Dork Love: Part Three
Summary: Tech returns to Coruscant to take charge of the required repairs on the reader's electrical panel, and his anxiety is only intensified by the unexpected surprise waiting for him at your shop.
Rating/WC/POV: Teen 16+ for slight whumpage. 6161 words, 2nd POV (though this chapter follows Tech, and reader is only alluded to).
Warnings: casual conversations about anxiety, mentions of blood splatter, mentions of blood soaked objects (LOL this one took me down a weird path).
A/N: this one was a challenge and a half, my friends, so I apologize that it’s not up to my usual standard. I just need to finish it and move on before I pluck my eyebrows off my face. But pls enjoy! LMAO. And thanks to the queen of whump herself for proof reading @staycalmandhugaclone
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Four | ao3
As if it were funneling every effort in to soothing his nerves, the weather had fashioned itself significantly more pleasant than when he last traversed this pathway; the cool drizzle falling that day managed to dampen the typically unabsorbent collar of his blacks with an irksome ease, and had lingered unpleasantly against his skin for several hours afterward. Despite now being favourably warm and dry, elongated shadows cast by the sun’s obtuse position over the mouth of the underworld was making the screen of his datapad annoyingly difficult to discern, the intermittent bouts of intense glare blinding him to the articles that he was only absentmindedly scanning, yet relentlessly fetching.
Bemused that the apex of Tech’s affection had landed itself upon a person and not a superfluous piece of technology, Hunter was insistent that he accompany his brother on today’s voyage, though the guise he’d chosen to conceal his disbelief was a weak one. The coils of wire that he had absurdly deemed “too heavy” for one man to carry, swung daintily from the crooks of their elbows with every stride, and despite having bore witness to the innumerable sleepless nights that Tech had spent meticulously studying current commercial Electrical Code, Hunter remained unwavering in his adamance that his heightened senses may prove valuable – (“what if you need me to sense where the wires are in the wall?”)
‘If only the journey to Coruscant had been for a more inconsequential reason,’ Tech found himself longing as the armoured duo departed the ship. ‘Simply a mission to seek a replacement part, or a simple separatist data decryption.’ Had this been the case, his sergeant’s company would have been welcomed and even encouraged; independent as he was, Tech rarely declined an opportunity to be accompanied by a brother, particularly so if it meant freeing the cockpit of any officious, unsupervised visitation in his absence. Today on the other hand, as his mind continued to shirk his every offer of distraction, and perpetually whirred with cyclical, desultory thoughts, he would have much preferred to make the journey solo.
As they typically did to pacify his overactive mind, his fingers danced fervently across the illuminated buttons of the device clutched tightly in his left hand, the absentminded prods and swipes of his fingers triggering a near constant pull of new, yet continuously marginalized information. Most recently ignored was a collection of graphs depicting the primary effects of seasonal climate changes on the pollination schedule of Felucia’s native flora, though more imperative to Tech in that moment, was calculating the likelihood that you would notice the droplets of engine oil still splattered across the toes of his boots; the only remnants of a night spent repairing the damage that Wreckers most recent attempt at landing the ship had caused to the Marauder’s undercarriage.
Regrettably, the poor condition of his boots was only one of several trivial misgivings. In its company was the budding dread that his lenses had dirtied themselves again despite having mastered the disinfection process, and the fear that the callouses emerging on his palms from several hours of dismantling and reassembling the hyperdrive would deter you from initiating the contact that he’d found himself near-addicted to.
But anchoring all of the other menial anxieties, was the gnawing possibility that the entirety of this adventure could be naught but a misunderstanding; those were, admittedly, frequent occurrences for Tech. The disfigurement of his genetics had rendered him largely unable to accurately identify and categorize the infinite array of human behavior, particularly when expressed by those with whom he was unfamiliar.
What if this was one of those times? What if the request that he come find you was merely a parting statement made with the sole intent of being complaisant, and not one that you intended he act on? Much to his dismay, it was a hypothesis that warranted investigation; after all, you were quite polite… and intelligent… and munificent… and welcoming… and so very becoming to him. What if the profound sense of adoration that welled inside him at only the thought of you, was not a feeling mutually shared? What if the unrelenting desire to be back in your company, with your chilled yet capable hands curled around his, was simply unreciprocated? Could all of this be yet another miscategorization of body language, and was he presently walking toward a potentially crippling rejection? And why did Hunter have to insist that he come along?
Seeking any semblance of reprieve or solace from the advice of a brother was an idea banished from his mind almost as swiftly as it presented itself, as even the most casual, off-hand comments regarding a squad mate’s possible love interest typically had Wrecker jeering so extravagantly that even droids in the immediate vicinity saw their circuits overheating under a potent, secondhand indignity.
Crosshair’s passive yet targeted quip of being to spot “dorks in love” from a mile away had caught Tech entirely off guard as the squad marched otherwise silently through the arid and brittle forest abutting a Separatist ComHub on Sullust, yet the sardonic remark, while unprovoked and initially jarring, did succeed in diminishing a portion of Tech’s uncertainty, and he clung to it as if it were a talisman against the degenerative doubt.
That was until today. With boots clunking noisily along a familiar pathway now bathed in a radiant sunlight that in no way mirrored the turbulence in his mind, his every step toward the bright, yellow door of his emotional demise saw the protection of his brother’s sentiment almost entirely stripped of its integrity.
Tech swallowed heavily, stumbling over the fragmented motions of his feet, the fluidity of their typically athletic movements interrupted by the sudden and irrepressible urge to try and remove the oil from the toe of his left boot with the back of his right pant leg. Hunter, nostrils flared against the onslaught of foreign underworld aromas, remained tactfully blind to the uncharacteristic stumble on his right, only concealing the first signs of a smirk by shifting the coil of wire from the crook of his elbow to the ridge of his shoulder bell, and offering the tip of his nose an absentminded scratch.
“You, uh… excited?” the sergeant probed, waiting until the pair had fallen back into a casual cadence to cast an inquisitive glance toward his brother.
“I am most eager to begin the installation, yes,” Tech answered smartly, his response somehow void of the apprehension currently plaguing his thoughts. “I suspect this to be a multi-faceted problem requiring an equally detailed and well-planned solution. The existing circuitry was designed to house breakers of a 15-amperage allotment, and was thus outfitted with 14-gauge wiring throughout. The previous owner was, regrettably, an amateur in the field of electrical requirements and failed to investigate the symbiotic correlation of breaker-to-wiring before interchanging several breakers, thus rendering the preexisting wires incapable of transporting the increased charge and escalating the likelihood of an electrical fire. A complete overhaul of the electrical panel, including all new breakers of the correct specifications, paired with a 10-gauge wire that appropriately fulfills the demand of several different amperage allotments, would serve the in building’s best interests. Additionally, I will need to determine which of the machinery have a load requirement exceeding that of the common 20 amperages. I suspect both the generator and the lens polisher will both require a replacement breaker with a higher allotment, which may, in turn, require me to reconfigure neighbouring breaker requirements to accommoda—”
“That’s not what I was asking,” Hunter interrupted, the vocoder in his helmet failing to smother the exasperation that wreathed his words. “And I think you know that.”
Offering only a guilty glance toward his sergeant, Tech pursed his lips and refocused his gaze upon his datapad. All too aware of the heat surging to his cheeks, and the failure of his helmet to completely veil its presence from the attuned senses of his brother, he maintained a contemplative silence while earnestly scrolling back to the beginning of the article he’d been thoughtlessly skimming (an abstract on the ‘Primitive Parasocial Behavior Patterns of the Felucian Flying Manta’, a species they were likely to encounter during their next mission).
“You know, you don’t need to deflect, Tech.” Hunter finished the assertion by pulling his helmet from his head and shaking his long locks from his shoulders, an absentminded smile peeling across his lips as the radiant sunlight warmed his tattooed features. “I’ve been in your shoes before… I can help you sort out your feelings if you want.”
The gentle, yet, surveying gaze that his sergeant turned toward him while a discomfited silence expanded the space between them saw Tech nearly flinching; not entirely prepared to respond to his brother’s request for vulnerability, he inculpably reattuned his attention to his hands.
“The Felucian Flying Manta bears the ‘Repatavian’ genus, unlike its fellow Manta counterparts with the Reptaquatic subclassification, though socially maintains a similar hierarchy—” he read futilely for the ninth time. “—A lone alpha maintains a symbiotic and systematic breeding schedule with the females of the colony, and remains largely unchallenged for his position as protector and genetic contributor. Rival males must only challenge the alpha for authority during that of a waning gibbous moon, when shifts in the atmospheric currents bring forth—”
“Or… we don’t have to talk about it at all,” Hunter continued with a small shrug, noting both the redoubled avoidance and the subsequent microshift in Tech’s posture. “That’s cool too, but don’t feel like you need to suffer in silence. You know that I’m here for you.”
The likelihood of retaining any imperative information about the flying Manta continued to reduce at a rate that nearly matched the dwindling of Tech’s confidence; the source material slipping from the clutches of his mind as if both the memory of you (and the remnant oil on his boots) were expropriating any and all available cranial space.
Despite his sergeant’s head swiveling about next to him, eagerly taking in the domestic sights of the under-city and offering respectful nods to passing pedestrians, Tech could spare no consideration for the surroundings attempting to permeate his attention. It was likely that they’d already passed the seamstress’ shop that he knew to be only a dozen doors from yours, its impeccably maintained windows exposing the myriad of wealthy politicians pompously designing their senatorial wardrobe from scratch. And if that were true, then surely the cobbler’s shop would be approaching imminently, its windows nearly opaque under the duress of a hundred exuberantly colourful signs, all iterating the implausible claim that Mr. Purble’s shoe repairs were “out of this world!” Yet… despite the dwindling proximity, he still could not summon the resolve to lift his gaze and watch that jubilant yellow door draw nearer.
Tech cleared his throat quietly, nudging his goggles further against his brow in a motion as soothing as it was unnecessary, as he’d long since modified the bridge of his helmet to keep them securely in place on his nose. With time continuing to betray him, now seemed an appropriate opportunity as ever to seek a moment of private counsel.
“I… I am not sure how to quantify the nature of my feelings,” he admitted with a sigh, conceding to Hunter’s periodic glances of encouragement. “I am undeniably excited to be returning, as I have been anticipating this reunion for several weeks, yet I am unreasonably apprehensive. I fear that I may have misconstrued the entirety of this situation and am walking toward an… ignominious encounter.”
Hunter’s sharp eyes softened under the admission, lips momentarily compressing into an empathetic grimace before offering his reply. “I’d argue that’s a pretty normal emotional reaction,” he acknowledged with a reassuring nod, “though even normal is a spectrum from person to person. And some degree of insecurity is to be expected in a situation like this, especially when we’ve placed a high value on someone else’s opinion of us. But your actions speak volumes about how you feel if you take a step back and look at logically: for one, I couldn’t tell you the last time you put your datapad down and forgot about it, let alone for hours and immediately before a mission. That’s gotta mean something, right?”
A moment’s hesitation stilled Tech’s response on his tongue, his eyes narrowing against the embarrassment of his previous, neglectful mistake. Discarding both his datapad and the com system on his gauntlet had been a highly irresponsible oversight, but the hours hidden away in the blissful seclusion of your workshop had seen him too enraptured by your capabilities and intelligence to spare his squad even a transient thought.
“I suppose that is accurate,” he beseeched, apologetically glancing downward to the aforementioned device still encircled by his hands.
“And I have a scar on my wrist from the last time that I tried to touch your goggles. From the few details that you’ve agreed to share, you seem to have no issue letting this mysterious ‘labcoat’ completely dismantle them. Surely, that means something too?”
“Well… yes. Yes, I would agree.” He barely managed to get the words past his lips before they began to curl into a reminiscent smile; the petrification that had coursed through his veins upon hearing the audible snap of his lens unceremoniously snapped out of his goggles, now only a comical memory.
“And you tried every trick in your arsenal to keep me from joining you today,” the sergeant continued with an amused scoff. “So there is obviously an element of confidence here that you’re just overlooking in the shadow of nerves. Seems to me that you really like this person. As far as if the feelings are reciprocated or not? There’s no way of knowing until it plays out, but show me a person that holds hands with a stranger platonically and I’ll eat my fucking boots.”
A chuckle that perfectly matched the hoarse nature of his smoky voice, left lips now smirking under his feeble attempt at humour. “And speaking of boots,” he continued, the smile slipping from his features and replaced with the ghost of a mildly disgusted grimace. “You should have thought about giving yours a quick wipe before we lef— Tech?”
But the sage advice had utterly dissipated into that moment’s soft gust of summer wind; frozen mid step on the pathway, Tech had fallen long out of stride with his brother, the response stolen off his tongue by the peculiar and devastating sight that had finally torn his attention from his hands.
The vibrant entryway that he’d deliberately forestalled seeing was, quite frankly, nowhere near as welcoming as he’d remembered it to be, the joy of its vibrant colour almost entirely negated by a new and… obtrusive… addition.
A perplexity as dense as the furrow in his brow triggered those magnified eyes to fervently dart across the unexpected dereliction in front of him, and a prickle unrelated to the blissful daydream of which he’d just been yanked quickly raised the fine hairs along the back of his neck.
Hunter reappeared at his elbow a moment later, his posture quickly moving to mirror that of his brother with bewilderment knitting his brows, and his head tipping delicately toward one shoulder. “Is this the place?” he asked Tech, his query dripping in skepticism.
“Yes.” A solitary word was all that Tech could formulate, the shambolic disrepair having entirely robbed him of both breath and understanding, his mind whirring near frantically as he tried to make sense of the unheralded situation.
Almost every inch of glass had been opacified; the oversized windows spanning the entirety of the storefront, now completely obscured by the adherence of several, nondescript wood panels affixed into place from the interior of the store. They’d been hung somewhat impetuously; this was apparent on first glance with the lopsided positioning and the subsequent gaps created between panels intensifying the appearance of arrant abandonment. The smaller window inset into the entry door appeared to have been treated similarly, but it was the barrier hung hastily behind its panes that had seized Tech’s attention and refused to free it.
An untidy, scrawling note had been imprudently scrawled across the wood, the dark ink of each letter seeping into the surrounding fibers and ominously distorting the redundant message.
“Temporarily Closed.”
His lips wrapped their way around the pairing of words though no sound left them, his throat bobbing under the duress of a heavy swallow as his heart slipped unsettlingly from his chest to his stomach.
“Looks, er… welcoming…” Hunter chirruped from Tech’s left side, removing the thick loop of wire from his shoulder and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground at his feet.
Tech remained deaf to everything except the trepidation still tickling the hair on his neck. Even the dull ache radiating from his elbow as the joint began to mutiny against the prolonged oppression of its freight was rebuffed, disappointment and a puzzling sense of foreboding fighting for position at the forefront of his mind.
He stepped over Hunter’s abandoned cargo, deftly stowing his datapad away into its respective pouch as he neared the door. “Temporarily closed,” he repeated to himself, as if the act of voicing the phrase might provide some semblance of the understanding that he just couldn’t seem to excogitate.
‘This is highly nonsensical.’ The thought flashed like a warning across his mind as he cautiously pressed a palm to the glass. It was unsurprisingly warm to the touch, the heat of the sun trapped between the glass and the wood panel on its other side, radiating easily through the pliant yet protective Kevlar of his gloves; a sensation that entirely juxtaposed the blossoming dread prickling his skin.
“Safe to assume this isn’t what you expected?” Hunter mused, the soft chortle that encapsulated his words exposing his equanimity, but something sinister had caught Tech’s eye as he tipped his head back and reread the sloppy message. A smattering of red dots, soaked deeply into the fibers of the wood below the scrawling penmanship that he did not recognize to be yours…
Something near a gasp left his lips as he yanked his hand from the window, quickly jerking the wire from his arm and hurrying to engage the mechanical visor on his helmet. Hunter continued to mutter queries over his shoulder, but Tech remained incognizant to it all, too intent on initiating a scan of the liquid that he was praying he’d misidentified upon first glance.
“Sanguination: POSITIVE.” flashed devastatingly across his vision. “Origin: HUMAN- HS.”
“I… I do not like the looks of this.” He pushed the visor up and out of his line of sight, the presumption spoken lowly, and saturated in a sense of foreboding that could not be immediately rationalized.
“Talk to me, Tech,” Hunter probed, knotting his arms semi-impatiently over his chest. “What am I looking at? Other than a sign that looks like someone wrote it with their kriffing toes…”
“There… there are several things amiss,” Tech muttered unhelpfully, wrenching his gaze from the carnage only long enough to tug his helmet from his head and lower it sightlessly to the ground beside the abandoned wire. “I cannot make sense of this.”
“Sense of what, exactly?” Hunter urged through another infuriating chuckle.
But all desire to answer his brother had dissipated, its urgency overtaken by the dread surging through his veins and pounding heavily in his ears. He turned his attention toward the window on his right, eyeing the linear gap between the frayed edge of the wood board and the window frame. Desperate for a clue as to why there would be blood splattered ominously across a barrier hung where it shouldn’t be, he jammed his eye to the glass; the audible clunk of his goggles hitting the window went completely ignored, his attention funneled blindly toward only that which would provide him even an inkling of plausible reasoning. But the opacification of the boards had rendered the inside of the shop completely enshadowed, and the only detectable movement in the dim was the soft cycling orange glow of the sleep light on your computer monitor.
He affixed his gaze to it determinedly, squinting his eyes to near-closed in an effort to focus on anything in the area that its glow may illuminate, but the same irksome glare that had rendered the screen of his datapad nearly indiscernible minutes previously continued to rob his eyes of the clarity that he desperately sought, and while the cupping of his hands around his face helped marginally, he was soon wincing against the pain of his goggles digging forcefully into the side of his nose as he pressed his eyes ever further against the rigid glass.
“Anything?” Hunter probed curiously.
“No,” Tech lamented, shifting his feet below him to further alter his vantage. “It is too dark to differentiate anything.”
“Well, here…” the sergeant chuckled. “Here, Tech… Tech!… Maker, will you just take the damn flashlight?”
Tech permitted his gaze to depart the shadows for only long enough to snatch the offering from his brother’s outstretched hand, igniting it with a deft flick of the switch and aiming at as precisely as he could through the infuriatingly small gap, but the presence of any obvious clues remained shrouded in darkness… evading him, and every panicked exhale accumulating like a cloud on the glass in front of him, saw the simmering panic in his chest continue to boil until even the innate act of swallowing became a challenge.
“Well… I don’t sense anything weird,” Hunter offered, his voice perfectly pairing the phlegmatic way he stepped backward and looked casually toward the direction they’d come from. “I thought I could smell blaster fire a few minutes ago, but it might have been that pair of shifty looking Rodian’s we passed. And, if I’m being honest, it’s hard to smell anything over the rank trash scattered everywhere in his hell of a hole-in-the-ground. How does anyone even bre—”
“There is a mug,” Tech interrupted gravely, his gauntlet clunking against the glass as he impatiently moved to wipe away the condensation collecting in his line of sight again.
“A what?” Hunter chirruped, cocking an eyebrow.
“A mug,” Tech repeated, stepping away from the window and pointing uselessly at the gap he’d been peering through. “On the counter nearest to us. During my last visit, the sullied dishes had been collected and arranged in the sink in preparation for washing. I– I cannot fathom that someone partaking in a planned, prolonged absence would abandon dishes to garner bacteria.”
But those lips, pressed thin with worry, relaxed only long enough to shift into an indignant frown at the nature of his sergeant’s suceeding reaction; Hunter’s long hair brushing gently atop worn, painted shoulder bells as his head tipped back, and his chest heaved beneath uninhibited laughter.
“Come on, Tech,” the sergeant chuckled. “You’ve lived with Wrecker your whole life. You’ve seen how he leaves his bunk on Kamino… wrappers everywhere… used spoons hiding under his pillow… dirty socks crammed at the bottom of the bed…”
Growing increasingly inexorable, and frustrated that his brother continued to make light of a clearly ominous situation, Tech shook his head. “The Fichus is limp, Hunter,” he spoke intently, jabbing his finger toward the narrow space between wood boards.
“The what-now is limp?”
“The fichus,” he repeated unhelpfully. “The potted plant beside the computer. It appears as if it’s been severely neglected in my absence.”
“Probably,” Hunter agreed, his shoulders jerking lightly in motion of delicate frustration. “It’s dark as hell in there. It’s likely starving for sunlight.”
“Precisely.”
Tech disengaged the flashlight and held it loosely at his side, jamming his goggles back up his nose as he turned pleadingly to his brother. “That is precisely my concern, Hunter. During my last visitation, I observed several written reminders. There was every intention to ensure that all the soiled dishes were sanitized, that each of the various plants were watered, and that the electrical panel was urgently cared for. It was written in ink clearer than this foreign writing. I saw it; I kissed it.”
Hunter’s eyes shifted behind a lagging, unhurried blink, the weight of his skepticism apparent as he looked doubtfully back at the anguished hitch in his brother’s eyebrows, those large brown eyes peering at him in something near a plea behind now crooked goggles. “I don’t know, Tech,” the sergeant sighed, tightening the fold of his arms across his chest and dropping his gaze to the small pebble below his boot. “I’ll agree it’s unusual that someone would board the windows for a temporary closure, but it probably has a valid explanation. I hate to say it because you’re usually not one to jump to conclusions, but… I think you might be overreacting on this.”
“I’m going inside.”
It was not a question nor a request, and Tech didn’t spare his brother even a glance before pocketing the flashlight and stooping to collect both his helmet and the coils of wire from the pathway at his feet.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Hunter protested immediately, unknotting his arms and extending a hand to still his brother’s seemingly impulsive movements. “I can see you’re a little worried, Tech, but this isn’t a separatist stronghold. It’s a private place of business, and we can’t just break our way in and sniff around. It’s an invasion of property and privacy.”
“I familiarized myself with the locking mechanism during my last visit,” Tech answered smartly, throwing a heavy coil over each shoulder. “So nothing is required to be broken for me to gain entry, and my scanners will ensure that neither of us are required to make determinations based on the evidence gathered by the use of our respective olfactory systems.”
“Tech…”
But Hunter’s impatience was matched by only that of the man in front of him now jamming his helmet back onto his head and reengaging his visor.
“I will not cause a disturbance of any kind, I assure you,” Tech continued, dropping to a knee in front of the door and examining the keyhole with narrowed eyes. “My objective is simply to gather the evidence capable of disproving my emerging theory that a perilous, possibly life-threatening event has taken place.”
“Perilous and life threatening?” Hunter repeated after an indignant scoff left his lips. “What in Maker’s name do you think happened here? It’s likely this is just a planned vacation and the topic just didn’t come up in conversation last time. Let’s just take a deep breath and head back to the ship for now. If everything goes to plan on Felucia, we can stop back here on the way to Kaliida Sho—”
“Hunter,” Tech interrupted, pivoting on a knee to look upward at his brother. “My feelings on this are clear and unclouded. I– I feel an admittedly unprecedented yet intense sense of unease, and I am confident neither will subside until I am able to disprove my suspicions. Several aspects of the present situation do not stand to reason. Our final conversation, while frenzied by the urgency of my departure, left me with the premise that I was to return here at my earliest convenience. There is no mistaking the task list that I observed: ‘wash mugs, water plants, call electrician.’ And– and my scanner indicates that there is substantial sanguineous residue embedded into that sign. I suspect the source of the blood is inside, so I must go in and investig—”
“Okay okay okay,” Hunter appeased, his dark eyes thankfully beginning to soften again as he acceded to his brother’s concern. “I don’t necessarily understand your fear, but it’s very unlike you to lose your cool so I’ll heed your curiousity. But make it quick; this walkway is a little too crowded for my liking and we’re already turning heads by loitering.”
Anything even resembling an argumentative retaliation didn’t dare depart Tech’s tongue, the risk of Hunter redacting his already precariously offered blessing was simply too probable, and this was too important. It was imperative that he gain entry.
“I’ll go up top and keep a lookout,” Hunter continued, gesturing with a nod to the roofline above them. “Poke around, but don't linger. Can you get in there without making a mess?”
“Well, of course I can,” Tech answered immediately. “The door is equipped with a primitive deadbolt system; one easily disengaged with the right leverage of a micro tool similar to that of—”
“Okay, do it.” Hunter waved away the unnecessarily lengthy explanation, impatience and regret beginning to ghost across his features. “If you’re interrupted for whatever reason, Plan-11.”
Tech signaled his understanding with an appreciative nod and a heavy swallow, returning his attention to the door while Hunter’s heavy footsteps vanished amongst the crowd of passing children, their raucous screeches and laughter echoing tauntingly into Tech’s ears.
His composure began to dwindle, adrenaline inciting a tremble in his fingers as he retrieved the soldering needle from his belt, sitting back on his heel to reevaluate the best method for a clean and concise entry. Overriding a lock system with his datapad was child’s play, but manually disengaging a deadbolt was not something he practiced regularly. After a deliberative pause, he jabbed the fine tip into the keyhole and began to methodically maneuver it around. With ears attuned for the nearly inaudible clicks that would affirm his success, he redirected his efforts into preventing the simmering panic from permitting his mind to wander; concerns for what potentially lay on the other side of the door pulling droplets of sweat to his furrowed brow. Fear was not a commonplace emotion for soldiers, particularly not for a squad of enhanced commando’s with a 100% mission success rate, but fear for the safety of someone else… a civilian… was both a foreign and a potent feeling, and not one that he was eager to reexperience.
The deadbolt released with a click audible enough to warrant Tech quickly glancing over his shoulder for prying eyes. When satisfied that he hadn’t garnered any unwanted attention, he quickly turned the handle and pushed the door ajar. Long stagnant dust particles danced about in the beam of stark luminescence as the disturbance imbued them with new life, yet Tech observed them for only moments before hurriedly shutting the door behind him; he could not risk a pedestrian risking the open door as an invitation to enter.
He reactivated the borrowed flashlight, his eyes hungrily following the beam as it darted toward the darkened corners. Was it worth calling for you? Making his presence known before clearing the area of perpetrators seemed a foolhardy action given your obvious incapacitation, but his frantic need to establish any semblance of your safety, paired with Hunter’s request for efficiency, demanded that he at least try. The echoing silence in response to his call only succeeded in inflating the now undeniable dread sending his blood pounding heavily through his veins.
He engaged the visor over his eyes again, ignoring the strobing alert in the upper corner warning him of his increased heart rate, and directed both the beam of light and his line of sight toward the floor beneath his boots. Despite having anticipated its presence, the blood splattered amongst the floorboards threatened to tear the breath from his lungs.
Sporadically smattered like a trail of morbid breadcrumbs, he followed the droplets into the open space of your shop, peering around in the oppressive darkness. The familiar orange glow from the computer stole his attention almost immediately, and after casting a final glimpse at the gruesome implications dotted across the floor, he departed their path and made for the counter. The dilapidated ficus was offered only a fleeting glance as he passed, as was its equally dehydrated fern counterpart and the ivy trailing down the wall, their dilapidation having already been registered. No, he was more interested in the mug; the second clue.
The degradation of its contents became obvious within seconds of stepping into its proximity, yet despite the aroma of its putrefaction forcing his top lip to flatten, Tech continued toward it without hesitation. Milk had coagulated densely in the center of the unfinished liquid, and a quick activation of his scanner indicated a bacteria progression only achievable by several weeks in an undisturbed environment.
“Unusual,” he mumbled to himself, stooping to observe the sparse layer of crystallization forming around the rim where the anemic looking liquid met the white ceramic.
A sudden, booming thud against the window sent his shoulders jerking in alarm; his datapad stowed deftly into its pocket and his pistol departing its holster in the span of a blink, but the ringing laughter and jeers of the passing children outside quickly exposed the intrusion as nothing more than an inopportune distraction, and a reminder that time was of the essence.
Tech cast one last surveying look at the mold festering in its unmolested paradise before departing the area and retracing his steps back toward the droplets of blood scattered atop the floor. Like the worn footpath that his own boots had traversed during his last visit, the red blemishes formed a direct path toward the back room, scattered at near precise intervals as if a gruesomely soiled object had been dripping as its holder tread across the store, yet the macabre trail was but a walk in the park compared to the door to which it led. He stared, horrified to the point of immobility at the once glimmering gold knob that would permit his entry, its radiance hidden by a crusted, red handprint.
The grip around his pistol tightened until his hand began to tremble, yet despite its demand for absolute security, he longed to simply drop it and reach instead for his datapad, his always reliable source of information… his comfort, but too much unknown still lingered in the air; too many enshadowed spaces still to explore. A horrifyingly developing theory needed disproving if he were to be able to leave this place with his heart intact.
He dared not disturb the third clue lest it be scanned at a later time and tested for identification purposes, so an assertive kick of his boot saw the door swinging ajar, the hallway opposite as hauntingly enshadowed as the one in which he stood. A seemingly endless trail of blood lay on the floor in front of him, nearly stealing what was left of his resolve; the droplets increasing in frequency and size before diverging into a small room on the left that he knew to be the kitchenette.
His fear only intensified at the sight of another morbid handprint, this one smeared across the faucet of the sink where… in the depths of the aluminum basin, was a soiled hammer.
The threat of suffocation encompassed him as a sinister realization began to fit puzzle pieces into place, but he was robbed of the opportunity to process the additions by the chirp of his comm.
“Tech,” Hunter urged. “I think you may have a visitor inbound. Someone is hovering by the door but I can’t get a clear line of sight through the crowd.”
Plan-11: The Perceiver. Hide and observe; do not engage until you’ve established a visual on your approaching backup.
A degree of focus that only imminent danger could provide saw his jaw tensing beneath his helmet, his gaze darting from the bloody tool in the sink toward the door in which he’d just passed through. He raised his pistol, crossing one wrist over the other so that blanching beam of light may guide him back through the din.
Your workshop, the haven in which he’d mentally prepared himself to spend the next several hours in, was as dark as it was silent, and for the first time hesitation stilled his steps from exploring the the uncharacteristically lifeless space, as there were numerous shadowed corners in which further clues, or dare he think it, your body might be found.
But time had seemingly diminished, and every extended blink into the darkness was a moment wasted; a moment he needed to enact Plan-11 while he still could. He disengaged his flashlight, and a quick nudge of the door with his knee saw him reentering the retail space, his eyes immediately darting around to search for any semblance of cover; somewhere he could stoop and watch until Hunter appeared in the doorway to flank the intruder, but his moment of hesitation had cost him.
Poised to welcome the perpetrator who’d likely come to clean up their mess, he refused to squint against the onslaught of sunlight as the door creaked slowly open and exposed the intruder.
Final Chapter coming soon!
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