Anything-$00000DEE
NAME Dylan ID 42 33 77 52 11 ALIENRACE human hybrid (unknown) OCCUPATION computer scientist
Chapter Warnings mind control, illusions, manipulation, death threat, emotional abuse, psychological horror, swearing Chapter Characters Janus, Remus, The Dragon Witch, Virgil (mentioned)
HINT 4: MESSAGE STOP (See AO3 for end of fic notes/comment section for secret message)
AO3 Chapter 1 Previous Chapter end
The curtains—their color and texture analogous to that of verdure scraped across a canvas with a palette knife—were suspended by bronze colored curtain rods. Chips and scratches revealed a true grey metal beneath the metallic paint. Sunlight poked through holes in the fabric like constellations. The glass of the panes was fogged, years of weathering clinging to the transparent wall.
Dee’s real hand clenched, the desire to run his fingers through the texture palpable. He gripped the edge of the curtain, the finished seam like the edge of a dull blade against his palm.
Leaning against the glass, Dee let the coolness creep into his pressed limbs, torso, and forehead—he let the filtered light soak into his skin. Dee took a deep breath, exhaled, and let his eyes wander the room—his room.
A single mattress laid on a bed of wires, the metal columns and springs and screws poking out, ready to scrape his shins. The white sheets were clean, just as if they were bought yesterday, but the quilts and crocheted blankets were worn, their colors desaturated over time, into charcoal browns and dead leaves.
Dee could not remove the image of Remus—without hesitation—lifting boxes of junk out of a spare room, clearing it out, for him.
Knowing that Dee had nowhere else to go.
The hardwood floors and paneling were in good condition despite the scratch marks. The walls were covered in random posters and framed pictures, probably to hide more so than decorate. Strings of warm light were strung across the ceiling and wall at the head of the bed.
Bookshelves covered an entire wall—books that Dee did not care to read, judging by their titles.
It was simple—It could be much more elaborate—the memories of grand halls, filigree, murals, he saw on his missions came to mind. Yet it was million times better than the crisp, perfect white walls, the red carpets, the geometric planter boxes, the red tinted windows…
It hurt—that is what it felt like, that swelling in his chest. Certainly not anything that would make him feel giddy with glee, anything that would bring warmth to his visage, or anything that would make him feel welcomed for once in his goddamn life—It hurt that Remus did not hold it over him.
He could come and go as he pleased.
Dee left the window, and left his room, and Remus was there in the kitchen, making some god-awful abomination that might taste good or kill them both.
Dee walked to an open counter.
The ritual of making coffee was quite relaxing. Dee enjoyed it immensely, carefully measuring and grinding the beans. He stood in the kitchen, waiting, watching the coffee dripping through the hourglass, the aroma meeting his senses.
Remus in the background was loud, clunks and clicks, hardy laughter, shimmying shoulders, traversing the small kitchen with skips. Dee was barely halfway through the coffee making process when Remus turned around, jumped in the air like a cat, just noticing his presence, with a yelp. His eyes widened with glee, amused by the scare.
“Mornin’!”
Dee shot out a sigh with a smile and replied, “morning.”
“Hey, if you want, we can go out shopping today for more stuff for your new room, roomie.” By shopping, Dee figured Remus meant dumpster diving. Though, if he asked, Dee was sure that Remus would be willing to travel somewhere off planet for things.
Problem was, Dee never had any possessions before. He did not know what he needed. It was as if Remus was shoveling piles of stuff into his arms, and Dee was starting to get overwhelmed by his generosity.
“Eh, I’m good. Would rather chill today,” Dee, after all his years under Dei’dra, did not feel like doing anything.
“Alrighty then, I had a dream last night and, in my dream, I came up with the perfect recipe for scrambled eggs. Decided to test that out. You’ll be my first taste-tester—Hey Dee? You alright?”
Dee had stopped moving. The coffee held in his hands crashed to the floor.
Dee tried to blink away the silence pouring into his ears, drowning out Remus. He tried to hear the colors and mismatched filigree of Remus’s cramped kitchen, but there was nothing—but white walls and red carpet and grey floors.
He was alone, in a room, suddenly, like every moment he spent by Remus’ side had been a dream.
He blinked again and Dei’dra was there in front of him. The room was off—the dimensions were too small. He could feel her breath, which stunk of stale coffee and vomit, on his face, as he looked up at her.
He did not let this shake him. He repeated in his mind that Dei’dra was taken care of. That he was in a Junkyard. That this was not real. He spent long enough not feeling real to know the difference.
“Good day, doll. I hope you’ve enjoyed your vacation in the trash heap. Soon enough, I’ll have another mission for you.”
“Go get fucked Dei’dra. You and I both know you’re going to rot in jail for the rest of your sad human life.”
Dei’dra laughed, but there was a tone in there that seemed to acknowledge that as being somewhat true.
“The reality is, you and I are in this together. Forever..” And he felt a pulling sensation in his mind, like ropes against his brain, the friction drawing blood. “I have a plan—just like I always do—and you’re going to follow it.”
“Oh, really?” He scoffed, “How about you make me? Going to override my systems? Make me Project $DEE again? Good fucking luck.”
“Oh… All that research put to waste, disabled by the hands of a fish.” Dei’dra’s face was twisted—at first, she had appeared as he met her, put together and clean, but soon enough the knotted frizzy hairs and crumpled skin begun to fade into view. “Alrighty then, I’ll call you later. Nice knowing you.” She turned around, leaving this strange room of his mind’s own making.
“Rot in hell,” he managed, his throat filling with sand. She turned around, eyes blinking with colors, colors like the device that was now in pieces.
“Oh, before you go, darling. You remember that house plant of mine?” She was talking about Virgil. He was free. He made sure of it. He watched over him, as he healed, as he flew far away from him and her. No longer burdened with the dragon’s horde.
A chilly unease crawled along his back, gripping his shoulders with icy talons.
“You were quite fond of him, weren’t you?”
“What of him?”
He had to play indifferent. He could not get sucked into this trap. Yet he knew he could not hide this from her. He could never hide from Dei’dra.
“I’m going to be blunt; he is as good as dead. I can kill him at a touch of a button.” And then the woman had the nerve to smile and point at the bracelet at her wrist. “I would love to press it—oh, I want to press it, especially after his big betrayal.” Then she pouted, “It’d be a shame if I had a reason to keep him alive.”
“You’re full of bull, and that’s a lot coming from me.”
“You really think that tracker was all that was keeping him here?” Her eyes were red. “That after all these years, I didn’t think to up my security. Upgrade his controller?” She burst out laughing, “Doll, you are a riot!”
“Leave Virgil alone. He’s free. You lost. He won. Die in prison, you bastard.” He found that his voice was cracking, tumbling into silence.
“I won’t.” Dei’dra’s eyes were shining, bright, like an angel. “Unless you cooperate.”
—And in his mind, amidst the sand, a doorway appeared to him. Texture like that of sandstone, he could feel himself run his hands down the door frame. He could read the engravings, like pieces of memories put back together, but not as it was before—like a sculpture instead.
And he was back in the present, Dei’dra fading from view. And he was rumbling, wind blowing through him, sand blasting at his ribcage, ready to burst from his throat. Dei’dra faded from his mind, but she already got what she wanted.
He had to play this game. It was a rematch. He was just at the loading screen. He would bide his time, play along, lie, and wait.
But he would change the rules. The player characters would be different. The mechanics would shift. He would change.
He was on the ground. He lifted his head. Remus was standing over him, semi-crouched, blunt concern on his face, confusion upon his brows. He stood up, dismissed the offered hand. He brushed his coat, took in a breath, and turned to face Remus.
He was not doll.
He was not $DEE.
He was not even Dee.
But he was going to stop her—kill her—whatever he had to—so he could live his life how he wanted—because fuck Dei’dra.
Remus was staring at him, waiting for an explanation.
“Remus, from now on, please call me—"
He was, “—Janus.”