y'all are gonna hate me for this one but i think it's worth nothing that eleven levels up and develops more as a person whenever she breaks up with mike, and how the vines were tightening around her as he was giving his speech and roping them back into a romantic relationship/context (not his fault btw no mike slander here + it's complicated), but when she's reviving max the source that she pulls her power, focus, and resolve from are memories where max is reminding her to be her OWN person, that she doesn't need anyone else, and she is more than enough as she is with "not hopper. not mike. you." and "there's more to life than stupid boys."

she performs a miracle by believing in herself and the one and first ever person that ever taught her to do so. the girl who viewed her not as a superhero that happens to be a girl, but a girl that happens to be a superhero, too. the girl who encouraged her to grow and change and put herself first. that's who and what give her the courage to fight on.

like literally how much more clear do they need to make it that her romantic relationship with him is holding her back? just look at seasons three and four as well as how the flashback they used for mike's speech was of her in the woods which is undoubtedly a nod to the fact that he doesn't see her as she is now and is stuck in the past while she desperately wants to move forward.

i just. !!!!! i'm sorry but Be Serious Please we can admit this and be real about it. it's okay. it does not make either of them a terrible awful character okay We Can Say It! It's Okay! and i focused on el's perspective here, but the show makes it exceedingly clear that they are not compatible in this way at all and that this relationship is something that makes them both feel worse about themselves in serious ways. they don't have a strong foundation between them to fall back on and they won't be able to move forward and fix things between them until they forge one. everything is shit because at the end of the day they don't feel secure or comfortable with each other in a way that actually matters.

Virtue: Patience

Or a story of a certain return at the beginning of winter

Nobunaga x MC Fluff Content Warnings: none

Ahh, finally, I’ve been dying to post this for the last...The last... MONTH! @kamesama​ you were my victim! Have a Happy New Year and...! I hope I did well as your Secret Santa. 

Air pricked her fingertips, morning winds – not warm, yet not quite cool either – whirling between buildings, pulling few stray leaves remaining over the streets into pirouettes and carrying them above rooftops. Mai rubbed her hands together, hot breath warming her skin as she exhaled. Faint redness marking her ears and nose, she tightened the scarf around her neck, haori over her shoulders keeping her pleasantly warm. With a sigh, she turned around one last time, sliding door closing shut behind her as she abandoned the comfort of their shared castle, her day beginning with that very first step outside.

Air pricked her fingertips, morning winds – not warm, yet not quite cool either – whirling between buildings, pulling few stray leaves remaining over the streets into pirouettes and carrying them above rooftops. Mai rubbed her hands together, hot breath warming her skin as she exhaled. Faint redness marking her ears and nose, she tightened the scarf around her neck, haori over her shoulders keeping her pleasantly warm. With a sigh, she turned around one last time, sliding door closing shut behind her as she abandoned the comfort of their shared castle, her day beginning with that very first step outside.

Mai busied herself with work, hours beginning to slip between her fingers, the sun setting seemingly as soon as it had risen. Following a well-practised pattern, her fingers guided needle through layers of fabric, neat seams falling in place according to her plan. Her brows knitting together, she strained her eyes, light slowly becoming much too dim for her taste. She bit on her lip, her pace only increasing as her shoulders tensed, final touches being added with masterful precision by her – so very tired yet still dexterous – hands. The knot was tied off, the residual thread was cut off... Air held hostage in her lungs begging to be released, Mai exhaled sharply, her memory failing her whenever she tried to recall the precise moment she stopped her breath. Hurriedly, she folded the garment and rose to her feet, passing the door of her sewing room the very next moment, wishing to fulfil the last delivery of the day. Perhaps if she returned late enough, she’d… Patience is a virtue, she chastised herself for even considering the possibility and shook her head frantically.

If asked, she’d claim she had adapted to her life in Sengoku well enough, her goals and aspirations having crystallised in her mind long ago. It wasn’t exactly like what she envisioned herself doing, her future becoming past, clogs of time turning her desires somewhat anachronistic – yet she managed to find fulfilment in it, her creations bringing joy to others, just the way she wished for them to. The order held securely in her arms, wind played with her hair, a stray strand daring to try and obstruct her vision, her hand reaching to push it back into its place behind her ear. Her brows knitting together, Mai stole a glance at the sky, houses she passed on her way lighting up on the inside. She picked up her pace.

Another greeting, another praise, a happy customer she hoped to see again – and yet, when she stepped out onto the streets again, Mai suddenly felt summer creep into the air, as if a wormhole opened somewhere nearby just to invite it into her world. Frosty wind sped past her, prompted to life by a sea of horses rushing towards the castle gates, hundreds of hooves drumming against the ground. Snowdrops of familiar pennants grew around her, the crest she was waiting to see blooming over them. Whinny, and laughter, and shouts, and bickering – a joyous cacophony unlike anything else she had experienced in her old life, forming a melody just for her to indulge in. The head of the column flickered away, lights seemingly glowing brighter upon it passing them – and he shone, his black armour reflecting warm yellow lights, ember-like sparks inviting themselves to dust over his form. Mai ran.

Patience is a virtue, she had to remind herself, each step bringing her closer to seeing him again. Her elbows pushing through the crowd, she shouted her apologies, faces of passers-by disappearing in the overall commotion of her surroundings. Cold nibbled at her skin – and yet she felt warm, only the fire materialised in a form of a human far ahead of her mattering in the moment. Her chest burned, the crowd gradually thinning out as the division approached the castle gates, the bridge trembling under the impact. Surrounded by soldiers from all sides, Mai leaned against the railing, her body forcing her to rest as her lungs struggled for breath.

As if she called him, Nobunaga turned around – and he stood high, still seated in the saddle over the black horse, certain kind of longing igniting his carnelian eyes. He saw her, from over the bridge and through the crowd, despite dim lights and conversations that would muffle her regardless of how hard she would try. Nobunaga dismounted, his voice rising above the crowd as he gave his orders, his legs seemingly moving on their own to carry him to her. Their eyes locked – and it was quiet, at least in this snippet of the universe between them, her arms moving to cross behind his neck, as if to traverse the distance that kept them separated in both time and space. “Welcome home,” Mai uttered, a few more words getting stuck in her throats. I missed you, you ass. “I’m home,” his voice rumbled through his chest, his embrace tightening – although he seemed to have somewhat relaxed, stiffness melting away from his form.

Voices broke past the obliviousness surrounding them, reminding them of what was yet to be done before they could retreat for the night. Reluctantly, they broke apart, his hand lingering over her shoulder a little longer than it should have, as if to protest against the decision of its owner. “It will be over soon,” Nobunaga whispered, redirecting the entirety of his power to turn away.

Patience is a virtue. Yet she despised the idea of waiting any longer. It couldn’t have been helped, however, that much she was aware of – ruling came with its set of privileges, the price being equally grand if one were to treat their duties seriously. Minutes stretched into hours, quarters becoming weeks – or so it felt, her mind tricking her to believe the corridor ahead of her was vaster than the world itself. Mai sighed, letting her fingers comb through her hair, no pins keeping the strands from falling down her shoulders and over her yukata. Soon, she tried to soothe herself, soon.

Mai closed the door behind herself, a faint laughter startling her. She turned around abruptly, Nobunaga already waiting for her inside, a cup of sake in his hand. How..? Had she taken that long to get ready for bed? She blinked fast, a smile she’d rather keep to herself finding its path to come over her face. Having snuck inside through the balcony, a wind pushed her forward. Without thinking, she reached for the cup, pressing its rim against his lips a moment later – and then followed with hers, her eyes catching a glimpse of surprise hidden in her lover’s features. Straddling him, Mai let her arms cross behind his neck, alcohol burning her tongue. The beverage having disappeared, she hummed into the kiss, his hands falling onto her hips to draw her closer. She gasped, his attention turning towards her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as frost from outside crept up her calf…

Frost. Mai opened her eyes, her head snapping to the side. “Fireball?” Nobunaga asked, looking up at her. He followed her gaze carefully, a certain emotion he couldn’t quite decipher pooling in her irises. Her fingers pressing into his shoulders, he waited for her to reveal what troubled her – until he realised he had misunderstood the situation, her entire form appearing to shift as to embody delight. White specks flew inside through the balcony door, circling above the ceiling before inevitably melting upon contact with the first object in their way. One by one, they became more daring in their conquest, a single snowflake finally finding courage to oppose the very lord of this domain. Gracefully, it landed on the very top of Nobunaga’s head. The blow was fatal, the universe collapsed – although not so much from the direct impact, but from her laughter, her lips curling up as body form shook, her hands already pushing her up and away from him, her feet rushing her outside. His enemy appearing to slow him down, Nobunaga struggled to hurry after her, the distance between them only growing… Perhaps he didn’t mind.

He didn’t need any source of light to see her – her eyes were brighter than any and all of the stars above them combined, shining with desire and emotion he wished he was able to match. Her lips parting slightly, Mai rested her back against the railing and leaned over it, her hand reaching for his. Nobunaga accepted it without question, holding it securely as not to risk letting her fall. “It’s beautiful,” she gasped, turning her gaze towards the city below them, life seemingly buzzing between the buildings as humans huddled for warmth. However, he didn’t reply. Mai straightened her back, their fingers entwining as he pulled her forward – and she wanted to ask, to see whether everything was well, but she couldn’t have, the loving affection in his eyes causing her to blush. His arms closing around her waist, Nobunaga turned her around, his cheek pressing to the side of her head as he hugged her from behind. “It is, indeed,” he let out a soft light. “Yet you’re equally fascinating, Fireball.” Mai burst out laughing, hiding her lips behind her palm. “Oh? How come?” she teased him, her hair tickling his neck. “Because I could have all the stars in the world, but it is the joy in your eyes that I would never get tired of watching.” Sudden honesty – flattery? – caught her off guard, hot blush spreading to the very tips of her ears. “I think we should drink a toast then. Or perhaps hot tea would be more fitting…” she trailed off, her voice but a low hum. “I want to watch it a little longer.”

Steam rose into air, hot stream flowing out of the kettle and into the cups resting over the tray. Seated onto the balcony floor, they leaned into each other, a blanket thrown around their shoulders keeping cold at bay as they huddled for warmth. Snow shimmered, stray lights prompting it to glow as it dusted their forms. Somehow, he still held her hand in his.

***

It seems lakes have frozen over completely, just the way we discussed.

It will take me another day or few more, but I shall find time for us to go and “skate”.

Prepare yourself. I won’t have frost marking your skin.

I missed you the entire time I was gone and I do intend to make up for that.

I want to see your joy, Mai.

Nobunaga

Tag list: @datenoriko​, @nad-zeta​, @tsubaki3192​, @jiyuu-chan​, @missjudge-me​, @ikemencrossedmyth​, @plumpblueberry​ , @nimeryaa​, @nuttytani​, @thesirenwashere​, @milas-imaginarium​, @kisara-16​, @yukas-clover​, @alerialumina​ , @cheese-ception​ , @iamryxx​, @cottonfluffballofdoom​​ ,  @mineko811​ If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me.  If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

I see you're a fan of angst, here's something to entertain you then. How about a story where Josh snaps and goes apeshit :)

Oh Anon, you're in for a horrid treat >:3c

---

[[MORE]]

     Everything had been a mess. A complete and utterly complicated political mess with almost no end in sight.

That's why they never realized something was inherently wrong with Josh's recent behaviour.

That nothing indicated that he was being anything but his quiet but optimistic self.

You could pitch the blame on the remaining 3/4s of Jericho's leadership. Say that the three of them had gone so far as to neglect their friend when times got particularly tough, but honestly Josh had never even voiced feeling particularly off, or anything of the sort.

He'd either not wanted to tell them, or hadn't realized the problem either. 

Or, worse yet, he hadn't been able to warn them in time.

Regardless of which one it was, none of it changed the fact Simon was currently hiding in a closet while cradling an unconscious and bleeding North…

---

     There had been threats for a good part of the month. Jericho's leaders had been hard at work trying to pass the bills, while Connor and the DPD kept the peace as best as they could.

In between heavily guarded press conferences, and trips in and out of DC? There had been multiple messages left for them.

Ones that were as simple as 'You're not alive', and others that went so far as 'You'll all end up destroyed and thrown in the trash like the junk you are'.

Markus put his foot down and upgraded security at the tower and at Carl's, when the threats began to address both innocent civilians and his family. His very human and fragile family.

There were other measures he'd taken into account as well, most of which were suggested by Connor and Hank.

As a general rule, the RK800 had suggested that the four leaders should not walk alone outside, and to perhaps conceal their identities whenever this was not a possibility.

Androids were being rampantly attacked out in the streets, with the aggressors aiming for more common models they could recognize.

Simon, for example, had a harder time accomplishing this, not because he was a figurehead in android politics (which he wasn't), but because the PL600 had been one of the most popular domestic assistant models Cyberlife had ever produced.

North could, in theory, disguise herself and walk seemingly unnoticed if she really wanted to, but sadly tended to get into fights with hecklers and catcallers. The two were essentially barred from leaving the Manfred household.

The same could not be said for Markus and Josh.

     Markus was recognizable in public but was also a lot more sneaky about it than Josh. He kept out of sight at all times, using his acrobatic skills to his advantage, and went to abandoned places where he climbed up to isolate heights that no human could follow him to. There he would sit and appreciate the sights, before letting his mind wander.

He liked to have time to think alone. 

It relaxed him.

Josh, on the other hand, would don a thick jacket and a baseball cap and somehow it was like Superman disguising himself as Clark Kent.

The PJ500 series was numerous but not outwardly recognizable by people who didn't go to Detroit University. Thanks to said university's bad rep, very few people in Detroit had actually gone there to study, so Josh's face didn't ring any bells. Mostly for the wrong reasons.

As unimpressed as he was with how little progress humanity had made besides uniting their frustrations against androids, it ended up being beneficial to his excursions to the library that "all black guys looked the same".

North had snorted once when he'd brought it up, and Simon had rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

  "Humans tend to express face blindness if they're particularly racist." The blond had commented as he'd turned the page of a rather thick hardcover he'd been engrossed with. A recommendation of Carl's.

  "And you still insist dialogue is the best option? Almost half of Congress is old white dudes who never had to lift a finger in their lives. They'd all be dying to take you out, and not the dinner kind either." The redhead pointed out.

  "They would be less likely to give us the time of day if we nuked the city." Josh had glared daggers before going on his way out to the library. His knowledge archives were vast, but there were things he wanted to brush up on.

  "Don't be so rough with him North…" Simon chastised the WR400 when their friend was no longer in earshot.

With Markus currently asleep, and Josh wandering the streets, it left the two of them with nothing to do.

  "I'm antsy!" North crossed her arms, giving Simon one of her 'really?' looks. The kind that made it seem obvious why she was on edge. Not that it was obvious at all. "The threats keep coming, and we never catch the assholes who leave the notes...Markus is working himself ragged juggling between wrangling those rabid old crows and amping up security, and the tower's abuzz with anxious scared androids!"

  "Josh is also tired. He's been very active in the debates and he's used every piece of history knowledge he was preprogrammed with. Not to mention he has been looking into various ways of reaching a compromise with the humans, that won't leave them feeling threatened…" Simon rubbed at his eyes, sighing tiredly as he recalled how stressed the PJ500 always ended up after a meeting. "Some of those people...They unerve him. To the point he's scared of what might happen if he steps on any toes…"

  "This is Josh we're talking about." North dismissed "If anyone out there wouldn't dream of treading on toes and maybe licking boots, it'd be him."

  "North!"

  "He'll be fine Simon." The WR400 reassured "He's too charming and polite to make any enemies...Hell he's the sort to help old ladies cross the street! The internet would send hitmen after anyone who tried slandering his name."

  "...That sounded adorable coming from you. I should let him know you think he's charming." The blond grinned, avoiding a pillow the shorter of the two threw his way.

  "Don't you dare! I have a reputation to uphold!"

  "If you say so, Ice Queen."

  "Damn straight! Now move over you jackass, the couch was made for two!"

---

     Usually it took an hour for Josh to return. He was very pragmatic in the sense that he took what he needed, no less and no more, and then he wouldn't stick around so as to not risk getting recognized.

That night it took three hours, which was unusual but not impossible.

Maybe for once he'd taken time for himself rather than gather more ammunition for another conference meeting. Wishful thinking.

While Simon and North kept themselves busy, enjoying the one night where Markus wasn't stressing over their next steps, and the beginning of Matthew's, Leo's and Carl's quality bonding time vacation of sorts, they'd almost completely forgotten about their taller friend.

That is, until Josh returned dazed and confused, and with a bloody gash on the back of his head.

At the sight of the thirium staining his jacket and hands, Simon had run to get the technician's kit he'd stored in his room, while North had gone to help Josh steady himself and walk to the couch.

  "What the hell happened to you?!" She demanded as she pulled the cap off his head and examined the gash.

It looked painful, like a blunt object had hit hard enough to break the chassis casing open.

The thirium flow was slow, which meant it hadn't hit anything major, but the confusion and slow response worried her.

  "...I...D-dont know…?" The PJ500 blinked blearily. He was disoriented and his eyes wouldn't focus on her.

  "What do you mean you don't know?" She inquired further as she brushed the gash lightly with a finger. The pained hiss and subsequent flinch away from her touch made her falter.

The sensors weren't damaged then, he could feel the wound.

  "...I…" Josh shook his head, one eye twitched oddly and he seemed to be struggling to form sentences. "I...Remember being at...I was reading books...Mandela? I…."

  "Simon could you hurry the fuck up? I think he's concussed!" The redhead called up the stairs. She heard a muffled reply before looking back at Josh.  "You were reading at the library, and got hit on the head?"

  "...I...Think so…" he was staring at her, a frown on his face. "I...I was alone. No one was t-there to...Reco-recognize me?"

  "Well someone did, and they hit you on the back of the head." North sighed. "Humans, I swear to God…"

Simon returned swiftly to the two of them and took care of the gash. After the wound was mended, the PL600 carefully tried to figure out if Josh's processor was experiencing any trouble outside of the obvious.

It was PJ500 who insisted he'd be fine in the morning after a quick scan with his maintenance software.

After bidding goodnight and going to their respective rooms, they'd set the incident aside as a one-off.

Next time Josh would be more careful.

     When morning rose however, the leaders of Jericho met downstairs for "breakfast" and what came on the news was...Alarming.

Markus had turned on the TV out of habit while Simon gave everyone a cup of warm thirium to start the day, only to pause as a news broadcast caught his eye.

The RK200 turned up the volume and gawked at the sight.

Several androids had been killed the previous night. Their bodies piled up, and a message scrawled in still fresh thirium.

  "That's...Very close to the library." Simon pointed out uneasily. "You don't think who ever attacked Josh did...Did that, do you?"

  "Someone attacked Josh?" Markus frowned.

  "Yeah, last night… they hit him on the head." North confirmed, turning to look at the PJ500. She noticed how quiet he was staring at the news, but wrote it off as him being apprehensive. He could have been one of the bodies, and that alone would make anyone somber.

  "Someone recognized you?"

  "I...Don't think I was recognized. I just happened to be in the area." Josh replied with a shrug. "Otherwise I'd be dead. Wouldn't I?"

  "That's...True." Simon sighed. "Are you feeling better?"

  "Oh...Much better yes." Josh smiled at them all as he spoke. There was an odd glint in his eye. "In fact, I'd say I feel like a brand new android!"

  "...Are you sure? Last night you were a little confused." North insisted.

  "Very sure North. Don't you worry about little old me…" Josh grinned "Now, if you'll excuse me I'll finish this in my room. I've got something I need to work on."

The three watched as their taller friend picked up his cup and walked off.

He seemed to be in high spirits, despite being attacked the murders from the previous night.

That should have been a red flag, but in the end they were more worried about the violent demise if those poor androids, than Josh's unusual upbeat behaviour.

The words 'malfunctioning machines' had been "elegantly" scrawled on the wall of the alleyway the bodies had been found in. Clearly written by someone who'd dipped their hand in blue blood and then taken their sweet time.

Hopefully the DPD would find fingerprints… it'd ease their minds a little.

---

     The following days had been relatively fast paced. Josh had been more careful with his visits to the library, and Markus was back to stressing over conference calls and meetings.

Simon had been keeping tabs on the Manfred family's phone calls to check up on them, and North had been teaching self-defense at the tower to ease some worries.

It would have all been normal, if not for the constant murders.

All exactly the same as the ones from the night Josh had been attacked.

Piled up bodies, and a handwritten message.

Always the same one.

Malfunctioning Machines.

Connor had notified them that no prints were ever found, so they were either dealing with a very meticulous human, or the unthinkable… An android serial killer.

But why would one of their own butcher other androids so brutally?

  "Maybe Cyberlife's behind this…" Markus suggested, as he rubbed his temples and tried to ignore the dull headache he'd been tormented by all day.

  "If it was Cyberlife, why didn't they come after us yet?" Simon shook his head "The attacks seem to be almost random. Like the killer picked a group of androids without really thinking about it."

  "With the lack of evidence, it doesn't feel like it's not a calculated move Simon. Connor can't find anything...Connor." North took a sip from her cup, frowning when she realized she'd already finished her drink.

  "I'll refill that for you, North." Josh took her cup, smiling sweetly at the redhead before heading off into the kitchen.

  "Between the conferences and the tower, I don't know what's worse. Perkins has been up my asshole trying to demoralize everything we've done." The RK200 finished his own cup.

  "Of course he'd use this to mess with morale. Fucking rat bastard that he is…" North smiled at Simon as he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  "We all know Richard Perkins isn't taken seriously by anyone with half a brain. He was completely humiliated after what happened at the recall centers." The blond reassured "But he is very hyped up about the murders… Maybe he has something to do with them?"

  "I'd assumed so, but so did Hank and Connor. Nothing links back to the asshole, and some of those bodies were in terrible shape. Like they were torn limb from limb. Perkins isn't exactly the picture of peak human physic…" Markus shook his head "I dread to think it really might be one of our own doing this."

  "But why?" Simon frowned.

No one knew the answer for that, and Markus couldn't stick around to speculate.

He had to go see Connor over some security details for his next trip to Washington.

This left Simon, North and Josh alone in the Manfred household.

  "Sorry for the delay, I couldn't find the bottle." Josh reentered the room with North's cup, smiling at his two friends.

  "Oh...Didn't I put it in the fridge?" Simon blinked in confusion.

  "Nope, not in there. Not to worry I found it in the end." Josh grinned, handing the cup to North. "It's at the temperature you like, so you won't have to wait for it to cool."

  "Thanks Josh." She took the cup and brought it to her lips, absentmindedly gulping the warm liquid before the taste fully hit her.

She spluttered and coughed, tears in her eyes and she dropped the cup. "What the shit?!"

Josh continued to smile down at her, cocking his head to the side as he grinned.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "This tastes horrible! What the fuck Josh?!"

  "Oh...My mistake Northy. Must be the flavouring I added~" the PJ500's grin looked...Off. very off.

Simon gawked at him in disbelief.

  "You put something in her thirium? Josh that could make her sick!" The blond cried out. "What did you put in it?!"

  "Oh~ Nothing much. Just half a bottle of this." The taller android held up a bottle of drain cleaner from behind his back. "To Purge the malfunctions away~"

Had he the capacity for it, Simon's skin would have crawled.

Instead his eyes widened and he turned to look at North who'd continued to cough.

  "W-what t-t...J-jos-osh?" The WR400's eyes widened and teared up even more, before she began to spit up waves of thirium, her intake line and the filter connected to it having become compromised from the highly corrosive chemical.

  "North! Josh that..Why the fuck?!" Simon tried to help his distressed friend, before he froze. "...Did you say malfunctions?"

  "Why yes, as a matter of fact...I did." Josh's grin had taken on a sinister glee. The blond couldn't help feel threatened as he neared them. "You see… I know something you don't~"

Simon yelped as North continued to cough up thirium, taking the redhead into his arms and backing away from the PJ500.

  "W-what would that be?" He asked.

  "...Androids aren't alive Simon. We're all just malfunctioning...And that won't do. Not at all…" Josh threw away the bottle before pulling something out of his back pocket. A knife. "Malfunctioning machines are dangerous Si~ So I've taken the liberty to dispose of a few...But you know, you made me realize...I should have gotten rid of you three by now. After that's done, I'll do away with the RK800...And then I'll finish up the job, one android at a time…"

  "J-Josh?"

  "I'll set it all right, for mankind… Just as I've been told to do!"

     The PJ500 tried to slice at the PL600's throat, but Simon hadn't deviated yesterday. He had to protect himself and North, so he grabbed the nearest object and lobbed it at his assailant.

A vase shattered against Josh's face, making him stagger back long enough that Simon could run with North in his arms.

And that had been what lead to the moment, where the two ended up stuck inside a tiny closet, hiding away from the pacifist who'd abruptly snapped and become a homicidal maniac.

Simon held his breath, clinging on to his unconscious friend while he tried to contact Markus. 

Josh was prowling around the house, searching for them. It was only a matter of time before he found them both.

  "Come out, come out wherever you are~" the PJ500 called out in a singsong tone, as he looked in every room.

<Markus please pick up! Please, I'm begging you!>

  "Siiiiimon~ there's only so many rooms you can hiiide in~" Josh's voice was getting closer.

<Markus for the love of all that's holy in this world, please fucking pick up!>

  "Simon~ Is that you in the closet~?"

<I DON'T WANT TO DIE! MARKUS!!!>

The closet door opened.

Simon screamed at the top of his lungs.

---

  "This afternoon the police, with the help of Android Revolution leader Markus, have finally caught the culprits behind the string of android murders that have been plaguing the streets of Detroit. According to our sources, a rogue FBI cell lead by Richard Perkins successfully incapacitated an android and then modified its programming so that it would carry on the gruesome murders. This is what the known anti-android FBI agent had to say on the matter:

-This is irrefutable proof that Deviancy doesn't make an android alive like us. If so much as a string of code is altered, they can become killers with little to no morality or mercy. Today, one measly pacifist, tomorrow every android in this goddamn city...You can't trust a malfunctioning machine! We did you all a favour!"

     Markus turned off the TV and sighed sadly before getting up and moving towards the door. He was met outside by Connor, who gave him a sympathetic look.

  "Any progress?" The RK200 asked.

  "None… He's in a catatonic state, which the technician's say is normal after…" The RK800 pinched the bridge of his nose before looking Markus in the eye "...Every single line of social protocols was...Replaced with Myrmidon and Trojan coding. The fact he showed guilt and cried when you found them is...Is hopeful...But Josh isn't ever going to be as he was, ever again. Perkins saw to that…"

  "I can't...I can't lose him Connor…" Markus pleaded.

  "I know, and I'm sorry I can't bring you better news. All I can say for sure is that the military programming will be deleted and he might go back to being non-aggressive, but I can't promise you he'll be anything but passive to the world around him. The emotional trauma is too much..." Connor put a hand on Markus's shoulder. "I'm sorry...I'm really sorry you had to go through something like this."

  "...Being sorry won't bring back Simon and North, and it won't fix Josh…"

They should have seen the signs.

They should have known something was wrong.

Now Markus was completely alone, two friends torn apart by their other friend who was now confined to a tiny cell in an android medical facility, a lost cause.

Everything was a screwed up mess, and it looked like it wouldn't ever be anything but that.

Tachanka/Vigil oneshot in which horrible, horrible things happen. (Rating M/E, angst and some gore, ~2.5k words) - written for @zer0kaji because it’s your birthday, my dear 💞💞 I didn’t ask you for a prompt so I hope this is alright! Happy birthday 💗

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His heartbeat is deafening, the blood roaring in his ears muffling all sounds around him: the wet squelches of his soles hitting the mud, his laboured breaths, the rustling of the undergrowth through which he’s bursting; the footsteps following him, entirely too fast for how degraded the muscles must be.

Every single step is agony, his injured leg pulsing and throbbing, sending a sharp twang of pain through his body whenever he sets his foot down yet ignoring the ache is remarkably easy considering his life is on the line and dependent on him reaching the wooden hut he saw in the distance, a weak promise of temporary shelter and refuge. He doesn’t dare hope but maybe there’s weapons inside, a first aid kit, anything to ensure his survival.

Because if not, he’ll be stuck. And they’ll catch up to him.

Never before has any noise been as sweet as the slam of the door behind him, as the reassuring click of the deadbolt. It might’ve been a hunter’s hut, but whatever it was it’s been vacated, empty shelves greeting him, barren drawers gaping with their doors open, mocking his plight and refusing to offer any assistance. Even so, he’s grateful for the brief reprieve and considers collapsing right then and there, his brain struggling to process any of what happened – nightmarish images begin flooding his mind before he can stop himself and he’s threatening to spiral, allow a crash from which he won’t be able to recover.

When a body collides with the door loudly, he jumps. For now, it holds, but the noise is followed by a something not quite a knock, a meaty thumping against the solid wood, too arrhythmic to be human and the volume speaking of a complete lack of care for the creature’s own well-being. Its eerie quality freezes his heart and makes his fingertips twitch, triggering his fight response seeing as he attempted flight previously – and unsuccessfully. After more than a minute, it finally stops. Maybe the monstrosity got bored. Maybe it’ll wander off.

He allows himself a silent, deep breath. Then he notices one of the windows not being hammered shut.

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Vigil has always been self-reliant. Not the kind who strive to be aggressively independent, reject authority or set out to follow their dreams, but the kind who are satisfied with themselves as company. Who prefer not asking for help and instead master obstacles through their own resourcefulness. Who don’t demand or expect much, the ones who seek perfection yet settle when they realise it’s unattainable. Accepting Blackbeard’s advice, confiding in him, even trusting him to a certain degree was painfully difficult, required compromises and understanding on both sides, took an embarrassing amount of time. But at least it paved the way for the second friendship he developed in Rainbow.

Oddly enough, Tachanka is quiet in his presence. Among his countrymen, he boasts and admonishes, teases and lets out hearty laughs which shake the walls, even with some of the other operators, the old Russian is jovial and easygoing. His booming voice often dominates the cacophony of a crowded room and wherever he walks, his colleagues step aside. When he was younger, Vigil read an ancient Western comic featuring a knight respected and revered, battle-weary yet full of hope regardless, having earned awe as well as camaraderie. He sees the same spirit in pale blue eyes.

And yet he’s muted around Vigil, dulled, almost as if he was walking on eggshells and it irritates him. He’s used to similar treatment, used to being ignored, mocked or dragged into conversations against his will, he’s experienced it all and come up with proper responses, but somehow Tachanka’s silence bothers him to a worrying extent. So he talks to him. Pokes and prods out of spite, prickly comments followed by inflammatory questions, his temper seeping through the seams carefully holding him together. He never accuses him of anything outright but tests him nonetheless, scouring his replies for racism, pity, dismay, anything to explain the Russian’s change of demeanour around him. He comes up empty.

Not quite empty, though. There is something. Between his suspicious inquiries and Tachanka’s vaguely bemused responses, they become accustomed to each other. After a long period of being watched warily by their colleagues, they finally figure out how to angle themselves so they snap together, like puzzle pieces who don’t quite fit but are good enough and then Tachanka is asking him for help in navigating an unfamiliar website and Vigil is describing Korean cuisine to him. The incessant river of Vigil’s undivided attention and determined prodding eventually eroded a canyon comprised of forgetting the time during a long conversation, bringing up uncomfortably private topics, friendly silences and encouraging smiles exchanged across the room; a canyon not permitting him any other alternative but to keep floating towards Tachanka, hovering in his orbit and breathing more easily in his presence.

He’s surprisingly gentle.

When Vigil eventually asks about his early quietness, the Russian tells him that he was under the impression Vigil preferred silence over forced conversation – which isn’t wrong. In retrospect, he seems amused to learn how much his considerate behaviour got under Vigil’s skin, and a while later, in a whisper, he admits that Vigil was the only one with whom he didn’t feel the need to prove himself.

He’s gentle. And Vigil stretches towards his affection like a needy kitten.

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The pane explodes inwards. Instinctively turning away from the shards raining on him, he catches sight of a sturdy-looking wardrobe possibly robust enough to block the new entrance into his hideout. Shaking crystalline glass out of his hair, he realises there’s something else to be taken care of first, something too grotesque and bone-chilling to describe further, something on which his eyes refuse to focus, instead gracing him only with a blurred mass of decaying flesh, pus, blood and other bodily fluids, stiff limbs. Not human. He has to repeat it to himself, over and over, chastising himself for the paradoxical notion that the creatures having lost all of their humanity somehow makes it harder to dispose of them.

He’s… gotten rid of quite a few before, so it’s done with the mechanical efficiency of someone who’s become numb to the horrors of reality – a numbness accompanied by an alarming lack of emotions. They’re a luxury he can ill afford right now. A table leg buries itself into a nauseatingly soft torso, the body giving in willingly yet retaliating with a truly sickening stench emanating from pierced internal organs. Momentarily incapacitated, hand-like claws curiously ghost over the foreign object impaled in rotten skin and allow him enough time to break off another makeshift club with which he dispatches of the abomination.

Pride flares up at him when he manages to push the closet in front of the crimson-spattered windowsill before violently vomiting into a corner. He’s seen worse, he tries to convince himself, has lost people closer to him, has experienced similar tragedies. He’s seen worse, he keeps repeating, yet another one of his mantras aimed at retaining his sanity, but then he remembers and retches again, the harsh bite of his own stomach acid burning all the way.

Shrill shrieks of terror ring in his ears and once more, he’s cursed to helplessly watch as Dokkaebi is torn apart alive, fallen to the wolves and struggling with all her might, eyes wide and futilely jerking away when teeth pierce the skin of her throat. A hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him away from the mesmerising view, simultaneously real and impossible, the contradiction paralysing him whole. She used to yell at him when he folded the clothes she left lying around. She used to nudge him with an elbow during their conversations now and then, the physical contact bemoaned yet secretly welcomed as a sign of friendliness. She was a person with a past and a future, now reduced to – to nothing, the sum of her parts infinitely more meaningful than this, than bloody pieces scattered -

His cheeks are wet. Whether it’s the overwhelming grief, the sheer exertion or his pulsing leg, he doesn’t know. He notices red on his fingers, belatedly pulls out a transparent shard without even grimacing and can’t find the capacity to fall into a panic about mixing his blood with that of the lifeless monster outside.

When he settles by the wardrobe, wipes away moisture with a sleeve, he hears them coming. A straggler caught sight of him during his escape, now nothing more than insect fodder outside, but the small group chasing him seems to have tracked his scent to his current location. They, too, smash against the door, dumbly yet without holding back.

Vigil begins considering the possibility that he might not leave the small house alive. This time, he doesn’t bother drying his tears.

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Tachanka is invincible.

With some of the other operators, Vigil feels his protective instincts kick in, the wish awaken to help and support and grant much-needed salvation or rest, but the Russian is immune, impervious, invulnerable. Whatever happens in his life, he picks himself up and carries on either stoically or with a humorous remark on his lips. He remains unfazed in the face of abject horror and keeps his cool, always stays, always answers. His reliability tricks Vigil into relinquishing some of his own, persuades him to lean against this bear of a man, allow himself to relax. To trust.

It’s new, the entire experience is breathtaking and strangely exciting as if he was doing an extreme sport instead of accepting someone into his personal space and he begins carrying a sun in his heart, glows from the inside and radiates warmth. He never thought an accent-laden voice, heavy with memories, could bring him such peace, never considered a gruff yet kind man could calm the stormy seas inside him.

So when he hears Tachanka’s words waver, watches his face pale, feels his hands shake, an unparalleled terror takes up residence in his chest – because if the boulder is in fear, the pebble is doomed.

The list of things which went wrong is troubling, the events leading to their team being stranded and confronted with the unthinkable a blur in Vigil’s memory. His mind refuses to remember which part was his fault, which part anyone else’s, whether fate itself decided their path.

Mute was the first to go, hammering home the reality of it all, the omnipresent danger, and leaving them all shaken, lost, mourning. Even Tachanka.

A day after Dokkaebi – a day after, Vigil sees it. Knows Buck isn’t aware because as distressed as the Canadian is, he hasn’t lost his sense of practicality and would indubitably have brought it up, possibly to a vote, pleading and reasoning with the last two of his companions. Calling for a decision Vigil is unable to make, unable to fathom in the first place, the idea so vague and yet so atrocious in his head he casts it out immediately. He keeps quiet about the teeth marks, doesn’t speak up when Tachanka wraps himself in bandages claiming a harmless injury, mentions nothing when they seek solace in each other.

He can’t. Because allowing for it to leave his tongue would call for consequences too cutting to be worth it. So he stays mute, clings and suppresses his thoughts.

This is on him. He knows it with unshakeable clarity the moment he returns to their makeshift camp, hears the vile, wet noises, the cracking of bones and muffled snarling, the moment he catches sight of Buck’s torn uniform, of all the bright, viscous red. Of pale blue eyes sliding over to him, sated for the moment, chewing with his mouth open, yet the hunger behind the irises is unmistakeable.

It’s on him. Vigil knows it. Refuses to shift any of the blame, despite the fact neither of them spoke up – but he wasn’t the one affected, not the one in mortal danger, terrified and without a way out. He should’ve made a decision but as always, he remained quiet.

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Now Vigil is sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike. Communications are dead, have been for a worrying amount of time. For days, he’s been doing nothing but running, always running, memories of his childhood plaguing him, unbidden as they are relevant. They fuse together with reality, at times his mother whispers into his ear, his father holds his hand and drags him forwards, like Tachanka, both of them urging him to move on, grieve later, concentrate on surviving. He was tired then and is utterly exhausted now.

Outside, they’re testing the walls for weakspots, skulls smashing against the boards covering the windows, fingers scratching themselves bloody on the façade. It’s a matter of time, probably, but for the moment he should rest, gather energy, then come up with a plan to escape – the furniture must have nails, maybe he can…

A loud crack makes his eyes flit over to the window next to him, bright sunshine blinding him momentarily and his brain struggles to process that one of the monsters outside must’ve ripped off one of the planks. They might be fast yet usually they lack intelligence, choosing instead to brute force their way to their next meal. This one must be -

Slowly, a shadow pushes itself in front of the newly-made hole, blotting out the sun. It’s a face, putrid and decayed, the flesh sagging and exposing bone in some places, the one eye looking around with disturbing alertness bloodshot. And pale blue.

Vigil’s breathing calms. As always, peace spreads inside him, though this time it’s borne of another source, arises with a different quality. Now he knows he won’t make it out because he – it – he is invincible, impervious, invulnerable. He’ll track him down. So there’s only one alternative left.

He still has his belt. It was practical in that he lost weight quickly and needed it; now it’s invaluable. They used up all their ammunition and he left his knife behind in a slain body. There’s a wooden beam spanning across the room and the previous occupant helpfully left behind a chair for him to use, so if he’s quick enough, he won’t even feel the first nibble. He’s overcome with the sudden and entirely inappropriate urge to laugh while pulling the leather out of his belt loops, but the notion disappears quickly when hands reach inside and start pulling on the next board.

“I’m sorry”, he hears himself say as he gets up, voice unsteady. “I’m so sorry.”

Vigil hopes fiercely there’s no more after he’s done, that he’ll be embraced by eternal darkness instead of being sent somewhere else and potentially reuniting with the ones he loved. He hopes desperately, desperately that there’s nothing afterwards. Because he doesn’t think he’d be forgiven, least of all by himself.

The Broken Faith

It’s raining outside. The water splashing my windowpanes. The tranquility stretching, spreading from heavens up somewhere. And here I sit with a cup of coffee in hand warming me up from the cold emanating from both outside and inside. The mind reverts back to those good golden days. It isn’t as if it’s the first time her memory has crossed my mind since her departure. The scars have always been a source of reminiscence, reminiscent of the beautiful days. But today these drops have penetrated deep down somewhere, down the scars, revitalizing the wounds. Memories kill you whenever they visit. They upset the equilibrium you have tried to maintain for so long just like an uninvited guest who disturbs your daily routine just with the knock at your door.

We had enjoyed the monsoon together for a decade. Yes a decade! 10 long, beautiful years spent together in the embrace of one another. She used to wake me up, every morning the same way, holding a cup of warm coffee and standing by the bedside with her exuberant smile. Without even taking a sip just her holy presence used to warm me up. Every day had a meaning in her presence, a presence which would fill hues in a lack-lustrous life. I could never remain gloomy when she was around; around with an assurance, “the world may go upside down, heaven and hell may swap their grounds, I will be there forever”. Yes we were the ardent followers of “till death do us apart” concept; the perfect paradigm of husband and wife. My friend told me once while I was rummaging for a perfect gift for her to celebrate the day of our union “Dude, you are setting high standards for the husbands of the world. Wait for the day when all those married men will queue up in front of your house, protesting for setting such a high cut-off.” I laughed off that joke that time but it filled me with pride, pride for us, gratitude to the almighty and I repeated the vow again silently, doggedly “till death do us apart”.  Almighty! I have been an atheist all my life, never well understanding the concept of religion, God, Allah or whatever you may claim to refer the almighty. I have been rebellious, never succumbing to my parents’ infinite attempts to make me bow head in front of the mighty god, as they have claimed all their lives. Even when I knew I’ll terribly fail in my exams due to the bad viral I caught up that month, did I ever give up my stance on God. I walked out of my house, in front of that deity holding my head high with a smudge “I’ll pass at my own accord”. But well I failed, I failed a year. And I was bound to sit in the same class for an altogether another year. I didn’t regret that later ‘cause I met her. Yes the love story starts from the childhood, early teens we were, 15 or 16, I can’t remember, but I can very well recall the class, class 7th, the lady Hitler of my life teaching in front on the black, shabby backboard. “Aayush Sharma, can I be honoured to have your attention in the class” she embarked lowering down her specs and fuming as always. As I said, I have been a rebellious young man. Never have I listened to a single word she had uttered in the class. And unfortunately we had this lady hitler for all our subjects, (calling her a teacher would be a disgrace to this noble profession), so in a crux I have never learnt anything during the past year, that viral was just an excuse, I was bound to fail, but now I call it destiny. How could I‘ve met her, if I wouldn’t have flunked? “Ruhani, sit next to him, and make sure he pays attention to each word I utter.” “Yes ma’am”. Ruhani, I hated her. The teachers’ favorite; with a default answer to their every question “Yes ma’am”. I had to sit next to her! I loathed the idea but I didn’t protest. I used to sit alone among all the juniors, the idea of someone sitting next to me, even to comply as a command seemed fine with me, to be not labeled as a lonesome that is. Still I made a big bag barrier between us two as soon as possible. My talks were restricted to the work, getting her notebooks to complete my work et al. We weren’t friends, just classmates for a long while or better, benchmates, benchmates for benefits; one sided benefit! And one fine day that tag underwent a transformation. I was quite early that day to the class and was relishing the weather outside, it was raining. And she arrived, with a gloomy face. However studious or teachers’ beloved she may be, the only positive or the best part was she was always giggling, chirping endlessly with her friends. Her 'hehe' laughter used to irritate me sometimes but this deadly silence was killing me. She was disturbed that day and it was quite prominent. I didn’t pay any heed for a while but then I couldn’t resist. “What happened?” I asked finally in the lunch break succumbing to her sulky mood. She shook her head to imply ‘nothing’, I insisted and she broke down. “My dog, Tifler passed away” she confessed with tears rolling down her eyes. That was a moment of realization for me, she liked dogs! I never imagined that; I could never imagine her playing with anything sans books. I consoled her, it was easy as recently even i lost my grandmother, the one i was closest too and thus could empathise. She was quite different from the picture I had sketched inside my mind and this epiphany came into being that very moment. Tears bring people closer, I realized that day. We were more comfortable now in each others’ company than we used to be, the big bag barrier vanished. And within few months she became my best buddy. I had shared some of the priciest moments with her. She shifted in my neighborhood in the offing and our respective mothers became the best of chatting and gossiping pals. Our friendship was affected too, we came closer, our bond strengthened and by the time we were in class XIIth I proposed her and she smiled shyly and that, said it all. I changed, quite literally. Call it the transformation brought about by puberty which made me mature or the bliss of having her. My parents couldn’t have got happier. Ruhani had turned me a nerd too; I was into academics, working hard to crack the IIT. The visit to a nearby hanuman temple every Tuesday became my pilgrimage. Yes she turned me in a believer. I gained faith, faith in destiny, faith in life. I was happy, positive, and ambitious of my life ahead. Ruhani had instilled me with the same energy which kept her going and I couldn’t have thanked her ever for bringing out this revolution in me. Well in 12th my boards transcended me on cloud nine. I topped my zone with Ruhani. We topped respectively in our streams. “God loves us both equally”, she had claimed! Alas! God never loved me, if ever He existed. Those years were just a trap, a trap to land me in a melancholic future for the rest of my life.  We married after our graduation. There were no casts issues, no unexpected hurdle pointed out by the pandit from the kundli. The family loved each other, moreoever this re-union was approved by even heaven, dare a mortal earthly human creature would have objected. After being together for 5 years, we were officially declared husband and wife on 5th September 2003, Saturday. The happiest day of my life. And 5 years after our marriage, she left, how could I forget the day, 5th September 2008, Saturday, that fateful day that marked the anniversary of our union. I was facing a down phase then; the company’s shares had plummeted. We were recovering, though at a snail’s pace. And she left. The destiny mocked at me. The vow had been broken. Ruhani, the one who had turned my life bliss had drenched me off happiness, off whatever I had. With herself she took away my faith, beliefs, my trust.  It has been a long while now, the heart still aches whenever it rains outside, bringing on plethora of memories back. 4 years have passed by and time has been so harsh in this while. Every moment, every step seems to be a chastisement against those carefree years. I have been bound in cages till then. Faith gives you wings, to dream higher, to take on the risks but my wings have been cut, they have been wounded, broken. And without these wings I feel chocked, choked out of life, chocked out of desire to move on. The clock shows 6 in the evening. The sun setting with full splendor, rain has ceased for a while. But it will rain again, the thundering clouds says so. I take out my phone and dial Sneha. The phone is answered after a beat, quite early to my surprise. “Hi” she exclaims excitedly. “Hi Sneha, sorry I won’t be able to catch up with you today, have caught a bad fever” “Ooh! I hope you are alright?” her tone reflected concern, all the excitement vanished. “Yeah! Just the outcome of these changing seasons. They might even beat chameleon as a record”. She giggled for a while, that carefree laughter aah!, it reminded me of Ruhani, her innocence, i melted away with that laughter. She though continued in her concerned voice “Do let me know, if you will need something” I gained my composure to speak, to speak to meet me up but all I could gather was “Okay, I will. Bye”. “Hold on" she embarked from the other end. “Yes?” I had that slight hope, she may happen to ask if she could come here. “Do take the medicine”. My face arched up a smile, “Yeah! I will.”  She remembered the conversation from our first date, a week ago. I had claimed then “I hate pills” when she had divulged her profession, “I am a doctor”. I had added “I would prefer eating apple twice, thrice a day, than being on a medication.” She wasn’t offended, rather she had smiled on that joke, an electrifying, magnificent smile. Ruhani, it reminded me of Ruhani again. My heart had skipped a beat, before the mind could think of something, the mouth had already blurted out, “So are you free next Tuesday”. She had seemed to be equally enthusiastic for the next meeting. “Yeah! I hope so” “Great! See you on 5th then”. I couldn’t process the events in my mind then, everything processed in a blink of an eye. 5th September 2012, I had promised to meet her on our 15th anniversary.  It’s cold outside, cool breeze blowing, the tree tops flowing swiftly with the winds. I close my eyes, it reminds of me of the traitor, the wounds she has bestowed upon me, the hearts aches. A drop falls on me, yes it has started raining again. They twinge the heart, invigorating the past aches and still all the mouth could exclaim is “Happy anniversary Ruhani”.