: ̗̀➛ 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 .

ada believed him -- or rather, she wanted to believe him. she wouldn't consider herself to be naïve, but she must've been to some extent seeing as she accepted a job without knowing what it required. her father called her foolish while her mother praised her ingenuity. neither opinion mattered. as far as ada was concerned, she was an orphan.

"you're here because i thought you'd want a break," she answers plainly. "i don't like being stuck in that white room either." her electronic pen dances swiftly across the screen, jotting down her observations. she was paid (not very well, mind you) to take notes and nothing more. her brilliant mind, wasted.

From what? A break suggests that there is a need for respite, but what would Abel feels tired from. He did not labor, and even if he did, he was to believe that he wouldn't experience the sensation of exhaustion. The people with the tablets had once boasted about that to other people in suits.

𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

" that's a lot of blood. "

" it isn't mine. "

" what did you do ? "

[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "

" come on. have a taste. "

" holy shit, are you okay ? "

" it looks worse than it feels. "

" you should see the other guy. "

" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "

" lean on me. "

" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "

" . . . gross. "

[ standing over a body ] " oops. "

" is that a fucking body ? "

" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "

" what the hell happened ? "

" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "

" at least it wasn't me this time. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "

" i'm not scared of you. "

" you don't scare me. "

" shut up and let me help you. "

" i got your shirt all bloody. "

" let's get you cleaned up. "

" that looks like it hurts. "

" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "

" we are so fucked. "

" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "

" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "

" the fucker deserved it. "

" red looks good on you. "

" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "

" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "

" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "

" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "

" this isn't what it looks like. "

" it was an accident. "

" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "

" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "

" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "

" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "

" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "

" you're bleeding. "

" what the fuck happened to you ? "

" you're getting blood on the carpet. "

" sit down before you fall down. "

" that looks like a you problem. "

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet

sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver

receiver finds sender covered in blood

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding

sender helps receiver clean up after a kill

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb

sender licks receiver's blood off a knife

sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb

sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver

receiver finds sender stood over a body

sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean

sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood

sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed

sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)

receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze

sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone

sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand

sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face

sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them

sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver

sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall

sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled

receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off

sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver

sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse

sender takes an injury meant for receiver

sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood

sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone

sender punches receiver in the mouth

receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust

sender helps receiver bury a body

sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3

sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3

sender leans on receiver for support

sender kills someone to protect receiver

receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it

sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver

receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself

sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip

he was being rude. jack knew his name, abel, in at least as much as he knew the warren and its front door was hardly his. no one, not even the rudest and most backwater critics had ever described jack as sensible, though, so he found little reason to start now. dogs and tricks and all that.

abel was ... somewhere doing something stupid that someone a million years ago thought would have been very smart. but that was none of his business.

jack, speaking of dogs, was straining against both tie and leash. sniffing around for something worth his while turned over nothing but empty dirt at this stale hour and so, forced by his own restlessness and inwardly turned spite, he rattled his own damn cigarette out of its crumpled back and retreated to his second favorite alley.

he should have known better.

he did, most of the time, except for when irritability got the better of him, which was at least twice as often. murderbot seemed to like taking a sledgehammer to those odds.

jesus fucking christ.

" — yeah. sure was."

jack very neatly did not look at the man on the ground, his caved in head, or the remains of his skin, skull, grey matter, and chunks of hair dripping steadily down the masonry. he didn't look at abel, either, not in the eyes or anywhere near his face, really. couldn't seem to make himself, no matter how quickly he sucked down the rest of his cigarette.

"he wasn't a —" no, actually. he didn't want to go down that particular line of questioning. he didn't want to go down any line, questioning or otherwise, unless it was the straight line back to his booth, a double, and a heavy head on his lumpy pillow. but they were a few too many pistons past that now and the vertigo of the half-gone smoke was warring with instinct and too many years of practice.

delaying both as best he could, which wasn't much to speak for in either direction, jack gestured loosely towards the mess, still not meeting either party, intact or otherwise.

but jack didn't bother him, or the club, and he had no reason to act with hostility towards jack so he didn't. instead, he tried to make "small talk" as he'd been told that that's polite with acquaintances.

jack had other idea, however, as he gestured to the mess of a man and made what abel could only assume was a joke about his synthetic nature.

"it is rather unsightly. my new upgrade packaged included that observational skill." he attempted a joke, using his frame of references that the best jokes tend to refer to previous statements and build upon them.

"you don't have personal anecdotes, abel."

beneath the curl of a white stole her dress is miniscule, almost nonexistent, though of course that's the point, the bit, the design ⸺ it looks as though you could blow it right off her. as if all it would take to watch pale silk float in the air is a set of pursed lips, an advantageous angle, the strength of a single exhale. it works, so far as it does what it intends to: make you think about undressing her as easily and as often as you do breathing. here and now, dove already feels naked. stripped down to the bone by the man they'd left behind in the club. he hadn't had to raise a hand to do it, either. just shape his lips the right way.

"you don't even have personhood."

the windows of the car are dark. tinted. a perimeter marked between her and the people outside. even with her temple rested right up against the glass, nose pressed and shoulders hunched toward the outside world, the only thing capable of looking back at dove is her own reflection, and she can't meet its eyes. if she did, she'd have to face the accusation in them: neither do you.

her eyes blur. the lights filter from orange to blue as they drive through the city. all the angels have gone inside and turned on their televisions, casting glare down into the street. dove pulls the fox stole tighter, digs her fingers into the soft skin of a dead animal as if she can stretch it, make it larger. she wants to bury beneath it. pull it all the way over her head. she wants — for once — to be a little girl, hiding from all the moving shadows beneath a heavy blanket.

and now she remarks that he has no personhood. which sure, from a literal sense, abel is acutely aware that he is no person the way a person has a beating heart and a fear of inescapable death. perhaps it was a little disappointing, however, that she didn't see the complexities of what personhood could mean.

it's clear she's going through... a lot. abel has been around many people going through a lot. many of his fellow soldiers lost friends and family members. he knew what grief looked like on a face, and while he still wasn't totally sure what to do about it, dove had opened the door for him to share.

"on one of my deployments, i had been sent on an assignment to scope an area for potential threats. this meant surveying a forest on my own for hours," abel began to share but he wasn't sure where or why this particular story had come up. "i have been told i have very heavy feet, and that would frequently disrupt my surroundings." his eyes flick to the rearview mirror to look at dove, "something i know you do not struggle with." is it a joke, or a compliment, he's uncertain, but he felt the need to bring her into his story, not just talk at her. "regardless, my heavy feet would send any wild creature fast in the opposite direction. but on this occasion, after finding myself deep in this forest, i found myself upon a foxhole with a family inside. i found myself staring at these resting creatures for twelve minutes and thirty-six seconds. i had never observed anything for so long before, and certainly not something that posed no threat. but after those twelve minutes and thirty-six seconds, a blue butterfly had happened to land on the nose of the mother. an unlikely situation as butterflies are diurnal and do not fly at night, but it was no fabrication, just the oddities of nature." he pauses, his eyes glazed over the road as he processes this memory he recalls, and the information that came up with it. he decides to make a confession to his thoughts that day. "it felt like perfection with no influence. no dictation. organic."

Lights out.