#anthimos

"What did you do to me?" He says, voice rough, wanting to scream as his gut twists in a horrible, new way. She watches him, expression cool, but the way her muscles tense tells him she's got that animal panic kicking in. Fight or flight or freeze; he wonders what she's really made of. And what is he made of, now? He wraps an arm around his stomach and shudders at the sense of wrong pushing against the meat of him. Her cold eyes flick down to follow his movement, expecting violence in his sudden ferity. He knows how he must look, wild-eyed and palpably murderous. Anthimos has never deliberately killed someone before, but he reckons today might change that. Seems this monster of a woman believes the same.

"Won't fix what's been broken," she says. He lowers his face, bares his teeth at her in a threatening grin. Mammal rage; his blood still pumps hot.

"Might make me feel better." She exhales a single, breathy, Ha, which only pisses him off more. Furious, he grabs her by the throat and shoves her harder against the wall. "What did you do to me?" She grunts, shifting against his grip but finding no relief. 

"I made you a better pilot." Not quite choking, but close enough to corrode her words. "Human bodies aren't resilient enough to handle the ongoing pressure of piloting. I replaced your organs with stronger stuff."

"You—What?" He's going to be sick. The thought of false viscera within him is like worms wriggling between his muscle, or the tendrils that bound him to his mech. He stumbles back from her, disturbed at how calmly she speaks after being elbow deep in his guts, scraping him hollow. Making him her toy. "I won't be a pilot. You can't make me do this."

"Actually, I can." With a quick gesture, a holographic screen blooms on the wall beside her head. "Behold, an emergency order compelling the humans of Oesta to do everything in their power to maintain mech operations. This especially goes for pilots, who are chosen through processes that are largely—frustratingly—beyond my control. You are within my domain, Anthimos. Your life is forfeit; you now exist as a weapon to perpetuate our survival."

He slams his hand through the hologram, the light bursting apart like shallow water. "Fuck that! I'm human. Words on a screen can't erase my right to my life."

"We all have to make sacrifices—"

"What the fuck do you know about sacrifice?" He punches the wall again and this time she catches his fist, the back of her hand cracking beside her ear, as if she's protecting him rather than herself. A flicker of deeper emotion passes across her face, like the shadow of a fleeting cloud.

"You don't get to ask me that," she says mildly. "You either do this of your own volition, or your mech will make you. Choose whichever helps you sleep at night, though I'd prefer your cooperation. I've only witnessed dissonance in simulations, but I imagine it can't be any more pleasant in reality."

"How about you let me go or I'll kill you?" He means it. She can tell. 

"You'll still be in the same position you are now, except whoever replaces me won't know half as much, and will in fact make your life worse as they bumble around trying to understand my work. Hell, you might lose us the war yourself. I'm sure Aref—"

His elbow catches her under the sternum, driving out her breath and the rest of her manipulation in one quick jab. Coughing, she folds forward, face pressed into his chest as she struggles for air, clutching his shirt to keep herself steady. He stares at the back of her neck, bare but for a few strands of silver plastered down with sweat. Before he can stop himself, he brushes the strands aside, fingers lingering on her sticky skin. She shivers, looking up with mercury fascination. Attempting to divine whatever is going on in his head, most likely. Good luck to her, he figures, because even he's not sure. 

"Don't you ever say his name," he says. "That's my condition. Leave his memory out of your horror show."

"Done," she whispers, still too winded—and baffled—to raise her voice. His fingers slide up into her hair, and he feels her shoulders rise. He considers his stunning lack of options. 

"Actually, keep mine out of your mouth, too. If I'm your pilot, you'll call me that. Let's not pretend I'm a person in your world." That hits a nerve, and she grabs his face, pulling him down to her with unearned intimacy, cheeks flushed with fresh emotion. 

"Don't say that," she say. "That's not how I see you, and it's not how I'll see the rest. I don't want my pilots to lose their humanity."

"Your pilots." He taps the back of her neck in time with his pulse. "Yeah, should've thought of that before you scooped the human out of me."

"Anthimos—"

"Pilot," he says sharply, grabbing her chin in a vice grip. It would be so easy to shatter her jaw. "You want my cooperation? Treat me like the weapon you turned me into. Sleep in the bed you made, see if there's any human left rattling around in your empty heart." It feels good to know this hurts her, to pretend he has even a modicum of power over his life. "As long as I live, you're not going to forget what you're doing to your pilots in the name of a greater cause."

"You mean you'll be my conscience," she says. 

"Sure."

"And if I agree, you'll willingly be my pilot?"

"Yes."

"I can live with that." At some point she's pulled him closer, or he's stepped in without realising, pinning her with his body, her warmth pressed against his front. Her fingers in his hair urge his mouth closer, and he's not exactly resisting. There's something enticing about how much he wants to tear her guts out like she did to him, and there's a gnawing desire for something to fill the raw wound of loss. He imagines her pale skin glowing in the lab light; her begging for forgiveness that'll never come; how it'll feel to fuck the woman who owns his life. This isn't who Anthimos thought he was, but with an alien pressure at his core—and the fury at losing everything he's ever worked for—he's thinking it might be time for a change. 

He parts his lips, teasingly close to hers, and when she moves to kiss him he leans back and licks his lips, grinning in a new, un-Anthimos way. Holding back is harder than he expects, especially when she touches his lower stomach and reminds him once more what she's done. 

"You always this easy?" he says, and she scowls. "Will you make me fuck you if I choose to walk away?" 

For a moment: uncertainty. "Would you want me to?" He gives her a long look, wondering how such a smart woman can ask something so stupid. "No. Are you kidding me? I would never—"

He doesn't need to hear the rest of that. He shuts her up with a rough kiss, tongue thrust deep, and she throws the anger, the annoyance, the utter exhaustion of his presence right back at him in a wave of biting teeth and scratching nails, until they're entangled atop her desk, neat stacks of light knocked askew. Below him, her eyes shimmer with the golden hologram glow as she reads his face, the faint echo of a smile playing across her lips. If she speaks, he'll tear her apart. She'd never make him do something he doesn't want? Yeah, right.

He ducks down to meet her in mutual animosity, and instead plunges into a pool of vivid, blue light, like diving into his first sky. Cold and airless, he exhales his last breath in a boiling rush and catches his reflection staring back at him from each silver bubble. Dark hair, blue eyes like the depths of the sea, the dendritic-pattern scar blooming subtly across his cheek. He looks terrified.

Anthimos falls, tumbling out of himself into the blue, and then deeper into the benthic black of a familiar connection. His real body is beyond him, out of reach in the shadows but close enough to feel. The current pulls him a different way.

Through the dark, he finds his sun. A roiling ball of visceral thought that spills blinding light through the reawakened opening between their minds, golden threads spiralling out to find him. At the edge of his own mind are the physical sensations of clothes falling away and what's left of himself grabbing Gwyn as if he'll scoop handfuls of her soft body away. With the ghost awareness of her touch against his bare skin, he approaches the towering sun. The mech-mind flares, titanic thought pluming in molten arcs. 

Kinda been hoping you wouldn't turn up, Anthimos says. 

then why does your heart flutter with relief? The mech's voice washes over him, warm milk words. Not as sour as he'd like. you sicken yourself. Revulsion ripples down his spine. A gasp on his real tongue. Vertiginous familiarity. He lunges, swinging at the sun. 

You don't know me!

DON'T TOUCH ME.

The roar slams into Anthimos as a powerful wave of abstraction, flinging him back through the connection into his own mind. He slams into his body with a force that leaves him breathless and nauseated. He buries his face in the hollow between Gwyn's bare clavicle and shoulder, moaning as the sunlight tendrils worm their way through his mind once more. She cradles his head with unnerving tenderness. Kindness doesn't become her.

"Neri's awake, then," she says. Not a question; the reality is self-evident in Anthimos' fresh misery. 

"I don't want this," he says, bleeding grief.

"I know." 

"My head..."

"I know." She at least attempts to sound like she cares.

He drags her to the floor with him, pulling at his own hair as if he can tear his skull open to extinguish the flames roaring across his neurons. The sun blazes at the back of his mind, illuminating every thought, his every agony silhouetted in bright relief. He can't turn away, the light sears the shape of a titan into the black of his eyelids. His entire self is saturated with the mech's greater being. He curls into Gwyn's lap and hears someone screaming in the distance, but for some reason it's his throat that hurts and it's his voice muffled in his ears and there's nobody here except him and Gwyn. His stomach heaves and he has enough time to push away before thick bile slides up his throat, black splattering onto the floor. 

"Fuck this," he mutters, viscous black dripping from his lips. He recognizes the taste and texture as similar to the tendrils that bound him in the cockpit, which means his mech is now inside him. The thought pushes him back over the edge and he vomits again. Dirtying Gwyn's pristine floor is the only glimmer of joy in this whole damn situation. His lips quirk when he sees the bile spattered across her skin, too, but the pleasure is short-lived. He wipes his mouth roughly with the back of his hand. "What the fuck did you do to me, Gwyn?"

"I know the process of full connection is uncomfortable—" His bitter laugh cuts her off. He rises onto his knees, reminding them both he's much taller than her. Stronger, too. Thanks to her.

"Uncomfortable is one fucking way to put it." He grabs her head with a crushing grip, thumbs digging into her temples as she flinches. "Reckon it's only fair for you to know how it feels. Maybe killing you is off the table, but I can still hurt you."

"Only if I want it," she says. She's unafraid, even wearing the pressure of his strength like a crown. "We made an agreement, Pilot. You gave yourself up for very little." Her words rankle; his jaw tightens. "Even if you decide to try breaking me, you'll find yourself unable. Go on, call my bluff."

Anthimos stares at her for an eternity, or at least five minutes, fingers twitching at the offer but never tightening. He's not sure what he's more afraid of; running headlong into the mech's true control of his body, or Gwyn's lifeless eyes staring right through him.

Disgusted, he releases her and gets to his feet. He glares down, hoping to come off as the cooler person in this situation, but despite his best efforts she remains unruffled. He can't deny the magnetism of her gaze; if she asked him to return to her, he probably would. 

"You're monstrous," he says. 

"I don't disagree, but I will do whatever it takes to win this war. Help me up." She raises her hand for him and she's so much lighter than he expects that he pulls her right into his arms. There's no give in her body this time, she's all chill irritation. "Stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself. Everyone on Oesta is suffering because the rest of humanity abandoned us. You're going to die to this war? Boo fucking hoo, so is every single other Oestan human if I don't make the necessary choices to keep us alive. We're in hell and we will perish here if you can't put aside your hatred for me to do what's needed. Be my conscience, but don't forget why you and I are bound together in the first place."

"Fuck you."

"Suck it up, Pilot. Nothing lasts forever." Her lips, warm against his. Her thigh in his hand, against his hip. Stupid, stupid, but he can't stop himself. She's like a forest fire across his nerves and he was wholly unprepared for the spark. This hateful desire is new. He didn't know he had it in him.

When she pulls away, there's black staining the peach of her lips. Her head tilts in the direction of the hangar, expression softening. "We'll have to continue this later. We've found our second pilot. Fancy accompanying me to the surface?"

A new pilot. His responsibility. He doesn't even know what he's doing.