i sit here exposed, pieces of my body never meant to be seen lie out in open air. someone else’s blood, dried, not unlike the rust on my metal, at one point escaped through loose piping, tangled wires, damaged circuitry. you see the signs of my obsolescence.
you stare into my chassis, your face unchanged.
i can feel you, your eyes, your focus, tracing over my internals. your gentle hands disappear inside me for your fingers to follow suit, and they return cradling damaged parts, long forgotten, weathered by use and time as they gathered dust, oil, blood – the likes of which untouched by self-repair.
and, whether by your careful touch or my layered wear, your work goes unnoticed, and yet it doesn’t. i feel you, though i don’t, not as i understand it, not as i have ever felt. the presence of your hand – each muscle and tendon, contracting, extending, manipulating wrist, fingers, joints, yours - its softness, its care. your presence inside of me, i feel it ever deepen, incomprehensibly so. and thus i feel you work. softly, you tear me into pieces.
but i don’t understand the attention you give to each piece of my decommissioned body. you run each wire gently between your fingertips and with care you repair me, reconnect me anew, clip each rusted, rotting part from my chassis and replace it, pristine. you untangle my twisted internals and in return they twist around you, your delicate touch, intricately working, now interwoven, pulled into me. you hold each piece of me as though it could shatter. you treat me so softly. i am a machine designed and created for war: sturdy, persistent, self-sustaining.
and yet, here you kneel, holding my heart with careful hands, gently, dearly, nursing me to life.
and yet, as your hands leave my hollow core each time, i ache.
you wipe away old grease between the seams of my plating, and i can feel you get carried away, slowly, softly, tracing the lines of my body. every angle, every corner, every curve. every part of me. my rust. my breaks. it feels as though not an inch goes untouched, untended. why do you take care of me so?
divine, yet you use your light on me. not even mortal, an afterthought, created by the free will that damned them, of steel, of sin. and still, despite such objectionable existence, here you kneel. why?
why do you care and why do i let you?
why do i sit here, my heart exposed, letting you see into me, each detail of my making, of my being, the routing of each cable into each socket, the pipes fueling my hydraulics, my inner-workings, and why do i let you rearrange me, poke around my delicate circuitry, why do i let you in? i wasn’t made for this. i wasn’t made for you. i don’t know if i care.
as you gently press the last piece of me into place, it clicks, and through the quiet air i can hear you breathe. your scarred chest rises, falls, and rises once more as you stare expectantly into my core. i feel your hand linger inside. you feel different, vivid. like your heart is my own i feel it beat, blood racing through your body. and i twitch. my fans whirr at nothing, my pumps spur to life, and i feel warm. warmer than ever before, with your hand in my chest, against me, inside me, a part of me.
i look down at you, the glow of my visor lights up your face, the low thrum of my body fills the silence.
you look up at me, at me.
i don’t want you to let go. i grab your wrist with both hands, holding it in place against my beating, ticking heart, and this newfound warmth continues to grow. what did you do to me?
please don’t let go.
you avert your gaze and i pain, my grip tightening on you. my whole body tightening in on itself. but you don’t let go. your hand remains still against my body, my chest, my heart, heating, heating up with every moment you stay.
you look back into me, your finished work, your palm against, and mine.
time pauses.
i don’t know what you think.
but in the stillness i feel your grace, your presence, gently against my metal, held onto your flesh. you place your empty hand on mine.
you don’t look back up into my visor, but i feel your warmth course through me and my body relax, my fear subside.
we sit there, in emptiness, accompanied only by the quiet, constant sounds of our bodies.
accompanying animatic by oshasno: check it out here
UMM UMM hi ultrakill community waves wavingly . erm MY random headcanons / worldbuilding thoughts on the Lust Layer & Greed Layer’s individual societies, not super based on anything + subject to change but uh hope this is something!! !
(more under cut i just don’t know how to format this)
The Layer of Lust —
- Lust is very civilized all over, with electricity being provided from the capital city, which turns the water from Wrath into energy. There was transport, restaurants, jobs… It all wasn’t too different from Earthly cities, actually.
- In the cities, particularly the capital, there was very little crime with a strong justice and protection system. However, outside cities in the open lands, more wild demons ran free.
- The winds of Lust are immense, strong enough to lacerate and lift the body, and even rip skin off. Bodies would crash, collide and weld together in the tangle. Many cities were walled-in and built towering high to combat this, making cities more bearable.
- Buildings were large and complicated, having non-Euclidean geometry that allowed them to be much bigger on the inside than the outside. Some buildings had other buildings attached to them, including entire neighborhoods.
- Due to the culmination of so many people from all over the world and Hell, Lust’s culture was a melting pot of many different cultures and ideologies. However, Ancient Greek culture always remained at its heart due to their beloved ruler. District-wide and even city-wide celebrations were abundant and expected for just about any reason.
- The people of Lust were very well known for extreme hospitality and compassion, their predominant cultural values respecting peace, egalitarianism, acceptance, individuality, equity and kindness, having a strong social cohesion and sense of community.
- There was very little divide between demons and sinners, both being equal to one another, leading to the break of the torturer-sinner dynamic. Demons and sinners lived equally with one another, celebrating their diversity but coming together as one community.
- Greatly valuing history and a sense of belonging, the art and aesthetics of Lust is a certified staple. Every kind of creative expression was greatly upheld, artisans and creators of all backgrounds creating a unified cultural identity that aimed to make everyone feel comfortable and welcome.
- Regality was a major theme of Lust, particularly within the capital. Strong effort was put into architecture and sculptures to have residents live lavishly, the Heaven that was promised but never given. Buildings were created with a blend of ancient and modern aesthetics, districts providing as many different living situations as possible for all different tastes and desires. Colors such as rich purples, silvers, golds, teals and pinks were frequently used to contribute to this aesthetic.
- Technology was highly utilized in Lust, becoming apart of daily living. However, unlike on Earth in that modern time, technology was much more like how it is in our current real-world day-and-age: You might have a phone in your pocket and use tech daily, but everything isn’t constantly automated and filled with machines like I imagine Earth was like when humans were .. alive, idk
- In fact, science was also a forefront in the capital. Reaping the rewards of having direct communication with the modern mortal coil, innovation was constant and fruitful. Lust was not selfish and included scientific advancement in all of their trades, reaching out to as many civilizations as possible to share new findings.
- King Minos had access to many lower layers, but no further beyond Heresy, and couldn’t pierce Limbo. This was strictly gifted to him for diplomatic purposes by Heaven during times of peace, but Minos broke the rules a few times.
- Lust kept extensive archives of Hell’s history, including records of all its inhabitants and ongoings. The largest archive to date was kept underground far below Akolasía, hidden away within a network of ancient catacombs. Broken up in to sectors, some of its parts survived the mass angelic burnings that occurred after King Minos’s death.
The Layer of Greed —
- Greed was semi-civilized, although not officially recognized to be. Greed in particular was always under Heaven’s watchful gaze, the eternal punishment enforced by powerful demons and angel Virtues and Powers. Only when the war called the Angels from their posts did the sinners opportunistically begin to revolt, led by proclaimed king Sisyphus.
- There was major divide between sinners and demons, where demons were the torturers and sinners the sufferers. All attempts to form civilization had to be done in secrecy.
- Greed always held a brutish reputation, but especially once the Insurrection began, most known for their terrifying sinner army rising up against demons and angels alike and crushing any enemies in their paths. The Insurrection was also extremely controversial for its “unlawful” executions and war tactics, considered brutal even for the time.
- Greed was in close relations with Lust, who began trading with them during the Insurrection, and may have been trading in secret even longer. There were rumors their individual leaders may have had something going on between them, but it’s implausible the kindhearted Minos could ever get along with the tyrannical Sisyphus.
- Similar to Lust, while a melting pot of different cultures, Greed never lost its Egyptian, Greek and Roman roots.
- While often judged harshly by outsiders for perceived brutishness or low status, the people of Greed held great comradery, deeply valuing bravery, meritocracy, authenticity, respect, and honesty.
- In Greed, dignity was much less respected for what you had to do but how you did it. Everyone in Greed were forced to do things one wasn’t proud of, and so, a larger sense of respect was formed around how it was done. If you hurt someone, you did it with diligence and mutual understanding. If you were abused, you took it with fire in your heart. Those that pushed through were considered respectable.
- For a long time, a sense of social status formed around heritage and authority. The older, more experienced sinners from ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome had much higher status than younger sinners with ‘weaker’ bloodlines.
- That being said, status was very difficult to maintain under such a strict regime, and was often abused by the demons and angels in control. Rather, it would shine through in how you were treated by your comrades and the priority of receiving the few rations and treatments rarely available. This sense of superiority-from-suffering was later torn apart during the Greed Insurrection under King Sisyphus, where respect was earned through ability and willingness to try rather than one’s worth in past-life.
- While keeping a terrifying front, life in the ranks of the Insurrection were for once tolerable. While always low on supplies and time, camaraderie and high morals under Sisyphus’s radiant leadership kept the fight worth fighting. Sisyphus ensured any who fought with him reaped the rewards and any who fought against him were crushed. Terror was the ultimate war-tactic to keep Heaven and power-hungry demons at bay.
- The Greed Insurrection heavily utilized demonic and angelic weaponry against their adversaries. Historically, in past wars of Hell, it was often common practice to leave the divine dead where they lie in an effort to stave off divine retribution. This was not the case here. Corpses of demons and angels alike were completely looted and stripped, utilizing their bodies apart of their weaponry. Halos were one of the most desired and destructive weapon utilized, insurrectionists creating devices to turn halos to detonatable bombs through controlled shattering.
- While mostly untrusting towards outsiders, the Insurrection was shockingly merciful towards lower-ranking angels and demons, albeit in secret. There were even a very few machines amongst their rankings, their identities lost to time.
- During the Greed Insurrection, a major theme of reclamation arose in the artistry and aesthetics formed. Temples created on the backs of slaves in the name of God were upended, repurposed into living spaces, archives and communal sanctuaries.
- While still in its beginnings and fairly neglected due to the demands of wartime, a quiet but celebrated cultural expansion movement steadily came about. Art, culinary dishes, music, dances, writings, and symbolism once repressed were now allowed to flourish unregulated. Experimentation with medicines, food, and music as means of expression unlocked key aspects of Greeds newly developing identity.
- After eons of being abused and mocked with the riches they desired in past-life, luxury was swapped out for more simplistic living. Trophies were not kept, robes and rags were preferred over silks, and anything considerably “rich” was typically recycled for war efforts. It was not a rule and living in squalor was still avoided, but generally, people were just sick and tired of it all.
- Through trade, modern technology was also reintroduced to Greed. However, technology was rejected as a means of recreation, instead being utilized primarily in weaponry, medicine, communication and advancement.
- Being starved of a means to document their histories for so long, poets, linguists and sculptors worked together to preserve the past and present. Etched and carved into the very walls and pillars of their past prisons, visual stories and poems were told through elaborate carvings, murals, petroglyphs and runes. While written records did exist, wordless and interpretive stories were often chosen as a way to immortalize the essence of struggle, opting to capture the emotions more than direct events. This was also influenced by the secretive manner the people of Greed had to communicate in the past in order to hide from their divine and demonic wardens.
- Greed is extremely HOOOOT. Like, hard-to-breathe humid hot. When under angelic authority, nights were “rewarded” extremely rarely, and those nights were frigid and equally miserable. Water was also a rarity occasionally provided, if only to taunt the sinners of what they desire.
- The “sand” of Greed is actually gold, extremely burning hot and sticky to the touch, tending to coat anyone unfortunate enough to touch it. Sandstorms often threw about this sand, leading sinners to become burnt, warped and calloused.
- Bugs. So many swarms of locusts and scarabs.
- The Temples and Pyramids of Greed once served as places of private torture and inhabitance of demons and angels, but were raided and taken control of by Insurrectionists. Each collection of Pyramids is codenamed after real cities of Ancient Greece, the main set being known as Empyra.
Content Warnings: Nothing of note.
AO3 Link!
Original Prompt List Link!
The laments of a terminal stuck deep, deep down.
Fraud is a wretched place to be -- everchanging. Hell can change every layer, that's not a thing unique to Fraud, she'll shift to fit whatever she so desires in the moment, but the caverns of Fraud are different. Every other layer feels consistent with set paths that can be mapped, but the recesses of Fraud shift with no rhyme or reason.
Nothing can be trusted.
Many machines find themselves lost down here, so most don't dare traverse deep enough to risk it. Violence is already difficult enough to survive through, with the sirens that sing of war, driving each being that listens to fight those which they would normally stand alongside, and beasts marching across scorched earth in search of sunlight that will never break through the smog. They could crush anything underhoof, nothing can hope to tear their crowns of gilt from their heads.
And yet Apostle, the lone true terminal that stands in these halls, finds even that would be desirable compared to its vigilant post in the eighth ring.
It has difficulty reaching any of its brethren beyond Heresy. Anyone it wishes to communicate with, it has to go through a game of telephone, never entirely sure if any of the information that comes back around is real.
That does not mean it doesn't get frequent pings.
There's a lot of terminals in Fraud. A lot. But many of them aren't what they seem: plating harvested from machines unfortunate enough to fall victim to the lull of upbeat music, now utilised by...something.
Apostle has never figured out what. Hellspawn? Husks? Either way, the point of the ruse is to gather more parts to make a more convincing disguise to gather more parts. An endless cycle of which Apostle can't figure out the point of.
[ PACKET RECEIVED;;
ORIGIN;; New ID
CONTENT;;
hi
weapons for sale
points available ]
Ping. Ping. Ping.
What once brought it comfort now fills it with unease.
Phantom voices of old friends call out, but they repeat the same words over and over. Like a hunting call meant to draw in prey, with the hope that curiosity -- or desperation -- will outlast fear.
Help. Come here. Look at this. Please help me.
By the time they notice the flash of the muzzle, the bullet has already struck, Apostle doesn't think it has ever seen a machine return in one piece after knowing they've connected to a false terminal.
The least it can dedicate itself to doing is being a beacon of safety amidst the murky waters. Each machine that visited it before received a hefty reward of points, and word was quick to spread. Each moment of company was a blessing, it was saved from having to hear the echo of dead noise across the network, and it treasured every piece of information it received.
Yet over time, others start to avoid it. The lures around it promise the same things, offering light in these dark caverns, they learn to mimic its words. More machines begin to avoid it.
Please... it just wants company. Come over here. Just give it a chance. Please.
Content Warnings: Nothing of note.
AO3 Link!
Original Prompt List Link!
V1 considers the design choices of other machines.
It has been falling for a while.
Is this a long hellevator? Is Hell herself toying with it? Too many questions for a machine designed to think unquestioningly.
Its systems show no warnings for any ground fast approaching, so clearly it has some time to burn. There’s nothing to do though. Nothing but to gaze into the abyss with its single yellow optic, watching as uninteresting walls scroll past like pages of a book filled with unintelligible scribbles. Sometimes it ponders her design choice. Most of the time it doesn't dwell, because it could never hope to understand.
V1 glances towards its shotgun.
The terminals tout Swordsmachine as perfect, something other machines strive for, which is evident given the mimics. V1 believes it, the machine is efficient, deadly, fast; all qualities needed to survive in Hell. Of course, it didn't survive once it met V1, but many consider V1 to be a remarkable exception, well above everything else that has ever entered Hell's depths. It doesn't know what it thinks of that.
What it does know is that Swordsmachine works the same way it does, with one exception: it screams.
Feeling a ricoshot tear through its plating had drawn yells from it, noises of distress, V1 doesn't understand. Why include that function? It serves no purpose but to notifying your opponent that you are feeling the pain that's inflicted. It's a weakness.
It serves no purpose.
And yet all the mimics choose to include a voice that yells in frustration, beeps with delight, screams in pain, noises that echo in V1's audials every single time it pries off their plating to get to their fuel lines. They can communicate via transmissions if they want to. There are other options. Why go for a voicebox?
Terror and despair run deep through Hell's bone marrow, she will hunt the strong-willed to watch them until they crumble under the pressure, or succeed. Why add to the chorus of voices that have already failed?
Why scream of your death to beings who couldn't care less? Why?
Without warning, V1's sensors detect ground beneath it. It's processes shift focus, prepping to analyse everything around it, but it stores that line of questioning as a quiet background process. As soon as it hits the ground, it darts off with the speed of a bullet -- it has more important things to worry about.
i feel your pulse in my wrist.
i taste you when i bite my tongue.
a metal tinge, of iron? of steel. tainted by this cold machine.
but my heart is yours, isn't it?
your love flows through me, red, warm.
and our heart beats in sync.
and your blood stumbles through my body, unfamiliar, unlearned.
and our flesh. and metal. our flesh and metal, tied together with strings of sinew and wire.
patched together, our rusted flesh and rotten metal, gore and molten steel mixed as one and formed anew, an unholy matrimony.
far gone, as your blood - wasn't it? now mine, or ours - falls over itself, stumbles, stumbling forward, tripping through valve, ventricle, our arteries working in tandem or not at all.
my heart is yours and yours is mine.
and the border between me and you, and us, the parts of our being, tears itself apart.
where do i begin.
where do you end.
beating, throbbing, tender.
i am all i have of you.
