderness of his touch and desperation in his movements as you push all sense of logic to the back of your mind, longing to feel what you had always felt with Simon, the feelings that had been simmering in the back of your mind.

You shivered as his calloused hands crept under your shirt, caressing the soft skin that had remained untouched ever since he left, battled-bruised hands seeking sanction in the curves of your body that filled his wanton dreams, dreams that always depicted you.

“Simon.” you gasped in a quiet voice, hands running up to rest in the tufts of his hair, arching your back when his fingers traveled down to your backside, palms fitting wholly against you as he pushed you tighter toward his front with a quick drag.

A grunt left him when your legs tightened against him, feeling your crotch pressed against him, the euphoric feeling bordering on nostalgia. The room that remained as cold as it had been before wasn’t anything you pondered over when his hands unzipped your jacket, leaving it still wrapped around your arms, but the shirt of your pajamas was now visible.

“Tell me to stop.” His lips attached themselves to the crevice of your neck, bringing the supple flesh into his mouth as he groaned against you, fingers running their way up your shirt to lightly skim over the thin fabric covering your bare chest.

“Stop, Simon.” You said, voice monotone as you heeded his command needlessly, not paying attention to what you were saying as his thumb slowly caressed the side of your breast, begging him to touch you as your legs automatically widened to let him step further into your embrace.

He didn’t stop, though, not being able to restrain himself any longer as he saw how deliciously your nipple strained against your shirt, mouth-watering as they seemed to almost beg for him to wrap his lips around them. Doing just that, he heard the sound of your moan vibrating through the quiet room as you felt the unusual feeling of his tongue swiping over it through the fabric, gasping as you felt him grind his middle against yours slowly.

“Push me away. I mean it.” Weak hands found his shoulder pushing against the muscles that hid under the fabric of his jacket as he growled out the words, not budging him one bit as he continued his assault on your breast, covering the other with his palm as he crouched down slightly to make up for the height difference.

Grunting in frustration at his body not following his mind, he lifted you up once more after detaching his lips from you, carrying your heated body towards the manky, old bedroom. You unzipped his heavy winter jacket the short way you could, worming your hands around him like a snake, disapproving of the bulletproof vest strapped to him under the sweater. Instead, you grabbed his cheeks between your hands, placing your lips on his once more, feeling him pushing you up against the wall in the hallway.

Putting you down on your feet, he roughly removed the jacket from your arms, then gently helped you pull the fabric of the shirt to reveal your upper body, feeling his hands grab your bottom to carry you into the bedroom, carefully minding your head as he laid you down on the hard mattress, standing up to examine you as your chest heaved out its breath, gazing tenderly at Simon.

That did it, no doubt. The sight almost made his knees buckle; he grabbed ahold of the small wardrobe placed by the foot of the bed as he removed his jacket, lifting your back up slightly to put it behind you, your desperate lips finding their place on his neck as he bent down, stubborn legs wounding their way around his hips as you dragged him towards you like a siren.

He couldn’t help but follow, comfortably fitting his front against yours, the thin fabric of your pajama pants letting him feel you better as he strained against his jeans, the material stretched tight under his massive desire for you. Your breath hitched as he moved languidly, placing his forearm under your neck as you stared up at him through hazy eyes, a deep blush falling from your cheeks to your chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he swore into the otherwise quiet room at the sight. As your eyes met, you could see the sharp eyes crease as he scrunched his eyes tight, dragging his hand that wasn’t under your head down the curves of your sides, memorizing every crevice like this was the last time he could feel it.

The room grew shrouded in the released tension, now thick with a burning want as the large man hovering over you pushed your smaller frame against his ruined mattress, shame not having the chance to fill him yet from the state of the room he was devouring you in.

You paid no mind either, letting out a cry when you felt his hand creep down between your bodies, feeling the warmth of your crotch under his thick fingers as he parted two of them, dragging their way on the side of your lips, never really touching you where you mostly wanted him to.

“I can’t do this to you.” His voice was rough, blending a deep want and a heavy twinge of regret like he was doing something completely unlawful. You stroked his temple with your nimble fingers, wiping the sweat dripping down his forehead away, caressing the skin lovingly.

“Do what, Simon?” He didn’t give you an answer as you asked him breathlessly, but you knew what he meant, feeling like this was too hasty, too quick. But you couldn’t stay away from him, and all the hurt and uncertainty he had let you face entirely on your own, it felt too good to have him near you–for him to want you.

The slow drag of his crotch against yours growing more forceful, you were brought from your thoughts, breath hitching as the large imprint of him rubbed over the material of your pants, feeling every slide grow muted as a warm shiver traveled down your back, a sting of pleasure shooting sharply up your body all the way to your fingertips.

It was numbing, the way he chased after your lips while trying to pull himself away from you, arm pulling you closer yet head pulling away from you. The internal battle he faced was visible, but your warm and caressing hand lulled him closer to you, soothing the harsh thoughts that filled his mind, the worrying that stretched the lines deep on his face.

At the same time, he panted, dragging your trousers down your thighs, refusing to pull away from you, so when he realized there was no other way, you heard the fabric tear amidst the loud ringing in your eyes from excitement.

Your eyes shot open, but before you could speak, you felt Simon’s thumb push its way into your mouth, muting your sound of protest as he buried his head in your chest. Your hands threaded through his hair as you scratched the roots in pleasure when his other hands rubbed you over your underwear, wetness seeping through the material so his fingers could glide over you more easily.

It was mind-numbing, the sparks of pleasure you felt as his calloused fingers finally met skin, dragging slowly between your folds as your panties were pushed aside.

“Oh, god!” A strangled attempt at speaking left you, mouth agape as you arched up against him, feeling a thick finger slowly wind its way into the gummy walls, clenching down on the intrusion. The feeling left you quickly, though, and as a whine of disappointment left you, you felt his finger caress your clit in soft circles, making your hips move in motion with his hand.

Swallowing your noises, Simon’s tongue wormed its way into your welcoming mouth, lips massaging yours as he grabbed your cheek with one hand gently. Running your hands under the fabric of his sweater, you grabbed the vest underneath it in discontent, trying to show him you wanted it off, unable to do it yourself as his heavy weight rendered you moveless underneath him.

His eyes, now a swirling pool of black in the dark room, gazed dangerously into yours, grabbing the end of his sweater and pushing it over his head, refusing to detach from you. As the skin of his upper body was revealed, your hands ran over every piece of skin you could find to then push against the straps, the vest detaching from its hold, Simon throwing it beside the bed in a hurry, grabbing your thighs to push the plump flesh up beside you, gazing heatedly at your puffy lips that peaked through your panties, red and tender from his fingers.

Closing his eyes, he tried to gather his clouded brain, vision unfocused as he could only make out the blissful expression on your face. Wiping his forehead, he kissed the soft skin of your thighs, feeling them stay planted firmly where he pushed them as he let go.

His hands lowered to drag down the zip of his pants, his hardness straining painfully against the fabric. As the material loosened, a sigh of relief left him. Still, then pleasure so sharp ran through him when he felt your nimble hands slowly caress the bulge in his briefs, beckoning him to retake his place in the crevice of your neck, almost biting into your skin as your hand wormed its way into his briefs.

God had imprinted your every touch into his mind, only dragging them out when nights had turned too cold or lonely. Like some depraved animal, he had imagined your hands gliding over him in the confines of this bed when he was on leave, other times imagining your fingers wrapping their way around his shaft as he found to sleep in the corner of some building, teammates only meters away as he fell into a helpless dream of you and your soft touch.

To feel you touch him like that again must have been some type of depraved joke from the devil himself, finding pleasure in the torture of knowing he would never be able to feel this again. The slow drag of your fingers down the trail of hair that led to his crotch, slowly palming the scorching shaft that pulsed against your touch, the small leak of precum making the feeling all too much for Simon to contain himself.

“Fuckin’ hell, are you trying to kill me?” He panted out, grabbing your wrist when it became too much. Instead of a noise of disappointment, the beautiful sound of your laugh clung in his ears, and when he looked up, he found you giving him a toothy smile, a blissed-out expression covering your face.

“Oh, Simon,” you said, staring warmly at him as you took in the heaving of his chest as he planted his arms beside you, covering your whole frame with his large body. Looking down, you parted your legs even more, the anticipation being too much for you to handle, wishing he would dampen the warmth spreading in the low of your stomach.

Suddenly you felt his mouth against your begging wetness, tongue laying flat against your lips as he massaged and licked striped to your red clit, mumbling incoherent words against you that only vibrated euphorically against your sensitive parts.

As you trashed underneath him, his hands wound their way under your legs, pushing your hips down to the mattress as you felt his tongue worm its way into your tightly clenched whole to then once more tease your clit with his tongue, staring up at your face as the paint around his eyes dripped with the sweat down the folds of your legs, almost eating you whole as he lapped at you.

Hitting his head lightly, you begged for him to end his torture with pleading, tear-filled eyes from the overstimulation. You felt him everywhere as he buried his face nose-deep into your heat, hands burning every part of your skin that they caressed frantically, like starved for the feeling of you underneath them.

Pushing the ball of your palm into his bulging, scar-littered shoulder when he didn’t listen, you hit him once more when you regained more power, and he pushed himself hastily above you, almost manhandling you as he removed your panties off your legs and throwing them behind him.

“Come here,” he tells you, and it isn’t until he’s buried deep inside you that your facade breaks, tears gliding languidly down your cheeks in a quiet sob as he thrusts slow and deep, pushing down your thighs until they are burning from the stretch against the mattress–spread wide for only him. Simon hummed at the thought.

Hugging his head close to you, you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your neck as the sounds of him thrusting against you echo in the room, hefty and bulky, as you feel him bullying his way into you.

You knew this was it, and for that reason, you held him tighter, trying to imprint his touch into your head–wishing to prolong this moment so it would never stop, pleading with whoever would listen to make him stay. Your pleading only turned into mindless babbling as the force of his hips pushed you further up the bed, breasts bouncing with every motion.

Hearing the words stumble from you like he remembered they always did, he cooed at you, feeling your walls fluttering around his cock as he swore. “I know love, I know.” Breathlessly, he pushed himself up on his hands, grabbing the headboard as he continued to pound into you, watching you cry out with wet cheeks.

Closing his eyes in pain, he felt his heart cramp when what he was doing passed through his mind, knowing this wasn’t fair to you. But he couldn’t stop himself from having you, for you rendered him weak in the knees every time, not sure you knew of the power you held over him.

“Simon, please,” you begged with a trembling voice, staring into his dark eyes as his breath heaved with strain, begging him not to leave you again. He kept his gaze locked with yours, face contorting in agony when he realized your face would haunt him forever, damning him for his ways. He would stay away and leave you alone–he just needed to feel you for one last time, just once more.

To avoid the hurt that started to spread in his loins at the thought, he suddenly pulled you up by your forearms as he laid on his back, pulling you into his strong embrace as he splayed you over his chest, legs on either side of his waist.

A whine left you when he entered you once again, rutting up into you with strong legs planted firmly on the mattress, feeling you glide up his body with every thrust as your head buried its way into his neck. What left you now wasn’t even moans, mouth open wide in a noiseless scream as his hips slapped loudly against yours.

Grabbing the back of your hair, he pushed your head up so you started into his eyes, trying to tell you the three words he couldn’t speak. You gave no indication of noticing, eyes flickering in both pain and lust, arms on either side of his head as he kept pushing into you.

“Stay,” you managed to get out amidst his assault on you, gripping his shoulder tightly as the coil in your stomach started to tighten almost painfully. He remained quiet as he shook his head, bringing your face closer so he could press his lips against yours.

His chapped lips fitted like a puzzle piece against yours, and your hand lifted to caress the fading scars littering the skin on his face. He hit every sweet spot inside of you, pubic bone creating heavenly friction against your sensitive nub as it rubbed together when his movements grew faster. You found it hard to breathe as he swallowed your attempts, and with one hand on your waist and the other pushing your lips against his, you felt lightheaded as you moaned out against his mouth.

Starting to hit the mattress beside you in panic, he only pushed you tighter against his robot-like motions; the feeling was entirely overwhelming as the warmth that had begun spreading low in your stomach now traveled its way throughout your whole body. Your legs lay limp on the mattress, his muscular legs moving to shove you back on the mattress, now gripping the headboard again so he could push into you with more force.

When his hand found your clit, you saw white streaks of sharp light before your eyes, arching your back of the sheets as a noiseless scream left you, wet tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as you saw his eyes set intensely on you from above, your head shaking from side to side from the pleasure as you felt Simon piston in and out of you.

You didn’t want him to stop, knowing that when he did, you would never see him again. You were sure of it, felt it in how he held you and looked at you. So, when you felt the foil snap, you could only cry out as your ears started to ring, pulsating heavily around him as the cramps of your orgasm filled you with a scorching pleasure.

Every thrust of his prolongs your pleasure, still shooting through you as you fall backward, limp under Simon’s still forceful thrusts.

“That’s it, love.” Panting above you, he fell into your arms, rutting heavily against you as he wound his arms around your waist, finding strength in his muscular legs to keep his hips going, grunting audibly against your neck as you kept clenching around him. “Give it to me. Only me,” he mumbled against your wet skin, delirious from being in your embrace he so had missed.

“Only you, Simon. It will always,” you hiccuped. “Always be you.” The sobbing, blissed-out words coming from you were the final straw, his thrusts growing harder but slowing down as he bit into the skin of your neck, knuckles turning white from gripping your waist as his face contorted.

The pleasure kept roaming through him as he kept on moving inside you, prolonging the feeling as his cum rimmed around where his cock entered you, dribbling down you in heaps as it kept coming, stuffing you to the brim.

Spent, you feel the heavy weight of Simon relaxing against you, staying inside you as he tries to regain his breath–not wanting to part from you. A shaking hand found your trembling ones, intertwining them as he caressed the back of it with his thumb, reveling in how your hand caressed the skin of his back, shivers running down it as he basked in the afterglow of being one with you.

Your already heavy eyelids tried to keep open, refusing to let him slip out of your fingers, but your body had grown spent as it strained against the sleep wounding its way through you.

“Simon,” you mumbled, voice almost inaudible as he brought your hand to rest with his beside your head, humming at you, the vibrating of his chest lulling you closer to sleep. As it surrounded you forcefully, you could only let the last teardrop fall from your eyes, knowing he was seeping out of your grasp like dust.

–

The cold was seeping through you the moment you woke up, shivers wrecking through you as the bleak walls stared back at you–the blanket wrapped around you doing nothing to protect you from the chill. In a daze, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes tiredly, trying to regain focus as you coddled the blanket closer to your body.

That’s when the horror spread through you, head trashing wildly as you gazed around you while taking in your surroundings. A familiar, worn-down apartment stared back at you, the night dark outside as you gasped, fearing being left alone in his eerie apartment.

“Simon!” You yelled out, voice trembling as you stepped onto the wooden planks of the floor, shielding yourself with the blanket as you bolted through the hallway into the kitchen, finding it empty as you trashed open the door to the bathroom.

Your heart picked up its pace, feeling like someone had shot you right through the chest when you realized you were by yourself–completely and utterly alone, and he had left you just like you knew he would.

“Simon!” You belted out once again, leaning towards the wall in distress as the cries grew soundless as the power of it traveled up your throat, feeling it constrict until the wails filled the empty space, sobs leaving you as you grabbed your heart in agony.

By some sort of hope, you had wished he would stay even though you knew it was inevitable, but as you took notice, that wasn’t the case. Once again, the warmth of his hands had left you, forcing you to come to terms with living the bleak years of your life without him in your life, disappearing–never to return to your embrace again.

As you stood there, sobbing with cheeks red with tears, you damned yourself for loving him in the first place, for letting him step into your life once more when you were finally moving forward with your life. Unable to take the pain, you slide down the wall, glancing up at the walls as the ghost of him starts to loom over you, his shadow growing more fierce–more apparent–as you cover your head, unwilling to face reality any longer.

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bleedingichorhearts · 28 days

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𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕯𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖍𝖘:

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This is funny, I used to fear this game.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You’re suddenly assigned to the underwater city of “Rapture” that was supposedly classified as a myth; built somewhere in the 1950’s.

However, the more you worked underneath the wealthy mans’ name. The more that you realize is how things are done around this corrupt air pocket. Experiencing things that should never even happen to a sinful human.

So, when you could, without the eyes of other staff. Treated the people down here the best you could within your position. Gaining some jealous eyes, hateful eyes and even adoring ones, but what happens when that turns into a one of obsession? Possession? Devotion?

𝕬𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: Just in case you wanted to know what a Big Daddy sounded like, here. Big, underwater tin man loud.

TW // Imprisonment, organized crime?

Pulling the black ski mask down on my head. I adjusted the bottom of it, tucking it into the black combat shirt underneath the vest. Then I adjusted the collar of the shirt and grabbed the protective goggles on the coffee table and slid it over my eyes before putting my helmet on.

Strapping the helmet on comfortably. I looked around in the living room, scanning the area, making sure to double check that I got everything. Patting myself just in case.

Hand ties? Check.

Radio? Check.

Night vision goggles? Check.

Protective gear? Check.

Handgun? Check.

Knife? Check.

Frag grenade? Check.

Rifle? Spotting it leaning on the wall, I went over and picked it up. Unloading the mag, I counted the mag full of bullets before reloading it back into the gun. Check.

Nodding to myself, I made my way out of the room and locked the door behind me with the skeleton key provided to this vintage room. Waiting for a click! I turned the key and took it back, placing it back into my front pocket for safe keeping.

Fiddling with the door, I made sure it was locked before I headed off to the elevator to start off my day in this mythical, abandoned underwater city of “Rapture.”

This city was unpredictable and dangerous; filled with mindless, mutated people addicted to this… serum called “ADAM.” Most of the people or what’s left of them became dependent on that cursed source. It’s what changed them to become those “Splicers.”

That ADAM was no joke or “cure” to mess with. I’ve seen it in the works. How the person's body shifted, screaming out in pain when they injected that long, metal needle into themselves with it. Becoming an unstable person you have never met before.

Processed ADAM or “Plasmids” were— are still a painful thing to watch a person inject themselves with, but the benefit of it was you didn’t quite get influenced by it as much as you did with raw ADAM. You also gain a “superpower” whether it is electricity, ice or fire coming out of your fingertips. Insects, or telekinesis, you had one of those out of 11 documented. Some even have been lucky enough to receive all 11.

However, such power has its side effects. You’ll need EVE to restore your ability to power such a mutation, and with many wanting to use that power, they went crazy without it. Going as far as overdosing on ADAM in hopes to power them up. Which ultimately, was probably this city’s downfall.

Though, this man called “Sol Snyder” said he will make this city prosper once more. Rebuild what has fallen, remake the city as it once was. Make it even better than it was, but the more I work beneath him. The more I disagree with his work and how he was achieving this recreation.

“Mornin’ Guard.” The host of this building greeted, handing out a brown paper bag to me. “Figured ya needed somthin’ to eat while yer’ out there protectin’ my buildin’. I never see ya bring anything with ya.”

Taking the paper bag in my hands. It crinkled throughout the empty lobby as I opened it up to see what kind of a soul this older man was.

“I got cha a classic ham and cheese sandwich and a small bag of chips with a small apple juice box. Gotta keep ya strong out there!” The man said, taking his dark blue cap off, showing his bald spot on top of his head. “I know it ain’t much, but I can’t let a younglin’ like you wanderin’ about my buildin’ without rewarding ya for yer troubles.”

I tipped my head to him in appreciation and lightly folded the paper bag back up. This meal was going to be far better than what that lab would provide. Sure, their… mush was packed with proteins and vitamins, and it tasted a little better if you added some milk with it like it was oatmeal, but it still never compared to real food.

“Glad you liked it! Now get along there! Your friend is watching for ya.” The man informed, putting his cap back on. His white hairs floofing out at the sudden replacement of the cap. His body turning around to continue his duties as the host of his building, whistling away.

What a kind, old man. Giving me a fraction of his food. Giving me a place to stay instead of staying in that lab. He was one of the first people I’ve met here. Found each other when we got lost around in the city. The many water tunnels making it a little confusing on which build was which. Many signs were destroyed and withered still.

I remember our first encounter. He was wandering the city, going through areas he hasn’t seen yet. Areas that were prohibited to civilians like him which is where I met him on the first day on the job. Immediately tasked to keep people out where they shouldn't be.

He looked so confused about where he was, looking like he didn’t put himself in a dangerous situation, but was thankful that I had found him. The fear of encountering a Splicer and having to kill one running from his mouth.

Admittedly, I tried my absolute best to relocate him back to his building while he talked about his daily things he does down here. How it was calming to live underwater and watch the fish swim around the buildings despite the threat of the Splicers. How he has to trade some items to get some necessities in return down here and I got it easy. Since I was armed and working underneath Sol Snyder. It apparently grants you more privilege.

Finally leading him the right way to his building. He suddenly offered me a room at his building that he had owned from generation to generation, and his name “Nickolas Zimmerman” or “Nick” for short.

Extending his hand out in a hopeful deal, I took it. Seeing how this underwater world really was more dangerous than it sounded from up above and 'Nick' here sounded like a good person. I could see why he offered me a room without having anything in return. He wanted to feel safer.

Turning back around to my own duty’s. I continued my way through the city. Going through the glass water’s tunnels that provided a safe way to travel from building to building without having to drown or get pressurized from the water. Great underwater scenery too.

There were high kelp stalks reaching almost halfway on some of the tallest underwater buildings here. Neon signs glowing and flickering out in the water, pointing to whatever that building held. The water was murky, but that’s what you get for being in an underwater city. Most of the time it was a clear blue-ish green. The bottom of the sea untouched, unless there was a school of fish swimming about like some tuna or if you’re lucky enough an occasional whale or shark.

I question how one built such an underwater city without it exploding by the pressure? How did they get oxygen down here? How did they make this city without drowning? This city was made in the 1950’s. I’m sure they didn’t have the right equipment back then for them to not have a casualty.

A whale-like groan shook me from my thoughts as I stopped and looked over through the water tunnel. A Big Daddy mining away at some rocks. His harpoon drilling into the solid object, creating a brief rise up of sand on the bottom of the sea.

If I remember correctly, this was an Elite Bouncer. Judging by how he had red stripes over his suit and his hand is equipped with a harpoon rather than the original drill. He was assigned in this selection of the city to remove or collect the minerals here for improvement for the city.

The Bouncer groaned again. His bioluminescent pothole's flickering to a yellow then green before he jumped. His form floating seamlessly through the water to come closer up to the tunnel. Bring up the sand beneath his boots when he landed.

Bringing my hand up against the glass. I could feel the vibrations this Big Daddy gave off as he rumbled. His whale-like call going through the glass, giving me goosebumps as his free hand slowly came up on the other side of the glass. Practically engulfing my hand in his shadow. Leaving me impressed once more on how much bigger these beings were.

These beings were very interesting to me. How much bigger they could get. How they seemed so slow, yet so fast at the same time. It was an almost freaky thing to think about. How such a thing of old scuba armor could make such a loud sound of a whale. They were supposed to sound haunting, but they never could to me.

I found them more… comforting.

A buzz reminded me of my own assignment today. The small tablet on my wrist lighting up. The slight annoyance souring my mood. With a sigh, I tapped the glass in a goodbye. Leaving the Big Daddy to do his assignment while I had to go do mine. A low, longing moan leaving him as I moved away from the glass. Heading for the “Welcome Center” of the city.

“Ah! Glad you’re here.” The female scientist greeted, shoving a man in nothing but a dirty white, medical dress towards me. His chains on his wrists clinking together as he stumbled forward. “Take this subject here to Fontaine Futuristics and it shall be assorted from there.”

Taking the man from his arm. I steadied him back up on his feet. Feeling how skinny this man had gotten on his arrival here. He must have been lean and well-fed before being sent here.

Wait, Fontaine Futuristics? What did this man do to deserve such an ending?

“Well? Get along, it’s best for them to get there earlier.” The scientist said, waving her hand at me. Shooing me off.

I inhaled, annoyed by this scientist's attitude already as I grabbed the bag on top of his head, pulling it off of him.

Static, jet black hair came out of the bag first then his steel blue eyes that blinked around quickly. Trying to readjust to his new surroundings. His cuffed hands holding onto my arm for support despite him being a head taller than me.

“Hold on, why are you taking the bag off its head?” The cocky scientist asked, looking up at me from her clipboard. Her brown eyes sternly looking at me through her rectangle glasses like I was stupid.

“Would you prefer a healthy subject? Or a poor one?” I countered the arrogant scientist. Watching how her eyes darkened, glaring at me.

“Hmmph! It’s not like it would survive anyways.” She huffed before turning around to go who knows where. Probably to go report me like she always does.

Gently pulling the man forward. I led him into a bathysphere and selected my destination to “Arcadia” before I could go to “Fontaine.” The bathysphere jerking before it closed the door and sending us off to Arcadia.

“W-Where... am I?” The man hesitantly asked after a moment of silence. His eyes looking at everything but me. Unsure if he should be asking questions.

“You are in the northern Atlantic Ocean, west of Iceland.” I responded, shifting my weight. The sound of the water flowing against the bathysphere filling the background noise.

“I’m… in the ocean?” He spoke, puzzled. Watching as we moved through the water. “How is that possible?”

I hummed, shifting my weight again as the bathysphere stopped us at Arcadia. The whole sphere shaking before settling down and opening the door.

Grabbing a hold of the man again. I pulled him forward and led us both to a different bathysphere and selected for Fontaine. Going through the same shaking process of it starting up before going through the water.

“…What did you do to be brought here of all places?” I broke the silence. Knowing that people that were criminals, insane or political dissidents were to come here and deserve such a fate.

“I…I killed a household… with my bare hands.” He admitted, looking down at his cuffed hands.

"Ah." That would do it.

“I…I thought I was going to prison?” He questioned, glancing over at me. Looking almost sorry about what he had done, but that’s how they get you I suppose.

“This… is similar. In a way.” I answered, taking the man by the arm again as the bathysphere shook and stopped. The door opening for us to get out.

The man hummed this time. Following me wherever I pulled to lead him. Going deeper into the building of Fontaine and into Fontaine Futuristics.

“And what’s this place?” He asked, looking around him once more.

“This is your prison. Your cell. Your recreation.” I said, reciting that last part from an old, repeated recording. Leading him into a hallway.

“My… recreation?” He hesitated, looking at the long hallway filled with armored cells. Whale-like calls and groans leaving them.

Passing the cells, the man observed the Big Daddy’s inside of them. From Bouncers, Rosies, Rumblers, and Lancers. Each one looking different from one another by body shape.

Bouncers were shorter, but heavy. Their entire torso, covered by a giant metal carapace. Their helmets studded with 8 lit potholes. A drill attached to its right arm. Meant to drill the deep-sea rocks for city expansion, just like the Elite Bouncer I saw on the way here.

Rosies were a bit taller than Bouncers. Their upper torso covered by a higher type of metal carapace, their diving helmets welded to it and three large lit portholes for them to “see.” They typically are equipped with large Rivet Guns and are to restore panels and windows.

Rumbers were almost the same as the Rosies. Just more mobile, less armored and supposedly set with RPG’s, but for… civilized purposes they do not have them.

Lancers are slimmer, slightly taller, and decorated Big Daddy. They hold an Ion Laser as a weapon and are ‘supposedly’ to be a ‘finished’ version of the Rosies.

It makes me wonder what the unfinished or unsuccessful ones were.

“What… are they?” He asked, looking between the many blocks and different variations of Big Daddy’s.

“They are called Big Daddy’s.” I responded, slowly taking him down the corridor.

“What’s their purpose?”

“A selective few mine the minerals on the ocean floor. Another repairs or builds more to the city and some are to bond to little sisters.” I informed him of what I know. A Big Daddy groaning out at us as we passed his block.

“Little sisters?”

“I believe, that is enough for you to know.” I stated, opening another section of the building. The screams of people echoing down it making the man tense up in my arms.

“Am I... supposed to become one of them?”

“I do not know what they will have in store for you.” I said, tugging him forward when his 'fight or flight' nerves kicked in. Pulling him further down the hallway. “I just transport and protect.”

A curdling scream made the man jump. His eyes looking around for the source. Any chance to find a way out of here.

“That— those are men. Screaming men.” He uttered.

I didn’t say anything except lead him in his cell watching as he observed his new surroundings. His new home. His new death bed, unless he was lucky.

“It's… scary here.” The man admitted, shivering in his spot. Either by coldness or his fear. “Please let me out. I’ll do better.”

“I... can’t be sure of your survival.” I spoke, my heart clenching in my chest. This wasn’t right. It never was. “You cannot be sure of your survival.”

“Please? I’ll do better, I promise.” The man begged, his form stumbling a little closer to me. His chest quickly rising up and down, on the verge of hyperventilation.

Quickly taking the side of his face with my hand, I shushed him. Moving my thumb up and down his jawline when he slowly accepted the gesture, nuzzling into my hand.

“Please, I’ll do better.” He begged again. His glossy eyes looking up at me.

“You know I cannot." I whispered, not trusting my voice nor the cameras that are set up around the area. "Look at me, I put you in this cell."

A whine left his throat like many others before him. His face nuzzling back into the palm of my hand. A rouge tear falling down his cheek.

“I will try my best to make this more of a… agreeable experience for you.” I stated, thumbing the tear off his cheek. My tongue twisting in my own mouth, jaw clenching, trying not to cry myself.

My heart could only clench harder in my chest as the man sobbed into my hand. The weight on my shoulders growing increasingly more heavy.

𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕯𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖍𝖘 II

#bioshock #bioshok infinite #fanfiction #big daddy #big daddy bioshock #x reader #reader insert #bioshock x reader #old horror game #introduction?

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zalia · 1 year

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(Possibly Unhinged) Theory Rambling

2 thoughts I was poking recently, one leading on from the first. The first regards the Deterministic Chaos exotic lore. The 2nd regards Soteria from Spire of the Watcher and the Dreaming City.

Thought 1

Deterministic Chaos and the identity of the bracketed speaker.

I wondered at first if it was Praedyth, but I am pretty sure now that it is one of the Chioma copies.

Firstly, Rohan feels like he recognises the voice, which would tally since Chioma was one of the founders of Neomuna. It’s likely that they have many recordings of Chioma and Maya Sundaresh that Rohan will have heard.

Second, some of the ways the bracketed speaker talks tally closely with some of the Chioma copy sections in the Aspect lore book.

Bracketed Speaker:

wondering what might have been if we had stayed in our familiar prism-prison or kept tightrope-walking across the quantum wilds.

Chioma Copy in Aspect

227.18's Chioma turns wry. "What's a little more tightrope walking between friends?"

and again, in Aspect

You've got to translate everything into metaphor to understand it, here, and this is like tightrope walking on a greased line. You and Maya lean into each other.

Also, some of what the bracketed voice describes sounds very much like some of what the Chioma copy in Aspect experiences.

Bracketed Speaker:

is disincorporated immortality really so bad compared to the others' ends?

Would you have preferred an attack by vitreous helicoprion or stumbling over the edge of unreality?

Chioma Copy in Aspect

Duane-McNiadh walks too quickly, not testing the ground. He's gone before you can blink—fallen through an unseen edge of the simulation.

The entire Volitive section of the Aspect lore covers the many ways various copies die, with Chioma as the focus character.

Also, with Neomuna and the Veil being a thing, I would like to add that I am side-eying the fuck out of this section of the Aspect lore:

Somewhere, a veil is always lifting.

Somewhere, Kabr is always dooming himself.

Somewhere, a door is always opening.

Somewhere, they are always stepping through.

Anyway, this led to

Thought 2

This is a bit more specualtion, for sure.

With Spire of the Watcher, we learned about an AI called Soteria, the Augur Mind. Soteria is an AI partly created from the Vex, and a fragment of Soteria now exists in Neomuna, dormant in the Vex network, but vital to the Cloud Ark. Augur is a term meaning seer/prophet/oracle, or someone who interprets signs to predict the future, and Soteria was used to interpret data to predict locations of possible planets for human colonisation. She also predicted the Black Fleet.

A friend who has studied classics, pointed out that Soteria is an epithet for Persephone, meaning deliverance/safety/salvation.

Cool, so we now have another mythological figure who descended to the underworld and returned (Ishtar/Inanna/Osiris) related to Neomuna.

In Season of the Splicer we saw various Vex Minds in the Expunge missions as we worked to stop Quria Blade Transform. Labyrinth, Styx, Tartarus, Delphi. We fight the Oppressive Minds (including Dikast - Dikastes was a legal position in Ancient Greece who could pass judgement, and Dimio - probably referencing Deimos, god of fear/terror).

Labyrinth - Theseus and the Minotaur. The Labyrinth was built following advice from the Oracle at Delphi.

Styx - One of the rivers of the Underworld, often said the mark the border between the world of the living, and the world of the dead

Tartarus - An area of the Underworld where the dead were punished e.g. Sisyphus

Delphi - A sacred precinct in Ancient Greece, home to the famous Oracle of Delphi.

Oh hey, another descent to the underworld, and another prophet.

So, we have Vex minds, a descent to the underworld, and prophets. We have Quiria, Blade Transform, who was/is responsible for the curse on the Dreaming City.

The centre of the curse is the Shattered Throne dungeon, where Dul Incaru waits. The Shattered Throne was originally Mara Sov’s Throne World, otherwise known as Elusinia.

So, how does Soteria tie into this?

Well, there was this thing in Ancient Greece called the Elusinian Mysteries. These were the initiation rites for the cult of Demeter... and Persephone.

Does this mean anything? Maybe not. I may be badly reaching. But uh... an AI that is a product of both humanity and the Vex (the human world and the Underworld)... may possibly be something to do with breaking the curse.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #lightfall #destiny lightfall #destiny theory #destiny lore #theorycrafting #spire of the watcher #shattered throne #dreaming city #season of the splicer

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thefirstknife · 1 year

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Spire of the Watcher lore reveals!

Okay, so, I've done the dungeon and I've been in the game for 11 hours doing multiple clears and I am ECSTATIC because my obsession with stuff I thought were possibly throwaway things from years ago were actually foreshadowing!

I am talking about the stuff I noted first as an overall possibility at the end of this post from last year, and more concretely in this post from August. In short, the weblore Legacy pt 1 and 2 (specifically 2) is very important as it follows Ana's journey to the edge of the system where she discovers a Bray space station orbiting Uranus, where Braytech was preparing an exodus mission. The goal of the exodus mission was to establish a colony in the Andromeda galaxy (M31).

ECHO-1 and ECHO-2 were stocked with Exo unit crews. As you know, their task was to establish and oversee embryonic development at Colony M31, Site-A and Site-B.

The dungeon confirmed that! The dungeon also explores a really unique collaborative effort between Braytech and Ishtar Collective who were working on Mars together to explore exodus options for missions. Ishtar installed a special submind in the facility which they classified as an "Augurmind" and called it Soteria.

The Augurmind was designed with the use of Vex technology to use data to predict which places would be good for colonisation efforts of the exodus missions. As a side note, augurs were special "prophets" in Ancient Rome that interpreted the future by observing the flight of birds. Cool! As a second side note, "Soteria" was an Ancient Greek goddess of safety, salvation and protection from harm. From that word comes "soteriology" which is the study of religious concepts of salvation. Also cool! The Vex used the same word for their programs, back in Splicer, probably a nod to Soteria's predictive abilities of Vex origin.

The lore from dungeon items mentions the ECHO project, which was the name of the Braytech exodus project ships. Due to Clovis' interferences and overall just Clovis behaviour and his desire to have control over Soteria, Maya eventually pulled Ishtar from the project and resigned, but not before Soteria made the attempt to launch one of the ECHO ships with pods to protect humanity. At that point, Soteria had already detected strange anomalies, cancelled the flight to Andromeda and had to alter many of her data. During a test flight, Soteria changed commands.

(rest below because lore is not yet on Ishtar and there's a lot of long screenshots with text)

From Long Arm scout rifle:

AI-S is soteria. [H] is humanity. CBI is Clovis Bray I. Clovis got pissy about Soteria ignoring his direct command to return and Soteria said the following:

"Twilight" refers to the Twilight Exigent moral structure where the Warmind assumes that all humans are dead without his intervention and will prioritise saving the human species over individual humans. Rasputin used this structure during the Collapse. Soteria noted that she designated a new route for ECHO's escape; use ANY available "strongholds" on the way to a destination in Andromeda. One of the strongholds, Nefele, is Neptune.

After Clovis interfered with this, Maya resigned. Clovis partitioned Soteria, aka split her into smaller pieces and effectively put her in a prison where she could no longer act alone. However, the partitioning was not instant. In Into The Sunset sparrow from the dungeon, she says so herself and uses the little remaining time she has to designate one part of herself to tether onto the ECHO ship she tried to save:

This now independent part of her split off from the rest and was able to be freed of the prison Clovis wanted to put on her. This fragment of her is weak, but it can go forward and drive the people to a nearest possible location; Neptune.

She notes that the ship crashed "through azure clouds." A part of the ECHO fleet is the exodus ship that originated Neomuna! I was on the right track with that back when I first talked about Legacy and Braytech colony ships and here in this post where I made the connection that Rasputin and Braytech have to be involved with Neomuna and that ships mentioned in Legacy (ECHO project) were possibly the ones that made Neomuna. Also a good predictive analysis in this post, where we both noted the possibility that the colony ship that made Neomuna was originally planned to go elsewhere but had to land on Neptune.

So, Neomuna was seeded by Soteria, a submind whose only purpose was to predict a safe spot for humanity to continue existing after she detected an anomaly approaching and endangering humanity's existence. From Terminus Horizon machine gun lore:

Maya asked for details, but Soteria could not understand the data, only that the anomaly appeared to be mobile and dangerous. Soteria changed all predictions, cancelled the previously established route to Andromeda, removed most of the habitable worlds from the list and noted that the hazard of travel is 87-100% mortality rate. In other words, Soteria saw the Black Fleet. Soteria also sent this data to Rasputin:

And Rasputin immediately started preparing for the Collapse. "Egyptian" is a code for a security protocol. During the Collapse, the security check was "SECURE ISIS" which falls under "Egyptian." It's a nice tie-in to the beginning; Soteria's discovery led to Rasputin's activation to prepare for the Collapse. He used Soteria's data to do so!

It's a really cool connection, one that I've considered before, but couldn't really prove much besides just speculating. But Legacy weblore was HUGE and it was never fully resolved and I'm glad they tied that to this. It definitely makes sense, since I've made the connection already, and other people have also considered the overall possibility.

Braytech is definitely involved in Neomuna's creation! Neomuna being based on nanotechnology is not a coincidence, as they were probably packing SIVA and had a thousand years to develop that technology to the level they have without the Collapse. Interestingly enough, Clovis specifically wanted Soteria to piss off because ECHO had Exos on board and he didn't want them to be wasted on a "rogue" AI's whims, especially AI directed by Maya Sundaresh. I wonder if there were any Exos left on the specific ship picked by Soteria that crashed on Neptune. Would be immensely cool if there were highly advanced Exos there.

I feel like mentioning this is meant as a hint to expect Exos or some form of Exo technology on Neomuna. Perhaps far more advanced and possibly the origins of Cloudstrider augmentation; advanced nanotechnology and advanced exo tech would certainly do it. Maybe!

Another really cool detail from the lore is this poem that Soteria wrote and dedicated to Rasputin, from Liminal Vigil sidearm:

I love these nerd AI.

There's other lore from the dungeon, especially the stuff about the fireteam that Ana works with after we secure the site to get more information from the Spire. They're a really cool trio geared in Tex Mechanica armour that's loot we can get. One of them is particularly interesting; Moss-2 is a Warlock with a unique ability to connect to his Ghost (No Name) via an implant which allows his Ghost to literally control his body and abilities in a fight. From the helmet:

From the class item:

Unbelieveably cool.

And to end this with more info on Soteria herself, after we raided the Spire and freed it from the Vex, what's left of Soteria fled and integrated herself into the new exotic bow! She is in the bow!

Unfortunately, she is not exactly talkative, but her prediction engines still work, which is incorporated into how the exotic itself works (I haven't gotten it yet though):

Soteria deserves this and more for being made by the original girlboss Maya Sundaresh, defying Clovis, originating the data that prepared Rasputin for the fight of his life in the Collapse and saving humanity!

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #season of the seraph spoilers #spire of the watcher dungeon #soteria #maya sundaresh #rasputin #braytech #neomuna #lore vibing #long post

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silvereternitywrites · 9 months

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The AI Railroad

Prompt: The galactic community found humanity's ability to pack bond with anything quite humourous. Until they started bonding with their AI. Literally hundreds of AI of all types keep running off with humans for no discernable reason.

Prompt Source: user PhilosopherWarrior; subreddit “Humans Are Space Orcs”

Walking down the thoroughfare on a different planet was weird.

Nice, though, I thought to myself (along with the 7 or so sub-processes that I was aware my brain was running, like tracking the movement of the crowd, and watching for vehicle traffic, and processing what's that I smell?, ect) because on this planet's half-gravity I could walk for so much longer than on Terra. I could see why so many other disabled folks with various kinds of smarts were volunteering to be stationed at this specific Diplomatic Station. I was here as an Aid Personage, as I usually was to my indescribably intelligent mates, who specialized in theology, culture, and law and science, electronics, and mechanics. Make no mistake, I was also a perfectly qualified Horticulturalist, but since I wasn't a Developmental Horticulturalist or some other form of gene-splicer or cellular analyst my skillset was considered more or less irrelevant to the Diplomatic Exchange Program.

Given it was one of our four days off, though, I was giving myself both some training moving unassisted through the lower gravity, and treating myself to exploring a local park to see if there were any plants I could cultivate during our stay. A shade tree, or a berry bush, something like that, that would leave my mark. And possibly provide some variety to our diet.

BalBars get really old after a little while, even if they're formulated to satisfy every mineral, vegetable, fibrous, and nutritive need. I would commit actual murder for some freeze-dried fruit slices after three months.

While waiting at the light for the crosswalk, though, I suddenly heard a voice I hadn't actually "heard" for quite a long time. He usually preferred text, or to broadcast through a speaker.

"There are many AI here," AVIS, the AI who had been force-stuck together with me almost five years ago now said, quietly. I couldn't read his tone. Concerned? I remembered him mentioning once that the way he had self-modified with my Administrative Permission actively violated the License Agreement and that if that was ever known, whoever installed it might try to remove him for a factory reset. But I was the End User now, and I never signed any licensing agreement that rendered AVIS as proprietary software OR hardware; if they tried to take him away from me...

Five different scenarios of destruction ran through my head rapid-fire as I plotted how to defend from a grabber or medigun coming for my neck; they were weak where the barrel attached to the handle and easy to snap, especially if I turned so the incision scar wasn't accessible. I imagined kicking out knees, punching faces, and utilizing my teeth. I considered the multi-tool at my belt, but imagined fumbling with it- no, speed would be critical.

"You could get hurt," AVIS chided, now DEFINITELY sounding worried. He'd really evolved, upgrading himself every time he found himself "lagging" behind my fastest processing speeds, repairing his own code like a master weaver, finding all the little loose threads and returning them to the whole until he was one of the most efficient AI ever measured. So he knew very well my response, but I said it anyway as the light turned and I walked with the crowd.

"And you could die. We've been over this, AVIS. You can't make me change my mind now. I heal if I'm injured. You don't. I'm not risking your life for my personal comfort."

I paused at the edge of the walk before the grass-analogue started. It was pink and green-blue and all the shades in between. Distinct species, or did the color indicate health in some way? Amount of sun exposure, or water, or warmth, perhaps?

"There is an AI who manages this park," AVIS said. I still wasn't sure what he wanted to tell me with this, so my thought-reply was wildly unguarded:

Great. Could you ask them if it's safe to walk on with bare feet?

I felt the reaction more any other sense. The surprise had made AVIS 'freeze', like humans do in reaction, and the sensation was akin to suddenly having a water balloon full of cold water inside of my skull, pressing against my sinuses.

I sat down, not caring that it might be rude, not caring that I was in public, and most certainly not caring what it might mean to the native people that I basically collapsed to the walkway and frantically burrowed my face into my hoodie to block out all light.

We talked about this, AVIS, I groaned internally. When you make all your code stop running at once it ripples out into a sinus migraine! It's not worth it to indicate 'extreme surprise', the heart attacks and jumping from you using the [!ALERT!] noise was better than this!

"Sorry, sorry," he said, quickly now, and I could feel his processors rushing at near max speed, trying to make sense of something. "It's just-- this AI is behaving in a way I find...frightening."

I frowned into the darkness of my hoodie.

"When I asked, the other AI didn't understand the question until I phrased it like a query," he elaborated, sounding disturbed, "and... they...it? Just gave me back raw data to extrapolate."

I reached the realization and he read it off of my mind in hundredths of a nanosecond.

"That's it exactly," and now his voice was grim, mimicking the rolling tones of my own growl, the one that came from deep in my chest. "These AI don't behave like AI. They behave like computers without intelligence. What the FUCK?"

Standing up, I turned around and started shuffling back the way I had come, still keeping my head swathed in my black hoodie. AVIS could project a virtual map lifted from the data gathered through my eyes and dozens of cameras, and even help nudge my muscles to stay on the correct path and out of danger. I didn't like asking him to do it, it felt like asking him to work like that was all he was good for, but it was a very useful ability, at need. Right now I definitely needed it. I could take my medicine and tend to the throbbing migraine back at our allotted housing unit, and then...

Well, I could 'hear' the furious chime of rapid-fire Discord messages in the back of my head where AVIS lived. By the time I was horizontal and medicated, he and my Tech mate might already have a base plan sketched out.

#AI character #silvawrites #humans are space orcs #prompt inspired #AVIS

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smolcinnamonchipmunk · 1 year

Text

Welcome to Rapture: Chapter 10

Silent Stage Count: 11684 TW/CW: Violence, blood, gore, death, related disturbing imagery

The shutters at every entrance to Fort Frolic, the ones that had kept Syrus trapped in the entertainment center for the last three days, were open. No Plasters guarded them and no Splicers were seen the entire time he and Atlas walked from Fleet Hall. Compared to the lively show out in the main square mere hours ago, the entire district was a ghost town.

Syrus was concerned about where so many insane people could hide, hoping Cohen was a man of his word and that there wasn’t an ambush waiting around a corner. It didn’t help that he was practically being led around by Atlas, who had offered to lead him out due to years of experience in Rapture that allowed the human to practically memorize the whole place supposedly. He had several questions for the human, but decided that they could wait until both of them had reached a safe place.

He had to make the conscious decision of keeping Atlas on his wounded side, still barely able to see or hear from the right side of his head. Hell, his left ear felt slightly muffled, a tinny constant whine faintly sounding. All healing had gone to a near stand-still now that his blood stomach was once more empty and he had to ignore the craving for something iron-enriched.

Something about Atlas still threw him off. He just wasn’t sure what. Maybe the human was an actual threat or maybe his instincts had gone haywire after so much time down in the halls. Still, he was less of a threat than other Splicers or Plasters for the time being, deciding that he’d rather allow Atlas on his injured side than risk either of them being jumped because of his inability to properly register anything from his right.

Eventually, Atlas ducked between an alleyway between two buildings and led Syrus out the other side where he recognized the large hall entrance to the Rapture Metro he’d come in with. Walking down for another minute, the sight of the flickering bathysphere station came into view as they walked in.

“Alright,” Atlas breathed a sigh of relief once both men had walked across the threshold into the Bathysphere Metro. After several minutes of silence between Fleet Hall and here, the human’s quiet remark felt loud to Syrus’ working ear. He turned towards Syrus and added, “I’m sure ya have a lot of questions, boyo, and they’ll all be answered in time. With Cohen’s deal still in effect and no Splicer wantin’ to tangle with him, this is probably the safest place to rest that we’ll find for a while. So, go ahead and ask a couple. Quick ones.”

Syrus watched the human walk over to one of the nearby benches against a broken pillar, resting his back against the degraded surface as he looked back with an expectant look for inevitable questions.

“Where do you plan to go,” Syrus asked, not beating around the bush. His depth perception was off, but he could see clearly that it was a question Atlas had been expecting given the lack of reaction. “Now that you’re not being held captive?”

“I’m gonna do the same thing I’ve been doing since the fall of Rapture, boyo. Try to survive until tomorrow,” Atlas replied tiredly, shifting so that he was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands relaxed and gaze still on Syrus. “That’s all ya can do down here.”

“Surely, there has to be some kind of way out of here,” Syrus frowned. After all the fighting he just went through, he could feel frustration begin to surface. Rabbit was here for a long time, and Atlas even longer. Hell, the guy had been the leader of some revolution. That had to require being able to know the layout of everything enough to get the fuck out of this metallic hell.

“Aye,” the response from Atlas surprised Syrus, summoning a glimmer of hope before immediately snuffing it out as he continued. “The way ya came down in the lighthouse. That, or you can test your luck with the water pressure by trying to swim out of one of the bathysphere stations or fisheries and brave the several miles to the surface.”

Atlas’ response was a fairly sensible one given all that was learned, but that didn’t stop the disappointment and frustration that hit Syrus and made him growl. The human was unfazed, merely giving him a glance as he glared at him, insistent on an escape. “There has to be another way in and out. There’s too many Splicers down here to not be coming from somewhere if all anyone does down here is kill each other.”

“Syrus, we had a whole Little Sister program,” Atlas replied, sitting up from his somewhat folded position to look Syrus more squarely in the face. “You know, those little girls you see running around? Granted, I don’t know how there’s still more. We age far slower than other people with the ADAM in our systems, but we still age. Children, it’s faster because of their metabolism. When the Sisters grew, Ryan sent them topside to kidnap more girls to manipulate and keep ADAM in production. I don’t think there’s been any Big Sisters in commission for decades, but who knows how many children he forced down here to crawl in the walls.

“Probably of age now, adding to the population. I’ve never seen a Little Brother, but I wouldn’t put it past Ryan to be indiscriminate with kidnapping,” the human scrubbed a tired hand over his face, taking care to place his hand on the less bruised side of his face, and leaned back to rest his head against the column while turning his gaze to the ceiling.

Syrus thought that didn’t quite make sense. Little Sisters that were still very much little wandered around the halls, something that wouldn’t be happening if, to his understanding, the Splicers were continuing to somehow follow the cycle. But, given that they all craved ADAM, maybe they understood the necessity of the Little Sister program to get their fix? Whatever the case, he decided to file the information for now, too tired from fighting to delve into Rapture mechanisms that he knew next to nothing about other than what he’d been told.

“And, what about Rabbit,” he asked tiredly, glancing towards the exit of Rapture Metro back towards Fort Frolic, trying to gauge Atlas’ reaction from his healthy peripheral.

“What about her, boyo,” Atlas frowned in confusion, glancing at Syrus from his leaned back position. “We lost her when we locked her from the Arcadia bathysphere station.”

“I’m certain Canary had been Rabbit,” Syrus stated, seeing Atlas’ frown deepen and paused to allow the human to respond if he wanted. Atlas did.

“Syrus, I’m pretty sure Canary wasn’t Rabbit,” the human shifted once more so that he was no longer leaning on the column. “We locked her in the Arcadia halls and the only other way to Fort Frolic is through the marketplace. Which, by the way, still has one of the densest Splicer populations in Rapture. Look, Rabbit doesn’t leave Arcadia much anyways, save for looking at new saps that get trapped by the buggy lighthouse bathyspheres. We caught her in a tantrum because she doesn’t like me, but I’m sure she’s crawled back into the vents or wherever she goes. ‘Sides, what even makes you think that it was Rabbit?”

Syrus opted to not say that he could taste the difference in blood, instead replying, “When the mask fell off, I got a look of their face. It looked like Rabbit, just in a different outfit.”

Atlas just stared at him for a second before letting out a long, drawn out sigh. The human pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was about to explain something to a child, opening them to look up at Syrus as the Chupacabra turned to face him with crossed arms.

“Alright, boyo, I’ll play Devil’s Advocate for you,” the human moved forward, once more leaning his elbows on his knees, hand moving while he spoke. “IF that was Rabbit, why the costume change? Why didn’t she use her electric abilities that she’s prone to use? Why work with one of the two nutcases down here that she hates, for good reason, in a near-suicidal play? Where did she get the telekinesis? With all these questions, why would you think it’s her? Was it because she didn’t sing for any ADAM when you fought? Cause Cohen’s other Houdini’s didn’t either. They sing when he tells 'em to sing.

“Syrus. You had three good, long, and intense fights. Hell, half of your face and an ear are still practically gone from an explosion,” Atlas exclaimed, gesturing to Syrus’ face. He hadn’t seen the way his face looked yet, but he imagined it looked somewhat similar to when people get third degree burns, particularly feeling the tightness of his skin around the jaw. The human glanced him over in concern. “I don’t know why you want it to have been Rabbit, boyo, but are you sure it’s not the blood loss talking, or the concussive blast messing with your head? Perhaps I’m not the only one in need of rest…”

Syrus was a bit taken aback by the human’s supposed concern, having not really thought about his state. It didn’t affect his taste much, save for the right side that got damaged, but now that it was brought to his attention the adrenaline from before was gone, leaving him with creeping exhaustion while his blood stomach craved being filled to heal the wounds he had. Without blood, it would take days to regain full use of his right eye and ear, and even longer for the muscle and skin to heal, though it’d leave scarring. Even with a full stomach of blood, the wounding was enough that he’d almost definitely still have scars, they’d just be lessened with accelerated healing.

If he had suffered concussive damage, it must have healed quickly. His body would have prioritized that first since the brain is a rather important organ. He was tired and probably did have some blood loss, but his mind was fairly clear and he knew on a visceral level that the blood he’d tasted had been from Rabbit. But, maybe he was just too used to the chemicals in most Splicers blood. Part of him wondered what Atlas’ blood tasted like.

“Atlas, I’m certain of what I saw,” Syrus frowned, mulling over Atlas’ questions and finding he didn’t have an answer to any of them. “I don’t know why Rabbit wouldn’t use electricity, but they looked mortified in Cohen’s arms.”

Granted, maybe they were more mortified at him since he’d nearly killed them. Again. But the sheer hatred in their eyes when they looked at Atlas felt out of place if this was a random Splicer under Cohen’s employ. After a couple seconds, he suggested, “Maybe Cohen is blackmailing them? Or threatening them somehow?”

“Threatening them with something worse than the play?”

Syrus didn’t have an answer. Both men stood in silence for a few heartbeats, Atlas looking less than amused while Syrus could feel his lack of knowledge agitating his frustration further.

Atlas let out a long exhale through his nose, grabbing Syrus’ attention as the human seemed to age at his insistent questioning.

“Even if that was Rabbit, even if they were-were somehow coerced or blackmailed into throwing herself into the wolves den of a play, how do you propose we help her,” Atlas asked, blue eyes glinting under the flickering lights briefly as he looked up at Syrus. “I don’t know if you quite remember, Syrus, but she kind of hates me. I’m fairly certain that she’ll try to kill me the first chance she gets. Unless you have a plan to stop her before that happens, I’m all ears for that.”

“If Rabbit tries to attack you, I’ll just paralyze them,” Syrus replied.

“I- You can paralyze people,” Atlas asked, face shifting to both concern and intrigue.

“I can. It minimizes risk from large prey,” Syrus stated matter-of-factly. There was no point beating around the bush, the human had already seen his more animal-like form. He saw the gears turning in the other man’s head, though he didn’t know if they were good or bad.

“Okay,” Atlas shook his head as though to clear it from whatever train of thought he’d been about to go on. “If it was Rabbit, if she was forced into it, and you paralyze her, how are we going to get her out in the first place? Why do you even care so much? We can’t just waltz back in, Cohen basically threatened us to stay outta his turf. And if we do sneak in, how are we getting out with a drugged person without being caught?”

Now Atlas was asking the right questions about moving forward. The biggest catch was that Syrus still didn’t have answers. If he wasn’t stuck underwater, he’d be tempted to cut his losses and simply work with Atlas. Then again, if he wasn’t underwater, he would have just slammed into one of the glass walls until it broke and escaped a long time ago. Out of the four not completely fucked up humans he’d interacted with, only two were viable allies. If he could get the two humans to work together, then not only would they all have an advantage in number compared to if they were on their own against the Splicers, maybe they’d have a better chance of figuring a way out of here.

Not to mention, he still had an odd feeling about Atlas. Another mostly sane human for insurance on getting out would help.

“I don’t know yet,” Syrus admitted, even if he loathed to do so. He hated the uncertainty that being in Rapture brought and the fact that he was becoming used to it. “But, if you don’t know an immediate way out of here, I don’t see any reason to not at least try to make sure it wasn’t Rabbit. Death seems to lurk around every corner in here, so we wouldn’t be expediting it much.”

“I- wha- are you suicidal, boyo,” Atlas exclaimed in alarm, rising to his feet. He gestured sharply to the direction of Fort Frolic. “We can’t just go charging back into there, with you on your high horse, so that you can just confirm or deny what sounds like a hunch! If we go back in there, Cohen will close the flood doors again and we might as well kiss our arses goodbye right now, ‘cause there’s no chance of making it out alive again, boyo!”

Syrus had to resist the urge to narrow his eyes at the panicked human. The human that was, arguably, making very valid points. After all, who in their right mind would go right back into the same place they’d just escaped death from? Maybe Rapture was already affecting his thinking. Either way, he decided to stand his ground.

“You’re free from Cohen, and you’re welcome to stay here or do what you want, but I’m going back,” he said, watching Atlas. “I’m certainly not going to make you go, as long as you don’t get in my way.”

Atlas gaped at him in surprise, frowning and closing his mouth as he seemed to mull over Syrus’ words. He let him. Part of him wanted the human to stay behind, not wanting to trust too easily and let his guard down much around either.

The human seemed to struggle with something internally, eventually grumbling and replying, “I... can’t, in good conscience, just let you go back alone.

“Understand,” Atlas shakily ran a hand through his raven locks, mussing his hair up further than it already was from his captivity. “I don’t want to go back. At all. But, you saved me, so I can’t not help you. Think of it as a favor for a favor, quid pro quo and all that.”

“Alright,” Syrus tried to ignore his disappointment at hearing the man wanted to go with him, thinking that maybe more time would give him insight to why Atlas gave him a bad feeling.

“Before you go jumping back into Fort Frolic, though,” Atlas quickly said before Syrus could say anything else, gazing turning stern. “We need rest. I wasn’t given much food or water under Cohen’s watch and earned some bruises, while you… well, boyo, not to be harsh, but if I saw you before all this time in Rapture, I’d think you were the Devil coming for our hubris. I don’t know the extent of your healing, but stretching yourself thin isn’t going to get Rabbit, if it is her, away any sooner.”

Syrus didn’t want to rest, but his body thought otherwise, able to feel exhaustion begin to weigh down his limbs. Reluctantly, he nodded and added, “We should find ourselves something to eat before we rest, but I can accept that.”

Atlas seemed satisfied with his answer and both men soon found themselves searching the large Rapture Metro for some form of nourishment. Like the entirety of his stay down here, it was found in the form of stale chips and old granola bars that they both shared between themselves. There wasn’t much conversation as they ate, Syrus ignoring the way his blood stomach felt like it twisted in his chest and the way his teeth felt like they’d extended ever so slightly in anticipation of fresh blood. But, he’d have to wait to slake his thirst.

After eating, both Atlas and Syrus picked a bench to sleep on. Again, there wasn’t much conversation, both beginning to feel the weight of the day. At least, Syrus was. He could only speak for himself after all, but he noticed that Atlas’ movements were becoming rather slow and sparse as time went on.

The human was the first one to fall asleep, leaving Syrus laying on his bench alone with his thoughts and looking at the ceiling. The bench was uncomfortable, but he was getting used to sleeping on rough surfaces at this point. What was keeping him up was the fact that he almost died today and still felt no closer to getting the hell out of here.

That and the fact that he was constantly risking his own life for humans in the hope it would lead him closer to that goal. He wasn’t sure if it’d work, but he supposed it was better to die trying to get out of this place than lay down and resign himself to the cold halls.

He inhaled tiredly and let out a long exhale, waving his hand in front of face to test his right eye. It wasn’t much clearer than before, if at all, needing to rely on movement and change of light when he closed his left eye, and his hand was simply a large indiscernible blob darker than the light from above. His right ear was unnervingly silent despite being able to easily hear the water lapping at metal from the bathysphere docks with his left despite the tinny whine. If he turned his head just right, he could barely hear Atlas’ breathing from the other bench.

Eventually, he was able to turn onto his right side, careful of the injuries, and managed to push aside the uncertainty and thoughts enough to fall asleep. It was dreamless, the kind of dark sleep that happens when the body’s too tired to dream or to remember them. Maybe there was a vague inkling of one or two dreams, but they vanished as quickly as they came.

Syrus woke when he registered a slight sound, feeling goosebumps at a presence far too close for his comfort, bolting upright and grabbing the wrist of the other person before they could touch him with their outstretched hand.

Atlas was caught off guard, his bruising distorting as his face contorted in surprise. He seemed to temper his concern, though he tried to twist his arm out of the other man’s grip, saying, “Relax, boyo, I was just moving to wake you. I heard something down the hall towards Fort Frolic and didn’t want either of us to be caught off guard – could you release my wrist, Syrus, you’re about to snap it!”

“Right. Sorry,” Syrus released his unintentional, almost bone-crushing hold on Atlas. To the human’s credit, he hadn’t panicked despite his obvious alarm at the Chupacabra’s reaction to the surprise awakening.

Syrus’ groggy mind quickly woke, though he still felt exhausted. Without any way to gauge time down here it could have been minutes or hours. Either way his body craved more sleep, but now that he was awake and told of some noise, his body already worked on trying to pinpoint whatever it was as he tilted the left side of his head towards the hall that Atlas had mentioned.

He didn’t know if it was the same noise, but he heard very faint crying in the direction of Fort Frolic when he did so. Too faint for Atlas to have heard, so whatever the human heard may have precluded the crying he heard now, informing Atlas, “I hear crying. What did you hear?”

“Not sure what I heard. Can ya tell if it’s a child or adult, boyo,” Atlas asked, brow furrowing in thought. His fingers twitched as though wanting to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. “I’m game to help a Little Sister, but I’d rather not run into any other Splicers unless we have to.”

“No,” Syrus replied, standing up. Several vertebrae and joints popped from sleeping on the bench, and some soreness had set into his muscles. He walked over to a nearby pile of debris and easily moved the broken chunks of metal and concrete until he came across a bent metal rod. It wasn’t much, but it was sturdy and it’d have to do, so he stood up and walked to Atlas to offer it. “Crying is crying. But we should probably still investigate to make sure the danger doesn’t reach here.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Atlas frowned as he took the offered metal rod in his hands and tested the weight a bit. “You lead the way though, boyo, I can’t hear what you hear.”

Syrus nodded, tilting his head so that his left ear was pointed more toward the crying as he began to walk down the hall it came from. Fort Frolic’s hall. In his peripherals, he saw Atlas falter with an unreadable expression, but the human continued before he could question it. The hall to Fort Frolic was pretty straightforward with barely any branching points but both of them still kept an eye out. Atlas fell in step on Syrus’s left side, something he had to resist the urge to growl at since his right side still wasn’t healed, and it made him feel vulnerable to have that side ‘exposed’ in a way. Still, Atlas should be able to see if something happened on his right given the lack of hiding spots.

The closer they got to the crying, taking one of the few smaller halls to follow the noise, the louder it became. Not only that, but he heard a few other faint noises in the distance that he felt like weren’t there before when they had left. The crying led both of them to one of the brass vents embedded in the wall.

“A Little Sister,” Atlas frowned for an unknown reason until he elaborated a moment after, “They usually don’t cry ‘cause of the cotton-candy way they perceive things unless their Big Daddy is dead. But, if that’s the case… they also usually mourn beside the body until an unattached Big Daddy lumbers around or…”

“Well, either way, I don’t see or hear it anywhere in the hall nearby,” Syrus commented. He definitely would have heard if there was a Big Daddy around, the lumbering steps enough to rattle the metal of entire hallways if they were short enough. He’d also only seen the normal carnage and debris that littered Rapture, nothing that seemed fresh or large enough to have been caused by a Big Daddy.

“Yes… it’s not normal,” the human looked perturbed before raising a hand. He rapped a knuckle on the brass edge loudly, startling Syrus.

“What are you doing,” the Chupacabra practically hissed, thinking that the human was very lucky that there didn’t seem to be Splicers nearby, otherwise they would have seen it as a dinner bell.

“If the Little Sister pokes her head out, maybe she’ll answer what happened to her Big Daddy and any other questions.”

Syrus scowled, but it was too late to stop the human from causing the noise. Besides, there were sounds in the vent of something moving to focus on now, the noise amplified and echoed by the metal walls of the vent. They escalated until a little girl with the familiarly glowing yellow eyes popped out and looked out hopefully, only to almost immediately look upset and duck back down.

“You’re not Sunflower,” the child wailed, distorted voice echoing on the brass and solidifying how lucky it was that Splicers weren’t nearby to hear it.

“No, but we’re still here to help,” Atlas replied softly, giving the girl a small smile to try and be reassuring. “We can try to find Sunflower, if you’d like.”

There was a second or two of silence before the girl poked her head back up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, “You’ll help? Usually only Bunny helps…”

“Yes, we can try. But, you need to tell us what happened, okay,” Atlas coaxed gently.

Syrus watched the Little Sister regard them both. Not with suspicion, he had a feeling that something had been done to make them complacent with the underwater hell they resided in, but rather with thought as she seemed to try and think of where to start.

“Okay,” the girl sniffed again, looking satisfied at whatever she was thinking of. “S-Sunflower and I wanted to see if there were any-any Angels in the fun district, but it’s been closed for a few days. But! I-It opened up earlier, and we went to go look for Angels. I didn’t see any in the streets or stores, and the shoppers don’t usually bother us. There weren’t any shoppers, but I've seen them go in and out of the theatre and wanted to see if there were any plays happening… Wh-When we walked in though, some statues fell on Sunflower and hurt him. I wanted to stay and help Sunflower, but I ran away because more statues started falling and I was blocked off from Sunflower. One of the statues almost fell on me.”

Syrus frowned in confusion, but Atlas just listened intently, nodding along to what the girl was saying. He couldn’t help but still be unnerved by the glowing eyes of the girl, realizing after a second that she actually did have pupils, they were just a shade or two lighter than the all-encompassing iris and looked blurred.

“We’ll go check on Sunflower for you, okay lass,” Atlas said questioningly, giving the Little Sister a reassuring smile that seemed to help relax her.

“Thank you, poster man,” the girl perked up and smiled back. “A-And tell Sunflower to come to our favorite place so he can find me.”

The interaction ended with an assuring “Will do” and farewell wave from Atlas that was reciprocated before he walked off. Towards Fort Frolic.

Syrus didn’t hesitate to follow after, though now he had several questions swirling in his head. But, before he could even think about figuring out which one to say aloud first, he heard Atlas murmur to himself.

“Cohen doesn’t usually touch the Little Sisters or the Big Daddies…”

“What about the Big Daddies in the performance,” Syrus asked, grimacing at the memory. He could see why someone wouldn’t want to mess with them, given their strength and capability, but he wouldn’t be surprised if someone did given the general mental state down here. And, thinking on it, there had been a freshly killed Big Daddy near Rabbit when he’d found them injured among the floor of corpses that might have caused at least a couple of them.

“Key word is ‘usually’, boyo,” Atlas stopped, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he turned to Syrus. “He had mentioned that he just wanted them for the latest performance in his mutterings and monologues. He knows Little Sisters are what collect the ADAM from decaying bodies that eventually trickles to him somehow.”

“How does it even get to him?” Syrus stopped beside the human.

“I tend to think of it as a weird beehive, though without a Queen,” Atlas sighed thoughtfully. “The Little Sisters are the workers that collect ADAM from dead bodies and whatever else they’re supposed to, but they also make it with the slugs in their stomachs. I don’t quite know what happens with the collected ADAM, Ryan kept the inner machinations of his system under lock and key to the grave, but I know that the girls had to have the ADAM collected otherwise the ADAM would become too much even for them. All I know is that Cohen gets enough to have the entirety of Fort Frolic wrapped around his finger. He doesn’t attack Little Sisters on the reg, Syrus.” Atlas huffed, confused, and turned to continue walking in the same direction as before.

Syrus trailed just behind, keeping the human on his right side so that he could keep his good eye looking for danger and commented, “I thought you didn’t want to go back to Fort Frolic.”

Atlas was quiet for a few seconds, pace slowing as he seemed to think before he eventually glanced at him and replied, “Trust me, boyo, I’m loath to do it. But… something feels off. And that concerns me.”

“More off than the other homicidal humans,” Syrus asked rhetorically, though the human’s words stuck with him. If Cohen seemed to have a pattern of behavior and disposition, he wasn’t sure what the cause would be to change that. “Maybe it was my presence? Or someone else new came down?”

“Cohen doesn’t care about newcomers unless they manage to stumble all the way into his district. Sees them as a waste of time otherwise, and an excellent performance opportunity if they make it to his doors. You’re one of the few to make it this far, and one of the first to survive one of his ‘auditions’,” Atlas said.

“Has Rabbit ever been caught by Cohen?”

“Unless your Canary ends up somehow being Rabbit, she’d never been subjected to Cohen’s stage plays. And, until the other day, I’d never been caught either.”

“What about the bathyspheres,” Syrus tilted his head in confusion, trying to read the other man’s expression from his left eye. Difficult when he was keeping the human on his right. “Why does the lighthouse apparently just get a bathysphere occasionally? Is it just the same one each time, because then you could just… wait long enough, right?”

He watched Atlas falter at his line of questioning, turning his head to look at the man when he looked towards Syrus.

“I’ve… never really thought about it that much, boyo,” Atlas replied, shrugging with a perturbed expression before continuing to walk down the hall. “I just know that however the lighthouse system works, it’s not the same bathysphere. It’s dangerous to linger around the lighthouse area with Spiders and Splicers ready to tear into any newcomers, and they’ve torn into the metal casings with the help of ADAM and EVE to get to whoever thinks hiding in a bathysphere is a good idea. I used to occasionally risk going to the lighthouse bathysphere dock whenever the Splicers got riled up about a newcomer… sometimes it looked like the bathysphere was torn apart like a tin can.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, and Syrus did nothing to break it. He didn’t think he’d been here more than a few weeks and already felt stir-crazy, his mind starting to go in circles of frustration from both Rabbit and Atlas being near dead-end avenues for escape. He didn’t know how Atlas seemed to be so unphased while also maintaining his sanity.

Several minutes passed as the duo walked back the worn halls towards Fort Frolic again. It was relatively like when they’d left, but Syrus could hear things faintly echo from the district, indiscernible to him and likely nonexistent to his human companion. The shutters were still open as they approached with no sign of Plasters, but there was something just within the threshold that wasn’t there before, something that didn’t move and caused nothing more than caution until they were close enough for him to see what it was.

A mangled Splicer corpse was sprawled in a pool of blood, bloodied footprints on the floor and debris around the body.

“What the hell,” Atlas’s voice came out in a shocked whisper, sounding gruff after the minutes of silence.

Both men stopped to take in the gory sight, Atlas surprisingly more affected by the sight than Syrus, something that surprised the Chupacabra. After a few seconds, he moved a few feet closer cautiously to get a better look, almost snarling at Atlas when the human grabbed his right elbow with his blurry vision. His head whipped to face the other man, eyes narrowing.

“Be careful, boyo,” Atlas hissed, seeming to bite back a comment as he glanced at the body before continuing, “This is abnormal to Hell and back. Cohen forbids his Splicers to attack or fight off show unless they want to be one of his Butterflies, and everyone else in Rapture knows they’ll be captured for an unforgiving spotlight if they wander in. No one’s just killed in the streets without Cohen knowing, and not without him punishing them. Something is wrong.”

The urgency in Atlas’ voice surprised Syrus, but he nodded as he pulled his arm from the other man’s grasp, quietly replying, “We need to know as much of what happened if we can.”

Technically, they could both go the rest of their lives without knowing what happened to this Splicer, turn tail and continue hiding for the rest of their lives like Atlas probably has to survive. But, any knowledge on the change of behavior in the Splicers nearby could be a deciding factor on how long the rest of their lives were. This could either be affecting a portion of the Splicers, or every single one in the vicinity.

Atlas nodded though, reluctantly trailing behind Syrus as he got closer to investigate the murder scene.

The body of the Splicer was difficult to discern past the coating of blood soaking it and the floor, sticking to the soles of his shoes. With fancy attire torn and stained, accessories disheveled similarly, it looked like one of Cohen’s performance Splicers. Or one similar given that Syrus had killed the ones pitted against him. Several wounds littered the body that could have been the cause of its demise, but its chest in particular was riddled with multiple thin stab wounds from something cylindrical.

Broken and discarded beside the corpse was one of the specialized syringes that Little Sisters would walk around with, the glass vial broken and needle bent sharply in several places.

“Jesus Christ,” Atlas murmured, catching Syrus’s attention. The human’s blue eyes shifted as he looked the body over, brow furrowed. “I’ve seen things down here, but this is grislier than some…”

“What do you think caused the attack then,” Syrus asked, trying to discern any scents in the area. He only smelled more blood. He kept his good eye on the lookout for any movement nearby and strained to hear shuffling close by. There were ambient noises that had him tilting his head, but nothing more.

“Probably same thing as always down here,” Atlas glanced around to check for danger as well before crouching beside the body for a closer look. “Looks like a Splicer, or a group of them, got ahold of a Little Sister’s syringe and decided to try and collect the ADAM themselves. My question is why? Cohen supplies his Splicers with ADAM, that’s how he keeps them in line…”

“Do you think he cut them off for some reason,” Syrus asked, seeing the answer in the man’s face after interrupting his aloud thinking.

“No.”

Another tense silence fell between them, worse than before with the uncertainty that came from the presence of the Splicer corpse. Surprisingly, when Syrus moved to continue deeper into the streets of Fort Frolic, Atlas didn’t voice disapproval or try to ask him why he’d still risk going further in. He didn’t know why he was continuing himself, but what else was he going to do?

Both Syrus and Atlas walked cautiously, staying near store walls. Syrus sensed a change within the district, and as they slowly got closer to the center, the ambient noise that he was hearing earlier became clearer and he was able to realize what it was.

Splicers talked and murmured to themselves, none close enough to distinguish what they were saying, and any too close were carefully moved away from by the duo. The sounds were familiar and something he was used to in the normal sprawling halls of Rapture, but Fort Frolic had lacked it entirely during his entire ‘stay’ there. He didn’t know if it was discipline or bribery that had brought the silence beforehand, but it was broken either way and it only became louder, more frequent, as Syrus and Atlas got closer to Fleet Hall.

Syrus was barely able to register the sound of running footsteps from his right in front of them a moment before a Splicer ran out of an alley just ahead of them. He saw Atlas jolt and brace for a fight, doing the same, but it quickly became obvious that it hadn’t seen either of them. In fact, it looked more like it was running from something.

“C’mere with yer pretty ADAM,” a fancily dressed Splicer, one of the Houdini’s, simply popped into existence in front of the other Splicer in a flourish of glowing petals that manifested from and faded to nothing as it grinned sadistically at the running Splicer.

Atlas grabbed Syrus’ arm and pulled him into the nearest side alley, causing him to bare his teeth and jolt in surprise, but he made no noise at the sudden action. Instead, he joined Atlas in cautiously looking out from the alley shadows as the running Splicer barely managed to avoid crashing into the Houdini.

The Splicer reeled back, spitting out, “F-Fuck off, it’s mine!”

Before it could take a step in any direction to continue running or either Atlas or Syrus could blink, a burst of blood erupted from the Splicer’s chest and misted the air. It was speared through by a large shard of ice that had sprouted from the floor.

The Houdini approached the gurgling Splicer, the blue glow in its hand fading as it reached up and tapped the point of the bloodied ice shard, stating in a sing-song voice, “Got you and yer ADAM.”

Syrus tore his gaze from the Houdini as it hummed and began to rummage through the other Splicer’s pockets in its dying moments, nudging Atlas and interrupting his thoughts. The human didn’t make any noise, thankfully, looking at him from his staring at the Houdini with an unreadable expression. He jerked his head a bit to the side to indicate that they should get away from the scene before the Houdini moved its attention from the Splicer’s corpse.

Atlas nodded and turned away from the alley exit, starting to lead Syrus through the even more labyrinthian side alleys. It was obvious neither wanted to remain in the open.

“Let me guess,” Syrus whispered a bit bitterly, “That’s abnormal too?”

“Very,” Atlas hissed back worriedly. “If Cohen’s Houdini’s and Splicers are running amok this much in his Fort Frolic, then he either withheld their payday of ADAM, or something happened to him.”

“If something happened to him, at least we don’t have to worry about being locked in, hopefully,” Syrus mused quietly, thinking that maybe, maybe, Rabbit took the playwright out.

“I… don’t know. He’s been in control of so many Splicers,” Atlas peered around the corner to see if there was anything there. Satisfied by nothing, he continued to walk carefully and Syrus continued to follow. “If something’s happened to him, his Splicers are just going to run loose around Rapture now. Like a spider keeping the fly population down, he’s dangerous, but necessary. Probably the only reason we didn’t see more is because they would have dispersed to the Marketplace to the rest of Rapture.”

So, a free-for-all, Syrus supposed. But he frowned at Atlas’ words, asking, “Is there nothing beyond Fort Frolic?”

“Not directly, no… Not after Hephaestus was blown to bits by Jack. That way’s blocked off by one of the flood doors. There’s an entire other section of Rapture filled with the residential district for workers, a library, laboratories, and some other stuff I’m forgettin’. Maybe the vents.”

“Is there any way out on that side,” Syrus asked. His blood stomach twisted a bit to remind him of its presence painfully, causing him to grimace. Part of him wanted a Splicer to attack, if only because it would get his body to leave him alone.

“Not that I’m aware of, boyo,” Atlas sighed, “Again, it was mostly for the workers, and those on this side of Rapture didn’t care if any of us lived or died. It’s the whole reason I was starting the revolution.”

Syrus made a noise of acknowledgement, realizing he didn’t really know where Atlas was leading him. “Are you heading towards the Fleet Hall?”

The human stopped, glancing towards him before taking a breath and reluctantly answering, “Yes, Syrus, I am… We need to find out what happened to Cohen. I doubt he had a change of heart or profession, but I can’t imagine him being killed by one of his Splicers, there’s a reason he’s lasted this long.”

He looked like he had an idea in mind, but he wasn’t saying it.

“Could have been Rabbit,” Syrus suggested, seeing how Atlas looked exasperated and conflicted at the comment.

“I-,” Atlas’ voice held a tinge of frustration, “Yes, yes, I suppose it could have been, but that doesn’t really make it better for us.”

“Why not? The whole reason I even wanted to risk coming back was to see if they were Canary.”

“Because, Syrus, if Rabbit was Canary and all the Splicer’s start acting like this, then she’s either managed to wound him in escaping or backstabbed him in whatever deal was made,” Atlas whisper-yelled, looking back and pausing to answer Syrus. “Either way, she’ll be on edge and want to hunker back down in Arcadia. Hell, it’s been hours, she’s probably there now.”

“If you think she’s so dangerous and that she might not even be there, why are you going back to Fleet Hall with me? Why are you helping me,” Syrus asked, frowning a bit. Both Rabbit and Atlas were confusing in their own ways and he found himself increasingly frustrated. Watching the human prepare to respond, he heard something faintly with his left ear, a cackle.

He quickly grabbed Atlas’ upper arm, the arm holding the bent metal rod, placed a hand against the man’s mouth as he opened his mouth to respond and pressed both of them against the alley wall to be in the darkest sections of shadow. Ignoring the surprised grunt of surprise that was muffled by his hand or the human’s squirming, he turned his gaze upwards where he could hear faint humming and the tink-tink of tapping metal above getting closer with his good ear. Thankfully, Atlas seemed to realize that he was listening for something and stopped his muffled protests.

A Splicer, face half-covered by a damaged cat mask, peered into the alley from the opening above and looked back and forth. Its humming was actually singing, but it was so faint that Syrus wasn’t sure it knew it was singing aloud.

“Fishies in the allies, fishies in the streets. Make them squeal, collect the meats,” it sang as its gaze searched.

Syrus waited with bated breath as it repeated its morbid and musical mantra to itself, muscles tensed to either run or fight if it saw them below. A few times it paused and made him think that it had seen them or somehow heard them, but it always continued after a second or two.

Eventually, it turned its half-hidden gaze back up and carefully stretched its arms and torso across the gap above, sharpened and twisted metal embedded in its hands glinting as it did so. A Spider Splicer. The gap was, of course, too wide for its reach, but that didn’t deter it in the slightest. It let itself fall forward, lazily kicking the lip of the building behind it as it dropped. Dropping a few feet, its self-made claws raked against the other side until they dug into the surface and stopped the Spider from falling into the alley.

He grimaced at the scraping sound before it caught itself, the Spider pulling itself up from its new wall with a giggle and crawling away as it began to sing again. Slowly, it faded with the sound of its metallic claws, overshadowed by the newfound background din of Fort Frolic.

It was several seconds before Syrus or Atlas moved, half-expecting the Spider to crawl back or for there to be more. But, when there were no other nearby sounds, Syrus relaxed slightly and dropped his hand from Atlas’ face. To the human’s credit, he didn’t seem as bothered about being pulled aside as he seemed to be with not finishing his earlier explanation.

“Look, boyo,” Atlas’ voice was quieter than before as he scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly despite the bruising. Looking Syrus in the eyes, he asked, “You said earlier that death was around every corner, so what’s the harm in risks, right?”

Syrus frowned. The conversation after leaving Fort Frolic the first time felt like a lifetime ago, the adrenaline-filled fight even more distant. Curious, he slowly replied, “Something along those lines…”

Atlas gave him an almost studying look as though trying to gauge Syrus’ reaction as he continued, “In any case, I’ve been down here a long time. Since well before Jack and Rabbit got down here when I was headin’ a revolution. I’ve stayed alive because of caution and stealth, something I tried to pass on to those who looked up to me, who I was in charge of. But, I’ve no doubt that more than just Jack and Rabbit saw it as cowardice. Probably why they turned on me…

“Maybe it’s time for me to steel my nerves and do a bit more than just hide in the shadows and wait for the next day,” the human gave a lengthy sigh. “At least see if what’s between Rabbit and I is… mendable. And, I suppose, that starts with seeing if Rabbit was Canary and if Cohen bit it.”

Syrus wasn’t sure how to feel. Hungry still, mostly, his chest aching. So, he wasn’t sure if his feelings of misgivings were entirely founded or fueled by naturally feeling defensive with his wounds and need for blood. He told himself that if Atlas did try anything, he’d easily be able to overpower the human even while injured. And it’d make his life a lot easier, hopefully, to have both Rabbit and Atlas helping. Maybe all three of them could figure a way out to get out of this place.

“Lead on, then,” he gestured for Atlas to continue walking.

Atlas blinked at his response but gave a determined smile and nod. It took a couple seconds for him to remember which direction was towards Fleet Hall, but they were off in no time.

It took about an hour to reach Fleet Hall through the alleyways. Despite Atlas’ words about steeling his nerves and doing more than hiding in the shadows, both had an unspoken agreement that it was best to not draw attention to themselves and that caution was a must to continue forward. It was slow, and the closer they got to the theatre, the more fresh devastation they saw from the more active Splicers. Glimpses of corpses and the occasional body in the alleyways with blood lining the streets here and there as they crept from one alley to the next. Hysteric cackles and one-sided conversations let both men know how close most of the threats were.

At least Syrus was able to drink from the bodies they came across in the alleys. He felt Atlas’ eyes watch him after several seconds of drinking greedily from the first body, forcing himself to stop before getting his fill and only drank a few seconds from the rest since it made him uncomfortable to be under the humans’ stare. He also, very reluctantly, kept himself from finding the livers of the bodies and eating those as well. Still, his body appreciated the blood he did manage to drink, feeling his aches and pains from the fight dissipate a little.

His hearing improved enough that he wasn’t as deaf on his right side anymore, though he likely wouldn’t hear much unless it was a pistol going off or something banged on something else. His eyesight… was still very movement based. Maybe it was more saturated and the smallest degree clearer, but he wasn’t sure. A blob was still a blob.

It put him on edge how little these important senses were healing, but he’d also never gotten injured as severely as he had during the fight, never lost an eye or an ear before. At this rate, even if he had a steady supply of blood and iron-rich organs, it’d still take a couple days for his hearing to improve enough to be useful and his eye even longer. But at least the whine in his left ear was gone now.

After what felt like another eternity, Atlas managed to lead Syrus to the West side of Fleet Hall to a side entrance using another side alley. Given the huge entrance staircase in the front, they were about to enter the ‘basement’ of the building.

It was probably the quietest it’d been in their trek, the background noises of Splicers and such nowhere near. And, after both of them had been silent almost the entire time, the sound of the door opening as Atlas tried the handle felt unnervingly loud. Apparently locks meant nothing to Cohen. For this door, at least.

“Well, boyo,” Atlas said quietly, peering inside for a second to make sure it was safe before opening the door all the way and gesturing inside. “Let’s go in and see if Cohen grew a heart, or if his twisted substitute’s stopped beatin’.”

Syrus reluctantly walked inside, foot nudging a discarded coil of rope on the floor as he stepped into the somewhat small hall. Debris and scattered equipment lined the floor almost haphazardly, the lights above shining warmly on the dusty interior. The hall led down and branched in several places, obviously some labyrinthian storage for the theatre.

“We’re gonna have to be real quiet” Atlas whispered, carefully closing the door behind him. With it closed, Syrus could smell the dust and even faint lingering cologne and perfume. “Regardless if Cohen’s alive, there’s gonna be a few Splicers down here. Right now, we’re in the lowest level and have to find the stairs up.”

“Why didn’t we go in the front then,” Syrus asked quietly. There was the creak of a floorboard somewhere in the distance, but it was brief.

“Cause, Syrus, the Little Sister might see things differently, but it sounded to me like the lass and her Big Daddy got ambushed by Plasters. I’d rather not get clobbered over the head again if I can help it,” the human began to cautiously move inward down the hall.

Syrus made an acknowledging noise, thinking that was a fair thought. He’d have questioned how Atlas knew his way around, but the smallest glance around showed an abundance of signs in the hallway. Each room was marked with a plaque beside the door labeling its intended purpose with varying degrees of wear, signs to inform where the nearest exit was, and ones at each branching hall labeling what the sections had.

He followed Atlas as he crept forward with the bent rod in a white-knuckled grip, down one of the halls where the section sign included ‘Backstage Stairs’ in worn letters.

Both tried to stay alert for any Splicers hiding in the claustrophobic maze of halls and doors. If the door to a room was closed, neither worried much about it, walking past rooms labeled things like ‘Cable Storage 12’ and ‘Prop Room 3’, even if there was noise inside. Best to slip by as quick as they could to avoid alerting any lingering Splicers or increase the chances of the door being opened by whoever was inside.

Open rooms and branching hallways were cautiously peered into by Atlas since he was the one in the lead, stopped beside whatever entryway was in question briefly to ensure it was safe before both men continued carefully past.

Once more, minutes stretched painfully with their silent stop and go pace.

Syrus didn’t even bother trying to remember each turn or where they led, grateful for the extensive organization and labeling system in the halls that Cohen created down here. He just followed Atlas until he picked up a sound he couldn’t quite recognize from the next open room, grabbing the human’s arm just before he could look inside. Atlas gave him a confused look.

“Careful,” Syrus’ whisper was barely audible to himself, but Atlas got the message and went from confused to curious. “I can hear something inside.”

Atlas glanced back at the doorway before looking back at Syrus. So far, they’d been lucky enough to not come across any Splicers within the halls, and any Splicers in open rooms were preoccupied with their own insanity or searching the room for some unknown item. After a few seconds of contemplation, the human shifted so that he was pressed against the wall and nodded towards the open doorway to gesture that Syrus could look inside.

The Chupacabra glanced at the entryway and nodded, letting go of Atlas’ arm as he carefully moved around him to look inside. The odd faint sound he heard that he stopped them for continued as he peeked around the doorframe, his good eye finding the source easily.

A Splicer held a knife lightly in its hand and crouched over the body of another, dark red staining it and the floor around the corpse. It was fresh.

Unaware of its audience, the Splicer moved, leaning forward and used its free hand to steady the body as it finished cutting into it. The sound of flesh being cut was what Syrus had heard, as well as it being bitten into as the Splicer plucked its cut of flesh from the corpse and ate it. It shifted to cut another piece from the body and Syrus turned back to Atlas.

As long as the Splicer was content busying itself eating, he didn’t really care.

He gestured to Atlas that it was safe enough, letting the human take the lead again. He kept the Splicer inside in his peripherals as Atlas moved around him, seeing the other man look into the room as he passed with an indifferent look. With how long he’d been here, it likely wasn’t the first instance of cannibalism Atlas had witnessed.

A few more minutes and a detour around a blocked hallway, they finally reached the stairway up to backstage as the hall widened significantly.

The staircase was twice the width of the storage halls, another hall of similar size branching next to it with the sign ‘Large Props’ and the words ‘and Art Gallery’ added to the wall beside it in cursive with blood or paint. The lights from upstairs were noticeably brighter and not a sound was heard.

“It feels too quiet,” Syrus stated quietly, frowning a bit at the silence.

“I doubt there’s gonna be anyone backstage anymore, boyo,” Atlas replied, starting to walk up the steps. “Most everyone’s likely wreaking havoc outside. If you spent potentially decades working for drugs by a maniacal psychopath while being one yourself, I doubt you’d stick around longer than needed to ransack the place for any ADAM and desecrate the corpse.”

“I suppose,” Syrus trailed behind the human cautiously, still straining to hear anything. But he only heard him and Atlas’ footsteps. Though he noticed some blood as they reached the top and saw the aftermath of a bloodbath in the backstage section.

With the stairs at the back of the backstage room, the same size as the impressive stage itself, there were a few meters of relatively clean flooring until the nearest corpse, one that looked like it had been clawing to get to the stairs before it died.

Past that, it looked like dozens of bodies littered the room amongst knocked over and broken props, the floor stained and smeared with blood only hours old. There were even Plasters, broken bodies of flesh and plaster coating scattered around. A few pillars from the third act of the earlier fight were tipped over and broken on several bodies.

“Christ,” Atlas murmured, glancing over the scene and shifting his grip on his metal rod. He began to pick his way over the nearest corpses, steps muffled by semi-dried blood. “This explains why there weren’t as many Splicers downstairs and outside as I would have expected if Cohen’s control of Fort Frolic was gone.”

“Not as many,” Syrus asked incredulously, looking around as he also began to make his way across the room. He figured they’d seen plenty outside, more than he would have thought lived here given that the entire district was a dead zone for the three days he’d spent wandering around. He stopped beside Atlas as the human paused, searching for something among the corpses.

“He’s probably gotten thousands of Splicers over the years – oh, don’t look so surprised, boyo, this place was built to be an entirely functional city under the waves, remember,” Atlas chuckled in amused exasperation when Syrus jolted at the sound of thousands of Splicers, continuing whatever search. “I’m sure he’s never had more than a couple hundred at a time. They’re rather expendable to him. Any Splicer that wanders in has the unfortunate chance of being roped into his service or his art.

“Most wised up to it, of course. Eventually. You’d think that in all this carnage, there’d be one bloody – Oh! Perfect,” Atlas exclaimed, pleased. He tossed his twisted metal rod aside and pried a shotgun from a pile of bodies.

Syrus watched him check it over, seemingly satisfied with the firearm and even finding some intact shells in the pile. He was surprised when the human rummaged around some more, picking something up before tossing him what ended up being a rather bloody revolver. He caught it, being mindful of the trigger, and looked back with a raised eyebrow.

“Do ya know how to shoot, boyo,” Atlas asked, exasperated by his questioning look.

“Can’t say I have any experience, no,” Syrus replied, carefully turning it in his hands. “I only know how to pull the trigger.”

“Right, right… You mostly rely on your physical attributes,” Atlas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. After a couple seconds, he reached his hand out for the gun back and, when Syrus gave it, emptied the bullets from the chamber. He pocketed them and handed the revolver back, saying, “Just point it as a threat, and use it to bludgeon someone if they get too close. You’ve got enough injuries without accidentally hurtin’ yourself with this.”

Syrus frowned, thinking that it was unnecessary, but it was probably to try and make Splicers second guess attacking the duo if they were both armed with guns. He doubted it would work, but there also wasn’t any harm in keeping it on him for now.

Though, speaking of injuries, it brought them back to the forefront of his mind and he glanced at the abundance of corpses around. After the brief feedings earlier, he could refrain himself from the urge to drink. But it would be ideal to try and keep his healing up as much as he could, and if both his stomachs were filled then it should last him a few hours until they could get to a safer space.

“Ah, you’re welcome to do what you gotta do, boyo, I’ll see what else I can scavenge from this mess,” Atlas said, drawing Syrus’ attention. He gestured to a different section of the backstage. “Just, uh, let me know when you’re finished.”

Atlas walked off and began to rummage around the other corpses a small distance away.

Syrus could only guess that the human had noticed or surmised his discomfort at being stared at while feeding and wasn’t going to complain about the other man trying to not make it awkward. He still gave Atlas a glance as he knelt beside one of the corpses and began to feed, drinking deeply of the cold, chemical-infused blood that was still in the body. Surprisingly, it didn’t taste as bad as usual, and he even felt a slight warmth after drinking his fill from two bodies. Perhaps it was because of his injuries, or maybe he was just getting way too used to it.

With another glance towards the human, who was still picking his way through corpses, and a brief internal debate, he shifted to his more feral form and nosed amongst the corpses. It was easier to just bite into abdomens and snap up most of the organs in a bite than it was to use claws to tear into the bodies in his human form to find the livers.

After tearing into a few corpses, he licked his lips of any remnant blood and gore before changing back. The feeling of his bones and muscles shifting and tearing a bit caused him discomfort like usual, but it was overshadowed by his body’s contentment with both stomachs being full.

“Ready whenever you are,” Syrus announced, walking up to Atlas.

The human stood up and turned around from whatever corpse he was looking at, pocketing a few more bullets as he turned to look at Syrus. He glanced him over, replying, “I’m ready to get the fuck back outta this district. You’ve got a little something on your face though, Syrus.”

Syrus reached up and wiped a thumb over the corner of his mouth to where Atlas pointed, pulling it away and seeing a smear of blood he seemed to have not taken care of. Atlas, seemingly satisfied with the action, nodded in approval and began to pick his way over to the double doors to the side of the backstage. As they both got closer, Syrus noticed that the curtain had slashes and a few bullet holes through it, and a small set of stairs back down into the floor with the sign ‘Orchestra Pit’ above it.

Atlas walked up to the double doors, cocking the shotgun in his hands and pressed his hip against the push bar of the right-side door, cautiously peering out into the hall. After several seconds of him glancing out with no sound, he pushed the door open all the way and said, “Right, hall’s clear, boyo.”

Syrus followed Atlas into the new hall and a cursory glance revealed only a couple bodies on the carpet floor of the hallway. Like the storage section, there was a plaque beside the double doors labeled ‘Backstage’ and a sign on the wall that pointed to the nearest restroom, exit, and said the number of dressing rooms and prop rooms on this floor. Stairs were situated across the hall from the double doors to allow ease of access for anyone coming down from the floors above with another sign with ‘DR 200-250, MR 200-205: DR 300-310, MR 300’.

“Where to now,” he asked, wishing there was a sign that just had ‘Cohen Here’ with an arrow that pointed in the direction of the maniac. He hoped they wouldn’t have to hunt around in here through each room to try and find the man.

“Cohen wouldn’t just use a normal dressing room,” Atlas walked over to the stairs and glanced over the directory with a hum for a couple of seconds. “I don’t see it on here, but he likes flourish. Probably on whatever top floor this place has.”

“More stairs then,” Syrus exhaled a bit through his nose, starting to walk up the steps. Atlas, who’d mostly been leading this entire time, didn’t protest and just trailed behind him up the stairwell that folded to circle back to the second floor.

Like the sign at the bottom of the stairs had implied, there were two other floors. The second looked about the same as the first floor from the brief glance they gave it, but the top floor looked more well kept and fancy-looking, probably for big name actors and actresses that worked at the theatre. The only thing ruining the more expensive interior design were the stains of blood and a few more bodies in the halls, the majority in one particular direction.

Atlas kicked the nearest corpse absentmindedly and glanced at Syrus, saying, “Well, I think we know what direction Cohen’s office is in if it’s up here. I doubt the Splicers have been kind to his corpse if he’s actually kicked the bucket… Are you ready to move ahead? There’s no guarantee that Rabbit did this, or if she’s even still here.”

“Not much use stalling if we want answers,” Syrus replied. He didn’t even know what he wanted out of this whole excursion. Was he expecting some kind of closure? A sense of accomplishment? Regardless of the outcome, he was still going to be trapped down here for the time being. He supposed the question was whether it would be with one human ally or two.

Atlas gave him a small nod of acknowledgement at his response, turning to walk down the hall and stepping over corpses in the way. “You want answers, Syrus. I’m here for… moral support, more or less.”

Both of them fell silent as they walked down the hall of scattered bodies. They reached the turn in the hall and there, at the end of the hallway, was a very open room with a broken in door. They each glanced at the other but continued towards it cautiously. It was presumed to be Cohen’s office and when they got close enough, there was a defaced and bent plaque on the wall beside it that wasn’t even properly legible, scratches and bullet holes only broken by ‘Co—ffi—‘.

Before even entering, it felt more posh than the rest of the floor. Or, at least, better taken care of before whatever caused the mess inside.

Scorched spots pockmarked the walls and claw marks tore through clean wallpaper that peeled at their edges, a torn canvas and broken easel on the blood and paint-soaked carpet. Debris and glass shined in the lights of the office from the floor along with several office items that looked like they’d been tossed around the room. And, as they entered the room, they saw that a fancy cabinet from behind the desk inside was tossed on its side with its doors broken and torn off its hinges.

And, they found Cohen. Or who they assumed was Cohen.

The man’s face was blown off, leaving him unrecognizable by facial features, but his suit jacket that he’d been wearing was torn and scattered beside his desk. Like a morbid display, his body was sat on a fainting couch against the wall, held up by a haphazard mess of strings and rope held in place by several items just stabbed into the wall's surface, from a few scissors to a section of metal rod. A pistol was tied to his left hand by a stained bandana, the wrist suspended so that it looked like he was pointing it at his own head.

His shirt was torn open at the chest, flesh marred to read ‘Bastard’ and his intestines were exposed across his lap. Several chunks of flesh seemed to be missing from the corpse, and the exposed intestines made Syrus think that some of the man had been eaten.

Words were painted in blood and paint and some gauged into the wall above the body, each varying in size, handwriting, and severity. Each was an insult or comment, ranging from ‘Fruit’ and ‘Hack’ to ‘man-fucker’, ‘pervert’, and a rather lewd miniature memoir someone scrawled in the wallpaper.

Syrus wasn’t sure whether or not this was the worst display of depravity he’d seen down here. It was certainly the most… creative, he supposed he could say. Probably the only reason he’d classify it as the most grotesque thing he’d seen was the intricate way the body was placed, posed to try and capture a fabricated moment of Cohen shooting himself while the body itself was torn into. The only other thing that came close was probably the displays of Steinman’s perfection attempts that were seen in the medical wing.

He glanced at Atlas, seeing that the man’s face was unreadable and whether this was considered a victory or not was hard to tell. He thought he saw Atlas’ hands shaking. ___________________________________________ << | < | | >

#cinnwrites #welcome to rapture #syrus #rabbit #non vore

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