Grievous Writes

During the night Satan had moved your prison into another room, placed you on a wide mantle built over an obsidian fireplace. The large space that was flashy as your hot-air bag of a dragon jailer and you were set as a piece of decor. Your best guess was you were in a living room, but the deep black marble floors and bright red wallpaper elevated it to a weird-pseudo ballroom.

One side of the space seemed to be a dedicated lounge, where a huge round couch sat before an impossibly large TV mounted on a wall. Littered on the ground were a scattering of books, piles of paperwork, and magazines - With “Weekly Workouts for the WICKED” and “Where is Your Center? Meditations for the Newly Grounded” being two opened issues placed on a black coffee table. Beside the TV on the wall were paintings of fire, depictions of ancient deaths, notable punishments you had no name for, and several overly dramatic images of Satan himself. He was either bare chested or holding flaming swords while covered in blood.

There was also a large painting that stood alone from the rest, but it was covered by a black curtain. And by the obvious dust and spider web decorating the fabric, whatever was covered had not been looked at for sometime. 

Across from the living room was a dining hall, but lacked a lot of places to sit and eat. There was still a table set to one side, and while still nice quality, it was small and only had two chairs. The table and its decor looked untouched, clean but left to sit. You guessed that Satan didn’t eat there. Instead, there were even more workout machines and racks of various dumbbells and equipment. Now those did seem to be in constant use, scuffed with claw marks and weld repairs on almost everything. And a well worn  punching bag hung where a chandelier would be.

There was also a smattering of inspirational posters and some depicting nearly nude women. You did your best to not look at those. You weren’t prude, but it had been sometime since you had seen someone that pretty. Confident in her own skin. The model had curves in places you didn’t, even now with your new form. You turned from the poster and sighed; noting that the whole room smelt of musky brimstone and burnt wood. 

Which only grew more pungent when Satan drew close. 

As you heard resonating footsteps coming your way, your stomach gave another growl; demanding attention and care.

Satan turned from around a corner of pitch black hallway, his head hung a bit lower than usual, as if sleep still weighed down his neck. He wore long grey lounging pants, simple shoes, and a skin tight black tank top. The man yawned, his long tongue and sharp yellow teeth on display like a great serpent. He clicked his teeth together, cracking his jaw, and then lazily walked over to the couch. Where flopped himself onto the durable furniture and he flicked on the TV with a quick click of a remote. A loud commercial rocked the once silent den and the wings over your ears flattened to your head to try and buffer the noise. 

“My Lord?” You tried to call out to him, but your voice was outmatched by the TV. 

“Satanus? Sir?!” You stood up and shouted this time.

Nothing. Satan just drank from the steaming cup of black coffee he held, and it was so strong it burnt your nose from higher on the mantle. 

Your stomach damned attention and desperation set in as you hit the wall of your prison. Some part of you expected to feel pain from hitting the barrier, but nothing came. You frowned and hit the bubble again to make sure. And as you did, you noticed that your banded prison shifted faintly. Curious.

Taking a quick look at Satan, paying you no mind, a mischievous idea came to you. If he couldn’t hear you, you’d make him see you. And maybe if he saw you, he’d feed you. If not for the sake of being kin, he needed you alive for the waiting trial. 

There was not much space in your bubble for a running start, but you managed to back up just enough to slam yourself against the wall hard enough to make your ball roll forward. You slipped but got up, changing again and again as you managed to wobble your cage closer and closer to the edge of the mantle. As you drew closer to the edge and looked down, you realized you were near three stories off the ground. It made sense given how big the dragon was.

You prayed he’d see you falling before you landed. If not that, then at the bare minimum it’d not hurt when you came crashing down. Just to be safe, you tried calling out to Stan once more.

“Hey! Look over here!” You waved your hands widely in the air and jumped a few times, but he merely cracked his neck and changed the channel. 

With a frown and deep breath, your resolve hardened, you continued to slam your body against the ball. As you got to the edge of the mantle, you felt the sway of unbalance threatening your last chance. With one final push, you threw your weight into the wall and your prison silently rolled off. You hadn't anticipated your small body inside being lifted into the air as you fell, nor your hunger pained stomach flipping around like a ball-bearing in a bell. You blinked only a few times, catching a hint of red and gold lashing out to you, before you closed your eyes and braced. 

There was a violent lurch as gravity snapped, colors morphed, shapes bent, and you yelped as your head painfully whipped around. Your body slammed to the bottom of your prison and an agonized hiss leaked from your gritted teeth as you tried to settle. Everything hurt, your ears rang, and your vision spun. But you were still able to make out Satan yelling.

“What in all the seven rings did you do that for?!” Satan held you in his palm; his talons scratched the outside of the bands as he caught you just in time. You must've not responded quick enough for him as he continued to shout. “Arrogant little angel, you must have a death wish!” 

You groaned and rolled onto your back, wincing as your body stung. “I-I’m not arrogant.”

“What?!” Stan yelled. 

“H-Hungry.” You opened your eyes to look at the devil, who was glaring at you with the power of a thousand burning suns. “I’m hungry. You couldn't hear me.” 

“And you thought tossing yourself was the best way to get my fucking attention?!” He was practically snarling as stood from kneeling, and you saw that his coffee cup had been tossed to the side. 

In spite of the pain, you smiled. “It worked though.” 

“And what makes you think this little stunt will get you what you desire?” His voice was venomous. “I could kill you right now and it’d be within my jurisdiction!” 

“You can’t punish a c-corpse.” 

Satan held you to his face, meeting your gaze with a glare. “You’d be surprised of the depravities of hell.” 

“Maybe. But I know you well enough.” 

“Telling yourself whatever lie that makes your stupidity valid isn't healthy.” The man’s voice lowered to a deep rumble; like distant thunder. “Stand up.” 

You tried to pick yourself up, slow and easy, but whimpered as your head was wrecked with white hot pain. Your eyes closed and all you could do was lay. Which got you another jab from Satan. 

“Proud of yourself, starlight? I doubt that.” Satan huffed, his breath smelling like coffee, and you felt the subtle sway of his large gate as he walked somewhere.

“You almost sound worried, My Lord.” Maybe it was the lightheaded sensation clouding your judgement, but you felt the only response to his wrath was another soft smile.

The swaying stopped for a moment and Satan’s voice was an annoyed whisper. “And you sound  suicidal. Perhaps you are. Maybe that’s why you fell from your golden world and down into the dark.”

“Mn, no.” You shook your head and opened your eyes again, meeting gazes with Satan. It was difficult to read his expression as your vision blurred, but there was a hint of calmed skepticism in his four glowing eyes. Whatever the emotion, it was a mere step away from concern. Certainly curious at least. “I told you that you’d learn my reasons why at trial, but I can at least assure you I’m not seeking death.”

“Then, pre-fucking-tell,” Satan continued walking and you held his gaze. “What does an overly trusting, silly little thing like you seek? Heaven surely had everything you needed.”

“Needed, yes. But, not w-wanted.” Before you closed your eyes once more, unconsciousness trying to claim you from the concussion you were suffering, you saw Satan frown. “I wanted … to live. And to be … wanted. To belong. A purpose. Everyone has a purpose, a life to live. No matter above, or below. Everyone but a dimming star, a s-silly cherub, who's been left alone f-for so long. No wishes, no life, none who’d want me to shine.”

You felt tears warm your cheeks and a stained chuckle bubbled in your throat. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”  

Satan’s breathing was all you could hear for a long while, slow and warm, but he did finally speak with a deep, restaurant tone. “A foolish notion. Admirable, but foolish. You rest now, fallen star. You need medical attention.” 

...

And when you finally passed out, Satan quickened his pace to the workshop; his tail snapping around the heavy metal door pulled to slam it in his wake. The magical runes activated as he stepped inside, sealing the room. No one could get in or out.

Inside the round workshop was a forage set in hellfire, the burning inferno ringed in stones older than sin that always glowed. Hung from iron hooks and sat along shelves were old creations, machines never tested, or some concepts of mechanical machinations he dreamed of between his workout sessions.Though some of his more nasty machines he thought of during therapy. 

Satan had spent his early eras by the forge, enjoying his time crafting long forgotten punishments and crafting the first few generations of Imp kind by glow of the cruel furnace. In his fires, Satan could create and destroy. He preferred the latter. 

The red dragon stormed over to one of his large desks, still littered with the iron shavings of his last idea, and sat down his captured cherub in your prison. He huffed and looked over you as you slept. He barely saw your chest rise and fall. You were so fragile. So tiny. He could crush your head like a grape between his fingers if he wanted. Realistically, he probably should’ve a few days ago. 

Mammon, while acting the part of a pompous clown who had grown too big for his britches, had been right about killing you. It would’ve made this a whole lot easier if he had. The last angel who fell into hell uprooted Satan from his reign of the land, and now he was stuck as only the second most feared being in all the rings. Satan had been the law and ruler until that little golden shit moved in with his scheming queen, and then they cemented their legacy with hell’s “favorite” princess. Who's to say this fallen starlight would be any different?

You could’ve easily been lying to Satan, try to hoodwink him, as a means for escape. The idea of this small angel playing him made Satan’s blood boil. There was no way he’d ever be out schemed by someone so seemingly innocent. Someone so open, too kind. And you smiled far too much. If you did manage to get away from Satan somehow, you’d be eaten alive within a mile outside of his estate. There was no way everything you said was entirely true either, and he knew better then by now to ever take anyone at their word.

At least you were sweet on the eyes.

Satan reached for a few tools and a blank gold band, then took a moment to look over his handiwork. He needed to essentially break the sealing band on the prison to free the cherub for medical treatment, and then once your head injury was tended to he’d reseal you inside.He just needed to hurry and do all of this before you woke up.

But then an annoying realization hit him. The only reason you leapt was to get his attention, because you needed food. And you can't eat when you're asleep. And once sealed back inside, there'd be no way to feed you.

Satan growled and clicked his nails on the top of the sphere. “You’re a lot of work, little shit.” He spat at you with no response.

Like Mammon, the cherub was also right about something important - He couldn’t put a corpse on trial. You needed to eat, maybe bathe as well. And while Satan had cleaned off most of the debris and dirt from when you first smashed into his courtroom, you had been primarily unwashed. Not that he would've ordered someone to clean you while you were unconscious - Satan might have been an asshole, but he was respectful enough to an unconscious person to not remove their clothes without consent. Even he had standards. 

With a feral hiss Satan lulled his head back. There was only one logical path forward. 

With a hot soldering iron in one hand and heavy pliers held in the other, Satan got to work dismantling the prison. Layer by layer, cutting away his rune-cared bands, he removed the enchantments that kept your magic buffered. You still had the cuffs on your wrists and ankles, and then his personally branded collar around your thin throat - All to keep this little fly away in line. But would it be enough?

As the last band fell away, the lock to the cage cracking into fiery ash, your body landed softly on the worship table and you gave a little groan. Then you went incredibly still. Satan waited to see if you’d wake up, holding his breath. You didn’t move. Shit. Were you dead?

“Uh, hello?” He whispered as one of his golden claws moved to poke your shoulder. Nothing. As he moved to poke you a bit harder, you continued to breathe normally.Satan sighed. “Thank fuck.” 

He looked you over in more detail, his claw moving your long hair out of your face. You barely looked old enough to be out of your first century. If you were as old as you claimed to be, surely there was enough power in your little pinky to flick the likes of Mammon at least five miles away; like the little spider bastard he was. Then again, the wards you blasted through to get into hell might have siphoned enough of your power to make you as meek as a kicked puppy. Still, Satan needed insurance. 

His claw moved down your neck, over your shoulders, and then lower to feel over your soft green and white wings. To a lower level angel, feathers were a dime-a-dozen. If one were plucked, it was just like some cutting off a lock of hair. But for someone of your linage? It could mean more. His talons masterfully moved into your down, feeling around for a longer but less essential feather, and with a quick tug plucked it from your wing. 

You groaned again and your small wing flinched, but you remained out like a light.

Satan only gave the feather a quick look over, some residual radiance glowing from inside it, before he growled and tucked it into a nearby lock-box. The feather was sealed inside and he put the container up on a nearby shelf for safe keeping. He then turned back to you and, with all the grace and care the sin of wrath could muster, he lifted you into his palm. Given his size, Satan was used to people feeling light in grip, but you felt lighter than a cloud. 

Satan turned from his workshop, the door closing again as he left, and he walked back to the living room. Waiting for him there was his therapist, who was quietly ordering the imp staff to clean up the broken coffee cup and the puddle of coffee. 

“Heeey there, Satan.” Yogrit greeted him with a weary smile. “How are you doing this morning?”

Satan chuffed. “Could be better. My coffee is fucked.”

A few of the staff scattered away to prepare another coffee without question.

“Yes, so it seems. Did you accidentally drop it or-?” As Yogirt flew up to Satan's level, the smaller demon looked down to you held in his wide red palms. “Oh. Oh.” 

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I don’t have the time to answer questions, but get a doctor here now. The prisoner is hurt.” 

Yogirt nodded, his expression calm and serious. “Of course. I know someone who  to call.”

Satan nodded, strolled back to his couch and sat as slow as he could; as not to jostle you around and make your concession any worse. Awkwardly he grabbed a pillow and delicately laid you there; mindful of your head. His fingers lingered for a moment too long, admiring your soft hair against his scaly fingers, and he didn’t notice an imp maid staring wide-eyed at him; while barely managing to hold Satan’s new coffee up towards him. With a purposefully low reach, Satan took the cup and held a dangerous glare at the maid as she made a nervous, but also carefully calculated, retreat out of his sight. 

Without much fuss, Yogirt had already flown off somewhere and was speaking softly into a cell phone. 

Satan called out. “And get someone to bring, I don’t know, more clothes. Small clothes.”

“Clothes?” Yogrit responded with an inquisitive brow raise. His eyes moved to your sleeping body, then back to Satan. “Do you think she might also require shoes? And, erm, other things?” 

Satan’s mind felt like it was running on empty, fuzzy, as he tried to think on what the demon was at. “Uhh, shampoo? She smells.” 

“Okay, that’s good to know. But how about,” Yogirt cleared his throat. “Socks? Pajamas?”

Satan glared as he took a long drink of his coffee. “Just fucking say it, Yogrit. I’m in no mood to be psychoanalyzed today.” 

 “Undergarments.” The therapist said plainly, which nearly made Satan choke. “I’ll make sure someone goes to get our guest some attire that fits. I’m sure something in the new Velvette spring collection will work.” 

The great dragon coughed hard and beat a fist to his chest. “Yeah, fine, whatever. Just get it done.” 

When Satan was left alone once more, he growled and relaxed on the couch. He turned the TV back on, a truck rally with monstrous cars crashing into one another. He was content to mindlessly watch the spectacle, but from the corner of his eyes Satan saw you wince in pain from the blasting music. He lowered the volume with an annoyed grumble. What a fucking fantastic start to the day. 

Surely nothing else would go wrong today … Right?

Satan held his sights on you, ignoring the TV for a while, and made sure his restraints were still working; their red glow casting a rosy color over your skin. They were holding and Satan was content to not test anymore of his bad luck for at least the rest of the morning.

HEY LOOK, its you! Welcome to the end of part three~ ❤️ And we finally got Satan's POV! That's gonna happen a lot more of him now that the story is kicking off from here. I'm gonna try to show the change of POVs with colors. Green will be the Reader and Red will be for Satan!

You blinked away the darkness over your eyes and slowly sat up, recognizing the second sensation upon awakening was a weight on your neck and limbs. Those limbs that were still too long and foreign to you. On your neck, wrists, and ankles were rough, blackened metal cuffs, leading to chains that disappeared into the even darker space around you. Holding up your restaurants, you tried to read the glowing red language imprinted onto the metal. 

You recognized it as an ancient demonic language. The carved runes were angry, a dialect you had not kept skills to speak over the years. Which made a full translation impossible. You did your best still and got the jist that these binds were to suppress divine magic; infernal or angelic. As you ran your far-to-many fingers over the red letters, with bony knuckles, a curious thought entered your mind.

Whoever made these bindings knew one of oldest languages across space in time, and masterfully used it in a clever way. The enchantments, while infernal in base nature, were as divine as any celestial dialect. The creator of the cuffs surely knew that both the angels of Heaven and demons Hell shared direct divine bloodlines. And whoever wore the language, unholy or Unholy, would be subjected to a control nearly unbreakable. Someone wanted to make sure you didn’t get free.

Thankfully you had no such intentions.

Looking around yourself, you noticed a thin veil just out of reach; moving like oil splashed over black water. And beyond that was a constantly swirling sphere of golden bands, all marked with the same ancient language bore on your restraints. Now these symbols you knew better, still many Myrs old but at least more common. One entire band was dedicated to focusing an invisible funnel, used to both drain and implant power surges into whoever was placed within the sphere. Another band passed overhead and you saw it was crafted for branding. Another for sealing. And the smallest ring, set directly under you was what you assumed was the release mechanism to dispel all the bands. And it could only be done so from the outside.

When you lived on Earth, you had seen mortals try to depict angels as humans with wings. And only two small eyes. All of that was horribly inaccurate, and there was a weird irony that it took you coming to Hell to see something more genuine; even if it was a prison rather than a person. 

You managed to stand, if barely, and wobbled from foot to foot like a fawn freshly born. You almost fell forward to land smack-dab on your face, but you blanched out by your arms … and by the wings on your back. They were similar to the set you had before with familiar colors cast over long feathers, but you were shocked at seeing the upper knuckle bone tipped with a sharp talon. Emily said that you might change shape, as you had before on your ventures to Earth, but nothing prepared you for how sharp some of your features were now. 

Staggering to the oil wall, like an obsidian bubble, you leaned into to study your features better. You were taller, lean, and yet heavy on your chest and hips. Your ankles and wrists were so narrow, with all your joints pulled apart in your new form. While you felt as gangley as a giraffe, you still understood yourself to be small. Short. Perhaps around five feet total in height. Your wings were massive compared to what you were used to, and your longer tail lashed behind you like a clock’s pendulum. Your scales were still prominent, as for your star markings, but as you noticed when falling … your face was flat. You instantly missed your snout.

You glared at the woman’s reflection, she glared right back at you. You stuck out your tongue and she did the same. You ran your fingers through long flowing hair and a sigh of relief came from you both. 

“Hello, me.” You smiled at yourself. “I don’t suppose you know who put us here?” 

Care to take a guess?

“Hm,” You frowned then and set your attention back out into the void outside of your bubble. “I’m going to assume … someone really old at bare minimum.” 

“You could just ask, Starlight.” Someone husky said out loud, the voice making your chest vibrate. 

That wasn’t you nor your reflection. Casting quick looks about you looked for the source of the voice. “I suppose I could. Would you answer me honestly if I did?” 

“Hmph!” The baritone scoffed and by the tone of the chuckle that followed, you knew who this was. The red dragon. “You have a lot of nerve to ask a judge if they would lie.”

You held a firm stare out of the darkness. “A judge is only as good as those who challenge him. If he’s presented with falsehoods, he should do all in power to get to the truth. Lying would be beneath him.” 

The voice growled. “You presume a lot, for a prisoner.” 

You blinked. “My judge and jailer.” 

“Seems like you answered your own question.” With a wave of his massive hand, the darkness was swiped back by the very large crimson fellow from before. 

The dragon was taller than any being you had met in many millennia, and imminently wide with stacked muscles that could topple an entire building of the wanted. His own large wingspan loomed up and behind him, and a spade-tipped tail curled around the base of his dark wood chair. Four golden eyes that seemed to glow with hellfire beamed down at you, and an amused sneer stretched along his muzzle. 

You weren’t sure what to do, frozen in place, which seemed to amuse the man. He leaned down slowly, his words even more so and hotter than his gaze. “Hello, little star.” 

You swallowed but found your throat dry. “Greetings, My Lord.” 

“Lord?” He raised his left brows. “You know who I am then?” 

“I .. I’m not sure.” You said truthfully and dared to take your gaze of the demon to quickly look about the room for hints. 

Your sphere of golden bands was put in the middle of an ostentatious office - Black floors and Deep crimson walls. There was a scattering of dark furniture with heavy gothic motifs set before an impossibly large desk, all cast in a red light by a huge window behind it all. It was scary, haunting, and you found yourself lost to the silent power of the room … until you saw a very large, almost comically out of place bench press and its collection of weighty disks. 

“But it’s safer to be-be respectful,” You looked back at him and saw that his smirk had grown. “Is it not?” 

“Ass kissing will only get you so far in my court, starlight.” He huffed. “Even if the defendant is naive and cute.” 

“I'm far from naive.” You frowned. Naive and cute was not a good combo and the insinuation made your stomach knot.

“Hm, we’ll see soon enough.” The judge challenged you and as he stood from his chair, the dragon held aloft his and magically raised your prison from the floor to float in the air. Still unstable on your feet, you yelped and fell on your back; which drew another chuckle from the judge. “Once Lucifer wakes the hell up, we can get on with this little intrigue.”

You struggled to stand but did manage to sit up, brushing back some of your loose hair out of your face. “He’s not awake?”

“Not yet.” He said firmly and folded his large claws on the desk; his yellow talons clicking a nameless rhythm. “Care to take a guess how long the bastards been sleeping?” 

“A day?” You guessed which earned you a glare.

“Try a week. Give or take a few hours.” He tilted his head and his horns cast a shadow over your prison. “Same as you. I’m guessing that one falling angel trying to stop another ends up with both down-and-out for a while.”

You struggled to stand once more but thankfully found your knees sturdier this time. “But he’s alright? Just asleep?” 

“For now. If he doesn't ever wake up though then you’ve got more than my judgment to face.” The dragon drew his folded hands to his chin, resting there with an disinterested look in his four eyes. He scoffed. “And while I don’t like sharing punishments of that caliber, it’s a nuisance I have to deal with.”

“Meaning?” 

“Things change quickly in hell, little one. You’ll learn that soon enough.” 

Perhaps you were a bit naive, curious by nature and set on a mission to learn all you could. So you promoted another question with a small smile; which drew an irritated snarl from the judge. “Or you could explain it to me? I’ve never been, erm, in this type of situation before.”

“Clearly.”

“And w-we both seem to be here with nothing to do, other than talk to one another?” Your wings fluttered behind you to help the last bit of disorientation fade away. 

The dragon’s jaw clicked before he began to explain. 

“Fine. There is normally a trial by peers and a majority vote must be agreed upon before justly punishments are dispensed.” His gnarly smile bloomed once more of his red face; a shadow moving across his eyes, with a deeply, unsettling pleasure held in his expression. “And the majority does love to deal out justice. Slowly, painfully.”

“Are you going to do the same for me?” You felt your heart skip a beat as he settled that horrid pleasure on you. He took a pause to look you up and down and you felt your gut twist uncomfortably. 

But he broke and sighed wistfully. “Sadly, no.” He then rolled his four eyes and practically spat out every word that followed. “Our dear Princess Morningstar is adamant we start implementing due-fucking-processes after the shit-show that was the Ars Goetia trial. Makes judgments boring.”

The dragon lost interest for the moment and looked out the window, leaving you time to collect your thoughts. Your gaze moved to your form once more, to the bands buffering your magic, and you flexed your new fingers. You needed to get to Charlie as soon as you could, before heaven caught onto the plan, but there was no way you could escape the golden bands of the Judge before then. And no way he would release you a second before the trial. 

You needed more information, something to cling to for advantage. You began to look about the office once more, but found yourself still feeling the large man’s gaze set to you once more. Slowly you in turn stared back and both of you remained frozen for what felt like hours. 

He squinted. “You are a cherub.” 

You nodded.

“But you smell,” His nostrils flared. “Different.” 

“I am?” 

“You are. And you're too damn trusting. I can read you like an open book.” The great beast leaned down to your level once more and, even from within your bubble, you felt the heat of his heavy breathing. “Meanwhile, in this entire conversation, with all the endless questions and your blabbering, you’ve not figured me out.” 

“Did you want me to?”

He sighed. “Just start guessing, starlight. Before I get even more bored.” 

You focused back on the dragon’s features, quickly trying to make out anything of importance. His horns were limited, only four, but still ornate. He was red, gold, and wore black leather - None of that helped. He worked out, smelled of fire and musk, and you could see his paint burning away in the bright golden coals of his eyes. You followed his jaw, down to his thick neck and the bundling muscles, and paused on the center of his throat. 

Formed from overlapping scales and a hard hide, was a star. This dragon's mark was not as divided as your own stars, but still a star! You moved to the front of your bubble and pressed your tallon-tipped fingers to its surface; leaning upward to get a better look. 

The judge almost jerked his head back, but ultimately held his ground at your bold move. He smirked again. “Like what you see, darling?” 

“𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓.”

His eyes shot wide as you spoke in the dialect of your shared blood, the variant you actually knew, and he covered your small body with an intense yellow shine. 

“𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖓, 𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘.”

You met his unbreaking gaze and the air was freezing.

His voice was dangerously low. “How do you know that tongue, little cherub?” 

You smiled, unable to deny the flood of emotions rushing into your fractured soul. Even as afraid as you were, you had also never felt more safe in all existence. “Because it’s the language of my kin, and of those who came long before the Father called light into the dark. I was born from the explosion that cast the heavens upon your skin.”

There was a moment where Satan looked away, a worry flashing in his golden eyes, but then he came right back to you with steeled resolve. “This is impossible.” 

“No it’s not, Satanas.” You spoke his name in Greek and absentmindedly petted the bubble, just over where his star was sat.

This time Satan did yank his head back, upper lip curled in rage and confusion. 

“Elliniká?” He asked rhetorically but you affirmed with a nod. His long talons trapped on the desk again; quick stabs that threatened to splinter the wood if he hit any harder. “If there were a people who got close enough to the truth, it was the Greeks.” 

Your smile turned into a hesitant smirk. “I did it.”

Satan’s nostrils flared again and fangs bared. “Did what?” 

“I figured you out.” You giggled as he frowned with deflated realization. 

“Huh. Well, shit. So you did, starlight.” He huffed and flopped back into his chair; far away from you in your small prison. “Are you going to make me guess your name?” 

“Do you want to?”

“Don’t push your luck, missy.” Satan pointed a claw in your direction. “You’re still in deep trouble.”

“Not as much as I am with Heaven.” You sat down and tried to relax. “Believe me or not, but I’m safer here with you, bound as I am, then free at this current moment.” 

Stan raised a brow. “True. You did fall.”

“I did.” 

His sharp grin returned. “And that begs the question - What for?”

“Hm, for a number of reasons. I suppose if you want to know the full story,” You yawned, laid down, curled your legs to your chest, and folded your green wings over yourself as a makeshift blanket. “You’ll have to ask me in court.” 

Satan growled deep in his chest, but the sound only brought you a strange comfort and you closed your eyes.

Someone of your generation was alive, a bit moody and filled with rage, but very much alive and in power. It had been so long since you met anyone from those times, with only a handful or more remaining in the wider galaxy. Most were scattered into forgetfulness, and those still remaining were set aside for newer powers. It’s what made you the perfect tool for Emily. 

You didn’t so much sleep as you simply rested, your breathing slow and body comforted by your soft feathers. Outside your bubble you heard Satan move about. And a few times you peeked your eyes open, you saw him working on his massive bench press, burning used paperwork in a nearby garbage can, or speaking to a fluttering smaller devil who had a light inflection to their voice.

What you didn’t hear was the gears turning Stan’s head as he looked at you. You were so small, delicate, a fading broken star that had fallen from grace and into his preverbal lap. In many ways that Satan hated to admit, you were his kin. Familiar. Not family in the sense of blood relations, but of existence. However, in aspects that were maybe worse, you were different. Who and what you were complicated matters, and he felt a bittersweet annoyance burn in his chest thinking of how your punishment may not be as severe as he might’ve wanted a few hours ago. Satan was pissed but could do little to relieve the stress, other than lift more weights and work on his meditations.

PHEW! We made it to the end of part two! HIGH FIVE!! ✋✋

The violent sounds of an invisible storm boxed against your ear drums, and the scent of your searing holy flesh burned a horrible imprint into your own nose and throat. You could taste your own blood and muscles. Your long wings were tucked in tight as an unconscious reaction to the pain, doing their best to buffer your body against the maddening descent you faced. The world around you was set in white flame and blue lightning, a thunderous funnel of your fall from the familiar white clouds of home … and into burning pits far below. Everything hurt, everything burned! You were damned. And more so you, weren’t sure you’d survive the fall.

As you passed into the limits of light into dark, entering the solid void realm between Heaven and Hell, a new level of agony gripped your person. Something shattered in the back of your mind. And then there came a great surge; a pull.

A terrifying scream was pulled from your throat, like one scratching their nails on a slate board, and you felt all the weight of existence try to rip apart your already fracturing soul from any and all orifices it could. Iron viscera streamed from your nose and ears, then out of your mouth like an explosion of red ribbons, and you gagged on the charred, chucky fresh in your mouth. To a holy creature like yourself, a cherub born in Heaven and older than most, there was no difference between your soul and flesh; all was fair game when existence came to collect.

It took you a moment to understand those chunks in your mouth were your own gums being cut apart, making way for fangs to grow from your upper jaw. And your once blunt finger nails cracked and bleed like a lightning struck tree; and from bleeding nail beds grew out long, black talons that ripped right back at exsistance.You gagged on your blood and thrashed your tail about; as if to strike the invisible force assaulting you. It didn’t help much. 

As you continued the struggle, crashing down through the void’s bottom and bursting forth across deep red sky, you felt the final grace of Heaven ripped from your self of being; leaving open wounds on your personhood. You made it, you lived! You had officially fallen and survived … Barely. And with so many unforeseen consequences waiting on the far landscape below, you weren’t sure for how long you’d continue to live once meeting the denizens of Hell. Especially after the last time angels came to “visit”. Adam’s loss left many angelic bodies to eat and you knew the horror stories about the cannibal population. 

As you looked down to the upper layer of Hell, seeing the many buildings set in a massive pentagram, you quickly realized that there was not much space between where you breached Hell’s sky and the quickly approaching ground. And you were falling far too fast and hot to land peacefully. You were a shooting star across their crimson sky and you prayed that you landed where you were supposed to go. Your Patron assured you that, with her own incantations and connections, you would be delivered to Princess Morningstar immediately and with minimal damage. Keyword being minimal, not without. 

It occurred to you then that, if the Princess had no idea you were coming, she could be anywhere doing anything … like taking a shower. Or sleeping. Baking cookies. Or possibly in a meeting with someone important - Like her father. And then, oh hello,a random fallen cherub slams through a roof! This was going to be awkward. And dangerous. But you understood that danger was going to be a constant on this quest, no matter the outcome. 

There was a shove at your back, as if something unseen hand shifted your descent's direction, and you felt your body turn to a rather impressive looking building; set in the middle of a busy city district. It looked like a courthouse? No, a palace? Maybe a mix of the two. Either way, the architecture was intimidating and screamed authority. It could’ve also been a jail, but you had never seen one of those before. Heaven had no need for jails. Maybe a time out corner, but even those were nice and padded with soft chairs. This building was anything but soft - Complete with black spiral towers, barbed fences, and a large lava motte that encircled the estate like a fiery ring. 

Well, whatever it was, that was seemingly where Princess Morningstar was and you were incoming.You frowned and tried to twist your body to better open your wings, unsure if they would be snapped off as you tried to slow your fall. There were two things you noticed immediately about yourself in doing so. 

One: Your once short, rounded, ingenue limbs were gone - Replaced with long, thin arms and even longer legs; with fingers and toes just as lanky. You could see flexing muscles rippling under your once soft skin, and your new heavy bones felt like heavy steel rebar. You were heavy, thick, and cold. 

Two: Your once cute, round snake muzzle was cut blunt. Your face had been squashed inward, taking away your animal features and rearranging your face to be more, weirdly enough, humane. You had a nose, flared nostrils, and your mouth felt too small for all your teeth. 

Your distraction was short lived as a third sight came into view; nothing to do with your body. From below, bursting through a large, stained glass window set into one of the tall walls of the building, exploded a massive burst of fire and light. It looked like an explosion with something rocketing up from the flaming bits of the building. You squinted and saw six large, red wings flared and flapping in your direction. In all your eons of living, you had always known and remembered his wings to be gold … never red. But even in this new coat of colors you still knew who this was; his corrupted, unholy aura was as brilliant as a supernova.

There was no chance to scream out your intentions, to show you were no threat, and to the King of Hell any unknown was surely an instant threat. So, as Lucifer flew directly towards you, all you could do was hold up your arms and brace for impact. Bodies slammed, wings collided, and you felt little arms wrap deadly tight about your back and head; trapping you but also … embracing you. Both of you were sent into an out of control spiral, and in those short seconds before you both made impact with the building’s hard stone floor, your fallen souls connected. 

You blinked and were in a quiet calm space, where dim light floated about your head and your falling ceased. You took a moment to breathe and felt nothing. 

“Alright, okay, cool, two questions!” A chipper, anxious voice called out. “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing?”

You looked to your right and floating next to you, much smaller than you remember him being, was Lucifer; sharing whatever space this was with you. The man was a bit more different then you recalled, and yet some things remained the same. His yellow hair, rosy cheeks, and large eyes were familiar. But his smile had fangs, his scalarias were red, he had a long spade tail, and his halo was gone … replaced with a very large hat and fiery horns.

The Golden Seraphim was gone, and in exchange stood the flashy, ostentatious Ringleader of Hell.

You must’ve not answered his question quick enough and Lucificer glared with a harder, barely friendly smile. “You gonna fucking say something? Anything? Give an explanation?! Or should I just kick your ass right now?” 

“I-!” You stuttered, taken back by how your voice sounded in this otherworldly pocket of existence; quickly collecting yourself as best you could. “Please, d-don’t do that! I don’t wanna hurt anyone.”

“Aaaaaand you expect me to believe that?” He chuckled with a raised sharp brow. “Especially after lots of murderous angel fucks tried to kill my daughter not too long ago … Soooo-?” 

Pointing fingers wasn’t going to save you, even if Adam was rightfully to blame. Because in your inaction at the time, like many who still stood by and had to let Adam descend once more, you were in a way to blame as well. You could’ve stopped it, at least could’ve stood up at the time with Charlie and Emily. But it was only after did you act and seek out the more compassionate Seraphim. 

You had your mission now and it was your part to play in atonement. 

“Emily sent me to be a lesion, a connecting point, between with herself and Princess Morningstar.” You said truthfully, which seemed to take Lucifer by surprise. 

His smile began to sag. “Uhhh, who's that and why?”

“Emily. She’s one of the newer Seraphims that was created after … long after you fell.” You sighed. “She wants to help your daughter save sinners. The Princess’ plan worked as one of your sinners was redeemed. A snake fellow. He showed up in Heaven shortly after the remaining exorcists returned and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!! Go back!” Lucifer did a rewinding motions with his wiggling fingers. “Heaven wants to help?!”

“N-No, just Emily and me.” You felt your heart ache as Lucifer deflated ever so. “There are still too many up at the top who are fearful of change, especially now with Adam permanently gone. T-They don’t know what this means. None of us do.” 

“But you still came here?”

“I did.”

“Well, shit, that’s … You,” And a cold realization shadowed over the King’s face. “Fell.” 

“I did.” A saddened half smile spread over your lips. “Emily needed a direct connection to Princess Mornmingstar. Heaven’s closed all their doors, locked every window. No messages will be able to get in or out. No calls to meet, no letters, nothing. But given what I am, what my job was before, falling was the best option for communication.”

“Yeah, sure.” Lucifer's light tone was all gone and a frown creased his expression. You knew he had barely any evidence to trust you so you weren’t hurt by his lack of distrust. It was all understandable. “How does that work then?”

“I can explain better once we leave,” You stole glances back out into the space the two of you floated in. “Wherever this is. It’s a pocket dimension?”

“Something like that.” Lucifer sighed and shook his head. “Look, I’m one to love big flashy entrances, fireworks and band music, but you could’ve at least knocked before busting through Hell’s defenses. Those wards were a pain in the ass to make. They took forever!” 

“Erm, Sorry. We weren’t sure what I’d have to fall through to get down here.” You tried to smile but you suddenly felt so very tired. Weighed down. Slowly even. It was as if your body was sinking into sand. Even your head felt heavy and your ears filled with preverbal water. 

“Oh shit, easy there!” Before you could fall over, Lucifer caught you in his thin but mighty arms. “The wards took a shit ton out of you, little lady. Even in this time bubble, you're weakened.” 

“What happens when g-go back to the real world?”

“Weeeell,” Lucifer chuckled with an apologetic smile. “We may or may not land smack-dab in the middle of my daughter’s opening statement to the leading Sins of Hell. In a full courtroom. With it broadcasting across all the rings of Hell. I barely managed to catch you in time and save the entire courtroom from blasting into a crater. Sooo, it’s not gonna be pretty!” 

“I’m s-sorry.” Your eyes began to close and your voice slurred.

He shrugged. “Eh, you can make it up to me later. Bedies, it’s Satan who's gonna be more pissed than anyone else. If there’s one thing he hates more than fallen angels … it’s when his court is interrupted. Just, hold tight-”

Even as your mind began to slip away, you managed to wrap your arms about Lusificer’s shoulders and cling to his white coat. In turn, his own hold on your body was firm and his large crimson wingspan encircled you both like a warm cocoon.

“-And get ready for a lot of ouchies. Cobblestone is fucking awful landing on.” You heard the hesitant playful tone in his voice and couldn’t help but smile.

“I think we’ve both felt worse ouchies than falling on cobblestone, Sir.” 

“Amen to that, Sister.” 

One moment everything was still, calm, and quiet. Then with a violent reminder to reality, you felt Lusificer and yourself slammed hard against a smoldering stone floor and scorching fire erupting from your impact. Splashes of lava and shards of obsession exploded out from where you both landed, followed by a shower of rocky debris that showered over you in a messy, ashy impact cloud. While you were barely conscious, with your ears ringing and your vision spotty, you could hear vague screams of horror and panic. 

Lucifer was on top of you, his wings cushioning your spine, and you could tell one of his beautiful crimson wings was broken by how it felt under your lower back. There was a snap, a crunch, and you dared not move in fear or damage that wing even further. You groaned and tried to reach over your protector; pressing your palm to his back to make sure he was breathing.You sighed of relief at feeling his take a long labored breath. 

“Ouchie.” Lucifer whined.

“Dad!” You heard Princess Morningstar’s shrilled fear as she ran over, followed by many others. 

You didn’t know any of these people, a mix of sinners and natural hellborn peoples, and you didn’t have the conscious mind to try to remember any then and there. And while Lucifer or Charlie didn’t have to trust anything you said or promised to do, that hopeful if not naive side of yourself prayed that they’d at least give you an opportunity to explain it all: About your fall, the mission, and what miracles could be achieved together.

For now, all you could do was lay limp, close your eyes, and let people drag you and Lucifer out from the very big hole you made. You could hear softer voices become distant - More than likely being Charlie and her entourage retreating with Lucifer in tow. Meanwhile, a much closer and louder debate was looming over you.

“I ain’t touchin’ it!” Someone with a nasally, deeply annoying voice shouted; the sounds of bells following behind his exclamation. “We should just fuckin’ kill it!”

“Dude, slow your fucking rolls!” A woman’s voice came next and her accent was slurred in an oddly fun manner. “They are literally passed out!”

“Fuck off, you oversized bimbo bumblebee!” The jingle bell man shouted back. “We all know what that little shit is and how much trouble they are! Fuckin’ Kill. It!” 

“Back the fuck up, Mammon!” A second maculine’s voice spoke out; licked with flames and closer to you in proximity than the first two. “We’re not doing anything until Lucifer is back, alright? So cool it!”

“AH! Eat Shit Oz!!” 

“ENOUGH!!” A fourth and final voice caught your attention in all the chaos, silencing the first three with a deep resonant growl. “I ain’t got the time nor patience to deal with you lot pulling any shit funny right now! So, listen good cause I’m only gonna be sayin’ this once.” 

The baritone figure continued, and his growl was ever present in every word; a hidden threat barely contained by a tight jaw and clenched teeth. “You’re gonna clear all these chuckle-fucks outta my courtroom, get the media under control, and make sure your fuckin’ rings don’t go into a full blown panic. We already had enough to deal with letting our little Princess have her day in court and possibly cause mass hysteria with her wild ideas.”

It was then you felt enormously thick and warm fingers slide under your body and pick you up from the ruined floor; strong, slow, and careful. Or as careful as someone who was apparently a mass of anger and nerve could be. The fingers rolled you into a warm, meaty palm and cupped your aching body against scaly skin. Everything hurt but this was marginally better then just being left to lay on the ground.

“We cannot, and will not, allow whatever this lost little angel was gonna do fuck over today any more then it already is. Asmodeus’ point stands: We wait for Lucifer’s wake.” 

There were soft agreements, with one being a bit more stubborn than the others but he too fell in line. 

“Well, get to it!” The one who spoke, who held you in his impressively large hand, chuffed. “Nothing's gonna get done if we just look at one another.” 

“Uhh, real quick?” The more feminine voice spoke up with mild concern. “You’re not gonna let them be like … naked while we wait, right? Looks like whatever they were before got burned the fuck off.”

“Oh, uhh,” And for the first time in the entire conversation, the one who was holding you sounded immediately out of his element. And you felt your body heat up with a fire that was deftly more than the burning from your shoddy landing. 

“It’s okay dude. I’ll tots have some clothes sent for them in a bit. See about getting them looked over? A doctor couldn’t hurt.”

“Right. Ahem.” He cleared his voice and turned away, and each footfall the man made vibrated your body. You dared to peek open one eye and was met with the blurry visage of a red faced demon-dragon; his head wreathed with four black horns and four yellow eyes looking over his shoulder. “There’s only one prison that can hold an angel in my entire collection. I’ll be waitin’ there.” 

And as your vision grew dark, shapes and faces losing all meaning, you barely managed in time to speak. “T-Thank … you.”

The dragon’s breath was hot as he growled again; half amused. “Don’t you go thankin’ me yet, little star. For the time being I’m your judge and jailor, and you won’t be enjoin’ that too much.”

“I-”

“Quiet.” He huffed. “I ain’t in no mood to talk.” And with no fight left, you slipped into a deep rest. There were no dreams. No fire. No pain. No cold or comfort. Just sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Ramatraa read your file, he knew it was a Blackwatch raid on your small town that caused you to loathe the sham that was Overwatch, and you had to survive a traumatic childhood by mimicking everything around you. You could be disguised as anything, from a dog limping down the street to a trash bin dumped over on the side of the road, and through this unique skill you would steal food for other orphaned kids in your town … or you’d pilfer heavy munitions for rebel cells. You were a survivor, durable and capable, and slightly insane. You had to be if you kept pestering him so often. 

You caught him several times when he was leaving meetings with the other Talon top-brass, appointed his escort to and from his ship, and would poke and poke and poke:

“So, got any plans to make people suffer as you have suffered today?” You asked with half of your voice being your own, and the other more embolden part being his tone repeated back to him. Uncanny. 

He tried to ignore you, walking onward as you trailed behind; sights set forward to his docked ship. 

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging!” Your smile was too wide for his taste.

He growled. “Surely you must have some task other than to bother me, Human.” 

“Oh, ouch, are we back to that sort of name calling, Omnic?” You frowned with a mischievous eye roll. “Come on, give me something to work with besides your broody mode. A laugh, a joke!”

“You are a joke.” Was his quick spitted response, and he felt rather juvenile after letting it out.

“Again, ouch.” You chuckled and he watched from the edge of his vision as your smile faded ever so. “How about this then - When you’re in a better mood, and if you have free time, come find me?”

Ramattra paused in mid step and snapped his head down to look at you. “And why would I seek you out?” 

“Cause I’m charming and fun to be around.” Your smile grew in full force; hands on your hips and head held high.Cocky and confident. 

The Omnic aimed to give another quick retort, a quick bit of his words, but he faltered. That’s what you wanted from him, banter and conversation - You were collecting more of his voice. And for what end? You were using him, just as how he was using you. 

“Enough of you, Mimic.” Ramattra’s tone was deep, level, and it made your stomach churn. His red glowing gaze was intense and you felt your grin falter once more. “Be gone and find your sport elsewhere. I have no interest in mingling with the likes of you.” 

“Likes of me? W-What’s that-?”

“You are an adventitious tool for Talon and nothing more. You are barely subpar above the hacker and sniper, nowhere near important enough to be mentioned by your leaders, and your only real task is playing babysitter to someone who could crush your skull in with a flex of my palm. It is trivial and a token task given to placate someone as desperate as you.” The Omic turned away from you and kept walking to the ramp of his waiting vessel, leaving you in your spot. 

Your feet refused to move and you couldn’t find any words. 

“Keep that in mind when you try to talk to me as if we are equals.” Was Ramattra’s last comment as he ducked out of sight, and you stood frozen as his ship flew away into the early evening’s orange sky. - - -

The last meeting with the Omnic got to the ears of Reaper, with some deck crew tattle-telling on you, and the masked man gave you a mouthful of not so passive threats to back down … and a new assignment that would take you away from Talon’s HQ for sometime. Talon couldn’t risk pissing off Null Sector, not for the amusement of a mid-range agent like yourself.

You were assigned to the ass end of nowhere, at a monitoring station high in the mountains of the western United States, where Talon was piggybacking off official comms channels around the world. You were set in charge of a small team that was meant to monitor air traffic and report anything useful. You were essentially tossed to the side, put in time out, and your skills and true talents left unused for months.

To anyone else, they’d have probably been pissed off and brooding about the new job, but you had been discarded before many times, lonely and forgotten, that this was a walk in the park. You had learned to mimic contentment, to fabricate joy, and masterfully masked your hurt emotions with diligence to your task. This was all first nature to you, with the founding blocks of your skills set by a little kid who had to fake it till they made it. You remembered a time where you had to literally mimic the sound of a dying bunny to lure in a starving cat, a fine meal you caught with your bare hands; just barely above the age of ten. 

You were so alone, so sad, and scared.

In all your bravado and flashy facade, you had thought that maybe Ramattra would understand what it meant to feel alone; given his situation. You couldn’t imagine the weight on his shoulders, his task was unique to him alone, but you could still sympathize. And you dared that maybe, just maybe, you told yourself, if you could make him “smile” there was hope that neither of you would be so lonely.

But alas, he pushed you away. Red tape was laid out and you were officially told to back off.

That didn’t stop you however from using the monitoring station to your own ends.

You had your own hacking subroutines that Sombra didn’t have access to, your own unique flavor of single mimicking, and you easily tapped into Null Sector and Talon communications. You at first used your connection to pinpoint where joint operations were held, then you would figure out who was in command and leading the missions, and eventually you got access to an area’s security system and watched the battles from the comfort of your desk via CCTVs. And unabashedly, you were keen on watching Ramattra work out in the field. 

You watched how dominating Ramattra was on the field, and was fascinated with how precise his attacks were. His defensiveness was calculated, his offense ruthless, and he would annihilate his enemies with efficacy. You couldn’t help but find yourself mimicking his voice and actions in the comfort of your room, playing out fighting along his side and working out in your head how you could aid the Omic in battle. You found yourself roleplaying as well, making fake conversations back and forth with his voice and your own in your throat. Silly things, funny things, a side of Ramattra you were making up in your spare time. 

You imagined him congratulating you on a task well done, complimenting you on your fighting style, and after a few close calls in combat, finally him taking that offer on spending time with you. But in reality, you were talking to yourself, sitting in a barely lit room and dreaming of something that would never come to be. It was pathetic. The solitary time in the mountains was getting to you, and you knew that there was a line between boredom and obsession. 

On the morning you set out to end the little spy network on Ramattra’s missions, you noticed something interesting stirring in the signals codding. The Omnic and a few other Talon agents were set out on a stealth mission to steal a payload out from Overewatch’s nose, and where Sombra was there to hack her way through doors and watch through the building’s cameras, you caught signs of another person’s work doing the same thing you were doing. They were mimicking Sombra’s signal and watching everything she was doing. You watched from a third eye position as Sombra’s attacks were being counter blanched, no doubt by someone in Overwatch, but you couldn’t act - Or else you’d be found out. It was one thing to have a little network insight like you had, and another thing to be found out. 

You could get into real trouble, like the sort that left a bullet in your brain knowing Talon, but as you watched the mission go to shit, as you saw Ramattra’s shield being beaten down again and again, all thoughts for self preservation fell away. 

“Fuck it.” You snarled under your breath and got to work. Your signal turned onto the Overwatch line and began to attack it from the preverbal backdoor in a sparking battle; counter-acting every move it tried to do, by acting as stray code within its own network. You began to cause internal damage into the Overwatch hacker’s routine, mimicking your way in and out of its trappings to have the program destroy its own code.  

The actions caught Sombra’s attention as she was trying to open a door for escape, a weird glare set to her features. “What the-?!”

“Sombra, the door!” Reaper shouted out between shotgun blasts.

“Yeah yeah, I’m getting there - Finally!” She barked back with a sudden smirk as the doors flew open. 

“What took so long?” Widowmaker asked through the commlink, snipping off targets from above.

“Eh, someone in Overwatch was being fancy. But - …” Sombra stood up and dashed through the door; leaving her remark unfinished. The others followed behind her, with Ramattra pulling in the rear as he used his tanky tactics to cover the retreat. 

Reaper hummed and looked to Windowmaker, who had joined the escape from the shadows of a corner and a glare was set to her cold, blue features. 

You watched the interactions going down, heard every word, and both you and Sombra knew that; she knew you were watching and listening now. The hacker was the closest thing you had to a “friend” within Talon, and you knew while she’d try to not toss you under the bus, she might not have the choice; self preservation. But you couldn’t help but feel sudden burning guilt as Reaper and Widowmarker set their eyes onto Sombra. They had their suspicions on her already, you knew that after the failed assassination a few months back, and this could be the perfect opportunity to get her. And by “get”, they could easily kill her if they wanted. 

You couldn’t hide. Your shame of spying on Ramattra was meager compared to seeing Somrba get shot down. Your own self preservation was tossed out the window in a foolish flick of our comm into their joined link. 

“Welcome to Talon Airlines, this is Mimic, and I’ll be your pilot this evening!” Your voice mimicked that of a cherry commercial pilot, masterfull masking your nervousness. The group took a collective halt, stunned for a moment, but none of you had time to talk or argue. “If you could kindly get going? I can’t copy their single for too much longer and Sombra needs to get out of there before the whole compound goes into lock down.” 

Wordlessly the team booked it for the exit, with Sombra leading the way to freedom as you battled on; holding the line. You managed to lock and close doors behind the fleeing troupe, blocking Overwatch agents from getting to them at every turn. You watched as the Talon transporter came flying down to pick up the team, with Ramattra taking a quick glance at a security camera. You watched his crimson glow lingered into the feed, and even as he ducked out of sight and into the safety of the ship, you could feel the red flare burned into your gaze; with no amount of blinking being rid of the speckles in your eyesight. 

You were so fucked.

---

Ramattra stood to one side of the debriefing room, silent and arms crossed, and he was impressed by how you held your ground while Reaper drilled into you. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show emotion. But it couldn’t last; you were only Human, after all. Sombra was brought in as well, the two of you getting an earful, but the masked-man’s ire was majorly on you. Rightfully so, of course. 

You were spying on special operations of some of Talon’s highest ranking agents, and that would've gotten any other soldier a death sentence. Your only saving grace was that you never recovered what you saw. And with Sombra’s input, it was understood your system was nearly flawless. The hacker would have improved things here and there, a few tweaks into your algorithm, but it was enough passive praise to get Reaper to cool down. 

And then there was Doomfist. He was as quiet as Ramattra during the entire interrogation, and only spoke after Reaper had stepped back from your person. Reaper was the gun and Doomfist was the person who could’ve pulled the preverbal trigger.

“Agent Mimic.” Akande began, his baritone voice calm as he was reading over a datapad. Ramattra recognized the passing words on the pad as your personal file, specifically the disciplinary record section. It was a clean slate. 

“Yes, Sir?” You asked at full attention. 

“I shall make this simple.” Doomfist put down the datapad onto a nearby table and began to walk his way around the room, slowly making it to your side. Ramattra was reading your vitals and while you were keeping collected on the outside, your heart rate was steadily rising. “While you have been a loyal soldier to Talon’s cause, and resourceful tool, and have skills I’d hate to see wasted … You’ve made yourself a loose thread, one that has no damaging repercussions if I decide to have you removed. Do you understand?” 

You nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Doomfist’s large gauntlet, with its golden fingers and heavy metal, was delicately laid upon your thinly padded shoulder. He held firm and Ramattra could see in your hardened stare a small spike of emotion breaking through. 

Fear. 

Ramattra could feel his system whirr alive from within his chest cavity, a fan kicking in to dispel a heat he hadn’t felt till that moment. 

“Very good.” Doomsift gave your shoulder a pat before he moved the heavy hand from your body, and your heart race quickened at the lack of his touch. Silent as the night, the tall Human walked back to the head of the table and sat down in a blackened swivel large chair. He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking. 

Reaper shifted his weight from side to side, waiting.

Sombra’s sharp eyes were fixated on Mimic, then onto Ramattra for a brief moment. 

“Ramattra.” Doomfist spoke and his golden gaze shifted to the Omnic. “If Agent Mimic was in your charge, how would you proceed with discipline?” 

Your eyes shifted to him, your fear growing cold in your once bright eyes that teased him with his own voice months ago, and Ramattra’s fan kicked up a level in intensity. You were breaking, as any Human would do in time. There was something undeniably egotistically uplifting at knowing your fate was dependent on his word; something cruel and bitter. Mondatta’s words of compassion echoed within Ramattra’s mind, a failure of a lesson, and it was one he swore never to head again. 

And yet. 

Ramattra uncrossed his arms and reached for his staff, with long metal fingers curling about the weapon’s shaft as he hummed a thought. “Were this left to me? This tool is still usable, even in such a blunder.” 

Your eyes never moved off Ramattra as he continued. “Agent Sombra has given her account on how Mimic’s network was undetectable, to herself and to Overwatch until the big reveal. With some reworking, and with proper guidance, this tool can be repurposed.”

Doomfist hummed deeply. “To be repurposed, a novel idea. And if I were to offer Mimic into your service?” 

The Omnic didn’t trust Doomfist as far as he could throw him. This was a trick. “I would decline.”

“I see.” Doomfist sighed. The tone was set and Mimic’s fate was sealed.

Unless Ramattra acted quickly. But did he want to? It was no secret you were using your network to watch him, an unspoken thing said in the report and after a quick dissection of your data. Why were you watching him? What did you want? Were you seeking the thrill of an obtuse fetish? Trying to gather information on Ramattra that could bring him down? Were you secretly working on the derivative of Talon? There were too many questions.

And thankfully for you, Ramattra wanted answers. 

“However,” Ramatta took a step forward, using some of his massive form to block you from Doomfist’s gaze. Your heart was accelerating at every passing second and there was a mild thrill for Ramattra in your panic. “If Mimic was to choose to transfer to my retinue, I would see this repurposing done. Personally.” 

“You believe they have a choice?” Doomfist raised a singular handsome brow. 

“I do. They can either accept the transfer,” Ramattra and everyone turned their attention to you, and he watched as you swallowed hard. “Or they die. There is no use in vague threats over their life now. They understand … don’t you, Agent Mimic?”

Your throat was so dry that it burned like a sunburn. You rolled your tongue behind closed teeth, trying to find some saliva for reprieve, but there was none. There was only one answer you could give. 

---

And that is how you ended up as the only Human in service of Null Sector, a Talon lesion for Ramattra’s personal use; half hacker and half confidant. Ramattra used your mimicry to every advantage, both in the physical sense and in data collection. You were given quarters deep within the recesses of his primary base, where the sun barely showed and work was grueling. But you were at least alive. You would adapt to your new life (for however long it lasted), as you had so long ago as a child. You swore to yourself to thrive, to make yourself useful, and to survive no matter what suffering the world would toss upon you. 

And of course, you wouldn’t let your flare fade away, not all the way at least. You just had to go about it differently then you had before. The first rule change was to not piss off Ramattra. The second was to not get caught.

So when you felt the need to speak to yourself, you did so in your room. You couldn’t hold back those ticks for sassy conversation. Using his voice, however meager and in private, provided some aspect that you still had free will in your new life. 

“Did you think me forgiving?” You asked yourself in Ramattra’s voice. 

“No, Sir.” You responded with a smile. “I think you are a dick.” 

“You dare?!” Ramatra’’s voice scoffed in your throat. “You’ll pay for that, little one.” 

“Oh, little one~? Don’t make a promise you can’t keep …” You blinked at that and felt your face flush. That came out of nowhere, and it was extremely unhealthy. Creepy and gross, even. You cleared your throat and reached for a cup of water, sipped it to soothe the ache from copying Ramattra’s deeper voice. 

“I’m fucking weird.” You chuckled at yourself nervously and got back to work, typing away at a report.

Meanwhile, from across the base, a solitary Omnic was in his workshop with an array of monitors before him. 

Ramattra knew your first task when setting up your room would be to weed out any listening devices and cameras, all which you found with ease … save one. But it’s location he kept to himself, for now.