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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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BATIM - Helping Hand

Summary: All stories have a beginning and an end. Henry’s ended with kindness, Joey’s began with cruelty.

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Back when he’d been trying to reintegrate into civilian life after going to war, Henry had no conceivable way of explaining his experiences in an eloquent fashion. It was very difficult to put into words the sort of visceral feelings that made his chest tighten with a mixture of white hot panic and instinctual terror. There were no feasible words to express the sensation of looking another human being in the eyes and knowing that they were just as reluctant to be there, and that one of them had to die for the other to live. War was a topic that muted him to a somewhat permanent degree. Too hard for him to talk about. But the studio? The horrifying atrocities Joey had committed in his absence? The lengths he'd gone to get what he wanted? That was the one horrific happenstance in which he could find his voice and curse out a supposed friend for their heinous crimes, especially when he found himself back on that familiar doorstep that led him into that repeating nightmare... The mockery of a long-dead dream. Yes, Henry Stein, the man of few words, would end up spewing out as many acidic profane words that he could conjure up on the spot. So foul they were that they would have had a sailor as shocked and disgusted as a blushing nun. Not that anyone could judge him for it. A man of routine could only bend so much to the insatiable will of another, before he slowly found himself pushed over the precipice of madness. It was by pure miracle he hadn't lost his senses long ago. Because, thankfully, Henry made due with what little leniency and creativity he had to keep himself entertained. Every few loops he changed things up just a little bit.

The “Long Runs” as he called them, were a respite of sorts Henry had concocted long ago as a means to give himself a break from the main storyline Joey so vehemently forced him through, with little to no choice in the matter. They were, in a sense, somewhat of a sacred thing. His sanctuary, as Sammy would put it, and one that he'd long since forced his puppeteer not to disturb. If Joey didn't want his marionette to flop onto the ground in defiance of restarting the same old stale song and dance all over again, he'd have to allow him some time to relax and get back on his game. Otherwise Henry would simply sit down and refuse to even go near the Ink Machine, much less begin this charade. Without the hellish thing as his driving point, it’s not like Joey could find any reason to push him forward anyway. Not without the Ink Demon being let out to take on its role of the relentless hunter. So, having learned this, Joey seemed to begrudgingly allow him to explore the studio to his heart’s content without pushing him to do anything that would immediately set him towards that final stage. That repetitive speech that made less and less sense the more Henry experienced it.

On these breaks Henry took his time and did what he’d done back when he was a kid: He people watched. An odd hobby, but one that taught him something quite valuable about creating characters. Traits and qualities. Everyone had a way of being that was entirely unique to them. Be it the way they walked, if they spoke just with their mouth or with their hands, or how they chose to project themselves out in the world. Dress and speech patterns, certain ritualistic habits, likes and dislikes...All things tended to be readable on a person if you just stopped, watched and listened for long enought. Which is why, on every one of these breaks, Henry took the time to figure out everyone’s gimmicks. Soon after, he’d started his little gestures of kindness...

It all started with the swollen searcher with the nice hat. Jack Fain, the once lyricist that had aided in getting the right words to Sammy’s jolly little tunes. Henry had been absentmindedly exploring the sewer tunnels near the music department when he’d noticed the searcher in a rather bad way. Overstuffed with the thick ink that Twisted Alice so coveted from his brethren. So large and nauseatingly lumpy that he couldn’t even move out of his current spot. He supposed that was his inevitable fate unless crushed with a crate, which made him feel a little less upset about dropping such a heavy object onto the poor thing. Then, much to his surprise, Sammy Lawrence himself sauntered down from one of the adjacent tunnels to find the pitiful creature blocking his path. And even more surprising, he actually seemed sad about it's sorry state. “Oh you silly sheep… This is the 4th time this week that I’ve found you so heavy with your precious wool…” How Sammy could count the weeks, Henry wasn’t sure, since he knew for a fact the music director often forgot his own name. Come to think of it, Sammy forgot a lot of things, reminding Henry of a fellow in his platoon that was afflicted with early onset dementia. He’d been discharged due to becoming a liability, and seeing him fight the disarray of his own mind had been a honestly terrifying spectacle. Henry had felt a great pity for him, which is about the same way he felt for Sammy now. The poor guy could have been great had he not ended up in Joey Drew’s grasp and then tossed into this nightmare realm. “Not to worry...Your shepherd is here now, although you’ll have to forgive me. I have no shears.”

He’d watched in morbid fascination as Sammy dug four-fingered hands into the swollen searcher’s mass, pulling out chunks of it in a way that made Henry’s stomach twist in discomfort. If Jack felt any pain, he didn’t show it. If anything with each clump of ink removed, he seemed almost relieved. Finally, once returned to his regular proportions, the searcher let out a much softer humming sound. One that was much nicer to the ear than the wet hiss he reserved for Henry whenever he got too close to the skittish creature. “You’re welcome my little sheep. The others will be most pleased with the wool you’ve so generously provided…” The pile of thick ink was truly massive, and the old artist could only wonder what Sammy hoped to do with it. “Please refrain from consuming more. Excessive indulgence is a sin you know...”

From the way Sammy had addressed Jack upon arrival, this seemed to be a recurring issue. One the self-appointed prophet seemed to exclusively come down into the sewers to solve himself. It piqued Henry’s interest in such a way that he’d begun to wonder… If he helped with that, would this in any way benefit him? Couldn't do him wrong to have some thick ink at hand... And then he wondered: Would helping them benefit Jack and Sammy in any way? Only one way to find out!

He'd left it for the next time he decided to take a break. First going through a few more loops to give himself time to figure out just how to help the prophet and the swollen searcher that lived down in the sewers. He couldn't exactly allow Sammy to sacrifice him. It would only end with the delusional ex-music director dying faster. So what could he, a humble artist, possibly do for someone who was so lost to devotion? And then there was the question of what could he do for Jack. The only thing he seemed interested in, was being left alone and keeping a hold of that dang valve. Henry hadn't personally known the man, so this was a difficult task. Luckily he found an answer in the form of an audio log Buddy had collected well before the older man had set foot in the studio. As it turned out, Jack Fain was a fan of coffee. That at least was something to look into, as he made his way all around the studio. He'd mostly only found rations of bacon soup, but surely there had been a coffee machine in the break room, right? And if he could keep his seeing tool, maybe he could keep anything else he kept on his person until the end of another run? He'd tried it once with Wally's keys and he was pretty sure he'd kept them on the next loop, only to lose them again later (the man should have invested in a better key ring, that one was a slippery bugger!). But could it work for heftier items? That too was a theory he tested, and Joey surely must have found it quite odd when he'd begun his end of the loop speech, only to stop as he stared in confusion at the bag of coffee Henry had brought along with him. "...I have questions..." He deadpanned as he stared at the bag of coffee with slight distrust. A bag of coffee beans. Nothing could be less threatening. "Funny, I thought that was my job?" Henry grinned. "Asking questions, and never getting any answers?" "Funny indeed… Whatever you're up to, don't think it'll do any good." Joey frowned. "Your path is set, and nothing can change that. Even if I’ve been rather patient with your excursions." "We'll see." That only gave Henry more motivation to try. If just to spite Joey. Another guilty pleasure of his that he indulged in from time to time. He too needed a bit of fresh unpredictable entertainment after all…

To not lug around a bag of coffee everywhere he went (which wasn’t very practical), Henry had decided to take another break on his next run to begin experimenting with this little idea that had been borne out of curiosity. It was easy to set a goal for it: If offering something of comfort to someone that had minimal impact in Joey’s puppeteering did anything of value not only to himself but for the person in question that he sought to offer some kindness to, then what could potentially happen if he tried the same trick with some of the "main cast"? It was, in all honesty, a rather clinical way of thinking and planning things out. He was essentially detaching himself from this reality to test those around him, having superior knowledge of what was truly going on (albeit in a limited and at times fleeting fashion) thus a sort of intellectual advantage over their situations. He was being a less harmful manipulator. Setting up events like Joey. The morality of it all came crashing down just as he’d gotten a coffee machine to work. “Keep it together Henry.” he shook himself out of that nasty train of thought as fast as he could. “You’re not doing anything malicious...You’re just...Making coffee.”

He could maybe use a cup or two himself. If just to settle his nerves. How ironic that a stimulant could calm anyone.

"Yeah, just a simple cup of coffee. No harm, no foul…" Except to his hand when the damn coffee maker scalded him for no particular reason. If anything, he hoped this was the best damn coffee that the swollen searcher had ever tasted in his whole life as an ink slug. There was just one tiny problem with this plan: Henry didn't have any cups. Nor any mugs. Not even those tiny little plastic cups that came with these sorts of machines. The studio was apparently in a "bring your own mug" policy just to skirt around buying a refill of those. "Joey you damn cheapskate…" he had to improvise. Thankfully he wasn't short on containers or an appetite for bacon soup. He just hoped the taps in the bathroom would still have access to clean water...

To Joey it must be quite a sight, watching an old man make his way down into the sewers balancing three cans of soup containing piping hot coffee in them. The stairs weren't exactly up to code and the ink coating them was slippery, so this whole journey to sate his damn curiosity might leave the old artist with second degree burns and potentially a ruined back. Thankfully he managed his way down into the depths with no real issues, and noted the shadow of the prophet following his every move. Good, he hoped an offering would appease him. Play on the same field as Sammy in a sense, just to see what he might do. Granted treating Jack nicely might grant him the cultist's mercy if he treated him like a friend still. At the sight of him, the thing that had once been Jack Fain began to flee as usual. "Hey, wait… I have something for you!" He watched the creature skirt around a corner, hat barely staying on. He stood there, unwilling to run, and simply held the cans of hot coffee with a slightly disappointed look on his face. And then…

...Snhiff shniff shhhhniff…

The wettest sniffing sound Henry had ever heard assaulted his ears, as the swollen searcher peeked back around the corner at him. Its mouth shut but the hollow sockets where it's eyes should be appearing to be wide as it tracked what must be an alluring aroma to it. It appeared searchers still retained a sense of smell, which begged the question of how Jack could stand to live down here. "Smells nice doesn't it? I uh…" he waved one of the cans carefully so as not to spill its contents. "Got a coffee maker upstairs working again." "Ksshhhff…Eeee..." he couldn't understand what it said, but Henry was pretty sure Jack was trying to say "coffee". He recognized what it was, and most importantly it looked like he desperately wanted it. "Yes. It's coffee. Do you want it?" He outstretched his arm, trying to entice the swollen searcher with his peace offering. It looked at the can, the sloshing dark liquid inside it, then stared at Henry. It seemed to be trying to decide if it was worth risking its "hide" to get what it so desperately craved. Finally after an agonizing minute, it went for it.

Henry nearly toppled over as the swollen ink abomination lunged for the can. He damn near spilled the other two on himself as well. Luckily he'd regained his footing and managed to keep everything nicely contained in the repurposed cans. The searcher on the other hand was less the skittish thing that ran circles around him, and more like an overexcited puppy. The slurping desperate chugging noises as it inhaled the coffee were a little gross, but that was easily overlooked by just how happy it looked. "That good uh?"

The gurgling purr that followed got a chuckle out of him, and he couldn't help give Jack a gentle pay on the hat. He couldn't have imagined just how happy the poor fellow would get. And he wasn't the only one. That worn out Bendy mask peering from the corner gave Henry a good idea of just how impactful such a small gesture had been. "I have an extra can if you'd also like some…" He'd brought one in the hopes that Sammy might appreciate some as well, but he wasn't sure if he liked the stuff. In the little time they'd worked together at the studio, the music director had been more of a smoker than a coffee enthusiast. Shame he wouldn't be able to get such an item for him… To Henry's surprise, rather than keep his distance and wait for his dramatical reveal, Sammy actually responded to him. "My stomach does not react kindly to most substances besides the Lord's plentiful gift..." His words were devoid of emotion. Awfully cold but also contemplative. "I'm sure my darling sheep would be more than happy to consume my share…" The happy gurgling more than confirmed this, and Henry wasted no time to give him the extra can. Jack took it gleefully and began to drink it eagerly. "A picky eater…" Henry felt slightly disturbed at the idea that Sammy was drinking any of the ink just laying around. "I can respect that." "I assure you, it is not by choice." The mask cocked to the side, studying him. "Although I must admit the stomach aches have helped ensure my physique stays at the peak of perfection to ensure my tasks are well done."

Henry frowned and stared down at his own stomach. He was a little on the pudgy side nowadays, and honestly chugging cans of bacon soup probably didn't help. But he wouldn't call Sammy's proportions the peak of perfection. "Doesn't sound too fun, getting sick unless you drink… the Lord's gift." Best not step on any toes, if Sammy still had any that is. Play it casual. "I do not believe you've come down here to critique my practices as a devout follower of the Ink Demon." The Bendy mask turned to watch Jack devour the can of coffee. Henry felt like he must have been smiling fondly. "You have… Come down here to present us with offerings. Kind ones." "Yes." He replied calmly, remaining just as calm when the mask turned back to him. Sammy's body language spoke for him more than his words did. He was doubtful. "Why?" A good question. "I had nothing better to do." He responded truthfully, albeit only partially. "And you could both use the kindness I'm sure."

They could, they honestly could. After having their minds, bodies and souls taken from them, their identities torn asunder, both Sammy and Jack could only benefit from being treated with the one thing Joey had stripped from them. Humanity. That run, for such a tiny little gesture as offering Jack some coffee, Sammy let him go without a fight. Joey's speech was much more heated than usual, but nothing really seemed to change on the next loop. At least he didn't think so until he found a can of hot coffee waiting for him in Sammy's sanctuary, as well as a bowl of extra thick ink with the valve propped in the middle of it.

His second gesture couldn't have been more easy. While Sammy still tried to sacrifice him, his speech was more subdoed. Almost playful in a way that said "I know what you did and I'm grateful, even if my actions don't show it". Joey's grip on him was too strong to escape with just one kind action, but not enough that Sammy even in his state of forgetfulness could get the mental image of Henry treating Jack to some coffee out of his inky brain. The alterations to his pattern gave Henry plenty of time to figure out just what to do for his encounter with Twisted Alice. Playing slightly into Sammy's delusions had allowed him to get close, so focusing on her obsession might coax what little of Susie was left. Because he'd gotten wise and asked what it was like to become a toon to the only other person qualified to give him a proper response. Sure Buddy couldn't talk, but his reignited personality had given Henry insight on what it was to become a cartoon character. There was a power struggle at first. The original human personality and the Toon's personality clashing in an effort to remain in or take full control. A chaotic and confusing process until one came out victorious. At first Boris had won… then Buddy had slowly begun resurfacing the more loops Henry went through. Now they had a mutual agreement. They needed each other to survive, and the same turned out to be true for Alice and Susie. Alice being the more dominant and jaded of the personalities, having long since fallen from grace after witnessing the sheer cruelty and lack of hope this abominable studio had to offer. Susie ended up being the weaker of the two, guarded by her dragon like a princess in a twisted castle. She sometimes spoke up, clearly disturbed by what their shared hands had done in the past, but Alice had too much of a grip on her to ever let her go. If Henry could properly appease the angel, he might be able to get to Susie as well. Give them… What? A glimmer of hope? Better than let them stew away in their rotten despair. "You're staying. I'm going." He pleaded with Buddy after taking the gifts left behind by Sammy and Jack. "Don't give me that look, I've told you what she does when she gets her hands on you…" A soft whine as the toon wolf pleaded for him to reconsider. "I know you worry, but I need to reach out to them. Even if it doesn't change much, they deserve some consideration." He pauses to think back on the tapes Susie had left, and then her final speech before he was forced to confront the brute Boris inevitably became. "After Joey used them it's the least I could do." Buddy (and no doubt Boris) growled in frustration before eloquently writing just what he thought of Joey. Henry crinkled his nose at the rather uncharacteristic choice of words, but the very last sentence made him smile somberly: “You don't have to fix Joey's mistakes.” "I wish it was that simple. I really do." It wasn't like he had a choice, not when Joey thought he could evade the responsibility himself and pin it on someone else.

Alice was fairly easy to butter up to. He'd entered her lair and sat through her little song like the patient man he was, and then when she finished up with her usual screeching finale he did something she didn't quite expect. He applauded. She was so caught off guard that she just stood there, even as the lights turned back on. Flabbergasted at the sudden adulation. "What a finish, truly miss Angel, you're quite a gal." He'd continued to clap, bowl of thick ink balancing precariously on top of his head. "I'd offer flowers, but sadly all I have on me is ink…" "...Why, what a flatterer…" She sounded uncertain, a hint of Susie just barely at the surface. She must have been quite shocked as well. No one had ever reacted to Twisted Alice's presence with such a welcoming embrace. She was a creature to be feared after all. "Flatterer? Me? My goodness miss Angel, don't tell me you don't get the occasional fan…" he removed the bowl from his head and made sure the thick black blob was quite visible to her. An enticing offering provided by Jack Fain. It's not like he needed the excess ink. "Sadly not. If only most visitors were as well mannered as you..." She crossed her arms, Alice's suspicions breaking through. "But that's to expect from the real creator, isn't it Henry?" "Glad to see some recognition, but honestly I can't be credited for any of this. Not when it's been… Altered to such a degree." Henry looked around with a saddened expression. "Joey really managed to taint everything he touched..." "Only if you let him." The Angel's hiss was a terrifying thing. "But it was so easy to let him in, wasn't it...? He had a way with words…" Susie was such a meek girl. A scared chick in a world conducted by the big bad wolf. And Alice? Alice was a fox that offered her protection. But Henry could be just as cunning provided he was given the chance. Always for a good reason, rather than satisfying his selfish desires. So very unlike his childhood friend. "Words were his weapon of choice, until that wasn't enough." Henry offered her the bowl, watching as she inspected it. Tested it's stability. She seemed pleased. "Why are you here, Henry? Why come back to this miserable place?" Alice's gaze was piercing, but not as malicious as it often was. "And I'm sure it's not due to nostalgia, or an excuse to flatter your way up to the heavens." "I think I knew once." He replied in truth, because you didn't lie to an angel. "But now? Now I'm not so sure… I think Joey liked that naivety on my part. It certainly worked to his advantage." "That it did, little errand boy. You're just as trapped as the rest of us…" She dismissed him. "You may pass freely… But don't think I'll show you mercy twice. You are, after all, still a thief." "What's a man to do but try to protect a poor pup?" He couldn't help tease as he made his way to the door. He was free to explore her lair and go on about his "day" without her tasks or her looming presence. That was good enough a reward for him, even if it didn't promise Buddy's freedom from the cruel fate that awaited him. "Such a shame that pup wasn't meant to be." Alice responded. "A shame indeed. He was such a nice boy..."

This particular encounter gave him a lot to think. The people he'd once assumed to be monsters weren't inherently malicious. That much he'd figured from Sammy's behaviour after he'd played nice. But while most chose to cower and cry, or lose themselves to desperation and lies, Alice was simply resigned to the hand she'd been dealt. Because, honestly, she was in a terrible position to begin with. Even if Susie clearly wanted better, for the both of them. In the end, the angel was only trying to protect her vessel even if Joey set her on a most cruel path. She was tired of grasping on to shallow hopes of ever getting out. Rather be the hunter than the prey. That run, his old friend seemed even more frustrated with him. "Stop humanizing them. There's nothing you can do for them." Joey had grit out through his teeth, trying to keep a smile that was as insincere as his speeches. "You're wrong. There is something I can do." He'd responded, unbothered by the anger in his captor's words. "And what's that?" "Treat them with decency, which is something you never did."

The Projectionist was a challenge. From what he could tell, Norman Polk had essentially gone feral from years of agony and isolation. Most of the Lost Ones even considered him a dumb and very violent animal. Alice thought of him as useful. Susie felt a terrible pity for him. And Buddy? Buddy both feared and felt anguish when confronted with the Projectionist's presence. Henry had known him for a short while, so he could understand the sentiment. Norman had been a good albeit quirky man. "He looked after us…" Susie spoke over the intercom. "He was so kind. It hurts to see him like this… A monster."

While Alice didn't let up on her list of tasks, and did indeed always take the cartoon wolf as scripted, she'd started letting Susie come forth to speak to Henry. She had a lot to say. "If I knew how, I'd help him." He watched the Projectionist walk through the flooded maze of projectors and hearts. Each step heavy, and the clicking of the projectors somewhat deafening. Occasionally it let out a soft crackly noise from its speaker. "You'd die." Alice interjected. "How so?" "Why do you think it takes hearts, Henry?" The twisted angel asked. Come to think of it, he'd never considered the why of its actions. "It's because its own was stolen long ago." "Joey stole his heart?" "No my dear errand boy." Alice chuckled bitterly, before Susie took hold. "Sammy did…"

Joey was getting awfully frustrated with him, so Henry gave in and followed the plot to a t on the next three runs. He needed to think anyway. Think of how to address the problem. Because, really, how would he convince Sammy to halt his ritual to look for something he might not even recall ever having stolen? And then there was the matter of giving it back to the Projectionist without getting brutally killed. He decided to just wing it on his next break. Starting with visiting Jack with more coffee, if just to get Sammy to talk. It worked, but the prophet seemed hesitant to talk about the resident of level 14. "That beast is a dangerous one… Nothing but my lord can stop it's rampage." "That beast is looking for something someone took from him." Henry explained. "Or so I've been told." "And how am I to fix this exactly, little sheep?" The deranged cultist crossed his arms. "Surely you mustn't think of me as a miracle worker?" "Help me find it. I've been told you might know where to look."

Truth be told Sammy had no idea what he was on about, but he was adamant to repay him for once again bringing some semblance of joy into his favourite "sheep's" life. Luckily there wasn't any need to run around in futility, searching for something that might be long gone. The prophet's memory issues resulted in Sammy placing items he considered of value in the same place. A box hidden under the floorboards beneath the cot he'd set up in his sanctuary. Unluckily, a heart was not among the objects he'd stored. At least it seemed so since it wasn't anywhere to be found in the box of trinkets. "Damn it…" he sighed sadly. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. "I am sorry to disappoint." The Bendy mask betrayed no real emotions, so Henry wasn't too sure if the apology was genuine. He sounded a little miffed about having his personal space invaded, but didn't act upon it. "What is it you seek, exactly?"

Looking through the box, Henry gave a nonchalant shrug. He picked up a golden locket that was coated in dry ink, turning it slowly in his hand as he tried to figure out how to surpass this bump in the road. Sammy quickly reached out and took it from him, clearly upset that he'd touch his personal belongings. "Don't touch that." The cultist hissed. "Sorry…" he watched him put the locket back into the box, next to what appeared to be a series of unlabeled tapes. There was also a chain with a ring on it, and a few other trinkets that seemed to hold some sentimental value. "I know you can't remember much… but… Did you ever take a heart? A literal heart?" "A… Heart..." "Yes. I know it sounds strange but--" "Not at all. They're plentiful down below." Sammy shrugged "Delicious too… More so than the ink or the soup. I cannot explain how."

And Henry would rather not have him explain, because his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. He’d killed people before as a soldier, seen horrific things, but the thought of someone describing eating a human-ish heart made him sick. "Then, yes a heart. Maybe not an ink one." He added, trying to keep the conversation on track. The ex-music director paused, tapping a finger to the chin of the mask, before staring down at his own chest. Much to Henry's horror, he plunged his fist into his own torso and pulled out…Well it must have been a heart at some point. Now it looked like an amalgamation of stitched flesh and all sorts of wires and weird clicking mechanisms. A perfect fit for the quasi-mechanical monster skulking around level 14. "Would this be the heart in question?" "W-what were you keeping it literally on your person for?!" He couldn't help spit out, much to the annoyance of the deranged ink man. "Where would YOU keep a heart?" He huffed "It was safer here… And it felt important."

No kidding. And important it was, to the point where Sammy didn’t want to give it back. How was Henry going to convince him to do so? Well… “The person it belongs to needs it back.” He pleaded. “Can’t you please hand it over so I can give it to him?” “I cannot trust that you’d find the rightful owner.” Sammy stated. “Sheep need guidance, not to guide. And you, little sheep, are risking falling prey to the wolves.” "I can assure you I know the owner, and so do you." At least he had, once. "The Projectionist needs it back Sammy. Please, be reasonable." "I am being reasonable. I'm protecting this from that horrific beast!" He held the heart closer to himself, very likely glaring beneath his mask. "It doesn't need protecting from him! It needs to go back to him!" Henry argued back. The old cartoonist was getting fed up. "No!"

That was… not the right answer. At least not when Henry was so close to a breakthrough. Or so he thought. He regretted what he had to do to get that heart in the end. Killing an unarmed man felt like cowardice, even if it was for a good cause.

Level 14 was always such a dreary place. Even with a newfound goal, an old veteran like Henry still felt uneasy going through such a maze. After being forced to kill Sammy that run, he wanted good results. If just to justify his actions as being for the greater good. They… weren't. The Projectionist charged as usual upon seeing him, and Henry had to fight his instincts to flee. Instead he held out his gift, closed his eyes, and prayed. No pain came, but the scream… That gutteral and mechanical crackling of sheer agony. Like hot iron had struck flesh. The Projectionist was screaming, it's chest ripping itself open to reclaim the missing piece. And then, when the wires shot out and took back the heart, the screaming only intensified. Boris took hold of the body he shared with Buddy. The cartoon wolf howling in despair to match the screams while curling into a tight shaking ball in the elevator. The Projectionist fell on its knees as it continued to scream. Henry's mind was fraying just listening to it. Watching the pitiful beast claw at its mending chest and screech until its speaker could handle no more. A loud pop filled the air, and suddenly there was no sound. But the clawing continued The convulsing carried on. It was screaming without a voice and it was all Henry's fault. Coward that he was, he ran to the elevator and slammed a hand against the buttons. His eyes too blurry from regretful tears to see where he'd end up. Alice and Susie remained quiet. Their silence was damning. Condemning his actions and allowing his conscience to fall heavy with guilt.

That time, once he set foot in the quaint New York apartment, Henry shakily sat down at Joey's table and stared into nothingness. A tired hollow man that couldn't bring himself to look at the grinning devil that was positively gloating with joy. "I told you so." A choked sob and bitter tears followed. Henry hated how careful Joey's hands were as he wiped away his tears, and as he murmured sweet words into his ear. That burning cobalt gaze aglow with the flames of victory. Fuck him. Fuck Joey Drew. This old war veteran would not give in so easily. He just had to try harder.

There was no point in following the plot. He felt like he had to fix the mishaps of his last run before he even tried to offer his services to either Tom or Allison. This much was clear once he stepped foot in the sewers, because instead of being happy to see him or even feeling timid, Jack outright attacked him on sight. Gurgling and hissing in rage at him having hurt Sammy in his last run. "I know… I'm sorry…" he kept the irate swollen searcher at bay if only just barely, hoping to appease him with his sincerest regrets. "Can you take me to Sammy? I… I want to make it up to him. What I did was wrong."

More than wrong. It was damaging. Because instead of the usual inky figure clad in overalls, boots and a Bendy mask, Henry was met with a shivering searcher with said mask. "Oh Sammy… I'm so sorry." He was at risk of getting his throat ripped out, but he still couldn't help kneeling down to make himself look less threatening to the frightened creature. The searcher didn't try to retaliate, instead it clutched its chest and groaned pitifully. "I know what I did was wrong. But so was keeping Norman's heart." Not that Sammy wasn't aware of this. He'd claimed it to be important, and he'd wanted to protect it, but he'd also been reluctant to give it back. People's selfishness had already done so much damage to this studio, it was only cruelly ironic that in trying to do the right thing Henry too had been quite selfish. "Is there any way I can make this less painful for you?"

Gesturing vaguely at the searcher's current state explained enough. The creature that had at one point been a prophet that had in turn been Sammy Lawrence, seemed to hum in thought before nodding slowly. It dragged itself towards the upstairs, motioning for Henry to follow. He did so, with Jack right on his tail if only to keep a suspicious eye on him. Back in the music department Sammy proceeded towards his Sanctuary, which Henry quickly got to work on unlocking for himself. He couldn't exactly do the little wall trick Sammy did to get around. Once the projector turned on and he plucked or hit every correct note, Henry strolled towards the opening shutter. Sammy greeted him with his box of trinkets. "Is there something in there you need?" He adjusted his glasses as he asked, trying to get a better look at the contents. The searcher nodded eagerly and pointed at a vinyl record, way at the bottom of the pile. "Oh… you want me to play that for you?"

More eager nodding and a wet sounding slap on the ground. Well it wasn't much but considering Sammy refused to touch it for fear of covering it in ink, Henry thought perhaps he hadn't heard any music in far too long. Besides the "hymns" he played for his Lord. "Willow Weep for Me? I don't think I've heard this one." With careful hands he took the vinyl from the box and began to look for a record player. The dinged up gramophone in the corner was almost beckoning him to play it. Once he'd turned it on, the melody was quite soothing. His two searcher companions seemed to think the same. Jack seemed to finally relax and practically curled up near the record player, while Sammy seemed to bob slightly to the tune. Henry simply closed his eyes and listened to the music, only opening them back up when broken words began to sing along. Sammy's form was repairing itself. Slowly, but steadily. Going from slouching and being half submerged in a puddle to looking like he was kneeling on regenerating legs.

"Willo- we'p for…" the prophet coughed "...me."

Not too long after Sammy's recovery, Henry left the music department. He had a lot of preparations to make if he wanted to do any more actual good rather than having a repeat of the last run. Hopefully Sammy would be in higher spirits once they met back up in the harbour. As loathsome as it was to fight him, it was better to see him so full of energy than cowering in a puddle. He already knew what he could do for the duo of survivors, but he had to make a few stops along the way. Starting with giving Buddy the notebook he carried on his person, and Boris his favourite bone. It was a delight seeing the toon wolf's eyes light up as he flipped through several pages of doodles, while he happily gnawed on that suspiciously human sized bone. Then he went to Alice and requested an actual "date" with the angel. Not in the romantic sense mind you, he loved his beautiful Linda like the goddess she was. He merely wanted to sit down, have a can of coffee, and talk. Let Susie feel normal for a little while after both she and the angel witnessed what happened to the Projectionist. Afterwards, he checked up on said ink creature and noted that it wasn't roaming like usual. Instead the Projectionist was sitting on a crate, staring at the wall where one of several Bendy cartoons was playing. It even chose to ignore Henry when he approached, one hand clutching its chest in slight pain. Still adjusting to what had been restored. On his way out, Henry swore he heard a soft "thank you" under all the crackling and static of its speaker.

The Lost Ones greeted him with their sorrowful gaze as usual and he replied not with fear or revulsion as he once did, but with a kind smile and promises that one day he'd find a way to make it better. It wasn't immediate freedom like they desired, but it was something more tangible. Something more human. The path to fighting Buddy in his brutish form was as harrowing as ever, but Henry's mind was set. He left cans of soup out for the Butcher Gang, oiled the joints of the octopus ride Bertrum Piedmont's disembodied head resided in, talked to the animatronic despite having no proof that it actually moved, and even greeted the Ink Demon from within the Little Miracle Station where it always fought the Projectionist. Henry could practically feel Joey's outrage at his nonchalant actions. His carefree actions despite the hopelessness of his situation. Of their situation. Then when he met with Tom and Allison, he promptly disarmed himself and offered them his tools,before accepting captivity without a word. Once questioned, he gave them the honest truth. Hard to believe, but Allison was not as suspicious as her canine companion. It wasn't difficult to give her the proof she needed to know he was being genuine. Pity to see her so crushed that there really was no escape in their foreseeable future. Not just yet. But still a possibility. After all, the others were remembering with each gesture of kindness he offered them. "Joey wants us to feel less than human." He told the not-quite-angel. "It's how he keeps us in the linearity of his failed ending. He can't accept that he can't win." "But neither can we. Otherwise we'd already be free?" Allison sighed, Tom offering her a gentle pay with his good arm as they left the Harbour. "Maybe, but giving up hope is the last thing I'd ever do. Then I'd just be letting him win." Henry calmly replied,ready to plummet very soon as he began walking over the precarious boards. "Joey is a man who dreams big. What he never did was have any faith in said dreams… Instead he forced others to do it for him. I'm tired of being his scapegoat, and maybe we won't get out today or tomorrow, but there's only so much he can throw at me until he gives in." "So we outlive his dreams?" Allison asked. "No. We just outlive Joey instead." With that said, Henry walked forward and felt as light as a feather as he fell into the depths. There was one last person to show some decency to. Even the demon deserved a gesture of kindness.

Joey Drew was furious. For all that he'd spoke of belief and dreams in his many speeches he knew that Henry Stein, that stubborn fool, was right. There was only so much he could throw into the plot before he grew tired. His body was already giving in to time itself, and he'd never quite perfected his methods enough that he could make himself a reliable new form. Not without risking becoming one of the abominations… Buddy Lewek's Boris had been a fluke. A lucky match. The rest? The rest were adamant to not be what he'd set them to be reborn as. Even Susie had failed to emulate the character she so loved. And Henry? Oh his blood boiled… Why couldn't Henry give in?! Joey was so close,so close to getting his perfect Bendy. If the traitor would just let the Ink Demon consume him!

A knock on the door caused him to rip up his storyboard with the ink pen he'd been using. Cursing himself, Joey crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash can besides his desk. Already it was overflowing with similarly crumpled papers covered in ink stains. Looking at the clock, a few more profanities spewed from his mouth as he turned his wheelchair around. Who, for the love of God, was knocking on his door at 3AM?! Wheeling himself over, Joey practically ripped the door open. "What?!" He didn't care if he was rude. His mood was completely sour and he hated being interrupted. To his shock and confusion, he was met with a face he thought he'd never get to see again. Nathan Arch smiled down at him with that unnerving toothy smile of his. "Hello to you too, Mr. Drew." Joey blinked up at his old friend and rival. He hadn't heard from Arch since… Since he'd bought the studio and the Bendy IP… What could he possibly want now, when he'd already taken so much? "Mr. Arch." He regained his composure. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Oh, just dropping by to discuss something… Something very interesting." The man used his leg to gently push Joey out of his way, arms crossed behind his back as he invited himself in and began looking around. Joey glared behind his back and closed the door. "At 3AM? Even for you, a punctual man, this is a bit much." He stated as he uneasily observed Nathan as he looked through his storyboards. "Couldn't it have waited until a more reasonable hour?" "Since when were we reasonable men, Joey? Especially when you've been so… Cruel to me." The other turned to stare at him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "The machine… Joey. You took the machine." "Of course I did. It's mine." And no one else's. Not that fool Thomas Connor's, nor GENT's. The Ink Machine was his and his alone. "Yours is the studio and even my work. But the machine will never not be mine." "Oh, that's where you're wrong. You see,the GENT contract you signed stated that it belongs to the studio… Thus, it belongs to me." Nathan stalked over, arms coming to rest on Joey's shoulder. "It's as simple as that." "Not quite. As it is, it can't be moved…" "Ah yes. Your little… Project." Nathan chuckled. "Show me. Show me the homunculus…"

There was no saying no to Mr. Arch, and no actual way he’d be able to physically force him out, so Joey complied to his request. Wheeling back into his office where the machine resided, Nathan followed and watched with glee as Joey called upon the Ink Demon itself. It stood there, in all its despicably gruesome glory, staring at both men without visible eyes. It shrunk away from Joey, just as it always had. "It's magnificent…" the awe in Nathan's voice was disturbing. "It's a freak of nature." Joey hissed. "Imperfect and incomplete." "In who's eyes, dear friend? Here stands defiance to God's will. Life created by the creation." The Ink Demon shivered, holding it's head in its mismatched hands. Trying to block out their words. "Why throw it away so eagerly just because it didn't correctly follow the template?" "Because it's not enough! It needs to be perfect! It needs to be all we've ever dreamed of!" "We? Oh Joey darling… did you really think creating a living toon would ever bring back your beloved Henry? Did you think he'd ever want you? When he had such a lovely girl that could give him what you never could?" Nathan laughed cruelly. "Henry Stein left you, because you were a selfish boar. And then you were so hung up on trying to win him back with extravagance that you couldn't stop and see what you already had! God above Joey, you were so desperate you hired a mere child that reminded you of Henry, only to torture him the same way you tortured your employees…"

The Ink Demon looked to them again, flinching when Nathan stalked forward and grabbed it by the chin. "This, Joey, is not a failure! It's the doorway to immortality. A vessel of timelessness. A godly power that you rejected vehemently." Nathan's eyes were becoming crazed, that dangerous spark devolving into an inescapable madness and anger. "For what end exactly? To give it away to some shmuck that could never truly appreciate it?! Well… that won't do. That won't do at all!"

And without warning Nathan Arch did something Joey couldn't believe he'd ever dare. He plunged a fist into the Ink Demon itself, and tore out it's heart. "NO!" "If you won't accept this gift, then I shall!"

There was nothing to be done. The ink demon shrieked and soon the machine began its work. Ink flowed out of the nozzle, mixing with the distorting melting figure of the demon and pulling both it, and both men inside. As the world around them passed by, Joey could only watch as the ink began to claim both his form and the form of the one who dared intrude in his project. They both fell with a wet splat, a large puddle, before taking two very distinct newly reborn and remade forms. One a towering grinning demon with disturbingly human teeth. The other a little devil in a suit. The studio was without a narrator. This was the end.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Henry Stein #Joey Drew

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theeternalspace · 4 years

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Absent Gods 2/10

We’re back! I said I would be posting this and I am. Enjoy chapter two guys, and let’s see if Logan learns any lessons yet...

Title: Absent Gods and Silent Tyranny or: How Logan Learned to Stop Over Thinking and Love Everyone

Chapter Two: What’s in a Name?

Pairings: None / Platonic LAMP with Logan and Virgil focus.

Characters: Logan, Virgil and The Dragon Witch in this chapter.

Summary: Dr. Logic makes his living working for whichever Super Villain is willing to pay. At the end of the day it is a job where he can put his talents to work.

He certainly isn’t bothered by things like public mortality or the definition of good vs evil. He doesn’t have time for things like that, although he accepts that he would be considered a ‘bad guy’. As far as Logan is concerned, it is a small price to pay for the benefits of proper scientific funding.

But when his latest invention fails and his Boss decides to punish someone else for his mistakes, Logan is forced to reevaluate everything he thought he knew.

And maybe accidentally make some friends along the way.

Warnings: Morally grey Logan - he doesn’t get it you guys. Threats of torture, angst. General Villainy. Being held captive. If I’ve missed any let me know.

Previous || Next

~~~

The minions and henchmen moved around the room with a quiet grace. This was a dance that they had clearly done time and time again. They knew which items Ms. Dragon Witch would want without being asked, they knew where to take the table and how to lay out the objects to best please her. It was the sort of efficiency that Logan would have normally appreciated. If it wasn’t all connected to inflicting pain on someone who did not deserve it.

Virgil was still unconscious, something Logan was grateful for. He knew it wouldn’t last - his boss enjoyed the screams of her victims too much for that - but the longer he slept, the longer it was until she began her wicked games. Which gave him a slight chance to change her mind still. It wasn’t some wild optimism that kept him going. He wasn’t being blind or hoping against an impossible hope.

He was only being realistic. Logan was aware of his own talents, his own skills. He knew exactly how much he contributed to her evil empire and his worth overall. He was a talented asset to her. She was supposed to listen to him. Just as he was supposed to guide her to a series of better results. That was what Logan did. Along with creating various machines for her.

If she ever listened to him, he needed her to do it now. He needed to make her see how much of a mistake she was making. Virgil was so much more useful to them intact. Logan had to keep Virgil interact.

“Ah, Dr. Logic, having fun yet?” Ms. Dragon Witch had taken the opportunity while her people were setting up the torture station to change her dress. It was just as tight and as revealing as before, with a plunging neckline that showed far too much skin for his tastes. Then again, he really wasn’t her target audience as any amount of female skin would be too much for Logan. The dress was a spotless, striking white. An odd choice perhaps, for a torture session.

Except he knew she was aiming to hurt both of them at the same time. Seeing evidence of the wounds on her dress, to have red stain the white would create an effect. Not the one she wanted of course, but Logan was not wholly insensible to people’s feelings. He knew what she would expect and he knew what he would actually do.

“You know I’m not,” Logan replied shortly, carefully keeping her gaze on her and not Virgil.

“Poor little Logic. Not prepared to be on this side of things are you. Well, it’s been a long time coming. You have been getting far too... above yourself. Thinking yourself better than you are. And then to fail me in such a crucial moment. I should kill you for that. Perhaps I still will.” She tilted her head to the side, ruby red lips curling into some parody of a smile.

“Or maybe I will just kill him.”

“I did not deliberately sabotage you, I am loyal to you and you alone Ms. Dragon Witch. That being said, I understand the need for a punishment for my sub-par work, but it was my work. Why punish him?”

Logan didn’t understand her reasons. If there was something he hated above all else, it was not understanding something. He was the one - in her twisted mindset at least - to have failed. Virgil wasn’t even a close friend. He was merely his assistant. They had been brought together by chance, by her. If she hadn’t kidnapped Virgil from his home then they would never have met, would never have worked together.

He shouldn't care what happened to Virgil. But his brain was far too useful to be wasted in such a pointless fashion. He was too... well, Logan couldn’t think of the word exactly. He couldn’t describe the many uses that Virgil had or the way in which he had improved every day since they had started to achieve a working relationship.

That was another thing which annoyed Logan. This way in which Virgil refused easy categorisation, how he skipped and danced out of every mental box that Logan attempted to place him in. Virgil wasn’t like the other prisoners. He wasn’t like any of the past assistants. He wasn’t even like any of the heroes that he had ever seen from a distance. Then again, Virgil was the first hero he had actually met, so maybe they were all like that?

Not that Virgil would have called himself a hero. He was very particular about that. That was a title he said that only a few could bear and he wasn’t one of them. His idiot brother was a hero, not Virgil. Logan always knew better than to question him about the hero called Prince. Their relationship - such as it was - was built on unspoken agreements. Logan not trying to interrogate him about his brother was one of those.

Logan couldn’t help but be curious. Not because he wanted to run and tell Ms Dragon Witch anything Virgil might confess - although he would have reported it and that was another reason why he didn’t press him on the matter. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t make that choice, be faced with that conflict of loyalties. No, he wanted to know about the Prince because he wanted to understand. How could anyone like Virgil be related to that... over the top and brash hero? Prince gave him a headache every time he was in the same area as him.

Still, he didn’t ask. There were some lines that were not meant to be crossed and that was one of them.

“Why do you care what I do to him?” Dragon Witch asked, her voice sickly sweet. She hadn’t answered his question, he noticed. It was an infuriating habit of hers at the best of times, the way in which she would answer questions with another question of her own.

“He is useful,” Logan responded. Annoying habit or not, at least it had given him a window to try and plead his case. There could still be a chance of getting her to realise what a mistake she was making. “You captured him for his use as bait and a trophy. Damaged, his value diminishes.”

With a long, slow, blink, Ms. Dragon Witch stared at him, her deep red nails tapping an even rhythm against her side.

“Oh sweetheart,” Ms. Dragon Witch purred, amusement threading through every drawn out word. “So innocent. You think this is the first time I... damaged him, as you put it? What do you think happens every time I summon him for a visit? We have tea and crumpets, like polite little Englishmen and talk about the weather?”

“That is different,” Logan protested and how strange that it was another confirmation of a pet theory. Yet again, it was a confirmation that he didn’t actually want to know. Where was his belief in the truth? Logan had always held fast to the notion that there was nothing more beautiful and perfect than the truth, in all its raw and bleeding glory. It was far better to wrap yourself in facts, no matter how unpleasant than to hide yourself in a web of lies.

Yet the facts brought him little comfort in this case.

She bent down, movement showing off yet more cleavage. It was almost embarrassing how much was on show now. If Logan didn’t know better, he would have thought she was trying to show off to him, simply for the sake of it. But that would be foolish. She knew his inclinations, she knew his preferences. It was not something you chose or could turn off with a single thought. Or a flash of skin. Ms. Dragon Witch leaned closer, his words managing to spark some interest within her. Better him than Virgil.

Wait.

Where had that thought come from? Logan normally valued himself correctly. Highly. He was extremely useful in more ways than one. He would set himself above most people, his assistant included. So why did that thought pass through his mind? Why did he seek to distract her from her murderous urges and try and engage her in conversation? Why did he want to stop her from hurting Virgil so badly?

Almost as though reading his thoughts, she spoke again, her words tugging at all those deep and worrisome thoughts and confusion.

“Oh? Different because... you don’t have to watch? Or because it isn’t your fault so you can ease that thing you pretend is a heart? I thought you didn’t have one of those?”

“Of course I possess one. Just not in the manner in which you are implying,” Logan replied, words clipped and cold. He had no time for such a romantic use of an organ. The heart sent blood around the body and was an incredibly important thing for that alone. There was no need to complicate matters further by giving it the near deity level of importance that it had been raised to over the centuries. It was just a heart. Just another function within the body.

Yet people acted as though it was something so much more. As if it ruled people’s thought process and as if it could force people to act against their previously defined character. He disliked such irrationality. Just as Logan disliked this conversation. Even as he kept it going.

Was this one of those so called heart moments? Had he finally succumbed to the madness of the human condition? Logan really hoped not.

“That is punishment for what he has done. He chose to stand against you, which was wrong. This... this is not logical. There is no reason.”

“Just admit it Dr. Logic. You care about my little pet. You don’t want to see him hurt because of your actions. I wager you don’t want to see him hurt at all. I should have made you watch before now. How amusing to see you crumble.”

“I don’t want you to waste a resource we could use!”

“Ah denial.” Ms. Dragon Witch shook her head in mock disappointment, the motion setting Logan’s teeth on edge. She sighed heavily, still playing this newest role with obvious relish. “Such an... illogical feeling, is it not?”

“I am not in denial,” Logan retorted and he was rapidly losing patience with this whole thing. Why couldn’t she be as predictable and as useful as any of his experiments? If he had applied the correct pressure, then the expected response would occur. Humans were not nearly as neat as all of that. Much to his annoyance. By any reasonable measure, his words should have proved that Virgil was more useful intact and yet any argument he made only seemed to make her that much more determined. It was as though his words were having the opposite intended effect.

“It is you who are too dimwitted to properly appreciate the importance of my words. The logic of them.”

Anger was an emotion. Which meant that it wasn’t something that Logan regularly - if ever - experienced. If he did however, he would have to admit that he was feeling angry right now. And that the anger had made him hasty. Made him say some things that while true, were not exactly the most intelligent thing to say. Because while Logan did not suffer from emotions, Ms Dragon Witch did. Anger among them.

Her expression shifted into something truly murderous. There wasn’t even a chance to know that he had delivered the correct stimulus at last in order to get the response he expected. Anger was too easy an emotion to pull from her. Anger only served to make his job harder and so it was hardly the reaction he actually desired.

The flames rose higher for a moment, a crackling, heated warning for Logan to behave. As much as he wished to spare Virgil pain, he wasn’t going to place himself in that spot instead. He wasn’t a fool, no matter what she might think.

Mouth snapped shut, Logan simply glaring back. He might be unwilling to verbally bait her any further but that didn’t mean he agreed with her. Or that he was fully giving in. Logan just wasn’t going to let himself get burnt by the fire which had thankfully returned to its previous levels. She stood on the other side of the flames, completely unaffected by the heat. Logan did his best to appear unaffected in turn, ignoring the sweat dripping down his face. He wasn’t about to show weakness.

The angry snarl dropped away, Ms. Dragon Witch blinking a couple of times, her gaze angled slightly over Logan’s head and towards one of her minions.

“You were always one for learning, were you not?”

“I am,” Logan replied, feeling something akin to whiplash in the way she shifted so effortlessly away from rage to a question. Eyes flickered down to meet his gaze, rich lips curling back into that infuriating smile.

“Let us see what you learn from this then, Dr. Logic.”

With a soft hum, she turned away from him. It was the sort of noise that Logan would associate with being able to start an enjoyable activity. It was, he realised with a sickening drop of his stomach, the sound she must make whenever she got to play her games. Ms. Dragon Witch stepped to the side, giving him a clear view of his lab assistant in the chair opposite. As he had suspected - feared - the purple haired young man was awake. Which meant Logan was out of time.

Which meant he had failed.

“Sleepy head awakes at last. Hello, Virgil.”

“Karen,” Virgil sneered, his eyes flashing with a near murderous rage. He didn’t appear to care that he was in her room, trapped. That... that wasn’t her name. Logan knew that. More to the point, Virgil knew it wasn’t her name. Why would he deliberately use an incorrect name? Why would he try and annoy her? From the way her fingers curled into brief talons, it was clear he had succeeded.

“Behave darling. Different game this time. You are going to help me,” she instructed, slowly walking towards him. Hips swayed dramatically as she did, something too pronounced to be anything but deliberate. Always putting on a show. Virgil gave a snort, the sound effortlessly conjuring up exactly how he felt about that idea.

“Fat chance.”

“Oh, you won’t have a choice darling one.” Ms. Dragon Witch was behind him now, long nails tracing along his shoulder and dancing up his neck. Logan caught the tiny flinch that ran through Virgil’s body before he could suppress it. The way his breath hitched in his throat for just a fraction of a second. Try as he might to limit his physical responses, it was clear that Virgil was scared of her.

Which made his previous bravado all the more bewildering.

If you were scared of someone, why would you attempt to anger them?

“What did you do to Dr. Logic’s project? I know you did something my pet...” She whispered the words, dipping a little so her long hair brushed against him.

“What... what are you talking about?” Virgil asked cautiously.

Logan’s eyes widened a little as he stared at Virgil. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the hint of uncertainty in the other’s words or the way he stiffened slightly. He had learnt a lot about people’s tells over the years. It helped him in more ways than one. Virgil had been a tough nut to crack. He still wasn’t sure if he had managed to learn it all. As much as it pained Logan to think, he was fairly confident that if Virgil tried to lie directly to his face, he would get away with it.

True, he had already given himself away with his fear but this was something else. Something new. Something that a part of Logan was already filing away in the back of his mind in case he needed to compare that tone against any other Virgil might make.

One thing was for sure though. Virgil had just lied to her.

Which meant - what exactly?

That he had done something? Had it been his actions that had caused his machine to malfunction and cause all this trouble?

No, Logan had checked all the figures and readouts himself as soon as the invention had malfunctioned. He had gone over all his notes, obsessively checking each line of code. He knew exactly where the project had gone wrong and why. Logan knew it had been an error on his part. An honest error, in not being able to match the different temperatures in which the liquids change to gases. That and that alone had been the cause of the failure. And it had been Logan’s miscalculation.

It made him a little sick to his stomach, each time he thought that, but there was no getting around that awkward truth. It had been Logan who had messed up.

So why was Virgil lying about it now?

It was such a small slip up, something Logan doubted Ms. Dragon Witch would pick up on. Which meant his reaction wasn’t for her. It probably wasn’t for him either, and that pointed towards it being an honest, accidental reaction. In turn, that pointed to him not trying to deflect from causing damage. It was something else he was guilty of. So what had Virgil done?

What was going on?

“I’m talking about the new game pet. You’re going to help me teach Dr. Logic a lesson... unfortunately for you, I’m going to make you scream to do so. Perhaps then his mind will be more focused in the days ahead.”

It was as though Virgil hadn't even noticed Logan was there until that moment, eyes shifting from Ms. Dragon Witch to stare at him. For a moment, the gaze was wide and unguarded. In that moment, Logan could see all the fear and worry reflected in his eyes. All the anxiety and the near crushing knowledge of how much this was going to hurt. Then, the shutters came down, Virgil closing himself off as best he could.

“Take his jacket off. No sense in wasting time damaging thick cloth when I could be ripping skin apart.”

The minions jumped to attention, all scurrying to carry out her bidding. No doubt fearful of what might happen to them if they displeased her. In a way, this was a brilliant choice on her part. At a stroke she would prove that nobody was above punishment. That nobody was too important. She would be able to show them what happens if they were to forfeit her favour and enjoy her herself in the process.

Logan somehow doubted she had thought that far ahead. That wasn't her style. Ms. Dragon Witch's style was just that - flashy, loud, impressive. But ultimately lacking any sort of substance. His boss was acting on her emotions and little else. So caught up in the moment that she failed to see the long term advantages of her actions. Sooner or later, that would cost her dearly. Logan had always known that - right now however, he found himself hoping that it would be sooner. The sooner the better.

Virgil's struggles had been pointless, the guards forcing his wrists back down against the arms of the chair. Thick metal snapped into place, curling around him and pinning him down. Logan had designed that chair. There was no getting out of it if you were the one in it. Not even Virgil would be able to. From the look on Virgil's face, he knew it too. It didn't stop the purple haired man from continuing to fight against them.

How many times had she put him in that chair? How many of Logan's inventions had been used to hurt one of the very few people that he would class as interesting and near his own level? Logan wasn't naive. He was fully aware that most - if not all - of what he designed was used for nefarious purposes. He was even aware that many of them were used to create pain. It had never been something Logan had spent much time thinking about. It was just a side effect of achieving his goals. As Dr. Logic he had weighed up the pros and cons. It had been a price worth paying.

Somehow it didn't give him the same kind of comfort when faced with the reality of the moment.

While he was distracted, Ms. Dragon Witch had retrieved a whip from the collection on the table and returned to stand behind the cuffed Virgil. Logan really didn’t like either the object or the position. That strange knot of something was growing larger in his stomach.

“Ready pet?”

Not that she waited for an answer. Instead, with a wicked giggle, she lifted the whip high in the air before bringing it sharply down against Virgil's exposed neck.

#sanders sides #fic #logan sanders #virgil sanders #aca writes #absent gods #long post #angst #angst with happy ending #platonic

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d-issent · 4 years

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‘Dissent’ – Rough plot outline. Chapters 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Sodor is a supposed ‘safe haven’ where things are a lot better than the rest of the world, after a terrible disease strikes the planet and wipes out a staggering and concerning percentage of the human race, there are very few safe parts of the planet left. At a loss as to what to do, people from all over the world finally put aside any differences and set out to both recover from the damage the disease had caused, and find a way to keep the world running and operational while the human race is given a chance to recover.

The solution? Make machines with sentience, to carry out each and every job that humanity now finds itself quite unable to do, since there are so few of them left.

‘Dissent’ was a work of fiction intending to focus on the rules of robotics, and how, perhaps out of desperation on the part of humans, those rules end up twisted and sometimes completely broken.

It was, simply; a ‘humanised’ and dark take on Thomas the Tank Engine, if you can even call that simple. I wasn’t intending for the story to be a particularly long one, or to be one that was taken seriously, but I believe I made a bit of a mistake in thinking that I could make a whole comic depicting the story. But hopefully with this rough plot outline, I can at least tell the story I intended to tell, maybe one day I’ll have the time and the resources to pick up this story again, but for now I hope this will suffice for anybody who was left disappointed.

1. Who on Earth was Smudger?

The story of Dissent happens in two parts, one for the build up to the main climax, and the second to gradually come down from that climax. I’ll be popping the first four chapters into this post, and carrying on in another post, so I’m not giving you guys literal walls here.

The story focuses largely on Duke’s neck of the woods, the Mid Sodor Railway, but in the era before Stuart/Peter Sam and Falcon/Sir Handel showed up; mainly it was going to focus on the turbulent and painful relationship between Duke, Stanley(NG) and perhaps the most elusive character in the whole story; Smudger.

‘Dissent’ begins much like the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ story of canon begins; with a team of rescuers setting out to find the legendary ‘Duke’, an engine built for the Duke of Sodor, who I imagine was quite a kindly man, who’s character and morals Duke emulated quite a lot, or at least tried to emulate.

I remember deciding that the reason Duke why was stored away when humanity really needed every single engine it could get it hands on – was because he was an older model – as time went on and as humanity got better and better at making these sentient machines, Duke would have eventually been considered a very early model, still completely functional, but a little cumbersome compared to newer, modern models. I believe that the main reason for his rescue was the sentimental value attached to him, the Duke of Sodor was no doubt a very important man to the people of Sodor in such trying times.

Again, much like ‘Sleeping Beauty’, the rescuers find Duke after one of their party falls through the roof of his shed, they light his fire in order for him to wake up and regain the ability to talk, and soon explain to him who they are and why they’re here.

As the story goes, Duke is returned to the Skarloey railway, where he is first reunited with Stuart and Falcon, now named Peter Sam and Sir Handel.

Duke has quite a lot of trouble with these name changes, the two younger engines put it down to him being old and having “so much to remember already!” but Duke’s memory issues play quite a big role in the first part of ‘Dissent’.

All seems well and good, until Duke falls asleep (as if he hadn’t got enough in his shed.) and wakes up to find that two new engines have returned home from the day’s work; the two oldest on the railway, Rheneas and Skarloey, the latter of which strikes up a conversation.

Skarloey talks a lot, he’s hasty to introduce himself and welcome Duke to the railway, also to make a passing comment on how “It’s quite nice to have someone our age around here; we’ve had quite a ride with the younger engines, haven’t we Rheneas?”

Rheneas makes a point to keep to himself until now, so Duke – half asleep still – probably hasn’t focused on the other engine as of yet. But when he does, something very large, and very unpleasant stirs in his mind. Groggy as he is, he scrambles up from his chair and grasps Rheneas’ hands in his.

“I haven’t seen you in decades, Smudger!”

There’s silence.

Skarloey is the first to break it, though he doesn’t sound quite as chipper as before; which is to be expected since there’s an excitable stranger yelling at his best friend. He gently prises Duke off of Rheneas with a calm explanation; “Duke? This is Rheneas, our number 2. I don’t think either of us have ever met you before, perhaps… You’re mistaking him for some other engine?”

Rheneas is understandably shaken up, but he gladly accepts the apology from Duke, he’s an old engine himself and he’s probably seen weirder shit in all of his time on Sodor. Duke stays subdued for the rest of the evening, even after the rest of the engines finish up work, and even after Peter Sam and Sir Handel do their best to make him feel at home, Duke’s mind is stuck on one, disturbing question.

“Who on earth was ‘Smudger’?”

2. The Old Warrior.

There’s a brief time skip of about three weeks I think I decided, and the next scene starts out with Duke dreaming a confusing set of dreams.

It’s the same series of dreams he’s been having ever since he arrived at the Skarloey railway. He’s back in the sheds at Mid Sodor, he’s not alone in the room however, there’s another engine in the shed, fiddling about with a phonograph sitting on a small wooden table. His paint job definitely looks green to Duke, but when he crosses the room to greet his fellow engine, it always turns out to be Rheneas, looking incredibly confused…

Duke wakes to utter bedlam in the Skarloey sheds, rock n’ roll rider Duncan won’t shut up about something; a new engine coming to the railway? Damn, fair dos. Duncan’s friend and possibly also his part-time counsellor, Rusty explains to Duke that Duncan is upset about a ‘ghost engine’ coming to work on the Skarloey railway, an engine who was found lurking about an old mine. Duncan is convinced that the engine is some demonic entity, but – as usual – all it takes is a few words from Rusty to get him to pipe down.

The so-called ‘demonic’ engine is also known as the Old Warrior, though – like in canon – his name is Bertram, and nobody quite knows how he even got to the mines in the first place. Mister Percival – who has managed to escape the disease that has ravaged humanity somehow– explains to the engines that Bertram will be joining them to assist with the workload, since he really doesn’t have anywhere to go. Duke chats idly with a concerned Peter Sam about the state of Duke’s boiler – which is giving him quite a considerable amount of trouble, so considerable in fact that it’s now become pretty difficult for him to do the same work as the others. As is always the case with Thomas the Tank Engine, there’s “no money to repair him” so Duke has to make do with a shoddy ass boiler.

As the day goes on, and the sun starts going down, Bertram arrives, and the first thing he does besides let Mister Percival welcome him, is give Duke the filthiest look he can muster, so filthy in fact that it takes Peter Sam and Sir Handel aback, the latter worriedly asks;

“Have you met him before, Granpuff? It looks like he recognises you.”

Duke denies any knowledge of Bertram, but still chooses to give him a wide birth until that evening, when everyone is back inside the sheds, and he kind of can’t steer clear of him any longer. Duncan however is still doing his very best to stay the hell away from Bertram, but the latter is a little preoccupied with talking to Rheneas and Skarloey, mainly about his time in the mines, and how he got his nickname, “The Old Warrior.”

Duke – in spite of himself – snorts a little at this title, which of course pisses Bertram RIGHT off. The two have a little mini stand off in the sheds, with Bertram telling the old man to do one, and Duke telling him to “watch your tongue young’un, I’m very important to this railway.”

However, throughout the argument, Duke’s memory jolts again, and for a second he’s standing back in the sheds on Mid Sodor, arguing with someone, he can’t make out the engine’s face, but their fists are clenched and they’re yelling fit to burst.

The argument eventually ends with Bertram storming out of the sheds, and Duncan slyly commenting; “Oy, lads, I’ve changed my mind. I like him.”

3. Rain, rain, go away.

The following day, Duke is left alone in the sheds because of his boiler, and because of the rain PISSING down. Everybody else complains loudly about having to go out in it, but they’re all young-ish and in perfect working order so they all leave. Duke is left alone with nothing but his thoughts of Bertram after saying a quick goodbye to Peter Sam and Sir Handel, but those thoughts are quickly interrupted by Bertram himself as the Old Warrior comes crashing through the shed doors, soaking wet, and demanding to be given a towel to dry himself off with; he’s panicked and almost deranged.

Duke, still salty but generally being a kindly soul, makes sure to help Bertram dry himself off, all the while giving him breathing exercises, telling him to empty his mind – kinda useless shit – but it helps to calm Bertram down, and soon the latter is completely dry. He’s embarrassed, but he begrudgingly explains himself to Duke.

“I don’t like water. I can take rain, but when it’s lashing down like this, I can’t stand it. It suffocates me, I can’t see where I’m going and I can feel the stuff seeping into the grate on my back, even if I’ve closed it. I hate it, and don’t think I’m about to tell you why; it’s personal.”

Duke doesn’t ask, he’s not about to repeat last night after all, and soon enough Bertram relaxes, and Duke finds him to be oddly agreeable. Bertram quietly strikes up a conversation about how and why Duke was found, and the two talk for a little while, however at some point Duke mentions his weird ass dreams, and Bertram’s interest is immediately piqued. The Old Warrior asks Duke if there was anything he had forgotten, and of course Duke insists that his memory is fine, but he offers to ‘humour’ Bertram, and asks him what he would have him do if he had in fact forgotten something.

Bertram ponders if Duke had left anything of importance behind in his shed back on Mid Sodor. It’s an oddly specific question, but trust me, it isn’t just specific by pure chance, Bertram clearly knows something, but Duke’s mind really isn’t in a position to think about it in depth. Instead, he ponders back to his old shed, and soon realises that there were a few things he had forgotten to ask the rescuers to bring up to Skarloey; a picture of his Grace the Duke of Sodor, a few books, and a little, unexciting black box that he kept on the bottom shelf next to his books.

Duke is completely unaware as to why his brain has singled out that particular box, but Bertram immediately pounces on it, demanding that Duke go and get it immediately. Duke reluctantly agrees, mainly on the basis that if his brain coughed that box up out of everything else he had owned on Mid Sodor, it must be important.

Soon, the pair reach a bit of a truce, and apologies are exchanged about the previous night, they carry on talking until the rain stops, and Bertram is able to go back out and resume his work.

He doesn’t, though, preferring instead to sit with Duke.

4. Miss Cora.

New character oh boy.

A woman is trying to come into the Skarloey Railway, she’s visiting from her usual residence, which is quite a long way out of town. She’s been stopped at a checkpoint and is having her ID scrutinised, she’s incredibly annoyed at this, and the fact that they’re checking her luggage is also souring her temper. She demands to be let through faster, but the people checking her insist that they need to take all necessary precautions to make sure that the virus that put down so much of humanity isn’t on her in any way.

As they do this, she begrudgingly gives her reason as to why she’s visiting; the current head of the Sodor Railway, Sir Topham Hatt II, is apparently ‘not long for this world’, and he intends to make her the next controller, as her family and his family have been close for decades. The men are a little suspicious as to why Sir Topham Hatt is choosing her instead of his son, but she shuts them down; “His son is otherwise occupied. Why are you so startled at this, gentlemen? Is it because I am a woman?”

Which, shuts them up pretty quickly.

Soon enough, she’s through to head up to the Skarloey Railway, and she thinks briefly that business can wait, she’s seen the news… She has an old friend to visit.

Back up at the railway itself, Peter Sam and Sir Handel have volunteered to go and get the items from Duke’s shed for him. The latter protests weakly, suggesting that he should go instead, until Sir Handel tells him to shut up.

“Listen, Granpuff, I can’t find no way to say this politely; you’re old. The trek back to Mid Sodor is long and tedious, plus everything’s overgrown… Why’d you think the guys who found you ended up having to fall on you? It’s dangerous up there.”

Duke eventually agrees to let the two go, with warnings to be very, very careful along the way, and soon they depart, leaving Duke alone in the shed once again to enjoy some peace and quiet, until Bertram barges in yet again, he’s trying to make it seem like he’s not terrified, but he’s doing a really bad job of it. He informs Duke that there’s a woman outside who wants to see him, and had he been given the chance he would’ve warned Duke against talking to her, but the mystery woman pushes her way in regardless, completely ignoring Bertram.

She sets her suitcases down, and she beams widely at the old engine. Duke – despite the fact that his memory is horseshit – recognises her almost immediately.

“Bless my boiler. Cora Patricia Tomlin… Is that really you?”

Cora was the daughter of the old Mid Sodor manager, who – though he is sadly no longer around – was a good friend to Duke, Peter Sam and Sir Handel, so the man’s daughter was also considered a friend by association. Duke is incredibly happy to see her, despite Bertram lurking about, looking as sour as old milk, the latter looks desperate to say something to Duke, but after a while he realises that there’s no point in trying, and he leaves the shed in a huff. It’s just a little thing he does…

Cora seems a little relieved at the disappearance of Bertram, and soon sits down to chat with Duke about the old times. The conversation includes the news of her possibly becoming the railway’s next controller – on which Duke congratulates her thoroughly – the state of humanity now that the virus finally seems to be dying down, the weather, and the state of Duke’s gosh darn memory. This particular part of the conversation seems to quieten Cora down, and for the first time since her appearance on Sodor, she seems a little lost for words.

Eventually, after gentle prompting from Duke, she lays a hand on his arm and speaks to him softly.

“The situation with your memory is no good. But there is also no good in pursuing the past, my advice to you is to move past your time at Mid Sodor, there’s no point in going back there. Perhaps your inability to let go is because you keep dwelling on it, preoccupy yourself with other things, Duke, you’re far too good of an engine to be wrapped up in the past.”

Her words – as bullshit as they are – make some half assed sense to Duke, and he agrees with her that he has been thinking about his time on Mid Sodor rather a lot. Those times were the times in which he was happiest after all, spending time with Stuart and Falcon on their own little railway, truly he doesn’t like this change, but it’s as Cora says, he has to move on.

He briefly mentions Peter Sam and Sir Handel’s little expedition back to Mid Sodor to fetch his things, which for some reason greatly sours Cora’s mood. She asks him why he would ever think to do such a thing, and he doesn’t know how to respond, she tells him firmly that bringing objects back from his shed will do nothing but worsen the problem, and instructs him to burn the items when they arrive, as part of the process of moving on.

Eager to get himself out of the mist fogging up his brain, Duke agrees, and promises to destroy the items the second Peter Sam and Sir Handel bring them back, even though every single circuit, servo, gear and cog inside of him is screaming at him not to.

Cora soon takes her leave, but not before she once again reminds Duke to get rid of the pieces coming back from Mid Sodor, it’s time to stop living in the past.

Everyone else comes back the sheds that evening, besides Peter Sam and Sir Handel – but that’s to be expected. However, there appears to be no sign of Bertram either…

#there's gonna be more parts so dw #just #bear w me lmao I'm tryna remember this aaaaa #I got a rough idea of what I wanted to happen!#TTTE #Thomas The Tank Engine #Thomas the Train #Thomas and Friends #Mid Sodor Railway

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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archer3-13 · 5 years

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Thoughts on Other Students in 3H

in no particular order

Hubert: evil snake boi, i kinda like you. i just wish there was more actual meat to ya then what there is. still, he does his role effectively and unlike edelgard plays into the whole evil empire thing with more gusto so i ironically find him more palatable because atleast the game isnt trying to pretend he isnt shady as fuck.

Dedue: oddly charming despite his straight laced attitude, he gets some interesting nuance in how well he highly respects (cough loves cough) dimitri and likes individual people from the blue lions, he doesnt have any particular fondness for faerghus as a whole which is definitely understandable given his history. hes essentially using the camus/murdoch aspect of undying loyalty and even borrows elements of the female camuses line of romantic interest in their liege however heavily implied it might be and applying that to a male playable character. Plus he just has some fun and interesting interactions with other characters in general.

Lorenz: I have difficulty saying whether i like him. on the one hand, he ended up being more multidimensional then i thought he was going to be with his internal conflict between keeping up appearances for the sake social status and societal order and his desire to pursue his own personal interests and ideals against the needs of his father and thus societal conventions. on the other hand, the game never really runs with this as much as it should and hes still treated as a bit of a joke character so... c+ to b?

Ingrid: the token heterosexual of the blue lions whos still kinda gay anyways, her whole struggle with being a knight over a housewife seems a bit odd on the surface considering theres plenty of female knights and no one throws much of a fuss in universe, until you learn that it isnt so much that society expects her to do it as matter of course and more so that shes struggling with whether to pursue personal duty to her family or personal desires and ideals kinda like lorenz. in that respect she hits the mark a bit better then he does.

Raphael: kinda insubstantial but i liked him anyways, his sheer exuberance can be kinda refreshing in the games darker moments and hes got a few angles of his own such as his refusal to consider his parents deaths as part of a larger conspiracy so as to not hurt his friendship with ignatz nor ruin his own life and his sisters. plus hes just generally a nice guy. like a big huggable bear. just a shame that being a nice kinda dumb huggable bear is all thats really done with him.

Ignatz: his painting stuff and personal insecurities about wanting to do it over being a knight which his parents want him to do, more of that duty over desires and ideals thing again, is well enough and his probably misplaced guilt over raphaels misfortunes is definitely a highlight of him but he never really grabs as a character for some reason. probably because theres a lot of other characters in the game that hit those same marks and do it better then him.

Sylvain: has a lot of aspects that never really feel like they get proper follow up, his big thing is less womanizer and more so that he covers up his own mistrust and personal feeling by pretending to be a shameless flirt and philanderer. basically, maybe the emotional pain will go away if i flirt with girls and act the fool. but again there never really feels like theres any proper follow up for all this, others comment on it and then its more often then not dropped in story. hes fun enough but never really realized if that makes sense.

Caspar: shonen protagonist is kinda an apt word to describe him honestly, and that idealism of his clashes with the more grey on grey morality of the world hes within which is never a particularly bad direction to take the shonen bois in if done well like hunter x hunter. And he is done well, or at least satisfactorily to the point that hes another one i ended up liking more then i thought i would. his problem is more so that his interactions with most other characters in the main cast which feel duller then they should on most occasions.

Dorothea: probably gonna get a bit of shit for this, but i have no interest in her. her insecurities about her future and getting a good husband is well and interesting but manuela does that better honestly and outside of that dorotheas a bit... not shallow but hazy and insubstantial if you will. she obviously has appeal to people but like ignatz she failed to grab me in part because others did what she did and better within the game itself.

Ashe: soft boi chose to be soft instead of hard, one of the characters i found liking and one i expected to kinda like to begin with. in game he gets accused of being childish and naive a lot but i dont see it personally, hes not naive but more so tries to look for the best in people and in life like lonato did all those years ago for him. that said, the speed with which lonato dies damages his identity as a character a bit by happening before we really get a chance to feel for his relation to lonato, its not to big a bug bear as it doesnt hurt his character all that much but it does feel a bit frustrating.

Felix: teenage angst personified, his main gripes seem to be a distaste of warrior culture and its glorification of bloodshed and sacrifice but instead of approaching it with sadness or pacifism, he lashes out against what he feels is the unfairness of the world. hes not exactly wrong in his feelings and as a character it makes sense and works for his abrasive attitude, and its an interesting twist to the navarre type to have their isolation come not from stoicism nor sheer blood lust or a combo of the two but rather from a rage against the machine of society mindset.

Ferdinand: he got more interesting as i got farther along, and i personally feel he works the best as a character when going against edelgard since thats where more of his personal drama comes from. hes eager to succeed and prove himself worthy of his title over time and holds a chivalrous mindset very similar to others in the cast but his growth is less about learning how to hold onto those ideals in the face of reality for the sake of personal fulfillment but more so about learning to define himself by himself and not by societies needs. ultimately he comes to value chivalry not because its what people tell him to value but because he truly values it and i enjoy that. but its also why i feel he works better on other routes then edelgards since there hes still valuing himself not for himself but for the expectations society or edelgard in this case is placing him under, one tyrant for another in a sense. i admit i dont remember much about him on edelgards route though because i just like him more on the others.

Leonie: poorly timed support aside, she has an odd charm to her that a lot of modern fire emblem characters just dont have anymore. but knuckling past jeralt senpai shes an interesting blend of stingy and work effort that goes to inform itself and her relations to others. and like a lot of the golden deer she has a lackadaisical attitude of ‘i might not know what the fuck is happening, but i do know someone needs an ass whooping!’ and it works especially well in her case since her character is very attuned towards focusing more on her personal matters then the grand scheme of things because she has rent due in a few months. if she was in a more traditional fe set up she would definitely be a beowolf archtype that you need to pay to recruit. in fact im surprised thats not an option on other routes to begin with for her.

Hilda: honestly suprised me by not being a pure serra type. she has aspects of that on the surface with the selfish almost vain attitude towards life and others bur well serra is more about puffing herself up to hide insecurity and contribute towards a desperate desire for grand social status, Hilda downplays herself and her abilities due to living in her brothers shadow if unintentionally and seeing the stress it can bring. they’re both lazy and vain, on the surface anyways, always getting others to do their work for them but well serra seeks more social status to escape it hilda seeks less social status to escape it. plus it was kinda funny to see hilda act as claudes unofficial number 2 you could still recruit.

Lindhart: Sleepy boi needs a nap and thats kinda it really. exaggeration maybe but unlike a lot of characters in the game and the series as a whole he really doesnt have a reason to be there as a character. as a unit certainly but not a character, in terms of motivation anyways. He hates blood, fighting and violence, hed rather sleep or pursue personal interests then work or politics, hes insightful and intelligent but the important players in the plot have other advisers and hes not interested in stepping up in that regard anyways. his only real reason for being there is academic interest and even then a pin has to be put in that when war breaks out. hes not a bad character overall though, his sleepiness and insight make for an interesting double act along with his blunt mannerisms, i just have trouble pinning down motivations for him.

Mercedes: big team mom energy, which i suppose goes along with the whole being older then everyone thing. a bit dopey and airheaded at first glance shes one of the more receptive characters to how others are feeling and well she does try to nurture shes not above scolding if she feels it would help someone more then praise and reassurance. of course shes also very detached to events of the world mostly just there to help the people around her from the bottom rather then the top which is not an insult and more one of the things i find fascinating about her. it all makes for a very interesting character and one of my personal favorites of the cast.

Annette: overworker, issues with her dad, magic bubbly, and hits things with axes. a nice recipe of a character but it never feels as if the game can get it all to blend properly. more so to the point is that most of these elements work independently of each other and not to inform each other despite the games insistence. theres a lot of dramatic potential involving her father as well and though the game makes the best use of those aspects its not to the benefit of the rest of her character. it doesnt hurt her either though and she has some appealing dialogue with other characters.

Marianne: I had trouble getting to like her, perhaps more so then any other character among the other students. not because i hated her but because shes, well, very boring. alot of the characters in the game are into the self deprecation thing already and well her personality aspects of acting quite and submissive to fall into the background from a lack of self confidence it also feels like the game came up with two different explanations for it and couldnt settle on whether it was because of her adoptive fathers pressure or her families history and instead of weaving both together decided to use them interchangeably. Sometimes shes a wallflower because of her father and a lack of confidence to state her mind and self loathing over that lack of confidence, other times its because of her lineage and self loathing over her cursed history. never really at the same time.

Bernadetta: another odd favorite for me. recent support changes aside, the basic gist of her history remains the same in that her father was a tyrant in regards to her future which caused her to grow up with no confidence and a crippling fear of society, so shes already off to a good start as a character by basically doing mariannes schtik but better. well its hard for me to definitely say she ever grows past that as a character, thats fine in my opinion because her development is less stop being a recluse because society demands you dont and more so about making actual friends and learning that not all people are garbage fires just most of them. in most of her supports anyways. she just feels the most rewarding to interact with alright, and she was the one i always felt the most upset to mess up a speak thing with. Let us hug and stay inside watching cartoons together.

Petra: i went in wanting to like her and really liking her at first, but shes hit a middle of the road for me now. her speech gimmick wasn't particularly egregious and gets even less noticeable after the timeskip, but her actual character is a very straight forward ‘national pride demands independence’ package and doesnt really escape past that boundary all that much. its very understandable motivation, id even go so far as to say that shes the one with the best reasons to betray the empire of the black eagles characters, so like ferdinand i feel she works better outside of the black eagles in term of her own character identity and motivation/development as she finally stands up for her peoples right to exist on their own in an fe6 echidna kinda fashion. outside of that though shes... foreign to the other characters. thats kinda it.

Lysithia: as a unit she hits like a truck, as a character shes functional but hardly revolutionary for the series. i mean i did like her since i have a fondness for her archtype of weird magic prodigy poor social skills, but more so that she doesn't hit any particularly new notes in that regard. Shes a lot of lute, with some delthea childishness in her, some of sanakis sharper political wit and dark history, and a bit of miriels scientist on top. that said its all blended very nicely and she has some nice scenes for herself that got me to feel and care for her, some kinda adorable moments, and a history well woven into the games background and more so then most of the other deer and a lot of the other characters from across the houses in general. for a minor character anyways.

you may now all stone me to death.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16

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journeysintowebcomics · 5 years

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Worm Liveblog #103

UPDATE 103: Undefeatable Suit

Last time there was an interlude featuring Piggot’s past, showing she used to be a squad member. She faced Nilbog and almost died because of it. It’s time to return to the story! Onwards!

Wow, I entered and the website is now white instead of black. This is easier on the eyes. Thank you, Mr. Wildbow!

So, in the latest chapter Piggot was successfully kidnapped and is now being held by the Undersiders and the Travelers. Trickster looks for Piggot’s personal phone, Imp has it. Looks like he wants to use it. I say you definitely shouldn’t. Grue points out Dragon may be listening on the calls – which is a concern I hadn’t thought about, admittedly – but the problem I was thinking was that maybe they could track their location by using that phone. I’m not sure if phone tracking can be done only when a call’s being made or if it can be done even when the phone is not being used, but either way it’d be a good idea to get the phone away from Piggot’s current location.

“I’m making the call anyways. We can’t afford to wait.”

Goddamnit, Trickster, your judgment hasn’t exactly been stellar so far in this story. You really should listen everyone else. You’re such a stubborn guy. I hope this isn’t once another circumstance that will bring them a lot of trouble. At least he’s letting Grue handle the call thanks to the password system the Undersiders have. He allowed that much.

A minute passed, and she shifted position, her head leaving Grue’s darkness.

“Back up,” Regent warned.

“I have bad knees,” the Director said. “I will if you make me, but it’s painful. I suppose that could be a way of easing into torture, if that’s your style.”

Bad knees, huh. That sure is a mild way of saying ‘monsters ate my leg muscles’. Then again, it’s not like they need to know about that.

While Regent doesn’t mind torturing Director Piggot – something I’m sure she expected – Skitter doesn’t want such a thing and allows her to sit however she wants. There’s more immediate stuff to deal with, anyway. There are many suits out there and they need to be dealt with. So, what to do, what to do.

Although Director Piggot has some privileges with the suits, she can’t give them extensive orders. It’s also known they’re programmed not to attack civilians and local heroes. Hmmm...well, if the villains are feeling particularly evil, meat shields are an option. There would be plenty of civilians for that. Such an action would ruin any kind of effort the Undersiders are doing to make themselves not seem like absolutely horrible people, so they better not do such a thing. Won’t be surprised if Regent makes the suggestion, though.

“Sure. That didn’t stop the Cawthorne thing from shooting Trickster when he had Kid Win hostage.”

“I expect Dragon accounted for the fact that you might take hostages and use the nonlethality restrictions of the A.I. against it. She would have given the machines tools or strategies to work around it.”

Neat, Dragon thought of everything! I wonder what other circumstances she’ll be able to counter. She’s bound to have quite a lot of info on the Undersiders and the Travelers, so I’m sure there are many tricks up the suit’s sleeves.

The reason why Piggot is talking about all this is because she wants them to realize they can keep owning the city and expecting there to be no retaliation, and that Dragon has the capacity to keep attacking with her suits and everything she has. Some of these villains have to be reasonable enough to realize that, so she’s being straightforward with that information. Unfortunately for her, these villains can realize that and also realize they can’t afford to let go of their grip on this city, so it’s a moot point.

They don’t want Piggot to keep talking, Imp suggests gagging her with a sweaty sock. Ew. Yeah, way to make yourself look like a sadistic person, Imp. This all is bound to reinforce her view parahumans are maniacs, just see how enthusiast Regent is about possibly torturing her and check out what Imp is saying. As if Director Piggot needed more confirmation for her worldview!

Bringing Director Piggot here really was a mistake. She’s given just a chance to talk and now she’s relentless, picking and poking at the scabs and getting under Skitter’s skin. Piggot surely knows Skitter has all these moral conflicts and personal values and is aiming to twisting and using them to her advantage. Her overture is denying how much work Skitter and others have put in helping the city heal, and then attacks with words that are bound to bother Skitter a lot.

The Director ignored him, her eyes on me. “I presume you’ve been paying for the supplies and materials you’ve been importing to your territory with your own money? You’ve been paying your people, I know.”

“Yeah.”

“How much damage was done in the course of earning that money? I see the repercussions you don’t. Things pass my desk: hospital bills, property damage, psychiatrist’s notes. People lose their jobs, lose precious belongings. Parents are woken in the middle of the night because their children are seriously injured. I see the details from detectives in narcotics who track the drug trade-”

“I-”

She interrupted me before I could protest. “I know you don’t sell drugs, Skitter. But you’re interacting with people who do. If you buy a favor from someone who does, the Merchants, Coil, the Chosen, then you’re indirectly supporting that trade. Just like you’re supporting any number of evils every time you help a fellow villain. I’ve talked to homicide detectives who have dealt with the bodies in the wake of your shenanigans.”

“We don’t kill.”

“People die when you start feuds. Bakuda was injured by you in one altercation, and she attacked the city over the course of several days. Do you know how many people were harmed, then? Because you set her off? I could show you photos. People with flesh melted off, frozen, burned, turned to glass. When I don’t see these things in person, I see them on my desk, in high-definition glossy photos. I could arrange for you to see the photos if you don’t believe me, or if you want to see the damage you’ve done for yourself.”

Look at that. She doesn’t have the instant information power Tattletale has, but I’m sure she has thought about what she’d say in these situations. Nothing like feeding more of Skitter’s doubts and guilt complex she eternally has.

That aside, this kind of is going to give her even more of an incentive to fight Coil. I really don’t think Coil is in the drug-selling business, nor anyone the Undersiders have allied with does that, but if Skitter has any reason to think Coil does such a thing then she’ll have once another reason to get him out of the way. I don’t think Director Piggot intended that, but it sure is an advantageous potential consequence.

Maybe Regent noticed Director Piggot was getting a rise out of Skitter, because he interrupts and tells Skitter they should leave her to Tattletale. Oh boy, that’s something I don’t want to see. There’ll be a lot of mudslinging if that ever happens, coming from both sides. Skitter acknowledges she has to stop talking to Piggot because she let her get an advantage over her. Damn right she did! Piggot is force to be reckoned.

They’re going to move Piggot somewhere else. Grue is back, so she can be covered with darkness again so she’ll be moved. They mention Piggot herself may be bugged, something I never considered. It’s plausible! They don’t frisk her or anything, they just get her moving. Piggot is cooperative, moving and most likely glad she won’t have to sit and hurt her legs.

I was surprised that she cooperated. If she’d delayed us by forcing us to carry her, she might have bought time for reinforcements to arrive. If we’d forced the issue with violence, it would have reinforced her argument.

In her shoes, I might have done it, just to apply that stress to my enemy. It said something that she didn’t. I just wasn’t sure what.

Yeah, it’s pretty worrying. You know what I’m interpreting here? I’m taking this as Piggot being satisfied with everything she said, maybe she got something out of all this. It’s the kind of demeanor you’d have when you know you’re getting away with something. Hell, she may even be looking forward to wherever they’re going to go, even if she doesn’t know what it’ll be.

Ah, here’s Tattletale, they have arrived to their destination and Piggot is looking pretty disheveled. Obviously, being a hostage doesn’t leave you looking fresh and nice, and it doesn’t help Skitter used her bugs on her.

But when she looked at Tattletale, the smallest smile touched her lips.

“What’s this, Piggot?” Tattletale asked, hopping down from the ledge to the parking lot. “Looking forward to a duel of wits?”

Director Piggot shook her head, still smiling.

Thiiiis is such a bad idea. Tattletale isn’t immune to taunting and other stuff. I hope she has prepared herself mentally, because I bet Piggot will be merciless. The thing is, even if the conversation is on Tattletale’s favor, Piggot will get some useful information. So far Tattletale is a bit of an enigma on how her power works, so this is going to be good for the Protectorate anyway. Let’s hope it won’t be very enlightening.

They’re going to take a walk, so this place must be rather safe for the Undersiders. Skitter proceeds to first call Piggot incredibly obese – paraphrasing. How else am I supposed to interpret sentences like ‘I was more likely to be crushed beneath her than to catch her if she fell, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure we could get her off the ground without uncuffing her if she did slip.’, that’s rude even if it’s accurate from what I remember in past narration, Skitter – and then thinks about she doesn’t like Piggot, sentiment that’s shared by so many people both inside and outside of the PRT and Wards. It’s because she reminds Skitter of bullies and authority figures who did nothing.

On a more concrete level, she was indirectly or directly responsible for Armsmaster, for Sophia and the other bullies getting away with what they did.

Skitter has a point there. While I don’t think she knew about Armsmaster’s nature before he did his little stunt during Leviathan’s attack, she definitely knew about Shadow Stalker’s nature. She must be the one who ordered to get her into the Wards for a rehabilitation of some sort. Just as some were unhappy with the director who ordered Nilbog’s city to be walled up, I’m sure there were people who were unhappy with Director Piggot’s decision here. Upper management can do no right thing most of the time!

All this at least has revealed something good: the missing teammates weren’t captured neither by the PRT, the heroes, nor Dragon’s suits. They may be hiding in the territories, waiting for a moment to get out and run to safety. Hopefully the worst-case scenario of them being injured or dead is not correct. Tattletale also finds out Dragon is out, fighting the Slaughterhouse Nine. No mention of Defiant, not even a vague ‘she’s with someone else’, so that bit of information will still be unknown for the Undersiders for the time being. Oh boy, it’ll be a surprise when they find out who Defiant is.

Since Director Piggot is doing an exemplary job in letting as little information as possible leak, Regent considers the possibility of taking control over Piggot and ruin her career –this time she wouldn’t get a different cushy desk job – all so they can get answers. Piggot isn’t worried because she has some accurate info on Regent’s powers and past. No controlling her! Everything is up to Tattletale and her information gathering.

Ah, the reason why Piggot keeps mentioning torture is because she’s gauging reactions and how likely someone is to take certain actions. Golly, I bet everything Piggot has said and asked all this time has a reason behind it. I’m growing more and more uneasy about having her around. Maybe they should be letting her go already, before she gets any more information. Well at least with all this she can be certain she’ll survive, she’ll thank her lucky stars people like Skitter is here.

Great! She’s prodding around and asking if everyone knows the truth of what Regent did to Shadow Stalker. Hardly! I wonder how Skitter will feel, as far as I can recall she doesn’t know a thing about what happened. It’s messed up of me to want to see it happen, but it could be so interesting! Would Skitter be thankful, or would she chide Regent? Part of me wants to see!

Tattletale says Piggot is intentionally trying to mess with them, as if that wasn’t glaringly obvious. To drive home how she’s in control here even though she’s literally handcuffed and in the hands of villains, Piggot proceeds to give a low blow to Tattletale, calling her Sarah and mentioning a brother. Oho, what a punch. It’s effective, even if Tattletale tries to pretend it isn’t.

“I’ve been looking forward to having a conversation with you for some time, playing it out in my head. I paid out of my own pocket for information so I can beat you at your own game.

I’m pretty sure she didn’t do this just with Tattletale, I bet she imagined possible conversations with Skitter too. It’d explain how she can use her words so effectively. Piggot really is a force to be reckoned. If she ever got a power, I think she’d be extremely dangerous. Good thing she doesn’t seem to get one even during awful situations nor wants one, so she won’t get in contact with Cauldron. Oh hey, is she aware of Cauldron? I wonder.

One of the reasons why Director Piggot is confident she’ll be back home before the night’s out is because she’s dying and she knows a few of the villains she’s with right now wouldn’t just let her die. True! They’d leave her just on the brink of death, ain’t that right, Skitter.

I see why Mr. Wildbow made that interlude there. It was a prime chance to introduce a few facts, show us the readers how her current situation came to be. Her need for dialysis, how being behind a desk and having injured legs led to her current weight...it’s quite some nice details, nice foresight. She continues needling Tattletale as much as she could, enough to make her threaten do the same back. Given how Piggot is like, I don’t think that’d be very effective. She must be prepared for that already.

“I have no powers, Trickster. I’m lowly, a mere mortal compared to you. I admit it, I admit I’m weaker, slower, my options are pretty limited in a fight. But I’m tenacious. I’m shameless, if I have to be, because I refuse to lose to you.” Her voice bordered on a growl as she uttered the word ‘refuse’.

This was the director of the PRT? Hearing her speak, I’d almost thought she was like Coil, at first. Cultured, proud, arrogant. Now that she was showing her true colors, it was almost the opposite. And strangely, it was equally problematic.

I’d be pretty willing to bet her current personality and demeanor has been the result of having to work for so long with the kind of people she loathes. Right now she must be being finally able to talk like she wants, lording herself over the parahumans because she knows she’s right and she’s confident about it. It’s pretty ballsy, gotta say. I’m sure it’ll work. Her rant makes pretty clear to them having Piggot around is more trouble than it’s worth, and Skitter drags everyone away to talk to them and discuss their course of action.

Taking her back home to give her treatment is a bad idea because there must be a trap over there, or a way for her to be safe and out of their reach. Controlling her isn’t worth it and she’s trained to resist, so it’d be more effort than it should be. The more they talk, the better the need to let her free looks. By now it’s pretty clear they won’t get anything useful from her, nor it’ll be any good to stop the suits.

Despite that, letting her go just isn’t coming up in this discussion. They even mention running away from the city – vetoed, thanks Skitter – and actually torturing her. Tattletale says that wouldn’t be a good idea because it’d just validate her view that parahumans are people who carry their traumas with them and inflict said traumas on others through the use of their powers, meaning they can’t ever leave behind the tough points in their lives. Funny she says that, I’d say Piggot being irremediably injured and with this job is pretty much exactly the same, just that she’s doing it all without amazing powers.

Treating Piggot somewhere that isn’t her house would be fine, but there’s a risk she’d connect the dots and realize Coil is allied with the Undersiders, in which case...well, I’m not sure how bad it’d be, but the less information the heroes have, the better. Imp suggest just gagging her with the sweaty sock – no, thanks – and let Tattletale figure things out by reading her body language. I’m not very sure how well that’s going to work, but Tattletale is willing to try if it’s necessary.

Looks like gagging her is the plan, the gag is done. Does this count as torture? In some people’s opinion it would. I guess it’s not like they have abundance of clean socks lying around in these alleyways, but yeah. It makes me feel kind of bad for Piggot, hah. So, now that Piggot is silenced, they have to plan how to strike against the suits. Three are shut down, and rescuing the teammates is the important thing that needs to be done.

They’ll be divided in two teams. One will try to rescue Heckpuppy, the other will...fight other suits, I think? And then they’ll reunite later. Skitter, Regent (and by extension Shatterbird) and Imp are in one team, Grue is with Trickster and Sundancer.

This all was discussed in front of Piggot, who can’t wait to see what happens. She even mentions the names of all the suits, and says the newest one, a suit named Azazel, was created specifically to counter Skitter. Oh, is that so? Haha, everything in this story is made to counter Skitter, whether it’s intentionally or by accident. I think the fight against Triumph and Prism is the only one in recent history that didn’t have any kind of counter. Either way, one.in-three chance of encountering the special suit. Knowing this story, Skitter’s team will be the one fighting it. Let’s check the next chapter.

Looks like the start of this chapter is all about the logistics of having to move as fast as possible. The city is still wrecked and flooded in some areas, isn’t it? Oh geez, the mosquitoes must be a nightmare. It has been like a month or two since Leviathan attacked, perhaps? Time advances in such a slow and unclear manner in this story, so I don’t have the slightest idea how long it has been. Driving a car to where their teammates in need of rescue are isn’t going to work.

I was thinking about Sundancer and something like a hot air balloon, but I’m not sure how much forward acceleration you could pick up that way.

I love this mental image. A bunch of people in a rickety basket, being carried by Sundancer’s power, she with her arms extended to the heavens and a small sun in the middle of a huge bag, like some kind of fantastical book scene. It’d be hilarious. Sadly, that’s not happening, is it?

“You could try a James and the Giant Peach thing with us,” Imp said, “Only it’d be backwards: bugs on strings and the ‘bird along for the ride.”

I’m not entirely sure what Imp is envisioning, but the reference makes me think of them riding a giant peach down the flooded streets. How’s it possible they started with cars and now they’re thinking of sun-powered hot air balloons and giant peaches? I love this.

In the end they decide to embed glass into a door, make Shatterbird fly ahead of them, and ride the door like it’s a sleigh, using Shatterbird’s glass powers to propel the door down the roads. Creative, neat, and so deadly if any of them moves even a little. Thankfully, none of them fall off the makeshift sleigh, and they’re taken down the roads effectively.

Shatterbird hit the fence with a wave of glass, knocking it down to a forty-five degree angle. Our makeshift craft lifted up fractionally and we hit the makeshift ramp, remaining airborne for only a second or two before hitting the ground and continuing forward.

“You dick,” I swore.

Lovely.

Team Skitter reaches the trainyard, where Heckpuppy and her parahuman henchmen are fighting the suit. From the description, it seems to me this suit is designed to be more like a tank than an attacker, to withstand as many blows as possible. This fight has been going on for a while, and the suit isn’t making offensive moves yet, but if it hasn’t been defeated then it must be for a reason, no? It must have some sort of trick that makes it a tough enemy.

The suit stood. That didn’t surprise me. It brought its claws to either side and clawed at the side of the train, crumpling metal in its massive claws. My bugs gave me a sense of what was going on as the suit drew the metal into itself with crushing mechanisms and gears. Its torso expanded slightly as it made room for the new material, armor plates reshaped by internal mechanisms and shifted into place to patch up the worst of the damage.

That’s why the fight is still going, they’re in the middle of a freaking trainyard. There’s plenty of metal to use. The obvious strategy is to stop it from getting scrap metal, but how do you do that? The location itself is working against them. Besides, now that more villains appeared, chances are this suit is signaling to others this development.

Pretty unlikely this is the marvelous Azazel suit, this must be one of the other two. Skitter takes inventory of the status of everyone here. Imp, being useless in this particular fight, is sent to be a medic. Some dogs are not as hurt as others, Heckpuppy’s henchmen are tired and injured. Skitter’s plan is to use long-ranged attacks first, then everyone else gets close and attacks. Thaaat’s...pretty basic, admittedly. It can’t be that easy, can it? Especially if it keeps repairing itself, as it does during the next few paragraphs once the plan is underway.

Some bugs are sent to examine the insides of the suit. It’s hot, the center is invulnerable to bugs due to heat. Most of the delicate components are inside cases, away from any outside interference like Skitter’s bugs. From what she can see, her only option is to try to mess with the mechanisms, keep open stuff that should close and force valves to stay shut. That sounds like it’d take a while to be effective, but right now they’ll need everything they can to tilt the scales on their favor, no? May as well try! And keep hacking off the machine bit by bit, keeping as much metal away as possible.

At some point they manage to make the machine fall, battered and torn. It’s not over, though. When it’s about Dragon and her suits, it just can’t be easy.

Hot steam hissed out from the gaps in the suit, seconds before it turned itself inside out. The parts on the exterior folded out and were absorbed into the suit’s interior, new components emerged from within and locked into place. They still smoked from the heat of being forged and reforged in the heart of the machine.

The suit’s joints shifted position as it settled into a quadruped stance.

It pretty much rearranged itself into a different form, and from what I can read, it’s not so torn and destroyed anymore. It doesn’t seem like it used any external metal, too, it was all done with what it already had. Hoh! Of course this fight has been going on for a while. I bet they had already destroyed it once or twice, and then it did this and restarted the fight. Stopping this suit from regenerating sounds impossible.

I was left wondering what the black market price would be for something like Armsmaster’s EMP device. Something that would serve as a get-out-of-a-fight-with-a-tinker-card.

That’s a pretty good idea. This team doesn’t have a tinker, anyway, so it doesn’t seem like there’d be any drawbacks to using a EMP. Still, I’m pretty sure Dragon’s suits are so advanced and sophisticated they wouldn’t be able to be stopped by an EMP device. It’d be too easy if they were.

Tinkers had so many options that they brought to the table, a crazy synergy with any teammates, and an ability to customize their approach to counter specific threats or individuals. I, on the other hand, was pretty screwed if I went up against anyone with flame powers, cold powers, electricity powers, enough durability to shrug off my bugs or a way to clear out large numbers of bugs at once. I’d managed thus far by thinking on my feet, but it sort of pissed me off that tinkers existed as the antithesis of that.

I know, right? Everything counters you! It’s darkly hilarious. Good thing Skitter can think clever plans, or else she’d be imprisoned or dead so long ago.

“New plan,” I announced. “We hit it hard enough to slow it down and then we scram.”

That does sound like the only sensible option. Still, it’s a bit of a letdown, I was looking forward to seeing how such a suit could be defeated. Oh well. Running away! Heckpuppy doesn’t want to, because it’s a retreat and Heckpuppy doesn’t retreat just like that, she doesn’t give up!

I stared at her, trying and failing to process how she was looking at the situation. Then it dawned on me. This was why Dragon and Armsmaster had pit this suit against her. It wasn’t that it countered her power, exactly. It was that it was set up to work against her stubborn nature. With the way her mind worked, she couldn’t back down from a fight she subconsciously felt like she was winning. It didn’t matter that we were losing in the long run, she was focused on the fact that we could do damage, and walking away would be a forfeit.

And they were damn right, look at that! She doesn’t want to run away. Skitter tries to put things in perspective, asking how many times she has defeated that suit. Four times?! Goodness! So that’s five wins and one loss, giving her a decent win percentage. Iiii’m not entirely sure that’s a convincing argument. Then she adds how the dogs may get hurt if they continue fighting, argument I think would work better than the win/loss one. What say you, Heckpuppy?

Well it seems she’s accepting it well enough. The problem is doing one last decisive hit before being able to run away. This new suit seems to have adapted to the new threats, it’s using heat and accelerants to ensure the villains make minimal contact. Team Skitter is forced to seek refuge in a building, the suit gets on the top areas of the building. They’re cornered, yup. Things turned pretty bad in no time!

Looks like the only option is to use the wolf puppy as the hard hitter here, and that’s dangerous because Heckpuppy still can’t get him to listen completely. There’s risk for collateral damage. Well, in my opinion, that’s not much of a concern if the rest are running away already, less chance of the wolf attacking anyone else. Skitter’s idea is to use a fetch command to bring something big and heavy, hit the suit with it, and then everyone runs away, leaving Heckpuppy behind to run away last. Whooops, better not make it look like you’re leaving her behind! She’s already wary enough about fleeing, a betrayal will make things worse.

It’s nice to know that even if it’s using incendiary methods and is, you know, a suit that weighs a couple tons and hits as hard as a truck, it still can hold back its strength enough to not only not kill anyone, but also keep the damage it inflicts on them to a minimum. Dragon’s main goal continues being to subdue and apprehend, not to injure. It’s a relief, honestly.

The plan is underway. The mutated wolf has brought a wooden post, and Skitter takes the time to analyze his appearance.

Bastard was as large as I’d ever seen him, and there was something about his appearance… he looked less wrong than the others. The spikes and ridges of bone that lined his body weren’t asymmetrical, and there seemed to be more art to the design.

The Slaughterhouse Nine really were onto something, giving her a wolf pup. It does seem like the power works better with those than with normal domestic dogs, at least in terms of design. I wonder why it’s not backwards, it’s not like there are plenty of wolves near the user, nor one would have many chances of getting close enough to one to transform it – and doing that would be a huge risk to yourself, anyway. There may be something about Heckpuppy’s power that hasn’t been revealed yet.

Skewering the stomach of the suit with the pole – sounds like a decisive blow to me! – and then the hole is filled with glass, Regent using Shatterbird to manipulate the suit into moving erratically. Since the objective is to keep it from following them, this should be rather effective! And indeed, the suit is moved and pressed against a building, where it’s forced to stay while others start the retreat. Regent and Heckpuppy stay to do their thing and ensure they won’t be followed, and after a few goes, this counts as a win. Bam, six wins to one loss. A good ratio! Time to run!

And run they should do, because the suit is already starting to do all it can to recover. The glass that was shoved inside is being melted, and soon it’s found Shatterbird isn’t so adept at moving molten silicon. How curious, I didn’t think such a weakness would exist. I wonder why molten silicon isn’t so useful. Perhaps Shatterbird needs the molecules to be as close to each other as possible, as they’d be in a solid shard of glass? It’s a pity, molten silicon being manipulated willfully could be quite the weapon.

Team Skitter will have to get on sleds, so will Heckpuppy’s parahuman henchmen, and anyone else who is left around gets on a door. They intend to run away before the suit can reconfigure and take a form that will get rid of the glass or leave it inaccessible.

I found the next dragon suit before I found the others, and I immediately knew it for what it was. It had to be Azazel.

Waa-haa-haa-haait. How far away did they get from the trainyard before they encountered Azazel? It sure felt like they got like fifty meters away before they stumbled upon this! That was sudden. I sure hope they’re nowhere close to the trainyard, there’s no way they can fight two suits at once. Still, this is the suit that was made specifically to counter them. Tough fight incoming! Next time.

Next time: in four updates

#worm #worm liveblog #webserial #webserial liveblog #liveblog

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snarktheater · 6 years

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Ready Player One — Level Three (Chapters 32-33)

After our brief foray into a heist story that tied itself up really neatly and really fast, Wade now has a bunch of stolen data and a foolproof plan to…get past IOI’s defense on Castle Anorak and get to the Third Gate.

Because, you know. Real-life mortal danger is just not interesting enough stakes for the book. We gotta go back to the video game contest. That’s what matters.

We left Wade when he was setting up a meeting with the other three main characters of this book, and he explains to them everything that happened to him since he went dark. And by “explains” I mean of course he makes himself sound much better than he was.

“How does a lowly indent get access to secret Sixer dossier files and company memos?” I turned to face her. “Indents have limited access to the company intranet via their hab-unit entertainment system, from behind the IOI firewall. From there, I was able to use a series of back doors and system exploits left by the original programmers to tunnel through the network and hack directly into the Sixers' private database.” Shoto looked at me in awe. “You did that? All by yourself?” “That is correct, sir.”

You know, all by himself, with information he bought and doing nothing but follow instructions. Same difference, I assume.

But that’s apparently enough for the others. They thank him for the warnings, although Artemis is also angry that he read her file—as she should be, since that information was really private and also it did not help one bit. Wade does not experience a shred of regret, though.

So, what is the plan, you ask? Well, keep asking, because instead of telling them, Wade just moves on to taking it for granted that they will make it past the Sixers and straight to how to open the Third Gate. By which I mean the gate is inscribed with a reference to Schoolhouse Rock! that the Sixers missed and our protagonist immediately catch because they’re oh-so-awesome. Since “showing the puzzle and immediately giving the solution” has been the book’s modus operandi from the start…I guess at least this time it didn’t rely on a random epiphany and the characters really showed off that they knew their stuff.

I will draw attention to this, from Wade’s recap of what IOI has tried:

“They try every asinine thing you can imagine,” I said. […] “Then they get hung up on reciting First Corinthians 13:13, a Bible verse that contains the words ‘charity, hope, and faith.’ Apparently, ‘charity, hope, and faith’ are also the names of three martyred Catholic saints. The Sixers have been trying to attach some significance to that for the past few days.” “Morons,” Aech said. “Halliday was an atheist.”

Which is kind of baffling to me. I mean…what, atheists can’t use religious symbology ever? Especially Christian symbolism, like…Halliday was probably bathed in it his whole life.

With that said…this mostly makes IOI look like idiots. Which I think is the point?

“Dilettantes,” Art3mis said. “It’s their own fault for not knowing all the Schoolhouse Rock! lyrics by heart.”

Sadly, it also makes them very ineffectual as villains. Do you realize how simple it’d be to do a word search across all the lyrics, books and scripts for things featured in the Almanac? At least for a company with the means that IOI has at its disposal?

Well anyway. The song reveals that there needs to be three people to open the Third Gate, which had already been hinted at by the clue Wade found while searching for the key. This also means that, once they open the gate, they’ll have to race to get to the egg first. Because I’m so stressed about which of these assholes win the egg. I mean we don’t even know Aech and Shoto’s goals and I still don’t want them to win.

Of course, there is one missing step in this plan. Wade obviously figured out a way to disable the Sixers' shield during his time at IOI, and they now know how to open the Third Gate, but they still have to actually get from point A to point B through the Sixer forces. What’s Wade’s solution for that? Just contact every gunter in the OASIS and ask them to play meat shield.

“And you really think everyone will just show up and help us fight the Sixers?” [Artemis] said. “Just for the hell of it?” “Yes,” I said. “I do.” Aech nodded. “He’s right. No one wants the Sixers to win the contest. And they definitely don’t want IOI to take control of the OASIS.”

“No one”? Really? I find that dubious. Or rather, I find it dubious that they’d willingly kill their OASIS character on the off-chance it might make the Sixers lose…but make these complete strangers win instead. Complete strangers who, in the case of Artemis and Wade at least, decided to use their new position of fame and fortune by…remaining anonymous, making no actual stand against the Sixers, and holing themselves up in a stronghold and refusing to even talk to people.

But of course, we’re just supposed to accept that the people will like them more, for…some reason. And really, wouldn’t it be great if, say, Aech was actually Sorrento playing both sides? (He’s not. But it’d be a hell of a twist compared to what the twist around Aech’s identity actually is.)

This plan also means IOI will know exactly when they’ll strike, which will put them on high alert. And they need three people with the Crystal Key to make it through, lest you forgot.

“So we should all try extremely hard not to get killed.”

A master strategist you are not, Wade Watts. As usual, the only character with a shred of humanity is Artemis.

“So I hope you’re right about being able to shut [the shield] down.” “Don’t worry.” “Why would I be worried?�� Art3mis snapped. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I’m homeless and on the run for my life right now!”

Artemis, you can’t show genuine emotion in this book! That’ll just make Wade look even more like he’s not human!

Speaking of Artemis being currently homeless, this is true of three of them (her, Shoto and Wade), which might be kind of a problem to participate in a large-scale assault on an in-game stronghold, followed by who knows what kind of challenge the Third Gate itself will be. Well, don’t worry, we’ve got a near-literal Deus Ex Machine to solve that problem!

Yeah, remember how, early in the book, Wade noticed someone knocking stuff in the Basement and wondering if it was an invisible player? Well, that’s what it was. Specifically it’s Ogden Morrow, who, along with Halliday, has literal god mode turned on in the OASIS.

“In addition to being immortal and invincible, our avatars could go pretty much anywhere and do pretty much anything.”

He’s been spying on them all this time, and he makes himself visible now to offer a hand. Turns out, he and Halliday reconnected shortly before his death, and Halliday asked him to watch over the contest and maintain its integrity. Apparently, everything IOI has done (blocking off multiple critical areas, for instance) did not violate said integrity? But now, he’s offering to get private jets for all four mains to his private home, where they’ll be able to log into the OASIS safely and, you know, be safe from IOI trying to kill them IRL. When I told you the book wasn’t interested in the real-world threat, I wasn’t joking. It just removed what should be the actual conflict in favor of the in-game contest.

No one is even a little suspicious of that, by the way. At all. They just take Morrow’s offer at face value and accept it, with Aech having to pick up Wade and get him to the airport, since even Morrow can’t track Aech down. The fact that the possibility isn’t even brought up, after everything these characters have gone through (and their initial distrust of each other) really bothers me, because I have half-expected Morrow to turn out to be the true villain after all since we first saw him in the book, but…no, he’s fine.

And this is where I pause the review to go back to my earliest posts, and how this book doesn’t care or think critically about the dystopia it created. Because Morrow…you know, isn’t much better than IOI, ultimately. They’re all beneficiaries of capitalism; in other words, their massive wealth depends on the existence of the widespread poverty that Wade has observed and experienced. But Morrow is a cool nerd, and he’s done some cool things like educational games, so he gets a pass, I guess?

Yeah. No. Remember how Artemis wants to solve world hunger if she wins the contest? Morrow could do that right now. Or he could at the very least heavily contribute to that. That he hasn’t should make him a natural villain for the story, or at the very least a morally grey figure—the heroes need his help, but don’t appreciate him. But the book doesn’t care about its setting; it’s a dystopia because dystopias are cool, I guess, not because it’s trying to make a point about them. The book’s real interest is the OASIS, and the real world could just as easily be a utopia and it would change very little.

Except…actually, it does change one thing, by implication. See, if the book doesn’t want to be a dystopia, and only cares about the OASIS, then that means the dystopia probably exists to justify that the OASIS exists and is as popular as it is. In other words: the book itself doesn’t believe that anyone could be this involved in a video game, or fandom, unless they were driven to it by desperation and misery. This one thing means the book has a lower opinion of geek culture than…well, myself, at the very least. I’d even argue it’s lower than the mainstream opinion of geek culture at the moment, considering in the 2010s, culture has been dominated by things like Comic-Con and superhero movie. For a book that’s hailed as being for geek culture, is pretty odd that it can’t seem to imagine that people like things without needing a justification.

And if you think I’m pulling this reading straight out of my ass: it would not invalidate it if I did, because that’s how art criticism works, but in this case, it’s also absolutely in the text and we’ll get back to that in the final post of this review. Stay tuned for that exciting conclusion!

Back to the plot. Wade sends out his message to all gunters, and posts it on “every gunter message board”, because that’s how fandom works, I guess. Word spreads, and the media starts reporting on that and Wade’s allegations towards IOI, and Wade feels petty satisfaction.

By now, Sorrento would know I’d somehow gained access to the Sixers' private database. I wished I could see his face when he learned how I’d done it—that I’d spent an entire week just a few floors below his office.

You know what would be a great twist? If they traced the security footage and the digital footprint that Wade must have left to figure out what his plan is and counter it. But that would mean Wade failed at something due to his own hubris, and that would mean he faces consequences for his flaws, so let’s not even pretend it’s a possibility and just skip to when Aech arrives to pick him up instead.

A heavyset African American girl sat in the RV’s driver seat, clutching the wheel tightly and staring straight ahead. She was about my age, with short, kinky hair and chocolate-colored skin that appeared iridescent in the soft glow of the dashboard indicators.

Well that’s not a problematic description at all. I mean, that’s multiple descriptors with racist connotations. Oh, and don’t forget that Wade and Cline both claim to like bigger girls, yet Aech gets described as “heavyset”. I guess only white girls get to be “Rubenesque”. [Disclaimer: I personally find both to be pretty insulting, but the difference is definitely there.]

He recognizes that this is actually Aech because she smiles like her avatar does. And then, miracle of all miracles, Wade feels an emotion. Namely, betrayal. He gets over it quickly though, because emotions are icky.

Whatever anger or betrayal I felt quickly evaporated. I couldn’t help myself. I started to laugh. There was no meanness in it, and I knew she could tell that, because her shoulders relaxed a bit and she let out a relieved sigh.

So Wade is totally a-okay with Aech being actually a black girl. How progressive of him, I guess. Aech insists on explaining to him why her character is male, because that’s another thing the book believes warrants explaining. As someone who played female characters in online games for at least half of my gaming life, I find that half amusing and half insulting, but let’s be honest, in this case, it’s just that the author thought of this character’s backstory and wanted to infodump all over us, and couldn’t think of a more natural way to do so.

So Aech, real name Helen Harris, was raised by a single mother too. Her mom realized that sexism is a thing, but since most things are done through the OASIS, she could escape it by using a white male avatar, and she taught her daughter to do the same. Also, Helen/Aech is a lesbian, which is completely irrelevant, except that her mom kicked her out as a result and that’s why she now lives in an RV and always stays on the move.

Aside from the confirmation that homophobia is alive and well in the future (beyond the casual brand displayed throughout the book up to this point, which I could have chalked up as the author’s unconscious biases), I will note that Aech’s most remarkable trait—how she avoided discovery by literally everyone, including IOI and Morrow—is a result of homophobic abuse. So I guess she should be thankful for her mom kicking her out, lest she would have been killed by IOI? That’s a good unintentional message right there, book.

As we continued to talk, going through the motions of getting to know each other, I realized that we already did know each other, as well as any two people could. We’d known each other for years, in the most intimate way possible. […] None of that had changed, or could be changed by anything as inconsequential as her gender, or skin color, or sexual orientation.

This is the straightest thing Wade or the author could conclude from this. Look, let me be clear: if a person is closeted to you, you are not intimate with them. You are not close friends. Because if you were, they would trust you enough to come out to you. If they don’t trust you enough to come out, either you’re just not that close, or they actually suspect that your reaction would be bigoted and potentially dangerous, in which case you are absolutely not their friend (or a good person). It is literally that simple.

Yes, I know what the book’s message actually is here. We’re all just human, and these things shouldn’t be obstacles to relating to one another and being friends. The problem is it’s phrase as “these things shouldn’t matter”, which isn’t the same as “these things shouldn’t be obstacles”. Because they do matter. They would matter no matter how the world is, but especially in a sexist, racist, homophobic world, they matter. This is why saying you’re “colorblind” or “don’t see race”, or that people’s sexuality “doesn’t matter to you”, is not actually comforting. Identity, believe it or not, is a part of who the person is; if it doesn’t matter to you, and only, say, their interests do, then you’re not really friends with the person as a whole.

I’m just getting all the rants today, aren’t I?

Well, to be fair, the actual plot is pretty sparse. I mean, nothing happens on the road to the airport, or on the flight to Ogden Morrow’s home (whom the book now calls “Og”, because it’s the name of his avatar and I guess real names aren’t for cool people). Said home is shaped like Rivendell from the Lord of the Rings movies—is that interesting? No, no it’s not. Is it interesting that Artemis and Shoto are already here, but decided not to meet in person until after the contest is over, because why would we want an opportunity for character development? Well, I guess it’s interesting, but only in that it’s bad.

So let’s just move on to Wade getting into his immersion rig, and asking Morrow a fairly random question before he logs back into the OASIS.

“I wanted to ask what it was that ended your friendship with Halliday. […] What happened?”

Well, turns out Halliday was in love with Kira too. I know, shocking, he was in love with the one girl in his nerd group. Although, considering we’ve been told he’d only talk to her in-character as their D&D avatars, I think he was more in love with the idea of her than the real person. But hey, this book is literally making the argument that your in-game avatar is realer than the real you. I mean, Wade reverts to calling Helen “Aech” and referring to her as a man for the rest of the book after this one scene where they meet in person. I shit you not.

Literally nothing prompted this question, by the way. Wade just asked out of the blue. So you can already guess that the information is going to come up soon. Or you can just take my word for it that it will.

“Good luck, Parzival. You’re going to need it.” “What are you going to do?” I asked. “During the fight?” “Sit back and watch, of course!” [Morrow] said. “This looks to be the most epic battle in videogame history.”

Aren’t you gonna…you know, help? Why even introduce a character with godlike powers if he’s going to do nothing with them?

And with that, Wade logs into the OASIS to start the climax, and we get a dramatic chapter break. Because I’m so very scared that Wade might not win the contest. Yeah. Totally.

#ready player one #ernest cline #book reviews #ya books #young adult #books #young adult books #ya #reviews #book #book review #review #st: ready player one

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ilovelocust · 7 years

Text

Kitten (Complete)

Relationships: Keith/Shiro

Characters: Keith, Kuro, Shiro, Lance, Allura, Hunk, Pidge (yes, we actually see into all these character’s heads)

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Breaking Fingers, Claustrophobia, Water Torture, Branding, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Recordings

Words: 25,637

Summary: Kuro violently kidnaps Keith from the Castle of the Lions. Team Voltron desperately tries to get him back, while Kuro taunts them about all the things they can't stop him from doing. When they finally rescue him, the truly hard part begins.

Note: Don’t let the warnings scare you too much, over half the fic is dedicated to the recovery part of Hurt/Comfort. If you don’t like tumblr as a format, Kitten can also be found on my AO3 account (username ILoveLocust).

If you enjoyed Kitten, please share it! I only have so many followers, and there is no way I can reach everyone that would like this fic on my own.

Part One

He’s such a pretty kitten. Convinced his sharp little claws can do real damage against the big bad wolf. Kuro’s weaker self has been humoring him. Letting him think he’s stronger than he is. He’s lucky his stubbornness is endearing, or Kuro might have just killed him for not acknowledging his betters.

Declawing the kitten is easy. He just has to wait until he over extends himself on an attack, then rip the sword from his hand. The red bayard resumes its dormant state when he tosses the blade across the room. The kitten doesn’t give up at the loss of his weapon. He keeps fighting with his weak fists alone. Kuro is pleased. He’d be so disappointed, if he’d quit so easily. He might have had to wring his delicate neck.

The kitten tries. He tries so hard to land a blow, but Kuro has fought creatures so much faster and stronger than him. Every attempt whiffs past his body into open air. He’s honestly committing an act of mercy when he doubles him over with a fist in his gut. Preventing him from going through the humiliation of dragging this out.

A strike to the back of his knees brings the kitten to the ground. A follow up to his head sprawls him to his belly. Before he can blink the haze from his pretty purple eyes, Kuro straddles the back of his thighs, and twists his arms into a painful lock.

He can see the fear bubbling up in the way the kitten snaps his sharp teeth, and pulls fruitlessly against his hold. When he leans down, presses the front of his torso down the smaller one’s back, so he can see the terror in his eyes up close, the struggling escalates. His continued attempts at escape are cute, but when he tries to crack his skull against Kuro’s own, Kuro still grabs his hair and slams his face against the ground.

He licks some of the blood from the kitten’s busted lip before sitting back up. Of course the thing tastes as good as he looks.

There are so many games he would like to play. He knows the kitten would be good for days of enjoyment, if only he had the time, but alas he does not. He guesses he can settle for hearing him meow before he has to let him go.

He very carefully telegraphs his moves. Makes sure the kitten notices how Kuro picks out one of his smaller fingers and holds the digit separate from the rest. Very slowly he bends it the wrong way. Letting the anticipation build. He watches the pain increase in the kitten’s actions. He starts with heavy breathing, then choked pleas for him to stop, and finally, with a snap of bone, the prettiest scream he’s ever heard. Oh he wants to hear him make that sound again. He selects another finger.

By the time he’s heard that beautiful cry five more times, the kitten is a mewling mess. Letting out little whimpers every time he twists the already broken fingers. He wonders what other noises the cute thing can make. What would he have to do, to turn the wetness in his pretty eyes into real tears.

There is a whoosh as the door opens. Kuro looks up to see who is interrupting his fun. Oh, the kitten’s owner has arrived. Such a shame, seems like Shiro wants his kitten back.

Part Two

Oh, his weaker self is so dumbfounded to see him with his kitten. Mouth all agape in shock. His fish look is amusing, but not what Kuro wants. He decides to help him along. With a hard twist the kitten gives another hoarse cry, and Shiro gives a bellow of rage in return. Kuro meets him. Leaves the pretty thing to watch as he tears into his owner.

The fight is delightful. Everything he wanted. Shiro isn’t being held back by any of those morals or calm reasoning that slows him down and makes him weak. He’s vicious, strong, and clever just like Kuro. His perfect match. There’s blood and burns and hard hits just shy of breaking bones. Things he’s dreamed of. Except maybe this is not as perfect as he’d hoped. Shiro is hitting a little too hard, a lot too fast. Things are becoming less an exchange of blows and more an extended beating. The violence is still invigorating. The challenge engaging, but losing here would be an end to his fun.

Kitten’s gotten back up and retrieved his blade. His mangled fingers preventing him from holding the sword in his dominant hand. Purrfect.

Tricking him into joining the fray is easy. Fake an opening to his back, and the thing can’t help but try and take revenge. The next maneuver is tricky. He’s forced to take a sizzling cut to his thigh to execute it, but the end state is Kitten standing between him and Shiro. A slice to his bicep buys him a burning grip on the small wrist and the Red Paladin’s weapon once again clatters to the floor.

Ring around the kitten. Shiro goes left, Kuro goes right, until he’s at the right angle to wrap his upgraded hand around the delicate neck between them. The fight is over. Kuro likes the pretty thing, but he won’t hesitate to kill him if the need arises.

Threats are thrown. Kuro pays them no heed. If Shiro takes a step closer, he just squeezes until he steps back. He has all the power for now, and he’s leaving. He knows the kitten isn’t getting enough air in his hand. Taking a slow slide to unconsciousness as Kuro drags him from the room, but he’s still supporting his own weight and that’s enough.

Switching hands to destroy the control panel once they're out the door is hard. He gets a nasty bite and punch to the jaw when Kitten struggles free, but he returns the favor and adds banging his head against the wall until he’s almost too dazed to stand on top. He’s much more manageable after that, if a little slow of a walker. Kuro solves that problem, by tossing him over his shoulder.

The alarms blare, as Kuro goes in search of the escape pods.

Part Three

The green gremlin tries to stop him next. He briefly considers taunting her about the conditions in the work camps. Maybe sticking around long enough to dash her hopes of seeing her father again, with tales of how he was probably whipped to death for being a poor worker, but he can hear his weaker self’s voice over the speakers. He must escape now or never. He’ll make a video for her and ‘convince’ one of their allies to pass it along later.

He’s sure her weapon is dangerously unconventional to the uninitiated, but he side steps the green bayard’s attack with ease. Sending her tiny body to bounce off the wall with a back hand and stomping on her helmet for good measure. He probably didn’t do enough damage to kill her, probably.

No one else reaches him in time to stop him from finding the shuttle he’s looking for. In the hangar right where he remembers it. Kitten’s recovered enough to struggle again by then. He can’t set him down while he checks to make sure everything is in working order. Ripping out safety equipment that would let his control of the machine be overrode externally.

The bay doors are designed to be opened even if the computer system is malfunctioning, so there is nothing anyone can do to stop him when he punches in the proper authorization codes and launches the shuttle. The Green Paladin had sweetly equipped his escape vessel with a cloaking device. With her incapacitated, they can’t be detected once he activates the cloak and sets a course towards the closest shipping lane. He would love to take credit for planning their escape to be in a system filled with interstellar and interplanetary traffic, but lady luck gets the credit for this one.

He drops Kitten into the pilot seat, reasserting his grip on his throat. He can’t get the pretty thing to stop struggling, so he’s forced to tighten his hold until he loses consciousness. Only then does he flip on the video screen for a parting call. His weaker self isn’t there to answer, instead the Altean bitch appears on his monitor. Where’s the fun in showing off what you stole to someone who doesn’t fully acknowledge the thing’s value?

Still he mugs for the camera. Makes sure both Kitten’s still breathing chest and bloody head injuries are visible. He’s sure Shiro will see a copy of this, and will appreciate all he’s done. Kitten’s eyes flutter open near the end, in a moment he couldn’t have planned more perfectly. As soon as Kitten’s consciousness leads to dawning horrified understanding crossing his face, Kuro tears out the communication’s wires, ending the call.

Now he and Kitten are finally alone. He has all the time in the world to enjoy.

Part Four

The kitten is mewling again. Soft whimpering pleas that he can’t breathe. Kuro can’t help but smile at the sound. Stroking the outside of the container he’s keeping him in. The discovery that the bench seats in the back of the shuttle lifted up to reveal tiny compartment meant for luggage had been the best thing that happened to him all day.

The one he’d selected for Kitten had just barely been big enough for his small body. Kuro had had to twist his arm until he cried out, then forcibly fold him down into a kneeling bow, forehead nearly touching the floor, to make him fit. There is so little room in there, he likes to imagine Kitten’s arm is still stuck behind him inside the compartment.

Like a cherry on top of a Sunday, he found that laying down on top of the seat lets him hear all the little noises the kitten makes in his fear. When he’d first put him in, he’d stayed and listened while the poor thing had hyperventilated himself to unconsciousness. Kitten had never been scared of enclosed spaces before, but the inability to even squirm without pressing against cold metal walls was too enclosed even for him.

He’d almost canceled his ‘shopping’ trip to stick around to hear the panic when Kitten woke up, but sorting through the bags of supplies and goodies he’s acquired to the sounds of tiny breathless whines assures him he made the right choice in going. Even if he had been forced to kill the merchant before he could help Kuro find everything he wanted instead of after.

Damn Paladins had sent out a wanted poster for him in this solar system, and the alien had seen the thing about halfway through filling his cart. Truly annoying, and if it happened again he’d probably have to skip over to a place a little less friendly to Voltron to keep this game going.

Still, he’d found what he was looking for. Ropes, food, accessories for the kitten, and oh, best of all, a little square recorder, so he could take pictures and video of Kitten to reflect on once he put him away for the night. Mmmm, he’ll have to find a way to securely send these back to his weaker self. Spread the joy of fear in Kitten’s big purple eyes. Maybe he could figure out how to make an actual video call without leading directly to his location. He could make it two way, except instead of video of himself, he’d send the images he curated to Shiro’s screen. Then he could see the look of horror and impotent rage on his face, as he realized what he couldn’t stop Kuro from doing. Ooo, the idea made him positively shiver with excitement. He had to make sure it became a reality, but first, he would need to make some videos.

Carefully selecting a few choice items, Kuro stores the rest of his groceries out of the way. Now is the time to let the sweet kitten out to play.

Part Five

Kitten is trembling on his hands and knees, choking on deep gasps of air after being freed from his box. Kuro watches him, lets him recover enough to sit back on his haunches and stare up at him. The kitten tries to put on a brave face, act like Kuro’s golden stare doesn’t unnerve him. Oh how he enjoys the stubborn defiance, as if he hadn’t reduced him to a begging mess not so long ago. Makes doing it again so much more pleasurable.

Kitten has questions for him, so many questions. Who is he? Where does he come from? What does he want? Kuro answers none of them. He thinks who he is and what he wants is obvious. As for where, why does it matter? He’s here now, he doesn’t particularly care how he came to be. The little pet doesn’t like his quietness. His voice gaining in pitch the more Kuro leaves unanswered, a slight quaver of unvoiced fear in his words. When the silly thing tries to stand, face him like they’re equals, he smiles, lets the kitten see the sharpness of his canines, before backhanding him back to the ground. Blood wells up to paint his pretty mouth. What a picture he makes, Snow White with his pale skin, dark hair, and blood red lips.

He has the hovering box capture the moment, then rolls him over with a kick to the shoulder. He enjoys the flinch of pain as he yanks stiff arms back so he can bind him wrist to elbow with the rough rope. He imagines his soft skin will scrub raw under the abrading material if left too long. Scratches building up until every struggle is painful. He’ll have to make sure to leave him likes this for as much time as possible. That’s for later, he has such beautiful plans for now.

Kitten makes little high pitched hitches of breath, like he’s about to cry some more, while he struggles to breathe against the rope constricting his throat. He’s trying so hard to hold still under Kuro’s wandering ministrations to his easily bruised skin. He knows the taught line between his bound ankles and the loop around his neck will only pull tighter if he struggles or jerks. He’d learned that the hard way, when he nearly strangled himself panicking as Kuro tore off his shirt to expose his chest.

Oh what a perfect canvas Kitten’s bare torso has been. The tender flesh of developing bruises to dig his thumbs into. Ribs to squeeze until they creak, then release, then squeeze again, taunting him with how easily his enhanced hand could snap them in his chest if Kuro so chose. What had been the best was playing with the sensitive spots he remembered from his weaker self’s explorations. Pinching and tormenting the delicate skin until he cried out and slow fat tears leaked from his eyes for Kuro to lap from his cheek.

He’d recorded those tears. Using metal fingers to hold the kitten’s chin purposefully harsh, until he could capture just how they glistened and reflected the light.

He thinks he should probably stop now. Let Kitten recover, patch up his weak spots, so he can crack him all over again later. Much more fun when he’s an active participant. Besides, he thinks he has enough of the pictures and videos to start his other game. He just needs to find a place to broadcast from.

Of course, even if he’s letting him recover, he can still leave him something to ‘entertain’ himself with. A few buttons pushed, and Kuro’s new collection is cycling slowly in front of Kitten’s eyes. He leans down behind him, lets his breath tickle first his neck then his ear. “I’m going to send them to him.” He whispers. No elaboration, the first and only words he’s said since finding the pretty little thing. He leaves him with that thought and the slideshow of his own humiliation, as he goes to pilot the ship.

Part Six

Keith’s eyes are downcast, not meeting the camera. His lip is busted, puffed up and cut. Both his cheeks are swollen. There’s a bump like a round dome on his forehead where the skin has split open with dried blood running down from it in a cracked river. His throat has the dark imprints of a hand and something thinner making a threatening ring around it. What he can see of his chest has been mottled with cruel blacks and blues. He’s not wearing a shirt, and even though he can’t see them in the image, he knows the fingers on his right hand are twisted to unnatural angles.

Shiro wants to scream. He wants to tear his hair out. He wants to kill the sick bastard wearing his face. He wants to be able to close his eyes without seeing that picture on his eyelids.

He’s only had him for two days. Two days and he’s already done so much damage to the beautiful man he loves. How long until Kuro, that’s the name the packet had been signed with, kills Keith. How long until he is choked until his eyes roll back in his head and don’t come back down. He should never have had to find out what Keith looks like when he can’t breathe.

He’d seen the videos that came with the pictures. Seen how Kuro had given him every single bruise. He’s seen them so many times, until the others demanded he’d stop. There were no clues to be gained from them for where Keith has been taken. Their only hope is Pidge, Hunk, and Coran sticking their heads together and figuring out a way to track him down, but Shiro can’t help with that. He didn’t have the genius necessary to track the stations a signal bounced through or build something that could sense the not-unique-enough power source of Altean shuttles.

All he can do is sit here and replay it all in his mind’s eye. How he’d messed up fighting Kuro, he should have pulled Keith out of the way instead of dodging around him. How he should have warned them not to engage Kuro alone, so Pidge would have been conscious to track him when he was showing off Keith’s bloody face to Allura. The evidence of how his mistakes were being taken out on Keith’s small form. That picture, most of all that damn picture. The younger man, alone, hurt, and desperately in need of Shiro, who isn’t there.

Keith, baby. Please. If he could just have him back alive. He’d never let anything happen to him again.

Part Seven

Kuro finishes filling the small tub with cold water. The kitten had been grimy when he put him away in his box last night. His normally fluffy hair matted with sweat. The dried blood on his face going from its original appealing red to a dirty rust brown. A bath of some sort really was in order.

Kitten doesn’t struggle much when Kuro opens the lid to his box. He lets himself be lifted out, hands under his armpits, much like how Kuro would handle his namesake. He’s not really cooperating, though. It’s just prolonged time spent in the cramped container puts the kitten in so much pain, he can hardly stretch when he’s first released.

By the time Kuro has set him down beside the tub and retrieved the rope to restrain him with, he’s bounced back towards his normal endearing self. Fruitlessly trying to fend off someone he has no hope in besting. He tries to kick Kuro, but he merely grabs the leg and flips him over to bind his wrists behind his back.

He takes his time stripping Kitten for his bath. Partially because the smaller man won’t stop twisting and bucking in his grip, no matter how much force he uses to pin him. Partially because he likes to hear the fear laced begging for him to stop. He hadn’t told him what was going on, and Kitten seems to have drawn all the wrong conclusions. What a dirty mind he has, just a little implication and his thoughts go straight to the gutter.

The bath he’s using is a bit makeshift. The shuttle’s bathroom only has enough space for the toilet, and the tub he acquired isn’t big enough to fit Kitten in, more like a wash basket than something designed for humans, but he had found a sponge and a towel to clean up the mess afterward. That’s enough for his purposes.

Dragging Kitten back from where he’s scrambled against the wall after being stripped, Kuro gets to work. He doesn’t miss any spots as he scrubs the filthy thing down. Toes, arms, everything. The look on Kitten’s face when he pries his legs apart to clean there, is something to cherish. He drags that part out, touches a lot less than innocently, just to let the panic build, before letting Kitten go.

Kuro has to smile at the way Kitten looks at him afterward with wide eyes, breath coming rabbit quick, and legs curled up protectively to hide his bits and pieces from view. The little thing knows he’s not done with him yet, and all he can do is wait until Kuro decides to continue. He has all the power here.

Carefully, he cups Kitten’s cheek, rubs a metal thumb softly over one bruised cheekbone, before sliding his hand back to grab his hair harshly. Kitten cries out as he hauls him forward to the basin, holding his head up a second so he can see the clear water in front of his face, before thrusting him under. His feet make little squeaking noises as they slip and slide on the floor behind them, trying to get purchase. Kuro holds him down, getting his hair nice and soaked. When he pulls him back up, he’s gasping.

Kuro hums to himself, squirting some shampoo into the wet mop of hair and running his fingers through it to work up a nice lather. For once, Kitten sits still and lets Kuro work. At least, he does until Kuro grabs his neck and starts to drag him back down. The smaller man nearly knocks the tub over with his struggling before Kuro can get him under again. He keeps him there longer this time. Holds him down until he’s certain every last bit of shampoo is out of his hair, before letting him back up to suck in big gulps of air.

He mostly repeats the same procedure for the conditioner. Holding him under this time until his kicks grow weak. After that, Kitten doesn’t try to move from where he drops him on the floor. Shivering and choking on left over water.

Kuro gives him a pat, before going to collect an accessory he’d been working on. He’d found the black collar with the pretty pink name tag in the shop he’d raided. Unfortunately, the shop keeper had died before he could engrave it for Kuro. He’d thought, at the time, he was just going to have to give up on personalizing the item, but then, he’d found a tiny metal burner in a tool kit under one of the cockpit seats. With just a little bit of adjustment, he’d been able to do the engraving himself. Kitten was going to hate it.

Kitten’s eyes watch him as he approaches, shoulders curling in when he kneels down beside him, careful to avoid the wet mess on the ground. Kuro holds up the name tag. Lets him read the script on it. ‘Kitten’ etched in careful curling letters, with a little heart for the ‘i’ dot. He can see the moment Kitten comprehends. He recoils and snarls up at Kuro. Ahhh, he’s so adorable when he’s mad. Little nose wrinkled in anger. Almost as cute as when he’s humiliated.

Speaking of humiliation, there isn’t much the younger man can do to stop Kuro from putting the collar around his neck. He tries to bite, but a small pop from his right hand convinces him to settle down. He ends up looking exactly as good as Kuro thought he would. Both in the way he’s refusing to meet Kuro’s eyes, and the way the thin black collar draws attention to his pretty neck. If he decides to let the bruises heal, the contrast will be beautiful.

Nothing in the store had caught his eyes for clothes, so when he’s done with the collar he puts the pet back in his boxers and pants. The joy of how Kitten’s heart beat races under his hands every time he has to peel him back out of them, is just too great to pass up for a nakedness he’d quickly grow accustomed to. He does think it’s a shame alien tastes run differently than humans though, he can only imagine how Kitten would react if he’d forced him to wear something made up of lace instead. Oh how he’d do that angry blush of his. Especially if he’d made him pose spread leg for the camera. Hmmm, if he unzipped the pants and tugged them down just right, that sort of position might still work for the proper emphasis. He’d have to try that later.

A quick dry with the towel and he’s done. Kitten is all clean and ready for more fun.

Part Eight

“Say your name for the camera,”

“Fuck you.”

“Tsk tsk, that’s not very nice. I thought you were hungry.”

“I’ll never be that hungry.”

“Well if you don’t want to play, I guess I could put you up for the night.”

“no, don’t”

“What you don’t like your box? But it fits you so well.”

“You’re sick.”

“Mmmm, maybe. Hey, I’ve got an idea! How about I make you a deal. You answer my questions how I told you to, and I’ll let you sleep outside of your box tonight.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Oh Kitten, I have all the power here. I can force you to do whatever I want. I have no need to lie to you. So how about it, you be a sweet kitten and play along, and I’ll let you sleep on top of the box tonight. I’ll even give you a blanket so you won’t be cold.”

“…okay,”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll do what you want.”

“Good, now what’s your name?”

“kitten”

“What’s that around your neck?”

“My collar…”

“And who’s your owner?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Uhuh, that’s not what I asked you. Who owns you, Kitten?”

*whispering* “…shiro.”

“Such a good boy. See, I knew you could behave. A shame such a pretty kitten like you has such a terrible owner.”

“What?”

“A good owner would have never let me take you.”

“That’s your fault not his. He tried to stop you.”

“He didn’t try very hard or he would have succeeded. He had home turf advantage. He should have won that fight. Unless he just didn’t care about what would be stolen if he lost.”

“Fuck you, Shiro loves me.”

*chuckling* “He finds you passably attractive, and more appealing that a cold bed. That’s different than love.”

“Like you would know anything about caring for other people.”

“I don’t need to, because I know Shiro. I have all his memories. I know how he feels about you. He may have thought he loved you once when you were both carefree at the Garrison, but the arena changed him. You’re nothing but a guilty burden to him now. He needs you to play nice with the others and take care of him when his past gets too hard to bare, but he doesn’t care about you anymore. If he could find someone less needy to pilot the Red Lion and deal with his broken mind, he’d replace you in a hot second.”

*shouting* “You’re lying!”

“The first time you let him fuck you was in your father’s old shack as a birthday present. He’d let you do it to him a half dozen times already, but you were scared of how big his cock was and wouldn’t return the favor. You called him Takashi when you came.”

“H-how can you know that?”

“I told you Kitten. I remember everything Shiro remembers. You should be excited by this. Don’t you want to know what he’s been thinking all those times he’s said he’s fine?”

“Shut up!”

“Those sentences he starts but never finishes.”

“I’m not listening to you.”

“How about when you bottom for him and he gets that far away look, like he’s not even seeing you. I’ll give you a hint, by galactic standards your ass is really a sub par lay, and he would know.”

“Stop it.”

“When he looks at you all he can think is, is this it? He works so hard, goes through so much, to get home and warn all you ungrateful bastards, and what do you do? You, Kitten, drag him into a war. Force him to lead a bunch of untrained children, against an empire that made him fight as a slave and has lasted more than 10,000 years.”

“It’s not like that…”

“Then you can’t even leave him alone to do the job you forced on him. Following him around like a lost duckling. Sticking your nose into things he doesn’t want to talk about. Do you really think he wants to constantly be checked up on Every. Single. Time. he tries to get some space?”

“stop”

“Do you know why he wants you to lead? It’s because he wants to leave. He can’t stand to be around you, and constantly having to pretend he’s someone he’s not. You’re like a leech draining him of all his energy.”

*crying* “please stop”

“Oh Kitten, shh shh, it’s okay. You already knew he wanted to go. You always knew. It’s like you used to say. No one actually wants you, that’s why everybody always leaves.”

Part Nine

The Castle hasn’t felt so cold since she first found out her father was dead. The loss of the Red Paladin to the one calling himself Kuro has leeched the life from the walls as surely as the open vacuum of space. Her paladins walk the corridors like ghosts, what few jokes the Blue Paladin attempts to raise spirits die before a single laugh can be heard. Coran is the only one who seems unaffected. Flitting here and there to attend to his normal duties, stopping only to make sure she eats and sleeps. She’s beginning to suspect that his happy face might be less related to his true feelings and more to do with assuring herself and the other younger residents of the Castle that things will be okay. She wishes she could believe that.

A bright red ping alerts her that Pidge’s program has found another signal. They had taken far too long to pick up on Kuro’s last message, and by the time they arrived at the originating station, the trail had been cold.

She doesn’t want to open the message at all. The images from the last are still haunting her dreams, but she needs too. She needs to ascertain their content on her own. She must be strong. She cannot hand this duty off to others. The last time the Black Paladin had rewatched what they’d been sent so many times it should count as a form of self-torture. Seeing a friend destroy themselves was nearly as bad as what Kuro was doing.

“Are you going to open it?” A familiar voice says from behind her. Allura startles, she had not realized Shiro was on the bridge.

She closes down the program, and turns to face him, “You shouldn’t be here,” She says, she doesn’t mean this room, but watching over her shoulder. Looking to see more of what they all agreed he shouldn’t.

Shiro doesn’t need clarification, “I need to know,” He says softly, almost pleading with her.

“It won’t do any good,” She tries to reason with him. Only one person needs to make sure there isn’t any clues on the tape. There is no need to share the pain.

“Allura, please, I can’t not know.” Shiro begs, the look in his eyes break her heart, and she knows, she’s already lost. She can’t deny someone the knowledge of the fate of their loved ones.

“Once, you can watch them once, with me. No more, not again.” She will delete them off the computer, before she allows what happened last time to repeat itself.

“Okay,” Shiro agrees.

“He’s lying!” The things Kuro said about Shiro’s feelings for Keith, they weren’t true. He loved him, he’d always loved him, “It’s not true. None of what he’s saying is true,” He turns to Allura, tries to make her understand, he’s not like that, not to Keith, but he can see the doubt in her eyes. She doesn’t believe him. Who could, after seeing something like that?

“So the words about your first time, were false? He doesn’t have your memories?” She asks slowly.

“No, that really happened,” It had been one of his treasured memories, “But the other things, that is not how I feel. He’s lying to Keith,” He emphasizes.

“I see,” She says simply. She thinks he’s lying.

Lance wants to look away from the screen. He’s never seen Keith cry over something emotional before. He didn’t think the guy could cry over something someone said to him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that this was the kind of thing it took to break the guy, but Pidge was counting on him. She needed to know what was happening to a member of their found family, but after that bath, she couldn’t bare to watch it herself.

He can understand. He fully admits that when she’d slammed the computer shut before Keith had even lost his underwear, he’d thought that video was going in a much worse direction too. If Pidge needs to know but can’t stand to see what happens herself, he could do that for her. At least it let him help someone on this ship.

Pidge’s vision blurs a bit at the corners. She blinks the tears away furiously. She’s not going to cry. She’s not a little kid. She’s not helpless. She found the location of the latest electronic package, and now she’s going to finish the wiring on her and Hunk’s decloaking device, because she does something about her problems.

She’s not scared they are going to lose Keith, because they aren’t going to lose Keith. They’re going to fly to the station she found. They’re going to deploy this machine. Then they’re going to spot Kuro’s vessel, when his cloak fails, and rescue Keith. Everything will be fine, because it’s going to happen that way. It has to happen that way. She has to believe that.

Hunk’s not even sure what he’s making anymore. He’s not sure if it will be edible or even taste good, but it keeps his hands busy and his mind some semblance of occupied. He needs that right now. He’s already done everything he can to help. He helped design and build that machine with Pidge, but his part is done. Now all he’d be able to do is hover over her shoulder and worry. He can’t do that. He’d drive himself insane, thinking about things in a never ending loop.

So he bakes food he never plans to eat, and tries to tune out Lance’s quiet reports on the videos to Pidge. He’s grateful they are working at the kitchen table. He wants to be alone right now even less than he want to stop doing something, but he doesn’t want to hear whats happening to Keith. He’s probably the only person in the castle who hasn’t watched and obsessed over ever single second they’ve received, but he won’t do that to himself. He knows that they contain nothing good, and that his friend isn’t going to be okay when he sees him next. That’s all he needs to know.

Part Ten

Kitten looks positively adorable curled up under the rag of a blanket Kuro had given him. Still sniffling occasionally and trying to hide his face between his shoulder and the floor. Attempting to mask how he is hurt even though Kuro had cracked open all his gooey emotional insides for the whole world to see. If he’d known he’d get this sort of reaction, he’d have had that conversation so much sooner. He can’t believe he hadn’t realized how fragile Kitten was when you pressed in the right spot.

Despite his original plans for the day, now that the sweet thing has cried himself out, Kuro isn’t quite sure he is really ready to let him rest. How often would he get a chance to play with him when he was so vulnerable? Let him sleep and he’d awake with his guard back up, ready to snap his teeth and defend his hurts from Kuro’s prying fingers, but right now, he is as emotionally weak as a new born kitten. Heh. Given the barest motivation he’d do anything he was told to.

When Kuro sets the bowl down beside him, Kitten’s one visible eye quavers and shuts. Ahhh, he’s playing coy. Like Kuro would let him off that easy. He drags him up by his fluffy hair.

Kitten makes a little mouse squeak of pain, then shivers as the blanket falls off his shoulders and exposes his skin to the cold air. Kuro had turned the temperature down to stop Kitten from sweating so much. Bathing hadn’t exactly been a chore, there had been some quite fun aspects to it, but clean up afterward had been annoying. He’d like to drag the time out between baths if he could. Besides, Kitten’s chilled skin reacted so beautifully to pain.

Kuro cuts the ropes holding his arms behind his back, then holds the small bowl up to his face. It is filled with what is probably the worst slop outside of a Galra cell, but Kitten hasn’t had anything to eat since he stole him. The nasty stuff, as disgusting as it is, would fill his stomach, “Pose for me?” He asks. Tying him into position held appeal, but there was something about making Kitten cooperate with his photo shoots.

Kitten’s arms hug his bare torso, looking away from the bowl as his stomach growls, “I’m not hungry.” Oh that wouldn’t do, starving kittens weren’t nearly as perky and playful as well fed ones. On the other hand, he could just force food down his throat later. If Kitten really didn’t want the carrot…

Kuro activates his arm and holds his fingertips just a centimeter away from the soft delicate skin under Kitten’s chin, “Pose for me?” He asks again.

Kitten makes such a pretty model. Dead hopeless eyes, from where he checked out as soon as Kuro told him to unbutton his pants. Bruised imprints of Kuro’s hands just barely legible between the other marks on his skin. Perfect obedience to how Kuro tells him to pose. He’d been right in his musings earlier, unzipping his pants and pulling them down just right made an appealing framing for his groin. Even better when he sucked on a few of his slender fingers.

Something was missing though. The pictures were all nice, had all the right elements, but they lacked a certain message that would push them over the edge…Oh, he knows exactly what will make this better.

Kuro leaves and returns a second later with the tiny tool he’d used to engrave Kitten’s collar. The poor thing is so out of it, he doesn’t even react until there is the first sizzle of burning flesh.

Kuro is forced to draw rather large to preserve quality, and occasionally he has stop to subdue Kitten again so he doesn’t make him slip and ruin the whole thing, but when he’s done, the kanji for ‘Takashi’ is etched clearly into his chest in bright red marks right above his heart. There, now his weaker self could have no doubts about who these photos were made for.

Kitten’s reaction is also pleasing. As soon as Kuro gets off him, Kitten curls his hands protectively over his new brand. He peaks under them hesitantly and then gasps. Kitten doesn’t speak the language himself, but Kuro remembers how the younger man had begged Shiro to teach him to write his name. He knows exactly what this symbolizes. Tears well up in his eyes once more.

Kuro restarts the photo shoot.

Part Eleven

Kitten’s resting now. Still passed out from their last play session. Kuro had finally gotten tired of him starving himself by refusing to do tricks for food and just given him a bowl with no requests attached. His reaction to the drugs he laced it with were better than he’d hoped.

Kitten had screamed. Seeing phantoms of his mind’s design. Calling out names and pleading with them not to leave him. At one point, he’d even seemed to be begging Zarkon of all people not to do something. What, Kuro couldn’t quite tell from Kitten’s blubbering half of the conversation, but it had him terrified. Then he’d started to see the bugs. First crab-crawling away from the invisible hordes on the walls, then scratching his own arms bloody to try and get them off. Kuro had been forced to intervene at that point and tie him down. Some self injury is amusing, but he’d hate for Kitten to claw out anything Kuro would miss. Eventually Kitten had been unable to keep up the fight and was reduced to a panting quivering mess on the floor, then even that had become too much and he’d slipped into fitful unconsciousness.

Kuro had used the intervening time to get some rest and send off another packet to his weaker self. Oh he could just imagine the look on his face when Shiro saw how Kuro had broken his little kitten and made him cry. Would he blame himself for leaving Kitten with such obvious weak points? He hoped he did. Nothing made Kuro happier than thinking about about Shiro brooding and hating himself for being unable to stop him. Admitting Kuro was superior through his own weakness.

He hoped that soon he’d stop having to imagine Shiro’s pain and actually be able to see it for himself. If he can find an electronics shop of some sort, he should be able to ‘convince’ the owner into helping him set up an untraceable communicator to contact the Castle with. If he keeps just at the edge of communication’s range with his cloak up, he could have as long of a conversation as he wants without fear of capture.

But first he’d need to get some more footage to share.

Kitten is going to be wonderfully disoriented when he wakes up from his nap. That puts him in the perfect frame of mind for some of the toys Kuro has yet to have a chance to use. Carefully, gently, so as not to wake him, Kuro slips on the blindfold and earplugs over the sleeping kitten’s face and locks them in place. He has no idea what material they were made of, beyond being alien in origin, but the salesman had guaranteed and Kuro had tested out himself that someone wearing them would be unable to see a single prick of light while staring at the sun or hear a spacecraft landing directly beside them. Kitten would be both blind and deaf while wearing them.

Kuro carefully arranges the camera for the perfect recording and checks the bindings on the sleeping things arms to make sure none of Kitten’s earlier struggling had loosened them, then he slaps him. Kitten jerks awake, panics, and slams his head into the wall in an attempt to scrabble upright. Kuro laughs hard, and hits him again. Kitten chokes and curls into where Kuro’s fist buries itself in his stomach. He takes a step back and watches as the thing gasps and tries to press into the wall to hide from the blows he can’t see. Huh, he almost looks halfway defended. Back to the wall legs pulled up to protect his stomach. That just wouldn’t do.

Grabbing him by the back of his neck, Kuro hauls him into the middle of the room and drops him on his knees. There, now he’s exposed on all sides, and still at a complete loss for what’s going on. He circles him, like the predator he is. Watching Kitten’s head twitching about desperately trying to pick up some clue on where Kuro is. Every light crack to his skin from Kuro’s fist or boots making him cry out and fold. Unable to see or prepare himself for what’s coming.

Kuro doesn’t play long before he grows bored. The kitten is scared, flinching at every errant wind current, as if it might herald a blow, but he’s not in any real pain. He bounces back from every hit, showing signs of forgetting the last as soon as the next arrives. New minor injuries blurring into the background of the old. He finds it unsatisfying to have his efforts be so temporary.

Truly Kuro is at fault for this, he’s been awfully gentle with the kitten since taking him away from his home. Trying so hard to make the smaller man last, that’s he’s hardly done more than bruise him. A little bit of rougher play is clearly in order. He thinks, he’ll start with his toes.

Kitten’s chin collides with the floor, as Kuro lays him out on his belly. Straddling his thighs to hold him still while facing his feet. He slowly traces up the back of the kitten’s calf with cold metal fingers. Enjoying the tiny sounds of fear and confusion that Kitten can’t quite swallow. The moment he selects a toe, Kitten seems to catch onto his plan and begins to try and wiggle out of his grasp for real. Slow build up pressure, bending the thing back further than its meant to go, tiny whines of pain like music in the air. He bends it further and further until-

The ship alarm blares, startling him into dropping the foot. Damn, they’d gotten here quicker than he’d expected. He leaves Kitten whimpering on the floor and heads to the pilot seat.

He arrives just in time, to see what he thinks is the Green lion put out what looks like an expanding bubble. He’s barely has time to throw the shuttle in reverse, before a curtain of energy washes through the cabin. Something sparks and explodes off to his right. His cloak is gone.

Kuro is exposed. Out in the open, circling a planet friendly to Voltron. He can’t outrun them, not in this tiny shuttle, and without the advantage of the cloak he can’t sneak past them either. They’ve already spotted him, he can see the Green lion turning to face him.

He executes the only option he has left. Dropping into atmosphere and streaking towards the planet surface. He’s smaller than the lions, if he can find a cave or densely forested area to hide in before they catch up, he can buy himself time to come up with another plan.

He can’t be picky. The closer the Green lion gets the better able her pilot will be to see exactly where he goes. The first clump of trees big enough to cover his profile from the air, he slides under and cuts the power. He knows somewhere on the Castle they have the ability to sense energy output. Leaving the ship on, will only make him easier to find.

Finally, he can breathe and access his situation. He can just barely see the Green lion hovering above him through the foliage. She’s searching for him. He won’t be able to fly out of here, and it is only a matter of time until he’s found. He’s surrounded by heavily wooded bordering on jungle like forest. If he leaves on foot, he’ll reach a city where a new ride can be acquired in about a half a days walk, but dragging Kitten through this terrain would leave a trail so obvious he would certainly be caught. Such a shame, he’d been having so much fun.

He briefly considers snapping the kitten’s neck and leaving his pretty corpse for the paladins to find, but he’s not foolish enough to believe that the rage such a move would inspire wouldn’t prevent him from ever leaving the planet alive. He’s much better off leaving Kitten as a distraction. After all, the most important thing they want is to take back what he stole. Give them back the kitten and they’ll be too busy trying to access the damage to search for Kuro seriously.

He guesses it’s time to say goodbye then. Kuro sets a nice slide show going for whoever finds the ship, grabs his trophy camera to take with him, and leans down to where Kitten has shakily pushed himself into a sitting position. One last picture for the road.

Kuro kisses him. Disappointingly, Kitten is a cold fish. He whines, but he doesn’t even try to bite when Kuro’s tongue invades his mouth. Staying still and simply letting him take what he wants. This is simply not how he desires their last moments together to go. Reaching down, he lets himself grope until he finds the thing that makes Kitten’s breath hitch, then squeezes until he cries out and tries to get away from his touch. There we go. He knew the kitten was just playing dead with him.

One last upload for the kitten’s owner, and Kuro steps out onto the planet proper. He’ll miss this time they spent together, but he can’t let himself be too sad. He’ll be back after all.

Part Twelve

Pidge has found Kuro’s shuttle and cornered it on the planet. He gives her strict instructions not to engage until he and the others arrive. He won’t repeat the mistakes of last time.

When they land, its four cats surrounding one tiny mouse. Kuro doesn’t respond to his hails for surrender and turning over Keith. He didn’t expect him to accept the terms, but he expected the monster to at least answer their hails so he could taunt them more. The silence worries him. What if-No, he can’t let his mind wander down those lanes, not right now.

He leaves Hunk inside his lion, ready to snatch the shuttle out of the air if Kuro tries to take off, as he and Pidge approach the entrance to the ship. Lance is further back covering them. He has strict orders to take the first kill shot he gets with Kuro. They are here to rescue Keith alive, and the best way to do that is to make sure Kuro dies as soon as possible.

The door panel still responds to his authorization codes, seems Kuro didn’t know how to change them either or just rightly surmised if they got this close the minor security provided didn’t matter anymore. Shiro opens the door and immediately hear the cries for someone to stop.

He moves in on instinct. He’ll kill him. He spots Keith kneeling with his back to him in the middle of the room. Long bloody streaks leading down to his bound wrists and broken fingers. He’s alone, Kuro’s not in this room. Shiro crosses the space to get between Keith and the only area Kuro could be hiding. He won’t let him be taken hostage again.

Pidge has caught up. Shiro leaves guarding Keith to her, and sweeps the rest of the ship. Kuro’s not here, but he can hear his laughter and Keith’s voice getting higher and higher pitched in terror. Doubling back to the room with Keith, he sees the screen. He’d dismissed it as not a threat on first pass, but now he can see that Kuro left them one last recording of his sick games.

Keith’s screaming on the video. Pupils blown wide, staring at his forearms in horror. Then he starts to scratch, nails tearing at his own flesh-“Pidge! Turn it off Now!” He bellows. Keith, he needs, he needs to make sure he’s okay.

The current Keith is still kneeling exactly where he was when they first came in. He’s shaking like a leaf, but hasn’t responded to any of the noises they’ve made crashing through the room. There is something cupping over his ears and what looks like a blindfold over his eyes. “Keith?” Shiro tries, but Keith doesn’t behave as if he can hear him. The things on him must be to cut off his sense of hearing then. Shiro needs to get them off. Let him know he doesn’t need to be scared anymore. Shiro’s finally here to rescue him.

The sound of the video cuts off, as Shiro takes Keith’s head gently in his hands. The younger man flinches back, “Don’t,” Keith whimpers. He thinks he’s Kuro, and Shiro isn’t certain if he wants to cry or scream at that thought. He holds him still, soft but firm enough that he can get a good look at the clasps. No locks, he doesn’t have to hunt down a key or figure out how to physically cut them off without injuring Keith further.

The blindfold unsnaps with a pop, revealing that Keith’s eyes are squeezed shut underneath. The smaller man makes a distressed noise, like he thinks he’s about to be hurt further. Shiro pets his hair, shushes him, even though he knows he can’t hear. He won’t let anyone hurt him again. The ear muffs follow the blindfolds to the floor, and finally he can hear.

“Keith?” Shiro whispers, praying that he hasn’t gone somewhere he can’t reach him.

Keith’s whole body stills, pauses before one eye peeks open to look up at him from where he’s cringing against Shiro’s hands, “Shiro?” Keith whispers back, eggshell weak hope in his voice.

“It’s me, baby,” Shiro says softly, heart fluttering as both Keith’s eyes open to stare at him. Fear draining from his expression, “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now.”

Part Thirteen

“No!” Keith shouts, pulling out of Lance’s and his supporting hands. He stumbles backwards and nearly crashes to the ground before Shiro can catch him, “You can’t make me go in there!” Keith yells, struggling to get further away from the healing pod. Shiro has to let him go before he almost falls again.

“Keith, you’re hurt,” Shiro says, going for calm. He raises his hands, palms out, to show the younger man he can stop backing away. No one’s going to force him to do something he doesn’t want to do, not while Shiro is here, “You need to heal. Just for a bit, at least the bones.” He can’t take away the time his lover had been held captive anymore than he can take away the memories of his own, but he can at least make the physical pains disappear. That’s something. The best start for emotionally healing he can give him.

“No,” Keith shakes his head harshly. Despite Shiro’s attempts to look non-threatening, he continues his retreat, right up until he bumps into Hunk. The bigger paladin isn’t do anything, just standing there, but Keith whirls on him, breaths coming fast, muscles tensed for flight. He reminds Shiro of a scared animal. So keyed up on fear, he can no longer tell what’s is and isn’t a danger to him anymore.

“Keith,” Shiro says softly, calling the younger man’s attention back to himself. He needs to calm him down before he hurts himself or somebody else in his panic, “It’s alright, baby. You’re okay.” Words under normal circumstances, Keith would be repeating to him. What sick irony of the universe that he now had to use them on his lover. Keith was never supposed to know pain like this.

Keith pretty purple eyes focus in on his own, “Don’t make me,” He whispers, begs, eyes watery with the first signs of upcoming tears. Shiro would cut off his left arm, if it would stop that look from ever crossing his face again.

“I won’t,” He promises, for anything short of Keith’s life he won’t do anything to him he doesn’t want, “Just come here, we’ll get you some comfy clothes and lots of blankets, and you can just rest for the rest of the night.” He’d try to convince him to go into the healing pod again tomorrow morning, when Keith was a little less raw from his captivity. One extra day wouldn’t make too large of a difference in his recovery.

“Promise?” Keith asks in an unsure tone he should never have towards Shiro offering comfort.

“I promise”

There is an unspoken statement that unless, you’re giving direct aid you should stay behind, so he’s a little surprised when Pidge manages to beat out Lance in helping Shiro help Keith walk out of the med lab. She practically teleports across the room, when it is time to go.

Keith can walk on his own, but he limps like every step is painful. He doesn’t know which of Kuro’s tortures caused that, which makes him wonder if there are even more videos they have yet to see. Shiro would just carry him, but he can’t tell how Keith would react. Every sudden movement seems to send his fear ratcheting back up.

Their little procession arrives at his and Keith’s shared quarters. The benefits of surrounding him with a familiar setting outweighs the potential problems of sharing space with someone who looks so much like Kuro. Shiro will just gets a mat from Coran later and sleep on the floor, until Keith is comfortable sharing a bed with him again.

When they ease him onto the mattress, Keith lets out a soft groan of relief. Shiro fetches him some worn sweatpants and an over sized shirt for him to sleep in, “Do you need help?” He asks.

Keith takes the clothing from him, but doesn’t meet his eyes, “I can do it,” He says quietly. Shiro turns his back and busies himself finding every spare blanket and pillow they have. He tries to ignore the tiny sounds of pain Keith can’t quite seem to stop himself from making.

Later, when his lover is buried deep and safe under all the blanket they own, Shiro presses a light kiss goodnight to his forehead and turns to the only other person in the room, “Pidge, could you stay here?” He doesn’t want Keith to be alone right now, even if he is supposed be sleeping, “I’m going to check in on the others.” As much as he might want to, he couldn’t keep ignoring the rest of his team. Everyone was traumatized by the last couple days, and he’d been failing to look after them while stewing in his own misery.

She nods her head, pulling up a chair and her tablet to do some reading. With one last regretful look, he leaves.

Part Fourteen

Lance can’t sleep. It’s been an hour since his last semi-successful attempt, and he thinks he’s not going to be able to get back to that comforting rest again. He just can’t stop thinking about the rescue, or more precisely what happened afterward.

Saving Keith was supposed to be the end of all this. Kick Kuro’s ass, save the Red-Paladin-In-Distress, pop him in a healing pod to fix the damage, and then maybe a bit later do some minor boasting about saving his rival’s butt for once. Sure he hadn’t been expecting Keith to be up and ready to banter as soon as they got him off the shuttle. He’d seen the videos. He knew the guy would need sometime to rest, but he hadn’t…god dammit, he hadn’t expected Keith to keep looking so openly fragile after they rescued him. He’d looked so terrified of them, like they were trying to put him in a vat of spiders instead of a healing pod. Keith was supposed to do the dumb brave face hero thing, maybe at worse be unconscious when they got to him, not watery eyed and staring at Lance like he was somehow the bad guy for trying to help him.

He thinks he was justified in calling it an early night after that. Shiro had asked him if he wanted to talk, but their leader’s smile had looked like a feather could crack it. How are you supposed to talk about how you’re a little freaked out by a torture victim’s behavior, when a guy looks like he’s one step away from having a breakdown over his boyfriend’s condition. He wasn’t that self-centered.

Of course, what good did going to bed early do, if you can’t actually sleep? Ughh, Lance sits up in bed and scrubs at his eyes. This isn’t working. He needs to try something else.

Hunk’s room, that’s what he needs. Hunk was always a great pal, letting Lance crash with him whenever he was feeling lonely or homesick, and unless Lance volunteered the problem, he wouldn’t ask. He can just pass the need off as more missing his family back on earth.

Mind made up, Lance slips on his Blue Lion slippers and heads out into the hall. Blanket and pillow in tow.

Thankfully, no one is up to see his trek. All tucked away in their own rooms resting, like he should be. At least he thinks that, until he knocks on the Yellow Paladin’s door and Pidge of all people answers. Lance counts doors to the end of the hall. No, three doors down, this is most definitely supposed to be Hunk’s room.

“You can’t sleep either?” She asks, rubbing her glasses-less eyes blearily. She doesn’t wait for him to answer, “Come on in then, you can join the sleep over.” Sure enough, looking past the tiny paladin reveals an extra mattress on the floor covered in a mess of pillows and a half awake Hunk. Hunk waves him in. Huh, maybe he isn’t the only one that could use a little company right now.

Lance enters the room.

Part Fifteen

It’s dark, so dark. He can’t move. Can barely breathe. Choking on his own hot damp breath, reflecting back on him in the minuscule space. Kuro’s above him, enjoying himself. He can hear the recording he’s watching. His own voice crying out in pain. There are other sounds. Sounds that make the acid in his empty pit of a stomach roil with the desire to be sick. He tries to block them out, pretend they aren’t there.

The box is too small to add anything more without suffocating. Unforgiving metal pressing against aching flesh. He shifts. Tries to garner some relief from the ever present pain, but he can’t. No, no, no. The walls are drawing closer together. The area growing smaller. He’s being crushed in slow motion. He can’t draw the breath to scream. His chest has become too compressed. He’s dying, and he can’t call for help…

…the wall is a foot away? A dream. Fuck he’s cold. Really really cold, even under the blankets. Hadn’t Shiro promised to turn the temperature in the room up? He’s still sick to his stomach from the nightmare. Really really sick. Bathroom, now.

He feels as graceful as a beached whale escaping the confines of the bed to tromp across the room. Blanket drawn close around his shoulders, ineffectually shielding his goosebump covered skin from the freezing air. Shiro startles awake from his place on the floor as he passes. Good, as soon as he’s done, the man can answer what kind of sick joke he’s playing turning the temperature down instead of up.

He reaches the toilet just in time. All of Hunk’s carefully crafted dinner coming back up in hard heaves. Keith can feel the pin pricks of tears in the corner of his eyes by the time he can finally flush. He feels better, like he could fall back asleep if he just laid out on the floor.

Maybe he should, the bed is so far away, and he aches terribly. His whole body hurts twice as bad as when he went to sleep.

“Keith?” The familiar voice startles him, he nearly topples over before catching himself, “Here, rinse your mouth out.” Grey eyes, Shiro is kneeling beside him. Holding a glass of water. Keith takes it from him shakily. His hands are shivering and hard to hold steady. Rinse, spit, repeat, until the taste of sick is almost gone.

Shiro takes the glass from him when he’s done. Sets it on the countertop, and helps Keith to his feet. Shiro’s palm on his forehead is warm, so warm. He lets his eyelids fall close, as he presses against the hand. Tries to leech some of that heat for himself. “Baby, you’re burning up.” Shiro’s voice is soft, worried. Huh, is that why he’s cold? Keith reopens his eyes. Tries to focus enough to see the concerned crease between Shiro’s eyebrows, “We need to get you in a pod.”

Keith yanks himself out of Shiro’s steadying grip, “No,” He hisses, shaking his head, even though it makes his vision swim. Shiro promised, he wouldn’t make him. He promised. Keith stumbles further back. Shiro’s hands find their way to his shoulders. Supporting him. Keith shakes his head again, “I’m fine,” His voice sounds like a whimper to his own ears.

“You’re not,” Shiro insists, holding him tighter. Preventing him from escaping. Shiro’s tired of waiting. It’s been two day since his rescue. Shiro doesn’t want to babysit Keith anymore, while he recovers naturally. Shiro’s lips are still moving, but Keith is remembering Kuro’s word. He’s a burden, a responsibility that has to be shouldered. He’s tying Shiro down, forcing him to be where he doesn’t want to be. “Keith!” Shiro’s fingers, the cold metal ones, are angling his face. Forcing him to look up into his eyes, “Sweetheart, listen to me. There is no telling what you have. We don’t know how it could progress. You need a pod. Please, let me help you.” Will that make him less trouble? Will Shiro stay if he says yes? Does as he’s told?

“Okay,” He whispers. He’ll be good. If that’s what it takes. Shiro sweeps him off his feet. One arm behind his back, one under his knees, in a bridal carry. Cradling Keith close to his warm chest. This is where he wants to be. This is safe. This is worth the box. Just don’t leave…

Consciousness leaves him before they reach the medbay.

Part Sixteen

The Black Paladin is still standing vigil over the Red’s cryo pod. The relief she feels at the situation that is so obviously causing her friend pain sits laden with guilt, low and ugly, in her gut. Rationally, this is a good thing. The Red Paladin’s refusal to be healed had been inviting medical complications and artificially prolonging the time that the Red Lion was out of commission. Placing them all in danger, including himself. Growing ill enough that he agreed to be treated was far better for his health in the long run. The fear he felt towards the thing that would make him better had needed to be routed, even if less dire circumstances would have been preferable.

Still those justifications don’t shake the feeling she should have tried harder to prevent this. While the most efficient, the cryo pods were not the only medical devices on the ship. There was equipment designed to heal without putting the patient in stasis. She had vague memories of them from her childhood. She knew they existed. Where the ones strong enough to knit bones where and how to operate them, she didn’t know, but she could have asked Coran. She should have asked Coran. Of course, they would have taken longer, and there was no telling if Keith’s strange aversion to the cryo pods would have stretched to other methods of healing. She could have even possibly made things worse by using the unfamiliar technology.

No, she's making excuses. She’d chosen not to investigate other options. She’d decided expediency and certainty was more important than comfort. The only reason she's doubting now is because she can no longer change anything. Fear of future potential consequences. She’d done what she thought was best, and she owns up to that…Had it been the right choice?

She misses her father. He would have known if she’d done the right thing. He’d led their people and made a multitude of hard calls. If he couldn’t tell her whether it would turn out good or ill, he could have at least given her advice on how to cope while waiting to see how things went. How to make amends if they came out poorly.

Maybe she should go down there? Provide company, until the Red Paladin emerges healthy once more? No, her own nervous energy won't help the situation. She should distract herself. She’s already looked over the recent data they’d received from the Blade of Mamora, but a second look can’t hurt and would give her something to do.

She minimizes the view of the medbay and pulls up the files.

Part Seventeen

Keith is too still. Floating so quiet in the healing pod. He’s not the peaceful stillness of well deserved sleep, but the nasty kind that comes from sudden blows to the head or collapsing where you stand, when either pain or exhaustion becomes too much. The sight of his lover like this is sickening. Too close to the dead for comfort, but he can’t look away. Every time he tries to distract himself, talking to the others or simply reading on his tablet, he finds his eyes inevitably drawn back to the pod. Has Keith’s pallor improved slightly since he last looked? Is that barely comprehensible readout change a good sign? Watched pots never boil. Continued monitoring just makes the recovery seem longer, but he still finds himself staring without pause.

He must have done something truly awful in a previous life, because despite how long he waits, he’s still not there when Keith gets out. A bathroom break, that’s what screws him over. He even made sure that Lance was there to watch the pod while he was away, just for a few minutes, then he’d be back. That’s all the time Keith takes to disappear. When he returns, Lance is standing shocked, alone in the room, and Keith is gone.

Lance can’t tell him where he went. Why he went. According to him Keith cursed him out as soon as he was steady on his feet and left. He couldn’t have gone far, not that much time had passed. Ha. If Shiro was ever that lucky, surely it would be a sign of the end times.

Keith isn’t in the halls outside the medbay. Neither their quarters or the Red Paladin’s solo quarters are occupied. He isn’t in any of the training rooms. The kitchen is empty, and he only finds Hunk and Pidge in the common room. They haven’t seen Keith either.

What if someone took him? Snuck aboard and grabbed him while he was alone. The last time, his first hint that Kuro was on the ship was Keith’s scream. No warnings, no Galra ships in the area, one moment everything is fine the next he’s running to the sound of distress only to find his own face staring back at him. They never found out how Kuro got in. He could be back, and Shiro would never know until he was too late to save Keith once more.

That’s it. He’s just going to page the whole damn Castle, until either Keith responds or someone finds him. The nearest computer should be in a room just up ahead-Oh, that’s where he is.

In one of the many rooms that lay abandoned due to the low occupancy of the Castle, the younger man is sitting head to knees curled up in the corner. He flinches when Shiro enters.

Shiro stops in the door, “Keith,” He calls softly, tries not to pose a threat, “Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, but he can’t think of a better way to start.

He can see Keith taking a steadying breath, before he sits up straight to meet Shiro’s eyes, “I’m fine,” He’s always been a terrible liar. His eyes may not be red rimmed, but his distress is still easy to read, as is the way his emotional walls are trying to go back up.

“Can I come in?” Soft question, not an accusation. Not yelling at him not to run off like that, when Shiro is so afraid of what could happen out of his sight.

Keith glances away to stare at a spot on the floor, “Sure, it’s a free Castle,” Not really an invitation, but he can’t help if he’s not here. Shiro edges into the room slowly, watches Keith for any signs that he wants him gone, before sitting down a little ways away from him. Mirroring his position on the wall. Keith looks at him a second before looking away again, “I’m sorry. I needed some space. Had things to think about.” He says hugging his knees.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Not to him, not right now, “I was just a little worried, when I came back and found you gone,” He shouldn’t guilt. He should be purely understanding, but Keith had been gone, “If you want to be alone again. You can just ask. We’ll clear out.” The younger man won’t. He never does. He always runs when he’s upset, for as long as Shiro’s known him. From the Garrison roof, to a shack out in the desert, to an abandoned room. It’s what Keith does.

“Sorry,” Keith says again. Shiro frowns, “I’ll remember that.” They lapse into silence. Keith’s withdraws deep inside his head. No signs of what he’s thinking about, though Shiro can guess. He doesn’t dare interrupt him. Forcing him to open up before he’s ready will only hurt him further. After a while, Keith sighs and stands, “I guess I should apologize to Lance for yelling at him.” Really? That’s good, that he’s thinking of others, but it just seems an odd first action.

“He’ll appreciate it, but you don’t have to. Lance understands you’re under a lot of stress.” The Blue Paladin had been more concerned that he let Keith go on his own, than the fact he’d been cursed at. He couldn’t be more proud of how Lance was handling the whole situation. He’d risen to the occasion admirably.

“I’m going to. It’s part of being a team player right? Apologizing when you’ve done wrong.” The smile Keith gives him is brittle. Shiro meets it with an encouraging one of his own. Something is wrong here. Something is very very wrong. Reaching out to the other is good, but he feels like there are words Keith’s not saying. Important ones that could pin down why he feels like instead of progress they just fell down two flights of stairs.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.” He offers. He can’t read his lover's mind to find out what’s gone awry. All he can do is be here when it all comes crashing down.

Part Eighteen

The sound of gagging and vomiting is clear through the locked bathroom door. Hunk had made something for dinner that visually most closely resembled brown gruel. The food tasted fantastic once they dug in, but Keith, he’d gone pale at the sight of the bowl. The younger man had insisted he was fine and began to eat before Shiro could try to grab something else for him. He’d been doing that ever since the healing pod. Refusing to say when something was obviously wrong. Insisting he was okay.

Lance had even pulled him aside earlier to tell him how unnerved he was at Keith quietly watching some bootleg cheesy movies with him. He’d said he was enjoying himself when asked, but the thing was, the Blue Paladin had acquired those particular flicks specifically because the Red Paladin had said he despised them in the past.

Gentle prodding on the subject only ended with Keith apologizing for worrying him, then going silent before leaving. Most likely to train some more. When he isn’t following one of them around like a ghost, he’s on the training deck. He’s scaring Shiro, and he doesn’t know how to fix this.

Which brings him back to now. Keith hadn’t been fine at dinner. He’d made it five minutes before excusing himself. No one had batted an eye, when Shiro had dumped his own food and followed him out. Keith had beelined for the restroom and locked himself inside.

The sound of wretching stops. Keith must be done. He almost knocks. Almost asks to be let in. To make sure the younger man is at least physically okay, if nothing else, but then he hears the muffled sob. Shiro’s fist clenches. He presses his forehead against the door and squeezes his eyes shut. He listens, because there is nothing else he can do. Keith hasn’t cried in front of him since being rescued. He knows that’s not a coincidence. There was a time when his arms were one of the few places Keith felt safe enough to let go, but now, he’s hiding from him and pretending he’s not. Does he look at him and see Kuro? Is that why he doesn’t feel safe with Shiro anymore? Would he tell him if he did?

He listens as the bitten off sobs become choked wails. He can tell the exact second that Keith must clasp a hand over his mouth to try and keep quiet. Shiro nearly makes his presence known then. He nearly knocks many times, but that’s the point he comes closest. The love of his life is breaking down a few feet away. He physically aches to hold him close and rock him until he’s better. Offer some comfort, that might mitigate the pain, but Keith doesn’t want him there. Keith doesn’t even want him to know. If he did he wouldn’t have made excuses to avoid his presence, would have done this when they were together in their room, instead of alone with a toilet.

Shiro shouldn’t even be eavesdropping. He’s violating the privacy of someone who has already lost too much. He knows better, but he can’t make himself leave. Not until he hears the sound of crying descend to sniffles, then the sound of the sink being turned on. Too wash away the evidence of tears, he suspects. That makes him leave. Keith wouldn’t appreciate finding Shiro standing outside the door. He can at least create the illusion he didn’t overhear what wasn’t meant for him.

Allura catches him in his hasty retreat back to the kitchen. Her pretty features twisted in obvious concern, “Was he alright?” She asks, no elaboration necessary. They are only ever talking about one person in the last week.

“The food didn’t seem to agree with him,” She doesn’t need to know the rest.

“Good, I was worried, when he was so pale that it was a memory,” Alteans didn’t use the word flashback in normal conversations. Some rule of etiquette, that required they used thinly veiled euphemisms. There were days he appreciated the obfuscation.

“Why?” He didn’t remember anything on the tapes that resembled the situation they’d been in. Not that that always matter. Training bots didn’t look like Galra soldiers either.

Allura pursed her lips, she’d alluded to something she hadn’t meant to, “The loss of color was all, that made me wonder.”

“Allura.” Shiro says, fixing her with a stern look. It’s all he needs to say. Guilty secrets on good people always cave under pressure.

She holds out longer than most, but eventually she looks away first, “The food resembled something that Kuro fed him. The results were not pleasant.”

What was she talking about? Kuro hadn’t given Keith anything to eat on tape. He’d tried to bribe him several times to play along in his games for a meal, but Keith had denied him the sick enjoyment. Unless…there was footage Shiro hadn’t seen. Part of it had been playing, when he entered the ship, but with Keith finally back with him, he hadn’t sought it out. “Where’s the video?” She didn’t answer him, “Allura, where’s the video.” He demands, using the voice meant to drag unruly cadets into line, “I can’t help him, if I don’t know what’s going to trigger him.” If he’d known, he could have asked Hunk to make something else, before Keith had even gotten the chance to see the food.

Allura closes her eyes for a second before speaking, “They’re in the subfolder with the others. I will give you access,” That’s all he needs to hear, Shiro strides past her, heading towards the bridge. He’s downloading them all to his tablet this time. No more hiding important information from him, out of misplaced concern for his mental health.

“Shiro!” Allura calls after him. He turns to face her, “Don’t let yourself be sucked in this time. We can’t change the past, and the Red Paladin needs you here with us.” That’s who he’s doing this for. Shiro leaves.

Part Nineteen

He needs to try harder. The others can see the cracks, the places he can’t seem to glue back together, not yet. He can’t be like this. The patience of understanding is short, always short. If he hasn’t pulled himself together by the time their patience runs out, they’ll move on. They won’t be cruel. Good meaning people never are on purpose, but they’ll find another Red Paladin for the good of the universe. Red won’t want to go. He’ll have to make her, if he can’t fix himself.

Shiro used to be the one that would help. Give support when Keith was struggling. Used to he was the one person he knew wouldn’t go if being with him became hard, but he couldn’t ask him. Kuro, like the devil, hadn’t needed to lie, when the truth had hurt so much more. Now that he was looking, Shiro’s exhaustion with him was obvious. The healing pod was just the first. He was the one to come to him with the complaints from the others. How his attempts to behave like the team player they needed were failing. ‘Strange’ his heart had been too loud in his ears to hear much, but he remembers that.

Then there was the dinner. He’d lost his composure to food. Fucking food. Was it any surprise that even Shiro hadn’t want to deal with the aftereffects? He’d seen Shiro following him, out of the corner of his eyes, when he all but ran to the bathroom. Coming to tell him how silly he was being? Insulting to Hunk’s cooking? He never found out. He hadn’t wanted to face him. Hadn’t wanted to go out and see the disappointment, and somewhere all that fear and pain had pulled open the flood gates. He’d tried to be quite. Not to let himself be heard, but he knew he was unsuccessful. The doors weren’t that soundproof.

Some small part of him had wanted that. Held out hope, like when he was a child crying for his Dad’s hugs, that Shiro would hear and come comfort him. Hold him tight like he used to, and tell him that everything would be okay. When he got himself under control, the hall had been empty. There was no way Shiro hadn’t heard him. He’d known, and he’d chosen to leave. That tired, that done with dealing with Keith’s neediness.

“Keith!” Keith jerks. Pidge is staring up at him. He’s slipped, again. She’d been explaining her latest attempt to hack the Empire with an antenna and her laptop, and he’d spaced on her instead of paying attention, “Are you with me?” She asks.

“Yes,” And then on automatic, “I’m fine,” He can see her mouth twist in concern. She doesn’t believe him. That won’t do, he has to do better. Time is running out.

“Do you want to do something else?” She asks, “I know these explanations can be kind of boring.” They also don’t require him to fully be here. He can paper over his absences by letting her talk. That’s the best type of activity right.

“No, I found it interesting, continue.” He doesn’t try to smile. The looks on everyone’s faces when he does, tells him his smiles aren’t coming out right.

“Look, can I be honest?” No, please don’t, but she doesn’t wait for his answer, “I’m not dumb. I can see you aren’t having fun. Let’s play cards, or something we can both be into.”

“I should go,” No thoughts, he just needs to leave. He can’t keep things up if he’s expected to participate, not right now.

He hears Pidge call after him when he leaves, but she doesn’t chase him down.

The training deck is his first thought. Work himself so he can’t think, but he’s already gone for two hours today. Shiro had asked him to limit his time. He wouldn’t be much good to anyone if he injured himself to the point of needing a healing pod again…cold…small…No, Keith squeezes his eyes shut. Not in the middle of the hall, where anyone can see.

His room. No one will enter there unannounced, even Coran had learned humans required privacy in their quarters. Shiro is there when he arrives. He’s watching something on his tablet, jotting down notes as he does. He startles when Keith enters, shutting the thing off in a panic. His head is buzzing with white noise. If he tries to talk that will be obvious. “Shower,” Keith grits out, walks quickly past the bed to the attached bathroom. It’s not until he’s already closed and locked the door, that he realizes he didn’t grab any clean clothes. He’ll just put back on the dirty ones then. Not worth going back out at this moment or later naked.

The shower is good. Hot, nearly boiling, no cold that clings. He doesn’t scrub, spares himself washing his hair, just stands under the heat until he feels almost relaxed. He didn’t actually need one, so it doesn’t matter. He gets out, grabs a towel. Maybe he can find Pidge again and play that card game she’d wanted. Make her forget about earlier. He’s feeling better now. Even the scar on his chest, Kuro’s mocking reminder that even if Shiro no longer wants him he’s still his, barely gives him a moment’s pause. He’s thought about scratching it off. Taking his mother’s knife and removing the skin, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to hide the wound. Shiro would want to talk about it. Maybe use the name as a jumping off point to what they mean to each other anymore. Better not to mess with it.

Shiro hops off the bed as soon as he exits. He won’t sit on the thing when Keith’s here. One more way Keith is being a burden on his everyday life, “You don’t need to get up.” He’s said it before, but Shiro doesn’t listen.

“I was going to the bathroom. Why don’t you lie down? It’s been a long day.” Keith’s not tired, but he’s being asked for so little, he’d be petty to say no. Don’t turn down small things, people get angry when you do. He learned that early.

Keith nods, kicks off his shoes and flops down on the bed. He feels almost loved when Shiro pulls the covers around him and kisses his temple. Can someone do the small acts of caring by rote? Apparently Shiro can. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Shiro promises before leaving him alone.

He means to go ahead and try for sleep. Be good, don’t be trouble that has to be looked after, but Shiro’s tablet catches his eyes. He wasn’t in a state to wonder when he first came in, but now, he’s curious. What was Shiro worried he’d see? Are they in danger? Is Voltron needed and no one wants to tell him that thousands are dying because he’s not pulling his weight?

The device is password protected, but Shiro had shared the code as soon as he put it in. Keith wasn’t the prying eyes he was trying to keep out. A few taps to open, then…Keith stops breathing.

It’s him. He’s on the video, the one Kuro always threatened to show the universe. His shirt is missing, pants undone, the fucking collar is around his neck. It’s playing. Continued from the last stopping point. Shiro was watching this. Watching him. Posing at Kuro’s command like a cheap pinup. Why? Why does he have this? Why is he watching this? His vision is starting to blur, his chest is aching. There are words written in a notes section below. He can barely make out the words “The Box?” Highlighted and underlined, before the screen is gone. He’s staring at his empty hands. Unable to comprehend.

“Keith. Keith!” Hands on his face, forcing him to look up into grey eyes, “Breathe, Keith. I need you to breathe.” There are spots starting to show up in his vision, “Please babe, take a breath. Just one.” His chest hurts, his lungs hurt. He does as he’s told. It hurts even more. Air flooding his lungs, banishing the spots, but not the blur to his vision or the wetness on his cheeks, “That’s it, there you go, now breathe out. Follow me.”

“Why?” He chokes out instead. Shiro’s eyes go wide, “Why!” Keith screams. He slams his fist against Shiro’s chest.

Shiro wraps his arms around him, pulls him too close to continue his pathetic assault, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Shiro says into his hair, “You weren’t supposed to see those.”

He’s full on crying now, he can’t stop. He can still see the video in his mind. The sound had been off, but the words said still clear in his memory, “W-why do you have those?” He gets out between sobs.

Shiro’s rocking them both back and forth, in short little movements, “I’m sorry.” A hard kiss to his forehead, “I just-I just needed to know what happened. How to help. You weren’t supposed to see.” Help? How was watching his humiliation helping?

“Delete them.” He struggles, Shiro lets him go. He grabs Shiro’s shoulders and shakes him, “Delete them, right now.” He hisses. He wants them gone. No one else can see. There can’t be a record of what happened.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get rid of them.” Shiro reaches over, grabs the tablet. Keith’s shaking, tears refusing to stop as the little deletion bar winds up to completion.

“There all gone?” He needs to know. Needs to be certain.

“Yes,” Shiro says, his arms are encircling Keith again. Pulling him into a hug. He doesn’t fight it. Leans in, digs his fingers into his shirt. “I’m so sorry.” Shiro whispers again. Keith stops trying to hold it in.

Part Twenty

The quivering bloody mess on the floor is rather nasty. Its garbled plea for mercy through its shattered teeth pathetic in the not enjoyable way. Kuro frowns. He’s disappointed at how quickly his new toys have broken. He’d really had every intention of making these last, drawing out their time together. Both to savor the pain and to not arouse suspicion in the local authorities, but the things had been immensely unsatisfying. Like a bag of chips, there was no substance to their screams.

He missed Kitten. The pleasure he’d gotten from breaking one of Kitten’s delicate fingers was equal to what he gained from snapping both this creature’s knees. Things just weren’t fair. He should be happy. He’d taken all the best elements of his time with Kitten and dialed them up.

He’d chosen the most startling beautiful couple he’d seen. Pale, waifish, with sharp claws that hinted at gorgeous danger. Made them watch while he played with the other, let them beg for him to stop, and if they were very very good, even let them take the other’s place. Their personalities had been a perfect contrast, one who cried out at all pain like a song, and one that took an hour’s work to get a single glass shattering yell.

Why weren’t they enough? Why did he feel he was constantly chasing a high, only to have it slip through his fingers a moment after being obtained?

In the night, while they rested, he found himself ignoring the recordings of the day and going back to watch Kitten’s poor attempts to fight him off instead. He’d even recreated some of the scenes, but they were just not the same. The best he’d made was a tiny bit of roleplay, with ‘Kitten’ and ‘Shiro’. Unfortunately, ‘Kitten’ hadn’t survived the encounter. Turns out, their anatomy hadn’t meshed well with his own, and besides what was the point of these things, if all he was going to do is imagine he was with someone else?

Kuro sighed, this just wasn’t working out. He needed the emotional connection that came with knowing Kitten and tormenting his weaker self. Strangers, no matter how pretty, just couldn’t compare. He puts his enhanced hand around the remaining alien’s skull and starts to squeeze. He wanted to give a “It’s not you, it’s me,” speech, but this thing wouldn’t get the reference. One more way they failed to live up to proper playmates. The thing’s broken arm is flopping uselessly against the metal of his own, animal instinct trying to survive well past it’s time. He does enjoy the millisecond where its eyes register its doom before its skull cracks like an eggshell.

Blick. Kuro flings the disgusting gore off his hand. Its blood wasn’t even an appealing red. How had he ever thought they could replace Shiro and his kitten?

Well at least he’d learned something, and the time spent here had given him a chance to lay low while the paladins let down their guard, so this wasn’t a complete waste. With a shake of his head, Kuro begins to pack up. He’s been using an abandoned house for his games, but the couple had owned a shuttle he could use to get off planet. He’d already stripped it of anything that could give away its position. A little bit of caution and it was the perfect tool for his next step.

It was finally time to stop messing around and go find the pet he actually wanted.

Part Twenty One

Keith’s breathing is even, peaceful, where he lays curled against him. Sleep had not come easy. The tears once started had taken a long time to abate. They were Shiro’s fault. All Keith’s crying and sobbing, little hiccuping whimpers, were because he had been careless. Left the tablet where Keith could find it, and…God, the look on Keith’s face, the way he’d been shaking when he seen what Shiro had been watching. He drags the sleeping form a little closer, holds him a little tighter, as if he could keep all the pieces he shattered together, if he just hugs him long enough.

Keith’s fingers have a death grip on his shirt, even in sleep. Once they found purchase, he’d refused to let go. Clinging to Shiro, despite the fact he’d been the one to hurt him. He doesn’t understand, but he has to stay. After the way Keith had whispered, on the edge of unconsciousness, for him not to leave, there isn’t any force in the universe that could make him move.

It wasn’t enough, though. He needs to do more to make this right. Holding him while he cries and saying how sorry he is, that he loves him and would never do this on purpose, doesn’t even qualify as a bandaid over the wound. He’s fumbling blindly, doing more harm than good. He needs guidance. The videos, they’d told him most of what happened, but there were gaps, things that scared Keith with no explanation. He could ask him, scratch the scabs off his trauma for information, but what then? Remove everything from the Castle that could possibly remind him of Kuro? All Shiro knows how to do is protect. Keith needs to heal, and Shiro, he can’t even heal his own damage. How is he supposed to help someone else?

He’s going to have to ask the others. He’s out of his depth, and everyone else, well they are probably just as lost as he is. Certainly no one had ever volunteered any information on how to help with his own mental health, but surely between everyone in the Castle, some sort of plan of action could be devised. Something better than hoping and trying to pick up the pieces every time he messes up.

There is a small shift against him. Keith’s eyes are blinking up at him slowly, then scrunching together in confusion.

“Hey baby,” Shiro whispers. Strokes his hand up and down Keith’s spine. Let’s him know he’s safe here.

“You’re still here?” Keith sounds surprised. His fingers tighten in Shiro’s shirt, as if he’s worried now that he’s awake Shiro’s going to leave.

“Still here,” He bows his head forward so he can nuzzle at the top of Keith’s head. Physically let him know, he’s not going anywhere. When he moves back, Keith’s eyes have fluttered closed. His grip is relaxing, and his muscles are going loose in his arms, “Why don’t you go back to sleep? I’ll watch over you.” Even with the early night, it’s still far too early to start their day. Besides for completely selfish reasons, he’s not quite ready to let Keith go yet. A couple more hours of letting his lover rest will help his own feelings of guilt.

Keith tucks his head under Shiro’s chin, breathes out a long sigh, then mumbles, “…thank you” Even so close he can barely hear the words.

“Always.” He’ll stay for as long as Keith allows him, “Love you.”

Part Twenty Two

Pidge has a mission. Well two missions, but one needs to be done right this second. Find and scrub every copy of the images Kuro had made of Keith. She’d gotten the job from Shiro earlier, in the least subtle subtle way possible. Seriously, their darling leader’s childhood of following rules was showing through. He didn’t know how to stealthily pass a message while being watched to save his life.

He’d shown up in the common room, Keith in tow, left the Red Paladin standing in the door, and literally just walked up and handed her a piece of paper. Keith had watched the whole thing, looking lost and brittle in the doorway. Like he didn’t know what he was doing here. Shiro had turned around and grabbed him on his way out, saying something about haircuts. It said something about his current state of mind that he hadn’t slapped Shiro upside the head for such and obvious ploy. Whatever it worked, and the message had been important.

The details and instructions had been sparse but to the point. Keith had found one of the videos Kuro made. He didn’t know about the copies or who watched them, but he wanted them all deleted. Shiro wanted her to make sure they were gone off every system in the Castle, and not bring this up to Keith.

He’d entrusted the right girl. By the time she was done, a full forensics team wouldn’t be able to tell they’d ever existed.

The traces of druid magic were faint but still clearly present in their taint. Coran had been right to bring this potential anomaly in the sensors to her attention. Some sort of magic had manifested in this hall. If Allura had found it sooner, she could have determined the purpose of the energy with ease, but now the residue was nothing more than a grime that touched everything in the area. Dispersed by time to the point its original shape was lost.

The only thing she could be certain of was that the timing matched Kuro’s arrival on the Castle. Whatever this was, it was responsible for how he’d gotten aboard. Until they discovered how it worked and how to prevent its use, they were all vulnerable to more attacks of this sort or a reappearance of that monster.

A fleeting thought, but she wished, just a little bit, that he would show up again before they closed off this pathway. She was certain if he ever showed his face in the Castle of the Lions once more, he would never see another day. He had hurt her friends, and revenge could be a very satisfying balm for pain.

That was a fantasy to pass the time, though. She needed to be practical, concentrate on fixing a weakness in their defenses. Now if only Pidge would hurry up with her sensory equipment.

Hunk really wished Shiro had given him some warning before volunteering Keith as his kitchen assistant. He got it. He understood the whole not wanting to leave him alone thing, and whatever Shiro was talking to Coran, Allura, and Pidge about so seriously in the next room, Keith was probably better off not being there for it. He wasn’t complaining about being put on distraction duty. He was complaining about being put on distraction duty with no heads up.

He’d had to completely change up his dinner plans. Throw together something on the fly with lots of nice simple tasks he could hand over and talk about in detail. Keith had never been much of a conversationalist, but now he might as well be mute. Put a lot of strain on Hunk to keep something going long enough for Shiro to finish whatever it was he was doing. Thank goodness Lance had stopped by. His friend could steal attention from a marching band when he put his mind to it. Also, he was good enough to read Hunk’s desperate hand signals that now would be a good time to do so.

Lance was performing like a champ. He’d been holding a one sided conversation on the benefits and downsides of mermaid girl kisses vs human girl kisses for ten minutes straight. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t even stopped to breathe. All Hunk has had to do is make sure that Keith had something to stir or chop to keep his hands busy, and voilà, no time to think about why he’d been ditched. They were even going to get something delicious out of the bargain. Ulterior motives were no excuse for poor cooking after all.

Still, he’d better get the biggest thank you, when Shiro gets back. Also, someone better fill Lance and him in afterward on what had been so sensitive that Keith couldn’t be there. Distraction duty didn’t mean getting locked out of the loop.

Part Twenty Three

Shiro has become his constant shadow, ever since he found those things on his tablet. No, that’s not quite right. Shadow implies he only follows Keith around. Shiro does do that, waiting for him outside of the bathroom, finding exercises he needs to do in the training room whenever Keith spars with the bots, but Shiro also drags Keith behind him whenever he needs to do something in another part of the castle. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders or a hand around his wrist and tugging Keith along. Never letting him get far away unless he’s found someone else to leave him with, even then not for long.

He’s like someone worried about their anxious pet, scared to leave them alone less they hurt themselves or the furniture. Maybe Kuro hadn’t been too far off calling Shiro his owner. He certainly seems to treat Keith that way. He should be angry at that, feel the urge to lash out at the notion he can’t be trusted to watch himself, but the feelings don’t come. Shiro’s presence calms his heartbeat instead of elevating it. Keith craves and covets his every little touch like water in the desert. Shiro owns a little piece of his soul, and as long as he continues to treat it gently, Keith can’t bear the pain of taking it back.

He’s still scared. Still worried that even if Shiro has found his way back into their bed, lets Keith tuck close to his side while he studies the history of the Empire’s conquest, that soon he will close his eyes and open them to find Shiro gone. Vanished from the Castle to escape the burden placed on his shoulders. How long will feelings of duty keep him here before it becomes too much?

He supposes that’s why he’s standing here, in the bathroom, staring at the brand on his chest. Did burning Shiro’s first name into Keith’s skin in his native tongue mean something beyond just rubbing salt in the wounds of a drop out that cared too much? Was it just calculated to hurt or working off how Kuro knew Shiro viewed him? Shiro and Kuro both had said the gladiator pits had changed him, changed how he saw others. That didn’t make Keith any less broken when he hoped it was the latter. Shiro wouldn’t abandon something that belonged to him. He hadn’t changed that much. He was still far too responsible do something like that.

He sees Shiro out of the corner of his eye, a second before the older man curls around his back, resting his chin on Keith’s shoulder and loosely encircling him with his arms. Shiro is looking at his bare torso in the mirror. Without thinking, Keith covers the brand with his hand. Shiro eyes are far too expressive in their concern as he hugs Keith’s middle in response.

“I can help you get rid of it, if you want to.” Shiro offers. How is he planning to do that? Somehow he doubts Shiro would really sit by and watch Keith use his knife to skin off a part of his chest. Shiro’s Galra hand reaches up to grasp the one hiding the name from view. It’s a horrible thought, but Shiro’s couldn’t be offering to layer another burn over it, would he? For a second, he feels like he can smell his flesh sizzling again, while Kuro smiles over him. Keith’s breath stalls in his chest.

Shiro’s hand is off his own immediately, almost as if he read Keith’s mind, “Sorry,” Shiro’s hand drops down further, safely away from his already damaged skin, to give a reassuring squeeze to Keith’s hipbone. The feeling passes, Keith’s fine, “You don’t need to decide right now. I’ll be here whenever you make up your mind.” Shiro says softly.

Maybe, he’s still reeling a bit, because he doesn’t think before he speaks, “Will you?” Shiro goes still against him, and Keith realizes what he just said, “No, nevermind. I need to go.” Keith tries to push Shiro’s arms away, beat a hasty retreat out of the bathroom. He doesn’t want to hear the answer to that question. He’d rather have the bit of doubt, than offer Shiro the opportunity to confirm what he already knows. Everybody leaves him.

Shiro holds him tighter, trapping him, “Keith, stop,” Shiro says. Keith doesn’t want to be here, but he can’t get loose. He slumps defeated. Stares at the cabinet and awaits the hard truth he’s been trying to avoid, “Baby, what do you mean, will I?” Keith shakes his head. Childish attempt to stop Shiro from making him say what’s going to happen. Shiro turns him around, so all Keith can see is the broad expanse of his chest, then the still worried crease of Shiro’s eyes when his face is tilted up by his chin, “Talk to me. I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

His chest aches. He can’t escape, and Shiro won’t let him go until he says it, “You’re leaving me,” Keith blinks hard and fast, he’s not going to start crying again, no matter how much this hurts, “You’re trying to fix me, so you can go without feeling bad.” Just like with trying to get him to take over as Black Paladin, Shiro’s setting everything up so he can go responsibly.

“No,” Shiro breathes, then more vehemently, “No, baby, no, you can’t believe that. I love you.” What did love have to do with it? His dad had loved him. His mom had loved him. Love didn’t stop anyone from leaving, and that was assuming Shiro wasn’t just lying to make him feel better. He was a nice guy after all.

“It’s okay,” It’s not. It’s breaking everything inside of him into little bitty pieces, but he knows he’s been selfish. He’s been leeching off Shiro ever since he came back to earth, “I understand. You don’t have to say it.” Please don’t say it. He can’t hear those words from Shiro. Kuro saying them was bad enough.

“Stop.” Shiro’s hands are hard on his face, “I love you.” Shiro repeats, then again, “I love you.” Like a broken record with just one phrase.

“No. You don’t.” He may have thought he did at the Garrison, “Not anymore. Kuro’s ri-”

“He’s a liar!” Shiro roars. Keith flinches back, and Shiro lets him go. Shiro’s are eyes wide. He’s breathing hard. All Keith can do is stare, as Shiro regains his composure, then gathers him back up in a much gentler embrace, “He lied to you, baby. He’s a monster and liar. He said those things to hurt you not because they’re true.” Shiro says softly but fiercely against his hair. They’re rocking side to side again. Shiro’s go to for comfort.

Keith rubs his eyes, to stop the tears trying to well there. He won’t cry, “You still want to leave,” He whispers.

“I don’t. I promise you I don’t. Please, believe me.” Shiro’s begging him. Actually begging him to believe what he’s saying. He can’t-He doesn’t-This is too much.

“I don’t. I don’t..” He wants to curl into a ball. Hide under a pile of blankets, until he can make sense of everything again.

“I love you,” Shiro squeezes him, pulls them impossibly closer together, “I never willingly abandon people I love.” Like it could ever be that simple for him, “I’ll prove it to you. I promise. I’m not going to leave.”

Keith doesn’t believe him, but a small hopeful part of him wants to let him try.

Part Twenty Four

Shiro’s hands won’t stop shaking, heat is gathering near his eyes in preparation for tears, and if he tried to speak, his voice would surely crack. Just one more way he’s failing. Keith needs him to be strong. To be unwaveringly there for him. Anything less will convince him Kuro told him the truth, but what is he doing instead? Having a freaking meltdown. Letting his own emotions take precedent over the person who was actually hurt.

He tugs at his forelock. Forcibly keeps his breathing even. He has to pull himself together before Keith gets out of the shower. Shiro’s over active feelings aren’t something the other man should have to deal with right now.

Think of something else, think of his plans for the next couple days. He’d finally spoken to most of the others about what to do. Quickly and quietly, while Keith was in the room next door being distracted by Hunk. As he’d thought, they’d been nearly as lost as he was. None of them had real knowledge on how to handle the situation, but Coran had suggested trying to get Keith’s life back to something close to what it was.

Obviously, not pretending nothing happened, but maybe moving them out of this limbo they’d all been stuck in since the rescue and slowly back into their normal routine. Nothing had been explicitly said, yet the secondary meaning that Voltron was still needed had hung heavy over the conversation.

Until absolutely necessary, they would make do with four lions, but at some point they’d need everybody. He knows Keith will pull through for them when it comes down to crunch time. He has no doubt in his mind, that when it comes to the fate of the universe, the Red Paladin will never fail to rise to the occasion. That doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try and put that time off for as long a possible. A battle is no place to heal.

The sound of the water running in the background ceases. Shiro pushes off the ground from where he’s been sitting against the door. Stand straight as he waits. The nagging fear of failure still bites at the heels of his thoughts, but his face has been schooled. His own problems successfully suppressed. He’s ready. He has a plan. He’ll follow the plan and make this better.

Part Twenty Five

The Red Lion races ahead of him. Pilot and ship both eager to let loose after being cooped up in the Castle for so long. Shiro coaxes Black to speed up. They have no chance of keeping pace with their Red counterparts, but he can at least keep the other lion in sight.

Keith heads straight for the nearby asteroid belt. Snaking his way between giant hunks of rock with a delighted laugh. Shiro follows much more carefully, but genuinely smiling for what feels like the first time in weeks. Coran had been right. Getting Keith, getting them both, back in the cockpit had been a good idea. Flying the lions was freedom and power to go anywhere, do anything, or do nothing at all on a whim, and that was exactly the kind of thing Keith needed in his life right now. Something he could control and shape to his desires on his own.

Shiro lets himself live in the moment. Get lost in the follow the leader run through the asteroid belt. Keith never pulls too far ahead. Doubling back or doing a couple tricky loops when it looks like he’s about to lose the Black Lion, but never actually slowing down. This is good. They should have done it sooner.

They head back to the Castle eventually. Keith looks much more relaxed stepping out of his lion than going in. Maybe a little tired, but the good kind of tired. Not overwhelmed, just a bit exhausted.

He doesn’t quite run between their hangars, but Shiro is there to greet him when he steps down with a tight hug and a kiss to the cheek. Keith hasn’t said anything, but after everything Kuro did, Shiro is sticking to safe affections for now. He’s rewarded by Keith leaning into him, hiding the slight dusting of pink on his cheeks. PDA, even when they are alone in a public space, has always mildly embarrassed him. It’s good to see the small things start to reassert themselves. That means they are finally doing something right.

Hunk messaged him earlier to tell him lunch is ready, but Shiro lets the hug linger until Keith moves back with a tiny smile. He wraps his arm around him, before they walk out of the hangar together. He hasn’t felt the need to have his hands on Keith so much since they first started dating. Then he did so out of the newness of the privilege. After the pining and the awkward flirting, finally getting to touch had sent him over the moon, and he’d done it every chance he got, to the point he had to have a very awkward conversation with Iverson.

Now he does it out of reassurance. Physical affections has always meant more to Keith than words. He can’t remember who said it, but someone called Keith touch starved once and that stuck with him. Keith longs for physical contact like a desert flower seeks water, and he is just as beautiful when he gets what he’s looking for. If Shiro is going to convince him that he would never willingly leave, then this is the most important step. Also has the added benefit of touching Keith. Never too much of that in the world.

They don’t make it far into the Castle before Keith pulls up short. He’s staring down the hall that leads to the hangar with the shuttles. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s thinking.

“Do you want to see it?” Pidge had recommended getting Keith to talk, maybe process some of what happened to him with someone else’s help. Her suggested manner had been too harsh and was vetoed, but the sentiment behind it was true. Keeping everything bottled up wasn’t helping.

Keith’s eyes are a little unfocused when he looks back at Shiro. His fingers grip the back of his vest before he speaks, “Maybe?” He sounds more like he’s asking Shiro what to do than stating an opinion.

Shiro runs his prosthetic thumb across Keith’s cheekbone, “Hey, you don’t need to.” He reassures. Needing to talk doesn’t mean he needs to go back to visit what was essentially his prison.

Keith closes his eyes and breathes deep. Steadying himself, “I think, I do.” When his eyes open, there is determination in them. Short of picking him up and carrying him off, Shiro isn’t talking him out of it.

He nods, “Okay, I’ll be right there with you.”

Shiro stares down at the bench seat in dawning horror. Keith is waiting outside. Seeing the shuttle was enough for what felt he needed to do. He didn’t want to go inside, but Shiro, he’d had to see the truth of what Keith had told him.

“Is everything still in there?”

“Yes, everything he left, but he took some things with him.”

Maybe, maybe it’s bigger on the inside than it looks. The space could go deeper into the walls or floor. Still inhuman conditions but better. He presses the keys to unlock the storage space.

“What did he take?”

“Somethings, it’s not important.”

It’s not. Fucking hell it’s not. There’s not enough room in there for Keith. Even curled up, he’s not that tiny. Oh god, things begin to make horrible sense. Keith’s fears, the pains of stretching on the videos, what Kuro did to make him play his games. How could someone do this to him. How could someone who claimed to have his memories keep Keith locked away in this?

He can’t tell if he wants to throw up or scream. He wants to kill Kuro, right this instant, beat him until they no longer resemble each other. Shiro activates his arm. The metal beneath his fingers smokes and begins to melt. It’s easy to tear the wall of the container to shreds. Destroy the object used to hurt even though the wielder is out of reach.

“Shiro tell me.”

“The recording equipment, a tool box, and whatever the box was.”

“…my box is still in there.”

Keith’s waiting for him when he exits. Arms crossed in a way that looks suspiciously like a self hug. Shiro gives him a real one. Holds him as tightly as he dares. “I’m so sorry…you didn’t deserve that.” The words are inadequate, but he has to say something. Express everything he’s feeling, and how, how none of this should have ever happened to Keith.

Keith inhales sharply, tenses up in his arms. If he cries, Shiro is going to bring him Kuro in a box of his own. Fuck morality, he’ll let Keith burn him alive for this.

Keith doesn’t cry though. He just stays like that, while Shiro rubs his shoulders and upper arms. Breathing in an overly calculated manner, until he finally seems to suppress the urge.

Keith pushes away, “Can we go?” He asks in a voice that’s still too small.

“Sure. Let’s go eat, okay.” Hunk has probably started to worry about them. Even with Shiro’s message they’d be late.

They leave the hangar hand in hand.

Part Twenty Six

Convincing the guard of this outpost to help him is bloody work. Its pride outweighs its survival instincts to a suicidal extent. He barely curtails the desire to cut out the filthy beast’s tongue, when it threatens to have him sent to the slave ships. The Galra’s blood thirst and bluster may put them above the cowering likes of his weaker self, but they are paltry rats compared to him. He would never allow them to throw him in a cell. He’d carpet planets with their fur first.

Still they are stubborn rats. Most would have done what he asked after losing their claws, or some of their fangs, or one of their damn ears, but not this one. Noooo, this one had to have the pain tolerance of a war god. He was nearly ready to slit the thing’s throat and go find a fresh one to start over with, when he spotted it. A tiny device he recognized from Shiro’s time with the Galra.

A few quick button pushes and he is delighted to find a picture of what looks like the animal’s cubs. Newphews? Something young and related to him, that’s all that matters. The thing is so much more helpful after that. Stupidly helpful, if it had two brain cells to rub together the guard would have realized that the universe was far too big for him to hunt down the subjects of the photo. He could barely tell the brats in the picture apart, much less distinguish them from every other young Galra rat in existence. Killing him after he completed dialing out to the Empire’s command network is doing the gene pool a favor.

The Galra who picks up the call is just as much of a brain donor as the one he just disposed of. It takes far too long to convince the idiot that if he’s calling on this line then he probably deserves to be put in touch with someone with resources who’s interested in capturing Voltron. He’s not terribly surprised when after what feels like forever on hold, Haggar appears on the screen. There are only so many forces in the universe that have both the motivation and the capability to create him. She probably had an alert out for his discovery.

“I assume you have a functioning propaganda network.” He cuts to the chase. He has no desire to drag out a conversation with the hag any longer than necessary.

“Yes,” The witch answers. Her eyes are far too piercing, and it absolutely does not disturb him. He doesn’t feel fear at her presence, not like his pathetic counterpart.

“I can force the Castle of the Lions to appear at the time and place of my choosing. You are going to help me get on board, and I will cripple your greatest foe in return.” He keeps the sneer off his face. The paladins are glass soldiers. A little pressure and they crack. The fact the ‘mighty’ Galran Empire considers them such an existential crisis reflects on how weak it is.

“If they don’t show?” She asks. The question sounds more perfunctory than anything. He has her interest.

“Then I have some truly lovely fodder for your next information packet on the Red Paladin.”

Part Twenty Seven

Lance isn’t jealous. There’s nothing to envy in this situation. They’re just having their first training session with Keith back, and the Red Paladin is massacring drones like he never left. He may have even improved a bit since they last fought together. Is it because he’s related to the giant space cats? Some sort of predator instinct that gives him an eternal edge over Lance?

It’s not like he doesn’t work on his stuff outside of the group. He and Hunk get together for long range target practice sometimes. That’s just not all he does with his free time. He occasionally likes to take time out for things like sleep and breathing. You know, having some sort of life even if he’s stranded thousands of light years away from a real social scene. Nothing against alien beauties, but he’d kill to get a chance to flirt with a woman who might actually understand a Star Wars joke.

Somebody slams into his back and his next shot goes wide, nearly hitting Pidge. “What the hell! Watch where you’re going!” He whirls and yells. He immediately regrets his outburst, when he’s met by Keith’s deer in the headlights look. No returning anger or yelling. Just a look of panic, that makes him feel like he just kicked a puppy. Great, Lance wins the biggest asshole of the day award. It’s a relief when a stray shot sends him plummeting through the floor a second later.

By the time the round is over and everyone else has lost to the bots, he’s regained his composure. Keith’s standing a little bit separate from the group, while Shiro talks to Pidge and Hunk about what they could do better next round. Lance tries to casually mosy on over to him, so of course Keith jumps and nearly cracks him in the face when Lance taps him on the shoulder.

“Jumpy much?” Lance kicks himself mentally. Great start to an apology, insult the other person.

Keith crosses his arms and ducks his head a bit, “Sorry..I was thinking about something. I didn’t see you.”

“No harm no foul right?” Lance smiles, tries to get the guy to understand it’s chill, but yeah, kicked puppy, “Riiight, so, about earlier. I’m sorry about the yelling.”

“Why?” Keith looks confused, and he tries not to take that as an insult to his character, “I nearly knocked you over. In a real fight someone could have died.” How about because he’s not a complete and utter dick that kicks people when they are already down.

“Yeah, but this wasn’t a real fight. I shouldn’t have gotten mad, okay.” Just accept his apology and they can both go on with their lives.

“Lance, it was my fault.” But no, things can never be that easy when dealing with Keith, “I didn’t pay attention to where everyone was and Pidge nearly got shot.”

There are brick walls that are more conceding of a point, “Accidents happen. I overreacted okay.” That’s the end of it.

Or it would be, with anyone else, “But-”

“-Dude! Just let me apologize!” And he’s yelling again. Something that becomes quiet clear by the wide eyed look Keith’s giving him. Smooth Lance, real smooth. Maybe he can accidentally punch the guy while he’s at it. That should round out this conversation real well.

The shock doesn’t last long, after a moment the edge of Keith’s mouth quirks up in a tiny smile, “…you’re apologizing for yelling at me by yelling at me some more?”

Lance throws his hand up in the air, “Argh! You know what forget it. I’m not sorry after all.” He’s so done. This is what he gets for trying to be a nice guy.

Keith laughs. Claps a hand over his mouth to stifle giggles type laughs.

“Well I’m glad you find my frustration amusing.” Lance shoots him a glare, but he doesn’t mean it. He's officially counting making Keith laugh as his good deed of the day, even if it was completely on accident, “Weirdo,” Lance adds under his breath. Keith snorts.

“What’s so funny?” It’s Lance’s turn to jump. Shiro appears like a ghost behind him. He’s honestly surprised it took him this long to investigate what was going on.

Keith smiles and shakes his head, “Nothing,” He says.

Shiro looks between them, then focuses his attention back on Keith, “You feel up to another round?” Lance really hopes he is. If Keith wants to quit for the day, Shiro is going to follow him out. Which means the rest of them are going to be left to Allura’s tender loving care. He’d rather go play in the airlock without his armor.

Keith nods, “Yeah, I think I do,” Woohoo, no sadistic Altean training for him today! Definitely worth all the sticking his foot in his mouth earlier.

“Alright,” Shiro says softly, then turns around and bellows, “Everybody up top, let’s try that again!”

Part Twenty Eight

If Keith was holding onto his flesh hand, he’s certain the tight grip would have begun to hurt by now. As he’s not, Shiro just rubs soothing circles into the back of Keith’s hand.

“We don’t have to do this now, if you want. The equipment’s not going anywhere.” Last night, Keith had hidden under their sheets and admitted quietly that he wanted the brand Kuro had given him gone. He didn’t like being unable to take off his shirt without having a stark reminder of what happened. Shiro could relate. If only his own were so easy to remove.

“No, I want to get rid of it today,” Keith looks over to were Coran is standing beside the medical cot and nods, “Go ahead I’m ready.”

“Alright my boy, this will sting a bit.” The needle Coran is wielding is wickedly pointed. He feels a people as advanced as the Alteans should have found some better way to administer numbing agents, but then again, the Galra hadn’t either. Their needles looked like something out of a horror movie. No, bad thought. Especially in this setting. He needs to be the reassuring one right now.

He watches Keith’s face for signs of discomfort while Coran works. Still nervous, but the needle isn’t the cause. If he has to guess, Keith is worried about the scalpel gleaming off to the side. That disturbs him as well. He’s not going to be able to watch as Coran removes the scarred skin. Not without going places he really shouldn’t.

“We’ll leave that for a few ticks, and then we can start. Now you need to tell me if you feel anything.” Keith nods in answer.

Shiro catches his eyes and smiles, “All be over soon,” He squeezes Keith’s hand.

Keith squeezes back, “Can’t wait,”

Coran’s picking up the scalpel now. It’s sharp, the shape, the curve looks like the same kind the druids used. Without the anesthetic the thing would probably hurt the same. He forces himself to look at Keith’s eyes instead. Purple the color of rare jewels instead of magic filled labs of pain. “Shiro? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” He’ll be fine, this isn’t about him. Distraction will help though, “Just thinking about what to do after. I was thinking about borrowing Pidge and Lance’s game station. What do you think?”

Keith’s looking at him far too closely. He’s been growing more aware recently. More observant of Shiro’s own moods. That’s good, means he’s healing, but also bad, as he becomes more and more conscious of where Shiro is wearing thin. He has to work harder at keeping himself in check. He can’t slip back into using the younger man as an emotional crutch.

There’s no more words between them. Coran works quickly and efficiently, and Shiro tries to pretend he can’t see the raw meat revealed. Keith stares him down the entire time. Coran carefully applies a bandage, no healing pods for what has become an obvious reason, and gives a cheerful, “All done!” The white covering the wound makes the constriction in his chest ease. Everything is okay, this is real medical treatment, not let’s poke him to see what makes him scream loudest.

“Playing a game sounds nice,” Keith says.

“What?” Game? What game? Oh right, the console, he’d asked him about that. Keith has a little frown on his pretty lips, “Right, I think they own one of those racing games. We could go a few rounds.”

“Sure,” Keith sits up, hops off the cot, and tugs Shiro towards the door. Damn it, he’s slipping worse than he thought, they’re nearly at the door before he realizes that Keith is leading him away from a source of panic. He needs to do better.

Allura’s waiting for them outside the room. “Do you have a moment?”

Keith answers “Yes,” before Shiro can make an excuse. She has her serious face on. The one when she’s about to deliver important or bad news. He would have appreciated if she’d waited until she could catch him alone to bring whatever this is up, but Allura was one of the biggest proponents of bringing Keith back into the loop. She’d most likely chosen now on purpose. Keep him from hiding whatever she had to say from Keith.

“Pidge and I have discovered how Kuro managed to circumvent the Castle’s defenses.” Keith’s back muscle go tight and still. This is exactly the sort of thing he’d prefer to have run by him first. Allura continues, “We have also determined he can not do so again using the same method.”

Shiro wraps his human arm around Keith’s shoulder and pulls him close. Reassurance by presence. Then he looks up at Allura, “Explain,” He curtails the harshness he wishes to put in his voice. Letting anger show won’t help.

“The spell used to create him was placed on you.” She looks at Shiro, “Likely started while you were still in captivity,” That’s to be expected, Kuro had displayed enough of his knowledge that he had to be a part of his creation, “It takes time and quintessence to execute, you escaped before they could finish.” That makes a terrifying amount of sense, his act with Matt had only worked so long. The guards had quickly realized that his persona in the ring wasn’t real. Someone must have wanted a real ‘Champion’, “Sometime recently, Haggar must have gotten close enough to order the spell to finish. Kuro was created inside the Castle.”

Only one question, “Can they make another?” He will leave right this instant, if there is even the slightest possibility of him being the source of another Kuro. None of his team will ever be hurt by that monster again.

“Not without recapturing you. The spell is spent. There will be no more Kuro’s.” Allura hesitates for a moment, then adds, “We are all safe.”

“Thank you for letting us know,” Shiro says in a clear tone of dismissal. Keith is still stiff by his side. They need privacy, so he can check on him.

They say their goodbyes and go their separate ways. Shiro makes an executive decision and heads for their bedroom instead of the common room with the others.

Keith lets out a huff of what he thinks was supposed to be laughter when they go inside. “I’m fine,” Keith says before Shiro can ask.

“You don’t have to be fine,” Keith glares at him. That’s one of the lines he used to like to use on Shiro, “You went through a lot.” He adds.

“Lance nearly died, and you don’t see him hiding in his room over it.” Lance also doesn’t remember that happening.

“How about me?” Keith had spent hours curled around him after a nightmare, whispering sweet nothing until sleep finally over took him again. If he could do that for Shiro, as bloody as his hand were, couldn’t he do it for himself?

Keith looks away, he remembers all those times just as well as Shiro does. Probably better considering the hazes of some flashbacks. Shiro cups the back of Keith’s head, pulls him in to nestle against his chest, “These things take time, and no one expects you to stop being hurt.” Keith’s arms find their way around him too, and they just stand there, soaking each other in.

“Can we call it an early night?” Keith’s deflecting. Trying to get out of Shiro’s flawless logic.

“Sure,” He lets him. He’ll try again later, and then again, and again. Until Keith finally believes him.

Part Twenty Nine

The key to a good trap is having the right sort of bait for your prey. You want a lioness, you dangle her injured cub. You want the paladins of Voltron, you release a few choice screen shots with easily traced upload locations. He’d chosen some of Kitten’s tamer pictures for his bait. Hinting at the extent of their time together, without showing too much. Wouldn’t do to reduce the value of his leverage by giving the good stuff away for free.

If the Castle didn’t appear soon, he might not get a choice about making that sacrifice. The ‘allies’ he’d gathered for this trap were fair weather at best. The longer this dragged on, the more likely they were to decide to try and turn on him. He hadn’t been foolish enough to give them his location, but a brute force search of the sector would surely reveal him. No, losing the opportunity for more quality time with Shiro’s kitten and having to fight his way out, is much worse than sharing a few more pieces of his prized collection with the unwashed masses of the galaxy. Besides, the look on Kitten’s face when he reads all the appreciative comments from his new fans would be something worthy of immortalizing.

A little red blip appears on his sensors, and a second later, a wormhole rips through the fabric of space on his view screen. His estimates on the best strategic entry point had been correct. The paladins were right where he wanted them.

He opens the hailing frequency. Someone much more technologically apt than himself, had kindly volunteered to rout his hails through the same station he’d made the uploads from. Given time he could be found despite the extra step, but by then he planned on being long gone.

The Altean bitch picks up the call again. “Kuro.” She says with all the venom of a rattlesnake. He ignores her, examines the other residents of the bridge. The orange idiot is there, with something approaching a serious expression for once. He might as well be a chair for all his potential amusement value. The green gremlin is at her station. He never did get around to sending her that video. She’s not as amusing as Kitten, but he imagines her anguish could be worth the effort. Be more fun if Matt were here though, more history to build on with that one. Last but certainly not least, his weaker self is glaring up at him, hatred etched into the grit of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils. He must be barely keeping his temper in check. Shiro’s been fantasizing about confronting Kuro and killing him, between wrapping his kitten up in blankets and nursing him back to something human all sickeningly sweet. Kuro knows this for certain. That’s the fun of Shiro, he never has to guess what he’s feeling.

“Miss me?” His giddiness is showing, and Shiro’s fist are clenching in reaction. Maybe he can get him to break something in a fit before they’re done here. Wipe off a bit more of that golden boy shine to show his team the broken gladiator beneath.

“What do you want?” Shiro growls, stepping forward to stand by the princess. From the look on her face, he’s already going off script. Did they try to stop him from coming to this meeting? Not surprising they failed. His weaker self can be so stubborn about putting himself in situations that hurt him. Almost takes the fun out of emotional torment…Well, not really.

“I just wanted to chat and catch up with my two most favorite people in the universe,” Shiro’s going to crack a molar if he grits his teeth much harder, “Speaking of which, where is your kitten?” Did he know about this meeting? Or did they just make a jump without telling him where or why? Oh, maybe he’s really lucky and they haven’t told him what Kuro did. Tried to hide the evidence for his own good. That would mean he’d get to see the initial shock and horror himself.

“His name is Keith!” Shiro shouts, his face going red. The princess reaches out and grabs his arm. The struggle to pull his temper back under control is obvious on his face.

“Kitten,” Kuro says with a smirk, “Why don’t you go ahead and call him in? It’s not nice to hold conversations about someone behind their back.”

“You will never speak to him again.” Oh, Shiro should know that you never say never. Especially in a galaxy as big as theirs.

“Call him up,” Kuro pulls his recorder into the line of sight of the camera, “Or I start releasing more on the galactic Internet every minute until he arrives.” He presses the play button and the video on the recorder starts with a panicked cry from Kitten to ‘stop’. This was one of their more vocal play sessions, perfect for an audible reminder of all he still has left to offer.

Shiro chokes. The princess steps in to cover for him, “We will not be blackmailed.” She says without a trace of doubt someone might disobey her. He’s certain if she was the only one he was negotiating with, then they’d just stand by and let him. Maybe even leave the sector without further comment. Good thing she’s not.

Kuro gives her a dismissive glance, then very pointedly looks back at Shiro, “Are you going to make that decisions for him? How do you think he’ll feel when he finds out you chose to humiliate him in front of the entire galaxy rather than ask him if he wants to talk to me?” He has him. Shiro knows how much Kitten hates to show weakness in public. He’s always been so intensely private. His weaker self could never allow this to happen without his permission.

Kuro watches patiently, while the princess and Shiro have a quiet argument. She’s not nearly cold blooded enough for this job, she caves before a minute passes. Shiro turns to leave, “Send the Gremlin,” Kuro calls out, “I want to visit while we wait.” If Shiro goes, he’ll help prepare Kitten for what’s to come. Much better to have someone less good at handling him go to retrieve him. Bonus, with the green paladin gone from the bridge, it will take them even longer to locate him.

Shiro hesitates. Kuro ups the volume on the recorder, no need to verbalize the threat, “Pidge, tell Keith what’s going on.” Shiro’s tone is clipped. He’s hating every moment of having to dance to Kuro’s tune, but he’ll do so. He’s a self-sacrificing weakling like that.

They don’t end up talking while they wait. Shiro fumes in silence, and Kuro double checks his playlist in preparation.

He’s just beginning to entertain the thought that the paladins don’t plan on holding up their side of the bargain, when Kitten arrives. He immediately stalls. What little color he has draining from his cheeks. Kuro would like to think his presence alone has such an effect, but likely the pretty thing is reacting to the audio still belting out from his recorder. Someone forgot to warn him about the ambient soundtrack to this meeting. Kuro smiles, “Come here, let me get a good look at you. It feels likes it’s been ages.” Kitten walks stiffly into the room to stand by Shiro. His weaker self’s expression has gone from anger to concern. He was probably hoping that his kitten wouldn’t show. Give him free pass to ignore Kuro’s threats and try to hunt him down instead.

“I’m here,” Kitten is still pale as a sheet, but he’s putting on his brave face. Like Kuro hasn’t wormed his way into being one of his worst nightmares, “Say what you have to say.” A particularly loud cry on the audio makes him flinch anyways. So cute and high strung. He’s going to have so much fun breaking him again.

“I was wondering, have you been dreaming about me? Have I been in your thoughts, while we’ve been apart?” From the way Kitten sucks air past his teeth, the answer is yes. He can just imagine how that’s been. Kuro’s presence clinging to him like a stain he can’t wash off. Shiro hovering over his shoulder trying so hard to make it better. The expressions, the feelings, oh yes, he doesn’t need to have been there to know exactly how it went.

“Fuck you,” Kitten spits, just as powerless to stop him from inflicting pain as when he was tied up on Kuro’s shuttle floor. That gives him ideas. Maybe when he gets Kitten back, he can find them a nice barren planet and let him run. Chase him down again and again for play until he’s too broken to try anymore. Having him back can’t come soon enough.

A flashing purple alert goes off in his peripheral vision. The Galra are in position. He’s stalled long enough. He smiles down on his soon to be playmate, “See you soon, Kitten.” Kuro disengages the call before he can respond.

It’s finally time.

Part Thirty

Keith tears off his helmet, sucks in a deep breath of cool Castle air. Adrenaline is still screaming in his veins. Pushing him to move move move. There is a lurch, the whole ground shaking just like his clenched hands, as the Castle escapes through a wormhole. The battle is over. They’re safe. He can stop now. He needs to stop now. He can’t. Everything is too closed in. The walls of the hallway feel like they’re drawing together, shrinking the space he has to move in, but his armor is worst of all. His chest plate is compressing him, making it hard to breathe. He needs to get it off. He needs to get it all off.

His fingers refuse to cooperate, clumsy on the release snaps. Slipping and sliding until he wants to scream. Somehow despite this, he still manages to claw every piece of hard carapace off. Throwing it far to the side until he can fill his lungs without feeling something pressing against his chest. Only then does he hear the soft click of approaching boots.

Shiro. Come to check on him. Make sure Keith isn’t having a meltdown, after his first real fight back. Won’t he be disappointed. Keith closes his eyes, reaches for that unobtainable calmness that will make his skin stop feeling like it’s vibrating with anticipation. Shiro won’t care he’s falling apart, but Keith does. He wants to stop and be better already.

He almost flinches when Shiro’s prosthetic hand rests on the crook of his neck, cold thumb rubbing against the skin right above his flight suit. He forces himself to relax, “I’m fine.” If he says it often enough, maybe it will be true.

There is an amused huff from behind him, “Really? Well that is a shame.” Keith’s eyes fly open. He tries to turn, but there is a harsh hand in his hair and the wall is rushing towards his face. Pain. Blackness nearly swallows his vision, then dancing spots of white bring it back.

He tries to get his feet back under him. The back of his hair feels like it’s being ripped out by its roots. He elbows backwards, but doesn’t connect. Kuro’s laugh is just as cruel and cold as he remembers.

A blow to his gut leaves him gasping, “Told you, I’d see you soon.” Kuro purrs. Keith can see him smiling at him patronizingly from the corner of his vision. The glowing yellow of the bastard’s eyes standing out particularly well. Kuro’s left both of Keith’s hands free. He’ll make him pay for that mistake. He throws himself at Kuro, feels the rip of hair from his scalp as his hands close in on the monster’s face. He’s going to gouge his eyes out, then beat his skull against the floor until it goes squish.

Kuro grabs at his wrists to stop him, but he has a perfectly good set of teeth left. Kuro’s the one to cry out in pain this time, as skin tears under his bite. When he’s tossed off, he takes a chunk of the man with him.

He rolls with the throw, ending on his feet. Spitting out the piece of flesh he took, he meets Kuro’s angry snarl with a bloody one of his own. He’s going to kill him or die trying. The only thing he’s certain of is one way or another, he won’t be taken captive again.

The sound of running feet catches both of their attentions. White armor with black accents, Shiro, the real one has arrived. Kuro barely gets his prosthetic arm up in time to block Shiro’s incoming glowing fist. Keith nearly continues the fight himself, before a stray blow melts a chunk of the wall. Shiro, Kuro, are always armed. The Galra metal as deadly as any weapon. If he’s going to join, he needs his sword, which is still attached to his armor a little ways down the hall.

He’s careful as he darts past the two. He won’t give Kuro the opportunity to make him the damsel in distress of this battle. The fight escalates on without him. He doesn’t turn back until his bayard is activated in his hand. Now he can do some damage.

Shiro and Kuro are not as evenly matched as he would have thought. Shiro maintains a slight edge, that if left alone would probably result in his victory. Assuming nothing changes. Kuro is viciously clever, though. Acting on that assumption will likely end in pain.

Keith waits, picks his moment. Kuro never fully gives him his back, but his lightly clothed side is on display. When both his arms are engaged fending off Shiro, Keith moves. Slicing, as Kuro dodges out of the way, cutting flesh enough to bleed but not deep enough to cripple.

Kuro tries to move to a better position to fight them off, but Shiro pushes into his guard and Keith harries him from the side. Until finally, Kuro doesn’t block fast enough and Keith’s blade slips past and buries into his gut. Kuro eyes go wide, chokes, stops. A glowing purple hand is coming out of his chest. Who hit him first? Keith or Shiro? There is no way to tell. Keith pulls his sword free. Kuro topples over backwards, a puppet with his strings cut.

The yellow in his eyes fade. Glow dissipating until all that’s left is dull grey eyes. Kuro has grey eyes. That shouldn’t bother him, but the face…without the Galra yellow, there isn’t a difference. Keith’s bayard clatters to the floor. The vibrations in his skin are back. His breath coming too quick.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice barely registers. He can’t look away from the slack jaw, the gaping wound, the lifeless eyes.

A cold hand touches him, “Don’t touch me!” Keith shouts, battering the metal away. Shiro’s face, for the second he sees it, is shocked, but the corpse calls his attention back. This shouldn’t bother him. He should be happy. Why isn’t he okay?

Shiro kneels down in front of him, blocking his view. Kneels? When did Keith sink to the ground? He doesn’t remember doing that, “You’re okay, baby. You are going to be okay.” Shiro says quietly. He doesn’t try to touch Keith again.

Shiro stays with him as he cries.

They eject Kuro’s body into a planet’s upper atmosphere. Letting him burn away into nothing. It’s grisly, but Pidge insists they keep his arm. They know so little about Shiro’s, that having a spare to pull apart is invaluable. He can’t argue with that logic even if he wants everything to do with that monster gone from the Castle.

Night, rest, can’t come soon enough.

Shiro, dressed in pajamas, is standing in the middle of their room. He’s probably thinking of offering to sleep on the floor again, as if being alone ever makes anything better. Keith grabs his bicep. Dragging him to the mattress and shoving him back against the wall. He curls up against him and pulls a blanket over both their heads, making his own little world with nobody but Shiro and him in it. He still can’t relax.

Shiro pets his hair with his warm human hand. He leaves his Galra one sticking outside of their little blanket world for now. He feels guilty, but he still appreciates the thought. He squeezes his eyes shut. Shiro presses small affectionate kisses to the creases between his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes until his breath hitches.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shiro whispers. Keith shakes his head. He wouldn’t know where to start, “It’s alright baby, I’ll be here if you ever do.” For once, he believes him.

“Thank you,” Keith whispers back. He wants to bury his face against Shiro’s neck, but his nose hurts too badly from being banged into the wall.

“Always,” Shiro places another small kiss on the top of his cheekbone, “I love you.” Keith’s cheeks heat up. Shiro could always say these sorts of things so easily.

Keith peeks up at him. Shiro’s looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in his world. He doesn’t think, he just catches Shiro’s lips with his own. The kiss isn’t deep, but it’s soft and loving, like how Shiro always treats him. He breaks just far enough away to whisper, “I love you too.” His lover’s smile can be seen in the crinkle of his eyes.

He wishes eternity could feel just like this.

#Sheith #shiro #keith #Voltron #Kuro #Lance #Allura #Hunk #Pidge #Kitten #my fic

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