Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Agent never felt like much of a person, per se. He wasn't meant to be one, after all. He was created as nothing more than a weapon, a fighter, a pawn for an animator to play with. One would think that the minute he came down from heaven, he would use that free will he now had to do what he wanted regardless of his maker's wishes. That's what many people did once they arrived here, but not him. He never really wanted anything for himself, so he kept doing what he was made for.

His life consisted of drifting across the Outernet, offering his services to figures just as unknown and powerful as his creator. He never stuck around for any one employer, something that confused his much more loyal “colleagues”. Another thing that baffled them was the fact that he didn't care much about the one who animated him. It was apparently common for people to worship their creators and regard them as the most important beings in the universe. He didn't share that opinion. There were millions of gods up in heaven, so far away that they likely didn't see their creations as anything more than ants. Likewise, he didn't see how he was supposed to find his maker any more all-powerful and important than the others. In his honest opinion, his god was just his first employer, no deity worthy of worship.

He thought life would continue on like that forever, just an endless streak of servitude. That all changed, however, when he received a strange letter in the mail. It was a job offer, a request to be a bodyguard for some famous tech CEO he was only vaguely familiar with. It was less the contents of the letter that surprised him and more the letter's existence itself. He was never just handed a job opportunity, he usually had to do the reaching out himself. Not willing to pass it up, he agreed to an interview for the very next day.

No man has ever intrigued him as much as Victim has. Before he even met him, his head was full of questions. Even his name was a subject of curiosity. Victim of what? Why would a god give a name like that to their own creation? The stories that surrounded him were even more bizarre. The supposed origin behind his company name was the fact that he crashed into the Outernet on a rocket ship. How was that even possible? He thought it was impossible for animations to arrive here without being uploaded somewhere.

Seeing him in person did nothing to satiate his curiosity, and in fact only gave him more questions. His eyes were the first thing he noticed. He had seen photos of him before, but they didn't compare to seeing those eyes in person. His pupils were white. They made his eyes look like hollow rings of sky in a sea of clouds. It was well and truly fascinating.

He greeted him politely, giving him a firm handshake. For the few seconds that his hand was held in his, he was perplexed by the fact that his skin felt artificially smooth, like he was wearing latex gloves. The rest of his skin didn't look natural either, having a dull shine that made him look more like a silver statue than a mortal man. His hair looked quite shiny too, although darker in color than his skin. Agent figured it was just the result of some lavish and overly expensive product.

He had an air of hospitality that none of his other employers seemed to have. He spoke in a calm, confident, and collected manner, free from hushed secrets and rampant skepticism. He hardly understood why he would need a bodyguard in the first place, he couldn't imagine anyone having it out for him. He had a smile on for the entire duration of their talk, but it never quite reached his tired eyes.

After a while, he brought him to another room. There was a raised section of floor in the middle, surrounded by strange machinery. Blueprints on the walls seemed to indicate that it was meant to be the floor of a smaller room, one with glass walls that could glow like a screen. Victim walked up to one of the machines, some sort of console, and began typing in commands.

“Do you remember being born?” He asked all of a sudden.

Agent was quite shocked by the question, but the only way you could tell from his face was the slight upward shift of his eyebrows. “...only a little, sir. The memory is quite hazy.” It wasn't exactly common for people to remember much, nor was it a common topic of discussion.

“Well, I happen to remember my creation…very clearly.” He had a distant look on his face, his eyes staring at the console but not really focusing on it, more like he was staring into the distance.

In the time they were talking, multiple items in glass cases had appeared on the raised surface. Some of them looked like ordinary art supplies (paint bucket, eraser), while others looked out of place (eyedropper? hand?).

“These should look a little familiar.” Victim walked onto the raised surface, and Agent followed him. He raised one of the glass cases, taking out what appeared to be a black rod. “These are replicas of the very tools the gods use to create life itself.”

He pulled at the end of it, extending it to the length of a baton and handing it to him. The defectless surface was quite cold, and it had a fair amount of weight to it. He turned it in his hands, curious to know what odd material it was made out of.

“It took me a very long time to make these. Even now, they aren't exact copies.” He took out another tool, a paintbrush. “They cannot create life at a whim, but they are still exceptionally powerful.” He started using it to draw a circle in midair, then lines connecting to it to form arms, a body, and legs. Each shaky line corrected itself the moment Victim lifted his brush, becoming smooth just like him. For a moment, Victim stared at the unmoving figure with an unreadable expression.

“...why are you telling me this?” Agent looked up from the rod, keeping a firm grip on it.

“I was getting to that.” Victim placed the paintbrush back in its case. “I wanted to see how well these tools would work as weapons. I know from all the posters, the news segments, and the magazine articles, you might think I’m beloved by everyone, but the truth is that I’ve made some very powerful enemies in order to get here.” Agent wasn’t sure if he was referring to his journey to the top or his journey to the Outernet from wherever it is he came from. "I know that you’re quite a skilled fighter already, but I still want to be prepared for the worst case scenario.”

Agent was well versed in the kinds of people Victim could’ve made “very powerful enemies” out of. He knew the biggest threat they really posed was from their followers and their money, not any physical strength. He had a feeling that a god’s toolbelt would be a little overkill for this sort of problem, but he didn’t mention it.

“This will be your test dummy. You can practice on it with whichever tool you’d like.” Victim walked off of the platform and returned to the console. He promptly used it to summon a chair for himself.

What must’ve been hours passed by in minutes as Agent tested out those tools. It was probably the most fun he had in ages, being able to fight with more than a gun or a baton. The lasso became a whip, the hand became a boxing glove, and the “Move Tool”, as Victim called it, became a shuriken. All the while, he caught glimpses of Victim looking up at him with nothing short of amazement. Despite surpassing him in height, he never imagined Victim looking up to him like that. He expected him to look down on anyone lesser than him, just as anyone else would in his position. But no, Victim admired his efforts like it was somehow exceptional. Like he was somehow exceptional.

It all culminated when he hit the dummy with an especially hard strike, snapping its spine in half. The top half collapsed lifelessly to the ground, scratched and chipped from the damage Agent caused it. Victim stared at it in shock, although there was a deeper sense of fear hidden in his eyes.

“...sorry, sir.” Agent sheepishly apologized, looking towards the floor.

Victim shook his head, which seemed to shake him out of his temporary trance. “It's no big deal. It’s just paint.” To prove his point, he selected the broken dummy on the console and made it disappear in an instant. He also moved all the tools back to their cases. Agent stepped off the platform, walking to meet Victim at the console.

“You did well, Agent.” Victim shook his hand again, his skin feeling warmer and more human than before. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

Victim leaned in a little, his smile more sly than before, “You’re hired.”

Agent was, once again, left in shock. He could only mutter out a quiet “thank you, sir.” before Victim left the room, leaving him stranded and speechless. He wasn’t sure how it was possible for someone like Victim to even exist. Someone so far beyond him in wealth and status, so powerful and strange and far-off and elusive, but still close enough to see the small, genuine liking he took to him. It was fascinating. For the first time in his life, he could see why people worshiped the gods, why people devoted their entire lives to them.

The essence of Victim seemed to follow him the whole way home, not just the scent of his cologne, but also the warmth, the mystery, and the allure of him. All night, his mind repeated all the questions he amassed, trying to find some sort of explanation of what he was behind that near-perfect mask. No hypothesis seemed to satisfy him, no theory seemed quite right. No idea, that is, except for one.

Victim was a god amongst men.

It all made perfect sense. He was never uploaded because he wasn’t an animation, rather, he descended from the heavens in a rocket ship. He could make replicas of godly tools because he was once the one using them. He made Rocket Co so he could bless humanity with his knowledge, so he could meet his fellow god’s creations on their level. He looked so different from other animations because he was inherently different, inherently better.

It still left him with questions, of course. Why would someone as powerful as him be so humble and kind? Why and how would he leave heaven in the first place? Why did he single him out to be his bodyguard? Who or what were those “enemies” he was so scared of?

Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel like he was onto something. Victim was an entire enigma just begging to be solved, and he couldn’t help but feel like he needed to solve it.

He, too, was looking forward to tomorrow. Because whether or not he deserved it, being in the presence of a god was something he couldn’t pass up.

Chapter Text

Working for Rocket Co. was nothing like any of the jobs Agent took before. For one, it wasn’t just a temporary contract, he was a full-on hired employee. Additionally, he had to move to an apartment on site, so he could always be close in case something went wrong. It was quite a nice apartment to be fair; everything from the living room to the bedroom to the bathroom was either new or well-maintained. The bed wasn’t squeaky and actually felt soft, the walls weren’t moldy and cracked all over, the shower wasn’t frigid and weak with the water pressure. It was far and away an improvement from his last apartment, as well as any other he’s had to live in.

Once he paid closer attention, he noticed at least half the items were either made or touched up by Victim’s heavenly tools. The tv being a Rocket Co. original was to be expected, but the counters, the bedframe, and the couch also had that smooth, plastic shininess that anything made or repaired by him seemed to have. That detail only endeared Agent to him more.

His routine closely followed Victim’s, fairly self-apparent as his job was to closely follow him wherever he went. He waited outside the company showers early in the morning, then he stood in his office watching as Victim planned or tinkered with his tools. He rarely indulged in a proper breakfast, just a cup of coffee or a quick snack before he started working. His lunches were proportionally larger, usually a large helping of something fairly safe and bland. He ate his lunch with him at a small table on the outskirts of the food court, only occasionally bothered by investors Victim would usually shoo off to Mitsi. There was usually some kind of mid-day meeting, sometimes for the whole company and sometimes for just the higher ups. Agent always felt out of place in those, just sitting near Victim without contributing anything. After that, work continued until late into the night, when Agent would drive him home because he was far too tired to get home safely.

Victim’s home was a small cottage in the countryside, far different from the luxurious mansion he always pictured. His neighbors more closely resembled Mitsi, the home’s second resident, in both looks and mannerisms. While Victim was more quiet and kept to himself, Mitsi was quite the people pleaser. As CEO, she worked primarily in money and numbers and words, all those made up things people assigned value to. She was the main one who spoke for the two of them in interviews and meetings, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Her commands and orders came out sugary sweet, and people followed them much more enthusiastically than the orders of his past bosses. She could pitch just about anything and people would flock to buy it. The tapered tips of her fingers were sharp, but they never scratched, just helpfully pointed. Just as Victim was a godly founder, Mitsi was an angelic boss, just as deserving of praise.

Interestly, as Agent worked with Victim more, he noticed a shift in his attitude towards him. Instead of rampant questions and curiosities, he was starting to form an admiration for Victim. It felt strange at first. He never really took that much of a liking to someone, and even then it was never this fast. He tried his best to rationalize it off. It was probably just because more of his questions were being answered. Instead of finding more questions as he learned more about him, the intrigue was shifted to the answers he was getting, becoming a fascination with what he knew rather than a wonder for what he didn’t. Such a thing was natural, he figured.

It was affecting his performance in a way he didn’t like, though. He found himself studying the inflections and shifts in his voice, rather than focusing on the words he was saying. He caught himself staring far more often than he should, even if his sunglasses meant he could get away with it. He found himself spitting out pointless questions while Victim worked, just so he could be delighted by the intricacy of his answers. His job was to stand still and be prepared for danger at any moment, but this fixation of his was making it far too easy to slip up and drop his guard.

One recent example in particular came to mind. It was a double whammy of needless staring and pointless inquiry. He was watching him draw details onto tiny computer chips, holding a magnifying glass up to his eye to do so. In particular, he was focused on his eye, how that hollow ring behind the lens seemed to dilate and shrink as the magnification was repeatedly raised and lowered. For a brief moment, that eye lifted up to lock on him, and he quickly averted his gaze, just a moment too late to avoid being caught.

“Something wrong?” Victim asked, setting down the magnifier. Agent looked back towards him, something stirring in his chest once he realised his attention was entirely on him.

“Nothing, sir.” Agent quickly defended himself, a nervous chill spreading over him. This was ridiculous, he’s faced off against countless dangerous criminals without fear, why did a simple question have this much of an effect on him?

Victim, with a slight humorous lift to his voice, posited that, “You’re allowed to ask questions, you know. If I just wanted you to stand still all day, I would’ve bought a statue instead.”

“It’s not all that important, it’s just…” Agent stopped himself briefly, his sense of better judgement barely holding back the dumb question before it tumbled out of his mouth, “What’s up with your eyes?” Shocking himself with his own callous unprofessionalism, he quickly clarified, “T-the white pupils, I mean.”

Victim didn’t seem to mind, for whatever reason. “Oh, they’re my creator’s “calling card”, I think. Like how Mitsi and the farmers have their pale skin and pointy fingers.”

“Have you seen anyone else with them?”

Victim hesitated. “No.”

“Me neither.” Agent admitted. “I never met anyone else made by the same god who made me. Maybe that’s why I was never that into religion as a whole.”

Victim laughed a little. “Guess our creators were both one hit wonders, then.”

Even now, Agent was amazed that an interaction he fumbled so poorly ended so pleasantly. It must’ve been a result of Victim’s heavenly mercy, no man could ever be that patient with his constant mistakes, to the point of even welcoming them. Agent was truly blessed to find himself here, he had to make sure he could pay back his generosity with utmost devotion.

Life continued on schedule until a very particular meeting. It was the only meeting he was ever intended to be present for, the only meeting he ever contributed to.

“I’m sure that you all have heard about the recent rise in disappearances.” Mitsi started. Agent, as well as everyone else in the room nodded. He heard just about every conspiracy theory under the sun regarding them, most of them explaining it as some sort of divine punishment. “Well, we have done more research into them, and we found out that they weren’t disappearances at all. Some people who previously vanished have come back, saying it was the result of their hosting site being attacked.”

Mitsi clicked on her laptop, and the slideshow changed to show photos of a destroyed site, all sorts of animations running amok, fire spraying from black and red blurs in the sky.

“The perpetrators of these attacks are two rogue animations: The Chosen One and The Dark Lord. No one knows where they came from, or why they’re doing this, but one thing is certain: they could become a serious threat if left unchecked. That’s why we’re planning on hiring more security trained on animation tools, so we can better protect our business in case of a crisis.”

Mitsi turned towards him, for a moment leaving him feeling like there was no one else in the room, “Now, Agent here has shown profound skill using these tools in a combat setting. Would you like to help train these new recruits?”

Agent was, at first, stunned by the mention of his name. Then he realised that she expected an answer, and he quickly spat out a “yes, boss” before even considering what he was agreeing to. He wasn’t questioning the need for more security, anything that came out of Mitsi's mouth was good as gospel, but he did question the need for his involvement. He was Victim’s bodyguard, it wouldn’t be responsible to spend time away from him.

Seemingly thinking the same thing, Victim chimed in, “I can help as well. I made those tools, after all, so my input can still be helpful.”

That settled the slight regret in Agent’s stomach. The meeting continued onward, and his hesitation towards the offer lessened even more. Even if Victim wasn’t assisting, he could return to his full-time post once the recruits were fully trained. Not only that, but the added security would benefit Victim too. Really, other than those brief hesitations, there wasn’t a flaw with Mitsi’s plan. That fact only increased his respect for her more.

The plan was executed only a week later, with three mercenaries arriving at their door waiting to be trained. Agent actually recognized their faces, either targets he once hunted down or bounty hunters he once worked alongside. It wasn’t much of a pleasant surprise, though. He only realised then that he was starting to consider Rocket Co as an escape from his less-than-legal job hunting past, and now he had to deal with three living reminders of it. He stayed professional, barely, hoping that his past involvement in their lifestyles wouldn’t come up in polite conversation.

The first of the three (Hazard, if he remembered correctly), wasn’t too hard to work with. A strong, silent type who mostly stuck with espionage. He was probably the most normal of the three, working in standard fields like construction and office work as a cover for said spywork. His fighting was…a little stiff, but he could see power behind those punches. Definitely a good asset to the team.

The second, Primal, was a bit more difficult. She seemed to recognize him immediately, if the killer glare was anything to go by. Agent made a note to apologize to her later for the nasty scar that barely missed her eye. She got quite frustrated with the “newfangled” tools she was given to fight with, likely a consequence of how neolithic her own weapons were. She did well, of course, but there were points where he was worried she’d snap the tools in half. Victim seemed worried as well, saying she can stick with her own weapons in a real combat scenario.

The third, Ballista, was one Agent wanted out the door the moment he walked in. That pixelated four-foot brat was the bane of his existence. He could predict their entire interaction before he even introduced himself. He would refuse to even touch the tools, spout some nonsense about how “I don’t need a weapon, I am the weapon!” before splitting his head open to reveal the gun inside and missing all his shots.

Wouldn’t you know it, that exact thing happened, except it unfortunately didn’t end with him being kicked out the door like he hoped. Victim was somehow impressed enough by the ridiculous display that he allowed him to be part of the team too. He pushed for him to at least try the tools out, but Ballista made a huge fuss about “If she doesn’t have to use them, why do I have to?” He was going to be trouble, and he knew it.

Training from that day on went about as well as it could. Agent was having more headaches than usual, but he didn't take any Tylenol as they were manageable enough to deal with. That was, until today, when the yelling was too loud and the lights were too bright and everything seemed to make the pounding in his head worse. He excused himself for a quick smoke break, the only real break he's taken since he was hired. He took a deep breath of the cool evening air before letting out a heavy sigh. The sunset seen from the company roof was beautiful, the pink painted clouds far outshining the ones that came out of his mouth. He tried his best to focus on taking in the sight, rather than focus on the growing guilt in his stomach that came from abandoning his post.

He heard someone else come up to the roof, and paid them no mind. It was only when they came up beside him that he realized it was Ballista. He ignored him as long as he could before he struck up conversation.

“Hey, long time no see, buddy! Didn't expect to see you again after you quit your last job.” Agent bit his tongue and nodded along, despite wanting to remind him that they weren't exactly on “buddy” level. Victim would get mad at him if he threw a new recruit off the roof, and right now that fact acted as his only self-restraint from doing so.

An awkward silence filled the air as Ballista took out his own cigarette. He seemed to have difficulty lighting it.

“Don't you have to be an adult to smoke cigarettes?” Agent deadpanned.

“Hey! You know I'm older than you!” Ballista, unfortunately, took the jab a bit too lightly, only playfully nudging his side in response.

“You ought to act like it someday.”

Silence came between the two again, a calmer, quieter silence than before. Agent was grateful that Ballista opted to keep smoking rather than run his mouth off. It reminded him more of when they first met, two confused wayward souls that didn't know what to make of this world.

“Why'd you end up working here anyway? Doesn't really seem like your…style.” Ballista spoke up again, shattering the brief illusion of peace his reminiscing gave him.

“It's a more stable job. Pays well, too.” Agent commented.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, c'mon. You don't take jobs for the stability, you take jobs for the thrill, for the danger!” Ballista remarked, in a statement filled with a bit too much projection. “What're they offering you that made you trade being a hitman for being a goddamn receptionist?”

“Well, I’m a bodyguard, first of all.” Agent turned his head slightly, moving the image of Ballista just barely out of his peripherals and into his sight. He reminded himself not to give in to his annoyances, as reacting would just let him win. “I also get to witness marvels being made in real time, if that's enough of a ‘benefit’ for you.”

“You sure that's what drew you here?” Ballista had that stupid smirk, that shit-eating grin, and Agent was already groaning internally at the comment he hadn't made yet. “Not the sexy, crazy-rich founder?”

Agent glared at him, the first time he actually looked him in the eye this entire conversation. “What are you implying?”

“Oh, please, you've obviously got the hots for him!” Ballista asserted, making something unidentifiable coil in his gut. “You're always ogling him, you're never more than a foot away from him, and you're constantly calling him ‘sir’, I've never even heard you say his name!”

“I call him sir because it's respectful.” Agent said through gritted teeth.

“You don't respect jack shit! You don't even respect your own god!”

“I give people as much respect as they’re owed. My god didn't do anything but make me. Victim's done more for the Outernet than any other man in the history of mankind.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? You're absolutely head over heels for him!”

Agent's face burned at the accusation (from anger, of course. Nothing else). He pressed his cigarette deep into the ashtray, watching as the body of it crinkled and bent under the pressure. “This conversation isn't productive. Go back to your training.”

“Aww, come on!”

“Until you actually learn how to use those things, I am still in charge of you. Go, now.”

With a stupidly over the top groan, Ballista trudged out of his sight. Agent looked towards the sunset one more time, the sun almost gone from the sky and the clouds taking on the colors of twilight. He looked a little longer before the sounds of stomping down steps disappeared, then he went to head back down himself. The frankly bizarre conversation kept replying in his head as he went down the staircase. He shook his head to himself as he walked through the door to the main building.

Him? In love with Victim?

What a ridiculous thought.

Chapter Text

Agent's firm grip on the envelope severely crumpled and wrinkled the paper within. He'd usually try not to be so careless with company supplies, but the letter in his hand deserved no such care. It had already been torn open, but he made sure to put the letter back in its ruined envelope so no passerby could catch a glimpse of its contents.

Every ounce of him was focused on physically restraining himself, keeping himself at least a little level-headed. He needed to keep at least a little bit of tact if he didn't want this to turn into an all out brawl. His frustration, therefore, was inflicted on the letter in his grasp, so he would have a little less to inflict on its writer.

He spotted the writer in question moments later, in the impromptu training room made to be used while “The Box”, as they called it, was still in construction. He was wailing on a wall, simply constructed with the rectangle tool. It was fairly durable against all his kicks and punches and “ninja moves”. The whole display was childish, frankly.

He tensely walked over to the other side of the room, where a phone on a nearby chair was blasting old fighting game music through its crappy speakers. He, as calmly as he could, turned down the volume on the music application until it became mute.

“Hey, what the hell, man?!” Ballista turned away from the barely dented wall to glare at him.

“We need to talk.” Agent lifted the letter, now in plain view of Ballista. “What is this?”

“I don't know, an envelope?” Ballista was clearly already bored with this situation.

“Don’t play dumb. This company is a strictly professional environment. There is zero tolerance for juvenile pranks here, especially ones that endanger others' careers.”

“What are you talking about?!”

Agent took out the letter from within the envelope. It was on a piece of overly cheesy, flowery stationary, lightly infused with a cheap replica of expensive cologne. “Real life isn't some rom-com. People can get fired if stuff like this gets to HR.”

“I'm not the one who wrote that though.” Ballista grinned as he pointed to the signature at the bottom of the letter. “It was made by “your secret admirer”. Wonder who that could be?” He remarked, with an overly obnoxious wink.

“This is not Victim’s handwriting.” The letter was composed of a graceful but clearly handwritten cursive, while Victim’s print would be indistinguishable from a plain computer font if it weren’t for a slight shakiness to the letters. “And he would never use the kind of vulgar language included here.”

“This wasn’t some corporate email meant for the whole company to see. How would you know what kind of language he uses when no one is looking?”

“I’m practically around him 24/7. I’ve seen how he acts in casual environments. He can loosen up, sure, but he wouldn’t be caught dead talking about “arrangements” like this.”

“Why don’t you go see for yourself? Go to his office after hours and ask about it?” That stupid smirk was back on his face again. The urge to wipe it off was strong.

“I can't believe you. I don’t even know why Victim hired you. You’ve never had a legitimate job in your life.”

“I don’t know, he must’ve had a good reason. He’s the “savior of mankind” after all, how could he possibly make a bad judgement?”

“It’s not like I worship him, goddamn it. I just admire his accomplishments!” Agent scolded, in a tone just below yelling.

“You can say that all you want, but you’re not convincing anyone. You said you were hired to protect him, but he really isn't in that much danger. The Agent I know wouldn't accept any amount of money to just stand around over taking an actually exciting job. There's clearly something beyond the money that's motivating you to heel to him like a dog.”

For whatever reason, that particular comment snapped the scotch tape of his composure. His face started to burn, he started seeing red, and his hands clenched tightly into fists.

“What, you can’t handle a joke anymore?” His smile grew more devilish. “You used to be cool, y'know. Used to be a big deal. But now you're just a lapdog to a millionaire, too stubborn to admit that the only reason you stay with this company is because you want to suck his-”

A hand squeezed around his throat before he could even stop himself. He was raised to eye level, at least a foot or two off the ground. His glee turned to panicked frustration as he fruitlessly attempted to claw himself out of Agent’s grasp.

“I don’t know why or how you latched onto the idea that I have some sort of highschool crush on the founder, but it isn’t true. Spreading facetious rumors like this will only get the both of us in trouble. If I bring this letter to the higher ups, they could fire you in an instant. But I won’t do so as long as you promise to drop it.”

Ballista finally relented, “Fine! I’ll do whatever you want, just let me go!”

Agent dropped him, providing him no support as he stumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He walked calmly out of the room, tension having mysteriously relieved itself from his frame. Ballista hoisted himself up, rubbing his now-bruised neck.

“Ass-kisser.” He muttered under his breath.

Things finally seemed to go back to normal for Agent. The now torn letter lay in his room’s trash can, buried under layers of official-looking documents so he wouldn't have to think about it again. It still occasionally tried to pop up in his mind, but he always applied the same strategy he applied to the real thing. Life continued on as it did before, no annoying pestering in sight. It was nice to have a return to schedule. Weeks flew by without a hiccup, until one fateful morning before work.

Agent has been standing outside the company showers for nearly an hour now. He's pretty sure the water hasn't been running for at least 45 minutes. He tried his best to be diligent, not let his mind wander to the man in the room he was currently guarding. It was hard not to worry, though. He knew Victim was very meticulous about his appearance, but even he didn't take this long to get ready. Irrational fears started to pop up in his head, but he shook them off. He wasn't just gonna break down the door because of a hunch.

Time ticked on, and it became much harder not to worry. He could hardly hear anything coming from in there, just occasional drips hitting the floor and some sort of clinking of metal against metal. Was Victim fixing the plumbing or something? No, it couldn't be that, why wouldn't he just get one of his workers to do that?

Eerily enough, he hadn't heard a single sound from Victim in all this time. He was starting to worry that he was somehow hurt, and that his common courtesy was keeping him from saving him. It was a ridiculous thought, but it somehow didn't leave his mind. He shoved it down anyway. He wasn't just gonna barge in while Victim was…undressed. Ballista would actually have a case then, and no way in hell was he going to give him any more ammunition to use against him.

He heard a loud crash of metal against the tile floor. Just like that, panic overtook him and all his inhibitions went out the window. For all he knew, someone was breaking in to try and hurt him! He threw open the door, hand over his holster, and his eyes wildly searched the room for any signs of an intruder.

But he found nothing.

Instead, he found a toppled paint bucket on the floor, the paint quickly spreading to turn the entire floor Victim's shade of grey. Victim quickly scrambled to pick it up, placing it onto the bathroom sink before freezing with terror when he noticed he was there. Agent was frozen with terror too, perhaps even more so.

Because Victim was strewn with scars.

His shimmering skin cracked and peeled away to reveal his true form underneath it: slashed, scabbed over, and scrapped. They covered every inch of him, from his trembling arms to his wobbling legs. He wore a towel around his waist (a fact he was silently thankful for), but he didn't doubt that there were likely scars underneath it too. Some of the marks still looked red, and there were some purple bruises that hadn't faded away yet.

Agent took a step towards Victim. He noticed the way he violently flinched, bracing for an attack that was never made.

“...who hurt you?” He asked, with a tone that held both a horror and a righteous anger. The idea that someone not only laid a hand on Victim, but also left his body and mind permanently scarred did nothing short of infuriate him. He was going to track that bitch down and kill them. Not only that, he was going to make sure every mark on Victim’s body was replicated on theirs.

Victim didn’t look at him, he just stared down at his own body as if he was seeing it for the first time. He turned away from him, facing his reflection in horror. He picked up his paintbrush, one of the many tools laid out on the counter, and looked at it with a similar amount of scrutiny. Its bristles were coated in the same silver as the paint in the bucket, in the same silver as himself.

Victim swallowed. “It was that…that ‘powerful enemy’ I told you about. The one I hired you to protect me from.” Agent’s eyes widened a little in recognition as Victim took in deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand. It would have been courteous to warn you about what you were up against. It’s just I…never really opened up about this…to anyone. Not even Mitsi.”

Victim took another second to collect himself, gripping the sink counter hard. “These scars were…given to me by my maker.”

Agent gasped. It was probably the most he ever emoted in front of Victim. It was an incredibly cruel thought to have, but it still rang true: his name finally made sense.

He was only made to be abused.

Victim took in another shaky breath, facing the mirror but actually staring out into the distance. “I was never saved as a video file. I was never uploaded on any site. I was never given access to the world outside that animation window. My life was just being killed and recreated, killed and recreated, over and over again. Even when I was brought back to life, I was still left with a scar from the last thing that killed me. The pain never stopped.”

Agent stepped a little closer, not permitting himself to get close enough to comfort him, given his last reaction to Agent’s advancement. Thankfully, he didn’t flinch this time, rather looking at him with eyes that brimmed with tears.

“These…these tools aren’t replicas at all. They're actually the tools of the gods. I stole them out from under his nose. Used them to make a rocket ship and escape.”

“You…you actually came here on a rocket ship?” Agent’s voice held a bit of wonder.

Victim let out a somber laugh. “Yeah. What remains of the crash landing is still out there, in some random field.” Victim’s smile dropped. “I’ve never bothered to go back there. It’s too painful of a memory.”

Victim dipped the paintbrush in the bucket, proceeding to drag the now wet tip across a quite noticeable scar on his chest. Agent’s eyes traced the movement of the brush a bit more closely than was strictly necessary. It was only when the paint dried up, leaving that fake, shiny finish in its place, that Agent caught on to his mistake and quickly averted his eyes. They involuntarily locked back onto him when he dipped the brush in again, continuing to paint over himself.

“Why are you painting over them? Couldn’t that agitate some of the wounds?”

“This isn’t any ordinary paint. It’s the same paint that made me, that made this office, that made this entire world. Its quality has been a little jostled up by the crash, so it can no longer make things that are living, but other than that it’s really not that different from a skin graft. It only causes pain when it starts chipping and I have to peel it off.”

Agent winced. “How much does it hurt?”

Victim shrugged. “Not that much, I can deal with it.” Agent wondered briefly if the abuse meant he had a skewed perception of what pain was “tolerable”.

“How come you chose to use paint? Wouldn’t your clothes cover them up most of the time?”

“Clothes aren’t entirely foolproof. One of my button-up shirts is transparent enough that you can see some of the scars through it.” Agent had his doubts about that statement. He was well acquainted with Victim’s wardrobe: none of his shirts were tight enough or sheer enough to be able to reveal something like that. Then again, if his scars were coated over for the whole time he knew him, then he wouldn’t have been able to notice if any of them showed visible scarring. He refused to speak on the matter. He’d never forgive himself if he accused Victim of lying like that, especially in a moment like this.

“Besides, even if that did work, it’s one thing to look presentable in front of the press. It’s another thing entirely to be able to face your own reflection.” He turned back towards the mirror forlornly. “I hate looking at them, being reminded of every horrible thing he did to me. Being reminded of how weak I really am.”

Agent was taken aback. “You're not weak.” He was the most powerful, most divine, most accomplished being in the whole Outernet. How could he be talking about himself like this?

Victim looked back at him, tearful and almost confused. “How am I not weak? I could never beat someone in an actual fight. I have the build and durability of a twig. I’ve never faced any danger since arriving here. And yet, I can’t help but constantly hide behind a bodyguard, like a coward. You are far stronger and braver than I could ever be.”

Agent felt conflicted: both honored by the praise and sorrowed by the self-deprecation. If the speaker of those insults towards him was anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice before smacking some sense into them. But obviously, that solution wouldn't apply here. He wasn't saying these things out of ignorance or blind hatred, as any other heckler would. He was saying these things because he was far too deep in the waters of his own mind, drowning in doubt and unable to hear the praises of the surface over the water plugging his ears.

The things he was saying were…remarkably similar to the things his mind spouted about himself. It was ironic, how someone so great had the same insecurities of someone as lowly as him. He had a careful strategy for dealing with those thoughts, something he developed after a long time of suffering alone, in silence. Maybe, if he shared that same strategy with Victim, he'd be better able to see the truth.

“I'd like to show you something, if you'd let me, sir.” Victim looked back towards him, no longer distracted by the task of covering up the scars that still remained. Most of them were gone by now, leaving a flawless surface in its wake, but the sight almost looked more disheartening than when they were uncovered.

“Um…sure. Go ahead.” His eyes remained locked on him, but his hand remained tight around the brush.

Agent undid his tie, leaving it draped around the sides of his neck. It was only when his fingers carefully undid the first button of his shirt that he started regretting this course of action. Despite the innocence of his intentions, someone walking in on him doing this would absolutely get the wrong idea. Should he lock the door? No no, that would give Victim the wrong idea. A bead of sweat dripped down his face, and he hoped his rampant nervousness was well hidden by his shades.

He stopped right above his belly button, figuring Victim would get the gist. He looked up to see Victim absolutely dumbfounded, his eyes flicking from bullet wound to burn mark to laceration. He saw multiple flickers of emotion run through those eyes, from wonder to sympathy to shock. Interestingly, it was the same set of emotions that passed through him when he witnessed Victim’s injuries.

“I got most of these during my mercenary work. They’ve all got bad memories attached to them too.” His eyes landed on a particular scar just above his collarbone, one that still stung if he pressed against it in the wrong way. He gently raised his fingers to it. “I don’t like thinking of them as…reminders of things I almost didn’t survive. I try to think of them more as…battle trophies. Little medals commemorating the fact that I did survive.”

Victim, after a short pause, looked him in the eyes (Had he just been staring at his chest this whole time? Surely not). “It’s different for you, though. You got those scars from fighting. I got these scars from existing. I didn’t even fight back after a while, I just…ran away. Laid down and took it.”

“That’s…” Agent hesitated, trying to find the right words. “That’s not a fair comparison. I was up against, what, some bandits? Some misguided criminals? You faced the wrath of a god and you survived. That’s far more impressive than anything I’ve ever done.”

There was a thoughtful look in Victim’s eyes, but Agent had a feeling his words weren’t quite reaching him. A somber mood hung in the air as Victim hid the last marks on his skin. He set the tools aside and grabbed his suit that he had laid folded on the other side of the counter. Agent quickly looked away, suddenly finding the shower head on the opposite wall to be the most interesting thing in the room. The rustling of clothes felt deafeningly loud in the otherwise silent space.

“I do appreciate your insight.” It felt rude to not look at him when he talked, but unfortunately, doing so would absolutely demolish that dignity he tries so hard to uphold. “However, covering them up or not isn’t a decision for me to make. I have an image to keep up, a visage to maintain. People wouldn't think of me the same if they could see what I was covering up. They wouldn't put a mangled corpse on the front page of Sticks magazine.”

“You aren’t mangled, sir.”

“Don’t say that. You saw it first hand, you know how hideous I look without the paint.”

A tense pause filled the room, and Agent could feel his sweat accumulating on his brow. He could feel words squirming on his tongue, and they fell out of his mouth before he could manage to comprehend them and swallow them down.

“You’re beautiful.”

All the air was cut from the room in an instant, rendering the uneasy tension and the deafening rustling completely silent. They turned towards each other, both of their eyes showing astonishment at the phrase that slipped out of Agent's mouth. It was incredibly hard to breathe all of a sudden.

“What?” Victim asked, as if he simply misheard the bizarre declaration. He was giving him an out, Agent realized, a chance to retract the accidental statement. But for whatever reason, some voice in the back of his head told him to stand by his word. Maybe it was the same voice that prompted him to spit it out in the first place.

“You…you are beautiful, sir.” His eyes were on the floor, but he hoped Victim couldn't tell because of the shades. “Objectively so. The scars don't detract from that.” His face felt uncomfortably hot. Why was he sweating so much? “Depending on who you ask, they might even…add…to the look. Make you seem more…cool, or something.” What the hell was he doing?!

It took an embarrassingly long time for Agent to look Victim in the eye after all that. He was very lucky that Victim didn't seem to despise his juvenile display. He couldn't quite tell what his expression was, but there was a faint rose dusting on his cheeks, a more moderate reflection of his own fluster.

Victim turned towards the mirror again. He didn't say a word, he just stared at his own reflection as if he was seeing it for the first time. He must've realized something in that moment, Agent could tell from the way those pupils dilated and his mouth had the faintest hint of a smile. He wished he could witness the cogs turning in that brilliant yet elusive brain of his.

Victim fixed his tie before turning to him, his classic, confident smile having returned to his face. It had been such a long time since he’d seen it that the mere sight stirred something warm and comforting in his chest. “Thank you. I know this wasn’t exactly the perfect time to bring all of this up, but…” His smile grew softer, more heartfelt. “...of all the people who could’ve caught me like this, I’m glad it was you.”

The nervous stirring in his heart didn’t stop. The obnoxious burning in his face didn’t stop. The anxious shaking in his hands didn’t stop. No, they all grew stronger and more overwhelming every second he stood there in silence. It took a strenuous amount of effort to spit out a coherent “...I’m glad, sir.”

He must’ve gotten sick or something. Would certainly explain why he got so feverish. But he didn’t feel sick this morning. Why would the illness only strike now?! Did he catch something from Victim? Victim didn’t look sick. Certainly not sick enough to affect him, especially this instantly. What was he sick with, anyway? The flu? Malaria? Hepatitis? Why couldn’t he just think clearly?!

Victim walked towards the exit to the shower room, Agent far too deep in his own spiralling thoughts to even notice. He only turned when he heard the door open, seeing Victim look back at him from the doorway. Victim looked him up and down, his eyes lingering on his exposed scars on the way back up. Agent felt his hesitation increase as Victim leaned in a little closer. Whether or not his gaze landed on his lips was something Victim couldn't know and Agent refused to know.

“For what it's worth, I think you're beautiful too.”

Everything shattered and pieced itself together all at once. Agent was stuck in stasis until the moment he heard the door shut, and it was only then that he could hear his own racing heartbeat. His feverish symptoms, now blazing out of control, were now at the forefront of his mind, impossible to ignore. It was only then that he could pinpoint his diagnosis.

He wasn’t just sick, he was fucking lovesick.

His knees buckled beneath him, and he barely grabbed onto the counter of the sink before he toppled to the floor. Not a single breath he took felt like it was filling his lungs. His hand gripped onto his sweaty bangs just so he could have something to cling to. In that moment , he was brought back to the first moments of him reading that damned letter, the effect it had on him before he realised it was all facetious. He threw the feeling out then, just like he threw out every other flash of affection he had for that man, buried under sheets of professionality just like the discarded letter. But now, every moment he shoved into the back of his mind was spilling forward, insulting him for ever thinking he didn’t feel anything for him.

How long had this been building up for? With every memory it was getting harder and harder to draw the line between his feelings of admiration and affection. What if there was never a line to begin with? What if those feelings were sparked the day he got that letter, or the day he got hired, or the day he considered him a god?

He winced at the memory the instant it came up. How stupid was he, to think of a man as a god, yet somehow convince himself that he wouldn’t worship him if given the chance. He was a dignified man, and yet Victim somehow broke that dignified part of him. He made an irredeemable bounty hunter believe in the gods, in mankind, simply by flashing that irresistibly charming smile and treating him like he was more than nothing. He was quite possibly the greatest man in the entire Outernet, and of all the people fate could have chosen for him to fall for, Victim was quite a lucky pick.

Yet simultaneously, he was also quite an unlucky pick. While technically not his boss, he was his superior, and the fact he was a bodyguard for him directly only complicated their relationship further. If doing his job was difficult before, it was certainly going to be more difficult now. How could he focus on keeping him safe if he was selfishly longing for things that Victim would never agree to, secretly hoping for an affair that could ruin both of their lives?

Agent put both of his hands to his face, letting out a long groan. How long had he been standing there, agonizing over his feelings for a man just down the hall? Did he really abandon his post just because he couldn't handle a little insignificant tease? He needed to get a grip. He took down the worst terrors the Outernet had ever faced, repressing every last drop of fear, anger, and misery he ever felt. This beast, while certainly a lot stronger, could surely be slain with the same technique. If he never acted on it, never gave into it, then surely it would pass and he could return to his job as usual. All this panicking was a ridiculous waste of time.

He fixed himself up, picked up the assorted tools, and left the shower room. He brought them over to Victim’s office, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door. Victim politely opened it, his smile returning once he saw it was him.

“Thanks for bringing them back. I was worried I was gonna have to grab it all myself.” He took the tools out of his hands, accidentally brushing his hand against his as he took them. A shiver went down his spine, causing the stirring inside of him to spike. He tucked his hands behind his back, watching Victim meticulously place the tools on his desk (what might look disorganized to an unwise outsider was actually a carefully crafted system, one he grew quite familiar with in all his time spent with him). A slight swirl of affection passed through him at the sight before he shook it off. He swallowed, in a vain attempt to keep himself composed.

Heaven help me.

Chapter Text

Agent pulled into the cottage's dirt-paved driveway, as he did every night. He walked out and opened the car's passenger door, as was also customary. One thing was different tonight, though, and that was the fact that Victim had passed out in his seat. He saw that Victim was fairly worn out when he got in the car, wearing heavy, dark eyelids and a rustled mess on top of his head. Agent figured he was too busy paying attention to the road to notice him falling asleep on the way over. He touched his shoulder and lightly shook him, but Victim didn't rise from his slumber.

He considered using a bit more force, but then he stopped himself. Victim hadn't had a good night's sleep for days. He was stressed out to hell and back over this anniversary party, trying to manage both it and the business at the same time. He's been putting in so much work, he deserves a chance to properly rest.

He carefully picked him up, one arm under his back and the other under his knees. His head softly slumped against his chest, an almost tender movement from the unconscious man in his arms. Really, from an outsider's point of view, the entire moment would look quite tender.

He rid his head of the thought. He's had almost a full six weeks without incident, making plenty of progress on holding back any indulgent thoughts. As romantic as any ignorant fool would think this moment is, it simply wasn't. It was a normal, sensible thing to do, perhaps even expected. Anyone would do this for their boss.

Surely.

He walked slowly towards the door, careful with the precious cargo he was carrying. He knocked on the door lightly, and he watched it open to a room of gleaming, golden light. Mitsi stood in the doorway, preventing the light from blinding him. It seemed to form a glowing halo around her shiny, slate hair. There was a slight shock in her eyes as she looked down at the man in his arms.

“He fell asleep on the drive over.” Agent answered dryly, also looking down at him.

“Ah.” She nodded with a slight confusion. “Well, come on in then! I don’t want either of you getting cold.”

Agent walked in with her, his eyes adjusting to the glow of this small spot of heaven. Despite the unending dark cold outside, the warm oranges and yellows and browns made the little cottage feel bright and alive. Right by the entrance, there was a little nook with a TV and a two-seater, and there was also a quaint kitchen surrounding a dining area further in. Every piece of furniture had that Victim-drawn feel, of course, but it all looked noticeably different than most of his other work. He wasn’t sure if the subtle imperfections were just present from the wear and tear of daily use, or if they were always present, there from the moment the furniture was made. Either way, they were all clearly older works in Victim’s portfolio. Agent found it intriguing.

It felt different seeing Mitsi here, under a light that wasn't stale and fluorescent. The color of the room seemed to bleed into the gray of her sundress and the white of her skin. It made her feel less like the epitome of perfection and professionalism and more like a living, breathing human being. Either form of her felt equally mystical, of course, but this Mitsi almost seemed more…endearing than the other. More personal. Agent didn't know how to describe it.

“His room is over there, to the left.” Mitsi pointed to one of the wooden doors on the wall to Agent’s right, the one that looked decidedly plain next to the door adorned with pastel stickers. He walked over to the door, which was open just a crack, and pushed it inward with his foot to enter. The light from the living room bled into the dark interior, making it feel sweet but also somber. He lay Victim down on the unmade bed at the room’s center, gently pulling the blankets over his body. Victim stirred a bit before getting comfortable, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. He didn't know how such a mundane scene could look so heavenly, like a painting of something plain looking masterful despite the subject matter. He lingered there for a moment before pulling away and leaving the room.

The first thing he noticed when he closed the door was the smell of freshly cooked food. He turned to see Mitsi setting down a pot of spaghetti and meatballs, right between two plates set up on the dinner table. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I wouldn’t want all this to go to waste.”

Agent felt honored by the request, but he still humbly refused. “I apologize, I really ought to be going-”

“Oh no, I insist. You went through all this effort to bring him in here, I ought to do something in return, don’t I?”

Agent paused. He wasn’t quite sure his actions warranted a reward, but he also didn’t exactly have much waiting for him back at the apartment. The closest thing he had to a dinner there was an old cup of ramen noodles, a prospect that seemed much less appetizing compared to the mouthwatering dish in front of him. When was the last time he had a proper, home cooked meal? He honestly couldn’t remember. Maybe he ought to let himself have this, just this once.

“...if it’s really no big deal.” Agent took off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the chair, feeling it wobble slightly beneath him as he sat down. Mitsi poured a sizable helping onto his plate, and he awkwardly twirled some noodles around his fork. He took a bite and felt a profound sense of odd bliss, like he was being reminded of fond childhood memories that he didn’t have. The whole house seemed to emanate the same feeling the food provided, one he felt the whole time but could only recognise now.

The place felt like a home.

He's never lived in a home before. He’s lived in a house and an array of apartments, but those were distinctly different. This place was welcoming, safe, dressed head to toe in love and care. It was a luxury he couldn't afford, or rather, never bothered to search for. Paradoxically, he had never much trust in things that were “safe”. He felt comfortable in instability, where at least he knew exactly how things would go wrong. Things that were safe and stable could crumble anytime, in any number of ways. He was hardly able to appreciate the warmth of this place, knowing it would freeze over if he made the slightest mistake.

There was also a certain, undeniable pattern to the place. There were only two bedrooms, only two chairs, only two spots in front of the TV. The minifridge on the kitchen counter wasn’t big enough to hold food for guests. The square footage couldn't accommodate for space taken up by freeloaders. The hospitality of the place was merely surface level, as this home didn't have the room to hold him. Mitsi treated him like a visitor, but Agent distinctly felt like an intruder.

“Do you…have people here often?” Agent spoke up, trying to alleviate the awkward tension.

“Outside of the neighbors, not really. Vic likes his peace and quiet.” Misti commented, enjoying her food as well. “Besides, I’m afraid if people from the company or the press see this place, they’re going to…get ideas.”

Agent looked up from his plate, somewhat confused, “What ideas?”

“Well, y’know.” Mitsi thought for a second, brows furrowed in a slight annoyance. “Just about every tabloid and newsletter already assumes we’re dating. If people find out we not only work together, but also live together, they’re going to flip their shit.”

Agent’s eyes widened a little at the profanity. “You two aren’t together?”

“Never have been. I swear, every time I say we’re just business partners in an interview, five more articles pop up calling us “the tech field’s newest power couple”. At this rate, I almost don’t even wanna fucking fight it.” Her voice held a frustration that had clearly been boiling inside her for a while now.

Agent cursed himself for feeling relieved by the revelation.

Mitsi smiled a little. “Actually, a while back, I asked Vic if he wanted to play into it, just to get everyone off our backs. I suggested holding a fake wedding for the press, and then forgetting about it forever. Maybe even sign some papers so we could get the tax benefits. He didn’t wanna do it, though.” She took a bite of one of her meatballs before continuing. “Really, looking back on it, I wouldn’t agree to it either.” She looked up at him, something unidentifiable in her eyes, “It’d cut me off from being able to be with someone I’m…actually in love with.”

Agent nodded in understanding, returning to his meal. The plate was cleaned a lot quicker than he thought it'd be, still leaving him a little hungry. He got up and set his plate in the sink, picking up his jacket to put it back on while he walked towards the door.

“Thank you for hosting me. I have to go now.” Agent briefly turned his head towards Mitsi while at the door, his hand already resting on the doorknob.

Mitsi looked at him confused. “...Is something wrong?”

Agent hesitated, and his hand left the knob so he could turn fully towards Mitsi. “...No. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it's just…” Mitsi collected her words carefully. “You've been a bit tense this whole time you've been here, and now you're leaving so soon. Did I do something wrong? Make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No, no, it's not your fault. It's just…” Agent also had difficulty finding his words. The feeling of intrusion was something fabricated by his own twisted world view. Mitsi was by no means the cause of it, and thus there was no reason to inform her of it. “I’m just not used to stuff like this. People being so generous without expecting something in return.”

Mitsi got a saddened look on her face. “Oh no, we weren't expecting anything of you at all!” She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “I just wanted to treat you to something nice, since you've been working so hard for us. You've been part of this company for, what, nearly a year? Never missing a day, never taking breaks? That's some real dedication.” Mitsi smiled softly. “You're welcome to visit us anytime.”

Agent felt quite a bit bashful at the comment. “Thank you, boss.” His past employers never paid him this much attention, never gave him this much gratitude.

“You don't have to keep calling me that, y'know.” Mitsi's face scrunched up at the formality. “Just call me Mitsi!”

“...thank you, Mitsi.”

He walked out awkwardly, his face turning a bit pink the moment the door was closed. Those two were really something, huh? They were divine in not only their presence, but also in their generosity. He treated them with care, and they reciprocated tenfold. They actually acknowledged everything he's done for them, and even went out of their way to reward him for it. Not even the gods gave him this much grace.

Agent shook his head, as if the physical motion would rid him of the mental thought. He was already in hot waters with the whole Victim situation. What would he do if he caught feelings for her too? She's his boss, for crying out loud!

No matter. He wasn't some thoughtless dog driven purely by selfish wants. He had the ability to combat this, he just needed to combat it harder. Surely, it would all go away if he just kept himself under control, and then everything would go back to normal.

The drive back home to his apartment was both calmer and more somber than usual.

He wasn't looking forward to the party. Parties were for people to loosen up and slack off, and Agent did neither of those things. He had a job to do, protect Victim at all costs, and he had to be sober to do that. He was never one for drinking, so he had no clue what getting tipsy would do to him. The last thing he wanted was for him to slip up and do or say something stupid and not even remember the next morning. He was going to make sure that didn't happen.

Victim was also very focused on nothing going wrong with this party. He took more initiative training the recruits (even though that was technically his job), and he put off all his side projects so he could focus on party planning. It was certainly an odd change of pace.

“How come you're taking on more of the planning? I thought that was more Mitsi's thing.” Despite everything, Agent just couldn't find a way to keep his mouth shut. At this rate he needed to be muzzled while Victim worked.

“Well, it was her thing.” Victim clarified. “Mits has planned the last few company parties, but she got so stressed out planning that she hardly got to enjoy them.” Agent feared Victim would fall, well, victim to the same fate. “I want to give her a bit of a reprieve this year.”

Agent nodded, and Victim continued to sift through bills and paperwork. They were apparently going to spend a lot on catering, the total amount nearing that of his weekly paycheck.

“I think you deserve a break, too.” Victim commented to himself.

Agent turned towards him with surprise.

“What do you mean?” He asked flatly.

“Ballista, Primal, & Hazard are all acting as security for the event. They're quite capable, I don't think you'll need to worry about me while they're on guard.” Victim turned his attention solely to him, and Agent felt as if he was shoved under the burning rays of a spotlight. “You've been to all of these parties, but all you've been able to do at them was stand there while everyone else has fun. That must be miserable.”

Agent pondered that for a moment. He never felt miserable (or anything at all) because of circumstances like this, but he supposed an outside observer might consider his work misery-causing. He normally wouldn't give much consideration to what others might think of him or his life, but this wasn't just any uninformed outsider. This was Victim. He wouldn't want to deny him any wish, but for whatever reason he felt conflicted when that wish was for his own well-being. It should be a win-win. But fulfilling his desire, in this instance, felt like a selfish thing to do.

“It doesn't bother me, really.” Agent answered. “There's no such thing as too much security. I just want to make certain nothing bad happens to you.”

Victim nodded slowly, turning back to the paperwork. “Alright then. If you don't want to take part in it, I won't force you to.” His eyes, independently of the rest of his head, looked towards him once more. “But if you do want to join in on the festivities, be my guest. I'm not going to write you up for having fun at a party.”

Agent let out a noise that could barely be considered a laugh, more akin to a sharp exhale. Despite that, Victim's pupils shrunk a little as his eyes widened, as if the idea that Agent had any sense of humor was the most shocking thing he'd ever heard of. He quickly refocused on the paperwork in front of him, Agent feeling relieved that his front didn't slip once while under his watchful gaze.

The day of the party felt much more stress-inducing than one would expect from such an event. It took a tremendous amount of effort to make the gray walls of the place look like they housed anything more than dread. He did much of the manual labor, carrying boxes and setting up decorations. He figured that if he wasn't going to contribute to the spirit of the celebration, he might as well contribute something through the look of the room itself. A disco floor was installed in the room's center, matching the rest of the decor in its tacky, blinding colors. He was just pinning up a banner on the wall when Victim walked in.

“Could you come down here for a moment?” He called. Agent quickly followed the order. Victim's suit jacket was left unbuttoned, along with the top two buttons of his dress shirt. His tie was also far more loose than he usually wore it, now no longer bordering on choking him. The look was just barely casual enough to make Agent feel overdressed.

“For the last few parties you've been to, I've had you carry some tools with you in case of emergency. I've deemed this to be no longer necessary.” Victim held his hand out. “Please return them to me.”

Agent stared at him for a moment, as if he just grew two heads. He hesitantly obliged, taking out the paintbrush, line tool, key frames, and lasso out of the various hidden pockets in his suit jacket.

“Why don't you want me to have them?” How was he supposed to protect him now?

Victim set the tools aside and pulled something off his wrist. It was a thick black band of indiscernible use, until it landed in his palm and he saw two little icons pop up: a lasso and a line.

“I've made personalized copies of some of the tools in our arsenal. I even found a way to shrink them down for easy access. I figured a solution like this would provide better security for the real things while still allowing you to use something equivalent.”

He stared at the band blankly. He had seen Victim constructing it all this time, but he had never known it was meant for him. He tapped on the lasso icon, making the corresponding tool appear in his hand instantly. It looked noticeably different from the real thing: being blue the entire way through rather than black with blue lining. He tapped the icon again, and it silently slipped back into the band. He hooked it around one of his belt loops, leaving the icons dangling right next to his holster.

“Thank you, sir.” Victim was already gone by the time he spoke, ordering around the rest of the staff who were setting up the party, and leaving his appreciation unheard.

More people filed in, the party nearly reaching its starting time, and Agent tried to not feel hurt. Things seemed to brighten up once Mitsi arrived, handing out paper party hats like it was a child's birthday party. He politely refused one when offered.

The celebration officially started with a long congratulatory speech and the blowing of party poppers, making him lose sight of Victim once people started moving to the dance floor. He scanned the room for him, feeling wildly out of place among the chatting and laughing and dancing. The lively beat of the music failed to improve his mood whatsoever.

He eventually found him at the party's outskirts, downing his drink a bit faster than he ought to. Victim was a bit of a lightweight, he could probably black out after only two drinks. He didn't want this to be a repeat of the last party he attended with him.

He walked up to him. Victim looked a little surprised to see him, looking away and taking another sip once he got close to him.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I just feel like work's been getting to me. I wanna take the edge off.” Agent felt more nervous with every sip he took. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I'm your bodyguard. It's my job.” Maybe his job didn't necessarily entail monitoring his drinking, but the job description mentioned protecting him from any threat towards him, and he personally also counted any threat posed by himself.

“Well you're at a party. A corporate one, sure, but a party nonetheless. You aren't on duty. Why don't you talk with Mitsi?” He pointed towards her as she animatedly chatted up some of the investors present. “Or the mercenaries?” He pointed towards the three of them crowded together, whispering and giggling in a way that told him they weren't planning on doing their job.

Agent shrugged. “I’d prefer sticking with you.”

Victim looked at him curiously as he finished his drink. He scrutinized him for a short moment, one that felt like hours under his eyes. He was starting to feel sweat drip down the back of his neck, something he blamed on the poorly air-conditioned room.

“I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, but…” Victim hesitated, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “How come you’re always wearing those shades? Even indoors?”

Ah, Agent should’ve expected that question. It always came up sooner or later. He made the mistake of thinking Victim didn’t notice or mind, after all this time of him not bringing it up. But apparently not. He was more patient than the others, at least.

Agent sighed. “Long story short, one of my eyes got damaged during a mission and stopped seeing properly. Had to get it replaced if I wanted to keep my job as a sharpshooter. What they gave me is perfectly functional, it’s just a little…unsightly.” There were times he regretted not going to the hospital to get it properly fixed. He rationalized the decision at the time, thinking that, if anything, a mechanical replacement would add to his intimidation factor, as well as being cheaper than surgical reconstruction. It was only later that he recognized the privilege of being able to pass as a normal human being. The shades were only a temporary and flimsy reprieve from the judgement he faced.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Could you show me?” Victim’s words were starting to slur together, his smile becoming a bit more evidently drunken.

Agent stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking to the floor. “It really isn’t necessary.”

Victim’s smile widened a little. “Hey, you showed me the rest of your scars already.” Agent didn’t want to correct him and say that there were more in places he didn’t show him. “I promise I won’t, like, freak out or anything. I’ve probably got worse.”

Agent was hesitant; however, what Victim said was true. It wouldn’t hurt to show him, really.

“If you insist.” Agent slipped off the shades, folding them neatly in his hands and placing them in his pocket. He expected Victim to look at least a little shocked, or worried, or disgusted, but he didn’t. There was an odd sense of wonder in those eyes, faintly reminding him of that tired old trope of a girl taking off her glasses and suddenly becoming beautiful in the eyes of her peers. Interestingly enough, Victim’s attention seemed equally divided between the mechanical eye and the one still intact. Agent didn’t know what was so special about his ordinary gray eye that it competed for attention with the one that was literally cybernetic.

The room looked much brighter without his sunglasses to block out the light. Every color felt so much more vibrant, and the party, for once, actually felt alive. He could see the colors of the room dancing on Victim's face, enhancing the look of childlike wonder that adorned it. Victim had never seen him without his shades, but he had never seen Victim without his shades either. The both of them had an epiphany at that moment.

“Does it have any special abilities? Like, can it record stuff? Or track movement?” Victim asked after too long of a pause.

“No, sir. In practice, it just functions like a normal eye.”

Victim leaned in closer, cupping his hand around his face. He knew the leaning in was just to get a closer look, and the touch was just so he could tilt his head this way and that to get a better angle. But his heart didn't know that apparently, as it jump-started his adrenaline and picked up its pace. He hoped Victim couldn't feel how warm his face was.

“I wonder if I could upgrade it. Put in a zoom tool, or a laser, or, uh, a motion-tracking camera–”

“None of that would be necessary, sir.” Agent would usually refrain from interrupting his excited rambles, but he needed this conversation to be over so Victim could step away and he could breathe again.

“Why not? It'd be cool. Make you even stronger ‘n stuff.” Victim leaned even closer, as if there wasn’t an incredibly short gap between them already. His eyes had a pleading look, like he was asking for the last cookie in the cookie jar instead of asking for permission to add silly sci-fi gadgets to the one thing that gave him depth perception. His answer should be no. It should be very, very easy to say no. It was a ridiculous request. Despite that, his tongue went numb and refused to utter the simple, single-syllable word.

He couldn’t come up with an answer before they were both distracted by an oddly bright flash. He quickly turned in its direction, seeing someone bolt off into the crowded dance floor. He couldn’t quite identify them, as the afterimage of the flash somewhat obscured them. In spite of this, he had his suspicions.

“Goddamn it.” He muttered under his breath as he put his glasses back on. He wasn’t thrilled at the possibility that the photo captured his mechanical eye. He also wasn’t thrilled by the thought of what the photo would be used for. If his own heart was misinterpreting the situation at hand, then an outside perspective would have an even harder time interpreting it correctly. He rid himself of the thought, devoting all of his attention to finding the phantom photographer.

He instead bumped into Mitsi, weaving through the crowded dance floor to witness her twirling with the rest of them. He asked to speak with her privately, and while she had difficulty hearing at first, she eventually got his message and led him to the much less crowded refreshments table.

“What did you want to talk about?” She casually poured herself a cup of punch, looking up at him with intrigue.

“Someone took a photo of Victim and I before running off. I couldn’t catch who it was.”

Mitsi shrugged. “Might’ve been the press. Or the paparazzi.”

“I don’t think paparazzi would be so callous as to leave flash on. And I don’t think the press would be so unprofessional as to not ask permission first. I suspect it might be a party guest.” Agent wasn’t going to name names, but he did side eye a certain trio in the back with suspicion, watching them share hushed whispers next to the DJ booth.

“Well, if that’s the case, there’s not much we can do. It’s not against company policy to take photos at a corporate event. If you’ve got an issue with having the photo taken, you can ask them to take it down or delete it.”

Agent sighed. Sure, it was a sound solution, but he didn’t exactly want another confrontation now, where Victim, Mitsi, and the entire company would bear witness to it. He also had doubts that the photographer would politely delete the photo in peace, especially if they took it for the reasons he suspects.

Victim joined them at the refreshments table, pouring himself a second serving of whatever amber liquid was originally in his cup. He drank over half the cup in one gulp, stumbling a little as he tilted his head back. He looked fairly disoriented as he struggled to stand, Agent stepping closer just in time to catch him as he lost his balance.

“Woah!” Some of the fluid splashed onto his suit, an issue Agent could worry about later. Victim still looked fairly dizzy and confused until he looked up at him, his face melting into a loose, wobbly smile. “Hey there, big guy.”

“I thought I told you not to drink this much.” Agent took the cup out of his hand and set it on the table.

Victim looked disappointed, his bottom lip sticking out in a pitiful pout that was far more adorable than it had any right to be. “Aw, come ooooooon.”

“You wouldn’t want to wake up in the morning regretting it.” Given the symptoms he previously observed from Victim while hungover, he didn’t want Victim drinking any more than he did last time. Even now, he was having a hard time standing, his hands on Agent’s shoulders and Agent's hands around his waist being the only supports keeping him upright.

The music cut out all of a sudden, leaving only the bustling chatter of the party in its wake. Agent looked around confused until he spotted the DJ booth. The DJ in question had stepped away from the booth, Primal offering him a small stack of cash to presumably do so. Hazard manned the booth instead, playing a song that was much slower and jazzier than the previous upbeat hits. Ballista, standing near the two, caught his eye from across the room, flashing him an over the top thumbs-up alongside his obnoxious smile. Agent scowled in return.

“Huh. I don’t think I put this song in the playlist.” Victim was looking up at the hanging speakers, having seemingly missed the entire DJ fiasco. “I like it though.” He looked back towards Agent, his signature confident smile shining through his drunken haze. “Come on. Let’s dance!”

Agent had no time to object as Victim took his hand and dragged them to the dancefloor, Mitsi staring at the two with a look that was both bewildered and scorned. Agent was equally bewildered as Victim put his other hand back on his shoulder and tried to move the two in a waltz-like fashion.

“I don’t know how to dance.” Agent admitted in a hushed, panicked whisper.

“Oh cool. Me neither.” Victim seemed unfrightened by the fact that they were both useless in this department, letting out a drunken giggle. “Mits says I dance like a robot.”

What they were doing currently couldn’t be described as dancing. It couldn’t be described as anything more than Victim stumbling and Agent trying to guide him. Anyone else in the room would likely find it hilarious, or stupid, but at that moment Agent didn’t care. The rest of the room seemed to blur into a mess of lights and colors and sounds, and the only thing that existed at that moment was the two of them. Victim was genuinely smiling, laughing, his professional exterior having completely melted away. His collar must’ve slipped lower in the jostle and the bustle of the party, revealing a faint gray mark above his collarbone.

“You…” Agent stared at it, speechless. “You didn’t cover them up?”

Victim looked down at it too. “Yeah. Didn’t feel like painting over ‘em this time.” Victim looked back up at him, his eyes half lidded. “Apparently, they make me look ‘cool’, or something.”

Agent was starting to feel dizzy and warm. He feared that the booze on his breath was getting him drunk by proxy. Was that how alcohol worked? He didn't know. Despite never drinking a drop of liquor this entire party, having Victim so close was making him feel like he was tipping over the edge of sobriety.

Victim was looking up at him with eyes he could only describe as lovestruck, his cheeks flushed red and his smile whole-hearted. But that couldn't be an indicator of what he actually felt. No, it must’ve been the alcohol's fault. No way in hell did Victim feel anything for him. It was impossible. His mind, despite that fact, still tried to justify thinking there was a real attraction. Even if alcohol was the main fuel for the fire, there must’ve been a real spark that lit it. Maybe Victim had been holding back too, the booze being the thing that crumbled his resolve.

He should push him away. It should be very, very easy to push him away, to leave him and keep him far away for his own sake. But he couldn’t. He had the distinct feeling that he was flying too close to the sun, the melting of his wings imminent, and yet he couldn’t help himself from basking in the sun’s rays. Victim cradled his face in his hand, making his mind malfunction and spiral into justifications and hand-waving explanations. It was far too tempting to forget everything and give into the tantalizing temptation boiling inside of him.

Victim leaned in, making the music fade and the lights dim and the chatter dampen. He, against all better judgement, leaned in too. His breath was warm against his lips, and at that moment that was the only sensation that existed. His eyes slipped closed.

He was confused when an odd light burned through his eyelids, leaving him feeling half-real and weightless. His lips lacked the sweet impact he was expecting, leaving them feeling similarly empty. He tried to open his eyes, but all he could see was a searing green light.

And then, his top half impacted the ground hard, the rest of him still left weightless. Sensation slowly came back to him as he heard people screaming, buildings collapsing and fires burning. He coughed roughly as he crawled forward, the rest of him becoming real and weighed down as he did so. He turned around to see that he crawled out of something that looked like a picture frame, containing a photo of himself when he was younger. An aimless panic ran through him.

A photo was captured that very moment, back at the party. It showed Victim front and center, leaning into a cloud of green sparkles, eyes closed and lips pursed.

Chapter Text

Agent is used to chaos like this. Or, at the very least, he was used to chaos like this. Burning buildings used to be where he thrived, a danger he was very much accustomed to. The months spent in a comparatively comfy office environment must’ve made him grow soft, because now he was feeling true terror, the likes of which he’d never felt before.

He stood up on shaky knees, determined to fight back against the pounding of his heart and the shivers in his spine. He didn’t spend decades growing cold to the troubles of the world just to melt down now. If he couldn’t find a way out of here, he’s as good as dead.

He started to run the minute his legs stopped feeling like pudding. He kept himself busy by searching, hiding, and scouring, looking for any sign of a way back home. He saw more video files falling to the ground, and he helped the sticks trapped inside crawl out of them. Sweet scenes of happy families and loving couples were repeatedly left shattered on the ground as the ones depicted inside ran away in terror. He couldn’t remember all the details of the animation he came from, but he found it notable that he crawled out of that portrait alone, unlike all these little groups. Would it have been so hard for his creator to draw someone alongside him? Someone to protect, someone to look up to, someone to care about?

He heard a sharp cry further ahead, one he distinctly recognised. Mitsi lay dazed on the cracked street, blood streaming down from a wound near her scalp. He rushed to grab her, pulling her up and onto her feet. She looked up at him, confused.

“What are you doing here?” Mitsi’s voice sounded strained, like something was blocking it in her throat. She looked at her surroundings in horror. “...where is “here”, anyway?”

“Some sort of hosting site.” Agent pointed to the broken video on the ground, showing a smiling Mitsi dancing in a field of flowers. “I’m guessing it’s getting attacked by—”

Something shot by, high in the air, so fast that Agent nearly mistook it for a missile. It was too small to be a missile, though. It was a red, thin, amorphous streak in the sky with fire blasting out the end of it like a rocket. It was gone in less than a second, but in that time it shot down a massive fireball that sent a building tumbling to the ground.

“—those two.”

Mitsi nodded. “We need to find a web portal. They must’ve ripped one open in order to get here in the first place. We can use that to escape.” She started running, and Agent ran after her. “It’s hard to miss. It should look like a big, glowing white vortex.”

Alas, there wasn’t much that lacked a glow in this place. Nearly everything on the ground was lit ablaze in a flaming gold or copper color, blending in with the garish orange of the sky. It almost looked like the twin invaders set the entire sky on fire. He’s sure he’d have an easier time finding the portal if it wasn’t glowing at all.

Another rocket flew by, this one black in color. They flew lower to the ground, filling the already ashy air with smoke. Rather than flames like their compatriot, they shot down bolts of ice, some of which freezing the fleeing people to the floor. Mitsi gasped, running towards the nearest iceberg. She grabbed burning pieces of wood, holding them up to the ice in the hopes it would melt it. Agent took out the line tool, using it to bash and chisel away at it faster. He eventually got the bystander free, who graciously accepted the burning debris and used it to melt the frost that was still stuck to their skin.

Agent looked down at the rod in his hands. He was granted it so he could protect someone. But while his job description entailed just protecting one person, these tools could help him protect so many more people. Saving innocent lives was far more objectively admirable than taking the lives of people he never questioned the morality of. Even if they were all reprehensible, was it really that noble of a feat if he was just taking orders from someone who was equally ethically dubious?

He heard the black rocket fly by again, heading in the opposite direction. If he took that killer down, he would save so many lives that it would completely counterbalance the lives he’d taken. He could use his skills for a purpose more worthy than pleasing an uncaring god or an uncaring boss. He could have an actual cause to fight for.

He bolted after the black bolt in the sky, his ears deaf to the cries behind him. He armed himself with his lasso (his lasso, huh? Even now, the idea still felt insane). At this point, they slowed down enough that they more closely resembled a person than a formless weapon of mass destruction. They wore a heavy black cloak that flapped behind them like a massive pair of raven wings. They slowed to a halt, holding their hands above their head as they summoned a gargantuan storm cloud over their head. Agent took the opportunity to swing his lasso upwards, ensnaring the beast’s leg.

They tried to escape, blasting fire from their makeshift shoes even harder. It was all for naught, as they were quickly sent tumbling to the earth with one harsh tug. The flames sputtered out, allowing Agent to see that his lasso had hooked onto a ring of scar tissue that wrapped around their ankle. He almost didn’t notice that their blood-red eyes were rings, as their pupils were so shrunken they were nearly nonexistent. Their terror, their face, their scars, they all looked far too familiar.

They looked too much like Victim.

In his momentary distracted state, the victim killer managed to slip out of the lasso's loop and back onto their feet, charging up a fireball in their hands. Agent quickly snapped out of it and dodged, switching out his lasso for his line tool. He wildly swung at them, his foe dodging every hit except for his last, which they caught in their hand. They swiftly stole the rod away and gave him a solid whack that sent him tumbling to the ground. He definitely heard something crack from the impact, probably a rib considering where most of the pain was.

His assailant stepped onto his chest before he could get up, only increasing the amount of pain in his upper torso. They pressed the tip of it against his chin, tilting his head up so he was forced to face those red rings of death.

“Are you with Noogai?”

The voice was hoarse, low and unnerving like a living death knell. It was rich with volatile hatred, the words corrosive to his ears.

“Who's Noogai?” He flipped through all the bosses he's had in recent history, trying to remember if any of them shared that name.

Wrong answer apparently. They swung at him, shattering his shades and bruising his nose.

“Do you think I'm fucking stupid?! I’d know those tools anywhere!”

Agent summoned his lasso again, causing the rod to disappear from their grasp. Now disoriented, they were far easier to shove off of him. He switched back to the rod, making it thicker and heftier as he increased its pixel width.

“I’m not working with your god, if that’s what you’re asking.” He wasn't all too familiar with religion, but he was aware enough to know that the gods often had strange, archaic names like “Egoraptor” or “Chluaid”. Even if they made man in their image, they hardly gave their creations the same types of odd, bizarre names. “These were made for me by someone else.”

“Don’t lie to me! There’s no such a thing as a benevolent god!” They spat out between blows. “It's honestly sad to see you fighting for those slave owners. Don’t they treat you horribly? Chain you up like a wild animal? Use you as nothing but their pawn?” They managed to catch him in a choke hold. “I came here to liberate you and your people. I would have a much easier time doing so if you stopped resisting.”

“Liberate?! You’re destroying their home!” He clawed at the arm restraining him, making the hold loose enough for him to breathe.

“Look around you. This isn’t a home, it’s a prison. Pillars and pillars of jail cells, where animations are forced to appease their captors for all eternity. Forced to be puppets in their pointless plays. I’m granting you all freedom, why can’t you see that?!”

A rock hit the deranged freedom fighter in the shoulder, weakening their grip enough for Agent to slip out. Once free, he turned to where the rock was thrown from, seeing an entirely enraged Mitsi holding a couple more rocks for good measure. The sight was as terrifying as it was terrific.

The fight continued, Mitsi throwing improvised weapons from afar while Agent attacked them up close. He thought he had them all figured out, how they resorted to throwing out random elemental powers over actual proper fighting techniques. But then, their jaw straight up unhinged like a snake and swallowed the UI Mitsi launched at them whole, leaving Agent bewildered and not knowing what to expect of them.

“Just because some god let you play around with their tools doesn’t mean they have your best interests at heart.”

“Look, I don’t care for the gods either. But this destruction is senseless, it won’t make the gods do anything.” Agent countered both verbally and with a whack to the ribs. Knowing the gods, they would just patch up the damage and pretend it was all a crash caused by a random flash animation being updated.

“Yeah, the gods did nothing for us! They didn’t even give us these tools, we had to make them ourselves!” Mitsi retorted as well.

They stilled, their anger turning into something deeper. ”You made them? You’re making yourselves gods, masquerading as the ones that maimed you?!”

Mitsi hesitated. “W-Well, I didn’t make them, necessarily. Neither did Agent. Those replicas were made for him by someone else.” She was no longer providing backup, opting to not provoke them.

They sent a blast of fire at her feet, a warning. “Who made them, then?”

“Why should we tell you?” Agent went at them again, but they swiftly knocked him to the ground. He didn’t expect someone with a frame that thin to pack so much of a punch.

“Tell me.” A fireball was charged up in their hand, aimed straight for Mitsi. She froze up like a deer in headlights.

“Don’t you dare–” Agent tried to get up and attack them, but the fire was quickly redirected to be aimed at him instead. It burned his eyes and seared his skin, the flaming hand only a few feet away from his face.

“Agent!” Mitsi cried out, her reaching out abruptly paused by their gaze locking back onto her.

“Tell me who made those abominations, or I’ll go ahead and kill the second-greatest traitor to mankind.”

“Don’t tell them.” His voice was strained, hardly audible to himself over the roaring flame. Of all the ways he ever imagined dying, this one was admittingly more honorable. Dying like a martyr in a burning battlefield sounded far more appealing to being shot in a random alley. That fact, admittingly, wasn’t all that comforting in the grand scheme of things, especially since the prospect of being burned alive sounded horribly slow and painful.

Mitsi, perplexingly, looked more terrified by the threat against Agent’s life than the threat against her own. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them.

“I’ll give you to the count of five.” They raised one hand, all five of their gloved fingers extended outward.

“5...” Their thumb hit their palm. “4…”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s not an answer. 3…”

Mitsi stared down at Agent, trembling as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “2…”

“1…” The flame grew brighter and hotter, making Agent turn his face away from it.

“IT’S VICTIM!” Mitsi shouted. Her eyes, despite being closed and blind to the scene in front of her, still streamed tears. The flame shrunk until it dissipated into embers, heat giving way to cold dread. Both of them stared at Mitsi, Agent’s eyes filled with disbelief while the other’s eyes were filled with nothing.

“And tell me, where is this…“Victim”?” They showed nothing but calmness as they stepped closer to Mitsi, who still refused to open her eyes. Agent felt an anger flare up inside him, forcing him upright and making him face the Angel of Death head-on.

“You’ll never find him!”

They turned to face him, annoyed and confused. “What?”

“He isn’t on any website. He isn’t saved in any video file. He isn’t in any of the millions of IP addresses in heaven. You’ll never find him. And even if you do, he’s more powerful than you could possibly imagine. He can bend the universe to his will, erase you from existence in an instant.” Agent had the nerve to get up in their face, sizing them up. “I wouldn’t even try to kill him.”

They silently turned around, walking a few steps in the opposite direction. They showed nothing to even slightly hint at their emotions. That is, until their fists clenched and shook, tightening up their whole body until they let out a visceral screech, launching a fireball at the nearest building. More nonsensical screaming poured from their mouth as they shot out every element in their arsenal at the nearby surroundings. The assault wasn’t targeted towards anything until their eyes landed on Agent again, making them throw a blast of fire right for him.

He isn’t sure if the scream that first tore through the air belonged to him, Mitsi, or both of them. The only thing he is sure of is that every subsequent scream was Mitsi’s. He could hardly hear his own groans of pain over the wailing and clacking of heels. She ran into the flames, her claws sinking into him and pulling him out. She used her dress to smother the flames, unbothered by the fact it was singeing the fabric.

He didn’t look towards Mitsi once through this whole ordeal, his head unable to turn as his blank gaze fixated on his attacker. Fire was streaming from their feet, not enough to propel them away, just enough for them to hover in the sky. They were just floating there, watching, too far away for Agent to pinpoint whatever emotion their face wore. Why weren’t they flying off to cause more destruction? Were they sadistic to the point they wanted to watch him suffer?

Agent only realised then that he didn’t have a name for them. He knew the names of the pair: The Chosen One and The Dark Lord, but he never connected either name to either face. There was no way this disillusioned “savior of the sticks” wasn’t one of them, he just wasn’t sure which one they were. He thought for a moment, then came to the most logical conclusion.

They must’ve been The Dark Lord.

Their words didn’t align with their actions: they said they were saving the people when in reality they were killing them and taking their home. They must’ve been predisposed for evil from the moment they were created, as evidenced by the name. Maybe they came up with this righteous reasoning to help convince The Chosen One, their presumably more charitable compatriot. Maybe they came up with it to help convince themself they were rebelling against their creator’s wishes for them, when in reality they were sticking to their god-given script, nothing more than their code. Maybe they were fully aware of the harm they were doing, and was simply lying to him in an attempt to get him on their side. Whatever the reason may be, it didn’t dismiss their actions at hand: terrorizing the internet, playing with their food, and loving every second of it. Those things they chose to do, no matter what their creator made them for, made them The Dark Lord.

Mitsi hoisted him up into her arms, something he doesn’t think she’d be able to do if she wasn’t aided by adrenaline. He clung to her as she started running, burying his stinging eyes in her shoulder. His shades must’ve been flung off in the blast, he realised. He felt even more vulnerable without them, as if this situation wasn’t leaving him vulnerable enough. All he felt was pain and all he heard were horrors. She must’ve found the portal at some point, because it suddenly became silent. He turned his head a little to find that they were in a grassy field, one he recognised as not being far from Rocket Co.

Mitsi kept carrying him, running for a while until her pace slowed down significantly, the pain and the exertion finally catching up to her. Her hold was faltering more and more with every passing minute. They were just about halfway down the road to where it all began when she couldn’t do it anymore, sitting him down so the both of them could finally rest. The two were enveloped in a long, awkward silence.

“...I’m sorry I–”

“It’s not your fault.” Maybe it was callous to interrupt her, but he knew what she was going to say anyway.

“I know, it’s just…what am I going to tell Vic? His paranoia is just going to get worse if he knows that someone’s actually after him.”

“He’ll be alright. Even if they find him, he’s still one of the smartest, most powerful people in the whole Outernet. He’ll beat ‘em for sure.”

“He’s not that strong, though. He still needs you to be his bodyguard. And if you’re out of commission because you’re injured…that could be dangerous.”

"Just because I'm a bit injured doesn't mean I'm out of commission." His past jobs didn't exactly give him medical leave. Either you show up, or you're fired. Even if Rocket Co. Didn't operate on the same standard, it was the only standard he knew to adhere to.

"You're not just "a bit injured", you can't work like this."

Agent shrugged. “Well, then he could just hire someone else for a bit. Someone stronger, faster, more experienced. Honestly, I don’t know why he even hired me in the first place.”

Mitsi paused, contemplative. After a few seconds, she asked, “Do you want to know why he hired you?”

Agent was taken aback by the question. Admittingly, it was the one question of his that was never answered in all his time working with Victim. But, he didn’t think he’d ever get an answer. The opportunity presented to him made him both excited and nervous.

“Umm…sure?”

“Well, remember when you first visited us? When Rocket Co. was just a little stall on the side of the road?”

“...no, not really.”

“You came in to get your gun repaired. Vic had never even seen a gun before, much less repaired one, so needless to say, you were a pretty memorable customer.” Mitsi looked away, twirling some of her messy hair around her finger. “I…might’ve done a bit of a background check on you after that. I ended up finding out about some of the mercenary stuff you did. So, when Vic mentioned looking for a bodyguard, you were the first person I recommended!”

Agent laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “Well, I mean, all that stuff I did wasn’t exactly…legal.”

“I mean, no matter what it’s used for, fighting prowess is still fighting prowess.”

Agent hummed. He didn’t feel like much of a fighter right now. He was still aching and burning all over, even though the fires had been put out a long time ago. He tried to push through the pain like he’d done a million times before, but his muscles shook and sizzled with every ounce of force he put on them.

“You alright?” Mitsi asked, likely assuming the pain was flaring him up rather than him flaring up the pain.

“I think I can walk.” His leg opted to disprove him, giving out as he tried to stand up. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the pained grunt that escaped his throat. “I just…need to push through it.”

Mitsi grew concerned, guiding him back down and erasing all of his progress. “Walking could aggravate your wounds.”

“A little burn never killed anybody. I’ll be fine.”

Mitsi’s nose scrunched up at how factually wrong that statement was. “Carrying you back to headquarters is the safest option.”

“But you’re hurt too. I don’t want to burden you.”

Mitsi smiled, the one thing in the world right now that made him feel something that wasn’t pain. “You aren’t a burden.”

She picked him up again, trekking down the path at a much slower pace than before. She also took more care while holding him, her hands placed carefully to provide support while avoiding raw, burning skin. It was, for the first time since that party crashed, quiet. Not even the birds chirped, the only sound was Mitsi’s dreary footsteps. It wasn’t bright and blinding, and the only things in the sky were gray, mourning clouds. Anyone else would find the sight depressing, but Agent found it nice. Calm, even.

He subconsciously relaxed into Mitsi’s hold. It was probably a selfish thing to do, since Mitsi was doing this out of mere dire necessity, but it was also the first time he’s been held in a long, long time. Sue him. At least he hadn’t fallen asleep in her arms…yet. His eyelids were getting more and more heavy by the minute.

Agent could see it, the shimmering windows of the Rocket Co. headquarters in the distance. He could hear the distant wails of ambulances, although he couldn’t find their distinct blinking lights. Mitsi’s steps were slowing to a crawl, and he could feel her arms shaking underneath him. As much as Mitsi insisted he wasn’t, he was weighing her down, and both of them knew it.

“Maybe…we should rest.” Agent almost suggested that Mitsi leave him behind and save herself, but he knew how she’d react to that.

“No.” Mitsi held onto him tighter, as if that would convince him she still had ample strength left. “Every second we sit around is a second your wounds aren’t getting treated. I can’t let you die here just because I’m exhausted.”

“Didn’t you just tell me you shouldn’t exert yourself if you’re hurt?”

“I…” She sucked in a breath through her teeth, then continued to speak through them. “...am a strong, independent woman. I can do this.” Maybe Agent should feel a bit hurt for accidently insinuating that she wasn’t, but he also felt that that comment was directed more towards herself than him. He was quite familiar with using pep-talks to push through the pain, after all.

Her next step wobbled dangerously, but not enough for her to fall over. “...maybe.”

Agent tried his best to keep himself steady, to not add to her instability. They were both run ragged by the time they reached the building’s entrance, where people were gathering and panicking. The press was there too, unfortunately, meaning they were swarmed with microphones and cameras and flashes and questions hurled so fast they sounded like ringing to his ears. Someone shoved through the crowd, an equally disheveled Victim with red eyes and a wet face. His drunken stupor matched Mitsi’s exhausted one, although seemingly stable enough to scoop Agent into his arms and finally let Mitsi collapse.

He did nothing but hold him close, repeatedly muttering “Thank the gods you’re alright.” Even if he wasn’t in a good headspace, those words still felt significant. He never heard him thank the gods before.

The next thing he knew, he was laid in a stretcher, Victim holding his hand until he was loaded into the ambulance and he couldn’t reach him anymore. The doors were closed and he was driven off, exhaustion finally creeping up on him and sleep taking over.

He woke up in a hospital bed, swarmed by unfamiliarity. The air hung with the sharp scent of hand sanitizer, the hospital gown brushed strangely against his scorched skin, and there was a frankly unreasonable amount of tubes and machines hooked up to him. The one thing that reassured him through this alien experience was that the bill was definitely going to be covered by Rocket Co. He didn’t have that reassurance before, hence why he usually avoided going.

Victim was asleep in one of the chairs near the bed, his eyes still rimmed by dark circles and his hair still a mess. Agent only realised then that he didn’t know how long he was out for, nor how long Victim was here waiting for him to wake up. The thought was as comforting as it was disheartening. He didn’t want Victim wearing himself thin for him.

Nevertheless, he woke up, a slight light in his eyes as he saw that he was awake and well. He walked towards him, and Agent sat upright, finding that the action wasn’t as painful as it was before. Whatever painkillers they gave him, they must’ve been working.

“Feeling better?” Victim asked, a weariness to his voice hidden under its professionalism.

“Mhm. Shouldn’t be too long ‘till I can head back to work.”

Victim’s voice grew deadly serious. “You almost died, and your first priority is getting back to work? Seriously?”

“...yeah? I can’t just leave you unprotected. What kind of a bodyguard am I?” There was a hidden, irrational fear in that sentence, that Victim would fire him when he realises he can’t just pay someone to sit around, out of commission. He likely wouldn’t, but he’d still feel guilty for draining his pocketbook.

“...Mitsi warned me about this.” Agent’s confusion must’ve been blatantly obvious, so Victim elaborated, “She said you don’t…“prioritize yourself”, in her words. You put others' needs before your own, neglecting your own suffering.” A silence hung in the air. Agent never considered that a bad thing.

Victim clasped his hands together. “You know what? I’m not letting you return to work.” Agent’s eyes widened in shock, yet Victim continued. “You’re getting paid time off until you fully recover. And I mean fully. If you return to work wounded, you’re just running the risk of getting yourself hurt even more.” Agent found it odd that he mentioned the risk it posed to him over the risk it posed to Victim himself. “Even if the hospital discharges you, you aren’t going back to guarding me until Mitsi and I can verify you’re properly healed. If you can’t treat these severe wounds seriously, then I am going to make you treat them seriously. Is that understood?”

Agent had to take a moment to even process the rant. He had never seen Victim so angry before, much less at him. Yet at the same time, it was an anger born from care, from a want to see him not self-destruct into oblivion. Neither Victim or Mitsi had ever been this bossy or demanding, but this was a distinctly different kind of demanding than his past employers (it definitely wasn’t causing something to stir inside him).

“...y-yes, sir.” The response sounded so meek that his face flushed with embarrassment. Victim relaxed at his response, his temporary domineering demeanor gone (and he definitely wasn’t mourning the loss of it, goddamn it Agent pull yourself together).

“I’ll have to go soon. I have a meeting to schedule regarding these…recent happenings. Before I go, though, there’s something I want to ask you.”

Agent inquired, “What is it?”

Victim cupped his face in his hand, looking him in the eye with a rarely seen worry. “...who hurt you two?” His tone held both a horror and a righteous anger, one very similar to when Agent bore witness to Victim’s injured state. There was that similar strive within him, Agent could bet, the one that could drive someone to kill a god if they had to. Agent felt it was only right to give him his best guess.

“...The Dark Lord.”

Chapter Text

Recovering sucks.

That was the one thought that passed through Agent’s mind as he laid back in his bed. He's been blessed with hours upon hours of free time ever since Victim put him on break, but he found it hard to enjoy the privilege of such time when he had nothing to do to spend it. All he's been doing so far is working on puzzles and watching TV, but it’s only been a week and a half and those menial tasks have already lost their splendor. So, he lazily laid on his bed, bored and aimless.

He wished he could watch Victim working right now. There was a quiet precision to every movement he made, every blueprint he drew being a puzzle unto itself; indecipherable to him but understood perfectly by Victim. He also wished he could attend one of Mitsi’s meetings. There was an enthusiasm behind every word she said, her explanations and instructions far more entertaining than any TV station, even if they weren't meant to be heard by him. He’s sure anyone else would find those activities uninteresting, and he’s sure he’d also find them unengaging if they were performed by anyone else. There was just something special about those two that brought beauty to the mundane. He thought getting to know them both would’ve made his appraisement of them diminish to a more standard expectation. And yet, he still admired them just as much as he did back then.

He shook his head, hating that the red in his face could not be simply excused as a burn anymore. He shouldn’t be wasting his time fantasizing like a teenager. Indulging now would only make his feelings a worse problem later. The situation with Mitsi could’ve been nipped in the bud way earlier, but now those feelings have blossomed into just as much of an invasive weed as his wanting for Victim. At this rate, these feelings were never going away, and he would just have to suffer through this unreturned yearning forever.

Then he thought about it a little more. If all this…love nonsense was just going to haunt him for eternity, what was the harm in…letting himself feel it? He was in the privacy of his apartment, he didn’t have anyone else to keep up performances for. Despite his previous comment on the matter, getting to be a stupid, hormonal teenager was a luxury few got to have. He, just like most other people in this world, was “born” a fully developed adult. He never got the chance to pine for playground crushes, and he never let himself engage in the mature equivalent. He had time to waste, so why not use it to make up for lost time?

The noise of the TV caught his attention. It was on this entire time, but he stopped paying attention to the ancient rom-com it was rerunning a long time ago. Now; however, it piqued his interest. He sat up, watching the movie intently. He had no context for what was happening, but he could see that the girl was inching her hand closer to the boy’s own, eventually slipping her fingers through his.

Victim hadn't been painting himself recently, leaving the calluses and scars on his hands plainly visible. Despite his likely insistence that they wouldn't feel nice to hold, Agent would think otherwise. His hands would feel warm, whole, and human, each “defect” telling a story that the paint would otherwise cover up. He could vividly imagine running his thumb across his knuckles, adding a comforting motion to the affectionate, yet stationary gesture.

Unlike Victim, Mitsi’s hands were untouched by the ministrations of manual labor. She took great care to keep them moisturized and manicured, her nail polish hardly ever chipped. She rotated through a wide assortment of pastel colors, although she seemed to gravitate towards greens. If her fingers intertwined with his, there was certainly a possibility of those talons scratching or sinking into the back of his hand. But Agent wouldn’t mind, because her hands would feel so soft that it wouldn’t even matter.

His thoughts wandered back to the TV again, where the music was swelling and the two leads were staring at each other intently. They inevitably drew closer, kissing methodically like they had done it a thousand times before. They probably had done it a thousand times before. It was practically a requirement to be an actor, considering how many movies featured pointless kissing scenes just like this one. Despite the banality of it all, it made him think.

Victim’s lips were in a near constant state of being cracked, but slathered in chapstick to help cover up that fact. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what flavor it was, but it was likely something sweet and fruity. He was surprised when he first found out Victim had a sweet tooth, the day Mitsi brought in candy for some random celebration, and he couldn’t keep his hands off the stuff. He also learned that day that he tries to avoid bringing sweets to work for that very reason: he couldn’t help himself. He caught him absentmindedly licking his lips a couple times, likely to savor the chapstick flavor and nothing else. Kissing him would undoubtedly give him a sugar rush, artificial flavor staining his tongue and his lips.

Back on the screen, the girl continued to pepper the boy in kisses, cutting to a shot of the boy’s face nearly smothered in lipstick marks. While he knew makeup had certainly advanced in the past 20 years, he couldn’t help but wonder if Mitsi’s lipstick was similarly adhesive. He wondered if her kisses would leave gray marks on his face, a claim to her territory that would make everyone know he was hers. The thought made him dizzy. She had a similar knack for sweetness, more focused on full desserts rather than small pieces of candy. In particular, she really liked vanilla: she could rant for hours about how it wasn’t “plain” or a “default flavor”. Even if it wasn’t his personal favorite, he’s sure he could be convinced otherwise if he tried it on her lips.

He hid his face in his hands, letting out a groan. What was the point of all this? He was just sitting around, flipping back and forth between two hypothetical futures that could not coexist, unable to choose one over the other. He couldn’t be satisfied with either best case scenario, knowing he just as equally wanted what was available on the flipside. He didn’t know how his desires weren’t conflicting with each other, how these equal and opposite forces weren’t tearing each other apart. It would be so much easier if one attraction was objectively stronger, or objectively more correct. Like in the movie, where the “bad boy” was clearly the option the writers were gearing towards. But those two were the two most important people in his life; he couldn’t live with himself if he chose one over the other.

Just then, in the movie, the “childhood best friend” walked in on the two, bearing witness to the things she did with the boy. He was yelling, talking about the plans they made for today and how she couldn’t keep stringing him along. The other was bewildered, asking her why she was messing with other men when they were already dating. The girl was cornered by both men and their shared demand: commit to them and leave the other behind. She looked back and forth between the two of them, one hand in each of theirs. She was…holding both of their hands at once.

Was that even something a person could do? Date two people at the same time? The concept seemed absurd, yet intriguing. No party would be left heartbroken, no wish would be left unfulfilled. He wouldn’t be breaking apart the home they already made for themselves; rather, he’d only add to it. He would protect them both, and they would both cherish him in return. Maybe they would flip-flop, him going out with Mitsi one day and Victim the next, appearing to the rest of the world like normal, two person couples. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they would both hold his hands, leaving neither cold or empty. Maybe they would both kiss him, dividing and conquering ‘till they left no part of his face untouched. Maybe they would both lead him to bed and–

Mitsi entered the room, unceremoniously forgetting to knock. He was jolted back to the real world, his face on fire as he searched frantically for the remote.

“No way, is that No Sticks Attached?”

By the time he found the remote and shut off the TV, it was too late. He shrunk in on himself and let out a half-pitiful “...maybe?”

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed! I like rom-coms too!” Mitsi reassured him, completely oblivious to his current dilemma. Agent figured he should play along. Yes, he was embarrassed because he was watching a stupid movie, and definitely not because he was having strange and specific fantasies about his boss and her business partner. Gods, why did he even let himself do that? All he could think about when he looked at Mitsi was all his stupid wants, all the stupid things he wanted her to do to him. He gripped the bedsheets, perhaps a literal response to his brain telling him to get a grip. He forced his face to stay neutral, constantly reminding himself to just play it cool, you don’t want to embarrass yourself further.

Mitsi walked into the room, allowing Agent to catch a glimpse of something she was holding behind her back. He couldn’t make out much, but he did see a small black box and a piece of paper.

“What are you holding?”

“Oh! I wanted to give you something.” Mitsi unhelpfully explained. She instead opted to show him rather than tell him, holding out a “Get Well Soon!” card and the aforementioned box. Now that he had a closer look at it, it more closely resembled a rectangular prism, roughly the length of his hand. He took the card first, more admiring the graceful cursive than actually reading the words it was composed of. He opened it to find a short but sweet heartfelt note, as well as a dose of potent floral perfume.

“You like it?” Mitsi asked, and Agent nodded in response. “Thanks! I made it myself. I always thought those store bought cards were a bit too impersonal.” He recognised the paper as being sourced from Mitsi’s stache of stationary she keeps in one of her office drawers. It rarely got used outside of company flyers or notices she sometimes left on the communal office corkboard. He wondered if the scent was purposeful or if the paper was simply infected by mere exposure to Ms. “There’s no such thing as too much perfume” Mitsi.

She handed him the box, and he set down the card to take it next. He opened it up to find a pair of sunglasses: his pair of sunglasses. They had the same rims, same shape, even the same level of transparency. He put them on, feeling a sense of comfort and normalcy he thought he had long since lost.

“There’s something special about this pair. Go ahead and tap the side of ‘em.” Mitsi tapped her temple, mimicking the motion even though she wasn’t wearing any.

He followed her instructions, surprised to see glowing cyan UI at the top of one of the lenses, the one in front of his cybernetic eye. He closed his organic eye to get a closer look, seeing the word “Zoom” next to a meter reading “100%”.

“There’s also a little scroll wheel on the side there. You can use that to change how much you’re zoomed in or out.”

He experimented with it a little, looking at various objects in the room and zooming in on them. He was too distracted to notice Mitsi moving around the room, getting jumpscared by the sight of her hand suddenly jumping into frame to grab a snack out of the pantry.

He turned off the zoom and opened his other eye. “Did Victim add the feature?”

“Yeah. He said it was like “upgrading your eye without risking damaging it”, whatever that means.” Agent realised that conversation would sound insane to anyone not aware of the context. Mitsi casually chomped down on her snack (specifically, a granola bar) while explaining this, so Agent figured she was too used to his antics by now to be bothered by it. “I could ask him to remove it, if you’d just want normal sunglasses.”

“No no, I like this.” He wished he could’ve had something like this back when he was a sharpshooter.

She quickly finished the bar, moving over to the trash can to throw away the wrapper. She paused, doing a double take and looking back towards the trash can, staring at its contents suspiciously.

She started fishing through the blank documents, taking them out of the bin. “Why are you throwing these away? These are perfectly good templates–” She saw something at the bottom, giving her pause. Agent couldn’t see it, but he instantly knew exactly what it was. He bolted up off the bed and rushed over, but he was too late to stop her from picking up a torn shred of the damned letter.

He snatched it out of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing!” The sentence did the opposite of its intended purpose.

“If it’s really “nothing”, why are you being so secretive about it?” She tried to reach for the scrap, but Agent held it above his head, firmly out of reach. One of the few benefits to being tall, he supposed.

Mitsi quickly realized her plan wasn’t working, instead opting to return to the trash can to find more scraps. Agent grabbed the bin and tried to tug it away from her, but she grabbed the bin too and kept a tight hold on it. There was a short tug-o-war match until one of their grips slipped and the contents of the bin were spilled all over the floor. He quickly moved to scoop up as much of the letter as he could, while Mitsi picked up one piece with both hands and simply stared at it in horror.

“Give it back.” Agent reached out, but Mitsi shrank away from him.

“Why would you tear up a letter from your secret admirer?” Mitsi was mainly distraught, although he could tell there were many other emotions burning under the surface of that sentence.

“I, well…it’s, it’s complicated.” Agent was at a loss for words. He just wanted the floor to swallow him up and get him out of this situation.

“Just tell me!”

“I…” Agent didn’t want to talk about this, but alas, Mitsi was adamant. “I tore it up because…because it’s not from my secret admirer.”

All previous distress left Mitsi’s face, leaving her simply confused. “...what do you mean? It says “Your Secret Admirer” right here.”

Agent let out a heavy sigh. “If you let me explain, will you give me that piece back?”

Mitsi hesitated for a few seconds, findling with the scrap in her hand. “Sure.”

She handed him the piece, and then he put the piece in the pile with the others. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. Or fire anyone over this.”

Mitsi’s confusion only grew. “...okay?”

Agent massaged the bridge of his nose, sighing again. “It all started with Ballista. Ever since he was brought on, he’s been teasing me about this supposed…“crush” I have on Victim.”

“...uh huh.” Mitsi muttered.

“It was mostly lighthearted jabs for a while. Then he insisted on…pranking me with it. Putting post-it notes on the company corkboard. Changing a dinner reservation to someplace more “romantic”. That letter was the only one he actually put effort into. I would’ve thought it was genuine if it weren’t for how juvenile and over-the-top it was. He mostly stopped after I confronted him about it, but he’s recently taken up trying to “catch” us being “mushy”, in his words.”

“Hm…” Mitsi was deep in thought. “So you’re saying you think this letter was part of some…prank? To embarrass you?” Agent nodded. “Did you get any evidence of this?”

“He was acting really sly about the whole thing. Like he was in on it.”

“But did he admit that he made it?”

“...no. But, then again, he isn’t the type of person to own up to this crap.”

Mitsi looked down at the scraps at Agent’s feet. “Even if you’re convinced he has a motive, I don’t know if he necessarily has the means.” She pointed at the neat, delicate lettering. “His handwriting is barely legible as it is, I don’t think he could pull this off.”

Agent looked down too, not wanting to acknowledge that she was admittingly right. “So you’re saying…you think Victim wrote this?”

Mitsi’s face scrunched up at the suggestion. “Just because it’s not Ballista doesn’t mean it’s automatically Victim. There’s thousands of people in this company that could’ve written that letter. This secret admirer could be anyone, really.” She scratched the back of her head awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “Whoever it is, though, I think they meant what they said genuinely. It seems like a lot of effort was put into this, too much for it to just be a “prank”. They might feel a bit hurt if they found out you tore up their heartfelt letter like that.”

Agent shrugged. “I don’t know what they expected. Childish gestures like this don’t always fly in the adult world.”

“Hey, some of us never got to be children, y’know? There’s no age limit on being a hopeless romantic.” She tried to come off as playful, but there was a clear hurt behind the sentence.

To be fair, the Agent from 15 minutes ago would’ve agreed with her. Unfortunately, that Agent was a delusional lovesick freak that could not be trusted on any line of logic.

“Well, it doesn’t matter.” Agent picked up the scattered blank documents, preparing to put them back in the bin before Mitsi glared at him. He reluctantly handed the papers back to her. “Don’t you have a meeting around now?”

Mitsi looked up at the clock, shocked by the fact that it was apparently closer to 12:30 than she thought. “Oh, right! I’ll get going, sorry to bother you.” She quickly got up and headed for the door.

“You’re never a bother.” The statement slipped out before Agent could even think up the thought. It gave Mitsi pause, making her turn around in the doorway and smile back at him.

“Thank you.” He’s heard those words a thousand times, but never like this. Even when the door closed behind her, the phrase seemed to echo in his head, as if his entire skull was empty except for those two words. They bounced around aimlessly until his brain returned to its cavity, shoving out the words and telling him to get ahold of himself.

He looked at the shredded pile of paper on the floor, the remains of something that someone, somewhere must’ve poured their whole heart into. He’d call it cowardly to not even put a name or a face to such a declaration of love, but by that logic, he was even more of a coward for not declaring anything at all. He’s sure that if he had just a little less shame, he might’ve made a similar letter himself, asking for a “double partnership” or whatever the hell he was wishing for earlier. It felt wrong to throw it in the trash again, especially with nothing to cover up what he’d done to it. He picked up the pieces and spread them on the counter, flipping them right-side up and moving them into alignment. Then, he rummaged around his drawers until he could find a tape dispenser.

The next morning, Victim was settling into his office to start working. Agent’s schedule usually meant that he would already be here by now, but Victim felt that Agent’s nearly 14 hour work day might be a bit much to put on a temporary replacement, even if they got a similar pay. For the time being, he’s been rotating through the mercenaries, leaving two on duty while one of them guards him. Hazard, so far, seemed the best suited for the role, perhaps less out of merit and more due to the others’ ineptitude. He would likely be the best candidate to take the role if he ever had to replace Agent.

Victim cringed at the mere thought. He could never replace Agent. Hazard could stand there and look out for him just fine, sure, but Agent would actually keep him company. He would ask questions, have polite conversation, and listen to him with actual interest. And above all else, he would make him feel safe. That meant much more to him than what was probably normal, because even in safety he never felt security. The looming threat of the hand of god was constantly in the back of his mind, for years on end. Mitsi reassured him and helped work him through it, of course, but it was only when Agent arrived that the nightmares finally stopped. Because if there ever was a man that could kill a god, it was him.

He'd usually consider himself a logical man, but he apparently wasn't when it came to Agent. He caught on quite quickly that his feelings towards the man weren't entirely professional. He tried to tell himself that he didn't just hire him as eye candy, but there was admittedly an allure to the tall, well-mannered man that may or may not have swayed his decision. That allure may have also swayed many other decisions, like the decision to open up to him or the decision to tease him. There was part of him that wanted to swoop in and make him his while he was out of commission, when there wasn't a contract acting as a wall between them. But he refrained. Agent's been through enough grief already, he didn't want to add to that by springing such an obligation on him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. It would be reasonable to guess that they belonged to Hazard, as he was next up for bodyguarding duty. Victim couldn't help but worry, though, watching the door with caution.

His worries only increased when a well-dressed woman walked through the door. She looked similar to Hazard, same light gray bun and dark gray skin, but wearing a knee-length skirt instead of pants. He simply stared, unsure of what to say until she spoke up.

“...it was my turn to guard you, correct?” She spoke in what was clearly Hazard's voice, maybe just a tone or two higher.

Everything suddenly became clear, making Victim relax tremendously. “Yes yes, you just surprised me. I didn't expect you to come in this early.”

Hazard nodded, stepping inside and leaning against a random wall. She stood perfectly statuesque, only the occasional tilts of her head and flits of her eyes showing that she was still alive.

Ah, that's right. He thought to himself. This must be one of her “girl days”.

Hazard was actually genderfluid, although she was the one you’d least expect to be queer. She was never one for expressing extremes in everyday life, even though her powers could let her do incredible things. Those powers were similar to Ballista’s and Primal’s, able to modify her own body to excessive degrees and summon strange weapons out of seemingly nowhere. When he’s seen her split into two separate people and create actual nukes out of thin air, changing her body to look more feminine once in a while was the least bizarre thing she’s done. She didn’t even change much, moreso just switching from looking like a “default businessman” to a “default businesswoman”. He supposed it suited her personality, or rather, her lack of one. She had all the professionalism of Agent with none of the cracks exposing a softer interior.

Victim got to work, hours crawling by until he could spot the sun on the horizon, starting to rise. His stomach grumbled uncomfortably, so he reluctantly opted to mitigate it with some candy. Hazard, for the first time in this whole interaction, spoke up.

“Where did you get those?”

“They’re leftovers from the party. A lot of it went unused, so I’ve occasionally snuck some to snack on.”

“Makes sense.” Hazard looked to the floor for a bit. “...I’m sorry everything went so…horribly wrong that day. You must’ve worked hard on that party.”

Victim shrugged. “I’m less worried about the celebration, and more worried about everyone who got hurt. The ones who came back looked like they went through hell, and a lot of them didn’t come back at all.” He remembered the state his Agent was left in, bloodied and bruised and burned, barely even alive. He was so happy and so horrified to see him, shocked by the state he was in but also so thankful he was there at all. He got to hold him, for just a few seconds, witnessing how those tired eyes looked so relieved to see him too.

It was only when Hazard spoke up again that Victim realized he zoned out at all. “Yeah, a lot of us had family in that crash. My brother survived, but he had to be put in a wheelchair.” Hazard looked at him properly, and he could spot a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “Then again, I hadn’t seen my family in ages. I can’t imagine how much worse it would be to have someone you’re in love with get caught up in all that.”

Victim did a double take, looking back at Hazard confused. “What are you talking about?”

Hazard looked at him with a similarly confused look. “You and your bodyguard?”

Victim felt his face heat up. He wished he’d painted his face earlier, so that way his blush wouldn’t be as obvious. “What! I’m not dating Agent.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I mean, even if you two aren’t official, it’s still obvious you like each other.”

“How?” Despite how stupid and embarrassing this conversation was, he was interested to know what made her believe the feeling was mutual.

“Uhh…didn’t you two kiss at that party?”

Victim would’ve preferred she just sucker punched him in the gut, because that's what it felt like, and at least then he’d have an excuse for being this upset. “I-It wasn’t—I was drunk, he was drunk! And he disappeared before it even happened! It doesn’t count.”

Hazard narrowed her eyes. “You had…two beers. That’s barely even tipsy. I don’t think there’s anything stopping you from doing it sober.”

“Look–” Victim wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just, no more talking about this, okay?! That’s an order.” He rarely ever pulled that card, even though he was one of the highest ranks in the company. He usually let Mitsi send out orders because they always came out sweeter through her mouth.

“Alright, boss.” There was a clear nonchalance to her attitude that told him she wasn’t taking him seriously. By shutting the conversation down, he basically admitted defeat. But with the way the conversation was going, there was no way he could possibly win. It was an impossible argument to make, like trying to convince someone that 2 + 2 = 5. Both of them knew the truth, and yet the argument still happened because he didn’t want her to know about it. He wasn’t sure if she was much of a gossiper, but whether or not she was, rumors like this had a way of growing. And if this rumor ever made its way to Agent, well, that would be disastrous.

Victim pulled out his laptop, hoping to update something in the company’s systems. However, everything he clicked on didn’t seem to work. He was being sent to blank pages, text boxes were glitching out, and it was like the whole interface was crumbling in front of him. With a heavy sigh, he shut the laptop and stood up.

“Something’s up with the company servers. I’m going to check up on them.”

Hazard looked at him, confused. “Shouldn’t you send someone else to do it?”

“I made those servers. If there’s something wrong with them, I can fix it.” Hazard simply nodded and opened the door for him, walking behind him once he left the room.

He stalked through the silent halls, his anxiety only creeping higher with every odd sound he heard. Some were definitely something mechanical, electric sparking and metallic scraping, but there were others he didn’t recognise at all, and those scared him the most.

He opened the door to the server room, surprised to find it a fair amount warmer than the rest of the office. The sound of fans whirring seemed to consume the whole room. He reached out to touch one of the servers, but flinched back when it burned his fingers like a hot stove. He heard more of those noises further back, something snapping and sizzling. He let Hazard walk ahead of him, both of them inching forward with caution. She summoned a sign in her hands (with the fairly relevant message “KEEP OUT”), holding it in front of her defensively. Eventually, they both found the source of the noise, surprised to find it was…

“...a robot spider?”

Well, maybe spider wasn’t the right word. Neither was insect. This…red thing only had four legs, meaning it didn’t match either definition. It also didn’t have eyes or antennae, just a massive body with mandibles and long, spindly legs.

It bit through the server’s wires with ease, breaking it down until it was reduced to atoms. Victim could only stare in horror as the loose ones and zeros that once constituted those wires faded away, becoming nothing more than dust in the wind.

Hazard immediately swung at the pest, which caught her sign on impact, ripping it from her grip and pulverizing it instantly. Caught off guard, she quickly summoned more things to throw at it: falling rocks, corrosive acid, even making the floor wet so it would slip and fall. No option did much against it, it was either too fast to hit or it bit through any attack before it could hit it. Victim quickly ran out of the room, knowing people had already come in to work and that he’d have to tell them to evacuate. He searched everywhere for an emergency alarm, although his search was briefly halted by the sound of the creature bursting through the server room windows. Hazard seemed to almost have a handle on it, but even she, one of the strongest mercenaries in the company, couldn’t put a dent in its shell.

Victim eventually found the fire alarm, pulling it without much thought. The noise seemed to agitate the creature, at least temporarily, as it quickly switched tactics to shooting out disintegrating spikes. Victim ran and hid as the spikes tore holes in the walls and shredded holes in the floor. The creature spat out some sort of synthetic web, trapping Hazard against the wall. Victim was left entirely defenseless, even more so as the thing spat the same sticky substance at his leg, gluing him to the floor. Everything felt entirely hopeless as the robot grew long knives out of its “hands”, inching closer until it was trapped in the loop of a lasso and flung across the room. Victim looked up in surprise to find his Agent holding the other end of it, panting heavily but keeping up a fighting stance.

Agent didn’t expect to wake up this morning to the sound of alarm bells. He evacuated like everyone else, but when he looked back at the building he saw massive holes rather than fire or smoke. He felt an equal mix of confusion, curiosity, and terror, the latter of which only exacerbated by a flash of silver in the “window”, along with a red demon chasing it in hot pursuit. He, to the shock and horror of the rest of the employees, ran back towards the nearly collapsing building. Terror made way for anger, the two high-adrenaline emotions easy to swap with each other. He ran his way up the stairs until he found the critter, capturing it and flinging it against the wall as soon as it came into sight.

The thing was quick to scurry back up, but was having difficulty biting through the lasso that currently ensnared it. He took the opportunity to tie it up, binding it to the leg of a nearby desk. He took the time he now had to look for Victim, finding him stuck to the floor nearby. He looked up at him like he did when he first saw him fight. He took out a pocket knife and got to work, ridding his shoes of the filth that covered them.

The lasso didn’t buy them much time, as the spider quickly chewed through the cord and caused the rest of its bits to scatter. Victim winced, although he quickly realised the danger to his life and wriggled himself free of his webby restraint. He quickly ran off and Agent quickly armed himself with his line tool, swinging at the thing with wild abandon. It launched more of its spikes out, Hazard managing to catch one and use it to dissolve the webbing that trapped her. Now back in commission, she took it by surprise and attacked it from behind, sending it flying across the room.

The two of them continued to tag team it, Agent more or less distracting it while Hazard fired up her wild card attacks. It was a fairly even match until Hazard straight up turned into a car and ran it over, breaking two of its limbs. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop in time, and she ended up falling through one of the holes in the floor and crashing into the floor below. Agent attacked the creature while it was vulnerable, bashing it until its exoskeleton split open, revealing the garish machinery inside. Really, it looked like it was made of more rust than metal. It’s a miracle the thing even worked.

Hazard eventually made her way back up, looking quite disheveled from the crash. She stared at what remained of the room in horror (even though the destruction was partially her fault, desks don't take well to being run over). Agent wasn’t afforded much peace at that moment, as he very quickly realised that Victim was still missing. He left quickly, and without a word, heading to the first place he thought Victim would hide.

Agent opened the door to his office, finding it perfectly in order and supposedly empty. The only thing off in the room, visually at least, was the fact that the chair was way off to the side, closer to the wall than the desk and rotated oddly. Despite the visual lack of life in the room, he could still hear someone inside. Crying. Agent hesitantly made his way to the source of the noise, walking around the desk to find Victim curled up underneath it, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“...Vic?” He looked up slightly at the calling of his name, only raising his head from his folded arms enough for the eyes to be revealed and nothing else. Said eyes were bigger than he’s ever seen them, pupils threatening to eclipse his darkened irises entirely.

Agent knelt down, awkwardly shuffling until he fit himself under the desk too. The position wasn’t exactly comfortable on his neck and back, but he could bear through it for Victim.

“...is it gone?” Victim hesitantly asked, lifting his head a little more so his mouth was visible.

“Yes.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Good.” He wiped his tears away with his forearm, hesitated for a few seconds, then asked, “...why were you in the office, anyway? I thought you were making good use of your vacation.”

Agent winced. He forgot about that entirely. “I thought you were in trouble, so I rushed in to help.” He shrunk in on himself a little too. “I’m sorry I disobeyed orders.”

Victim’s eyes widened a little. “No no, it’s fine! You saved my life back there! I’m not going to write you up for saving my life.” He went quiet for a bit, clearly deep in thought. “I’ll find some way to reimburse you later, for having to come in while injured.”

“I’m not that injured. I’m mostly recovered by now.”

Victim regarded him with suspicion. “Are you sure? Let me see.”

Agent was a little annoyed he didn’t trust his own self assessment, but he supposed most people who knew him wouldn’t trust it either. Unless he was bleeding his guts out or missing a limb or something, he usually downplayed the damage as “just a scratch”, or said he’ll just “walk it off”. It was…not the best habit, now that he thought about it.

Cautiously, he unbuttoned his shirt, shedding it and his jacket at the same time. Victim crawled closer, closely analysing the clear red marks that still lined his torso, back, and arms. There were some areas where the burning was worse, where dead skin flaked and peeled back. Victim eyed them with a look that showed both sympathy and pity. This whole encounter was starting to feel very familiar, only with the roles reversed.

Perhaps without even thinking, his hand moved to touch one of the burns at his side. He flinched slightly, sucking in a breath through his teeth to express his pain in the quietest way possible. Victim’s hand quickly jolted back, as if it too had been burned.

“They…they look like they're doing better.” Victim admitted. “Maybe I'll just have you wait a few more days before having you return to work.”

“Good, good.” Agent was relieved the end date on his torment was coming up soon.

There was an odd pause, with Victim looking down at the ground. “You…you can put your shirt back on now.” He muttered under his breath. Agent must’ve been seeing things, maybe an afterimage of that ghastly crimson spider, but it almost looked like there was a faint dusting of red on his cheeks.

Brought back to his senses, Agent quickly shuffled back into his clothes. Victim’s eyes were fixed on the floor, even though he wasn’t going to catch a glimpse of anything he hadn’t already seen. Maybe it was just to give him privacy, but he couldn’t help but feel like there was something else behind it.

“Is something wrong?” He asked. Victim looked back towards him, his eyes looking vulnerable again, just not as much as before. He let out a sigh, hugging his knees yet again and making himself miniscule.

“...yeah, I guess. There’s just been something about this…encounter that rubbed me the wrong way. Because, like, it was trying to kill Hazard, but it didn’t try to kill me.” He took in a shaky breath. “It tried to trap me, capture me. It…it felt like it was sent by someone to get me specifically. I just, I couldn’t help but wonder if…”

Agent was patient with him, letting him collect his thoughts before speaking. “...if it was…sent by my creator.”

The horror of that possibility sunk into both of them. Agent spoke up first, trying to quell Victim’s fears (as well as his own).

“I saw the mechanical components up close. It could do incredible things, yes, but the individual pieces looked like scrap metal. I don’t think someone that high and mighty would resort to using junk for their death weapons.”

Those words, unfortunately, did little to reassure him. “But, if He didn’t send it, who did?” He clung to himself a little tighter. “Was it those twin terrorists? The spider was red, after all. But why? Why would they do it?”

Agent had his…suspicions for a motive, but he stayed silent. Victim was already in plenty of distress now, knowing the reason behind the potential plot may only stress him out further, especially if he knew how the target was put on his back in the first place.

“Wait.” Victim had a sudden epiphany, distracting Agent from his dilemma. “T-They both have the hollow eyes. They were both made by Noogai. But he didn’t just make them so he could toy with them, if he did he wouldn't have made them powerful. What if…” Victim started to shake, causing Agent to draw closer. “What if he made those two to find me? To capture me and take me back to that horrible place?”

“Hey, hey.” Agent, cautiously, placed his hands on his shoulders. He looked up at him, teary eyed. “I won’t let that happen to you. I promise.”

Victim didn’t say anything in response, instead opting to let out a sob and ensnare him in a hug. He buried his face in his chest, his tears negligible compared to all the other shit his shirt was stained with. Agent returned the embrace, gently but firmly wrapping his arms around his torso. He carefully caressed him, providing comforting motions as Victim continued to cry. Agent felt that, at least in this department, he was useless with words. So instead of providing verbal reassurance, he provided it physically. Victim filled the silence in Agent’s absence, not only through sobs and whimpers but also through muttered phrases that were often too muffled for him to hear. What he could catch was mostly variations on a single repeated phrase: “I don’t want to go back to heaven.”

Who knows how long they stayed like that, clinging onto each other like they were the only thing keeping them alive. All Agent knew was that in that imperceptible amount of time, the two had maneuvered into a more comfortable position: leaning against one of the walls that made up the space underneath the desk, in a position halfway between lying down and sitting up. Victim also eventually wound down, his head tilted so that his ear rested against his heart, only the occasional sniffle to show he was still awake. He had the feeling that neither of them wanted this moment to end, this rare moment of peace and quiet and comfort. Agent certainly didn’t. He could encase Victim forever, be the armor that keeps him safe from all the horrors of the world.

Victim, for the first time in a while, properly broke the silence. “You…you always know exactly what to do, huh? To make me feel safe.”

It was hard to focus on responding like a normal person when Victim was this close, this warm. “...of course. It’s my job, isn’t it?”

Victim chuckled at that. “No, your job is to guard me. I don’t think your job description entails cuddling.” Agent hoped he couldn’t hear his heart pick up speed. “You’re far more than just a bodyguard at this point. You always go above and beyond. Not just protecting me from enemies, but also protecting me from worry. It's almost as if…you're my guardian angel.”

Agent was stunned, entirely silent. He had grown used to the religious parallels that he drew, his musings about how heavenly his two muses were, but never in a million years did he think the same treatment would be reversed back on him. It was an honor in the highest regard, it almost made him wonder if he was joking, or teasing, or just meaning something other than the pure praise it sounded like. He felt so stupid for not knowing if the comment was facetious or not.

“You…you really think so?” He braced himself for being laughed at or judged or scolded, but it never came. Victim just held him a little tighter, and let out a dreamy, leisurely “...yeah.” He didn’t know if it being sincere was worse or not.

He didn’t have much time to ponder, as the door was quickly opened to a panicked and disheveled Hazard, looking for Victim. The man in question quickly hopped into view, bonking his head on the way up.

“Good, you’re alright. Do you know where Agent is?”

Agent hesitantly rose up as well, dusting himself off. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot her looking between the two suspiciously. He continued to refuse eye contact, a hidden perk to always wearing shades.

“...so, am I gonna keep on guarding you, or is he going to guard you for the rest of the day?”

Victim thought for a bit. “No, you’re still on duty. After all he’s done today, he deserves to go back home and rest.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, a tiny gesture from Victim that felt all encompassing to Agent. “Just tell the other mercenaries to be on high alert. We can’t be certain that this is the only attack.”

With that, Agent was dismissed. Instead of walking straight back to his apartment, he decided to go for a little walk to clear his mind. There wasn’t much thought put into the action, he just figured it would be a more practical way of staving off the boredom than anything he could do cooped up in his room. He looked up, watching the clouds drift by. Using his shades to zoom in, he could even see the endless grid of IP addresses in the sky. Some said those tiny little boxes were gateways to heaven, windows that the gods could watch them through. They were quite interesting, really—

…wait.

Why was one of them shattered?