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   Poshe was startled into consciousness by a frightful screech in the sky. He cursed loudly and it took him a couple of moments to realise that he had done so in Necruss. He looked down at his hands. They were yellow and bony. Shit. He looked around. There was nothing to be seen except sand and an occasional rock. For a brief moment the fact that he was nearly camouflaged in the sand in his Necrus carcass managed to amuse him but then he was again gripped by the painful fact that he had no idea where he was and had clearly lost connection to the anthropomorphoizer. He had no idea which way he should go or how he should contact Sinestro. Spooky was nowhere to be seen. He knew that he had to be close, but he’d trust that fuck to hide so that he wouldn’t have to help.

   Poshe was right. Spooky was hiding. As transparent as he possibly could he hovered half hidden behind a rock and enjoyed the spectacle of Poshe waking up after a rather spectacular binge. They’d only lost contact with the anthropomorphoizer after he’d passed out in the desert but he was happy to let him think that it had happened sooner. In fact, he sincerely hoped that Poshe was tormented by the prospect of having appeared to humans in his true form. Mostly because he was half traumatized himself. Fifteen feet of “lead” often granted the luxury of walls between them but this time there had been no such luck for poor Spooky who had witnessed every excruciating flirt and pass and an ungodly amount of alcohol consumption. He had to admit the irony of it, considering his own life, while he was still alive, but still. It was pretty harsh not even being able to walk away.

   As Poshe rose every single joint in his body snapped monstrously and some birds that had sat on a rock some way away flew up with caws and panicked flutter. Fucking mess. On the one hand he could just wait until Sinestro found him, on the other he could find some kind of civilisation and see if he could contact him. He groaned loudly and sank down to the ground again when he realised he didn’t even remember if there actually was any civilization in this part of the world at this point in time. He tried to think back but nothing happened. His mind was completely blank. In a way that was also comforting, it meant less shit to worry about. He thought about trying to call Spooky to find out if he knew but decided that the only enjoyable part of this situation was that the little piece of shit tombstone was being quiet for once.
   But where in the world was he? He was fairly certain he was on Earth. Funnily enough it did look a bit like the wastelands of Necrus but hotter. A lot hotter. He flexed his hands and muttered some indistinct curses. He felt stiff and achy, and even more so than usual when he reverted back. Being undead on Necrus generally wasn’t this painful but when he reverted back from the human body it seemed that some of the human sensations some times remained in his Necrus nervous system. 
   He stood in the same spot looking around trying to decide where to go or to stay. He felt strange. Very strange. Light headed but not like usually when he got drunk. He suddenly remembered what he’d been doing before he woke up in that fevered place. He’d been drinking. But then what?  He wondered if he’d lost contact with the anthropomorphoizer before or after he left the human residences and ended up here. As much as he tried to dig into his head he found nothing that would explain why he now found himself lost and clueless in the middle of a desert. 
   Damn this infernal heat! He didn’t like it one bit. His bones ached and there was a strange sensation in his undead gut. It seemed similar to when he drank too much and his human body revolted and returned it all. That was unpleasant but this was still somehow different. As he looked up at the sky wondering what the hell he should do he felt that old familiar tickle that came with the teleport, Sinestro had found him. 

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   For days after Poshe didn’t feel like himself. He hardly even found any comfort in hanging around Spooky and Sinestro complaining to them which usually helped a lot. He still felt stiff and achy and the humans didn’t tempt him at all. And then the sickness started. 
   First the human body just felt uncomfortable. Like there was sand inside his clothes that irritated his skin. Even after washing repeatedly and walking around naked for two days, in spite of both Spooky and Sinestro objecting loudly, it only got worse. There was no rash or discolouring but he still felt like he was being grated by the most uncomfortable natural fabric a damn human could possibly invent. 
   Then his bones got achy, as if there was something inside his bones trying to burst out. On top of the skin irritation it almost made him turn off the anthropomorphoizer. Almost. 
   And then he threw up. A pungent, pinkish bile that felt like a mixture of glue and cobwebs in his mouth. And he knew…

   “No, no, nononononono! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!!!”
   Sinestro looked up towards the direction of his masters quarters. This did not sound like one of his usual outbursts. It seemed more… desperate. He looked at Spooky who hovered nearby. 
   Spooky shrugged. “Don’t ask me.” He had stayed as far away from Poshe as he possibly could since Sinestro had pulled them out of the desert, enjoying to the limits the fact that he had more range to wander in the Spire. He told himself he didn’t care but he couldn’t ignore that little sting at the bottom of his stony gut that this wasn’t Poshes normal overly dramatic hissy fits. The question wasn’t really what was causing it or what would result from it, but rather, should he ignore this feeling or not. 

   Up in the top of one of the towers Poshe spun in circles, raced between walls and kicked and punched anything that was in his way, tears literally gushing. “This is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening…” he repeated under his breath, his voice shrill with agitation. Practically exhausted with despair he fell down onto his knees as the memories came crashing back. As much as he managed to erase the human memories that he didn’t want to keep the Necrus ones tended to resurface, the remnants of the hive mind kicking in when he least expected. 
   The feeling of the foul bile in his mouth had brought him back almost a thousand years, to the fucking rite. From the moment he’d realised what it was about his whole body had revolted against it. And that was his undead Necrid one. How the human body would react was anybodys guess. He whimpered as the events repeated themselves in his head. 
   They’d tied him to a rack to prevent him from trying to kill it. Almost deranged from fear and disgust he fought it with everything he had and it tore him up badly. He condemned the whole of Necrus in the process. 
   His human body shuddered uncontrollably when he thought about the recovery, when he’d repeatedly recut himself open as an act of defiance, refusing to comply to the process. The whole horrid ordeal weighed him down now like all the sand in that infernal desert he’d awoken in. He did not know why it affected him this way and not the others, all he knew was that every single undead cell in his body was in revolt as the little parasite infected his innards with life again. 

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   The Spire was dark and quiet. Poshe knew that neither Spooky nor Sinestro were sleeping, since neither of them really needed to sleep, but Sinestro insisted on “keeping hours” as he called it, so at midnight every night he turned off all the lights and kept them off until six in the morning when he turned them back on. There were lights in several rooms that could be turned on and off independently of this but Poshe still complained at least weekly about this stupid habit, even though he was secretly glad to have some semblance of time tracking, especially during long periods in space. Spooky, in turn, would complain about Poshe complaining and ask why he didn’t just take Sinestros ability to do that away from him, which was most of the reason he didn’t. If it annoyed Spooky it was all worth it in the end. 
   Poshe crept quietly down a hallway decorated with various weapon and armour displays. There was something particular that he was looking for but he stopped briefly by each one, admiring it. If there was one thing humans were good at it was finding novel ways of killing each other. Finally he found what he was looking for. It was a big wall display of various knives: bowies, karambits, bolos, switchblades, kukris, trench knives, almost fifty in all. He stood in front of this for a long time, half wondering why he’d bothered collecting all these. Whatever the reason it came in handy now. He carefully picked one and crept with it back to his room like a teenager sneaking with alcohol. 
   When Poshe got back he locked the door. He wouldn’t need them. He wouldn’t need to go out. He’d take care of this himself. It was dark but he still closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and laid the point of the knife against his abdomen just below the sternum. Just one quick cut and it would be over. 
   But why? This thought suddenly popped into Poshes head. What do you mean ‘Why’?! He countered himself. Are you just going to kill it because you feel bad? The voice asked. “Yes!” he shouted into the darkness. That’s a bit cold. “Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s a living thing. “Shut up!!” he took a deep breath again but nothing happened. He simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. 
   Frustrated Poshe threw the knife into a corner and sank down onto the floor. His eyes still shut he searched his mind frantically for reasons. Did he actually feel like he wanted to carry this thing to full term? Every bone in his body ached and just the mere thought of it existing sent convulsions through his body. Was this a human thing? Did the human body actually have some kind of programming that made him unable to harm it? He didn’t know. With a heavy sigh he lay down on the floor. For some reason it felt better than the bed, his body relaxed a little and he felt like his thoughts calmed a bit, even though he couldn’t make out any better what it was that he was really feeling. 

   When the lights turned on Poshe woke up on the floor. Just lying there motionless he felt peaceful for a while. His body had relented with the aching a little bit and he found himself touching his abdomen gently. It was his, all his. It was an accident but his horrid overlords hadn’t made him do it. He chuckled a little. It might be worth it just for that. They would disapprove, he was certain, considering how it had gone the first time. Maybe it was just the human part of him that made him think about this as creating new life, but the proud Necrid would also consider this an achievement, that he was capable of doing this on his own. He didn’t know how others did it. He’d never known of anyone producing offspring since his rite. He had been away for so long. Maybe they only did it during the rite, he had no idea. Maybe they weren’t even allowed to. If so this was an even bigger act of defiance. He would raise an army of Earth Necrids and overthrow Necrus. This idea, as ridiculous as it was, made him feel good.
   Poshe got up and stretched. For a moment he thought that he was suspiciously un-achy but he wafted the thought away. He would enjoy this respite, no matter how short lived. Maybe he should go see how Sinestro and Spooky were doing. After all, they were kind of like his children too. Spooky being stuck with him was an accident, he was sure, but he had created Sinestro with his own hands and his own mind. And gosh darn it, he should show them that they were precious to him. 
   As Poshe touched the door to open it and exit he felt like his brain was cramping. What the hell are you thinking? He could practically hear the Necrid part of himself screeching. Are you actually fucking being compassionate? How about you do what you were supposed to do in the first place and show these fucking maggots who reigns here? First leaning up against the door and then sinking down to the floor, the ache came back with double force. It wasn’t that big yet but he was certain that he could feel it moving, like a maggot or a caterpillar eating away at his innards. He convulsed as he felt that feeling come creeping back, the one he remembered from the rite. The absolute and complete knowledge that this was wrong and that his body refused to comply with it. 
   The feeling of disgust became so strong that Poshe passed out for a long while before awaking momentarily, his mind in a haze, before fading out again. This repeated throughout days, either he didn’t remember where he was or he didn’t have the strength to get up, one time he dreamt he was being slowly dismembered by Khrom Wrath and awoke crying. One moment he cursed his human body, the next he caressed it, the wild delirium playing with his mind like the storm blows a small leaf, hurtling through the air and being torn to shreds by the objects it is hurled against repeatedly until there is nothing left except tattered fragments of insignificant matter in the unrelenting force acting upon it. 

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   Poshe didn’t know how long he’d been in the horrid vicious cycle of nightmares and hallucinations but he awoke and felt like he could actually move. Every inch of him was clammy and uncomfortable but he did feel a little better. 
   Of course Poshes mind was inevitably drawn to the situation he was in and it still defied his understanding. He didn’t know why he resisted it so much and tried to stay in the human form. As revolting as it was the first time it was so much easier than doing it with the human body but still he persisted. It felt so wrong but that somehow only made him want to do it more. He was exhausted from just thinking about it. 
   Then Poshe caught sight of himself in a mirror, ashen grey and wilted like a plastic fork in an oven, and the now visible bulge screamed at him. It drained all his energy, and grew. The thought of it made him gag uncontrollably. 

   Sinestro was startled out of his chores when he heard the sound of glass shattering. This was not a new sound in the spire but considering the fact that Poshe had barricaded himself in his quarters for almost three months now made it all the more ominous. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had giant sulks before, some times lasting veritable years, but when he sulked he would usually mope around him and Spooky to try to milk some sympathy out of them. This time he had simply shut the doors and locked them and they hadn’t seen him since. 
   Sinestro looked at Spooky who had settled on top of a cabinet and lay there dozing. He was certain that he knew what was happening with Poshe, after all he had followed him for a long time, but he wasn’t saying anything. Sinestro was also certain that even if Spooky didn’t know he could easily go see what it was. He would just project himself into Poshes quarters and have a look. Whichever was the case Spooky hadn’t said anything. And he was usually the one who was first to bring  up any little thing to talk shit about Poshe. 
   “Spooky?”
   “Mm?”
   “Will you go check on him for me?” Sinestro didn’t often ask Spooky for anything so he hoped that he’d at least consider doing it. 
   Spooke rolled his eyes. “What for?”
   “What do you mean ‘what for’? Are you not worried about him?”
   “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s never been this nice in the Spire. I hope he stays in there forever.”
   Sinestro had to admit that it did feel a little more pleasant to be in the spire with Poshe out of the way but he could not ignore his role. He was meant to be making sure that Poshe was cared for, no matter how little he appreciated his efforts. “You don’t have to do anything,” he tried. “Just check that he’s okay for me.”
   “What if he’s not?”
   “Well, I’m assuming that he doesn’t want my help or he would have been down here crying ages ago, but I would feel a lot better if I knew one way or the other.”
   Spooky wondered for a moment if Sinestro realised how ironic it was that being designed and programmed as a servant he had quite a lot more empathy than his creator would ever possess. He decided this was not the moment to mention it. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll go check.”

  Standing in front of the shattered mirror Poshe felt his innards turn. “I’ll push it in the airlock,” he said to himself. The moment the image of it came alive in his head, frozen solid and floating helplessly through space, he felt like someone had ripped his chest open and pulled out all his innards, not only the Necrus ones but also all human innards he could possibly imagine. “Fuck…” he sighed as his body sank down onto the floor. He never ever would have imagined he could feel so heavy. Even when he’d done it as a part of the rite, just before he left Necrus all that time ago, it did not feel this dreadful. He wondered if that misshapen little bugbear had ever gotten anywhere with it’s three and a half tentacles and hump the size of the Spire. The thought occurred to him that it was part of the reason he’d been sent here to this piece of shit planet in the middle of nowhere. What would they say now if they saw him?   
   As if it heard him it kicked. “Ow…” he whimpered and curled up into a ball on the floor. Soon he would have to find a place to… discard it. It would literally tear through his human body if he decided to keep it on throughout. It was probably not a good idea. It was probably not even a good idea to stay in the human body while it grew. He’d just grown so accustomed to it, he liked it so much. It kicked again, harder this time. It was not long now. 
   And then he saw the knife, lying there on the floor.

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   Hovering in front of Poshes door Spooky was gripped with a strong urge to confront whatever was happening on the other side in his human form. Poshe hadn’t taken well to him reverting back to tombstone form last time but he hadn’t brought it up for a long time. Maybe this time he’d be more mature about it. Deep in his mind Spooky knew the chances of that were miniscule but as he transformed it made him feel better hoping that Poshe would finally learn something. He laughed a little by himself as he realised what he was doing. Even after all this time he was still trying to do what he had been intended of him to begin with. 
Spooky stepped through the door and the sight that greeted him nearly made him jump backwards out again. He tried telling himself that he was so affected because he was in the human form but he wasn’t even sure that it would have made a difference in this case. Poshe was lying on the floor with a gash in his side that seemed only half healed. His hands and face were smeared with blood and there was a knife lying on the floor a few steps away. 
   Poshe looked up at Spooky from the floor. “Come to gloat?”
   Spooky shook his head. “Sinestro wanted me to check on you. What the fuck happened?”
   “Apparently Earth moons align.”
   “What does that mean? I thought Earth only had one moon.”
   “Well, whatever the fuck it was it started a fucking ontogeny.”
   “A what?”
   Poshe groaned and tried to move a little to be more comfortable but gained nothing but getting kicked in the spine. “Oww…” he whined. 
   Spooky nearly shrieked when he saw Poshes abdomen move. Now that he looked closer it seemed… bigger? Like he was… no, that was absolutely not possible. His brows contorted together above his nose. “Are you…?” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. 
   “What the fuck does it look like?”
   “But that’s not even possible!” Spooky ran his hands through his hair. “You’re a guy? Right? I mean…” 
   “My human body is male,” Poshe said. “Necrids don’t really have gender in the human sense. Any Necrid that has reproductive genetics can form ontogeny under the right conditions.” He sighed. “Or the wrong ones,” he added, more to himself. 
   Spookys mind raced. He had never even thought of that. In his mind he had always just been Hieronymous Poshe, the most despicable man he’d ever met, alive or dead. Even though he’d seen him repeatedly when the anthropomorphoizer was off, it had never occurred to him that he was something else than male. Of course that was stupid when he thought about it, but it still boggled his mind something awful. “So, how did it happen?”
   Poshe looked up at Spooky standing there with an indeterminate look on his face. “How the fuck should I know?” he replied. His voice was hoarse and weak. 
  “What are you going to do with it?” Spooky asked, trying to hide his upset as he realised that Poshe had not even acknowledged that he’d returned to his human form. 
   Poshe didn’t reply. He didn’t know. One the one hand he could bear it in the Spire, but then he’d have to look after it. Krom Wrath might see it and he was deeply enough in their bad books as it was. Spooky and Sinestro, especially Sinestro, were bound to treat it like his responsibility. They might fucking name it. Stupid bastards, he should just get rid of it. As if his progeny had heard him it kicked him twice. He whimpered. 
Again Poshe tried to arrange himself in a more comfortable position but ended up stretching the gash where he’d made an honest attempt at cutting himself open. With all the strength he could manage he rolled over away from Spooky so that he wouldn’t see the tears that forced themselves forwards. 
   “Are you gonna be okay?”
   “Do you even fucking care?”
   “Well…” 
   “Why the fuck are you here anyway?”
   “Sinestro has been worrying about you. But then again, you probably programmed him to.”
   “Are you going to tell him about this?”
   “Nope.”
   “Why not?”
   “Stupid fool has enough misgivings about you. Don’t need to give him any more.” Spooky would never admit it but he felt like if he made Sinestro aware of this it would mess Poshe up more than even he cared to do. He put it down to being in the human form. It had been so long since he’d been an actual human that taking on the form messed with his head. 
   “I would have thought this was a golden opportunity for you to fuck with me like you always do.”
   Spooky didn’t reply. This pile of half human, half Necrid flesh, lying in a puddle of sweat and blood and who knows what else on the floor seemed so unlike Poshe that he was kind of dumbfounded. Even at the beginning when Poshe had occasionally actually listened to what he had to say, though usually just before disregarding it completely, he had never been this compliant. Not even when he sat on him with all his weight and relished in his submission when they fell into that rabbit hole did he ever feel this meek. And then the realisation of the knife and the blood hit him. “Fucking hell…” he muttered as images of Poshe cutting himself open formed in his head. Somehow it made him feel a little better. It was more the old utterly incompetent Poshe that he was used to. As horrendously arrogant and self centred the Necrus he’d had dealings with tended to be they usually managed to back it up with some kind of achievement or at least a fair amount of intelligence. Not so with Poshe. He was six feet of absolutely unfounded belief in his own worth and little else. 
   Poshe whimpered again. It moved, oh how it moved. Fighting his disgust of his Necrid form and the deep sickness and pain that he felt from the human body he struggled to maintain he tried to move but as he did he felt like he would tear in half. Then he realised that he literally would. It would be a horrendous mess. Too bad he couldn’t force Spooky to watch. A glimmer of an idea came alive in his head.
   “Spooky? You still there?” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Spooky?”
   “Yes.”
   “Can you tell Sinestro to teleport me down to Earth?”
   “Where?”
   “Anywhere.”
   “All right, I’ll go get him…”
   “NO!”
   “Sorry?”
   “Don’t get him.”
   “But how…?”
   “Spooky… please…”
   Spooky shuffled uncertainly. For some reason his usual desire to use any opportunity to pester Poshe had completely vanished. This wretched wreck was in no way worth torturing. “All right.”
   “And Spooky?”
   “Yes?”
   “Tell him to turn the anthropomorphoizer off.”
   “What?”
   “Spooky, just do as I fucking tell you for once!”
   The blatant irony of Poshe telling him to do as he was told in the face of his own refusal to heed any direction, advice, or even downright orders made Spooky contemplate ignoring his pleas altogether. Then he decided against it. He had no doubt Poshe deserved all the suffering he could possibly get but kicking someone when they were that low still wasn’t his style. 

   “Poshe wants you to teleport him to the surface,” Spooky said when he came back down to Sinestro. 
   “Oh, all right. I’ll go set up for him.”
   “He’s not coming down.”
   Sinestro stared. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
   Spooky glanced upwards. “I think at this point it won’t much matter if you get it right or not.”
   “What do you mean?”
   “Doesn’t matter,” Spooky replied. “Just do it. He’s in the top bedroom.”
   “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
   Spooky hesitated. For a moment his disdain for Poshe almost won over but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Oh and Sinestro.”
   “Yes?”
   “Turn off the anthropomorphoizer.”

Chapter Text

   Poshe opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was telling Spooky to send him down. He felt strangely comfortable. As he surveyed his surroundings he realised that he was lying on a bed of moss half wedged between a large rock and a cluster of trees in tall dense forest somewhere. For a moment he almost forgot the reason he was there in the first place. There was so much he had never paid attention to before. He had never thought that nature could be so soft. Usually everything people described as “natural” or “nature” was harsh and rough and grating on his senses.  

   A few feet away Spooky awoke roaring. Every part of him ached. It was bad enough to be yanked like this when he was in the tombstone form but this was the first time Poshe had done it while he was in the human form and was even worse. It was almost as if he was alive again and having a really really bad day. He looked around frantically trying to find Poshe. He was absolutely certain that he’d done it on purpose because he’d known he’d forgotten what would happen if he wasn’t close by when he teleported and he was going to kick him in his stupid fucking head, pregnant or not. 
   What Spooky had not accounted for was that Poshe would be even more pathetic looking than he had been up in the Spire. No human body now to hide it, his usually grey pallid skin a strangely lifelike pale pink colour which somehow made him look worse, covered in a slimy sheen of sweat and mucus. His tentacles which usually writhed with energy whenever they were set free hung drab and lifeless from his head like a dead octopus washed up on shore. 
   “Dear God…” Spooky muttered. He was speechless. The shit he’d seen, both living and dead, paled before this horror. 
   “Enjoying the show?” Poshe croaked, his Necrid vocal chords mangling the human words. The utter defeat in Spookys voice tickled his mood.
   Spooky said nothing.
   “Just wait,” Poshe said and an ever so slight smile flickered across his lips. “It gets better.” And then it hit. From the back of his creaking neck to the tips of his bony toes he could feel it as it reached the moment of breach and started clawing at his innards. In response his body set all systems to expel everything, no matter what the cost. As the tiny claws pried through the rift appearing in his abdomen he convulsed and threw up bile and blood and amniotic fluid. Great tremors shook his body as if his nervous system was suffering magnificent earthquakes. 
   He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see it but he could feel it squeezing its head out now. He was shaking from the strain. It wasn’t so much that it hurt, more like he needed to concentrate each and every bone and nerve and muscle on getting it out. Even though it did most of the work itself.  
   Spooky stood transfixed in abject horror. He hated this so much and yet he couldn’t look away. And the feeling grew with every moment that Poshe had planned all of this, just to make him feel bad, and it made him angrier and angrier but he was completely frozen in place. 
   Again Poshes body felt the need to purge itself and this time he was certain that he threw up some organ or other that was no longer needed. It threatened for a moment to lodge itself in his throat and then the critter that was almost completely free of him now kicked him in the spine and he felt like he exploded into a puddle of goop. 
   It was free now. Poshe didn’t want to look at it but something compelled him to open his eyes. There it was, looking so much like a human that he nearly reached out to touch it, just to be sure that it was real. He changed his mind when it hissed at him and crawled towards his face as if it meant to eat him. 
   Poshe growled back and it stopped. He felt it search his mind. The hive came creeping in again. He hated when that happened. It was like all his energy was being sucked out through his forehead. Not that he had much of that left. “Piss off,” he spat at it in Necruss but it didn’t move. “Haven’t you had enough of me?” he asked in some human language that he wasn’t even sure what was, though his Necrid vocal chords mangled it so horribly it was probably not recognisable as such to any potential listener. 
   As a reply it imitated Poshes noises almost perfectly.
   Poshe reached out his hand towards it, a tiny smile flickered on his lips. 
   It approached Poshes hand, looked at it, sniffed it and growled quietly. 
   The human shape that Poshe had seen in it seemed to have vanished. Even after such a short time it grew so fast. Maybe he’d imagined it in the first place. But it was so pretty. Even if it was clearly a drone type, it was perfect. His own little… 
   “What the fuck just happened?” Spooky whispered. 
   Poshe smiled. He could hear the terror in Spookys voice. 
   The small Necrid turned towards Spooky. 
   “Don’t you fucking come near me,” Spooky hissed. 
   “Leave him be, little one,” Poshe said in Necruss “He doesn’t even have flesh for you to tear into.”
   The little one seemed perplexed by this. 
   “There is no way to explain,” Poshe continued. “Just be free.”
   The small Necrid, which seemed to have grown though, even in the few moments since its birth, crawled up to Poshes face and nuzzled its forehead against his. 
   Spooky watched in amazement as they seemed to quietly coo at each other for a few moments. He wasn’t even sure that they were aware they were doing it. Then the young Necrid, half born of a human form, rose up and scanned it’s surroundings briefly before scuttling off between the trees. The anger subsided as peace ascended over the scene and he realised that it was getting dark. 
   Poshe closed his eyes. He didn’t know why he felt sad. Maybe it was the human neurology still lingering in his Necrid meat. He didn’t really care. He just wanted to sleep for a millennium. 

Chapter Text

   In the Spire Sinestro grew concerned. His mind worked as fast as his chips would let him. He had realised that he had failed to acquire from Spooky information on how long Poshe wanted to stay down on Earth before he were to beam him back and if he would be staying in the same place. To have some information he did a scan and ascertained that Poshe was still in the exact same place where he’d beamed him. It made him feel a little bit better about his decisions. Neither Poshe nor Spooky had given him much information on what was going on but he assumed that since Poshe wanted the anthropomorphoizer off he wanted to be alone so he’d chosen a remote forest. If he was still there he’d chosen a good spot, he assumed. Still didn’t answer the question of how long. 
   The second day Sinestro managed to convince himself that he would know when he was supposed to pull Poshe back but on the morning of the third he cracked. There was no way he could contact Spooky and he was too far away from the Spire to be able to go more than fifteen feet away from Poshe who still hadn't moved from the same spot. 

   Down in the forest Spooky tried to find something to do. Poshe seemed to be completely out, he hadn’t even reacted when Spooky kicked him as hard as he could because he was feeling so frustrated about his situation. It was bad being stuck with Poshe when he was getting himself into shit with his stupid fucking mouth, but Spooky felt this was even worse because he couldn’t even be mad at the fucking idiot. He even caught himself feeling sorry for Poshe and it was driving him mad. 
   Spooky looked up at the sky as the sunlight was starting to trickle down through the foliage. “Sinestro!” he called into the tree tops. “Can you please save me from this Hell?!” His jaw dropped when at that moment he felt the now familiar tingle of the teleporting taking hold. 

   When Spooky realised that Sinestro had brought Poshe back into the same room he’d been when he teleported him down he didn’t waste a single moment before running as fast as he could as far as he could get away from Poshe without going down into the engine rooms, which happened to be the lab and the living quarters where Sinestro usually hung out. 
   It was only minutes before Spooky was annoyed by Sinestro worrying about Poshe. 
   “I think he’s going to be up there for quite a while yet,” Spooky said. “Why don’t you enjoy the peace and quiet while you can?” 
   “Are you sure he’s all right?”
   “Well, I didn’t say that…” 
   “What do you mean?!” 
   Spooky felt like Sinestro was actually angry at him. “I didn’t do anything, lay off me.”
   “Why won’t you just tell me what happened?”
   Spooky sighed. “Don’t worry about it. He’s gonna be fine, he is just having a really really big sulk. He’ll be back down when he’s ready.”
   Sinestro relaxed. “Do you promise?”
   “Sinestro, for real? What do you think is going to happen? He can’t even die. Trust me, when he comes back down here and starts nagging you I can guarantee you that you’ll wish that he’d stayed up there longer.”
Sinestro didn’t reply. 
   “I’m gonna go rest in any case,” Spooky said and walked through the wall into the next room. 

   Spooky didn’t get much rest. Every time he tried to close his eyes his mind was filled with hollow gurgles and mucus as if Poshe was right there next to him. He cursed loudly. Why did this damn guiding spirit shit have to kick in now? Because now is when he needs you, you dumb fuck! his conscious replied. He does not! Spooky tried to argue to his own mind. He’s going to be fine. He always is. Spooky clenched his eyes shut as hard as he could. Is he though? 

   Before he knew it Spooky found himself back at Poshes door. He tried to turn back into a tombstone but he couldn’t. This clearly wasn’t resolved yet so he’d have to deal with it. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. What hit him first was the smell. It was the stench of putrid flesh and Poshe certainly looked like he was rotting from the inside, every orifice seeping brownish slime. “You’ve looked better,” he said and laughed awkwardly.
   Poshe gestured him to go away. 
   “What? Cat got your tongue?”
   Poshe opened his mouth but all that came out was a hollow gurgle accompanied by bubbles of slime that hovered a moment before they popped and dripped down his cheek.
   Spooky was certain that had he been an actual human at that point he would have thrown up. As it was he was left with a very uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He did not want to admit that he felt sorry for Poshe, the way he behaved and what had gotten him into this predicament in the first place had deserved him all the torture the most sadistic human could ever think of. There was just something about this particular situation that… 
   “Shit,” Spooky muttered as he realised what it was. This wasn’t Poshe getting his comeuppance as he should, like someone getting enough of his shit and giving him a good hiding. This was fucked up fate that this stupid human world had wrought upon him. The same as when he himself was supposed to be punished for his sins by serving one life of a human as a spirit and got stuck with Poshe for half of fucking eternity. Right now they were the same. He turned away. He did not want to feel this way. 
   Spooky heard another pathetic sound and turned again. “What do you want?”
   Poshe raised his hand. It shook like he had all the Parkinsons in the entire universe but the gesture was unmistakable. 
   Spooky fumed. “If you weren’t this fucking sick I’d stomp on your stupid face!” He stormed out, actually opening the door and slamming it behind him, just to make a point. 
   Revelling in his own wickedness for a few moments after the door was shut Poshe felt like he was actually a little bit better, but it didn’t last. It started as small jitters as his Necrid carcass tried to repair itself and by the time Spooky had convinced Sinestro, again, that he was going to be fine the convulsions he suffered shook him so hard he lost consciousness. 

Chapter Text

   It was almost a week before Poshe relaid a message to Sinestro through Spooky to turn on the anthropomorphoizer again. For a few moments Sinestro was glad to hear this news, but then he was reminded of what Spooky had said about regretting it when Poshe would be back to his normal self. It put a damper on his mood for a few minutes but he shook it off. This time would be different.
   Sinestro had no idea just how right he was. When Poshe slunk down into the laboratory Sinestro was filled with dread, his master did not look at all well. “Are you all right?” 
   Poshe looked at Sinestro as if he was seeing him for the first time. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know, Sinestro. Can you tell me?”
   “I… don’t know…” Sinestro searched his memory frantically for something he could bring up but came up blank. “Do you want me to play you something?”
   A slight smile flickered across Poshes lips. “Yes, do that. Maybe that will cheer me up.” He sat down in what Spooky derisively called his alien overlord throne with a heavy sigh. 
   Sinestro found something that Poshe had watched at least a hundred times before, betting on familiarity bringing him some comfort. 
   For a good while it seemed that Poshes mood improved, as the scenes played out on Sinestros screen, but about thirty five minutes in he simply fell asleep. 
   Sinestro turned off the TV show and stood watching Poshe sleeping fitfully. He wondered if Spooky was anywhere near. He couldn’t always see him and some times he’d appear out of nowhere, seemingly to try to startle him. Some times it worked and it by the looks of it this amused Spooky immensely. He couldn’t possibly think why. Maybe Spooky was just that bored. 
   Poshe whimpered in his sleep and Sinestro nearly whimpered back. He had witnessed many occasions when Poshe would drink or work himself into a stupor and then have a frightful crash, usually resulting in bad dreams, but he’d never looked or sounded this weak and defeated. Usually he’d awake raging over the horrendous images that had dared to defile his mind. This time Sinestro wasn’t even sure that Poshe would even wake up. 

   Spooky was indeed near. He stood in the corner behind Sinestro, invisible to all, surveying the scene. He didn’t know how Poshes selfish ass had managed to create a sensitive creature like Sinestro, but he could also not understand how Poshe turned into such a wreck. The few Necrids he’d seen and heard were overbearing and harsh, and Poshe was no exception. Even though he was certain that Poshe was in no way as despicable or forceful a creature as for example, Krom Wrath, he very often took a considerable beating without much time needed for recovery. This time he seemed to have just given up, when he appeared after all that time away from Sinestro he didn’t even complain that he was tired or suffering or how everybody was always against him like he usually did. That was not normal. 

Chapter Text

  Spooky had to admire Sinestros dedication. He didn’t know how exactly Poshe had programmed him but he was fairly certain that a lot of the traits that Sinestro displayed were something he emulated from humans and not something he’d learned from Poshe. His primary directive might be to look after Poshe and obey him but the way he sometimes got frustrated or upset told Spooky there was much more to Sinestro than just programming. Which, in turn, made Sinestros continued service even more surprising. Spooky wasn’t sure if Sinestro realised this and made a conscious choice to serve or if he was just driven to obey by Poshes orders. 
   Another thing that Spooky noticed in the days following Poshes return from self isolation was that he thought that he could almost detect a hint of gratitude in Poshes behaviour towards Sinestro. He himself tried to stay out of Poshes way as much as possible but he couldn’t help observing this anomaly as he passed by, some times out of pure curiosity. 
   What worried Spooky however was that he still couldn’t return to the tombstone form since he’d changed to the human one at the beginning of this whole adventure so he had little hope that this fairly pleasant situation would continue. To change back he would have to resolve whatever engagement or conflict that he initiated while in the human form and though it might seem that things were slowly getting back to normal Spookys experience with changing into the human form told him that there were going to be some repercussions of their actions that needed solving first. 

   Pretending to look for something Spooky glanced towards Poshe and Sinestro. Poshe was watching some TV drivel and Sinestro stood patiently and waited. 
   “Sinestro, turn it off,” Poshe suddenly said and sat up. 
   “Yes, sir,” Sinestro replied and turned off the transmission. 
   “Come here,” Poshe said. 
   “Sir?”
   “Come here!” 
   Sinestro hesitantly walked over to Poshe and both Sinestro and Spooky nearly fell over as Poshe wrapped his arms around Sinestro and gave him a hug. 
  “You’re a good boy, Sinestro,” Poshe said before getting up and walking over to a table and starting to rummage around in various electrcal parts scattered around. He noticed Spooky staring. “What are you gawking at?”
   “Nothing,” Spooky said. “Just… Dunno… Didn’t expect that.”
   “Didn’t expect what?”
   For a moment Spooky wondered if Poshe was actually unaware of what he had just done. “Nothing, doesn’t matter.” A stabbing feeling suggested he might have spoiled it now. 
   “What doesn’t matter?” Poshe asked through clenched teeth. 
   “It’s nothing,” Spooky tried. “I’ve just never seen you be that nice to Sinestro before. You know, in spite of everything he’s done for you.”
   Poshe hissed. “Of course, cause I’m the fucking bad guy.”
   Spooky sighed. “I didn’t say that, Poshe. Surely you do realise that you’re not exactly polite on a day to day basis, everything considered.”
   “So what? You have to make fun of me?”
   Spooky growled. “I was not making fun of you! I just said that it was the first time I’ve seen you actually be nice to Sinestro.” He took a deep breath. “It would be nice to see a little more of it. You know he deserves it. And I do too.”
   “Are you jealous?”
   “Jeez, Poshe! Are you trying to start an argument? Would it be nice to hear something positive out of your big mouth once in a while? Yes. Would it be epic if you gave any consideration to what we do for you on a daily basis? Yes! Would it amaze me if you admitted your own fucking flaws for a change? Absoutely! But I am not jealous. Just getting fed up with you constantly twisting my words against me.” Spooky felt the frustration building fast as he realised that he had actually been feeling good about Poshe recovering and being nice for a change. He’d let himself fall into caring again and it was coming back to bite him in the ass with double force. 
   “You just enjoy ruining my fun.” Poshe was well on his way into full sulk mode. 
   Spooky groaned loudly. “Can you please just listen for once!” 
   “Hey Poshe! I meant to ask you something!” Sinestro suddenly said. 
   Poshe and Spooky both turned towards him. 
   “What?” Poshe asked. 
   “You know the forest you were when I teleported you down?”
   Poshe clenched his jaw. “Yes?”
   “Well, I saw a news report from there that people had been seeing some kind of strange creature there. Like a… a… what do they call it? A cryptid!” 
   Spooky looked at Poshe who was completely frozen. 
   I mean, I don’t know that it is related to you being there,” Sinestro continued as he turned away to clear up some of the things he’d brought for Poshe. “But it’s a strange coincidence. What were you doing down there anyway?”
   Spooky watched Poshe grab something off the table that looked like a ridged stiletto knife, step up behind Sinestro and jab it in the back of his head. He stopped mid turn and his screen went blank. 
   “What the fuck did you do?” Spooky exclaimed.
   “None of your fucking business,” Poshe snarled back. “I’m just sorry I can’t fucking do it to you to shut you up when you start with your shit.”
   “What did you do?” Spooky did not feel like letting it go. This happened every fucking time. He’d fall into some moment of insanity of being nice to that fucking asshole and he always regretted it. Massively. Every fucking time. 
   “He'll be fine! It’ll take a day or so and then he’ll be fine.”
   “How fine? You just shut him down!”
  “Rebooted, it’s just routine maintenance,” Poshe said. The truth of the matter was that it was a little more than that. Spooky would find out soon enough but he didn’t care. He did not need Sinestro shooting his mouth off. It was bad enough that Spooky knew but at least he couldn’t tell anyone. 
   Spooky watched Poshe pull the object out of Sinestro and toss it on the table again before pushing him into a corner. 
   “There,” Poshe said. “Now he’ll leave me alone for twenty four hours or so.”
   Spooky shook his head. He was fairly certain that whatever Poshe did to Sinestro he’d done to stop him from talking about what had happened in the forest. He glanced over to the table and back at Poshe who still had his back turned. In two bounds he grabbed the thingamajig off the table. “Let’s see how you fucking like it, you bastard,” he growled as he rammed the thin metal piece into the back of Poshes head. 
   For a moment it was as if Poshe glitched, his arms jerked outwards and his eyes rolled back into his head. When Spooky pulled the knife out and a trickle of blood followed it he retreated backwards until he backed into the work table as Poshe collapsed down to his knees. 
   “Fuck… What have I done…?” The idea suggested itself to Spooky that he’d killed Poshe but instead of the relief that he would have expected had he contemplated this calmly when alone he was stricken with terror. What would happen? Could he even kill him like that? Could he even kill him ever? He didn’t know, and what was worse, he had a strong sense that he didn’t want to. What the fuck was that? 
   When Spooky realised he was still holding the thing he threw it away as hard as he could. It scuttled and clattered and stopped in the corner right at Sinestros feet. In a desperate attempt to make things better he ran over to Poshe and pulled him up. He just about stood so he turned him so they were face to face. Spooky grimaced when he saw the glazed look in Poshes eyes. 
   “I’m so… sorry…” Poshe sobbed. 
   “Sorry for what?” Spooky asked through clenched teeth, knowing full well what Poshe was going to say. 
   “I’ve made you angry again.”
   “Yes, you have,” Spooky said. “But…”
   “You’ll have to…”
   “SHUSH!” Spooky exclaimed and put his hand on Poshes mouth to stop him talking. The moment he touched him he knew he’d made a mistake. Poshe fell into his arms and he had to grab him. He could feel his hands grasping. 
   Every time since this had first happened Spooky had made an attempt to walk away from it, knowing that Poshe might stay fucked up for the rest of his days, and he never managed to do it. Every time he was pulled back by something. Maybe they were the same? If anyone asked him at any other time what his biggest wish was, then it would be to get rid of Poshe, if only to be able to avoid him forever within the Spire would be literal Heaven compared to what he had to suffer otherwise, but in this moment he knew that if Poshe would start begging he’d be stuck. 
   Spooky tried to get Poshe to stand up on his own again but a dark red trickle of blood fell from his nose before his knees buckled again and he fell forwards. Instinctively Spooky grabbed him but as he felt Poshes hands grasping for him again he let go. He was not going to go along with it this time. As long as Poshe wouldn’t speak he’d be fine. He could walk away. 
   Poshe fell down to the floor and lay there still. Spooky walked backwards out of the room, keeping his eyes firmly on Poshe as if nothing would happen as long as he could see him. When he closed the door he heard a clatter and like he was suddenly faced with a battalion of hungry reavers he turned and ran as fast as he possibly could towards the dark and damp depths of the Spire. 

Chapter Text

   Twenty three hours, six minutes and twelve seconds later Sinestros screen flickered to life again. His processes set into motion he scanned, recognized, reconnected and then it all ground to a halt. His primary directive was severely challenged as he found Poshe still lying on the floor half unconscious, the back of his head and lower part of his face smeared in dried blood.
   Beyond the calculating power of chips and standard intern programming Sinestros fused wires and half melted silicone neurons presented as what could only be described as fear and extreme concern. “Master! What has happened?!” he exclaimed as he knealed down, already being overcome with guilt over having failed his precious ward. 
   Poshe opened his eyes and looked up at Sinestro. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, his expression a strange mixture of mirth and sorrow. “Precious, precious you…” 
   “Sir?” Sinestro asked and scratched the top of his head. 
   “Help me up, Sinestro,” Poshe said. “I feel like I need to get up but I have absolutely no power to do so.”
   “Of course.” Sinestro grabbed Poshe and hoisted him up. He tried to step away to give his master room, after all he disliked it immensely if anybody suggested he might need help with anything, but found his thoughts racing again when Poshe simply let himself fall into his arms. “Master, are you all right?”
   “You’re so soft,” Poshe whispered as he ran his hands down Sinestros back.
   Much to his surprise Sinestro felt a strange shudder run through his wiring. He didn’t know what it was but it didn’t feel entirely unpleasant. He had not time to think about that however because his master was clearly very sick. “I think you need to rest,” he said. “I’ll take you to bed.”
   “No, don’t…” Poshe tried. 
   Sinestro didn’t listen. As if Poshe was a small child he scooped him up into his arms and headed for the tower. 
   “You’re so soft,” Pohe sighed with his head on Sinestros shoulder. “And so strong.”
   “Thank you, I guess?” Sinestro replied. He frantically searched his memory banks for some kind of precedence for this situation that he could refer back to but found nothing. It felt like there should be more but he couldn’t quite place how or why. He just felt strangely empty. 

   When Sinestro got his master to his bed chamber he tried to set him down but Poshe wouldn’t let go. “You have clearly got trauma, you need to rest,” he tried to reason. 
   “No, don’t go,” Poshe pleaded. “You have to help me, I’ve done something horribly bad.”
   “Master?” 
   “I’m such an awful awful person.”
   Sinestro stared. “I don’t think…”
   “Please?” 
   Sinestros chips were at the point of smoking when Poshe took his metal hand and placed it on his own throat. 
   “Please?” 
   “Master! You are being entirely incomprehensible and unreasonable,” Sinestro said sternly. “For some reason you are upset and completely out of your mind. Please rest.”
   A small smile flickered on Poshes lips before he let himself fall backwards onto the myriad of pillows scattered around his bed. “Well, at least I programmed you properly.” 
   Sinestro watched Poshe as he seemed to sink back into the semi-sleep he had found him in. He had no idea what had happened, maybe he could ask Spooky so that he could better help Poshe. 
   “Oh, and Sinestro,” Poshe said as Sinestro was almost to the door. 
   “Yes, master?”
   “If you see Spooky tell him he’s got shit for brains.”
   “What?”
   “Just do as I say, dumbass!”
   Sinestros screen flickered. It felt strange but something deep in his metal brain told him these harsh words were a sign of improvement. As Poshe closed his eyes again he left the room as quietly as he could to relay his masters message. 

Chapter Text

   “What?” Spooky stared at Sinestro.
   “Hey, don’t shout at me,” Sinestro tried. “He just told me to say, if I saw you, that you have shit for brains. He is very sick and I don’t know what’s wrong with him. But at least he hasn’t locked himself up this time.”
   “You have no idea,” Spooky muttered.
   “Sorry?” 
   “Nothing.”
   “Can you see if you can talk to him?”
   Spooky shook his head. “Nuh uh! Not a fucking chance.”
   “Why not?”
  Spooky literally sputtered when he had to abruptly stop himself from actually telling Sinestro why he didn’t want to go see Poshe. He’d seen Sinestro literally grind to a halt when Poshe was at peak bullshit and he was quite certain he’d blow a fuse if he tried to explain to him why Poshe was absolutely off limits to him at that moment. “I’m just absolutely not in any mood to deal with him right now.”
   Sinestro shrugged. “Fair enough.”
   Spooky watched Sinestro disappear out of the room to attend to something else. He felt like he’d gotten off easy with this. Poshe clearly wanted him to be angry and come storming up to the tower and give him a hiding. That was what he wanted and he would not give it to him. Not this time. This time he’d stay away, no matter how long it took. 

   In the end Spooky only lasted about eleven hours. Just before midnight he snuck up and peeked inside. Seeing Poshe lying there in his giant bed, sighing into the air like a medieval maiden with consumption, he couldn’t stop himself from entering. Before he knew it he was standing over him, half poised to lock his hand around his neck when he hesitated again. 
   Poshe opened his eyes when he became aware of Spooky. “You came…” he whispered. 
   Spooky hid his hands behind his back. “Yeah, just checking on how miserable you were.”
   Poshe smiled. “Completely miserable but I’m sure you could make it worse.”
   An idea occurred to Spooky and he smiled too. “Yeah, I think I could.” He stepped into the bed and straddled Poshe. He could already feel him getting hard beneath him. Slowly he grasped Poshes wrist with one hand and pinned it to his chest, grabbing the other firmly around his neck. 
   Poshe took a deep breath in anticipation of the constricting hold that would cut off his airway but nothing happened. His brow contorted in despair as Spooky simply sat on top of him like that, not moving. He whimpered. 
   Spooky grinned. He let go of Poshes neck and caressed his face gently. He could see the desperation growing inside Poshes head. Then he whacked him as hard as he could in the face. 
   Poshe inhaled sharply and bucked up against Spooky, waiting for him to continue but again he simply stopped. “Wait! What are you doing?!” he wailed as he realised Spooky was getting off him and leaving again. 
   Spooky turned back. “You don’t deserve it,” said and then simply walked away, Poshe crying behind him. He was going to enjoy this.

   For five days Spooky toyed with Poshe, appearing and disappearing as erratically and randomly as he possibly could, torturing him horribly by administering minimal doses of pain and pleasure as he saw fit. Poshe begged and pleaded, cursed and threatened, but Spooky walked away every time, his confidence growing every time as Poshes desperation became ever deeper. 
   It was nearly pitch dark in the room on the eve of the fifth day when Spooky appeared. Poshe lay curled up on the floor by the bed, his arms tied behind his back and attached to the bed post so that he couldn’t follow Spooky leaving. He’d been like that for a while, how long Spooky didn’t quite remember, but Poshe was dishevelled and sweaty, half unconscious from the mental torture and strain on his body as he was pushed, little by little, towards breaking. 
   Spooky wondered how much more Poshe could take before he wouldn’t come back as he crouched down beside him. “Are you awake?”
   “Fuck you…” Poshe whispered, his voice dry. “You piece of shit ghost.”
   Spooky chuckled. “Are you that out of it? You can’t even come up with a decent insult? Come on now,” he dug his hand into Poshes hair and scratched the back of his head. “You can do better than that.”
   “Please stop,” Poshe whimpered. “Please just go away, leave me alone.”
   Spooky grasped Poshes hair and twisted sharply. “I don’t think you want me to go.”
   Tears trickled down Poshes face. 
   Spooky pulled Poshes head up so he was forced to rise up to his knees. He leaned in close. “Would you like me to bite you? I could bite you really really hard.”
   Poshe started sobbing. 
   “Or maybe you’re so far gone you would prefer I just stabbed you with a big knife. I could push it in veery veery slowly.” 
   “Please… stop… I... can't...” Poshe managed between the sobs.
   Still holding onto Poshes hair and twisting he laid his hand on his face before running it gently down, pausing briefly at places where he knew Poshe liked to be hurt, his neck, his nipple, his lower back, before shoving it down between his legs and grasping his inner thigh. He felt Poshe shake with trying to withhold the uncontrollable crying that was threatening to break out and for a moment he entertained the idea of giving him what he wanted. But no, not this time.
   Spooky let go quickly and stood up. “Fucking loser,” he spat and kicked Poshe in the ribs. Then he turned to leave.
   Poshe screamed. It was a searing noise, full of rage. “You fucking disgusting bastard!” he shouted after Spooky.
   Spooky kept going. 
   “No! Please! I’m sorry!” Poshe pulled and yanked at the rope holding him. “Don’t go!! DON’T LEAVE ME!!”
   Spooky laid his hand on the door handle. 
   “I’M BEGGING YOU!!!” Something buried deep awoke in Poshes mind. “ADAM!!”

   For a moment Spooky was frozen solid and then he began trembling with anger. How did that despicable creature dare speak that name. Like a cold surprise shower memories of his life washed over him, every single instance of someone speaking his name, with kindness and anger, want and hate, ringing in his ears. 
   When Spooky turned Poshe knew he had won. There was no vision in those eyes, only blind madness directed at him. Through streaks of sweat and tears and make up he grinned. “Adam,” he said again, but this time it was spoken with derision. “What a pathetic, fucking…” He didn’t get any further because Spooky was on top of him kicking and punching, tearing and twisting. 
   “Don’t you ever! Dare! Say…!” Spooky stopped talking when he realised that Poshe had got to him but he didn’t stop punching him. He was already bloody and bruised. There was no going back now. At every point of contact Poshe groaned, the fucker was enjoying it, and he couldn’t stop it now. He could feel himself being gripped by it, as if Poshe had deployed large slithery mind tentacles that wrapped themselves around him and squeezed him ever tighter and pulled him closer and closer. 
   His own frantic desperation growing now, Spooky pulled his clothes away and pulling Poshe up by his hair shoved his rigid cock in his mouth. As he shoved himself as far as he could possibly go, caring nothing for Poshes teeth scraping him, he stomped his boot down on Poshes crotch. 
   Poshes eyes were blind now, gazing vacantly into the air, with every thrust Spooky crunched him under his boot, the rope pulling at his arms, everything hurt, the pure bliss of agony consumed him. Being suffocated by Spooky he became weaker and weaker. His human body desperately reacting with all the human instincts tried to swallow repeatedly, the force of the muscular spasms in his throat pulling Spooky even deeper. 
Spooky was nearly fainting with lust. Since he hadn’t killed Poshe with the knife he’d hardly suffocate but the the way his body struggled desperately against him pushed him over the edge and the climax went off like a roman candle shoved up into his ass.
   As if the two were connected with one soul now that they had no control over their bodies Poshe could feel Spookys ecstasy wash over him and he convulsed as he hit his own peak, half gurgling half screaming, sputtering cum through his vocal chords and his nose, causing his already oxygen deprived brain to glitch out. One moment everything was dark, then next blinding light washed over him, he was cold, then dripping with sweat, blood beginning to trickle from his nose. 
   Spooky staggered backwards, exhausted. Seeing Poshe kneeling there, looking absolutely pathetic with blood and cum dripping from his mouth he was again gripped with anger. He pulled him up by the remains of his shirt and threw him up against the bed. His spine cracked as he hit the wooden board and then thudded onto the floor, his arms still tied and stretched up at a very unnatural angle. 
   Poshe tried to speak but his vocal chords were too mangled. 
   Spooky fell down to his knees, half laughing half crying. “Why do you never ever shut the fuck up?” 
   Poshe couldn’t really feel his face any more but he managed a crooked grin. Then he nudged his head against the floor and purred. 
   Spooky shook his head with a defeated grimace. “I fucking hate you so much, Poshe.” Then he crawled over, pulled out a knife and cut the rope holding Poshes arms before jamming it into the headboard and sitting down on the floor, his back resting up against the sideboard. He made no attempt to move as Poshe wormed himself over and laid his head in his lap. Almost without noticing himself his hand came up and buried itself in Poshes hair. “I really, really hate you,” he repeated, more to himself this time. 
   Poshe purred. 
   Spookys mind was wandering away now. Back it went, very far back, to when he was a living thing with other living things surrounding him. His hand scratched, firmly but tenderly as he muttered now repeatedly, like a mantra, “I hate you, I hate you so fucking much.”

Chapter Text

  Spooky didn’t know how long he’d been lying on the floor when he opened his eyes. Poshe was gone. He had a vague recollection of falling asleep with Poshe in his lap but he’d clearly been so tired that he didn’t notice when he left. He rose with a groan and stretched. 
   Poshes room seemed even more of a mess than usual. Spooky wasn’t sure if it was just because he hadn’t been in there for a long time, using every inch of leeway he had in the Spire to keep away from him as much as he could, or if there was a sudden reason for this untidiness. Maybe it had just been steadily worsening. The lazy fuck had never been tidy but this seemed excessive. Almost as if things had been wilfully thrown around and scattered on the floor. 
   As he exited Spooky tried to remove Poshe from his mind. He tried to think where he should go te be in peace but before he knew it he was standing in the laboratory doorway. And there he was, sitting at one of the work benches seemingly creating something, with a soldering iron in hand and a grimace of concentration on his face. 
   “Hey,” Spooky tried, reckoning that if Poshe was actually doing work he might be fit for a normal conversation. 
   “Go away,” Poshe replied. “I’m working.”
   “What are you working on?” Spooky asked, slightly taken aback by the fact that Poshe didn’t seem to want to brag about the brilliance of whatever it was that he was doing. 
   Poshe threw the soldering iron away and it clattered across the work bench, knocking over several components. “Doesn’t matter, you’ve ruined it.”
   Spooky clenched his jaw. “I didn’t do anything.”
   “You fucking exist, that’s enough,” Poshe hissed, his back still turned. 
   Spooky took a step back. This was not a normal Poshe sulk, this was something else. Something worse. “So you want me to leave?”
   Poshe didn’t answer.
   “Poshe?”
   The only reply Spooky got was a heavy sigh. 
   “Hieronymous?”
   As if a taut string had suddenly been cut Poshe collapsed onto the work bench, several more components falling over as his head hit the counter top. Then he covered his head with his arms as if he was making a feeble attempt to hide.
   Spooky thought back to the room and he remembered now. It had been wilful disarray, mirroring the turmoil in Poshes head now as the darkness fell. Quietly Spooky walked out of the lab backwards and in the hallway he closed his eyes. With a deep breath and a heavy sigh he transformed, first fading, then morphing, a slight waver and then he was back to his tombstone form. He glanced into to laboratory one more time. He could try again. He turned away. No, it was too late. This was resolved now. He would be free of him until the next time he’d inevitably piss him off and connect again. Until then he would have peace. He glanced upwards and then downwards, trying to decide which way he should go. And then he simply disappeared. 

   In the laboratory Poshe stayed still for a long while, head resting on the table, not even breathing. His human body was all but a shell now, he couldn’t really feel anything at all. “Spooky?” he tried, his voice weak. 
   There was no reply. 
   “Fucking prick,” he muttered and clenched his fists. 
   And then the tears fell…
   The tears fell…
   And night fell…
   But nobody cared.