#thirst post 0000 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marsmaru · 5 years

Text

Reached 24K this time around... Gonna have to stahp that bruhs

Comments and kudos feed this tiny gremlin on AO3 :D

Rated M for Memes, CW/TW under the tag, blo/ody v/iolence everywhere

Pairings: semi-one-sided-maybe Tyreen/Reader, semi-one-sided-maybe Troy/Reader

Tagged as The Calypso Twins Thirst

Link to AO3 right here if you get annoyed with the spaces, Tumblr messed it up.

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Let’s Flay: The Plaything Series

Summary: Life in Promethea has always been harsh with its wildlife, friends are difficult to come by, and the inevitable fate of dying at the end of a gun barrel were the realities you faced each day. You tried to make the best of it but everything crumbles down when the Children of the Vault destroy what shred of hope you had for a good life. (Or how the Calypsos became your #1 fans)

~0~

CHAPTER 3: Seek and Destroy

Tensions rise between the Twin Gods. The Calypsos encounter a new enemy while seeking answers about your past. Some within the cult want to destroy you. Who will survive? The body count rises. And you are caught in the crossfire.

----00000----

CW: Extreme physical violence/punishment, mentions of enslavement, torture

TW: Mentions of death, anxiety/panic attacks

----0000---

EchoNet Forum: WeHeartCalypsos

Current Mood: Step on me, Tyreen!

“Did you guys see the mark on the God Queen’s plaything?” “Trippy!”

“Has anyone seen that mark before?” “Mechanic, we (heart emoji) you!”

“Yeah, I think that confirms the Illuminati!” “That’s so 2000, get with the program man!”

“The old man had it too!” “I bet its some secret society!”

“That neck twist tho” “I wonder how the old man and the mechanic know each other”

[Unknown Username has joined the forum]

Unknown Username: :)

Unknown Username: :) cAlYpSos

Unknown Username: :) U have sumethin that bel0ngs to me.

Unknown Username: :) The (crown emoji) sha11 return to us

[Deleted User]: wAtcH ur backs ;)

[Deleted User has sent an image]

[Deleted User]: ;)

[Image shows bodies hanging across the ceiling in a triangular formation, light fixtures embedded in their flesh, red light flooding the room of the picture]

“What the fuck!” “Is this shit real?!” “I think so!” “Holy shit!”

“They are still posting!” “But they are showing up as a deleted account!”

“This has to be a joke…” “Quick, someone get an admin!” “OMG!!!”

[Deleted User]: :D Tell her I miss her :3

[Deleted User has sent an image]

[Image shows a blurry photo of you laughing, holding out your hand to cover your face from the person taking the photo. Its visible you are wearing a white shirt, your hair being shoulder length. The background has an overexposed triangle shape mark. It was of blue color.]

[Deleted User]: Everyone misses you… :3c

---00000----

Being the plaything of the Twin Gods, or more specifically Tyreen, came with perks, but also downsides. Extreme downsides. You weren’t sure if the downsides were fully negative. You needed to vent out, let out the pent-up aggression that you couldn’t inflict on the Calypsos. The meat bags that came along provided the opportunity. Today was no different: Beating to a bloody pulp your would-be attackers in the middle of main square of the CoV hub.

During rush hour. For all to see.

You held a lead pipe in your hand, covered in splashes of blood and guts, and a bottle of rakk-ale in the other hand. Tolerating the Calypsos was one thing, but putting up with the stupidity of their followers was another. The poor fools decided to mess with you while on a break from work, barging into the bar you were in and dragging you out to have “fun.” A broken water pipe and three men dead on the street later, you sent the message you were not someone to trifle with. Or that you want a better challenge.

Chugging down the rakk-ale, you smashed the bottle on the ground, ignoring the looks of horror and awe some onlookers, walking back inside the bar. Laughter roared immediately, your fellow mechanics hollering and whistling at the sight of your bloody self. Some of them exchanged money, others clunk their bottles in celebration. You slumped at the bar.

“See, told you she could handle herself. Fucking cunts are no match for someone who faced a Goliath!” one of them cheered, laughing more.

“Did you hear them begging for mercy? That’ll teach them!” another added, smashing the bottle on the ground, hollering.

“Hey, hey, I need those bottles back you fucking assholes!” the bartender spat out, cleaning the bar. He glanced at you, putting out another bottle of rakk-ale, “Piss luck you got, but by the graces of the Twin Gods you are still alive.”

You chugged the bottle, demanding another one. The bartender complied. Life outside the bar continued, the bodies left to rot in the hot sun. Although you were able to handle yourself against three men, you were bruised up from the recent visit of Tyreen, who got too rough during a massage session. Her face was present on your attackers’.

One by one, the mechanics left the bar, the last one smacking you on the back to usher you to leave with him. You tossed a few coins to the bartender, following your “friend.” Both of you walked in silence while heading to the shop.

“You stink.” Mood killer.

“No shit,” you replied, “Busted an intestine, guy shat his pants, Perseus.”

Perseus, laughed, “That, and you are still covered in guts. They are what, the sixth group to come after you?” You were warming up to him. After your late night encounter with the mechanic, he declared you his ‘friend’ after exchanging names. He may not be an ‘idiot’ but he was an odd one. You didn’t mind for once.

“I don’t think they are the last ones,” you replied, putting your hands in your jacket’s pockets. The same black leather jacket with flame embroidery given to you by the Calypsos, covered in blood again after being washed numerous times. The first group to try to get a “taste” of you was during a three-day absence of the Calypsos from the hub. You were working in the shop late at night on one of Troy’s bandit technicals when they paid a visit.

Believing them to be rude customers, you shooed them off, getting angry that they disturbed you while working. They proceeded to trash the place. You proceeded to trash their faces onto the bandit technical. Troy was not happy. Not about his bandit technical getting smashed, but the fact you spilled blood on it without him. Though, he complimented that the blood splatter went well with the spray-painted blue flames. Tyreen was disappointed she wasn’t able to record it.

Perhaps they would like to reenact it with them as the actors. You could only hope.

After that first incident, you were attacked on your way home, to the church, to the supply shop, all of them ending with a large body count and your bruised fists. You’d figure your arena fights would deter them, heck even the bloody fight with Cepheus got people spooked. Perseus said that encouraged some of them more, just for a chance to be the plaything of the Twin Gods.

“Those shits can go ahead and be the Calypsos’ plaything for all I care,” you muttered.

“Well, that’s difficult considering they currently favor you… Though…” Perseus trailed off. You side glanced him.

“I did tell you the Twin Gods’ playthings end up dead, right?” Perseus continued, receiving a nod from you.

“Yeah, and like I said, I will perish in the arena, I rather die on my terms than theirs,” you answered, tugging at your shirt to cover the CoV mark. Perseus rubbed his head, sighing.

“The playthings before you were hardcore, brutish bandits. I mean, hardcore,” Perseus said, earning a glare from you, “Not that I’m saying you’re not brutish, or hardcore. Ugh, you know what I mean!”

You rolled your eyes, both of you stepping into the garage. The other mechanics resumed their work, one of them pointing outside the alley. You sighed. Waving off to Perseus, you headed to the alley, seeing Jackal waiting. He bowed when you approached, taking notice of your bloody state, sighing.

He held his hand out, watching as you removed your jacket, giving it to him. “Any more washes, and the jacket will be rendered useless,” he pleaded.

“Tell that to the shitheads coming after me,” you muttered, crossing your arms, “You got something for me? I have a lot of service work to do.”

“Just the usual note as always,” he said, handing over the letter.

“Ugh, another Troy note?” you opened it, groaning while reading the contents. He was getting bolder with his explicit descriptions.

“That bad, huh?” Jackal mused.

“Yeah,” you promptly discarded it.

----00000----

The boy shook as he glanced at the various medical instruments laying on a tray, glaring menacingly back at him. Several fluids were being administered, cords of different colors hooked up to the right side of his body, keeping the boy alive. The cold, sterile bed he was on burned his skin. With his blue eyes, he tried looking around for any signs of life, his gaze falling on a figure working on a computer.

“M-Mister…?” the boy said, frightened, “I want my mummy and big sis…” He was holding back tears, hiccupping. The man waved off at him, “Just hold on, almost done here.” The boy heard the man rant about some schematics, foreign terms to the little one. Timid, the boy patted the area where his right arm was missing, taking deep breaths.

He let out a tiny sob.

“We haven’t started and you’re already crying?” the man asked, approaching the table. He has wearing a black lab coat over a brown jumpsuit. His deep red eyes bore into the boy’s soul. The boy never liked the color red too much, reminding him of the captors that had him, his mother, and big sister. At least the man’s hair was black as his, all over the place.

The man grinned, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Don’t worry, Troy. We’re gonna get you back up and running soon, just bear with me a little, okay?” the man said, side glancing the viewing window behind him, next to the computers he was working on.

Troy nodded, sniffing, watching as the man brought over a mask to place over his nose and mouth. Slowly, he drifted off to a deep sleep, in time to avoid hearing the whirring of a medical saw and incisions being performed on his tiny, weak body.

The man worked diligently, careful, making cuts, measurements, and checking the monitor for the boy’s condition. Troy was doing well. He kept glancing at the viewing window, somewhat nervous, somewhat irritated. From the other side of the window, military jarheads watched, the Atlas crest shown in the background.

After making few alterations and testing out some connections on the boy’s new body modifications, the man flashed a thumbs up at the viewing mirror. A scowl was on his face.

“Excellent work,” a voice rang in the intercom, “Leave details of the modification to our medical staff, you are to be with the child until he is returned to his quarters.”

“Yeah, yeah…” the man muttered, growling. He looked at Troy, narrowing his eyes. If he wanted to, he could have killed the boy, sparing Troy a life of misery, but the boy’s mother pleaded for the man to save her son. His train of thought was interrupted by the entrance of Atlas medical staff, removing and cleaning up the operation room, moving Troy to another bed. One of the staff approached the man, nudging him to follow them.

“No need to push! I can walk fine!” he hissed out, smacking the medical staff’s hand away. The man followed along with the others, chiding and getting after the staff when they were roughly handling the bed Troy was in. They paid no attention to him.

Through several hallways, they reached a red barrier wall, a staff inputting a code, the barrier coming down. They pushed the medical bed in, alerting a woman and a small child in the room about their presence.

“T-Troy!” the woman cried out, rushing over, sobbing. The other small child ran over, crying.

The Atlas medical staff moved away, standing by the door. The man watched the woman and child cry over the boy.

“He will be fine, Leto. I made modifications to his nervous system and muscle attachments, he will be able to use that arm I gave him,” the man replied, voice strained. Leto looked up, eyes teary, sniffing.

“Thank you…” she whispered, hugging the small child clinging to her, “Look Tyreen, your brother will be able to play with you…”

Tyreen was sobbing, holding Troy’s tiny hand in hers, nodded. Leto placed her on the medical bed, the little girl gently hugging her brother who was sound asleep. As Tyreen leaned forward, the man caught a glimpse of small, vibrant blue dots on her neck.

The telltale signs of a Siren.

The man closed his eyes, sighing in frustration. Atlas had two Sirens under their control. He didn’t say much to Leto and Tyreen, only giving them a curt nod before departing, heading towards the medical staff.

“W-Wait!” Leto called out, rushing over but stopped by the medical staff, “H-How can I repay you!”

The man didn’t turn around, “Stay close to the kids.” And out he went.

----0000------

Troy rubbed his face, tired, exhausted. He looked at his mechanical arm, some parts were off place as he tried to work on it. With the ongoing raids, he hadn’t had much time to conduct maintenance on his arm and it was taking a toll on his body. Plus, his ‘service’ mechanic was dead. He growled, throwing a wrench to the side, unable to concentrate.

He slouched as far as he could in his seat, keeping notice about his wonky arm. Troy cursed at his past self for wanting such an extravagant arm for the sake of holding a blade. Those were odd times for him. He eyed where his wrench went, his gaze falling on the photo he found on Cepheus that had you with the old man, Cassie, and the unknown man. It was neatly placed on his main work bench alongside the other photos he and Basil found, taunting him. The more he looked at the photo, the more the man reminded him of someone, especially with the stupid grin he had.

Troy reached out to grab them, staring. With one hand, he looked through all of them, gently tapping the ones that had you smiling, laughing. He bared witness to at least a laugh. One of the photos that caught his attention was of you sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking out at the horizon. He recognized that area being near the Viper bandit camp. It brought back the memory of his ‘date’ with you not too long ago, where you verbally threatened to throw yourself off. In the photo, you were smiling. With him, your face was blank, empty.

He stared at the photo for a while, wondering what had happened between you and Cepheus. After the arena fight, you shut down, refusing to answer any questions to the point he had to stop Tyreen from extremely punishing you when she got irritated. It was obvious that the history you and Cepheus shared was close since you harbored deep hatred for the old man.

/Okay?! You call this being okay!? I FUCKING HATE YOU!/

Then there was the mark displayed by the two of you. The upside-down triangle etched on your skins. Footage from the fight was carefully sifted through for any other clues, but nothing materialized. The only source available was you and you didn’t budge.

“Troy?”

Troy shuffled out his EchoNet device from his pocket, “What’s up Ty?”

“We’ll be meeting in the Surveillance Room tonight, so free up your schedule,” Tyreen informed, she sounded exhausted. Dealing with you had put a strain on her.

“About that… I’m still working on my arm,” Troy sheepishly replied, gazing at the mess he had on his workbench.

He heard Tyreen sigh on the other side, “Have one of the mechanics finish it up… Actually, why don’t you go with my plaything? Take the opportunity to see if she spills anything… She’s still mad at me.” Figures.

Troy rolled his eyes, “How convenient, I’ll try but I don’t promise anything.” Tyreen chuckled, “Alright.” And with that the feed cut off. He looked down at the photos, pondering if he should take them. Shaking his head, he set them aside.

Perhaps some other time. He stashed them in a drawer under his main work bench.

Grabbing and quickly fixing what he could on his arm, Troy ventured out of his private shop, shutting the door behind him. The sun was slowly setting down, washing over the hub with a red film. The tall Calypso licked his lips, the red reminding him of blood and guts. As he paced forward towards the warehouse, he stopped in his tracks, grinning. He sniffed the air, relishing the scent of fresh blood hitting his nostrils.

“Father Troy…” the sweet alluring voice beckoned him.

“Helen… fancy meeting you here,” Troy purred out, turning to face the priestess, “Come here often?” Helen smirked, opening her robe from the front, a fresh cut present between her breasts, blood oozing out. Troy inhaled, eyeing the cut.

“Only for you,” she whispered, biting her lip.

A small detour wouldn’t hurt, Troy thought.

-----0000000------

Perhaps you could jam it, sabotage the exhaust, make it overheat. The coolant could stop working, causing the metal rod to increase friction, making sparks, and then maybe…

“Hey, don’t zone out on me while you are working on my arm.”

You bit your lip, in thought. You stuck your screwdriver into a gear, wiggling it. He can’t catch on fire. Yet.

“Ow!”

Troy feigned being hurt, laughing as you gave him a bored look. He was laying on your work bench, using a vehicle tire as a pillow, his mechanical arm sprawled in parts on another work bench placed adjacent. You resumed your work, fiddling with some screws, pulling wires. The taller Calypso hummed a little tune. It was the two of you in the shop late at night.

Normally he’d visit in the mornings to pester you, but tonight, he showed up while you were about to leave after closing shop, requesting a one-to-one service tune-up on his arm after it was giving him issues handling his large blade. His former mechanic dead somewhere in the wastes in a recent raid, he said.

As much as you disliked the Calypsos, they did have better access to machinery and parts for bandits. Marveling on the work of Troy’s arm when inspecting it, you complied in servicing it. From what you could observe, his arm wasn’t placed on the shoulder socket, but dug deep into his chest from the metal plates you came across. The metal collars around his neck served as a weight to balance him while he walked. It must’ve have taken a long time for Troy to get used to and manage the extra weight.

A brief recollection of your fight against him was enough to gain a bit of admiration for Troy. Tiny bit.

“Clench your fist,” you ordered.

Troy did as told, grunting. There was brief clicking and pulling of wires when he attempted again. He shook his head, “Its stuck.”

You nodded, taking out a small wire clipper, a bottle of acid, and a soldering iron, “Looks like the previous mechanic didn’t adjust the lengths of the wire holding on the mechanisms connected to your fingers.”

“I tried telling the bastard to clip them, I overwork my arm and the heat of it causes the wire to melt and get stuck in the edges of the compartment,” Troy added, slamming his other hand on the work bench in anger, “Then the coolant is unable to release, and jams the gears, causing my shoulder to lock.”

You unscrewed the main compartment of his arm, five thick wires strung from top to bottom, hooked on to small pistons. Just as he informed you, the ends of the wires were melted, causing the hooks to glue to the other pieces, preventing movement. You absentmindedly tapped him on his chest to get his attention, causing him to jump. From your peripheral vision, Troy licked his lips.

“Move your fingers.”

He attempted again, the wires barely moving, the clicking coming from the hooks trying to unstuck themselves. You busied yourself clipping the wires, squirting a bit of acid to remove the melted pieces of the wires, scrapping. Troy watched you in silence, mesmerized. You were engrossed in the work, the sounds of clipping, the soldering iron contacting metal. He shuddered when you plucked at the strings like an instrument, watching as his mechanical fingers moved on their own.

“Got something?” Troy asked.

“I will have to replace the hooks, they are too worn out and the original material isn’t heat resistant, that’s why its causing those jams,” you answered. Troy was aware this was probably the most you’ve spoken to him that wasn’t a threat. You scurried off to the scrap pile, rummaging. Troy could hear you muttering about Hyperion and Jakobs parts, throwing pieces all over the place in attempt to look for them.

“Where did I see it, I know I saw that short dude working off one…” you mumbled, tapping your chin, getting more grease on your face. Troy tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. Your body language was different than normal. Whenever he was around, you’d shrink as if waiting for him to do a move against you. With Tyreen around, you were more agitated, tense, shoulders and arms drawn in.

Right now, you were relaxed.

Troy drummed his fingers on the work bench, in deep thought. He was tempted to say something, but was afraid of upsetting you. Whatever it was, it was stuck in his throat. Noise of clutter being thrown around and tools being placed near alerted him of your presence again.

“Got a small piece I can use temporarily. You can’t use your arm extensively until I’m able to sculpture out the parts,” you informed, using metal scissors to cut out delicate hooks, “That means no swinging your blade around or punching things unless you want that arm to collapse.”

You lightly tapped his metal shoulder-chest plate with the scissors, “The weight will be too much and you, too, will collapse, a lot pressure for the plates. Plus, your connectors on the back won’t be able to handle the strain.”

Troy was baffled with the information overload, nodding, “Oh… How long for the parts...?”

“That depends if I can get some processed parts, preferably Atlas, from the next shipment of scrap. Last pieces were used for the new model guns, trying to cut back on the overheat issue,” you informed, working on adding the new hooks into his arm, clipping and soldering the wires.

Troy was quiet as you kept working. He had expected for you to hiss, growl, or sneer at him throughout his stay in the warehouse since you were still upset with him and Tyreen. Or point your dagger at his crotch.

He wondered if you were normally like this with the other mechanics when getting into the zone, chattering about the works of machines, parts, and tools. His eyes in the cult would report you hanging out with the mechanics in the bar, playing pool and darts, and the occasional bar brawl. Did you laugh in good company? You only laughed once or twice, ending up biting your own hand to suppress them, a scowl replacing your features when around him and Tyreen. Got worse after the fight against Cepheus, your mood souring whenever he or Tyreen would bring it up. The twins wanted answers, but you refused to give any.

He tuned back in on you. You kept talking, informing him of what to expect with the temporary part, what not to do, what he could do and tips on how to avoid his shoulder mechanism locking up if he wasn’t near a mechanic. He absorbed it all. He could feel your excitement, not bloodlust or hatred. Genuine care for your trade.

Troy was slowly seeing a different side of you.

“Did you get all that, or do I need to repeat myself?” you asked, concern in your tone. Your face was covered in grease, your hair disheveled, your hands bruised and worn from the mechanical work. No blood, no guts, no anger. Troy shook his head.

This was a side he was startling to like and wanted to see more. He hoped.

----00000-----

After shooing Troy off from the warehouse, you made your way back to the hut. The late-night life at the CoV hub was more chaotic than during the day. Bar fights were more common, at times you’d see your fellow mechanics getting kicked out or they kicking someone out to beat up on the street. With your popularity and recent attacks, you avoided the main streets, opting to go through the backways or jumping off roofs.

As you made your way through the narrow paths behind several shops, a sense of paranoia set in. Stopping, you glanced backwards, finding no one. You gently tapped your wrist, making sure the dagger was ready to deploy. You moved a few feet before a bang from behind a shop made you jump, quickly turning around with your arms up to defend yourself.

At the intersection of one of the streets, Helen stood in semi-revealing black clothing, a crimson robe wrapped around her, the front open. Her CoV mark was visible between her breasts, some dark spots adorned her skin, a cut was evident. The poor lighting made it difficult to see her face, especially with her hair on the way. You stared at her, narrowing your eyes. She remained in her spot before hurrying off in the opposite direction.

“Huh..” That was a first. Normally she’d try to threaten or hiss at you.

Shrugging, you resumed your walk, unable to shake her odd appearance out of your mind.

Arriving at your hut, you noticed the door slightly open. Flicking your wrist, you kept your dagger in hand. You’ve been attacked today once, perhaps another one was coming up. Kicking the door, you entered cautiously, scanning the living room and kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place. Your clothes were still strewn on the couch, dishes in the sink, and the small coffee table remained in place.

You pushed open your bedroom door, gulping.

On the walls, words of “DROP DEAD” were scribbled in red with dozens of CoV marks around it. In the middle of your bedroom laid the ripped, shredded remains of your black flame-embroidered leather jacket. The same one you had given Jackal to clean.

“Well then…” you muttered, kneeling to pick up at the pieces. The strong smell of gasoline was evident in the garments, some of it bearing burn marks. You sighed in frustration. Now you wished you were attacked, at least you’d be able to see and maim you attackers.

Kicking at the pile, you checked your dresser and bed for any other surprises. Nothing. Whoever left this behind clearly had access to your hut without breaking down the door. As for the jacket, well, Jackal was the last person with it. He enjoyed setting psychos on fire during the sermons, but he didn’t seem the type to go crazy on you, especially since he was the middle man of the Calypsos.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you grabbed a new change of clothes, intent in calling it a night. Exhaustion taking over.

------00000------

Troy entered the surveillance room, grinning as he patted his mechanical arm. Donovan and Basil were busy chatting at the console, Tyreen was checking several monitors. The white-haired Calypso noticed her brother’s arrival.

“You’re extremely late. Did you get anything?” Tyreen asked, crossing her arms. Basil and Donovan tuned in on their conversation. Troy shook his head, looking away.

“I kinda got distracted….” Troy covered his chest with his jacket, in vain, some bite marks visible, “Wasn’t able to ask the mechanic anything while she tuned up my arm.”

Donovan and Basil snickered, looking away when Tyreen shot them a disapproving glare. She rubbed her face in frustration.

“I swear, you need to stop letting your dick do the thinking every time Helen is around!” Tyreen stomped her foot, growling, “My plaything won’t tell me anything! I figured with you, she’d at least spill something!”

“That’s cause your irritable and lash out at her…” Troy muttered, avoiding Tyreen’s glare, “Maybe if you ask NICELY….”

“All of a sudden you are an expert in these things? You can’t even keep Helen in line,” Tyreen countered, irritated, “Don’t tell me how to handle my plaything.”

“Don’t change the fucking subject,” Troy spat out, getting angry, “You keep antagonizing her, too.”

“Me? Now you’re going to blame me for the others as well?” Tyreen continued.

“Oh, don’t get me started…” Troy trailed off, anger still present in his voice.

Donovan coughed, both Calypsos looking at him, “Sorry to interrupt, but you want to see this…”

“We received this from the forums in the EchoNet,” Basil brought up the image for all to see. It showed the transcript of a chat that were talking about the mark displayed by you and Cepheus, the Calypsos’ followers brainstorming and theorizing the origins of it. Further down, an ‘unknown user’ showed up, disrupting the forum.

“What the hell?” Troy approached the console, scrolling through the feed, “How were they able to post shit if they were new to the system?”

Tyreen stared at the feed, watching as the “unknown user’ posted about her being in possession of something belonging to them: You.

‘:D Tell her I miss her :3’

“This has to be a troll, no?” Troy asked Basil, the large man shrugging.

“I’m not sure… Whoever it is sent these two photos…” Basil brought up the images of the hanging bodies and the blurred photo that showed you laughing. Troy stared at the second one.

“Anybody around here can have hanging bodies, as for the second one, could be doctored,” Donovan informed, looking at Tyreen.

“She’s been shot at every angle with our surveyors…” Tyreen trailed off, glancing at Troy, “Troy…?”

“I don’t think its fake…” Troy didn’t break eye contact with the photo. He had seen you laugh.

“What? Are you sure?” Tyreen seemed surprised. Troy pointed at the photo, making a gesture at your lips.

“When she laughs, her lips curl in a grin, almost cat-like. You can see it there,” Troy enlarged the image slightly, showcasing what he was talking about. Donovan and Basil followed his explanation, Tyreen staring with a blank expression at Troy.

“She laughs,” Tyreen stated, flat, “She laughs with you around.” Her arms rested at her side, her fists clenching and unclenching.

“Ty, don’t start…” Troy turned to face her. Tyreen had a look of betrayal, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What? Don’t start what?” Tyreen hissed out, irritated, “Just how my brother knows what my plaything looks like while laughing?”

“Hey.. come on you two…” Basil interjected, standing in between them, “We’re here to figure out this mess, not throw fists at each other…”

“This is why I hate playthings…” Donovan muttered, sighing. Basil mouthed at him to shut up.

“It’s late, I’m just going to back to our living quarters,” Troy said, voice low, shaking his head while shoving past Tyreen. His sister huffed, growling.

“Tyreen, you should go get some rest…” Donovan turned off the console, “We’ve had a long day, we’ll visit this with a clearer mind.” Tyreen nodded, hugging herself. She wasn’t sure what got her riled up.

Jealousy? You were only a plaything.

Then why did it bother her that Troy had seen you laugh when all she got was silent glares and hissing? Previous playthings enjoyed her attention towards them.

You despised hers. You constantly DENIED her.

It felt as if you viewed everything with her as a chore. A hassle. She hadn’t paid much attention to it when you were first captured, but after several months, it was evident you kept the same behavior towards her.

Tyreen fixed her jacket, sighing, “We’ll visit this later, you two head out as well.” Donovan and Basil bowed, then watched as Tyreen left the surveillance room. The tension in the room dissipating.

-------0000000------

The cool air of the night was welcomed by your body, the warehouse being stuffy from the constant heat of the machinery. You were curled up against the wall, forehead touching the cool surface. Sleeping was difficult to come by at times, old nightmares resurfacing after the fight with Cepheus.

Fortunately, you were able to sleep a few hours, managing to stay awake for a good portion of the day albeit keeping in mind the horrible consequence of falling asleep while working at the warehouse. At least you had Perseus to keep an eye on you for that matter.

Trying to get some sleep, your eyes shot open when you heard the door to your hut open and close, small footsteps reaching your bedroom door. Gulping, you remained still as the bedroom door creaked. You hoped the moonlight wouldn’t give away your wide-awake position. A soft blue glow filled the room, causing you to immediately sit up, your back hitting the wall as you hissed, snarled.

Tyreen stood standing in the middle of your bedroom, her Siren tattoos glowing in the dark, staring at you. The glow casted an eerie shadow on her face. You could swear her eyes were glowing as well.

“How come my brother gets to hear you laugh?” Tyreen asked, not moving. You blinked, caught off guard.

“What…?”

“How come my brother gets to hear you laugh?” she asked again, inching closer to you.

You moved further down the bed, trapping yourself against the wall. She reached out with her Siren hand, you tried to pull away, snarling. With the back of her hand, she touched your cheek, then brushing your hair out of your face. Fear was evident in your eyes, causing her to frown.

“How come my brother gets to hear you laugh,” she repeated again, flat. Your breathing got heavier as she tugged at your hair. You kept eyeing her Siren tattoos. Tyreen’s hands wrapped around your neck, slightly squeezing it.

“I can kill you right here. Leave your body to rot in this hut,” Tyreen threatened, narrowing her eyes.

“…Go ahead…” you spat out, grinning, “I have people waiting for me in hell…”

Tyreen froze, eyes slightly wide.

/When she laughs, her lips curl in a grin, almost cat-like./

You stared her with a confused look as her grip on your neck loosened. She let go, stepping back. Coughing, you rubbed your neck, trying to catch your breath. You glared at her, but blinked as she seemed ecstatic about something.

“You.. You grinned…” Tyreen stated, smiling, “You grinned at me…”

“The fuck are you talking about…?!” You muttered, glaring again.

“Troy was right, your lips do curl in a grin, cat-like!” Tyreen eagerly replied, looking at you with amazement.

Your face got red. Cat-like? Troy said that?

You yelped as Tyreen pounced on you, struggling to get away from her as she gave you kisses on the cheek and lips.

“G-Get off me!” you hissed out, feeling her getting a bit too grabby. Tyreen buried her face on your neck, nipping. She kept a tight grip on you. You were exhausted, irritated, having dealt with a Calypso late at night and another one crashing at your place.

Growling, you tried to push her off, “You have your own place, go away!”

You felt Tyreen shake her head, “No, I’m staying the night here.”

“This is my hut!”

“This is my stronghold!”

“….”

“I win...”

------0000000-------

Sleep won over you soon, Tyreen laying on her back with you on her side, resting your head on her chest. You managed to convince her to use some of your extra clothes as pajamas to drop off the gaudy military outfit she had. She was tempted to initiate something while changing clothes, but a quick growl and hiss from you quelled it. At least you were willing to share your bed with her.

Tyreen stared at the figures casted on you by the moonlight through the tattered curtains. Your breathing had evened out, letting her know you were out like a light. She still had excitement in her, a small victory to seeing you grin. At least she had something, she thought. Having lost herself in it, Tyreen barely caught on the graffiti in your room.

“DROP DEAD”

She narrowed her eyes, then at the discarded, shredded pile kicked off by the dresser.

It was the jacket she and Troy had gifted you for your debut fight. She glanced at you, wondering if you had done that. Even after the fights, you still wore the jacket. Perhaps the fight with Cepheus was the breaking point?

“DROP DEAD”

No, she had seen the feed from your fight with the three assailants earlier in the day, you still had the jacket on. It disappeared after you left the warehouse late at night after finishing servicing Troy’s arm. The only other person who would come in contact with you regarding the jacket was Jackal.

Jackal.

He had been in charge of getting it cleaned up after it would get bloody for your fights.

Tyreen silently cursed, growling. You fidgeted in your sleep, snuggling closer to her. She gently patted your cheek, hearing a content sigh from you.

Someone’s head was about to roll.

----0000------

Tap, tap, tap.

You moved around in your bed, using your pillow to muffle the sound.

Tap, tap, tap. Clank!

“Fuck…!”

Annoyed, you looked around in the hut, your other bunk bed buddies fast asleep. Sighing, you got up, wrapping the blanket around your tiny form, walking to the adjacent room. A young man sat on a flimsy metal chair, hunched over a workbench, nursing an injured finger. In front of him laid different parts of a bot, guns, and shields. He was wearing a brown mechanic jumpsuit, the sleeves ripped off. His unruly black hair kept out of the way by a bandana, his tanned skin covered in grease and thick scars.

Upon noticing your presence, he turned around, his red eyes full of concern, a frown adorning his lips.

“Woke you up?” he asked, quiet.

You nodded, yawning, “Hepha, you said you weren’t going to pull all-nighters after what happened last time, almost blowing up the entire camp… Cepheus was mad that time…” The man chuckled, sheepishly scratching his nose.

“He’s an old fart, but he wants shit done, so I have to finish this before his client comes to pick it up soon,” Hepha patted the parts, grinning, “Come help me out so I finish faster.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing, “Whatever happened to the illustrious engineer Hephaestus and needing no help from his baby sister to get shit done?”

Hephaestus placed a hand on his chest, gasping, mock offended, “Its not help, its called collaborative work! So rude, who taught you those ugly words and manners?”

You laughed, pointing at him, “You, dummy!” You approached him, receiving a rough pat on the head by him. Hephaestus brought you in for a hug, squeezing you slightly. You returned it, feeling safe in his arms.

“We only have to deal with this for a bit longer, okay?” Hephaestus kissed the top of your head, “And we will leave this damn planet.” You nodded, sighing. Waiting seemed to be an eternity.

----000000------

You stared at the gun parts laying on the workbench in the warehouse, lost in thought. The dream from last night felt so real, vivid, feeling your brother’s tight hug of comfort and safety. The moment you woke up, you were met with Tyreen’s icy blue eyes, a smirk plastered on her face, her arms wrapped around you. It took a lot from you not to kick her off the bed after realizing you were the one hugging her as if your life depended on it.

She seemed content with the position, teasing you that she would have left earlier if you weren’t gripping too tight on her. This only angered you, but you tried not to show it. Fortunately, you and her parted ways early in the morning, no further incident. A first for both of you.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

You blinked, looking up at Perseus. The mechanic gestured at the gun parts, “You have been staring at those things for the past hour, they are not going to be magically put together. The Twin Gods will be having another raid soon, we need to finish.” He didn’t sound upset, only slightly agitated. Everyone was on edge for this next raid. The Calypsos had been very secretive about it.

“Uh…yeah… sorry about that…” you muttered, nervous, resuming your work.

“You need to take a break from work when they go off on the raid, you’ve been all over the place after that fight with.. you know who… Take it easy, okay?” Perseus said, worry in his tone. Before you could respond, he patted your head, brushing some hair off your face then walked back to his work bench, missing the small yelp you let out and a small blush on your cheeks.

You touched your head, feeling the ghost touch of Perseus’ gentle touch. Shaking your head, you tried to squash the little monster in the back of your head that was laughing.

----00000----

The Altas medical staff were furiously writing, typing at their computers with the current observations transpiring before them. Tyreen was waving her finger around, watching as small little red orbs appeared and vanished. Troy looked on in amazement as their mother, Leto, watched in slight horror. The man that had operated on Troy remained behind the staff, observing.

‘A Siren from the wastes, how pitiful,’ he thought as he approached the door leading into the family’s quarters, “Going in, I need to service the brat’s arm.”

“We are not done yet,” one of the staff informed.

“The white-haired brat is only compliant with her brother alive, you want that to stop?” he spat out, growling. He had learned from Leto that Troy and Tyreen were fraternal twins. When Atlas captured them, they wanted to get rid of Troy as he was weak, sick. The moment a Crimson Lance soldier was about to shoot him, Tyreen manifested her powers, killing the soldier. Whatever she did, Troy was healthy once again for a short period.

The boy depended on his sister for survival. The girl depended on her brother to survive Atlas.

The medical staff buzzed him in, the barrier keeping the family in coming down. This spooked them, Tyreen and Troy huddling with their mother. When the twins saw it was the man, they relaxed, running towards him.

“Mister, mister!” they shouted, clinging to his legs, “You’re back!”

The man patted them on the head, giving them a slight smile, “Yep, came to check up on Troy’s arm, come on.” He gently picked up Troy, Tyreen hanging from the man’s arm, giggling. He set them both on the medical bed, Leto giving him a nod of acknowledgment.

Troy sat on the bed, extending his arm out, knowing this routine. Tyreen remained by his side, watching. The man opened small compartments on Troy’s arm, inspecting wires and gears, poking and prodding with his instruments from a small tool box he had set next to Troy. The boy gazed curiously at them.

“Wow, that’s a lot… you use them all?” Troy asked, shyly. The man chuckled, still working, “Yep, every single of them plays a part in my work. The bigger tools I have were used to create your arm and connectors.”

Tyreen glanced at the back of Troy’s head, “That wire thingy?” The white-haired Calypso was about to touch it but received a firm scolding from Leto.

The man snorted, “Yeah, don’t go touching that. Your brother is still healing in that area.”

“But it doesn’t hurt,” Troy stated, reaching towards the back, “Big sis healed it…”

The man raised an eyebrow, screwdriver tilted in his hand. Leto grimaced, slightly nodding.

“The pain medication wore off… Tyreen healed him…” Leto whispered, eyeing the viewing window from a far.

Tyreen grinned, squeezing her brother’s arm. The man frowned slightly, realizing now why Atlas brought him in for the boy’s operation.

With Troy alive, Tyreen would be able to manifest more her powers.

Sighing, he reached out to pat Tyreen’s head, the little girl chirping, “Hey, do me a favor okay? Try not to use this special power of yours when those jarheads are around… Only at night if possible.” Tyreen blinked, tilting her head.

“…Okay…” she whispered, looking at Leto who nodded slowly. Their mother reached out to hug Tyreen, kissing her on the forehead.

With that said, the man closed up Troy’s arm compartments, patting the arm gently, “Should be good for now, I’ll come by later.” Troy grabbed the man’s hand, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“Can you show me… how to fix my arm…?” Troy asked, eyeing the tool box, “I want to help…” Tyreen bounced over from Leto’s arms, “Me too!” The man shushed them both, the twins covering their mouths.

“If you behave, maybe I will,” the man teased, patting them both on the head, “You two are so cute.” He leaned forward, grinning, “I have a kid sister about your age, she likes to mess with my tools and gadgets, good to see other kids wanting to learn as well.”

“Can she come play with us?” Tyreen asked, timid, “Troy gets angry when I win games…” She glanced her brother who huffed, crossing his arms.

The man sighed, “I’m afraid not… at least for now…” He said the last part hushed, “I think she’d get along with you two, but keep this between us and your mom, okay?”

The twins nodded, eager. The man helped the twins off the bed as they rushed over to their small playpen in the corner of the room. He watched as Tyreen ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at Troy’s arm, tracing the orange and red lines marking his mechanical hand. Atlas colors.

Leto approached the man, whispering, “What is the status..?”

“Check Troy’s arm when lights are out,” the man said, and out he went.

-----0000-----

Tyreen sat on her lavish throne, bored, looking at some priests who were chanting and praising her. The morning seemed to drag on forever, memories of last night at your hut fresh in her mind. Your little grin, even under threat or danger, was worth it. It excited her, finally getting a glimpse of it. Then, there was the feeling of your body against her when you hugged her tight at night.

It had caught her by surprise, since she is the one usually dishing out the physical affection. You never let go, whimpering when she tried to move, tightening your grip on her. She would never admit outright, but it was the first time, in a very long time, that she had a good night’s sleep. And it was with you when it happened. At least no one was killed like in Troy’s case.

Tyreen closed her eyes, imagining your small whimpers and breathing against her neck, your hands resting on her back, relaxed and warm. When she massaged your head, you let out a small giggle, leaning to the touch. No frowns, no glares, no hissing from your relaxed, sleeping form. She liked that. The rare times you’d spend the night at the Calypsos’ living quarters, a scowl would be on your face while asleep.

She wanted to experience more, although she was unsure how to proceed. The situation with Cepheus had strained interaction between you and Tyreen, especially when she was about to punish you for refusing to answer any questions. Troy had to intervene.

“My God Queen, Jackal has arrived,” one of the priests informed, bowing. Tyreen smirked, nodding.

“Let him through,” she commanded, sitting up straight. Jackal entered the main hall, a nervous expression on his face.

“You summoned me, my God Queen?” Jackal asked, bowing.

“Yes,” Tyreen responded, her voice laced with irritation. She grabbed an item at her side, throwing it at Jackal’s feet.

It was your shredded jacket.

The moment Jackal saw it, he gasped, looking up at Tyreen, extremely nervous. She smirked, enjoying the fear.

“Explain yourself, now.”

-----00000000-------

“Think you are fucking tough, huh? Our God Queen isn’t around to protect you, plaything,” the cultist shouted, holding a baseball bat with nails stuck to them. The other two behind were holding lead pipes. It was the middle of the day, the warehouse supervisor kicked you out after you had fallen asleep. It was most likely to prevent the wrath of the Calypsos for falling on them should something happened to you.

Now you made three new friends at the alley on your way to the hut.

“Get lost,” you muttered, sleepy. This only angered the trio.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and take the beating, can’t let our lady friend down,” the cultist muttered, grinning manically.

You tilted your head, curious. Lady friend? The fuckers that had been attacking you recently were sent by someone?

“Oh, pray tell, who is this lady friend of yours,” you asked, inching close to them, rolling up your sleeves, “Does she happen to be one sending your other friends I killed as well?”

“Tch, as if we are going to tell you!” the cultist with baseball bat shouted, lunging towards you. The other two shouted as well, following the cultist’s lead. You dodged the first few attacks, easily avoiding their secondary attacks, immediately punching the cultist that had the baseball bat.

With a swift swing, you knocked the cultist back, hearing a crunch on the jaw. They hollered out in pain, stumbling backwards. The other two tried to swing at you, one of them hitting you on the shoulder and face. Utilizing this opening, you grabbed their arm, twisting it and headbutting them. They shouted in pain, holding their noise, their arm limp on the side. Their remaining friend tried to lay a punch, but was met with the butt of the baseball bat on their forehead, knocking them back.

“F-Fucking damnit!” the cultist with the bleeding noise shouted, “F-Fuck!” You landed a punch on them, their blood splashing on you from their nosebleed. Swinging again the bat, you knocked them out, watching as they fell to the floor.

“Shit! S-She’s gonna kill us!” the other cultist shouted, cowering on the ground, “H-Have mercy!”

“I’m the last person to ask for mercy…” you spat out, swinging the bat down on their face, shutting down a loud scream. You kept swinging, and swinging. Every hit let out a sickening crunch, splat of flesh. You were panting heavily, bringing up the bat up and swung hard down.

You moved to the other cultist knocked out on the floor, swinging again, beating the cultist’s face to a bloody pulp. The remaining one shrieked, falling down as they held their broken jaw, trying to escape.

Walking slowly, you taunted, throwing the bat at them, watching them jump in fear. The cultist wailed, now sobbing. Pressing your foot on their back, they squirmed, struggling. Normally you’d do quick work on your attackers, but right now, you wanted to see red.

Red. Red. Red. The other two dead cultists were beautiful with their crushed faces.

You grabbed the cultist’s head, a hand on their jaw, slightly tugging. They cried out in pain, shrieking. You licked your lips, the fear in their eyes stirring something in you. Something deep. Something feral.

Something carnal.

You let out a small giggle, smiling as the cultist’s expression turned to pure horror. If you wanted to, you would be able to pull the cultist’s jaw clean from their face.

“Andromeda!”

You froze, glancing at the source of the voice.

Perseus was staring at you, your fingers grasping at the lower jaw of the cultist, ready to rip it off. His eyes were wide in surprise, slightly in fear.

“What the fuck, man! What is up with you?!” Perseus asked, carefully approaching you, “You just beat them up, not maim them! I mean, you kill them, but not overkill!”

“I..I-I don’t know…” you said, low, throwing the cultist aside as they whimpered in pain. You grabbed your head again, wincing, “I.. I just..”

Perseus pulled you away as the cultist dragged themselves off, passing out on the ground. He grabbed your hands, trying to get a look at your face.

“Damn, they landed a nasty hit on you… I haven’t seen you this crazy outside the arena…” Perseus said, taking out a handkerchief from pocket to wipe blood from your nose. You remained still, tense as he gently cleaned your face. Perseus held a concerned expression.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, come on…” Perseus helped you off from the alley, making way to the bar. It was still the middle of the day, the bartender letting you and Perseus in the backroom to clean up, even throwing a bottle of rakk-ale at you. You sat on a makeshift bar stool, holding a cold pack on your cheek. The mechanic opened a first aid kit, taking out some alcohol and gauze.

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you beating up more people... well, attempting to kill them… You looked out of it…” Perseus commented, dousing a gauze with alcohol, wiping at the cuts on your cheek. You winced, looking away.

“What’s wrong?” Perseus asked, worry in his tone, “Does it have to do with your last fight..?” It was always Cepheus. You had shitty luck.

You grimaced, nodding slowly, “Y-Yeah…”

“I see… Still spooked, huh? I have noticed you tense up when the other idiots bring it up. You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” Perseus informed, continuing on your cuts on your hands. You watched him as he inspected the cuts, gently holding your hand. Your hands were more scarred than his. Most of them were not from mechanic work.

“He was my father.”

Perseus stopped, glancing up at you. He was holding your hand still, feeling you squeeze his.

“You killed him then…” he whispered, resuming his work. He didn’t sound angry or upset.

He sounded sympathetic.

“Well.. he wasn’t actually my father… I thought of him in that way… until…” you trailed off, wincing as Perseus bandaged your palm.

Perseus remained quiet, now looking at you. You stared back at him, an odd feeling swelling up. For once, in a long time, someone was willing to listen to you, not forcing it or threatening you. The time you had come to know Perseus, despite being devoted to the Calypsos, he didn’t hold an ill will towards anyone. If anything, he was the jokester of the mechanics, trying to humor everyone through the long days and nights of working on service parts or finishing up jobs for the Calypsos’ raids.

He had become a huge fan of yours after your debut in the arena, which you had found annoying at first since he would quickly talk and babble on about the fights non-stop. But, after his fanboy phase weathered off, reluctantly, he was slowly chipping away your walls with a simple smile or joke. At first, you thought he was doing this to get near the Calypsos through you. This sentiment was quelled when you first were ambushed, running to the warehouse to make sure you were okay before checking on Troy’s damaged technical. His reason: you are his friend, he was worried.

“You know I was a bandit, right..?” You asked, still staring back at him. Perseus nodded.

“I… I was living with the Vipers for a while, they took me in… I was an orphan,” you continued, looking away, holding Perseus’s hand, “When I was a teenager… I was given as tribute to a bandit leader in the east…” You were slightly shaking.

Perseus placed his other hand on top of yours, hearing you continue, “I..I was offered, given away by the same people I thought were my family…” You sobbed, covering your face with one hand. Perseus looked at you, hesitant, unsure.

He took a deep breath, wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight. You froze, then relaxed.

You hugged back, clinging and shaking, crying into his shoulder, “After all the time I spent with them… they discarded me….to save their own skins…”

Discarded or killed.

Perseus rubbed your back. You could feel him tense up as you continued.

“The woman whom I viewed as a mother, threw it in my face that I had no family, no value…” you sobbed, rubbing your eyes, “Until that day…”

/That’s why I left the Vipers, to go with him, to keep an eye on you./

“Shh… you don’t have to continue…” Perseus whispered, cupping your face in his hands, “A little at a time, okay?” He smiled warmly. You sniffed, nodding, smiling back. Although it was small, you felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders.

Perseus ruffled your hair, “Promise me that you will rest? Just go to your hut, chill.”

“I-I promise…” you said, hiccupping, “Still on your break?”

Perseus grinned, “Yeah, want to get some drinks since we’re here already? Celebrate another victory against those idiots!”

You laughed, picking up your rakk-ale bottle, “Way ahead of you!”

Perseus observed you, noticing the cat-like grin on your face, chuckling.

You didn’t bite your hand this time.

----0000------

Donovan threw a knife at a prisoner, laughing as they yelled in pain. Troy was next to him, grinning. Both were back in the Naughty House, Troy’s right-hand man was in a good mood.

“You look like you struck the jackpot, what is the occasion?” Troy asked, holding his mechanical arm. He wasn’t able to use it as per your orders, lest he wanted to limp with a heavy weight piece of metal.

“Oh, nothing… just got inspired by Tyreen’s plaything,” Donovan said, throwing another knife. This one landed on the prisoner’s chest. Troy raised an eyebrow, curious. Donovan had made it clear he didn’t like you.

“Inspired?” Troy inquired.

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen the security feed from the warehouse,” Donovan chuckled, “Were you with Helen this time around?” He smirked when Troy shot him a look.

“Shut your mouth,” Troy hissed out.

“No need to take it out on me, that’s why we’re here. I could feel the anger radiating from you when you stepped into my training room,” Donovan taunted, tossing a knife at Troy. The tall Calypso growled in anger, throwing the knife with great force towards the prisoner. It landed ways off, the prisoner sobbing.

“Shitty aim,” Donovan teased, dodging a punch from Troy, “Not my fault you are having problems with your lover.”

Troy didn’t reply, heading towards the prisoner and immediately punching them with his mechanical arm. The loud, screeching of metal echoed in the execution grounds, Troy hissing out in pain.

“Fucking shit!” Troy yelled, smashing the prisoner’s face in, “SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!” Donovan watched amused as Troy released his frustration, whistling as the prisoner was beaten up. He stepped back when the Calypso got more aggressive, blood and guts splashing everywhere.

After a while, Troy stopped, breathing heavily.

“Feel a bit better?” Donovan asked, looking at him expectantly.

Troy let out a hoarse laugh, “Yeah… “ He rubbed his face, smearing blood on it, “She’s been getting on my nerves, can’t have a good fuck without her bringing up stupid shit.”

“About?” Donovan untied the prisoner, watching as the corpse fell forwards, gesturing for an armed cultist to dispose the body.

“How Tyreen keeps goading at her that she’s not good for me,” Troy informed, looking down at his mechanical arm. He sighed, viewing some gears getting jammed.

“That bad huh?” Donovan mused, crossing his arms, “Tyreen always makes up her mind when it comes to your….’bedwarmers’ as she puts it…”

Troy growled, “She’s not a bedwarmer…” Donovan raised his arms in defense, “I’m only repeating what she says, you do you man.” Troy went to sit on the viewer’s deck, tampering with his arm, Donovan following him.

“She did start as one…” Donovan muttered, looking away, “Can’t fault her if you don’t announce she’s the main one.” Troy hissed at him.

“Tyreen won’t let me,” Troy admitted, “Says that I will eventually get tired of her…” His voiced went low. She wasn’t wrong, previous ‘bedwarmers’ had been favorites to lovers, but quickly they were ushered away at her discretion. Helen has been the longest, though Troy attributed this to her being a high priestess. They both had easy access to each other.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?” Troy spat back.

“Getting tired of her,” Donovan asked.

“….No,” Troy answered. He hesitated.

Donovan got up, leaning slightly towards Troy, whispering, “She’s the one that ratted you out when you took Tyreen’s plaything for a joyride… Thought that would help her get in Tyreen’s good graces….” He patted Troy’s arm, walking off.

Troy closed his eyes, clenching his fist. Another prisoner was going to get maimed.

----000000----

As much as you wanted to rest, the glaring “DROP DEAD” graffiti was still present in your room. Using an old shirt and water, you scrubbed at the letters, grateful that the paint was of shitty quality. That’s when you realized it was blood. Weird choice.

You dunked the shirt into the water, squeezing, watching the pink swirls on the surface. Shaking your head, you continued cleaning, satisfied with the clean surface. After disposing of the water and cloth in the bathroom, you ventured back to your room, eyebrows furrowed.

Where was your ripped jacket?

You recalled kicking it off to the side, so you checked under your bed and the dresser. Nothing. You went back to the bathroom, no signs.

“That’s… odd…” you muttered, rubbing your head, confused for once. The little monster in your head whispered a name.

Tyreen.

Tyreen had been in your room while you slept for the majority of the time. Fear crept up on you. Had she seen the ripped jacket thinking it was you who did it? Is that why she left in the morning smiling and happy? She was going to punish you for it, wasn’t she?

Trying to keep calm, you went back to the bathroom, splashing water on your face. You had nothing to do with it, Jackal was the last person in possession of it. Despite the shit you put up with the Calypsos, you ACTUALLY liked the jacket, helped keep your dagger out of sight during fights. Plus, you also liked the flame designs on it. Not that you were going to admit that to the Calypsos.

Sighing in defeat, you accepted the inevitability. You threw yourself on your bed, groaning. You stared at the wall, your mind casually reminding you of the situation.

Living with the Skullmashers, being the only survivor of the Calypso raid, taken prisoner and made into Tyreen’s plaything, fighting in the arena for the Calypsos’ Let’s Flay, and now your old past catching up to you thanks to Cepheus. You hoped Perseus wouldn’t tell anyone, having spilt part of it to him in the heat of the moment after beating up your attackers.

The nightmares continued, your mind resurfacing painful memories. The cold air, the heavy chains on your wrists and ankles, the disgusting stench of death… And red. All of it red.

You blinked, realizing you were twisting your pillow, the seams already torn. Growling in frustration, you threw it aside, watching the filling fly all over the place. So much for cleaning.

You screamed into your bed.

-----0000000------

“How have you been, Troy?” the man asked, servicing the boy’s arm. Troy remained still, looking at the man’s tools, “Okay…” The man slightly frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, continuing his work.

“I don’t like the colors of my arm… reminds me of those… soldiers that took us in…” Troy whispered, glancing at his sleeping mother, Tyreen was busy fiddling with some blocks next to her.

“I see…” the man replied. During his schematics brainstorming, he had gone with the regular, usual Atlas colors to please the jarheads. An idea popped up, the man grinning.

“I have something, just give me a minute to finish,” the man said, patting Troy’s head. The boy giggled, eager. After doing quick work on the boy’s arm, the man took out some paints from a smaller tray under his main tools, setting them out.

“How about it? I paint something on your arm?” the man smiled as Troy nodded.

“Y-Yeah!”

“Alright, stay still, let the artist get to work,” the man ruffled Troy’s hair, taking out some small brushes and towels. Curiosity got the better of Tyreen, who crawled over to them. She sat next to Troy, holding his other hand.

The twins watched in amazement as the man painting flame decals, lightning bolts and elaborate lettering on Troy’s arm. By the shoulder mechanism, he painted the circular surface red, drawing in black a skull. Troy let out a tiny squeal, excited.

“T-That’s so cool, mister…!” Troy said in awe. The man grabbed another type of paint, ushering Troy to lean forward, “Stay still.” Troy was smiling as the man painted several red stripes and dots on his face.

“I-I want some too!” Tyreen said, sticking her arm out. The man chuckled, complying, painting red figures on her arm, including some smiley faces and cats.

“Make sure to have your mother wash them off, don’t rub your face and stain your clothes,” the man instructed, the twins only nodded, staring at each other. They both squealed, babbling on about their marks.

The man observed them, a vacant expression on his face. This was a small token of happiness for the twins who had no idea what Atlas had in store for them, at least in Tyreen’s part. The man was very familiar with it. Sighing, he closed up his tool box, bidding the twins farewell.

As he left, the red barrier came up, blocking the family in their cell. He passed into the observation area, ignoring the medical staff trying to scold him for the paint job. When he reached the vast distant hallway connecting the observation room to the stronghold’s main area, he glanced up at the various paintings on the wall, his gaze falling on a regal one with older looking woman. Her face showed extreme testament of war, her expression hardened, glaring at the viewer with an eye, the other patched up with a red skull on it. The same design the man put on Troy’s arm.

He stared at the plaque under the painting.

“Supreme Commander Gaia Juno of the Crimson Lance, Promethea’s Lord Protector”

The man glared at the painting, growling. He felt slightly guilty realizing what he did on Troy’s face.

He had given the boy the same Siren marks that Commander Gaia sported on her face.

------0000000-------

Tyreen was watching the live feed setup by the scouts of the Atlas stronghold, the bandits going about their business as usual, not knowing they were being watched. Moksha, the general in charge of the warehouses and armory, had notified her that all was ready for the raid. Donovan and Basill were at the main console, analyzing the blueprints of the stronghold.

“I didn’t think this place would be enormous… from the outside it looks small,” Basil commented, going through different floor plans.

“The Atlas corporation had the means to create several large strongholds across Promethea, this one is the closest to us,” Donovan quipped, “I almost got killed by a Royal Guard of the Lance back in my day as a bandit lord.”

“And now they’re dead,” Tyreen said, sitting up, “Damnit, where’s Troy?”

Donovan glanced at the door, “Shouldn’t take long, I hope. I left him at the execution grounds.” Tyreen rolled her eyes, “He better not show up all bloody, the stench of guts never leaves this damn place.”

A woman wearing heavy gear entered the room, her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. Her green eyes observed the generals and Tyreen, surprised, “Sorry I’m late, had to finish tallying up the ammunition and checking on the warehouse supervisors.”

“We’re still waiting on Troy,” Basil crossed his arms.

“Troy? He was at the warehouse looking for a mechanic, said he busted up his mechanical arm,” Moksha informed, titling her head, “From the looks of it, he really screwed up the rods and gears on it.”

“Oh, shit,” Donovan muttered. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to leave him alone in the execution grounds.

“Mechanic?” Tyreen asked, “My plaything wasn’t there?” Moksha shook her head, “She was sent to her hut early, she fell asleep on the job by what the supervisor told me. Has been going on for a while.”

Tyreen blinked. She wasn’t aware of the issue. She made a mental note to ask about it, hoping you wouldn’t snap at her.

“So what happened to Troy? Is he still at the warehouse?” Donovan checked the warehouse feed, no signs of Troy.

“He went to look for Tyreen’s plaything, said she was the one who last serviced it, he looked a bit nervous…” Moksha said, grinning, “From what I hear, the plaything has a nasty attitude when people mess with her work.”

Tyreen was very familiar with it, her brother knowing the full extent of it when his bandit technical was trashed during your first ambush. You had a calm face when explaining to them the reason why there were body parts in the engine. The Calypsos were extremely excited and turned on during your tale.

“Very well then, we shall proceed, Donovan can keep him up to speed,” Tyreen chirped, heading towards the main console, “Show me what you got. Need to see what we can destroy.”

----000000-----

You sniffed, disgust evident on your face. It was taking a lot of willpower not to throttle the man in front of you. Troy looked like a lost puppy skag, standing in the middle of your living room, covered in blood and guts, most of it centered on the mechanical arm that had seen better days.

“I told you not to mess with your mechanical arm, and what did you do?!” you shouted, huffing.

“I messed with my arm…” Troy said, glancing down, voice low. He felt like a little child being scolded.

“Fucking damnit, one job! You had one job! Grr…!” you grabbed his mechanical arm, causing him to yelp, “See, I told you it was going to fuck up your gears, but no, you just had to go maim someone!”

Troy didn’t respond, looking down still.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” you hissed out, grabbing his chin, tilting it up. He averted his gaze, a tint of red present on his cheeks.

“Its hardly the time to be getting turned on by my threats! You could have gotten yourself pierced by the rods snapping!” you yelled, growling. Troy now stared at you.

“You care…?” he had a small teasing grin. You merely pinched his nose, “I’m being serious here!”

Troy rubbed his nose, pouting, “Yeah, yeah. Well, I need this fixed…”

“The shop doesn’t have the parts I need to fix the wires, all scrap went for your stupid raid,” you muttered, poking his forehead.

“I may have some.”

“Have some where? All scrap is at the warehouse!” You crossed your arms, “I doubt you have a magical garden of scrap.”

Troy seemed unsure, deep in thought before responding, “At my private shop… If I show you the scrap, would you be able to get the wires, hooks fixed..?”

“You… you have a shop…?” you asked, surprised. Troy didn’t strike you as the type for mechanical work, all he ever wanted was blood, sex, and probably bloody sex.

“Yes, I have a shop…” Troy growled, feeling judged, “Would you be able to fix it..?”

You rolled your eyes, “I need to see the scrap metal, then I can tell you.”

“Fine, follow me,” Troy gestured towards the door. You followed, hoping he wasn’t wasting your time.

---00000----

“Holy shit…” you whispered, observing the tools on the walls and work bench, “I-Is that a diamond grade saw…?” You hunched over the equipment, letting out a small squeal, “Oh… that’s a freaking 6000 edition Dahl laser cutter… That’s a Jakob’s forge…!”

Troy eyed you with a mixture of confusion, surprise, and amazement. You were mumbling and ranting about things that could have happened to him in the process of ruining his mechanical arm but the moment you stepped into his private shop… your mood changed dramatically. You were practically bouncing around, identifying the tools and machine parts he had.

Your hands shook as you pointed at the large hammer and anvil neatly laying near the forge, “You’ve got to be shitting me, you have a freaking Atlas Thor class anvil and hammer? The freaking metal is so rare only a few were made!”

“That rare, huh?” Troy watched you, amused, “Well, I guess I’m lucky.”

“The things… I could do with it…” you whispered, spacing out.

“….What would you do with it…?” Troy teased, earning a glare from you.

“Get your mind out of the gutter…” you hissed out. Troy laughed, “With you, I can’t!”

“Ugh, whatever, show me the scrap to get this shit over with…” you growled, following Troy where he had several canisters of scrap metal sorted out. You knelt, rummaging through the pile that had -Atlas- labeled on it.

“While I’m looking, get as much as the guts off the damn thing, arm will get rusty in some parts with chunks of flesh,” you waved off at Troy, already grabbing some scrap, “Looks like you got something here…”

Troy nodded, venturing off to the large sink he had. He groaned, noticing the amount of flesh stuck in the small nooks and dents of the arm. As he washed, he kept glancing at you from time to time. You were putting the scrap you had gathered in a small metal bucket, heading to the forge.

You looked around, lost.

“Cabinet on the far right, some gloves, tongs, and molds are there…” Troy informed, resuming his own work. You flashed a thumbs up, heading over to retrieve the materials. Soon, he heard the whirring of the laser cutter and scrapping of metal. You were already working on creating the hooks, Troy surprised at how quick you started.

“You don’t need the measurements?” Troy inquired. You shook your head, “Nah, I already got it memorized…. Just don’t distract me… I have to….” You zoned out, meticulously concentrated on the mold working. Troy blinked, nodding to himself. Well then, he thought.

He left you to your own devices, the Calypso resuming his work to clean as best as he could his mechanical arm. Knowing from experience, it was best not to disturb an artist at work.

----0000-----

You carefully inserted the wire through the small hole on the robot’s knuckle, feeding it and pulling it out through the end, grabbing it with a tweezer. You stuck your tongue out in deep thought, accidently biting yourself when the wire snapped.

“F-Fuck!” you hissed out, crushing the wire more.

“Hey, language!”

Sniffing, you glared at your brother who was at his work bench, finishing up another job for a remote client. He raised an eyebrow at you, sticking his tongue out.

“I hope you bite yours soon,” you said, albeit mumbled as your tongue stung. Hephaestus blew a raspberry at you.

“So rude, I miss my cute baby sister who was very docile and mindful of her language,” your brother teased, dodging a wrench thrown by you, “Hey, what did I tell you about throwing tools?”

“Aim where it hurts, in the balls.”

“N-No! Not that!” your brother shouted.

“Who what in the balls?” a woman’s voice startled you both. Cassie Wilkins entered the work room, carrying some plates with food, “I better not be hearing you teaching your sister that foul language, Hepha.”

“I-I didn’t Cassie… I swear!” Hephaestus said, nervously looking at you. Giggling, you nodded, watching as Wilkins looked at your brother in disappointment. The old lady sighed, placing the plates in a small table.

“Hepha, besides teaching her foul language, you are also teaching her lack of taking breaks!” Wilkins scolded him, hands on her hips, “She’s going to end up all scrawny and with body pains before she is a teen!”

You gasped, laughing as your brother put on a sad face, sniffing. The three of you laughed, Wilkins going over to you, giving you a hug, “Oh dear, what shall we do with your brother?”

“Stick him in the fridge, see if he chills for a bit with his foul language,” you teased, grinning at your brother.

Hephaestus snorted, a small smile at the corner of his lips. The small mechanical right arm laid forgotten on his workbench while he ate with you, chattering about some modifications. A fresh coat of red paint and a black skull adorned the shoulder section.

----00000-----

Donovan chuckled, watching the surveillance feed of the warehouse. He kept repeating the same scene over and over again of your brief fight with the three assailants. Amused, he took notice of the interference of Perseus, the mechanic taking you away as you held your bloody hands.

“Small fry you sent to the plaything,” Donovan commented, leaning back on his chair. The body by the console shuffled, Helen appearing before him.

“I should say the same to you. Your little men were no match for her,” Helen hissed out, taking out her ceremonial dagger, “You are afraid of fighting her in person.”

Donovan growled at her, standing up, “Watch your fucking mouth, bedwarmer…”

“I. AM. NOT. A. BEDWARMER!” Helen snarled, slamming the dagger into the console in anger, “He loves me…. Troy loves me… And I’m not going to let some stupid plaything get in the way!”

“You are fucking delusional,” Donovan taunted, “Save yourself the trouble and let go, don’t end up like the others before you.” A small shred of sympathy the general imparted on the priestess. He had gotten tired of seeing a moping Troy.

“Delusional? I have devoted myself to him and the God Queen…” Helen muttered, “You’re the one delusional into thinking a plaything will take my place… She will be discarded eventually…”

“Think so? She’s lasted a lot longer than the other playthings as well. Besides, we both have seen her ferocity in the arena, nothing matches up to that level of brutality, Tyreen is not going to let her go,” Donovan sat back on his seat, “Troy has turned his attention to her.”

“SHUT UP!” Helen shouted, clenching her fist, “She doesn’t even like him…”

“Like that matters to Troy, besides…” Donovan smirked, approaching Helen, “You should watch your back… You’ve been getting too comfortable around Troy… Others have taken notice…” The general patted Helen on the head, the priestess smacking his hand away. He laughed, departing the room. Helen growled, turning to punch the screen that had your frozen image.

All is fair in love and war.

----0000------

You held your hands under the running water, slightly whimpering. The hot water stung the small cuts on your hands, the slightly large gash on your palms burning. Troy turned off the faucet, holding out a towel.

“Put your hands there, I’ll dry them,” he ordered. You did as told, flinching as he patted them dry with both hands, his mechanical arm back in order. You had gotten a bit too eager while reassembling his mechanical arm, forgetting to wear heavy duty gloves and a wire snapped as you worked on it. You used your hands to prevent the wire from hitting Troy.

“I don’t remember your hands being that bruised,” Troy commented, glancing at your face. The bruise from the punch was still present.

“….I had a little incident on the way to my hut….” You replied, pulling your hands away from his grip in the towel, “Do you have any alcohol I can use…?”

Troy sighed, going to another cabinet to retrieve a bottle of alcohol and a clean cloth, “Another ambush?” This time he didn’t sound too ecstatic as before, getting annoyed at the frequent cases.

“Yeah…” your hands twitched, remembering the feeling of the broken jaw under your fingertips. A small tug and…

You hissed as Troy swapped alcohol on the cuts, taking a deep breath, “God fucking damnit….”

“Such foul language,” Troy teased, biting his lip, “I wonder…”

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Troy looked up at you, innocently. He eyed some chains discarded on the floor.

“You are imagining it, and no, I won’t chain you up on the work bench,” you blinked, then grinned, chuckling, “Actually…”

“Oh..?” Troy perked up, liking your change of tone. You licked your lips, trying to contain your laughter. Whatever you had in mind… it was going to be fun.

-----00000------

Tyreen snorted, then sniffed before erupting in laughter. Troy threw a pillow from the couch at her, embarrassed.

“I shouldn’t have called you…” Troy growled out, hiding his face on another pillow. The tall Calypso was nursing a bruised ego from his encounter with you. Thinking you were going to indulge him in some weird kinky foreplay, you left him chained up on the work bench and left the shop. Luckily, or by your grace, he was able to ping Tyreen to come help him. A few awkward talks and Tyreen freeing him, he was completely duped.

“Oh, little brother, you are a delight sometimes with my plaything,” Tyreen laughed more, avoiding another pillow, “I’m not even mad, I’m just… Pft.. HAHAHAH!” This time she was hit by a pillow, though, her laughter didn’t cease.

“Shut up!” Troy muttered, running his hand through his hair in frustration, “This stays between us, okay?” Tyreen nodded, throwing a pillow back at him.

“Yeah, yeah… whatever,” she waved off at him, giggling, “So how’s the mechanical arm? My little doll fixed it?” Troy extended his arm out, moving his hand around. It felt lighter, more flexible. There was no grinding of gears, hissing, or odd noises.

“It feels fucking fantastic… You should have seen her work… I mean….” Troy nodded, unsure how to explain it, “She found more crap in it… that even I was not able fix beforehand… I felt like she… she just dissected me…”

Tyreen furrowed her eyebrows, “What…?”

“I mean, I get into my zone while working in my shop, you know? She just…” Troy waved his hands around, “The way she uses the tools… Not as an extension of her but as PART of her…”

“Yeah… I’m not following…” Tyreen muttered. Her brother would go off tangent whenever he’d start ranting about pieces and mechanical equipment. As kids, she would get excited, but after learning more about her Siren powers, her attention waned.

“She’s amazing…” Troy blurted out, eyes wide, “Oh..” He looked at Tyreen.

Tyreen narrowed her eyes, upper lip slightly twitching, “……You know the rules, Troy.”

“Yes, I know,” he hissed out, avoiding her gaze.

.::No one is allowed to touch another person’s plaything without permission.::.

“Hmph… speaking of rules,” Tyreen leaned back on her seat, a smirk replacing her scowl, “Your bedwarmer needs to learn her place.” She didn’t flinch when Troy crushed part of the couch he was sitting on.

“Helen is not a bedwarmer!” Troy got up, snarling, “Get it through your thick skull, Tyreen!”

“You were lusting after my plaything just five minutes ago,” Tyreen stated, drumming her fingers on the armrest, “Certainly speaks about loyalty.”

“Why you….!” Troy growled.

“Sit down.”

“Tyreen-“

“SIT DOWN, Troy,” Tyreen’s Siren tattoos flashed brightly, her eyes glowing. Troy looked at her defiantly, but sat down, glaring. Their roles were vastly different behind closed doors, away from everyone’s eyes.

“Your fucking bedwarmer did this,” Tyreen threw your shredded jacket at Troy, “Jackal told me everything.”

Troy looked at the shredded clothing in confusion, “What..?”

“That’s all I’m telling you,” Tyreen stood up, her eyes still bright, “Tell your whore to stay away from my plaything. If she refuses, I won’t be as nice as I was with your other favorites.”

Tyreen stormed off, stepping on the shredded jacket. Troy yelled in frustration, kicking the couch.

----0000----

“I thought I told you to rest, damnit,” Perseus said, putting you in a headlock, rubbing your head. You laughed, smacking at him to let go. The other mechanics joined in on the laughter, raising up their bottles.

“Can’t rest, always some shit coming up,” you sat next to Perseus at the bar, ordering a drink. Night fell on the hub, bringing out the ruckus from the mechanics that mingled after work. For once, you felt lonely and searched them out, missing their banter at the warehouse.

The mechanics ranted to you about Moksha’s visit and how everything was prepped for the raid. It was their warning for you to prepare for another arena fight. One of the mechanics informed you about armed cultists inquiring about the dead bodies near the warehouse. You blurted out that it had been another ambush.

“I swear, they better find those shits that keep sending those extra shits coming to get you,” one of the mechanics slurred out, taking a swig at his bottle, “Fuckers think they some hot shit….” You weren’t sure who ‘they’ was referring to, but you nodded in agreement.

You were chugging non-stop the booze, angry, slightly drunk, “I tell ya, if they find those meat bags, I want them to meet the lead pipe.”

You got several whoops, bottles rising up.

“You give them hell, I join too, I bring me chair to lay a few hits,” Perseus added, clanking his bottle with yours, “I can’t feel my arse now.”

Everyone laughed, some falling over to the floor, passing out on the spot. The bartender crossed his arms, “You lot are lucky I love you all, smacked you with the broom if I had to.”

“Ey, to the bartender for being such a good sport!” a mechanic yelled. Everyone whooped, those on the floor letting out a long “yay.” Some showered the bartender with coins.

“Hey, there’s a tip jar for that, you little shits!” he yelled, but laughed.

A good vibe had settled in. Several bottles of rakk-ale were littered everywhere. You were slumped at the bar, trying to toss coins into the tip jar. Majority of the mechanics were passed out by now, sleeping on the floor or against the wall. The bartender swept around everyone, picking up bottles that weren’t in a tight grip on the sleeping mechanics.

Perseus sat next to you, watching you make it in with a coin toss, lifting his bottle up, “Another win for the God Queen’s plaything…!”

You mocked whooped, “The crowd goes wild…!”

Perseus laughed, taking another swig, “Brutal finish… You should get some rest, and I MEAN IT, if our God Queen and Father Troy return victorious from the raid, you know what that means…”

A celebration.

“Yeah, yeah.. They’re gonna have to come pick me up from my bed by then, too fucking tired…” you muttered, struggling to stand, “I’ll see you later.. maybe… I don’t know.. what time is it?”

“Time to sleep…” Perseus passed out, beer in hand.

“Right, right,” you slurred out, patting his cheek, making your way out of the bar. It was still the middle of the night as you tried to navigate through the streets again. You were too plastered to care if anybody tried to jump you.

Nearing your housing complex, you felt a sharp pain on your back. You quickly turned around, stumbling to the side. Oh right, intoxication.

“Ah shit, show yourself, you fucking arses…” you said, Perseus rubbing off on you. You could feel blood staining your clothes.

You were disorientated when someone slammed into you, pushing you backwards. Grunting, you tried to sit up, only to feel a heavy weight on you, a sharp object under your neck. You could smell a sweet, soft scent from your attacker.

It was the psycho priestess.

“It’s the pretty lady,” you whispered, “How are you? I’m doing fine…”

She hissed, digging her knife into your skin, “You.. Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

You blinked, “I’m a mechanic.. plaything… fighter… I don’t know. Depends on the day and occasion.” You giggled, unfazed by blood oozing out of your cut.

She brought up the knife to your face, “You think this is funny? You think this is funny! How about I gouge your eyeball out?!”

“That’s not nice, I need my eyeball for work, I have a family to feed,” you ranted, trying not to pass out, “worked to the bone, no rest for the wicked.”

Helen had a confused expression, narrowing her eyes, “You fucking bitch!”

“I’m what now?” You looked at her, baffled, “Look, I gotta go home. I need to sleep. Come by some other day.” You pushed her off, getting up. Dusting yourself off, you waved at her, “I gotta go… places to see, bodies to maim…”

You stumbled to the side, luckily dodging another attack from Helen, “Hey…” You flicked your wrist, holding the dagger in your hand, “Two can play… the game…”

She stood up, playing with the knife, licking it, “Heh, a knife fight, a language we both speak.” She lunged forward, you grabbed her arm and twisted it, pinning her to the ground. Using her feet, she kicked you on the side, making you lose your balance. You cursed, landing on the ground. She stabbed several times down, you rolling around to dodge.

“Even drunk, you’re still a fucking problem!” she yelled, jabbing again with the knife. One of them managed to land on your arm, causing you to howl in pain. Using your dagger as decoy, you flung it, making her dodge, with the opening used to punch her. She fell on top of a pile of rubble, screeching.

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“…try me…” you slurred out, ready again. She was about to run at you when the sound of metal on metal rung, caused you both to cover your ears. You knelt, dizzy. As the noise ceased, you looked up. Helen was gone.

“Lucky…”

Heavy footsteps approached you, a cold hand on your injured arm. You glanced up, seeing Troy’s icy blue eyes staring down at you.

“Hello…” you whispered, poking at his mechanical hand on your arm, “is cold…” You giggled as he helped you up, “What’s up…?”

Troy was quiet as he gently picked you up. You rested your head on his chest, patting the exposed skin, “You’re warm, soft, but warm…” You could feel him tense up, “I’m bleeding…!” You raised your arm up for him to see.

“Can you kiss it well?” you asked. He complied, his tongue licking the blood. A tingling sensation went through you.

“I said kiss it, not lick it…” You brought your dagger up, bloody from the fight.

“Any other day I would be happy to, but right now, as much as it hurts me, I must pass,” Troy whispered, walking back to your hut, “You need to rest, you did a good job with my mechanical arm.”

“Mhm…good job…” you passed out in his arms, “yeah…”

Making sure his hold on you was tight, he proceeded towards your hut, eyeing the blood trail going the opposite direction down another alleyway.

He knew the source, having tasted the delicious flesh.

Troy entered your hut, keeping steady as he closed the door with his foot. You were lightly snoring, gripping tight on his jacket. When he placed you on your bed, you never let go, whimpering. Sighing, he removed it, caressing your cheek as you curled up with the garment.

“I have shitty luck…” Troy whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead.

----00000-----

Cold, cold. The shackles around your wrists and ankles were heavy, extremely cold, burning against your skin. Sniffing, you hugged your knees, hoping to get some warmth, but the room you were in remained the same temperature. Frigid, freezing.

Your once long locks of hair were gone, you head shaved cleaned, a nasty mark burned on the back of your head. You eyed the other occupants of the room. Other prisoners were huddled together, their face frozen with a look of horror. One of them had their teeth chattering.

The metal door hissed open, Cepheus walked in, chewing on a toothpick. You let out a growl, but remained on your spot.

“Save your energy, I’m not here for you,” he muttered, whistling for others to come in. Two individuals sporting black uniforms approached the other prisoners, dragging them out. Your eyes widened.

You had been in the same room as frozen corpses.

Gulping, you lowered your head, frightened. Cepheus shot you a look, exiting the room. The same two uniformed people brought in more prisoners, shackling them to the opposite side of the holding cell. Then, they left.

You avoided their gaze. You could hear their quiet pleas to ‘god’ and wondering if they were going to die here. From the quick glance of their entrance, their hair had been shaved off, wearing the same sterile white clothing as you.

What seemed like minutes, turned to hours, perhaps days, you weren’t sure anymore. Cepheus would enter, met by a hiss or growl from you and leave. The same uniformed people would come in, take the frozen corpses with them, bring in new meat bags. You were the only one left behind. No matter how much you pleaded to the entity in the universe, death never came.

You had shitty luck.

This routine continued, you slowly devolved to grunts, hisses, snarls at Cepheus. Every time they’d bring in new prisoners, you’d growl at them, snapping your teeth. But you never attacked, only remained in your corner. Little by little, you inched closer to the door, then started attacking the uniformed people when they stepped in.

That’s when the physical punishment started. They’d kick, hit, punch, and whip you when you lunged to attack. The first instances threw you off, but after a while, you learned the patterns, getting the upper hand, landing a punch or two before Cepheus would intervene.

Cepheus was relentless, throwing you against the wall, choking you when you’d try to bite. You snarled, using your chains to whip at him, landing hits, and injuring him. As much as you tried, your weak state worked against you. With the small amount of adrenaline, you remained exhausted. Cepheus would then deliver his intense punishment against you.

It went on and on, Cepheus would come in and you’d attack him until your body could no longer take it and shut down on you. For once, you were glad your brain decided to call it quits for the period of time that Cepheus beat you up. The aftermath was a bitch, you curling up, alone in the cold room, wheezing.

The old man would still visit, watching you for a while to make sure you were alive before exiting. His way of caring? No. He was an asshole. His family are a bunch of assholes. His fucking bandit camp was full of assholes. You quietly wept, pleading for your brother.

But he was gone.

“Is this the one you were talking about?”

You opened your eyes, trying to sit up. Cepheus was inside the room with another man who was donning a white suit, clean crisp. He was pale, his green hair combed back, his yellow eyes staring at you. Your gaze fell on his tie.

Maliwan.

“Yes, she’s the one who has lasted for months in here,” Cepheus stated, emotionless, “As for the other part I mentioned, she’d be an excellent asset.”

You snarled. What was Cepheus doing this time? Hadn’t he done enough to torture you? You crouched, growling, glaring at the old man.

“Down!” Cepheus barked out. You hissed at him. Cepheus inched forward, rolling up his sleeves but was stopped by the man.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that,” the man stated, approaching you. You let out a tiny hiss, cowering back to the corner. The man knelt, removing his black glove, reaching out. Flinching, you closed your eyes, waiting for impact.

But nothing came.

You felt a gentle touch on your head. You opened your eyes, locking gaze with the man. He smiled, “You poor thing, this brute treating you this way…”

You leaned more forward, desperate. It had been forever since someone showed you kindness. A small hiccup left your body as you tried to contain yourself. The man helped you up, holding your hand.

“I’m taking her, Cepheus. I will still be needing your services,” the man replied, leading you out of the cold room. The rattling of the chains and shackles filled each step you took. You glanced at Cepheus, narrowing your eyes.

The old man looked back at you, his face void of any expression. He was paying attention more to the man.

“Let’s get you patched up, make sure you are good to go,” the man informed, rubbing your back. You nodded slowly, weak still.

Perhaps you didn’t have shitty luck this time around.

-----0000-----

You had passed out for the entire part of the day, word reaching you that the Calypsos had departed for the raid via Mouthpiece announcing it. The hangover hit you bad, the splitting headache pounding at your senses. Weak, you hurried off to the bathroom where you became best buddies with the toilet. For once, no priests had come to bother you to drag you away for the departure of the twins. You were glad, your buddies the toilet and stomach wouldn’t have liked it.

Jumping into the shower, you welcomed the cold splash of water on your face alleviating the headache a bit and help loosen your sore muscles. After finishing, you cleaned up, checking the cuts on your hands. Fortunately, majority of the them were healing up nicely.

Feeling productive, you tidied up your room, your eye caught on a familiar jacket.

Troy’s.

“What the hell…?” you picked up the huge jacket, inspecting it. You didn’t recall seeing him on your way back to the hut. You rubbed your face, trying to remember. Nothing. He had it on when he took you to his private shop to fix his arm.

“Everyone keeps losing jackets around here,” you muttered, folding Troy’s jacket and placing it on top of your dresser, “I just hope he has extras like Tyreen.”

Tyreen.

No word yet about the situation with your own jacket. You were expecting for her to show up, get angry, and probably punish you. Maybe she was waiting after the raid? One more thing to worry about.

A knock at the main door snapped you from your thoughts. Cautious, you opened it slightly, then sneered. Jackal was standing there, nervous.

“Greetings…” he bowed, shaking a bit.

“You and I are going to have a little talk…” you growled out.

----0000----

A soft knock alerted a bandit to the metal door, spooking him from his time reading a questionable magazine. Approaching the door, grunting, he slid open the peep hole slot, narrowing his eyes at the intruder. A psycho was jumping, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

“The hell, are you lost!?” the bandit shouted at the psycho.

The psycho carefully extended out the note, reading it, “H-Hi… D-Do you have t-time to hear about o-our Gods, the Calypsos?!”

The bandit’s eyes widen, fear present, “Holy shit-!”

The psycho shoved a grenade through the peep hole, “BOOM TIME!”

BANG! BANG!

The explosion thundered through the hallway, alarms going off. The metal door laid wasted on top of the bandit’s corpse, armed cultists rushing in, Basil and Donovan coming from behind, both of them brandishing shotguns.

“You have your orders, eliminate the small fry, leave the bigger ones to us!” Donovan ordered.

“Yes, Prophet Donovan!” the armed cultists shouted, going further into the hallway.

“Fuck yeah, this is going to be intense, let’s go, Don!” Basil shouted, running down another hallway. Donovan cackled, following after him.

Shots, explosions, screams filled the hallways. Donovan and Basil shot through rooms, meeting resistance with some bandits. The blaring red lights of the alarms painting the atmosphere red. Red. Red.

“How’s it going on your end, Troy?!” Donovan said to the EchoNet. Basil and Donovan heard Troy roaring and laughing, screams from the bandits, “Its bloody fantastic, especially with my arm all tuned up!”

Troy, wearing a black version of his common jacket, stood inside a warehouse, maiming and stabbing the bandits that rushed in, his jaw split open to bite down on several of them. He grabbed several individuals, crushing their heads with his mechanical arm. He was getting a rush, catching the prey unsuspected.

“Come on, come on, is this the best you have!?” Troy shouted, picking up a bandit by the throat, “Worthless!”

Several bruisers showed up with shotguns, running towards Troy and his group of armed cultists, engaging. Troy stabbed, sliced through them. Surveyors flew above everyone, recording the action. A lone red surveyor remained floating in the corner, beeping. It kept it’s focus on Troy.

“Heh, so the fucker in charge is watching this, eh?” Troy snickered, grabbing a bandit and flinging it at the red surveyor. It dodged, immediately flying off through one of the warehouse windows.

“Should we follow it, Father Troy?” one of the armed cultists asked. Troy shook his head, “No point, eliminate those assholes!”

“Yes, Father Troy!”

“Donovan, Basil, the rakk flew the coop!” Troy announced in the EchnoNet, “Tell me you found something good!”

“We found an underground area as per Cepheus’s notes and the blueprints, under their storage units,” Donovan informed, reception static, “Basil and I are going in.”

“Wait for backup, who knows what’s inside. Secure the perimeter,” Troy ordered, stabbing a bruiser. He received confirmation from his two generals, the line cutting off.

The armed cultists managed to suppress the bruisers, the warehouse littered with corpses and blood spatters everywhere. Troy kicked several bodies aside, walking towards the crates near the decommissioned Altas trucks. With his mechanical arm, he pried one open, tossing the lid aside.

Inside the crate were dozens of body bags, the plastic clear, giving Troy a glimpse of the contents. He stepped back, caught off guard. The bodies were shriveled up, some were missing limbs, bones, and their heads.

“What the fuck…?” Troy muttered, looking at the other crates, “Open the other crates!”

Several armed cultists pried the crates open, gagging at the smell of rotten flesh. The stench suffocated the air in the warehouse. He was used to carnage and bloody fights, but this was too much for the Calypso.

“Gah, what the hell…!” Troy covered his nose, coughing, “Everyone out!” All filed outside, catching their breaths.

“Why did they have bodies in there!?” one of the armed cultists questioned, gagging. Some of the surveyors remained inside, giving Troy live feed from the warehouse as he checked his EchoNet.

“Donovan, Basil, are you seeing this?” Troy asked, coughing.

“Holy shit… What the fuck were those rat bandits doing with the bodies…?!” Basil shouted, surprised, “I mean, I know we go all out, but this is…”

“Troy… I don’t think we are alone in here…” Donovan said, shuffling noise head around, “I sent a surveyor underground… we lost feed…” Donovan sent over a still image to Troy.

“You got to be shitting me…” Troy whispered, staring at the image. A sharp set of teeth, a blurred face with a grinning smile were the last things captured by the surveyor. When Tyreen brought up the idea to storm the old Atlas stronghold, he imagined just barging in and spooking the bandits. Now, it seemed they were keeping something in from running out.

“I’m heading over,” Troy informed, turning to face the armed cultists, “Secure the area!”

“Yes, Father Troy!”

Troy pinged Donovan and Basil’s location, walking through the compound’s hallways. The alarms were still going off. As Troy near their location, he stopped in his tracks, staring ahead. On the other side of the hallway, the red surveyor stared back him, it’s light beeping.

“How about you show yourself, you fucker?!” Troy yelled, pointing his bloodied blade at it, “Found your shit stash in the warehouse!”

The surveyor beeped, taking off down the hallway, opposite of Troy. The Calypso gave chase, noticing that the surveyor was heading the same way of his generals’ location. He arrived at a small storage unit, several armed cultists alongside Donovan and Basil outside. Weaving past them, the surveyor disappeared into the open hatch.

“What the-!” Basil turned to look at Troy, “That’s not one of ours!”

“No shit, let’s go!” Troy ordered, going first down the hatch, the others following. The CoV surveyors entered the area, providing light. The lone light of the red surveyor glowed further down. There was a drop in temperature, the area extremely cold.

“Everyone on your guard…” Donovan ordered, steadying his shotgun. The armed cultists raised their weapons, ready. Troy walked forward, stopping a few feet from the red surveyor.

“Alright, show yourself,” Troy demanded, gesturing the surveyors to shine ahead. As ordered, the surveyors pointed at his direction. Troy could hear his generals and armed cultists scrambling, pointing their guns at the entity in front of him.

Before him, a large man was chained to the wall, eyes bloodshot, grinning. He was wearing a white shirt and pants, bloody spots stained the majority of it, it appeared his hair was shaved off. The man licked his lips, giving everyone a good view of the sharp, serrated teeth and long tongue.

“So noisy outside… was that you?” the large man asked, swaying back and forth, unfazed. The red surveyor perched on the large man’s head, beeping. Troy was fixated on the large burn mark on the man’s forehead.

The same upside-down triangular shape mark that you and Cepheus sported.

“Troy, he has..” Basil trailed off, breathing heavily, afraid. Troy nodded, quiet. They had found something thanks to Cepheus’ extensive notes about the place.

“What should we do Troy?” Donovan asked, eyeing the sharp teeth of the man. It was still dark for them to truly see what else the man was hiding.

“We should-“ Troy was cut off.

“What is it, Master?” the large man said out loud, his head twitching erratically, “You wish to speak to this gentleman here?” The speech pattern was jarring to the man’s current appearance.

Master?

“Oh, I see…” the man continued, bringing a fingertip to rest on his lips, “My Master wishes for the presence of the one called ‘God Queen’ in order to initiate a pleasant conversation. My Master knows she’s around.”

“How did you…” Troy growled, pointing his blade at him, shouting, “You are in no position to make demands! Who are you and why are you here?!”

The large man wailed, covering his ears, “Cease this! You are too loud!” He sobbed, falling to his knees, “Master, please, this gentleman here is displaying a lack of etiquette, I must punish him!”

The red surveyor beeped, delivering a small shock to the large man who calmed down.

“All is well, my Master will wait. You want answers, don’t you?” the large man’s tone shifted, standing up erect. He was no longer moving around, only staring at Troy and the others.

Troy observed the man and the surveyor, noticing wires connecting both of them, revealing how the man was receiving instructions.

“He’s had body modifications…” Troy commented, taking out his EchoNet device, “Tyreen?”

“I heard everything, I’m almost there,” Tyreen sounded on the other side, “Keep him talking.”

“Alright...” Troy put away his device, bringing his blade down, “The God Queen is coming, so you better have something good.”

The man giggled, “My Master is most delighted to hear.”

The hatch reopened again, the armed cultists backing up to help Tyreen down. She shuddered, hugging herself a bit.

“Shit, its cold here…” she muttered, approaching Basil, Donovan, and Troy.

“Tell us about…” Donovan replied, trying to control his breathing, “Let’s make this quick.”

“The God Queen is here, whoever you are…” Troy hissed out, still keeping Tyreen behind him.

“Most excellent, Master, shall we proceed?” the large man said, ecstatic as he received another shock.

“What the hell is going on…” Tyreen glanced around the room. All around were empty shackles, dry blood splatters.

“My Master wishes to gain confirmation that you saw the photos from the EchoNet,” the man inquired, pupils dilated, his tone going more robotic, “Confirm.”

Tyreen and Troy glanced at each other, the latter responding, “We have. One with bodies and another with a woman laughing.”

You.

The large man took a deep breath, covering his face. The generals and the armed cultists brought up their guns, aiming. Keeling over, he started laughing, a mixture of sobs and pain. Troy pushed Tyreen back as the man thrashed around in his chains.

“Oh, I’ve waiting a long time for this moment,” the large man said. The Calypsos blinked, eyeing him cautiously. The man’s voice went deeper.

Someone was speaking through him.

“She has a cat-like grin, doesn’t she?” the man asked, looking at the Calypsos, “It’s adorable.”

Tyreen hissed, Siren tattoos glowing bright, “H-How..!?”

“I’ve always loved her laughs, her smiles… However…” the man glared at them, “She doesn’t belong to you!” The man’s hands shook, the chains rattling, “You are to return her to me at once!”

“I told you that you are in no position to make demands!” Troy barked out, snarling. The large man wailed again, mumbling to himself and another voice talking. Another shock was delivered.

“You are to give us answers! What is going on in this place?!” Tyreen shouted, her Siren tattoos glowing intimidatingly.

The large man giggled, ranting, “Cepheus was supposed to bring her back. Clearly, he failed. This is what happens when one relies on old people, time catches up to them. Their sins as well. Now, he’s dead.”

“That damn Cepheus again, that old fart has caused us more trouble as a dead man,” Donovan muttered, watching the large man cackle.

“I’m sure she was sad killing her old mentor. Very unfortunate,” the large man continued.

Sad? The Calypsos and everyone involved had seen you kill him with no remorse. You practically lost it when fighting him.

“What you have is child’s play,” the large man taunted, his head twitching more, “Those Let’s Flays and livescreams of the raids, crude and brute, a pathetic excuse for attention.”

/This is mere child’s play./

Cepheus had taunted the Calypsos with that phrase. Tyreen growled.

“You fucking asshole…” Tyreen hissed out, Troy stopped her from approaching the man, “I should say the same to you! Pathetic excuse for attention using the EchoNet forums… hiding behind a screen and now hiding behind this lump of meatbag! You coward!”

The large man wailed, “Master, she’s raising her voice…!” His tone shifted again, “Are you calling me a coward?”

“If you’ve seen those livescreams, you know what we are capable of… Of what I AM CAPABLE OF,” Tyreen shouted.

“Hahaha, alright, I’ll indulge you. I will show you how out of league you are, Calypsos…” the large man said, popping his neck. In a quick movement, he bulked up in size, lunging at the Calypsos.

Troy swung his blade, blocking a punch from the man who ripped off the wall shackles. The armed cultists began shooting, Donovan and Basil unloading their shotguns at the man’s face. Tyreen reached out, her Siren powers activating. The man hissed out in pain, his energy being drawn out.

“This ends now you fucker!” Tyreen shouted, clenching her fist.

“HAHAHAHA, YOU ARE A SIREN?! TRULY WONDERFUL!” the man slurred out, his skin going pale, “Master, this is too easy for me!”

“TY!” Troy shouted, lunging and grabbing Tyreen out the way from an explosive attack from the large man’s hand body mod. Cracking noises and hissing alerted the group of the ceiling and walls crumbling down.

“Shit, shit! Everyone, regroup with our Twin Gods!” Donovan shouted, heading towards the Calypsos. Tyreen remained in shock, holding on to Troy who was bleeding profusely from his neck and head.

“T-Troy…! No!” Tyreen pleaded, checking his injuries, “N-No, no! Stay with me!” Some of the armed cultists ran towards them. The large man had grown in size, his body twitching.

“Get a taste of what’s coming to you for keeping what belongs to my Master!” the man’s voice devolved deeper and deeper, snarling, eyes bulging, “Your powers don’t work on this body, God Queen!”

“Fuck, you lot get the Twin Gods out of here, we’ll keep this bastard back!” Basil ordered, shooting, the armed cultists providing backup.

Donovan gasped, seeing Troy’s back ripped apart, Tyreen trying to heal him. He took out an adrenaline shot, plunging it on Troy’s side. The tall Calypso hissed out in pain, screaming.

“Damnit, damnit! We got to move!” Donovan shook Tyreen who was frozen, “Don’t go into shock, Tyreen, we have to get out!”

Tyreen nodded, bloody hands shaking, her eyes glued to Troy’s massive injuries. An armed cultist grabbed Tyreen, pulling her up as Donovan and another armed cultist picked up Troy. The group immediately retreated, the collapsed wall providing a makeshift ramp out in the open.

“CALYPSOS!” the mutated man shouted, “YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!”

“Over here you asshole!” Basil shot a rocket, the missile striking at the man’s face. This caught the mutated man’s attention, going after Basil.

“Fuck, we need to call for back-up, this is bad!” Donovan said, his clothes soaking up Troy’s blood. Tyreen held on to Troy’s arm, feeding him energy.

Her powers did not work on the mutated man, a first that she’s seen. That had been her primary source of attack, instilling fear on others.

“CALYPSOS!” the mutated man’s roar taunted them from behind.

Tyreen was afraid.

------000000------

Religion was never a thing for you, believing that any entity out there who claimed to be one was simply a false god. This sentiment extended to the Calypsos, it disgusted you how everyone was enamored with them. No one was immortal, even the gods in myths met cruel ends due to their hubris. Betting money on it, so will the Calypsos if they decided to continue on their current path.

Or seek answers from your past. At least one outcome would be kinder, in your opinion.

Walking into the main cathedral, you gazed at the stained-glass windows depicting the Calypsos. For all the trouble and mayhem in the waste, they played the god part very well, having the energy to command for such elaborate representations of themselves to the cultists. As an artist of the mechanic type, you admired the craftmanship.

Observing the rest of the cathedral, a lone psycho was by the altar, lighting up candles and praying, giggling. At least the psychos were more coherent within in the CoV. You made your way to the side of the large hall, entering a small confessional tucked away. Leaning against the soft, velvet seat, you rested your head slightly by the screen window dividing the other stall of the confessional. Clearing your throat, you alerted the other person on the opposite side.

“I’m here to confess my sins,” you whispered. The small screen opened, the film blocking the view of the other person.

“Go ahead,” a woman’s voice was heard. A very familiar one.

“I can’t stop thinking of this particular man, every waking moment, I crave for his attention,” you started, “I lust for him….”

You heard the woman take a deep breath.

“I want to feel his touch, I want him to make me feel alive…” you let out a tiny whimper, “How can I satiate this? How can I be absolved for wanting his flesh, this deep carnal desire?”

“Drop dead.”

You backed away, dodging a dagger plunged through the wood panel. Snickering, you grabbed it, nicking your palm, a little of blood smeared on it. The dagger was pulled back.

“Helen, Helen, dear Helen…” you whispered, licking your lips, “Helen of Troy… has a nice ring to it, right?”

“….He told you, Jackal,” Helen growled out.

“It was bound to happen, you know,” you informed, peeking through the film, “Sooner or later I was going to find out who was sending those meat bags to rough me up. Thanks for that, really enjoyed the workout.”

Helen hissed, “Don’t get cocky…”

“No, you. I’m tired of this stupid little game you got going on. I told you I’m not interested in Troy,” you spat out, tense, “I’m not here to fight you.”

Helen remembered Donovan’s words about Troy. It was irrelevant her and your opinion in the matter. It was a harsh truth, but Troy’s attention was shifting to you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Helen whispered, “It doesn’t fucking matter… as long as you are alive… he’ll go to you…”

“Well then, pray tell what is another way to get his attention off from me?” you inquired, “Everyone seems to be keen in doing their own shit while I’m in the crossfire.”

“There isn’t any,” Helen sounded defeated.

“Well then, I guess I should try killing Troy, get that over with,” you commented, jokingly.

“You fucking bitch…!”

“I’m joking, geez, calm down,” you rolled your eyes as you watched the dagger plunge through again, close to your face, “I’m surprised you and Tyreen don’t get along, you two have hair trigger anger attacks….”

“….”

“Jackal told me as well, a man will spill anything under duress,” you huffed, “You already know my stance on this. I expect no more attacks from you.” You were about to step out when she uttered something, your blood boiling.

“Watch your back with Donovan, he sent other groups to finish you off.”

-----0000-----

You reentered the warehouse, immediately dodging a wrench. Perseus shot you a look of disappointment, sighing. You snickered, approaching his workbench. The mechanic was the only one in the place, no service work allowed during a raid in case of an emergency or backup mechanics were needed on the field, which was extremely rare from what you’ve been told. As such, Perseus always liked to mingle around, working on personal projects. Great minds think alike, you thought.

“You don’t know the meaning of resting, right?” Perseus raised his eyebrow, putting away some items in a drawer, “The others are still nursing their hangovers, pft.”

“I get antsy if I’m not doing something, plus, I need to get ready if I’m doing another arena fight,” you removed your wrist gadget, setting it on the workbench, “I got something I want to use.”

Perseus got excited, “Is it the secret, secret box? Will I finally be graced by the presence of those contents?” You laughed, poking him on the forehead. He stuck his tongue out at you.

“Maybe, if you behave, I’ll even let you help me tune it up!” You teased, smiling when Perseus let out a tiny squeal. The mechanic went to grab some tools from his locker, setting them out, “I’m ready when you are…!”

“Hold on, I haven’t even said I was going to let you help,” you went to your locker, grabbing a small black chest you crafted for smaller projects, suspicious of others trying to steal ideas.

“B-But I’m your friend…” Perseus offered, mock crying, “I thought we had something magical…” You both stared at each other before bursting out in laughter. You smacked the workbench, wiping a tear from your face, “Now I’m the one crying!”

“As long as its not the sad kind, we’ll be okay!” He grinned, flashing you a thumbs up. Opening the box, you carefully set out a pair of silver brass knuckles onto the workbench, placing some wires and small gears on the side.

“Oh.. This is your new… toy?” Perseus teased, “Is it similar to that ring cuff you had?” The same one that got busted in the fight against Cepheus.

“…Something similar, I was using that ring cuff as a prototype, trying to mimic that on brass knuckles, but the gears keep busting,” you opened one of the brass knuckles, showing Perseus the bent gears.

“May I?” the mechanic inquired. You pushed the brass knuckles over to him, grinning, “Go ahead.”

“Heheh,” Perseus grabbed some tweezers, a soldering iron, and thin screwdriver, “I think I may have your solution…” He quickly got to work, the smell of the soldering iron wafting through the warehouse. Observing the mechanic, you were amazed at how concentrated he looked.

“You need to wind up the springs, make sure the little lever stays stuck on the latch of the spring mechanism to prevent it from rewinding more and busting into the gears,” Perseus pointed out, showing you. Leaning forward, you nodded, impressed.

“Hmm…”

“What? Oh…” you and Perseus’s faces were close. Too close.

You pulled back, embarrassed, “I-I… Sorry about that…”

“It’s fine. It’s not every day I have a pretty girl nearby,” Perseus winked at you, laughing. You snorted, “You think I’m pretty? Even though most of the time I’m covered in blood or grease oil?”

“I think it brings out the color of your eyes, either way,” Perseus ruffled your hair, teasing. You grinned, “Oh, dear, tell me more…” You both laughed. At least he wasn’t calling you a bloody killer like the Calypsos.

“You two! Mechanics! Over here double time!” an armed cultist hollered, causing you to jump, “There’s an emergency! Quickly, let’s go!”

“What-“ Perseus grabbed your arm, dragging you towards the armed cultist. You managed to put your brass knuckles away in the box.

“Shit, shit, we gotta go, come on!” Perseus and you ran after the armed cultist, “Fuck, this isn’t good!”

“Did something go wrong?!” you asked the armed cultist who ushered you and Persesus into an armored bandit technical. Two other bandit technicals had taken off.

“We don’t know…! Prophet Donovan radioed in for backup!” the armed cultist pressed on the gas, tires screeching, “Ordered for mechanics to brought in for an emergency procedure!”

Emergency procedure? Perseus went to the back part of the vehicle, rummaging through the drawers for tools. The other occupant in the vehicle was a medic who was going through supply bags.

“Shit…” you held on to the side of the vehicle, bracing on the impacts on the bumpy, dusty terrain of the wastes. You went cold when you saw the Atlas stronghold in the distance.

“O-Oh no…No.. no…” you started mumbling, stumbling backwards, “No… No… they went there…!”

“Hey, keep it together, I know this is your first emergency call, we’re gonna get through this!” Perseus yelled from the back, but froze when he saw your expression, “Andromeda…?”

You had fear written on your face, pale, hands twitching, “I can’t go back… I can’t go back…”

“Snap her out of it! We’re almost there!” the armed cultist shouted. Gunshots and explosions sounded off, your brain going numb. Perseus rushed over, grabbing your head, “Look at me, keep your eyes on me. You’re gonna be okay, take deep breaths!”

You gulped, tears stinging your eyes, trying to breath. Your chest was on fire, your lungs pleading for air, your body refusing. Memories, deep dark memories were ready to burst. You wanted to scream, yell, run and hide. The Atlas red taunted you.

“Andromeda, eyes on me!” Perseus caressed your check, “Breath in, breath out…!” You yelped when the vehicle hit a bump, causing you to stumble into Perseus. Instinctively, you clung to him, hands shaking.

“Oof, not too tight! Can’t breath, wait, you are the one that needs to breath…!” Perseus grimaced, adjusting himself. Your face was on his chest, taking a deep breath. The scent from Perseus reminded you of the warehouse, the dusty, greasy tools, the smell of burnt metal shavings, the strong smell of chemicals….

It reminded you of your brother.

“Hepha…” you whispered, loosening your grip on Perseus.

“What was that?” Perseus looked down at you, concerned, “Are you okay?”

Before you could respond, the vehicle abruptly stopped, the back doors opening. Two armed cultist pushed forward, holding the doors open as Basil and Tyreen were dragging Troy into the vehicle. The tall Calypso was severally injured, part of his neck and shoulder bone exposed, the connectors on the back of his head ripped off, the metal plates on the side of his body were bent in, crushed.

“H-Holy--!” Perseus stared in horror, your eyes wide at the sight of Troy.

“Damnit! That fucking monster did this to Troy!” Basil wailed, smacking the side of the vehicle, “Step on the damn pedal! We need to get out of here! You mechanics, medic, patch him up!”

“Y-Yes sir!” Persues replied, getting to work immediately. You eyed the extensive damage, unsure if you all had the necessary equipment and material in hand.

Tyreen was holding Troy’s head, her Siren tattoos glowing, herself covered in blood. She didn’t notice you were in the vehicle until you started to inspect Troy’s wounds.

“W-Who brought her!? Why is she here?!” Tyreen shouted, growling, “Damnit, this is your fucking fault!!”

“My fault?! You couldn’t keep your fucking nose out of my business!” you shouted back, snarling. Everyone else watched in fear as you kept talking back at Tyreen.

“If only you answered our fucking questions, none of this would be happening!” Tyreen hissed out.

“Get after her later! We need to get Troy stable!” Basil interjected, feeling a common trend of him being the sane one.

Tyreen hissed, you ignored her as you were given tools and the medic began administering fluids to Troy. Perseus and you checked the broken spine connector, taking out chunks of broken metal parts. Troy would let out small whimpers, driving Tyreen’s anxiety up.

“Please Troy, hang in there!” Tyreen sobbed, yelling threats at you, Perseus, and the medic.

SLAP!

Tyreen stared at you, a bloody handprint on her cheek where you slapped her. Everyone gasped.

“You better keep your fucking mouth shut, can’t concentrate with you shouting every second!” you snapped, a hand on Troy’s opened back, “Concentrate on feeding whatever fucking shit you have to him...”

Tyreen gulped, nodding as she looked down at Troy, a bit scared. Her priority was keeping Troy alive. Your priority was making sure he made it out alive. No one made a comment about the slap, simply aiding you in reconstructing Troy’s spine.

“Perseus, gives me a .55mm wire, medic, I need more clean gauze, seep up the spinal fluid,” you ordered. Perseus gave you the wire, resuming his work on creating a makeshift connector and spinal wire, the medic injecting more morephine into Troy, using a small suction to clear out the spinal fluid.

Tyreen and Basil watched you meticulously work, your eyes not wandering as you fed the wire through several small connectors in Troy’s spine, carefully closing the seams of the body mesh wire serving as a conductor and cushion for the spine connector. Your fingers were all over Troy’s back, fixing up the broken, smashed pieces. Perseus handed you the complete connector, the medic administering fluids through an IV, keeping tabs on the monitor on the side of the vehicle.

/ You should have seen her work… I mean, I get into my zone while working in my shop, you know? She just… the way she uses the tools… not as an extension of her but as PART of her…/

The white-haired Calypso stared at you, Troy’s words echoing in her mind. Your eyes would twitch a bit, glancing around the work before you, your fingers expertly handling the small, delicate tools, precise cuts, incisions, everything calculated. She was starting to see why her brother was smitten by you.

And she herself as well.

“You got any morphine left?” you asked the medic, not looking away.

“No, we used the last vial, are you ready to reconnect?” the medic asked, Perseus nervous.

“He’s gonna jolt when we do,” Perseus glanced at Tyreen, “We’re gonna have to hold him down.”

“W-What?” Tyreen’s voice was strained.

“Keep him steady, don’t pull, only hold him down, is everyone ready?” you asked, finishing up the closing the spine connector.

“Yeah!”

“Here goes…!” You reconnected the wires, Troy screaming out in pain, thrashing. Everyone held him down, Basil bearing the brunt of Troy’s mechanical arm. Tyreen wept, holding her brother’s head, feeding him energy, “Oh Troy… please hang on…”

“Ty…” Troy’s voice was small, exhausted, “….Ty…”

“I’m here little brother, I’m here,” Tyreen knelt down as much as she could, hugging him gently. Troy calmed down, no longer fighting.

“We need to remove the metal plates, they are tearing into his flesh and any sudden movements could push them to puncture his organs…” you tugged at the plates, Troy yelping.

“Be gentle!” Tyreen growled out.

“I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut!” you yelled back.

“Ty… let her work…” Troy was panting a bit, “She knows… what she’s… doing…” He lowered his head, passing out. Tyreen whimpered, still holding him. If he trusted you, then she would.

“What do you need, mechanic?” Basil asked, rummaging through the drawers, Perseus setting up a small work area.

“We don’t have the necessary metal plates, but check for more body mesh sheets, that will keep him intact till we get to the hub. Medic, you need to move over here and clean as much as you can of the shrapnel,” you ordered, moving aside to let the medic through. Basil threw some sheets at Perseus and you.

“I’ll get the shoulder, you get the sides,” Perseus began working on shaping the mesh, you nodding. The ride was proving smooth for now, giving Troy a much-needed break.

“B-Basil, anyone!” Donovan shouted from the EchoNet, “The fucker escaped! He’s heading your way!”

Tyreen and Basil looked at each other in horror.

“N-No!” Tyreen shouted, looking out through the windows of the vehicle.

“What the fuck is that?!” Perseus yelled, holding the body mesh in his hands. You froze, hands twitching.

The large man had furthered mutated, galloping across the land in all fours, gaining ground on your vehicle. From behind, several other bandit technicals were in pursuit, shooting at him.

“CALYPSOS! YOU ARE NOT RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!” the man’s disembodied voice struck a chord in you.

/Kill them all./

You grabbed your head, wincing.

/Kill them all./

The headache was reemerging, a sharp pain coursing through your body.

/Kill them all until you see red./

You eyed some chains on the back part of the vehicle, going for them.

“H-Hey! What are you doing?!” Persesus asked, Tyreen and Basil startled.

“Patch up the sides, you know what to do,” you replied, voice distant. You kicked open the back doors, jumping off.

“D-Doll, no!” Tyreen shouted, Basil holding her back.

“She’s fucking insane!” Basil immediately shut down the doors, “Fuck, Mouthpiece, Moksha, eyes on the mechanic that rolled out! Donovan, keep that fucking monster away!”

“Is that the fucking plaything that rolled out!?” Donovan yelled through the EchoNet.

“Surveyors will pull a feed through!” Moksha alerted the group.

----000000----

You immediately hit the ground, rolling in the dirt as the large mutated man cackled, skidding to a stop. The other bandit technicals stopped, quickly surrounding you and the man.

“What is this?! Time to meet your maker, Master says so!” he shouted, snarling. The red surveyor was nested on the man’s head, beeping.

You quickly got up, spitting out blood from the impact on your face, swinging the chain on your side. The large man’s eyes went wide.

“I-It’s you! Y-You are here! You are alive!” the large man’s voice held excitement, “O-Oh… I must be fortunate! I must take you back! I must take you back!” He reached out to grab you. Dodging quickly, you whipped the chain to land a hit on the man’s face. He yelped, holding his face.

“N-No! No! NO! This isn’t how things are to be! You know that! You are not to fight back!” He hollered, snarling.

“You lack etiquette…” you hissed out, swinging your chain again, “I must punish you…”

“N-No! I apologize!” the mutated man fell to his knees, pleading, “Oh, Master, I have failed you!”

“What is going on with that thing…?!” Donovan kept the others away, observing the fight. Your demeanor had changed, you were standing tall, a gleeful expression on your face. Several CoV surveyors arrived at the area, flocking near Donovan.

“You failed to bow, I shall pass judgment,” you stated, voice laced with excitement, “But I will allow you the honor to fight for your life. Come on.”

“I-I shall!” the man sobbed out.

He wailed in pain, shrieking, his back further ripping apart, exposing the inner metal frame of his spine with various vials attached to it. His clawed at his own face, chunks of flesh falling off. Hunched over, his appearance became more animalistic, feral.

Unhinged.

You laughed, clapping, the chains rattling, “Yes! Just like that! Go all out on me! I haven’t had a challenge since I killed Cepheus!” Your eyes held a glint of enthusiasm, “LETS GO! LETS GO! BRING IT ON!”

The mutated man roared, lunging forward. You cackled, jumping on his arm and landing a punch on his face, digging your hands into the soft flesh. Avoiding a punch from him, you ripped down flesh, splashing blood on yourself. With the chains, you viciously whipped the mutated man, striking at the spine. He stumbled forward, holding his face.

You rolled towards the ground, dodging more kicks and punches, laughing as you took out your dagger to plunge it on his hand when the mutated man tried to grab you. With an upwards slice, his fingers came off clean.

“Show mercy! Show mercy!” the mutated man slurred out, holding up his fingerless hand, “Please, show mercy!”

/ I’m the last person to ask for mercy… /

“I’M THE LAST PERSON TO ASK FOR MERCY!” you screeched out, lunging at the man, aiming for his leg with the dagger, “I’M NOT GOING BACK! NOT GOING BACK!” You screamed, slicing through the thick skin, exposing the bone. Using the chains, you wrapped it around the wound, pulling hard. The mutated man hollered out in pain, falling to the ground as you tugged hard.

With a strong pull, you ripped off his leg clean off, laughing as the body part landed ways off from you, but near the bandit technicals.

“MERCY!”

“NEVER!” you shouted, jumping on the man’s back, coiling the chains around his neck, choking him. No one showed you mercy. Why should they ask for something that was never given to you?

You eyed the body mod on his spine, your mind going crazy. Falling into a fit of giggles, you stabbed into the flesh, digging a hand into the metal frame and surrounding body parts. Biting your lip, you remembered tinkering with Troy’s back, feeling his own flesh under your fingertips as you raced against time to save his life.

So soft.

So squishy.

So delicate.

So red.

A wrong move and he died.

His life in your hands.

Not on Tyreen’s or Helen’s.

But yours. A god’s life in your tainted hands.

“Must kill… Dominate… Kill them all..” you muttered, pulling at the metal frame, the loud popping noise of the spine coming clean off from the man reached everyone’s ears. He thrashed, crying out in pain as you threw the body mod aside.

Jumping off his back, you lifted the large man, laughing, plunging the dagger into his abdomen. He cried out in pain, blood gushing from his chest and stomach onto you, guts pouring out.

“A bloody sacrifice! A bloody sacrifice!” he shouted, twitching, “The Queen has passed judgment! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” He let out a loud shriek, eyes popping out, his head exploding. You plunged your dagger deeper, hearing the crunching, tearing of flesh. Shaking the body more, you flung it to the side, completely bathed in red. Red. Red.

Red. Red. Red.

The red surveyor approached you, beeping. You tilted your head, eyeing it. A small blue heart appeared above it.

.: Come home, please. :. You patted the surveyor’s head before punching it on the ground, laughing. Injured, the robot beeped sadly, spazzing on the ground. You stepped on and crushed it under your boot.

“I love you,” a voice message rang out.

Your voice.

A flash of an upside-down blue triangle reflected on the surveyor’s screen before dying out.

You stared at the remains of the red surveyor, shrugging. Remembering you had company, you turned to look at the armed cultists. Hissing, you laughed as they looked on in fear, staying near the bandit technicals.

You then stared at Donovan, your expression filled with bloodlust.

“Send more meat bags and your head will be the one to roll,” you smiled, licking your lips. You then cackled.

Donovan narrowed his eyes.

You did have a cat-like grin.

-----00000-----

Tyreen glanced at Helen sitting on the medical bed, Troy’s head resting on the woman’s lap. She was gently caressing his cheek, Troy holding the priestess’s hand. You had bought them time to reach the hub unhindered, the medics and Perseus finishing and patching up the remaining parts of Troy’s metal plates. The information for the raid was kept hushed, but was later reported as successful, despite the small causalities and Troy’s injury.

Donovan brought back the remaining survivors, you included. You never spoke a word to anyone, only sitting on the hallway of the main infirmary, completely covered in blood. After Perseus had finished with his work, he was the only one to approach you, sitting in front of you. Tyreen had seen the mechanic before on the feeds of the warehouse, chatting and joking around with you. Unlike with her and Troy, you were friendlier, outgoing with this other mechanic. Jealousy bubbled up in the God Queen.

“Ty…” Troy whispered, glancing at Tyreen, “Where is she..?” Helen’s caressing stopped, her fingertips twitching.

“Who…? My plaything?” Tyreen asked, exhaustion present in her voice.

“Yeah…” Troy closed his eyes, whimpering a bit. Helen looked away, sighing.

“She’s outside, down the hallway… Didn’t want to come in…” Tyreen said, shooting a small glare at the door, “She’s talking to the other mechanic that help her patch you up.”

“I see…” Troy said, taking a deep breath. He recalled hearing Perseus rant on about your safety, about how he was worried if you’d make it back alive. He wanted to shut the idiot mechanic up, but when he had heard you jumped off the vehicle, Troy got nervous, believing you had taken the opportunity to run away.

When he was brought in to the infirmary, Basil had the feed from the fight going. Troy and the others watched as you brought down the mutated man with ease with no help from Donovan and the others. You were more feral than before, relishing and soaking in the fear that the mutated man exhibited who begged for mercy. The more he begged, the more ferocious were your attacks. A complete opposite performance than with Cepheus.

/I’M NOT GOING BACK!/

You were adamant about it.

/I love you./

That was what the red surveyor said before dying, crushed under your boot. Troy swore that was your voice, sounding more alive than your current self. Had you said those words to someone? Was it the same person that had taken a picture of you laughing? Whoever this way, they had been intimate with you. Jealousy stirred in Father Troy.

“Rest…” Helen pleaded, snapping Troy out of his thoughts, “I’ll be here with you…”

“Thank you,” Troy whispered, closing again his eyes, squeezing her hand. Helen watched Tyreen leave the room, not sparing the priestess a glance.

----00000-----

“Father Troy is fine now, thanks to you,” Perseus said, resting his hands on his knees, “You… You are a damn lunatic…” The last words weren’t in a fearful tone. He was scolding you.

You looked down, rubbing your injured arm.

“Jumping out of the damn vehicle, you could have gotten yourself killed!” Perseus waved a finger at you, upset, “Damnit, you need to stop being reckless!”

“I’m sorry…” you mumbled out, shrinking.

Perseus sighed, rubbing his face, “You better be. Promise me you won’t be doing anything like that again, please?”

“I won’t be able to keep it, and you know it…” you said, hugging yourself, “I didn’t want you to see that side of me…”

“What side?” Perseus asked, “The one that slapped the God Queen or the one that brought down that freaky thing?”

“Both…” you let out a tiny chuckle, “You should… You should stay away from me….”

The mechanic stared at you, baffled, “…Why?”

“Bad things happen to those around me,” you stated, looking at him. You were covered head to toe with blood, not bothering to change.

“I’m your friend,” Perseus insisted, “Friends stick with each other….”

“I never asked to be your friend…”

“I know what you are trying to do, but its not going to work,” Perseus narrowed his eyes, standing up, “Just… Just stay alive…”

You snorted, shaking your head, “I wish I had your enthusiasm, sadly, its been dead a long time ago…” The mechanic sighed, then stood up straight at the sight of Tyreen approaching the two of you.

“M-My God Queen…” Perseus bowed, “I was heading out, my work is complete…”

Tyreen nodded, waving him off, “Thank you for your work, mechanic. You are dismissed.” Perseus nodded, bowing again before leaving quickly. You got up, dusting yourself off.

You had been waiting for Perseus to be done.

The little jealousy monster stung Tyreen again. She breathed in and out, trying to keep calm.

“Thank you for saving Troy’s life…” Tyreen said, clasping her hands together, “…How can I ever repay you…?”

“Let me go. Let me leave this place,” you replied, voice distant.

Tyreen shook her head, approaching you slowly, “That’s not possible. You are….”

/My plaything./

“You are part of the Children of the Vault, you have the mark.”

/You belong to me, and only to me./

You glared at her. Even after witnessing the carnage, almost losing her brother, and picking a fight with the wrong person, she still held on to you?

Tyreen grabbed your arm, not forcefully. You didn’t pull back this time around. She leaned to kiss you, looking at your eyes. You didn’t respond, your gaze empty.

“Why.. why do you keep looking at me like that?!” Tyreen yelled, “Why do I get the hissing, the glares, the snarls!? WHY?!” She slapped you, tears falling down her cheeks, “Why do you keep denying me?!”

You merely stared at her.

“Stop looking at me that way!” She shouted, clenching her fists, “Answer my fucking questions!”

“I hate you, you’re a monster,” you hissed out, disgust oozing with every word uttered, your bloody appearance not helping, “A Siren monster…”

Tyreen felt her heart squeeze.

------000000-----

“You are back early, Professor Juno.”

“That’s not my name, that’s my father’s,” the black-haired man replied, eye twitching as he saw Steele approach him, “What do you want?”

“No need to be rude, I came to see my Siren sister,” Steele stood next to him, looking into the observation room.

Tyreen was provided with several plants, the medical staff tallying up notes as she took the energy from some of them and transferred them over to another plant, watching them grow and sprout flowers and fruits. The moment this was discovered, the Atlas jarheads were delighted, finally happy that progress was being made. Troy remained by her side, observing. Their mother, Leto, looked on, uneasy.

“Supreme Commander Gaia would be proud to see this,” Steele commented, standing erect, “Knowing that Atlas was able to procure another Siren to continue her vision for the Crimson Lance and the Atlas Corporation.”

The man growled at the mention of the commander.

“I will do my best to emulate her image, she was a role model for all of us,” Steele continued, proud, “Wouldn’t you agree, Hephaestus?”

“She’s dead,” Hephaestus stated.

“Pardon?” Steele turned to look at him.

“If you wish to follow her footsteps, you’re going to end up like her, dead,” Hephaestus spat out, taking out a cigarette, lighting it up, “She was a nasty piece of work, that woman.” Hephaestus stared at Tyreen playing with the orbs of energy she created. The white-haired Calypso yelped when they popped, frightening her and Troy as the twins ran towards their mother for safety.

“That’s an odd way to speak about your mother,” Steele furrowed her eyebrows, “There must be something you found inspiring in her.”

Hephaestus took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing out smoke, “Nothing inspiring about a Siren monster.”

A message pinged on his wrist device, Hephaestus glanced down.

The upside-down blue triangle flashed.

.:We have another job for you.:.

----00000------

Well, I hope it wasn’t too crazy for people to read. Rewrote this chapter a lot of times. @_@

The chapter concentrated more on the twins and worldbuilding than on the reader. The mixture of Atlas and the Calypso twins was inspired by cruddyborderlandstheories from tumblr, of course, adding my own twist to it. I see the twins as an inspiration from Apollo (red) and Artemis (blue) which is why I named their mother Leto.

This is probably going to get destroyed when new info is released on E3, which is why I was rushing to post it before the weekend xD

#the calypso twins thirst #the calypso twins #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #troy calypso x reader #tyreen calypso x reader #angst all around #good old angst

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