Lawful Evil Rat

I think not, actually.

[clockwayswrites]

What am I doing with all these attempts at writing my SCP/Control like org world from the outside? Clearly I should just write a romance between the bored junior agent stuck on watch duty and the eldritch otherness they are watching.

[clockwayswrites]

“Pascal,” it purred in greeting. Somehow Pasco knew that it was smiling smugly even if there was nothing to the being that resembled a mouth at the moment. And it did make Pasco's even stride falter, just for a step, to hear it call him by his full first name. He glanced at Mark as the man hastily gathered up his things.

Mark wouldn’t meed his eyes.

Pasco watched Mark slink, shoulders hunched, all the way out the secure door, before he turned back to the being with a sigh. “Apples.”

“That is not our name.”

“And you’d rather I use APLS-47?” Pasco asked. “I figure that if we’re going to be on first name basis, that I should have something more…. familiar to call you.”

It hummed. The noise of it rattled through Pasco’s bones and for a moment it felt like he would shake apart into atoms like some sort of glorious starburst. And then the noise stopped and Pasco was simply himself again.

“We concede to Apples, for now,” it said with a little… nod? Shift of agreement.

“Apples it is then,” Pasco said. He pulled out his book and sat down at the monitoring desk with what he hoped was a sense of finality.

It lasted for a few minutes, anyways.

“Pascaaaaaaal,” it whined, drawing his name out like a sigh. It pressed all of its… nebulous form against the side of the containment pod. “Are you simply going to ignore us now? I though that we were finally on speaking terms.”

Pasco pointedly flipped a page in his book.

It sighed. “Bastard.”

[clockwayswrites]

Chapter One: Snek, p2

just tagging this 'snek story' for now. I... should I make a masterpost? masterpost. I'm not sure how much of this y'all are going to get but prob all of the first chapter and then bits? maybe everything I write this month?

Which at least was better than being temporally transferred, Pasco guessed. Still, the order stayed on his mind the rest of his shift, which was dangerous. He might only work in the Non-sentient Object division, but as the ‘snek’ proved, calling these things non-sentient wasn’t always accurate.

He managed to end his shift without being marred, maimed, or… mefuddled. Something with an M. That left him standing in front of a tired looking HR agent.

“No, I’m not here to file complaint,” Pasco answered.

“Injury?”

“No.”

“Possession?”

“I’m here for a transfer,” Pasco said is a rush before the agent could continue down their list. “Anderson from NO Sector sent me.”

“Oh, you’re… what was it…” they search around on their desk for the note. “Argall?”

“Yes sir, Pascal Argall.”

“Right, then I can’t help you.”

Pasco blinked. “What? But Anderson said…”

“Yes, yes,” they said with a dismissive wave of their hand, “but the section head of SC is handling your transfer himself?”

“SC?” Pasco echoed. He was being transferred to Special Containment? Him?

“Yes, that would Section Chief Carrasco over in SC. It’s the forth office to the left as you enter the section, right before the dead end and right turn,” they explained as if that was Pasco’s confusion.

(Which it was helpful information.)

“Right,” Pasco said because he didn’t know what else to say and the poor HR worker didn’t need to deal with his freakout. “Thank you. I’ll head that way.”

“Have a safe rest of your day!”

“Thank you,” Paso said again. And then he found a bathroom to hyperventilate in for a bit.

[clockwayswrites]

Chapter 1: Snek, part 3

masterpost please no editing or concrit, that's for another version of this novel!

Luckily, after the anxiety attack was done, the office was right where the HR agent had said. Pasco did his best to keep track of the where of the bureau, but with the closures and secret tunnels, and building just deciding to up and move whole sectors sometimes, it was hard to do. (For example, the cafeteria was four floors higher than it used to me, which everyone but IT was annoyed about).

But Special containment Section Chief Carrasco’s office was right where Pasco had been told.

He just needed to knock and go in.

He’d already cleared it with the assistant.

Who was now watching him him hesitate like a scared child.

Well, fuck it.

Pasco knocked, listened for the soft hum of the door unlocking, and entered the office.

Like most all offices in the bureau, of anyone who was anyone to remember, it was an imposing wood paneled room. There were more bookcases than books, the large, cryptic seal of the bureau, and an wood desk that was big enough to sleep on. All of that faded into the background compared to view that the office had. Instead of the wall to the right being wood, it was full glass panels that looked out over the atrium of the Special Containment division. The purple trees looked so bright from that angle.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Pasco spun to face Chief Carrasco with an embarrassed blush that he tried to tamp down. She was a slight woman with large brown eyes and hair the color of dry straw. She would be unassuming if it weren’t for the fact that she was who she was. Pasco wondered how often she had used that to her advantage out in the field. She had been one of the best, after all.

There was a slight whir of servos from her vicinity as she came to stand next to him. “The trees can be very distracting, if you look at them too long. I used to wonder if that was an actual feature of theirs. In the wild—well, in the wild of the reality they’re from—there are these sloth like creatures that live in the trees. They drop from above on unsuspecting prey and sever the spinal cord before slowly pulling it back up into the trees. They devour it over a few weeks. The prey is a live to start.”

“Oh.” Pasco said, because what did you say to that? What did you say when it was said in a way where you know that the person who said it had lived it. He wondered who she had lost on that trip. And then he wondered several more things, one of which slipped past his filters. “A symbiotic relation then? The trees draw the prey in and then, what, are fertilized by the… leftovers and the excrement?”

“I did used to wonder,” she agreed, words almost wistful before she turned sharply. “But no, turns out that people are just fascinated by purple trees, and just about everyone in this place needs to get out and touch some damn grass.”

Pasco did his best to turn his snort of surprised amusement into a cough.

“You can laugh, Argall. If you don’t laugh, you’ll go mad,” Chief Carrasco said. She braced herself on the arms of one of the leather chairs set close to the window before letting herself drop in it. “And take a seat.”

“Yes ma’am,” Pasco mumbled and hurried over to the other chair. There was a small sidetable between them with a half finished four dimensional chess game on it. He tilted his head as one of the black pieces moved. He used to love chess, back when it was just playing it against his grandfather and the other elders in the park.

“I’m pretty sure that I’m playing against future me at the moment,” Chief Carrasco said with a wry smile. “She’s kicking my ass.”

This time, Pasco let the little laugh out. “Well, at least you know you’ll get better.”

“Ha, good way to look at it, Argall. I better hope it is me then and not the next sod to have this office. But I should have years left, even if there’s only about half of me left,” she said and knocked on her left left leg with her gloved left hand. The noise was a decidedly hollow clang.

Pasco sat in the pause until it got awkward enough to make him speak. “Not that, I mean, what I think doesn’t mean much, but I’d think so. Everyone knows about your time as a Trapper. Well, I mean, the non redacted bits, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed with all the gravity of a person who knew better. Nothing stayed completely redacted for long inside the bureau. “Does all your knowledge give you any idea of why you’re here, Agent Argall?”

“No ma’am,” Pasco said honestly. “Not a clue.”

She hummed and looked back out over the purple trees. “That doesn’t surprise me. Most people’s biggest blind spot is themselves, you know? We like to think that we’re self aware, but we’re really not. It’s easier to lie to ourselves about ourselves than face who we are. Everyone want’s to be clever or good or at least right. But right doesn’t matter as much as being alive, not in the end. Some people never learn that before the end comes. You, though, I think you’ve got good instincts somewhere in there. You just need to stop listening to what you’re trying to tell yourself and listen to what’s actually happening.”

Pasco blinked. That wasn’t what most people said about him. He’d been kicked from the army (he was in it for the scholarship money) to the bureau as fast as they could get rid of him. He’d barely lasted an time in the mail room (not tha the much wanted too). And now it felt like the NO section was happy to get rid of him too…

Or was that just him lying to himself?

He wasn’t always good at seeing the good.

He looked over at the purple trees. “This is about the snek, isn’t it? Er, sorry, ma’am, I mean NO-M-2863.”

Chief Carrasco chuckled. “Yes, Agent Argall, this is about the ‘snek’.”

[clockwayswrites]

Snek Bit:

“Well, you're not trapped here,” Apple hissed, because apparently that was the mood for today: hissy.

Pasco looked down at the same page of his book that he had been trying to read for the past twenty minutes. His fingers traced idly over the bold black chapter number. “Aren't I?”

He had a job that he had been forced into because of a rubber snake, morals, trying to better himself, poverty, dead family some sort of cosmic fuck you from the universe. He went home from it to his empty apartment. Empty because he had a job that he couldn’t even talk to anyone about. He had tried dating. Every boyfriend had broken up with angry accusations of him cheating on them. Accusations he couldn't explain away because how would he explain something like a rubber snake was causing him job troubles, even if he had been allowed to? And the he woke up and went back to the job where he sat in a room with an unexplainable being who either flirted with him or hissed at him or ignored him depending on the days mood.

Apple was quiet.

“I think we're both trapped here, Apple,” Pasco mummured.

He began to read from the start of the page.

[clockwayswrites]

"Snek Novel" Chapter 2: Purple, p1

masterpost please no editing! I'm just sharing some of the first draft for motivation <3 (But if there's somrthing you like or find interesting I'd love to hear.)

Pasco resisted the urge to sigh. How did things always seem to come back to that rubber snake? It’s what had gotten him tossed out of the mail room too. The ‘snek’ had kept showing up in mail tubs and carts and envelopes it shouldn’t have fit in, but most only in things headed to, or at least through, Pasco’s station. Apparently the easiest way of dealing with it was to send Pasco back with the snek to the NO Section.

And now because of the snek he was in SC.

“Not to… disappoint,” Pasco said cautiously, as things had been going well so far, “but I don’t see how a rubber snake get me from Non-sentient Objects all the way to Special Containment. That’s a… very big leap. I haven’t even had any of the training past the basic standardization.”

Holy shit.

He hadn’t even had any of the training.

He was going to be dead in days.

(Maybe that was the point.)

“You haven’t?” Chief Carrasco asked. “I thought NOs got up tp at least Level Fives.”

“Budget cuts. We only go up to Level Three in containment now,” Pasco explained. “Which I think is a mistake given—sorry, ma’am, not my place.”

“Really it should be, you’re the one on the floor,” she said. She stood with a rocking sort of hitch and headed towards her desk. “We’ll get you scheduled. I’d like you up to Seven in containment and Five arms and armaments.”

“I was Six in A and A last tested, ma’am.” At her curious look he shrugged awkwardly. “Three older siblings, fourteen cousins, and ex-army. They had me in sniper training.”

She hummed and made a note in a rather robust looking planner. “What made you leave the army?”

“I was transferred here directly,” Pasco said. He bit the side of his tongue to leave off that he likely would have been discharged for insubordination anyways as soon as he had gotten into any action. Not that he liked either, but there was a difference between civilian casualties and office incompetence.

“Ah. That tracks,” she said, as if it did. “Well, I’ll give you the tour at lest, follow me, Argall.”

Pasco murmured a soft ‘yes ma’am’ before falling in step with her. It was still too easy to fall into the rhythm of someone else’s steps. Pasco didn’t know if he’d ever be rid of the habit or if boot camp had baked it into his soles and, well, soul.

“The first thing to understand about Special Containment, is that it isn’t all about actively dangerous entities. Sure, everything in the sector could kill you, but I could also kill you right now,” Carrasco explained (which Pasco had absolutely no doubt about). “The sector is more about the fact that everything here needs unusual levels of oversight. These types of oversight could be anything from unique means of containment to OOOs who take up too much time from other sectors or, yes, dangerous entities. We try to keep the first two separate from the third.”

Pasco nodded. That made sense. Trained agents had to be expensive to replace.

They had reached the atrium floor now. Pasco took a moment to admire the trees. The shade of purple did look different from down here. It also made the whole light of the space feel slightly… off.

“You get used to it,” Carrasco said, as if reading Pasco’s mind. “Just maybe don’t take your meals here for a bit, the purple makes food look… off.”

“Right, good tip, ma’am,” Pasco said. “We’re sure that those trees don’t lure people in?”

“That’s what the Books and Tubes say.”

Pasco tilted his head a little, glanced from the trees and back to Carrasco. She turned sharply on her heel. Pasco barely had enough time to stop before he ran into her.

“What does your gut say, Argall?” There was something too sharp about her gaze again. Something a little feral in her smile.

It made Pasco be a little more honest than he would normal be to someone above him (which was everyone, really). “I think they’re wrong. I mean, not wrong, maybe, but I think there’s something that they’re missing.”

“They’re the best,” Carrasco argued.

Pasco gave a little shrug. “The bureau's whole mission is dealing with the unknowable. I think it’s… unwise for us to assume that we already know everything to test for. Ma’am.”

Carrasco cracked a grin. “You mean stupid.”

Pasco cleared his throat and hoped that he wasn’t blushing. “Not the word I used, ma’am.”

With a little, hopefully amused snort, Carrasco turned back around and kept walking. “But it’s the word you meant.”

“But not what I said, ma’am.”

“Cutting some fine lines, Agent Argall?”

Pasco steps faulted just for a beat. She was teasing him, he was pretty sure, but she wasn’t wrong. His whole conversation had been cutting fine lines. Because… “That’s what the bureau does, ma’am.”

“That’s an interesting take, Argall,” she said. “You sound a little like a Trapper.”

And didn’t that make Pasco almost lose his rhythm again. Him, a Trapper? “No ma’am, I’m just a center agent through and through. I’ve never even been out on a ground zero.”

“Really? You have been wall bound, aren’t you? That’s interesting. Very interesting.”

“…is it, ma’am?” Pasco dared to ask.

“Yes it is. Now keep up, we have a lot to see.”

“…yes, ma’am.”

[clockwayswrites]

"Snek Novel", ch2.p2

masterpost this was already written but not shared. really need to get back into working on this if I can but so exhausted.

“The first thing to remember about Spocs,” Carrasco said, surprising Pasco by using the slang name for the sector, “no, that’s the trees. The second thing to remember about Spocs is that it goes up and down. Spocs is a vertical sector, all ringed around this center atrium up past the leaves and down past the roots.”

Pasco immediately looked own at his feet. “…what’s in the roots?”

“And that is why you’re here, Argal,” Carrasco said. She sounded proud. That worried Pasco. Making good impression to someone like Chief Carrasco felt too much like being seen. She continued on, headless to his worry. “Now, the closer floors are to this point, floor zero, the… let’s say calmer the floors are.”

“You didn’t answer what’s in the roots,” Pasco points out, softly.

Carrasco ignores him. “Going up theses are mostly personal offices, storage, security, those things. Going down the labs start.”

“The Spocs—sorry, the Special Containment Sector has its own set of labs?” Pasco asked.

“Just say Scops around here, it’s quicker,” Carrasco corrected. “And of course we do. If we let a specially contained object out of Special Containment to be studied, it would no long be contained, would it? It is only the data that leaves this sector.”

And the people, or so Pasco hoped. He had heard stories though. there were reasons that he wasn’t excited about this transfer. Sure, it paid more, but not like he had a family to need a funeral for anyways. He shook his head. He was being morose about this. He had to focus. If he didn’t focus, he really might end up dead.

“Does that mean that the Tubes go back and forth?” Pasco asked, testing if the nickname for the scientists passed without call out.

“Some of them,” Carrasco said. “We have more on long term loan. Their labs are here, their offices are here… they’re ours in all but salary.”

Pasco nodded. That was interesting. Pasco hadn’t had much dealing with the Tubes after he had gotten out of the mail room, and even then it hadn’t been a lot. “And Books?”

Carrasco snorted. “Archivists? Leave their little lair? No likely.”

Pasco nodded again. He had even less dealing with them.

“Best thing is, we have our own group of engineers, techbunnies, and maintenance on the same sort of long term loan as our researchers. If something goes wrong in this sector it needs to be fixed and fixed quick,” Carrasco said. “And that means that every member of this sector—one loan or not—needs to be ready to act when we have to act.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pasco replied quickly.

She gave a little snort. “That’s the spirit. Oh, speaking of spirits, avoid the northeast side of floor five if not properly outfitted against ghosts.”

“…how… does one properly outfit against ghosts?” Pasco asked, because that was very much not covered in his training.

“We don’t know,” Carrasco answered with concerning casualness. “The Tubes are working on it.”

“Right. I’ll just… avoid that area then.”

“Good thought. Now let’s talk about the rest. There’s a lot to cover.”

And there was. Apparently when Chief Carrasco said that she was going to show him the sector she meant the whole sector. They stopped, at least briefly, on every floor both up and down. Down was… well, most of the floors had Pasco’s hair standing on end. He tried to stay focused on retaining all of the information that was being thrown at him, rather than his bad feelings about some of the floors. People worked on them everyday, he’d be fine.

Probably.

Except Carrasco was looking at him in that concerning way again. “It’s a lot for one day, I know, but you’ll get your sea legs. Luckily, most of this is just courtesy knowledge. If there’s a emergency, sure, you’ll need to know it so study up, but your time is going to be focused only on one.”

“One floor, ma’am?” Pasco asked.

The elevator stopped.

“One room, Agrall,” Carrasco said. Her sharp smile shinned in the door of the elevator for a moment before the doors slid open.

“One room,” Pasco repeated. “I’ve been assigned to an OOO? Or, I guess, to a small collection of OOOs?”

“One OOO,” Carrasco said.

“One OOO,” Pasco repeated again. “One OOO in the Special Containment sector. Right.”

Dread settled heavier in his stomach.

[clockwayswrites]

bit of snek for y'all

Carrasco’s steps echoed faintly as she lead Pasco down a hallway to a heavy steel door. ‘AP-LS-47’ was painted in white stencil letters. With a quick scan of her card, the security lock beeped, and Carrasco swung the door open. Pasco stopped short inside of the door. This wasn’t like any other containment for an OOO that he had seen. And sure, he got that Special Containment would need different types of containment. And he got that OOOs could need highly unusual containment sometimes, but this was… “…it’s… a house,” Pasco said, which wasn’t wrong but also wasn’t right. He took another step inside. The ‘house’ was smaller than a house would usually. It was more an apartment what with the one bedroom and small living space. Pasco could tell the floor plan because the walls were made almost entirely out of a clear sheeting. He could see the unmade bed, the couch, the desk, the toilet and shower; Pasco could see everything in the house. Which meant that he could see the person standing by the desk, staring right at him. “That’s a person.” “That,” Carrasco says calmly, “is an Object of Otherness, its classification is AP-LS-47.” AP-LS-47. Each letter designated something about the OOO. APLS: Alert personoid, lasting, sentient. Pascon knew all of that. None of that changed the fact that there was a person in a cage. OOO or not, human or not, they were still a sentient being in a fucking cage.

[clockwayswrites]

Pasco didn’t have any illusions that the Bureau didn’t experiment on humans. Even just an agent or civilian being exposed to the wrong sort of object could be a reason for experimentation. Pasco himself had been a guest of the labs for a very boring twenty-four hours after another agent had been lax with the safety surrounding an object transfer. That had been in a proper room though, like the sort sleep studies were done in. Pasco had known he was being watched, but it really hasn’t been that horrible apart from the boredom.

This, though… this was a cage. Clear acrylic formed the sides around a metal frame. Even the floor was acrylic, though there were a few extra bracing points to keep it off the concrete floor. The cage was precisely in the center of the room, or at least precisely as government construction work could manage to be. Pasco counted at least two cameras facing every side. The faint hum of something electrified prickled at his skin.

“As best as records show, AP-LS-47 is a possession. Or at least the fingerprints match and earl on there were signs of two personalities. Either the original personality is gone, or it has been absorbed,” Carrasco said. Her cadence made it clear that she was repeated memorized information. “After the initial confrontation and capture, it has been non-violent.”

“Have they even had the chance?”

“It. The Bureau is clear that OOOs are ‘it’s.” Carrasco looked at the cage. “OOOs are objects, after all.

For the first time since meeting Carrasco, Pasco rather disliked her. That usually happened much earlier with superiors; Pasco had actually had a bit of hope for this placement.

Pasco breathed slowly in and out through his nose. “Has it ever had the chance.”

“Yes, actually.” Carrasco moved to the side to sit against the edge of a desk that sat outside of the cage. It was peeling wood laminate and forest green. It also had another agent sitting at it, one who was trying very hard to look less interested about the conversation than they clearly were. “Its environment has been updated three times over the years. At this point, there are also some agents who choose a… lower hassle way of exchanging laundry and other items.”

The guard at the desk swallowed heavily.

Carrasco didn’t even glance their way as she pointedly said. “The agents aware, of course, should AP-LS-47 breach containment during such an event, the room will be flushed regardless of their presence. Or they should be.”

Pasco looked back to the cage. “So am I on laundry duty or guard duty?”

“Such bark,” Carrasco said. “And guard duty, though you’ll change out the laundry to if it’s the day for it. Not that we expect you to wash it, that’s facility’s job.”

“…right.” Pasco though he’d rather be doing the laundry than this. “Is there a dossier?”

Carrasco twisted and pulled a manila envelope out from the desk drawer, much to the surprise of the agent on duty. She held it out towards Pasco. “This doesn’t leave Spcos. You can take it out of the room, but it gets dropped off with my assistant before you leave for the day. Tomorrow, come to my office when you clock in and we’ll go over any questions you have.”

Pasco took the envelope. It was heavy in his hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Dismissed then, Agent Argall.”

“Ma’am,” Pasco said and gladly took his leave. He had reading to do. He expected most of it be redacted, but there was a lot to be read between those think, black lines.

[clockwayswrites]

""Snek Novel"" ch3.p4

masterpost, I know that there's chunks of this that aren't great writing, but I'm not allowing myself to edit for fear that I'll never move past editing. please no editing <3

THIS IS AN IN PROGRESS STORY. LORE/FACTS ARE LIABLE TO CHANGE OR EVEN COMPLETE REDO.

Pasco found an empty table to sit at that wasn’t under the purple haze of the trees. For a long moment, he just stared at the manila envelope. Opening it felt like committing to the assignment change, not that he had a choice. It was better to know about his new posting. He undid the twine on the envelope, pulled out the folder inside, and opened it.

The body that AP-LS-47 possesses, or is assumed to possess, has the initials L.R., the rest of the name is redacted. There’s a picture paper clipped to the document. When Pasco pulls it off, the indent of the paper clip stays. He rubs at it absently as he looks at the photo of the man in the document.

L.R. is wearing a jacket, leather with a fur or wool around the collar. It’s hard to tell in the black and white photo. It almost looks like an aviator’s jacket. It might even be. There’s an ID or something clipped to the front. L.R.’s hands are in the pockets. There’s a jaunty slant to his hips and a smile on his lips. He looks like someone that Pasco would have tried to flirt with if they had been at the same camp in the service.

He looks nice, in a cocky sort of way.

It’s very different than the person… object, they were—it was an object. Pasco had to get used to thinking that way. He didn’t need to get into trouble. Pasco clipped the photo back into the document and moved on.

Pasco was right, it was an aviation jacket, because L.R. had been a pilot for the Air Force. That had been in the 60’s. Pasco pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. Decades. For decades, L.R.—whatever was left of L.R. had spent his life in a cage in the Bureau.

Fuck.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe it had happened later. Pasco scrubbed his hands over his face and looked down at the packet. L.R. smiled up at him from the photo. He was the same age, visually, as the person in the cage.

Decades.

Pasco had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was hitting him hard, harder than it should. Maybe it was about the cage or the way that it had been dropped on him or just that it was the end of a long day. Pasco didn’t know, he just new that it was all hitting him hard. And he needed to get himself together, he had reading to to. Pasco tried not to look at L.R.’s picture as he got back to the dossier.

By the end of his career, L.R. had been a test pilot, one focusing on high altitude flights. Pasco didn’t know a lot about that, he wasn’t a fly boy, but if he remembered right it took a lot of guts to be doing flights like that with tech like that. It was easy not to come back. Pasco made a mental note to look up more about the Lockheed U-2 at home.

L.R.’s last mission was a sea of black redactions in the air force file. Pasco flipped to the next page. The Bureau’s seal loomed large at the top. Pasco scanned through the pages and then went back to the first one to actually read through what wasn’t redacted.

Something had obviously happened on a test flight. Like, obviously obviously since the flight had crashed during landing. L.R. had been understandably disoriented on recovery, but that disorientation didn’t go away. Much of that was redacted, but knowing where things ended up, it was pretty clear that the other presence was working to take over.

When the presence finally manage to gain full control… it read like a bloodbath. Whatever took over L.R. wanted out of the hospital and anyone in the way was destroyed. A classified range of physic bursts splattered people like popped boba balls. They only new who was dead by who was missing or IDs.

AP-LS-47 walked the body back to the military base, taking out anyone who got in the way, up close or at range. There was something at the base, or more something under the base that was very redacted. Pasco’s leading theory was that the base had its own collections of OOOs and the presence wanted them. It nearly had them too. And then it stopped, just outside of the open vault door, and collapsed.

Bureau swept in and swept up.

It must have stung for some alphabet soup to do that out of nowhere, specially one like the Bureau that people just didn’t know about. Not that the Air Force could say no, not with that body count and the brass ordering for them to get along.

L.R., and whatever presences was inside him, were detained. Isolation at first. Then monitoring at some point it shifted into the apartment like cage that was used now. Through it all, AP-LS-47 remained belligerent at best, uncooperative always, and threatening at worst.

But he—they—it didn’t kill anyone again.

Pasco flipped back through the document to be sure. It could, of course, by under the black bars, but Pasco didn’t think that was the case. Pasco thought that it really was the case that once AP-LS-47 had ended up in the Bureau’s custody there had been no more murder. It was odd.

A short and heavily blacked out series of write-ups from the research side followed reports. They didn’t seem to have much, though they had done just about ever sort of reading. Every several years (Pasco assumed the timing aligned with scientific progress) there would be another test or two run. The results were beyond Pasco. He had never had the brains for any sort of chemistry or biology.

Pasco flipped a report from eight years ago over and was met with the back cover of the folder. The end felt sudden. He closed the folder slowly. He looked at the trees and their odd purple cast. And then he opened the folder again.

Pasco read through the dossier three times. Three and a bit, actually. Since he can’t take notes of any sort, he wants to make sure that he has all of the vital parts memorized. He wants as many of the not vital parts memorized too, but he knows his limits and there’s more underacted in the dossier than he had expected. L.R. stared, grinning, out at Pasco from the photo one more time before Pasco made himself close the dossier.

It had gotten late.

The manila envelope went back into the manila folder. Pasco found his way (mostly without trouble) back to the chief’s office and handed the envelope to the secretary. Pasco waited for it to be stamped it as returned. There was a little bundle waiting for Pasco: a new ID, his new locker key, a panic button, and his emergency alert fob.

Pasco spent a few minutes standing awkwardly by the secretary’s desk, fumbling to get the new items on his key ring and his old items off. “I, um, I’ll change my locker over tomorrow if that’s alright? It’s just… it’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure there’s no rush. I’ll have to drop it off at HR yourself though.”

“That’s fine, I can do that,” Pasco said. He could change the lockers before his shift and drop the key off after. “But, ah, here’s the other stuff. Do you need… anything else from me?”

“That’s it. If there’s anything missing, I’m sure HR will bug you about it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Pasco agreed. “Thanks.”

The secretary gave a little nod and Pasco mimicked it as he left. It was a trek to get to his locker—his older locker. At least this made him finally take home and wash his extra pare of socks. He stuffed him in the back pocket of his jeans after he had changed.

His card beeped as he scanned out. Information flashed briefly on the screen.

“You’re heading home late,” Lamar said as he doubled checked the information. His security badge was slight crooked and he straightened it idly.

Pasco nodded. “Yeah… got transferred to Spocs today. I had to meet with the chief and get my new assignment..”

“Spocs,” Lamar said with a whistle. “Make sure you stay alive down there.”

“I’ll do my best,” Pasco said. He made sure to smile and wave as he passed through the security gate.

It wasn’t far to the main doors, but today the lobby felt almost endless. His steps on the floor loud. The lights too bright.

Cold air snapped at his skin as he pushed his way outside. Pasco breathed it in and let it out slowly. Fall was finally in the air. He’d need to get a new winter coat. It was time to stop patching his up with duct tape and hoping no one noticed. He shrugged a little further into his hoodie as he started to walk towards the bus stop.

Maybe he would get Thai at the transfer.

[clockwayswrites]

“You’re worried,” Apple said, wonder in their voice.

“Of course I’m worried!” Pasco said. “It’s been days since anyone has seen it. By this point, even if no one else has found the Snek, I should have found it by now.”

Apples reached out and caught Pasco’s elbow by the corner. His thumb pressed firmly, almost painfully into the hollow by the bone. He searched Pasco’s eyes. “No, I mean, you’re worried. You’re worried about it. Not… about it, as it. Even though it’s… just an OOO, you’re worried about it.”

Pasco blinked. “Of course I am.”

Apples laughed, the sound slightly unhinged and echoed in the hallway. Hands grasped either side of Pasco’s head firmly. Tenderly. His fingers ran so close under Pasco’s eye that thumbs brushed against eyelashes. A extra hand still held Pasco’s arm, somehow. Pasco blinked, confused. It only made Apple smile.

“Of course you are, you delightful, mad wonder that you are,” Apples breathed.

[clockwayswrites]

More character study of Pasco and Apples, my dears from my novel in progress. Masterpost is here.

Apples gets saucy in a spicy way so tossing it under the cut.

@roanawayspoons : Pasco/Apple, 🧩, under, magenta

“You know that you’re slower at that than she was, don’t you?” Apples asked. They asked. They. Pasco had given up on calling Apples an it ever since the OOO had become ‘Apples’.

That had last no time, hadn’t it?

Pasco glanced back down at the crossword. Idly, he wrote out APPLE at the top of the page.

A clap sounded loudly. Pasco jolted back. His hand was on his hip, reaching for a gun that he no longer carried before he even registered that it had been Apples hitting their hands against the taunt walls of their enclosure. “What does it take to get you to talk again? Hum? What keeps your silence? You’re bored enough. Loyalty? Maybe. Propriety? Oh, propriety… that sense of duty. You’re a man of service, aren’t you?”

Pasco focused back down on the crinkled crossword page so that he didn’t have to meet Apples’ knowing green eyes. A green apple: tart. Sour. Bitter. Good for making pies, though. Gram had always used green apples for her pies. He drew a little apple next to the word.

It looked more like peach.

“Yes, that’s it. A man of service. They may not have your loyalty, but they have your word. I can think of things more interesting to have on your tongue than your word,” Apples purred.

The pencil jumped on the page. The tip snapped off.

“You don’t even have to say a word for that. I just need you on your knees.”

[clockwayswrites]

Snek, 11. In a 'bar' fight

@jacksnervesofsteel

It was surrounded.

It wasn’t afraid; it was the apex predator of the Non-Sentient Object Ward. The name was an offense to its sensibilities. And its abilities. It was very aware of what it knew, that it could know. That there were other things that could know in the No Ward.

Like the seven origami cranes that surrounded it.

Pwah. It could take out two a dozen, no—two dozen cranes! It was… the Snek.

A small bit of dust rolled across the floor. Bounce, bounce, bounce—

The Snek moved, striking the crane to the front right. The blue origami paper crumbled under its gummy fangs. It coiled, using the weight of its heavy rubber body to rip the crane apart. Two cranes struck its side; it flipped its body. The cranes crushed under it and it pulled them close to the rest of its body, strangling them.

The cranes quivered with rage. Two came for its eyes, but it used its ultimate move: Pancake Flip! Its back hit the ground with a bounce, right on top of the advancing cranes as well as one other. But its belly was exposed.

The last crane shifted.

The Snek flattened to the ground.

The crane dove!

The Snek relaxed its body suddenly. It bounced. The crane sailed under the rubbery form. The Snek landed again with a hardy thunk.

The paper crumpled.

The Snek was victorious.

Of course it was.

It was… the Snek.

[clockwayswrites]

@mikosflame Pascal/Apples, Magenta, “Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed.”

Disclaimer: I do not know if any of these prompt fills have a place in the final story or not!

“Pasco. Pasco. Pascal! Come on, you horrible little human, you can’t go making me care about you and then do this!”

Pascal chuckled, softly. It was a wet sound. Wet like his hand against his side. Apples’ hand against his hand against his side. Apples tears against their hands. Or what Pascal thought was tears. Pascal’s vision was blurry and Apples smeared across his eyes.

“Shuss… ‘m fine,” Pascal slurred.

“You are not fine! This is not fine!” Apples bit. “I told you. I told you not to do this.”

“Mmm… yeah,” Pascal agreed. His head bobbed on his neck until he gave up and let his chin rest on his chest. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.

“Fucking humans and their spark be damned fragile little lives. I cannot believe that I am…” Apples words trailed off. His hands were gone. His tears still wet against Pasco’s fingers.

Pasco felt cold.

Just before the darkness full pressed in and robbed Pasco of his remaining senses, just before it all stopped mattering, at least for the moment, just before his hand dropped from his bleeding wound that bled out red red red—

Just before all of that, the screaming started.

[clockwayswrites]

Speed Running Family, ch12.p1

masterpost, I am... so migrained. pls no editing, I know there are issue

Danny is pacing like he’s a Speedster. Every so often his eyes dart to the tube that the other him is in. Bart winces even as he think of the person in the tank like that. It’s not fair, not to Danny or to this… this Phantom.

But Bart still keeps himself between Phantom and Danny.

That’s also not fair.

Bart just… Danny’s upset, and Bart hates that. He hates that Phantom makes Danny upset. He hates Phantom, even though he shouldn’t. Bart lets out a breath and tries to let go of his hate too. It will just make him feel bad if he keeps it all inside, like none of his insides can sit still even when he’s not moving. Bart wraps his arms around his stomach. .

Phantom tilts his head, his white hair floats with the motion. He’s watching Bart.

“Sorry, handsome, but this is too much science for me,” Constantine is saying to Bruce where they are looking over the consoles nearest the tank.

“Hn.” Bruce grunts back. “We’ll bring Robin in. He studied cloning after Superboy.”

“The Yeti’s,” Danny says. It’s the first thing it’s said since seeing Phantom. “Um, one of the yeti’s might be part of their science staff. Their leader was my doctor.”

Constantine smacks his palms against his thighs. “Well, I better go talk to them all then. Do you want to come with?” He asks, eying Danny.

Danny looks from Constantine to Phantom to Bart. “I…”

“I’ll come,” Bart promises, holding his hand out.

Danny takes it and doesn’t let go, not even as they enter underground parking garage. It’s dim down there. It feels dimmer still after the blinding white of the rest of the facility. Down there in the concrete things suddenly feel more grungy. More real.

The ghosts linger through the space. Some are up in the cross beams, tucked away into nothing but glowing eyes. Some drift, listlessly, through the space. Others group together down at the floor, seemingly alive but for their translucency. It’s these groups that react when Danny walks in.

‘Phantom’ the ghosts whisper, the word coming from everywhere and nowhere. One of the yeti rise. They seem smaller than most of the others, but hold themselves strongly. There’s only a faint tremor that gives away the strain of they have been through.

“Phantom,” they say with a slight tip of their head. “I am glad to see that you remain. There was a time when I thought that they had tested you too far.”

“That’s not… I’m not…” Danny takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m not who you’ve been feeling. They broke it. They broke it and they took it.” Danny’s voice hisses like the ghosts’.

Bart doesn’t let go of his hand.

The yeti reaches out, like they want to touch, but they don’t move closer. “Is it…?”

Danny shrugs even as he shakes his head. Bart swears he can feel Danny’s confusion and grief swirling in the air. Danny’s free hand clutches at his chest. “They—it’s—they healed… or filled in… There’s another Phantom. No. The core is Phantom. I don’t… I don’t know who I am.”

The yeti’s eyes flicks to Bart and Constantine before they step forward. Their large hand was careful as they tilt Danny’s chin up. “You are still our Phantom, even if there is a new neverborn.”

Danny’s eyes were wet with tears that he swallow back. “I’m not whole.”

“We will see you to Frostbite; you will heal,” the yeti says confidently.

“I’ll be different,” Danny says like that was a warning enough to take back the gentle offer.

They yeti just smiles. “You are a half. You are different every time that we meet, that is not new. We will see you to Frostbit. You will heal.”

The tears finally spill free. Danny struggles to hold back a sob as both him and Bart are pulled forward into the yeti’s arms. Bart is mostly through the yeti, but Danny is held tight like the ghost is a solid thing. Danny lets go and cries.

[clockwayswrites]

@chronicallyinsane-fandombitch Phantom/Red Hood (Danny/Jason), Cyan, “Love me, hate me, but you will never know me.”

I've always said I'd warn you if something doesn't have a happy ending so, uh, cw: major character death, blood

“Come on, stay with me!” Jason bites the order out and pressed down harder on the wound that’s oozing green. It’s not warm, not like blood, but Jason knows that’s what it is all the same. If you hold enough people as they die, know how what blood feels like, and Jason has held himself as he died.

The green stains Phantom’s teeth as he grins. He doesn’t cough, maybe just because there’s no lungs for the blood to seep into. Phantom has never seemed breathless before; not after a fight or a screaming match or when Jason has pressed Phantom against an alleyway wall and kissed him senseless. (Not when Jason took Phantom to a safehouse that he burned the next day and fucked Phantom senseless.)

But now after being hit with those things that weren’t guns from the people in hazmat and white suits Phantom feel breathless.

“I said stay with me!”

“Sorry,” Phantom whispers. “Had more than my time living. I always knew Mom would be the one who does it, gets the shots in, you know? Hella a shot…”

His mother? What did… the smaller figure in the hazmat was Phantom’s mother? Jason—he shouldn’t be allowed to be surprised. His own mother sold him to Joker. Watched him be beat to death. Jason tightens his grip on Phantom. Blood oozes through his fingers. Phantom’s form starts to break apart.

It’s not like it’s when Phantom goes intangible purposefully. It’s… he’s breaking apart.

“Stay with me,” Jason chokes out.

Stay with me.

Let me know you, learn you, love you.

“I hate you! You fucking bastard just—”

“Sorry.”

“Please.”

The blood is thick against Jason’s fingers even after Phantom is gone.

[cuteknightbindery]

Like Betta Fish Do by paperpuffin 

This was a longer typeset and the author is on here too @clockwayswrites . Not my longest but definately a longer amount of time. This was one of the covers and additional pages I made back in the middle of last year before I screen recorded and timed what I was making. Looking at canva version history (not reliable or great if bouncing about on the computer with the tab open) and knowing myself I would guesstimate at about 1 hour being spent on the covers and around 1 hour & half on the additional pages (probably more if I am being honest). The typeset for this was also quite a long and hot - heatwave :(. The typeset took me about 5 hours to complete. In total, all together the diigital side of this bind took me about 7 hours & 30 minutes to complete.

[clockwayswrites]

!!!! Look at all the chibies!

[clockwayswrites]

@that-other-pineapple Danny/Dick, Key, "And then I said goodbye or she'll break my heart'

“Dick, no,” Wally hissed.

“Dick, yes.”

All of them turned to look at Raven in surprise. She just shrugged and gestured towards the new hero, Phantom. He was talking with Specter. She said something that made him throw his head back in laughter. It showed off his sharp teeth spectacularly.

“Someone needs to… what was the phrase for it?” Raven asked, head tilted. “Ah, ‘hit that’.”

“Raven,” Wally gasped, aghast.

She gestured again at Phantom. His his drifted away like smoke and his legs were less than solid. He felt like storm about to break.

“Yeah, no, I’m with Raven,” Gar said. His chin was perched on his hand as he watched Phantom with what was basically heart eyes. “Unless he’s into sharing?”

“Oh come on, you have to at least let me shoot my shot!” Dick whined. “You two already have your whole eldritch thing. Leave some for the rest of us.”

“Dick, no,” Wally said, again. “I’m just trying to keep you in one piece.”

Dick pressed his hands together with a little gesture. “Counterpoint: he makes falling apart seem so good.”

Wally just sighed and dropped his head onto the table with a thunk.

[clockwayswrites]

@mikosflame Danny/Bruce, Key, “Take your aim, fire away... shoot me down, but I won't fall, I am titanium”

BANG!

A red flag emboldened with the word pops out the end of the gun.

The whole room seems to sag with an exhale of relief. But Bruce doesn’t. He still strains against the goons who are holding him back.

The Joker just shrugs, gun dangling limp from his fingers. “Ah, well, looks like all I have with me is a joke!” His face twisted into an awful sneer. “Problem is, doesn’t seem anyone is laughing!” He turns, a dramatic pivot that leaves his back to Danny.

Please, please, please, let him be done with Danny, Bruce silently pleads.

There’s a moment where he thinks it works.

Then the Joker snaps his fingers. The goons on either side of him raise their pistols. Danny jerks as a bullet hits his chest. The second bullet jerks him the other way. He curls in on himself, body bowed for a moment. But then he sweeps his hair back as he stands up straight. There’s a devil-may-care smirk on his lips. It’s the smile that Bruce fell for.

The Joker twists back with a growl. “Unload, boys!”

Bang-bang-bang—ten more shots ring out.

Danny jerks back with each of the shots, but there’s no blood. No wet red staining the new suit that he had let Bruce buy him. The pistols empty into Danny, but he doesn’t bleed.

The room holds its breath.

Danny shakes out his sleeves. Twelve bullet shells clink against the marble floor. He straightens his tie purposefully, and then in a flash has surged forward and socked the Joker.

He crumples to the floor in a pile of purple and green.

The goons pause and then run for it.

Danny is at Bruce’s side, holding his face as he searches for any damage. “Are you okay?”

“I think that’s my line,” Bruce says, his voice a desperate rasp. He presses his finger through a bullet hole in Danny’s suit. His finger meets flesh, whole and unblemished. “…how?”

Danny shrugs and smiles, a nervous thing that Bruce wants to sooth away with a kiss, so he does.