Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Your total comes out to be eighteen fifty-two. We’ll buzz you when your order is ready."

Add nodded, grabbing the disk the clerk handed to him, turned around and walked to an empty table towards the door. He raised his right hand and Dynamo drifted up to meet it, light bouncing between the receptors to create a display.

He hummed a tune he’d long forgotten the words to, flicking some displays to the side and pulled on others, swiping, pinching, sliding over. The energy tickled and burned his skin as he touched it. A design flaw that had proven to be unfixable thus far. Purple glowed as the light overhead flickered. His fingers were numb and he found he didn't mind.

He flicked mindlessly through his open displays, eyes not really focusing on anything in front of him. He huffed and the displays flickered off as he leaned back in his chair. 

At a loss for what to do with his free handful of minutes, he took to looking around. The place he'd wandered into smelled of new books (which he found quite odd) and cardamom. The ceiling was an odd blue color and he vaguely wondered if it was meant to mimic the sky. Fingers brushing over the surface of the table, he found that it was worn, the faux wood of the top peeling off to reveal the cork underneath. The fake wood was scratched and dented in ways he couldn't begin to guess the cause of.

It reminded him of something.

He tapped the side of Dynamo, the displays opening once again. He pinched open a screen and brushed aside all the others. 

A news article, one from Hamel: still ongoing investigations about the damage to the city’s foundation. That and the thousands of bodies that had yet to be retrieved.

He made a note to himself to look into it more—tragedy aside, it was something he could learn from. 

Where were the cracks? What had failed? How could the next iteration be better than this one?

He did this mostly for fun. 

It wasn’t like they were going to build something he designed anyhow. And it wasn’t like he actually cared . 

The buzzer lit up and interrupted his thoughts and he winced at the noise it made against the table. 

Add quickly tapped the sides of Dynamo again, shutting it off. Brushing his hands over the rough edges of the peeling paper tabletop, he got up and grabbed the buzzer, making his way back to the counter.

The man—no, boy? He didn't look very old—smiled brightly at him. Add had the urge to cover his eyes as he handed him a brown paper bag and a paper cup. 

His eyes were blue, like crystals. Or maybe water. They shifted in hue around the edges, to teals and darker blues like the sky at dusk. For a brief second Add wondered what it wuld be like to swim in them.

Then he frowned. His eyes were blue and he appeared human at a glance. He faintly wondered if he was Hamelian. It didn't seem so improbable. But it wasn't like that meant anything to him. 

He cleared his throat and Add looked down. The boy had pushed the tray towards him slightly; in addition to his cup and brown bag, there were three boxes and a thin white bag placed neatly on top. He hesitated. He didn't know what-

The clerk seemed to notice his hesitance. "It's a cookie," he supplied, which didn't really clear up anything. He looked to the side and continued. "It's the last one from the batch I made this morning. My boss gave me permission to try a new recipe and er, well—" he coughed, looking at the clock on the wall behind Add. "I don't think we'll have anyone else come in this late, so it's on the house. I'd just have to toss it otherwise. Plus, we gotta keep you coming back somehow, right?" he winked at the end.

Add kept staring at the bag. It was only 4:34, still early. 

"Slow day?" he asked as he pulled the cookie out. 

The clerk seemed slightly flustered. "Yeah, we had a bit of a rush earlier this morning but no one really since that died down. I haven't had coffee thrown on me at all, though, so that's a plus—and, or,— oh. I'm not really supposed to say that, am I?"

Add, in the middle of chewing, opened his mouth to respond. Thinking better he closed it, swallowed, and opened it again.

"I don't think you're supposed to give customers free food either," he said. 

"Not everyone," he heard the boy mutter. He stared at Add intently. 

"What were those holograms you had up earlier? It looked like Nasod tech but it's not anything I recognized and—" he stopped, staring at Add.

He was grinning maniacally. It was off putting, he was sure, but he his eyes were bright and he didn't have it in him to care. He was proud, at least a little. Dynamo was plenty helpful. It could be better, sure, but—

("No," he thought to himself. This isn't the time.)

"Probably because I made em!" he raised his hand. Dynamo came up to meet it. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to give customers free food either.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s everyone.” he muttered, glanced down, then back up at Add. “What were those holograms you had up earlier? It looked like Nasod tech but it wasn’t anything I recognized…”

Add grinned. He was sure he looked manic, and it was off putting, but his eyes lit up and he couldn’t find it in him to care. He was proud, at least a little bit. Dynamo was helpful. It could be more, sure, but-

(no, no, this wasn’t the time, was it?)

“Made em myself!”, he raised his hand. Dynamo came up to meet it.

The clerk snorted. "Sure. Same way I made the cookies." He brightened again suddenly. "Oh! Right, the cookies— to be honest, I gave you the last one since I never really got a response from the others that bought the first few and like I said, it's a new recipe so if you wouldn't mind telling me what you, uh—" he trailed off.

Add raised an eyebrow, doing his best to convey 'my perception of what is and isn't tasty has been ruined by eating instant noodles for every meal for the last four years' through his eyes alone. They looked the same age, maybe he was a little younger. He was probably a student too. He'd get it.

The clerk snorted, let out something that sounded a lot like "yeah" under her breath, and motioned to the rest of his meal.

"It's already gotten a bit cold, sorry about keeping you, er...?"

Add glanced down, staring into his eyes, the one like crystals and the sea and the sky and before he could stop himself, Add blurted out "are you Hamelian?"

Well, now he’d gone and done it. And he’d been enjoying their conversation, too.

The clerk's eyes went blank. His smile fell. 

Add's throat felt itchy and he raised his hands up scratching absentmindedly under his choker. "I'm sorry I didn't mean for it to come out that way, just— I mean, that's what I was reading about before, er—I'd ask if you saw it on the display but it only works in one direction—and it was on my mind and then I saw your eyes? And they reminded me a lot of water, and I don't usually assume but you look like you're human and—"

(Was he even human? Add was unsure all of a sudden, an odd feeling in his chest—and why was he explaining himself? He didn't owe the man anything. It was just one question. There was nothing wrong with wanting answers—)

“My eyes?”

Add stopped. “Yeah… Sorry? Was that off putting?”

“Uh, maybe? I just thought you figured from— well, you know..,” the clerk gestured downwards.

And then, for the first time in the half hour he’d been there, Add realized the clerk’s arms were covered in bandages, faintly pink in color. And from the bits of skin he could see from his tight collar of his uniform, his neck, his chest, everything was scraped and bruised and beaten. 

Oh. 

He wasn’t just from there. 

He had been there.

And as always, Add’s brain didn’t run anything through the ‘socially acceptable things to say’ filter, so he responded, not missing a beat, “And your boss didn’t even give you the week off?”

The clerk didn’t say anything. He just stared. A second, then two, then ten.

Add grimaced. Well, so much for lightening the mood. His throat felt dry and he had just fucked up, astronomically, because what the fuck had he been thinking? Being a jackass might have been his favorite pastime but the guy was clearly going through it and even he had to admit it was insensitive— and man, the guy looked tired. Of him? Yeah, he’d be tired of himself too. 

And now he wouldn’t even be able to come back here because it would be awkward and social interaction was already weird and now he’d gone and made the guy hate him, and if he was on good enough terms with his boss he might even ban him from coming back, and maybe that wouldn’t have been that bad but the cookie was actually pretty good and now he wouldn’t be able to get another...

Maybe he’d be able to get someone else to come and get one for him? But that would mean talking to other people and that was already hard and then he’d have to explain himself which meant he’d have to admit to fucking up and then word would get around and everyone would know he was a failure and—

The clerk laughed. He looked tired. Really tired. But he was laughing. 

(That was good… Right?)

“I don’t think that’s your business.”

“Psh,” Add muttered under his breath. He grabbed the stacked boxes, backing away to the glass doors quickly. He hadn’t fucked up that bad, then? At least he hadn't been told to leave?

“You won’t mind me coming back for more cookies, then?”

He looked a little hopeful as he glances back, wincing.

The clerk stared. He looked like he wanted to say yes, that he would mind. He stared for a moment, then let out a tired sigh. “‘Course not,” he gritted his teeth. “Feel free to come back, I get off at 4 on weekdays and Saturday's my day off.”

At least he hadn’t been banned.

Wait, what? He paused and turned around fully.

"Are you asking me out, blondie?"

"No, I'm telling you to come back when I'm not here."

Of course.

Add stepped out, went to flip him off, and remembered both his arms were occupied. He settled for an aggressive glare. Sure, he'd been rude but that was a little uncalled for. Maybe he'd come back just to annoy the guy. He couldn't be rude if there were other customers around, right? It'd be funny, seeing him die inside.

Out into the strangely salty air, with the sky that was blue– not like the clerk’s eyes, no, it was lighter. Still, Add wondered what it would be like to swim in it. Up, high and then everything could be quiet. God, everything was so loud. Had it always been so loud outside? 

(...Had he forgotten to take his meds again?)

He buried his face in the paper boxes. The boxes he could have had Dynamo carry, if he hadn’t shut them off, but he had, and now he didn’t have a hand free to turn them back on. He kicked a broken bottle onto the road. It clinked once, twice, rolled, and hit a rock. It shattered.

He hoped to himself someone would pop a tire over it. Have a worse day than he was. Maybe that’d make him feel better about himself.

He crossed the street and sighed as he made his way over to the office, the small one on the street corner with a fading sign labeled “Cobo’s”. He went to knock before remembering his hard were full. He sighed. The girl inside noticed him and got up, opening the door for him.

“Welcome to Cobo’s, where we offer a wide range of Cobo’s goods and serviced to help you on your adventures. What can we help you with— oh, hi Add.” Ariel smiled at him, her customer service face falling into something else. He didn't know if it was more genuine or more annoyed.

“Hold these for a second?” he asked, handing her the boxes. 

“Where do these need to be delivered to?”

“Nowhere— just, give me a second, hold onto them,” he turned Dynamo back on, tapping through the screens, menu after menu, and then, they all floated, making a vague circle in the air.

The light was purple, purple and bright and it started off with a tiny spark and then it grew, webbing between receptors, shattering like glass between the drones.

Reality broke around them.

Inside was his lab, as he’d left it. He held his hand out to Ariel, who handed him back the boxes, long cold. He stepped through.

“Hey— wait you can’t just come when you need a set of hands, we have jobs, Add, we're here to make money—”

The portal closed behind him, reality piecing back together. He really needed to find a way to turn them on remotely. Maybe something with his neural pathways? But that would be too large from the outside and—

His eyes hurt. He rubbed them. 

No, nothing from the inside. Not again. A headpiece was fine.

Chapter Text

The lock clicked into place, and Chung couldn’t bring himself to pull the keys out of the door. He rested his forehead on the cool glass, cushioned by his unbrushed hair, bringing his heart rate down. The cold felt good against the bruises. He breathed for the first time that day.

He stayed like that for a few minutes, before he could feel the gaze of passersbies, and his fear of being perceived won out. It was as if he could feel his skin peeling, leaving nothing but exposed muscle for them to critique. He pulled the keys out of the lock, wrapping the dangling beads around his finger as he stepped, slowly, one foot in front of the other, around the back of the building. 

The wooden gate groaned as he tried to push it open, and then stopped entirely, refusing the budge further.

“Me too. Me too,” he whispered to no one in particular. 

Chung lifted the door up, pushing it open and then back into place. He hissed as the wood hit his purpled knee.

He was fine for a moment before he gave out, collapsing onto the cold concrete beneath him.

It was fine. All he had to do was get up. And then it would be fine.

Slowly, he did.

He dodged around the dumpster and ignored the back door (it was blocked by a cabinet— he figured that was a fire hazard but he wouldn't say anything), heading to the rotting ladder instead, the one that led up to a small room between the ground floor and the attic. 

He sighed, reaching for the third rung, letting a soft prayer to Ishmael in hopes She wouldn't let it collapse under him. Luckily, he made it to the window without any trouble, swinging his legs over the frame and sliding the glass shut behind him. He tossed out a few stray leaves that had flown in through the open window and didn't have it in him to curse himself for leaving it open.

He groaned, stepping around the piles of junk on the floor he had yet to sort through, and made his way to the tiny, yellowed bathroom. His gaze to the floor, he reached into the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the box of medical supplies—he had quit calling it a first aid kit after its use became daily.

He sat down on the toilet, sorting through the bandages, a movement just practiced enough to let his mind wander. 

(He wondered how many people were dead because of his incompetence.)

Finding everything he needed, he placed the box on the counter before taking off his shirt, and gently unraveling the bandages around his chest. It was still an ugly, tender purple. 

He decided it hurt more to look at than to touch. It was getting better. Still, he wished it would fade to green faster.

He stepped out of his uniform pants and immediately felt better, less constricted. He debated taking a shower, and decided it was too difficult. Instead, he spread ointment across the million and one cuts on his skin and bandaged over the larger bruises. Stepping into his only pair of sweatpants, Chung resolved to check if there was any ice in the freezer. 

He made a stop at the bed, teetering for a moment and letting himself fall face first. He felt around the nightstand for a moment, finding what he was looking for—a phone, a really old one. One with a cracked screen (yes, an actual, physical screen), and missing its camera. 

In the back of his mind, he wondered where it had come from. He’d never seen anything like it before pulling this one out of a dumpster weeks ago. In the long run, it didn’t matter. It worked, it could call and message people. That was all he needed.

(Did he even deserve that much?)

He tapped on the screen, and watched it open his messages. Message, maybe, would be the better word. There was a single exchange—from three weeks ago, right after he’d gotten the phone—between him and his new manager, where he profusely thanked him for the job and the room.

(He had left him on read.)

Chung sent him a quick message, explaining that they had sold out of his new cookies. Not waiting for a response, he closed the messaging app and opened the only other function he used on the phone, the basic text editor. 

In it was a single document, outlining what he knew and what he had to find out about Hamel. 

He sat up and scrolled to the bottom.

'...about the "incident" seems to be pushing the idea that it was a structural failing. The suspected cause of the catastrophe is said to be weakened internal structures due to consistent water exposure, all media outlets fail to mention anything about demon activity or how the flowing of water was entirely abnormal for weeks leading up to it. Probably meant to cover up the idea that demons are a threat...'

He closed his eyes and sighed. He deleted the last sentence, fingers shaking as he did.

'weeks leading up to it. Probably meant to cover up the fact that they had information that should have only been held by high ranking officials and nobles who left weeks in advance as if they knew this was coming. I should have noticed it. Why didn't I notice it?'

That wasn't the point, he reminded himself. The damage had been done. He couldn't change that. But he could make sure they couldn't get away with it. 

(Just because he didn't deserve the title of protector doesn't mean he could relinquish his responsibilities.)

He wondered, somewhere in his heart, if he was doing this out of guilt. Guilt for playing dead, leaving everything behind. 

Was there anything left to leave behind?

The thought scared him. He listened to the other side of his brain instead. 

Even if there’s no one left that they’ve hurt. They might hurt more people. I can’t let that happen.

It didn't matter if he was dead or alive. He would make sure they were all brought to justice. 

The screen turned off. 

‘Maybe when you fix it, you can be alive again,’ his brain whispered.

But there was no fixing it, was there?

He tried to think of anything else. There was something he was supposed to be doing— ice! 

Yes, he had said he would check for ice. Maybe he could clean the place up while he was up, too. 

His back burned. He didn’t mind. He stood up, opening every door, every cabinet, checking every shelf in sight. 

Finally, he found a broom and a box of trash bags. That was enough for him.

Chung began to clean. His limbs burned, and he was fine with that.

He felt more alive than he had in weeks.

Chapter Text

> 15/07/xx submission — video transcript

INT. Brightly Lit Laboratory - Noon

A white haired man, ADD, adjusts the camera. It zooms in, slightly, shakes, and settles. Add sighs and sits back on a purple armchair.

ADD

This is take, um. Take nineteen? God, this better fu-

The video JUMP CUTS, the man sits in his chair, head slightly higher.

ADD

Okay, so it’s a pretty simple mechanism, it’s just a microphone on an earpiece, and then it

sends a signal out to DYNAMO, I didn’t want to break anything so I just modified the original

receiver to take voice commands.

The man lifts a finger and a flying object, DYNAMO, raises towards the camera. A pulsing purple light can be seen through the cracks in the side.

ADD

I just linked the hand movement commands to certain words… there’s

an algorithm for guessing phrases that aren’t directly linked either—

There’s a panicked expression on the man’s face as the frame glows purple. The video cuts to black.

INT. Brightly Lit Laboratory - Afternoon

The camera is at an angle slightly to the left. The man’s hair is slightly more disheveled. There’s a bandage on his cheek that wasn’t there before. He taps the object in his right ear. 

ADD

I fixed it up, I think this is take 20 now, then? Alright. Activate Voice control.

The purple glow becomes brighter for a split second, and the DYNAMO shoots upwards. 

ADD

Okay, pick up the ink bottle from the floor.

The DYNAMO rush over to the fallen bottle of ink, letting it float between two of them. They remain floating near the floor.

The man grins.

ADD

Open the door and toss it in the kitchen bin.

The DYNAMO gently floats over to the door, turning the knob, and pausing in the doorway. The man frowns.

ADD

What-? Throw it away in the kitchen.

The DYNAMO remains floating in the open doorway. The scene cuts to black.

EXT. Balcony — Midnight

The same man from before angles the camera up from the floor. He sits with his legs crossed on a balcony. Through the screen window, the same laboratory from before can be seen inside.

ADD

(TIREDLY)

Okay, so test fifty-three, take 2. The battery died halfway through the

first take, but no adjustments have been made. I’d say I hope this is the

last but I don’t want to jinx it.

He glares at the Dynamo. 

ADD
Open the balcony door, and grab me a drink from the kitchen. 

The DYNAMO floats up into the air for a second, before sliding open the screen doors. The camera jump cuts, and the man is sitting slightly more center frame. The DYNAMO re-enter from the door, carrying a glass of lemonade.

The man grins, and the video cuts to black.