piamo

HOT LOT ⋅ 'hät 'lät (noun) a high-priority box of wafers in semiconductor manufacturing. WET POLISH ⋅ 'wet 'pä-lish(noun) a fabrication technique in semiconductor manufacturing wherein a slurry of abrasive particles is used to achieve high levels of planarity.

One convenient thing about being sealed head to toe in plastic wrap was that nobody could accuse you of being a “smarmy, smiling little bastard” with a hood and mask on.

“YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? YOU THINK I WON’T ESCALATE THIS TO YOUR DAMNSHIT SUPERVISOR?”

Hm. Unless you had X-ray vision like this sad excuse of a human apparently did.

Tiernan schooled his features and leaned against the JARGON. Specifically JVT-12, which had broken two wafers this morning. For a big-name company like HAFNON, a tool being down meant a million bucks lost per second. Those poor billionaires. He batted his lashes sweetly. “Funny? Nothing’s funny. I’m just deeply, deeply focused. Go on.”

He’d worked at HAFNON for a little over eight months now. A record. You could say that job-hopping was a talent of his. But hey, he scored a higher salary each time he jumped ship. No harm in that. Maybe it was time to fire up the old resume again. Fitz wasn’t jerking his chain when he warned him the last contractor to work with this process engineer booked it to Arizona.

Tiernan stared at the man. This was only their fifteenth time meeting. What was his name again? Rupert? Rudiger?

“WEAR”—the nameless process engineer slapped Tiernan across the face with something latex-y—“FUCKING. GLOVES.”

Not only was Arizona hot as hell, there were also scorpions. But probably he could get used to it.

Granted, the process engineer had a point. CMP was a delicate process. It stood for Chemical Mechanical Planarization. For those friends around him who bafflingly chose not to spend their days gowned up in a cleanroom, squeezing to fit under a thousand-plus-pound machine that gargled acid, Tiernan generally explained that CMP was a fancy wet piece of sandpaper that spun really really fast to shave off two-ish microns of metal.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t an art to it. An art which, yes, occasionally had to be achieved by temporarily removing a glove. But process engineers wouldn’t know a thing about art, would they?

Ruprecht? No, he doesn’t look like a Ruprecht. Rudeprecht, maybe. Hah.

Tiernan thought about pointing out that screaming in his face was probably generating more particles than the ones the Surfscan had picked up in the first place, but decided to politely wait for the process engineer to finish his crash out.

The man looked twice Tiernan’s age. Probably in his mid-forties. Graying the way engineers do, from what Tiernan could tell eyeing his company badge. Well, that’s what happened when you didn’t keep your apoplexy in check. Round spectacles, blue, unfeeling eyes ringed with bags. Skinny. Probably his wife didn’t make him breakfast in the mornings. Good for her.

While the process engineer continued ranting, Tiernan leaned in and covertly sniffed his vicinity. He smelled the way the whole ISO 7 cleanroom smelled. Like purified, recirculated air.

Which is to say, he smelled like nothing.

Mikhail casually looked up, only to see a strange sight. Standing at the very edge of the Steel Bridge, looking down at the roaring river from on high, was a man.

The man must have been in his mid-twenties. He was wearing a gray trench coat. Although it was difficult for Mikhail to see from such a distance, the man’s down-turned expression, veiled slightly by his jet-black bangs, seemed to hold a dark emotion. As he continued to stare down at the waters, his grip loosened on the railing at his back.

Mikhail’s heart nearly stopped.

Is he… is he going to jump?!!

₊˚ ⋆❆⋆ ˚₊

While he was alive, Mikhail had never been an athletic person. During his years on the swim team as a child, all he had ever accrued were participation ribbons. By the time he became an adult, he got winded walking up even a single flight of stairs. But now, seeing this stranger on the brink of ending his life, Mikhail—with adrenaline pumping through his veins—launched himself forward like a steam locomotive.

He pushed through a few spectators who were filming the sight on their phones. Someone even had a more professional-looking camera angled towards the spectacle.

Mikhail seethed, You fucking sickos!

By the time he was within arm’s reach, the man had completely released his grip on the railing. Mikhail extended his arms and, at the last second, wrapped them around the man, holding him firmly in place.

₊˚ ⋆❆⋆ ˚₊

“Don’t!” Mikhail shouted.

His teeth were chattering from the stress. Having gotten this far, he didn’t know what else to say.

To be honest, Mikhail had a heart that was, fittingly for the season, three sizes too small. He didn’t know what this person was going through, didn’t know if he had the power to help him beyond this moment. Everyone on Earth had their own difficult circumstances that would make them feel alone, so what could he, a complete stranger, say that would make a difference?

The smell of cologne wafted up from the crook of the man’s neck, causing Mikhail’s nose to itch. He tightened his grip around the man’s chest and, pressing his forehead into the man’s back, mumbled, “You… don’t make a mistake you can’t take back. Your life is important.”

Suddenly, Mikhail felt a warm sensation from head to toe. The System’s emotionless voice rang in his ears:

【GUARDIAN CONTRACT FORMED - THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMPLIANCE】

₊˚ ⋆❆⋆ ˚₊

Behind him, a woman shouted, “Cut, cut, cut! Who let this guy in?” Mikhail, still gripping the man in his arms, swiveled his neck around. Rather than just a “professional-camera,” upon closer inspection, this was a full-fledged camera meant for filming movies, complete with a stabilizer and sound boom!

“Kid, we’re filming a remake of It’s a Wunderbar Life,” someone operating a jib yelled.

Mikhail: “…”

Looking down, there was even a specially built safety net ten feet below the bridge!

A gloved hand stroked Mikhail’s wrist. The man in Mikhail’s arms tilted his head. In an amused tone, the following words were uttered directly into Mikhail’s ear: “Of course my life is important. Don’t you know who I am?”

Mikhail: “…”

Mikhail wasn’t a fan of watching movies or television. He preferred spending his time driving, gambling, or dancing. Unless it was someone like Leonardo BeCaprio or Bill Smith, he wasn’t going to recognize him.

Third-rate actor scum!

₊˚ ⋆❆⋆ ˚₊

Mikhail released the man. Though the man’s back was still turned, like a dog sniffing fresh meat, Mikhail could instinctively sense that he was handsome. This made his anger vault even higher. For a split second, he thought about pushing the man off the bridge to test and see if that safety net really worked.

The System piped up in his ears:

【DOWNLOADING PAIRED HUMAN DATA FROM THIRD HEAVEN DATABASE - 1%─99% - DOWNLOAD COMPLETE -

NAME: SHEN DAN (沈耽) DOB: 05/22/199X GENDER: MALE SEXUALITY: BISEXUAL OCCUPATION: ACTOR KP BALANCE: 4501 MISSION: ACCOMPANY PAIRED HUMAN—】

“Shen Dan? As in DANMEI?! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re planning,” Mikhail screeched aloud, storming away. He batted away the green pop-up as if it were a bothersome fly, causing the pop-up to flicker. “All you Systems are the same! I am not spreading my legs for that guy! Not for missions, not for points! I’m straight, and I’m going home!”

The System: 【…】

Shen Dan: “…”

Art by Reidiantdawn and Matchasakura2, respectively.

Wherever you are in the world, it's never too early to celebrate Christmas! In Return to the World, follow Mikhail Li as he plays a supernatural game of bingo to come back to life before he's "deleted from the environment" on Christmas Day! And maybe fall in love along the way????

We got snappy prose, kaomojis, two guys being dudes, angels and demons, and a fair number of pop culture reference which surely have aged well since I finished the rewrite in 2023.

Each chapter has a cute li'l header I illustrated myself. (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

noncon. you wanna read a tale about a dude fucking another dude and its not consensual. congratulations you are a person of taste.

you like ABO. this story has it. classic alpha x omega in heat. you can't go wrong. it's a staple. it's the bottom of the food pyramid. eat up so you can grow up big and fierce and strong

it's formatted so fucking well. @subvertebra nailed it with this one

it's well-researched! kind of! (i used to work in a clean room myself, and i sat down two field service engineer friends who answered a little bit too readily my question as to where would be a good place to bone in a clean room...)

it's short. 9k words, give or take. you can read it in one sweaty sitting

it just so happens to be free to read right now. maybe not forever, given the state of censorship BS and my increasing inability to afford basic needs

Cover art by Yuma

The link to download is here on Itchio. if you wanna make my day, you can subscribe to my newsletter too (and get another free story to read)