Lucifer has always been the head of the house, he is the oldest and often the most responsible after all. Itâs no question when he punishes his brothers, often times his word is law.
Except⊠he canât really punish you the same. If he hangs you from the ceiling upside down youâll pass out (and probably die) from being upside down that long, he canât force you to take care of Cerberus since heâs much stronger than even demons, and he really canât do any sort of physical punishment as heâs not used to having to adjust for human mortality.
Sometimes he has to do a little more thinking into your punishments.
âGo to your roomâ
âWhat?â Honestly you werenât expecting that, to be honest he sounds like a mother. Often you get away with things because he canât figure out how to punish you and definitely not because he likes you or anything. Usually youâre the one being sent to do everything for this reason, but apparently heâs figured it out.
âYou heard me, go to your roomâ you watch as he rubs his temples, still a little confused. You stare at him for a few extra moments, eventually moving your feet to walk to your room.
Youâre not sure why but you listen, heading off to your room and staying inside until he comes and lets you out around dinner time. After everything is normal again, he didnât even make you stay locked away for more than a few hours.
The other brothers hate it of course, they still get their regular punishments while you get âpamperedâ by Lucifer. But itâs not like they can do much, after all he does have a point when he tells them you canât be punished the same.
Although⊠youâve definitely heard him say âgo to my roomâ under his breath a few times, although he denies it.
Lord Diavolo likes gifting you clothes. Expensive formalwear tailored exactly to your style that subtly matches his attire for whichever event is coming up. Simple button-up shirts made of high count natural fibers that are silkier and smoother than anything you've ever felt. He's gifted uniforms and pajamas and sportswear. Goofy T-shirts with dumb slogans he's found in the human world. Socks that are as soft as clouds, making you feel like a million dollars.
And every single time you wear one of these gifts, no matter how plain, you catch Diavolo staring at you. His face is expressionless and he appears to be spacing out, but soft wrinkles form around his eyes the instant he has your attention and a slight smile graces his lips. The bottom of a pearly white pointy canine is just barely visible as he tips his head a little to the side. You could even say he looks proud.
If you ask, "What are you doing?" Diavolo always responds the same way.
"I was just thinking about how nice you look."
---
It was the morning after a big shindig at the palace. Barbatos had put together an extravagant banquet to celebrate the rediscovery of a long lost magical tome. A big old book that turned people into flying pigs, or something. A national treasure. You couldn't really remember. Rather than paying attention to his speech, you were staring at the slicked back appearance of Lord Diavolo's hair shining under the candlelight chandeliers and the way his adam's apple bobbed as he spoke. He was so handsome. He said that you looked nice, too.
Unlike now. You were wearing a shirt that was at least ten years old and looked it. The once vibrant blue color was now dull and gray. There were holes in the seams and holes by the hem of your waist where the fabric had gone thin and threadbare. It as covered in stains from meals that you dropped and didn't care to properly wash out before they set.
Yet it was clean and it was functional and that's all you really cared about when you tossed it on last night. Something comfortable to wear to bed. Something that covered you as you walked towards the kitchen all bleary eyed and rubbed a dry spot of drool off your face.
A familiar booming laugh echoed off the walls as it rang out from the dining room. You froze, like a deer in the headlights, as Lord Diavolo looked over mid-conversation and made eye contact with you from the end of the hallway.
The chatter came to a stop. Lucifer and Barbatos craned their heads around for a look before greeting you with simple waves. They were all fully dressed and looked like they had been up for some time. How mature of them.
It was just the three of them in the dining room. Everyone else was probably still asleep. You reluctantly headed over to greet the prince and his aide in your sloppy sleepwear. Not doing so would probably be disrespectful.
Barbatos, polite as usual, apologized for disturbing you so early in the morning. They had something important to discuss with Lucifer, you see.
You shot Lucifer an annoyed glance. Just because he'd seen you roaming around the manor in your pajamas a hundred times doesn't mean you enjoyed showing them off. A warning would have been nice. You noticed the sadistic prick smirk behind a sip of morning coffee.
Diavolo had that familiar warm smile on his face. The same one he made every time he was caught staring. He looked lost in thought.
"What are you doing?" you asked vaguely. Mostly out of curiosity. If he was at the House of Lamentation so early after being up all night, it must be for an urgent reason. Something you'd absolutely get wrapped up in sooner or later, so you'd prefer to be informed of the details now.
"I was just thinking about how nice you look," Diavolo expressed earnestly. It was a drastic change of pace from what he was used to seeing. It was charming all the same.
Ace Fumblerpolla flirting w reader then reader ACTUALLY flirts back and he's all blushing đ„șđ„șđ„șđ„șđ„șđ„șđ„ș
ace had gotten a little too comfortable with flirting. it started as harmless teasingâcalling you "pretty" just to watch you huff, leaning a little too close with that signature smug grin, casually saying things like, "careful, prefect. people might think we're dating if you keep looking at me like that." usually you'd just shove his shoulder or call him an idiot, which only encouraged him more. so when the two of you were walking back to ramshackle one evening and he flashed you that cocky smile before saying, "y'know... if i didn't already know you, i'd totally ask for your number," he expected the usual eye roll. instead, you smiled... and took a slow step closer.
"really?" you asked, your voice just a little softer than usual. ace blinked. "...yeah?" you looked him up and down for a brief second before gently reaching up to straighten his crooked collar. "good," you murmured. "because i'd say yes." your fingers lingered for the tiniest moment before you smiled sweetly and continued walking as though you hadn't just detonated his entire nervous system. ace remained rooted to the path, staring after you with his mouth hanging slightly open. "...huh?" he whispered to absolutely nobody. his face grew hotter by the second as his brain desperately tried to reboot. she said yes. she said she'd say yes. she smiled. she touched my collar. SHE TOUCHED MY COLLAR. by the time he finally caught up to you, he was so flustered he couldn't even manage one of his usual comebacks. "y-you..." he mumbled, avoiding your eyes for perhaps the first time in his life. "you're not... supposed to flirt back..." you looked over with the most innocent expression imaginable. "why not?" ace buried his burning face in one hand with a groan that echoed down the entire hallway. "because now i don't know what i'm doing anymore." you laughed, slipping your hand into his for just a second. "good." he peeked at you through his fingers, cheeks still bright red. "you're enjoying this way too much." "maybe a little." "you're evil." "and yet..." you gave his hand one tiny squeeze before letting go. "...you still think i'm pretty." ace let out the most dramatically defeated sigh in history. "i'm never recovering from this." the tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips said he didn't want to.
â. đ Ë đŁhe first years judging you for being a d1 yearner but setting the bar so low they could jump over it with a hop (inspired by the shit that I did when I was in-love)
The first years were playing truth or dareâ a typical sleepover for sixteen year olds y'know? They were learning little facts about eachother, they were fooling around, and most of all, they were having fun.
Until... Ace remembered something about you when the bottle coincidentally pointed at you and Ace.
"Wait..."
You gulped.
"Didn't you have a crush on Jamil when you while you were kidnapped by him?" You laughed nervously. Epel looked at you like you grew three heads and Jack had that 'of course you would do that' face. "Y-you didn't ask me truth or dare by the way!" You stuttered.
Ace however was too appalled that he jumped and pointed a finger at you. "I KNEW IT! OH MY SEVENS I KNEW IT!" he looked at the surprised Deuce and slapped his back, "I TOLD YOU THEY WERE ACTING WEIRD AND YOU DIDN'T BELIEVE ME."
"I'm scared to askâ" Jack sighed "but why?" His disappointment seeping through his words as he looked at you with an expression that said 'just why?'
Ortho nodded with him. "Yes! Romantic attraction to someone who did harm to you is..." Ortho paused in confusion "confusing?" Then he beamed in intrigue "I would like to know why!"
Epel just pointed at you with an irritated face. "YER' BAR IS TOO LOW! WHY ARE YA' LIKE THIS??" While Sebek just looked at you with a horrified and confused expression "WHY??? I THOUGHT HUMANS RAN FROM DANGER?" He stuttered before continuing "N-NOT BARE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION??"
You groaned "GUYS STOP PLEASE I HAVE A GOOD EXPLANATION"
Surprisingly everyone went quiet.
"Okay. So like..." You waved your hands "he's good at cooking" you emphasized.
"..."
"Is that it?"
"... Yeah?"
Deuce sighed in exasperation. "So when you learned how to cook the MOST COMPLICATED FOODS IN SCALDING LANDS just for you to spend time with Jamil-" sebek continued for him "WAS BECAUSE YOU WERE ATTRACTED BY BASIC HUMAN ABILITIES??"
"IT'S NOT THAT BAD." you screamed in defense
"NOT THAT BAD???" all of them asked in disbelief.
"S-so- WAIT SO WHEN YOU WROTE A 5FT LETTER FOR AZUL-" Ace gasped. You widened your eyes. "HOW THE FUCK DID YOU FIND OUT?-" he cut you off "WAS BECAUSE YOU LIKED HIM??"
"how interesting! It seems as if prefect enjoys being treated horribly by their crushes!" Ortho said in fascination. You groaned in response while hiding your face from this humiliation ritual.
"And when you left gift baskets to Ruggie filled with his favorite things..." Jack said with a slow realization. "was because you... Liked him?"
"..."
"WHAT????"
"I'm going the fuck back to bed."
đ/đ»: oh my days đ shit has been BUSY and I just needed to write smth before I write the continuation of my 10k event âđœâđœ speaking of... Maybe I'll publish it on Saturday when my life pipes downâ if I do, just a heads up, I'm starting with the third years cuz I love idia đ€€
I think Chrollo likes the idea of you by his side and dangling off his arms at Troupe meetings or when he and the Troupe are disguising themselves as upper-class socialites. Youâd think the fantasy would be hindered by the risk of one of his enemies recognizing him and attacking, but getting to play the role of the Knight in Shining Armor is just perfect for him. Look how safe you are with him, doesnât his readiness to defend you and kill for you win you over?
The problem is your refusal to actually dangle off his arm. Hell, he can barely get you to sit next to him. He has to settle with dragging you along to âCharity Eventsâ while you sit on the farthest side of the room, monitored by Machi and Paku.
Youâre trapped in one of those Wattpad stories as YNâs roommate trying to keep to the background. You have a good thing going here; rent paid, bills paid, donât have to worry about struggling since your bestie is in some crazy BDSM situationship with the cunning mafia don Azul Ashenwhatever. Things are going wellâŠuntil itâs your turn.
OOOOOO what you donât realize is that your classmate, Jade Leech, has also gotten trapped in this same story alongside you. Nerdy, loser Jade Leech who you rarely paid much mind to until now. Itâs a fictional story, so he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it, right? :) he could be whoever he wants.
It goes from mildly inconvenient and a little cringe to a psychological horror when you start getting stalked by a stranger on your way home from work or to the grocery store. And unlike this Wattpad romance Jadeâs determined to have you all to himself. With all his cutthroat cunning, it becomes clear youâve got an actual threat on your hands. And in a world where things are so absurd already, whatâs a little darkness to keep you on your toes? :)
There is a particular archetype of yandere I need to see more of. They are the type who has convinced everyoneâincluding themselvesâthat they're completely chill, totally casual, absolutely not obsessed with you at all.
But they are. Oh, they ARE.
It's the character who shrugs and says "whatever, do what you want" when you mention going out with friends, then somehow ends up at the same restaurant "completely by coincidence." It's the one who maintains that perfect façade of disinterest while knowing your exact schedule, your favorite coffee order, and the name of the dentist you mentioned once eight months ago.
"Oh, you're going to that concert? Cool, I guess. Might check it out too. No big deal."
*has already bought tickets directly behind yours and memorized the setlist so they can casually discuss it with you afterward*
The beautiful psychological complexity of the nonchalant yandere is that they're fighting a constant internal war. Part of them genuinely WANTS to be casual about you. They HATE how much they care. They're embarrassed by the intensity of their feelings and trying desperately to play it cool. But beneath that carefully constructed indifference is someone who has memorized your class schedule, your allergies, your childhood pet's name, and probably has a secret folder of photos they "happened to take" when you weren't looking.
What makes them especially fascinating is the DENIAL. They're not just hiding their obsession from youâthey're hiding it from themselves. They have elaborate justifications for every "coincidence" and "accidental" encounter:
"It's not weird that I know their work schedule. I just have a good memory."
"I'm not following them, I just happen to enjoy the same coffee shop they frequent... at exactly the same time... five days a week."
"I only have their location because they shared it with me once for safety reasons. It would be irresponsible to turn it off."
The nonchalant yandere believes their own lies, and that self-deception makes them all the more convincing to everyone else. Their friends think they're just casually into you. Their behavior skirts the line of normal interest just closely enough that pointing it out makes YOU seem paranoid.
And the most delicious narrative tension? When something happens that threatens their carefully maintained façade. When someone else shows interest in you and suddenly that mask of indifference CRACKS, revealing just a glimpse of the obsession underneath before they hastily patch it back together.
"Did you see how they looked at you? Not that I care. Just seemed disrespectful. Anyway, whatever, it's fine."
Or when they accidentally reveal they know something they shouldn't possibly know:
"You don't need another umbrella, you already have three at home."
"Wait, how do you know what's in my apartment?"
"You mentioned it once. Anyway, this weather sucks, right?"
It's that constant push-pull between wanting to appear nonchalant and the all-consuming need to know everything about you, to be near you, to ensure no one else gets close to youâall while maintaining plausible deniability.
And the payoff when they finally break? When something pushes them too far and that carefully constructed indifference shatters completely? That moment of "I've pretended not to care for so long but I've memorized every detail of your existence and I can't pretend anymore"?
NARRATIVE GOLD.
Give me the character who says "yeah, whatever" while reorganizing their entire life to orbit yours. Give me the one who maintains they "don't get jealous" while subtly sabotaging every potential relationship you pursue. Give me the one whose room looks completely normal until you find that one drawer, that one password-protected folder, that one notebook that reveals just how deep the obsession runs.
They aren't just trying to fool youâthey're trying to fool themselves. And there's something beautifully tragic about someone so consumed by feelings they're ashamed of having, trying, and failing to be the chill, casual person they wish they could be.
That's my catnip right there. The one who's dying inside every time they force themselves to say "no big deal" when every cell in their body is screaming that you are, in fact, the biggest deal in their entire existence.
Yanderes who don't care how much you cry .... oughh
Oh, he knows it's so hard to adapt to such a situation, he knows how much you miss your family, your friends, everyone. It's alright. He hushes you, kisses your face, wipes your tears with a thumb, tells you you don't need to miss home anymore, it's right here. And when a heavier fit of crying takes over.. oh, dear.
You can scream if you want. Maybe he's so in love with you he doesn't even mind going deaf. It doesn't matter how loudly you scream, the walls are soundproof anyway. Oh, but your lovely throat is going throb with pain. He can't have you losing your voice, hm?
You can be a brat if you want. He thinks it's alright. You can destroy the furniture, break, throw, smash them to pieces. It's not like he can't replace it. If you get too violent.. well, you'll only hurt yourself that way, dear. He'll tie you down nicely. And he does it so tenderly. With silk ropes and always cooing and chiding at your reddened or bruised skin when you try to resist.
And you can pathetically whine, beg, cry, sob and plead all you want. He'll listen to everything. And when he can tell you're burning out, he hushes you with kisses and softly kneads your sides, massaging and coaxing you to sleep as he softly brushes off all your whining. Perhaps he even works his hands to turn them into moans.
And oh, dear. You're going to be the end of him. He has all the patience in the world for you, though. Until your bones are worn out and he can put them back together when you've made a mess of yourself. He'll always be beside you when you wake up with soft names lovers use for each other. Because, well.. you both are now. And another fit of crying is on it's way. He knows just how to take care of you.
Little twst blurb but I was thinking about being invited to Diasomnia on a hot day at NRC. FemMc (sorry yall)
Basically: Sebek seeing fem Yuu wearing a tank top lmfao
Perhaps the tank top you chose wasnât the best choice after all, not with the way Sebek began malfunctioning. Sorry ladies, he canât handle a little collarbone.
âWh-WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?! LORD MALLEUS CANNOT NOT SULLY HIS EYES WITH THE SIGHT OF YOUR IMMODESTY.â
âSebek, itâs a tank top, Iâm not naked.â
âDO NOT SAY SUCH WORDS IN THE PRESENCE OF MY LORD.â
âIâve seen Lilia wear much more revealing shirts than this.â
âTHAT IS A SEPARATE MATTER, HUMAN. YOU ARE A GIRL, THEREFORE YOU ARE DISTRACTING IN YOUR CURRENT STATE OF DRESS.â
You smirk, âyou think Iâm cute?â
âW-WHAT?! I-â
âOoooh Sebek fancying a human?â Lilia butts in, clearly enjoying this.
âNO I AM NOTâ
Queue teasing from everyone and Malleus indeed being distracted đââïž
TW: Non/Con, Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Hivemind Dynamics, Implied Previous Domestic Abuse, Non-Consensual Touching, and Obsessive Behavior.
It had been six days, three hours, and twenty-four minutes since the last time you saw one of your crewmates blink.
Which, admittedly, might not have been the smoking gun you were trying to make it into. Most of your conversations were spent with your eyes cast respectfully downward or held through comms, since they preferred not to acknowledge you directly whenever possible. Still, from the control bridgeâs auxiliary seating, you had a pretty good view of their stiff, expressionless faces â the way their glassy eyes seemed to focus on nothing in particular as they carried out their respective roles with all the life and all the energy of clockwork dolls. Really, the fact that theyâd asked you to join them on the bridge at all was a red flag. That wasnât the way things were supposed to work. You were more of an âout of sight, out of mindâ issue.
And yet, here you were, sitting on a cheaply cushioned titanium bench as a dozen or so scientists sat in complete silence, toiling away at their various monitors with their various instruments. No one had spoken in the past ninety minutes. The last person to stand up had been the engineer, when sheâd wordlessly brought the geologist another pen after his had run out of ink a few seconds prior. No one had anything to eat or drink save for the captain, who kept a thermos on the corner of his desk and took a long sip every six minutes exactly. Youâd timed it. Somehow, that was worse than if none of them had done anything at all.
For your part, you stayed where you were, doing everything in your power not to move or breathe or think too loudly. You mightâve stayed like that for the remaining daylight hours, for as long as you had to until dismissed, if the pilot hadnât spoken.
âItâs a beautiful view, isnât it?â
You startled, then snapped in her direction. The visuals were more-or-less right â her long hair pulled into a thick braid, the sleeves of her coveralls tied around her waist, all the little things youâd subconsciously come to expect after months of living in proximity to one another â but her tone was all wrong, far away and airy where youâd come to expect a certain edge, a directness. She also, notably, had not looked away from her monitor. The captain was the only one with his gaze directed upward, toward the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bridgeâs helm.
You took that as a sign to do the same. Admittedly, the view was beautiful. The sea floor stretched on as far as the eye could see, illuminated by spotlights and roaming underwater drones and what few rays of sunlight managed to dive this deep. When you strained your eyes, you could see the dull glow of bioluminescent animals emerging from the sea floor, always moving so slowly toward the surface, but they tended to keep their distance. The walls of the Mariana Trench sat snugly to either side, your stationary base nestled between them. Usually, you loved it â that feeling of being so totally enclosed, how simple the world felt when cast in shades of blue and green. Now, it just felt a little claustrophobic.
The geologist turned to you, dull eyes over wire-framed glasses, and you realized that you were supposed to answer. âI guess so.â
The captain nodded, pleased. You forced yourself to clear your throat and go on. âHow did last weekâs expedition go?â
The biologist straightened. Heâd always struck you as the quiet type, only liable to respond when addressed directly. Today, though, he seemed more than capable of speaking for the group. âOh, it was uneventful.â
And then, the engineer, her normally clipped voice melodic, as if finishing the biologistâs thought. âNothing to report. Just the usual marine activity.â
It was a lie and it wasnât even a good one. They shouldâve corrected you the second you called it an expedition. In reality, the captain, the pilot, and the biologist had taken one of the submersibles on an unplanned voyage to an area worryingly close to your base that had been exhibiting readings no one could seem to make sense of, least of all you. As soon as theyâd gotten back, the geologist and the engineer were called to the labs for some unspecified emergency. Theyâd locked themselves away for hours, not making a sound, only resurfacing once you gathered up the courage to knock. Youâd been too shocked to do anything when they actually opened the door, when they invited you inside, when they showed you the deformed remains of a new specimen and tried to tide you over with explanations of unusual geological activity and pre-historic fossilization. The not-blinking had started around then, too.
âHuh,â you said, layering the nonchalance on thick. You pushed yourself to your feet, stretching your arms above your head. âWell, Iâum, I better get going. Filters to check and all.â
Five heads snapped in your direction at the same time. Thankfully, your panic was limited to a pair of pressed lips and a small, mostly swallowed squeak. Only the captain actually spoke, his voice calm and his tone easy. Somehow, that made it worse. You wouldâve preferred the chorus, discordant and unintelligible, to a lone mouthpiece. âYouâre in such a rush to leave us. Did we do something wrong?â
âI have to do my job, sir.â
He hummed. âMake sure to report back when youâre done.â He paused, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. âYour input is so very important to us, after all.â
You hated the way he said it, like he was fighting not to laugh. You hated the way the pilot was looking at you, now, head cocked and fingers drumming over her desk. You hated the way the geologist was moving, back too straight and limbs too stiff as he started to push himself out of his chair andâ
Oh, fuck.
It was time to go.
You offered another dull excuse before slipping out of the bridge and back into the vessel proper. You knew where you were going â hell, youâd spent the last twenty weeks dreaming of the day youâd finally get to make this walk. Down the hall and past the communal spaces, then up through storage â carefully avoiding the labs on the same floor. The transport module (or, more realistically, the elevator shaft) had its own compartment, carefully sectioned off from the rest of the craft. It was only meant to be used twice: on the day you arrived and then again on the day you left, when you would be ferried up to the surface and granted the privilege of never having to think about life on the sea floor again. Only the captain knew the launch code, but there had to be a manual override. And hopefully, youâd spent enough of the past few months wrist-deep in the vesselâs wiring to figure out how to activate it.
You didnât have time for delicacy. Youâd barely stopped moving before you were dropping to your knees in front of the access panel and prying the interface out of its casing. It came away easily, and then you were digging through wires and ports, searching for something to connect, something to pull free, something that would get you out of this godforsaken pit at theâ
There werenât footsteps, or voices, or any warnings you mightâve heard over the sound of your own racing pulse. There was only a hand on your shoulder, another around your wrist â gently easing you away from the open panel.
âOh, no, that wonât be necessary.â A voice, simultaneously painfully familiar and altogether alien, sighed in your ear. Your captain. Or, what used to be your captain, at least.
You werenât sure you ought to be calling him that, anymore.
And, judging by how softly he spoke as he went on, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.
âI think itâs about time we met properly. Donât you agree?â
~
 The captain, as youâd known him, was a man just south of middle age with white streaks in his startlingly dark hair, crowsâ feet carved into the corners of his eyes, and a scar across the left side of his mouth that he would joke was from biting down on a fishhook in college. At least, youâd assumed he was joking.
You guessed youâd never get the chance to ask, now.
He was also gigantic â taller than most sailors with the physique to match. Even seated, he seemed to dwarf his surroundings, to leave you frail and minimized on the other side of the table. Heâd wanted to do this in his office, but youâd insisted on the canteen. At the time, it seemed like neutral territory, somewhere wide and open with plenty of space to breathe. Now, you could only lament not pushing for someplace more closed-in. At least, if you were cornered, you wouldnât have to keep glancing over your shoulder.
It didnât help that the engineer was posted by the doors, back to the wall and her unblinking stare focused on you. The captain tilted his head to the side apologetically. âIâm sorry. Iâve only just gotten used to having so many eyes.â
âEyes you stole from my friends.â
âThese people werenât your friends.â Pity dripped from his voice, honeyed and thick. You squared your shoulders. âThis one, maybe, but not the rest. They saw you asâWhatâs the word?â
âA janitor?â
âOh, dearest, not even that.â He paused, smiled. The expression looked wrong, like he was manually calculating how far to strain his lips. âA criminal.â
You inhaled slowly, holding your breath for a moment before letting it out again. The sting was present, but manageable. Youâd known that. You mustâve known that, even when you first volunteered for this. There werenât a lot of people willing to spend half a year of their life on the bottom of the ocean, and even fewer who would spend that half-year doing laundry, sweeping floors, and changing lightbulbs. But it was better than jail. This way, you could pretend youâd chosen to be here.
âNot to worry!â He clapped his hands together. âThey wonât be saying much of anything, anymore. And the names I call you wonât nearly as cruel.â
âThey werenâtââ You cut yourself off, shaking your head. âWhat are you?â
âYou can see that for yourself. Iâm sitting right in front of you, love.â
âNo, I meanâWhere did you come from?â
âYou call this the⊠Pacific Ocean, donât you?â
You shot to your feet, slamming your palms into the tabletop. âWhy are you doing this?â
He glanced over you, then met your eyes. âThat wouldâve been a question for your coworkers. They were the ones who dug me up.â
You fell back into your seat, huffing. This was getting you nowhere slowly. The captain â the monster â seemed to feel the same way.
âYou donât seem very scared.â
âI donât have to be. If you could doââ You gestured vaguely to the engineer, still lurking in your peripheral. ââthat to me, you wouldâve.â
âWould I, now?â
You opened your mouth, but stopped short of spitting anything out. It felt like a dial being turned, a switch being flipped. There was nothing, and then, there was everything.
In an instant, it was all too much. A hundred thousand voices in the back of your mind, chanting the same hymn at their own tempo. A hundred thousand images flashing across your vision, each stolen from a new set of eyes. You tried to focus on something else, to feel the cool wood under your hands, but even that sensation soon blurred into a million others until you couldnât tell what belonged to you and what belonged to another body, another mind. You were being pulled downstream and the current was using your arms and legs against you. You were listening to the loveliest song youâd ever heard and you couldnât seem to open your mouth andâ
And the music stopped as you fell back into your own body, as you blinked away other perspectives and heaved air into your own aching lungs. You were on the floor, splayed across the tile. There was saliva at the corner of your mouth, and more concerningly, the captain was kneeling over you, his thumb stroking your cheek.
âDo we understand each other?â
You forced yourself to swallow. Your voice came out hoarse, dry. âGet away from me.â
âI can try, but itâs a small craft.â
âThen let me leave.â
His thumb settled, then slipped lower. âYou know, there are so many things Iâve always wanted to try.â He cupped your chin, stifling a laugh. âWith someone who isnât myself, I mean.â
Disgust tore you through you, curdled and vicious. You brushed him off and scrambled to your feet, stumbling past the engineer and out into the hall. The captain joined her in the doorway, but only watched on as you did your best to get away.
~
The weeks following your conversation passed slowly, cold honey through a tight bottleneck.
The assigned date of your designated departure came and meant. It was quickly made clear that you werenât allowed anywhere near the transport module. Someone, usually the geologist, always seemed to be posted outside, just waiting for you to try your luck again. For the first few days, the engineer also followed you in-person, but that wasnât a permanent feature. You couldnât get into much trouble nearly seven miles below sea level, and whatever project your captor was working on seemed to be an all-hands-on-deck situation. It had something to do with excavation, but how far it fell outside of the vesselâs expected field of research was lost on you. Still, you were thankful they were distracted. It seemed to be enough to know that, no matter how much distance you tried to maintain, youâd always be within armâs reach.
You spent most of your time hiding. It felt a little childish, honestly. Not very long ago, you wouldâve gladly done anything if it meant never feeling alone again, and now you were locking yourself in your bunk, tracking movement patterns on security cameras, pressing your ear to every door before you opened it and praying that there wouldnât be footsteps or voices on the other side. Your contract was only for half a year, but you had enough food and fresh water to last five times that, meaning that entertainment was going to be more of an issue than survival. You ransacked the othersâ rooms, stealing books and card decks and gaming consoles, anything that might help pass the time. And, at night, when the isolation was almost too much to bear, you fled to the atrium.
It was a large, open space on the vesselâs uppermost floor, which was otherwise reserved for vehicle bays and tool storage. The ceiling was high, domed, and entirely transparent, and even before something took over your crewmates and everything went to shit, you liked to lie in the center of the room and watch the dark water ebb and flow. Now, you tried to keep your visits brief, to leave before anyone had the chance to join you. Youâd only slipped up once. A swarm of bioluminescent jellyfish was passing over your vessel in the small hours of the morning, and you mustâve lost track of time. A storm of gold and crimson lights was still gently bobbing past when he joined you.
They were all limbs of the same creature, but the captain seemed to be the designated face. He settled next to you, legs crossed and head bowed. You stiffened, got ready to bolt, but he only laughed, waving off your skittishness. âYouâve been avoiding us.â
You swallowed. ââŠshould I not be?â
The way you said it, muted and questioning, mustâve given away your paranoia. The captain shook his head. âThereâs no need to worry. If I wanted to keep you on a shorter leash, I could.â
Great. Perfect, actually. He thought he was being nice.
âI have something for you.â He never looked away, but the sound of clipped footsteps drew your attention to the doorway. The biologist, uncanny smile plastered over his face and a small, silver tray in his hands. âA gift. To celebrate our three-month anniversary.â
The biologist stopped in front of you, and you recognized what youâd desperately been trying not to. A perfectly round, perfectly generic cupcake, the icing only a little smudged. Your stomach dropped. Perishable food was hard to get down here, even harder to keep fresh. There was one for every member of the crew, and they were supposed to be saved for birthdays â a little piece of home to keep you all sane, in theory. Anyone taking more than their share would mean there wasnât enough to go around, which meant someone would be angry, which meant someone would be angry with you andâ
And you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to look at the biologistâs grinning face.
You guessed you didnât need to worry about that, anymore.
Still, the idea of choking down freeze-dried cake was enough to make your stomach turn over. âIâm sorry, Iââ You pushed yourself to your feet quickly enough to make your head spin. The captain followed you up, catching your arm when your balance threatened to give out. âI really canât do this, right now.â
âOf course. You must be tired.â The biologist was already leaving. âLet me walk you back to your room.â
It wasnât a question, but you shook your head regardless. âIâm alright, just a littleââ
âI insist.â His hand slipped from your arm to your upper back. âUnless youâd prefer the captainâs quarters?â
âNo.â Bile rose into the back of your throat. The repulsion was instinctual, the rejection reflexive. âPlease, no.â
âHow you break my heart, love.â
This time, his hand slipped down to yours, squeezing gently. You shouldâve just taken the fucking cupcake.
âItâs a good thing I have spares.â
~
Four months. That was how long you made it post-invasion, trying to live every moment as if you were under constant observation, ignoring every base human urge that mightâve been at odds with your all-seeing captor. Sixteen weeks. One hundred and twenty days. People had cracked under much more banal forms of torture in much less time.
And, in your defense, you had the foresight to take precautions. An especially busy day that saw all useful members of your crew posted at their stations. An unused wing of the medical bay rather than your own room. An allotted fifteen minutes to do what you could. You figured, failing everything, you could be proud of yourself for giving it your all. Admittedly, you hadnât spent much time thinking about worst-case scenarios.
This was definitely worst-case.
The pilot stood on the threshold of the medical bay, the door hanging open behind her. Heat flooded your face, your cheeks, and you made a valiant effort to pull your hand out of your pants and wrestle your coveralls back up to your waist â as if thatâd do anything to undo the damage. She waited until you were (mostly) redressed and scrambling off of the cot before edging forward, careful to keep her body between you and the door. That was fine. You were too mortified to so much as think about going much of anywhere.
âItâs aâa human thing,â you rushed to explain, as if it made this any better. As if it would get her to stop staring at you like that. âTo blow off steam, and killââ
You tried to step around her. An arm lashed out to stop you, barring any hope of retreat to your left. âYouâre so cute when youâre flustered.â
âIâm notââ You cut yourself off, swallowing. âIâd like to go back to my room. Please.â
The pilot didnât respond. Her attention flicked downward once before returning to your face and refusing to let go, pinning you under the weight of her wide-eyed gaze. You were stuck there, trapped and immobile, as her free hand found your collar, then drifted south, lean fingers grazing over your collarbones, your midriff. Finally, she dipped below the waistband of your coveralls, dragging her two fingers over the seat of your panties. The material was still disheveled, too flimsy to provide any real sense of comfort. Her thumb caught on your clit andâ
âPlease,â you gasped, surprising yourself. She didnât seem fazed. âStop touching me.â
A second passed, then another. When she eventually did draw back, it was with an airy sigh, the smallest quirk of a frown tugging at her lips. âFine.â
You waited for her to pull away entirely, to lose interest and return to the bridge with the rest of the crew â not totally unlike the previous inhabitant of her body had, on the rare occasion she was forced to speak to you. Instead, her hand curled around your wrist, blunt nails pressing into your skin as she tugged toward the door. You half-expected her to take you a little too literally, to drag you back to your bunk and lock you inside, but she passed the rooming area entirely, taking you down the hall toward the captainâs quarters. Your heart seized up inside your chest, but you tried not to let the panic seep into your voice. âWhere are we going?â
âTo do different human things.â And then, more cheerfully, âYouâll like it.â
You doubted that, but her pace was steady and her grip was unwavering. It didnât seem like she planned on giving you another choice.
The engineer was already waiting by the door. She followed you and the pilot in, keeping close in case you tried to bolt. You were given all of a second to take in the massive, king-sized bed before being mercifully pulled in another direction, into the en-suite. The engineer mustâve worked quickly. The shallow tub (an Olympic pool compared to the shoulder-width shower stalls in the communal bathrooms) was already full, steam still rolling off the waterâs surface. A body scrub and matching oil sat on the low wall, neither used. You did your best not to wonder whoâd brought them.
You looked to the pilot, then the engineer, who both watched expectantly. It took an embarrassingly long moment to realize they were waiting on you. âOh, Iâm supposed toâŠ?â
You nodded to the tub. The pilotâs smile turned sympathetic. âBefore the water gets cold, yes.â
The engineer chimed in, âYou have taken a bath before, havenât you?â
âShut up.â And just like that, more out of spite than anything, you were wriggling out of your uniform. Your clothes formed a wrinkled heap where you let them drop, each layer leaving you that much more exposed, that much more desperate to crawl back inside of something thick and warm and protective. Covering yourself wouldâve been an admission of defeat, so you kept your arms stiffly at your sides as you stepped into the tub. The scalding water burnt at your numb skin. You hadnât realized how cold youâd been until you started to thaw.
Surprisingly, they didnât join you. The engineer perched herself on the basinâs wall while the pilot leaned against the vanity, taking in the view. You pulled your knees up to your chest, but it was clear you were being overprotective. The engineer only hummed as she cupped the water in her hands and poured over your head, soaking your hair, your face. It reminded you of something else, something sacred. You had to hold your breath, but that part was holy, too.
The engineerâs hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. The words caught in your throat and snagged on your lips, but you spit them out regardless. It wouldâve been more painful to let the silence sit. âIs this your idea of what humans do? Or did you just want to embarrass me?â
âPartially,â the pilot answered. You chose not to wonder which question she was responding to. âMy other reasons are much more selfish.â
âTell me.â
âItâs a little silly.â If you hadnât known better, you mightâve thought she sounded shy. âI wanted to see what it was like to take care of something else.â
Oh.
You sank that much deeper. The engineerâs hands followed you down, never leaving your skin for a moment.
Youâd never noticed how cold she felt, before.
~Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
âI really didnât mean to.â
The biologist hummed. He was sitting at your feet, leaning against the wall next to your cubby of a bed. Heâd brought tea, the mugs mismatched and the contents still hot enough to steam. You were determined to let yours go cold, and he seemed happy enough to run his thumb over the ceramic rim, soaking in the warmth as it seeped out.
âYou did an awfully thorough job.â
âI didnâtââ You stopped yourself, sucking in a deep breath and pressing your cheek into your stiff pillow. Behind you, the geologist shifted, slotting his chest against your back and draping an arm over your waist. Your captor had become increasingly more interested in that type of thing, recently â touchy, sentimental, human. You wouldâve liked to say that they wore you down, but honestly, you hadnât put up much of a fight to begin with. âIt was self-defense.â
âYou didnât call the police.â
âI was going to, but there was so much blood, andâand then they were already outside, banging on the door. Anyone wouldâve frozen up.â You let your voice get very, very quiet. âHe kept me in that apartment for sixty days. Two months. What was I supposed to do? Go outside and make small talk with the neighbors?â
âAnd the trial?â
âI wasnât allowed to talk at the trial, the lawyersââ Again, you cut yourself off. âAnd you already know this. Youâve been in my head.â
The geologistâs forehead settled against the back of your neck as the biologist spoke. âI like the view better out here.â
âYouâre so creepy,â you huffed. âItâs just, if this is hell, or some stupid karmic punishment youâre all in on, thenââ
âYou donât think Iâm real?â He almost sounded offended.
âI donât think you deserve to keep me here.â There wasnât a point in answering. Whatever was happening to you, it was real enough. âIâve got family waiting for me to come back.â
âNo, you donât.â
âFine. I have friends. People who are going to miss me.â
The biologist sent you a skeptical glance. You bit down hard on the side of your tongue.
âYou canât keep me here forever.â
The geologistâs hold on you tightened abruptly, crushing your ribs into your lungs before going slack just as quickly. âNot forever,â the biologist mused. âHow long do you think the oxygen recyclers will hold out?â
This time, you didnât bother responding at all. The geologist seemed content to draw you that much closer, and the biologist was more than happy to sit at a distance and watch.
~
You found the captain on the bridge, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the glass wall. The room was dim, the overheads switched off in favor of the softened blue of the emergency lights. No one else was there, his spare sets of eyes scattered to different parts of the vessel. It looked like heâd been waiting for you.
The jellyfish were passing through again, too. The swarm was dense and close, the view all-but completely obscured by bobbing golden lights, casting the bridge in a ruddy bronze. If you didnât know better, you mightâve thought you were on another planet.
âŠyou did know better, and the thought still lingered longer than it shouldâve.
You sat down next to him, legs bent in front of you. It was uncomfortable, but that didnât matter. You doubted youâd be staying in this position for very long.
âIf Iââ The words burnt like acid on your tongue. You rushed to find a less corrosive replacement. âIf I do what you want me to, I can leave, right?â
âI donât remember saying that.â His voice was lilting, tone playful.
âThen say it now.â You huddled into yourself. âI need to get out of here, and this is the only time Iâm going to ask nicely.â
âI donât seem to recall you ever being particularly nice, either.â
Something shifted out of place deep in your chest. You moved to stand, but he laid a hand over yours, laughing. âSorry, sorry. I should know better. I know what itâs like to be trapped somewhere very, very small for a very, very long time.â He lowered his voice. âLet me have this. Youâll get what you want out of it, too.â
âJust this once?â
âJust this once. Then, Iâll take you back to the surface.â
You didnât want to. No part of you wanted to give anything to the monster thatâd held you captive for over a year, but you needed fresh air in your lungs. You needed to see another person, someone who didnât look at you like something to cut open and dissect.
This didnât seem like a lot to give up, in comparison.
You nodded, and his hands were on your hips immediately. He hauled you into his lap, and then you were straddling him, your legs clumsily thrown around his waist and your chest pressed into his. There was no pretense of reluctance, just his mouth on your neck and his fingers working at the buttons of your uniform, haphazardly pulling and dragging until fabric slackened and you felt cold air wash over newly exposed skin. This close, he shouldâve been enough to warm you up, but even that small comfort rang hollow. His body was malleable stone against yours â willing to give, but so undeniably lifeless below the surface.
A calloused hand cupped your breast, groping harshly. A pained hiss slipped through your grit teeth, and his head tilted back, wide eyes meeting yours. âCan I kiss you?â
âWould it matter if I said no?â
âOf course.â His smile had turned simpering. âI would cherish any reaction you showed me.â
That didnât mean he would listen, though.
His lips were chapped and tender against yours. There was nothing romantic about the way he kissed you, just a heady sort of affection and a curiosity that made him lap over your tongue and push into the hollow of your cheeks like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. At the same time, his thumb swiped over your nipple, fingertips biting into the plush flesh of your chest. It was almost a relief when he moved on, his touch skirting over your midriff, your navel, your stomach before settling just above the waistband of your panties. You wished you hadnât worn them at all, in hindsight. Anything to save yourself the stabbing agony of realizing he would have to take them off of you.
Not that he seemed to be in a rush to. The pad of his thumb dragged over your clothed slit, mapping the terrain, before pulling back and pressing into your clit. His mouth fell to your throat, sucking harsh bruises into your skin as he traced mindless patterns into the most sensitive part of you. It was humiliating â how quickly your deprived boy gave in to the first hint of stimulation youâd gotten in the better part of a year. You could feel yourself getting hotter, getting wetter, the seat of your panties soon uncomfortably damp. You felt the captainâs grin against your jugular and clenched your eyes shut.
His touch was sickeningly exploratory. Your panties were pulled to the side, two thick fingers eased inside of you. Even that was too much of a stretch after surviving so long on nothing at all. You buried your face in his chest as he rocked his palm against your cunt, doing your best to keep your teeth planted in the flesh of your cheek, your nails burrowed into the back of his neck. It was unfair â he was still dressed while you were being split in half. He was going to get what he wanted and youâd be the one to suffer for it.
A third finger, added while the heel of his palm ground against your clit. You jerked forward, a strangled moan escaping before you had a chance to swallow it down, and the captain cooed in sympathy. âThatâs it, love.â He pressed a kiss into your temple. âIâm only trying to make what comes next a little easier.â
âIââ He curled his fingers and you sucked in a shallow breath. âI donât know what that means.â
âYes, you do.â
God, you hated him.
âNo, you donât.â There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth. You were beyond caring where he touched you, how he touched you. Minutes too soon, you could feel a steady pulse playing in the pit of your stomach, a tightness in your chest that wasnât entirely due to burning hatred. You felt his tongue against the side of your neck, following the curve of your throat once, then twice before biting down â teeth sinking into skin too fluidly, too easily. It took you a second to decide why it felt so unnatural beyond the initial shock, but not much longer.
He hadnât hesitated. Not the way he should have, when he knew what he was doing to you might hurt. Not the way anything human would have.
He stayed there, latched onto you and sucking gently, as what was left of your self-control eroded and fell away entirely. Your hips bucked against his hand, the movement jolting and involuntary, and then you were moving on your own, working to fuck his fingers that much deeper, to make up for that many more days of your third and final stay in prolonged captivity. When he raised his head, it was only to chuckle, to nuzzle against you, to pay more attention to the angle of his wrist, to how exactly he nudged you closer and closer and closer to the ledge. âSo beautiful,â he whispered, mouth close enough to your ear for his voice to echo in your mind. âI could keep you like this forever.â
You made a mewling, pained noise, cut off abruptly as your body went rigid against his. He led you through the worst of it, pace slowing as he drew out every little clench and tremor, but his patience was clearly thin and his attention clearly elsewhere. You felt him shift underneath you, and then your body was being lowered to the floor by too many pairs of hands. You didnât realize that youâd shut your eyes until you had to force them open, until you saw the pilotâs smiling face above you, her unblinking stare fixed on your face.
Dread and embarrassment and panic flared in your chest, driving spikes into your heart, your lungs, your throat. âI donât want other people toââ
âThey wonât.â His hands were already pulling at your uniform, dragging it off. Your panties were stripped away just as quickly, just as heartlessly. You tried to grab for his wrists, but the pilot was faster, catching yours instead and drawing them above your head. âItâs just us. Itâs only ever been us.â
But it wasnât, not really, not in the way that matters. You could see the others in your peripheral, made shadowed and faceless by your refusal to look closer. It was almost a mercy when the pilot ducked, lowering her head to your chest and latching onto your breast, reminding you that there were worse things in the world than unwanted voyeurs â worse things you were currently experiencing, in fact. The captainâs hands found your sides, then your hips, pinning you to the floor as he settled between your legs. You whimpered, sobbed, but it wasnât enough to drown out the sounds of rustling fabric and hitched breathes, to distract you from the feeling of something hot and blunt pressing into you pussy.
He hesitated there â the pilot, too, her tongue going still where it was lapping over your nipple. âI love you,â he said, nearly under his breath. âAnd I wish this wasnât the only way to make you understand that without getting rid of the you.â
You didnât know what he was talking about. You didnât have time to figure it out, either.
He was already inside of you.
Big. He was too fucking big. For the first time, you genuinely resented â sincerely, deeply, searingly resented â that the captain had been chosen as the dominant mouthpiece, rather than one of your much more moderately sized crewmates. It felt like you were being torn open from the inside out, his thick cock splitting your cunt in half, jagged veins and liquid heat arousal only making it more overwhelming. Your legs snapped closed around his waist, hips bucking against his hold, but the captain didnât seem to notice. He buckled, head falling low as he caught himself with a palm planted next to your head. The pilot moaned against your skin.
Long, agonizing moments passed before he started to move. You became terrifyingly aware there was still more of him that he was trying to ease into you. His thrusts were short and slow, every inch another way to make you squirm and clench. You werenât in control of your body, anymore. If you cried, if you struggled, if you went limp â that wasnât your fault. You were only doing what you had to.
Finally, finally, you felt him bottom out, his hips pressing into yours. There was an airy grunt, another less dignified noise, and then he fell into a steady pattern of grinding down and pulling back and thrusting in with enough strength to force the air out of your lungs, to make your back arch off of the unforgiving cement. Your hands grabbed for his shoulders instinctively, and he let you, falling that much closer. The pilot retreated, but only far enough to pull your head into her lap. Touching wasnât the priority. She and the others were just there to observe.
His cock twitched inside of you. There was no cursing, no unconscious reactions, but his hold on you tightened and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath cold and wrong against your skin. âIâm sorry, I donâtââ A rough groan, a stilted thrust. âI donât want to, butââ
He didnât have a chance to finish. It was already happening.
It wasnât like the first time. That day, itâd been deliberate, a calculated plunge into the middle of a very large, very cold body of water. This time, his influence came in fragments, pulling you into the river but giving your mind a chance to cling to the shore. You could feel the ground against your back as you blinked through a hundred million sets of eyes, and you were aware of the pressure in your core as that pulsing, heartbeat choir overwhelmed anything else you mightâve heard. There was water in your lungs, but at least you still knew which lungs were yours.
Your orgasm came in waves, flooding in from multiple perspectives. There was your pleasure, strained and confused, and then his, tender and so loving and filling you to the brim. That was enough to bring you back to yourself, although there wasnât anything you could do to mitigate the damage. His hips were pressed flush against yours, his hands clamped tight enough around you to bruise, excess cum dripping down your thighs, the curve of your ass. You couldnât be sure how long you stayed like that â a second, a minute, an hour. It didnât matter. It was all an eternity to you.
Eventually, he seemed to catch himself, straightening with a slight laugh. âHow embarrassing. Iââ He cut himself off, smiling. âNext time. Iâll be more considerate, next time.â
Your only response was a low, disgruntled whine. Sympathy softened the corners of his expression. âWhy donât we get you cleaned up?â
âAnd thenââYour voice gave out immediately, dissolving into a coughing fit. The pilot rubbed the back of your neck. âThen the surface, right?â
âOf course, love.â The words mightâve been more comforting if it hadnât been for the way he looked at you. âAnd then, the surface.â
~
Half an hour later, you found yourself slumped against the captainâs side in the transport module, still not quite able to rely on your own legs. Both the elevator walls and its shaft were entirely made out of glass, but even as you ascended out of the abyssal darkness, through the brightening twilight and back into the more hospitable sunlight zones, you couldnât quite bring yourself to enjoy the view. A few stray jellyfish from the previous swarm were still bobbing diligently toward the surface. You tried half-heartedly to name the species, but nothing came to mind. Youâd had a tense conversation with the captain (the real captain) early on about deep-sea life, but he didnât seem to think youâd run into anything more interesting thanâ
You straightened abruptly. The captain hummed, holding that much tighter. âIs something wrong?â
âThere arenât supposed to be jellyfish this deep. Not in a group this size.â
âSo there arenât.â
You hesitated, then tried another angle. âWhatever youâre doing down there, is itââ
âThe work will carry on, but the worst of it is over.â He squeezed your side. âYouâll understand, soon.â
Neither of you spoke for the rest of the ascent. There was a brief depressurization, and then the doors opened into the sterile, chromatic control bay you only vaguely remembered from the day you were sent down. You let go of the captain, rushing forward. You were going to get out of here. You were going to breathe fresh air and feel the sunlight and talk to someone else, anyone else. You were going to kiss the first person you saw. You were going toâ
You made it one glorious, euphoric step outside of the module, then came to a stuttering halt. A half-ring of strangers stood perfectly still in front of you, a mix of scientists and engineers and operators you wouldnât know if you recognized. Any familiar traits, any human spark â all of it was made alien by identical, calculated smiles and those unblinking, unfeeling, unthinking eyes. You were tempted to rush to the closest window, to hope beyond hope that this hadn't spread any farther than the facility, but you smothered the urge quickly. You already knew what you were going to find.
The captain stepped behind you. âYou can go on running, if youâd like,â he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. âI shouldnât have problem catching up.â
âBut, it canât beââ
âIt is.â He laughed, the noise bright and giddy. For once, it sounded natural.
âI told you â itâs only ever been us, love.â
