#taskmaster x you

bob reynolds; acts of service

bob likes doing small tasks for you - it could be cutting up fruit or cooking, doing chores around the house, or just making your life easier in some way. oftentimes, bob feels useless to the team (his powers often being a hindrance or even a nuisance) so he just likes to make himself useful at the watchtower. he especially likes when you mention how much it helped in front of the team (maybe a sentry-esque bit of him wants to preen a little, who can blame him)

bobs depression states are also important to his love language, I feel. when he's in a dark place (maybe quite literally), he finds absolute peace in finding that small things (things he might struggle with, being in an episode) are dealt with and he can focus on spending time to himself to feel better.

a moment he treasures is also connected to his love language: when he was coming down from a manic state as sentry, he came to his floor on the watchtower and found (what can only be described as) a gift basket. and not one of those ones you send to co-workers, oh no, this was full of things carefully picked out - things he loved, things he would genuinely use for coming down from an episode.

for instance: one of your oversized jumpers; boxes of his favourite cereal in set amounts that he could just open them and eat them dry (either honey nut cheerios or some kind of kid-y cereal with a cartoon animal on the front of the box); singular-use toothbrushes; wet wipes; a couple of hand-held puzzles and different kinds of rubix cubes; a blanket with frayed edges for him to pick at and, most delightfully, a pack of jolly ranchers with everything but his favourite flavour picked out, clearly multiple packs poured into one. he remembers holding the jumper to his face and smelling that distinctive shampoo you use and feeling safe and warm. the episode passed quickly and with more ease than usual, and since than you've always made a care package for him.

john walker; words of affirmation

poor soldier boy just wants to be told how good he's doing, man. I imagine open and clear communication is pretty much all he wants, but he might be difficult with reciprocating that (because he's, you know, an asshole). I think he'll try being gentle now, though, even if it's only because of a deep-rooted fear of losing you.

telling you how much he loves you is never an issue though. john knows what he wants, he's just bad at getting it (he's been given what he wants so easily all his life that these relationships where he has to work a little more than usual might frustrate him).

most often the easiest way to talk to him is by keeping you two close together. he might lay his head in your lap, or against your chest, or hold you to him, and talk about whatever he's dealing with. he likes being told he's being brave, or did the right thing, or just that you love him no matter what. a safe, warm space with just the two of you and whatever he wants to talk about. depending on his mood, he might want to stare at your face, but sometimes he'll close his eyes or stare at an object nowhere near you. you both often find eachother falling asleep here, but if anyone wakes you before you're naturally supposed to get up, john will jump up, go ruddy in the face, shush whichever member of the team it was and usher them out without trying to wake you.

yelena belova; gift giving/recieving

I imagine it starts all the way back in the red room for her, where the only time she's ever given proper gifts is by the rare times she sees natasha. from her, it'll likely be a photograph or a bit of artwork, occasionally a tiny useless trinket for safekeeping, or a note she has to puzzle out in the dark of her shared assassin's dorm room, squinting until she decodes it and has to smother a laugh.

from you, though, it's bigger things.

a t-shirt you lend her that she knows is your favourite; one of those fancy expensive candles she saves for her baths; nail polish in a shade you think is just her or, if you're a maker type, something she can clip on her suit that will help her out in the field. even if helping might mean she can look at it, and be reminded of you. a reason to come back.

and the gifts she gives you - well, they're probably small, but only because these tiny sentimental things are the ones she personally treasures most. if you like creepy stuff, she might give you a baby tooth she's kept for you to make into jewlery, or if you like cute stuff, she might go with you to build-a-bear and pay extra to record a message that will play when you press it's belly (even though she knows she's not the best with words). she wants you and her to have so many things that you share - to live together, so close so it's impossible for you to squirm away. she wants you close to her heart.

(maybe because a bit of her deep down thinks that maybe, just maybe, if she had kept natasha closer, she might've stayed too.)

james "bucky" barnes; quality time

I can see him liking to do adult things with you, like putting together an ikea shelf or standing beside eachother, shoulders brushing as you do the dishes.

it's not only that he appreciates the help, - he does though, of course - but that he enjoys sitting with you, doing things with you, doing nothing with you. it makes him feel like a real person.

I feel like the reason you'd want to be around bucky is obvious, but if I had to give an excuse you might give to someone else if they asked, you might say the stories he'd tell.

bucky doesn't talk about his past often, but when he does it's either in passing - a mention of a bit of history he lived through and remembers, like the berlin wall or the moon landing - or a story about his time before the winter soldier.

when you're teammates and not friends, maybe he'll tell you something about one of his team doing something silly during training, or a prank him and his friends played on a higher-ranked officer, before they realised that they might not win this war.

but when he gets close to you, it's a whole new ball game. he actually tells you about steve: about him curling around a live grenade; about his unchanging humbleness, even after the serum had changed him so absolutely; about his athsma before the serum and how he had to carry around a massive inhaler just-in-case. about his love for his country and his comrades, and his gratitude and kindness towards everyone, no matter if they had done bad things yesterday, because steve had forever believed there was always tomorrow.

ava starr; physical touch

before the cure, ava didn't know what her love language was. she assumed she didn't have one. why not, anyway? just another difference; another thing to 'other' her from the rest of the world.

and then the cure came, and someone brushed their shoulder against hers, and walked away like it was just normal, like it was obvious what she had been missing all this time. it was like an electric current had shot throughout her whole body: she savoured it. it was so different from the soft, fuzzy not-quite-real state of ghosting.

and when you touch her - well. the new electric current might be welcomed, yes, but it was still unfamiliar, and she appreciated how your touches were never too lingering or overbearing, how they were careful but firm, like something solid against her. something real, that she could feel in her soul, but not something too much all at once, or in places that might make her wince or groan like the middle of her torso or the very tips of her fingers. your touch was, well, grounding.

alexei shostakov; food

jesus, if you give this guy a scrap from your plate he'll follow you around forever (calling himself your "big strong man bodyguard protector", often enough) and swat your flies for you.

and you might say you enjoy cooking for him for the praise of your cooking it gets you, or the fact that alexei will insist on doing the dishes for you afterwards as a 'thank you', but I think you know you just like to cook; to satisfy and to feed him; to give him cut up fruit in the shape of a palm tree when he's sad to cheer him up, or make him a hearty traditional russian meal to finish his day with when he needs something that tastes like home.

antonia dreykov/taskmaster; space and solitude

taskmaster needs her space. she's been left alone all her life - being in a tiny dark room helps her think, in a way. she likes little spaces she can worm her way into (possibly why she's such a stealthy assassin) and needs a bit of alone time to calm down sometimes.

You stood over the briefing table, tablet in hand, skimming over structural layouts of the compound. It was heavily secured. Multiple levels, reinforced doors, biometric locks – nothing new, but nothing simple either. 

“If we split up, we can cover more ground,” you said, pointing to the schematic. “Each section is isolated. We take one each – sweep and regroup.” 

Walker frowned, tracing a finger along the interior corridors. “Yeah, but most of these areas are locked down. Keycards. Fingerprint access. Not just some grunt-level security.”

“Then we find guards with clearance,” you replied casually. “Knock them out, and borrow their IDs.”

Walker groaned, partly exasperation, partly admiration. “Of course you would say that.”

Your back and forth was familiar. He challenged everything. You pushed twice as hard. The arguments weren’t personal – they were tactical, strategic – but they could still wear on. You were both professionals, but sometimes your patience ran thin. 

Tony stood on the far side of the table, silent until now. You hadn’t even noticed him move until the air shifted slightly – the presence you always felt before you saw. When you looked up, he was closer. Close enough that both you and Walker instinctively stepped aside to give him space. 

You didn’t speak. None of you did. But Tony’s posture said enough: composed, alert, in control. Always in control. 

He reached out for the tablet, and you handed it over without a word. The exchange was seamless. Familiar. You didn’t need to look at each other to communicate – there was a rhythm between you now, subtle and growing. 

Tony rotated the schematic, projecting a clean 3D hologram above the table. Then, with a quiet efficiency, he pointed to the same three exits you’d marked earlier. His gloved hand hovered just above the projection, fingers steady. 

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have another plan?” you asked, gently. 

He shook his head but held up three fingers. 

Three guards. Then, one more finger. 

A captain. 

Walker raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “So we isolate the captain. Take his clearance. The rest fall in line.” 

Tony tapped on each point of entry. He’d cross-referenced the security patterns. Identified guard rotations and memorized the badge IDs.

You let your fingers rest on the table, watching him work. “We should take the other two guards too,” you mused aloud. “Might find something useful.” 

Walker rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. “Fine. Let’s prep,” he muttered, turning and walking out. 

The room fell quiet. 

Tony didn’t speak – he never did unless necessary – but before you could turn to follow Walker, he gave you a small nod. A flicker of something softer. 

-> GIFTS YOU EXCLUSIVE WEAPONS/GADGETS

You can usually read Tony pretty well – his moods, subtle gestures, and how he holds himself before striking a blow. But you tend to underestimate how observational he is. Sometimes it feels like he’s tapped directly into your phone’s algorithm. You scroll past a nanotech modifier once? He tracks down the buyer within an hour. Save a high-end cookware set to your wishlist? It’s already sitting in your kitchen the next day.

At some point, you had to tell him something.  

“I appreciate you a lot, Tony,” you said, pulling him aside where the rest of the team couldn’t hear. Your relationship was still private – you hadn’t even told Yelena yet, and she was usually the first to know. “But I think… maybe your gifts are getting a little excessive.”

Tony doesn’t respond right away, which instantly puts you on edge. Normally, he’d give a subtle tilt of the head, do something. But now, he just stared at you, silent and unreadable. It broke your heart. 

“I don’t mean– I do like your gifts,” you sigh, unable to find the right words to explain this dilemma. It’s hard to explain this without sounding ungrateful. Tony was… thoughtful. That alone was enough to make something you never believed to be true, knowing his past and expertise. The fact that he went out of his way to spend time, energy, and currency on you was touching, but also overwhelming. “I just feel like you’re spending too much on me!” 

That seemed to stick. He paused, his head tilting to the pendant around your neck – the one he gave you last week. You noticed Taskmaster glance at it too, as if it suddenly glowed neon in the quiet. 

“Of course, I love it,” you reassure him, leaning closer. You could see the hesitance in his posture, the way he was half-bracing for rejection. “I’m not saying to stop altogether. I just… I want the chance to buy things for myself sometimes. With my money.” 

You felt like an asshole. Who tells their significant other to stop buying them presents? Apparently, you do. You, dating a former assassin boyfriend with a heart as unexpectedly soft as a triple-layer sponge cake. But if there was one thing you could always count on Tony for, it was that he listened. Whether you were venting about a dumb argument with Ava or forcing him to watch five minutes of baby goat videos, he listened.  

You glance up, trying to read his expression. He looked more pensive than offended, which frankly, was the best reaction you could ask for. Then you feel his gaze back on you. 

He nods, tentatively. As if saying, Got it, no more gifts. 

Before he could turn to leave, you reached out. “But that doesn’t mean you should stop completely,” you added, voice softer. “Just next time, let me tell you when. Deal?”

From inside the mask, his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

-> LEARNS SIGN LANGUAGE FOR YOU

It had come up a few times, mostly from Yelena, always with a teasing grin. At first, it was just a joke. But the second time, when you brought it up, Tony didn’t laugh. He just looked at you, really looked, and somehow, he already knew what you were suggesting. 

Because at some point, in your relationship, scribbled notes and silent glances stopped being enough. 

You did your research. You scrolled through YouTube tutorials, Duolingo, and finally found a free online course with videos, visuals, and even a live chat with actual instructors. 

Tony was a fast learner. He picked up the basics quickly. It was a little intimidating. He grasped the structure of the language quickly, understanding word order and hand shape with the same intensity he used to analyze combat data. Watching him study was… very Tony. 

“Run through the alphabet again,” you said one evening, perched beside him as he scrolled through lesson modules on his screen. The soft glow from the monitor lit up on his mask, all sharp lines but focused. 

Without a word, he raised his hands. 

“W, X, Y… and Z,” he signed fluidly. 

You blinked. “Okay, show off,” you said, half-laughing. “That was really good.”

He raised a brow. “Next?”

It took you a second to remember how to sign what you wanted to. “Um… simple greetings?”

He nodded, hands already moving. “Hello. Good morning.”

You grinned, amused. “Good morning. What’s your name?”

He paused only slightly before responding. “Tony.” He glanced at his hands as he signed – a little self-conscious, a little unsure. It was ridiculously endearing. “What’s your name?”

You signed your name back, a motion you’d practiced dozens of times in the mirror. It felt oddly vulnerable, like baring a part of yourself in silence. 

Even if you can’t see his face, Tony smiled. 

“Let’s try something else.” 

You nodded. “Uh… weather?”

“Go for it.”

You froze. “Actually, I have no idea how to sign that.”

He tilts his head down. Then you thought you misheard it, but a muffled huff, low and warm. 

“Then we’ll learn it together.”

And just like that, he shifted closer, not touching but near enough for your arms to brush when you both lifted your hands. His attention was fully on you, not the screen. That was the thing about him, when Tony committed to something–someone, he was willing to go all the way.

-> TAKES UP HOBBIES WITH YOU

Surprisingly enough, Tony could pick up any hobby and be good at it. You remembered you mentioned something about scrapbooking. Then over a few days, you both split up your tasks and started gathering supplies and ideas. You sketched what to put in your scrapbook, while Tony looked for supplies. 

“I was thinking of picking places we’ve been to!” you signed. It’s been almost a few months since you two both picked up sign language, and you feel like you’ve been pretty good at it. 

“Good idea,” he replied, setting down all of the pencils, pens, scissors, and stickers. Spread between you were Polaroids from your trips, sunlit streets, late-night hotel dinners, and beaches at the golden hour. One photo already had a caption written beneath it in Tony’s delicate handwriting: Relaxation in Europe. 

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “So that’s what you wanna call it?” you asked, amused, glancing between him and the photo. 

Behind his mask, you could almost feel his frown, the subtle shift in his posture betraying a hint of disappointment. “You don’t like it?” he asked softly. 

Turning toward him fully, you settled into the moment. Both of you were cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, a place where no one would dare to interrupt. 

Your smile gentled, the teasing fading into affection. “I love it,” you said, warmly. 

You didn’t know it, but Tony’s heart was hammering. His palms were suddenly damp, the heat crawling up his neck. He looked away, just for a second, then quickly returned to sorting through the stickers as if nothing had happened. But something did, you just didn’t see it yet. 

-> FIRST TO SEEK YOU OUT 

In any situation, anywhere, anytime, you’re always the first person he looks for. There was a mission. Eastern Europe. A joint op with Bucky and Ava, assigned to extract several high-ranking executives from a hostage situation. The details were classified, but Tony had given you the short version: corporate sabotage, messy politics, and a group of terrified people caught in the crossfire. 

You knew it would be fine. With Bucky leading the charge and Ava and Tony, the mission was bound to go smoothly. The morning of their return, the house smelled like fresh breakfast and cinnamon candles—your little rituals for when people came home. 

“Ugh, I’m so glad to be back!” Ava announced dramatically as she launched herself through the front door, landing face-first into the couch. She let out a groan that melted into a hum of satisfaction, relishing in the comfort of soft cushions and familiar warmth. 

“Welcome back,” Walker grunted, chewing on an everything bagel stacked with a poached egg. It was his turn to cook, so the kitchen was loaded with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a spread of toasted bagels. 

“Ahh! So happy you all made it back!” Alexei cheered, raising his glass of orange juice like it was champagne. Yelena, weary-eyed beside him, gave a sleepy smile in greeting. 

“Went well?” she asked. 

“Well enough,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Valentine is already bothering us to pass her number to the hostages.” He looked exhausted, like all he wanted was a good night’s sleep. Ava mumbled something incoherent into the couch cushions. Yelena rolled her eyes and went back to eating beside her father, clearly not surprised.

Bucky turned to head down the hallway, probably dreaming of his bed. That’s when he spotted Tony, standing still in the corridor, halfway through removing his gloves. His armor was off, but he hadn’t relaxed, not really. His shoulders were still tense. His eyes, though, weren’t focused on Bucky at all. They were locked on your door. 

“You tired?” Bucky asked. 

Tony barely glanced at him. “No.”

His team leader nodded, unsurprised, and followed it up with, “Let them know breakfast is still hot,” before disappearing into his room. 

Tony stayed where he was. He rubbed at his wrists, muscle memory aching from the mission, but his mind wasn’t on his pain. 

It was on you. 

You hadn’t come out yet – probably still asleep, probably from a late-night workout. He wouldn’t be surprised. You always pushed yourself too hard. Still, the soft glow from under your door and the familiar scent of your candle burning told him you were close. 

He trusted you. And only you. Which made you powerful. More powerful than him, even. So, when finally, finally, your nerves started going back into their original position, you couldn't let him know. You wouldn't let him know that you were conscious, thinking. Alive.

"Yes, sir." Your feet carried you through the room after pressing in the code on the door. One thing your severed nerves gave you was incredible memory, at least that didn't fade as Dreykov's control slowly did. You waved off the other guards, knowing they'd been informed to listen to you.

She immediately stopped training, standing up from her sitting position and walking over to her chair closer to the desk with the computer in. It broke your heart knowing Dreykov was using his own daughter for his power. His rules had become so strict with Antonia that she'd immediately walk to her chair when anyone would walk in, scared of a punishment.

"It's just me," You started, walking closer to her and seeing how her shoulder relaxed when she heard your voice. You crouched down in front of her, placing your arms on her thighs and your chin on your forearm to show you weren't under his control again.

"You can take it off," She hesitated at first, but eventually pressed some buttons to release the tight helmet off her face. To say that she trusted you was an understatement. You had given her the red serum days ago, hoping that in time, you'd manage to escape with her. She reached up, taking the helmet off and fiddling with it in her lap.

It was hard on her, the whole pretending to be under his control thing. But in order for you to make a plan for you to escape, both of you had to keep it together. That didn't mean that you'd stop being there for her, quite the opposite. The scar on her face was almost healed, yet some bumps and imperfections still remained, but it only made her more perfect for you.

You had gotten a hold of a drug that had helped her injured eye, making it look almost normal. Of course nobody was aware of it because no-one ever take off her mask apart from you and her. It was mostly for her, to make her feel better about herself whenever she saw her reflection.

You reached up, cupping her face and smiling gently, rubbing the skin on her jaw.

"Not long, I promise."

She sniffled, inhaling harshly to stop herself from crying. Her gaze connected to yours, but she soon looked away towards the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

"I don't know how long I can do this for," She whispered, trying to avoid eye contact. You didn't know what to respond with. You had apologised countless times for revealing her to the serum before you had a plan, but she assured you it wasn't your fault and that she was glad you did it so early. It was the training, and constant fear of someone finding out you weren't under control. The fear, once you escaped, of being found.

You could say, the only place you could be yourself is with each other. And you'd make sure that you'd escape with her.

"Did he send you in here? Why?" She asked, changing the subject while looking down at you with a frown. You only gave her a sympathetic smile before pulling out the memory stick, undoubtedly stored up with more training techniques.

She huffed, gripping her helmet tighter and lifting it to put over her head. Before she could though, you stopped her, taking the helmet and placing it beside the computer. Standing from your crouched position, you pulled her up, enveloping her shoulders in a tight embrace. It didn't take long

before she wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you closer. You already had to stand on your toes to reach up to her, now with her arms around you, she was almost lifting you up.

Gently, she leaned down enough for your feet to be reaching the ground and hugged you tighter, placing her nose into the crook of her neck. You wished you could stay like this forever, in a embrace, in a safety you lacked in your life.

"Promise me something," She pulled away, wiping the tears that had cascaded down your cheeks gently.

You nodded. "Anything,"

"If you have to choose between you and me...you'll choose yourself." You weren't expecting that, and you didn't know what she was talking about. You shook your head, brows furrowed in confusion.

"What? No- Anything but that- I- No."

She smiled, cupping your face delicately in her hands.

"Promise me. Whatever happens, you'll choose your life over mine." No. But you couldn't tell her that, because if you did she'd try and persuade you otherwise

"Okay,"

Of course that was a lie. You'd never do such a thing. She was so important to you. And maybe a part of you knew she could see through your lie, but the same part was hoping otherwise. You wanted her to be safe, that was all it was about from the beginning. Setting her free, like she deserved to be.

She nodded, turning to grab her helmet so you could put the memory stick into her head to install more fighting techniques. Dreykov would know if you didn't do it, so you had no choice.

He walked into the room. He'd usually say something, usually greeted you sarcastically, knowing you couldn't respond. Today, he walked in, staring deep into your soul with arms crossed. You felt your heartbeat quicken but your face remained emotionless. There was no way he would of known, right? Unless Antonia showed him and told him everything, there was no way he could know.

"My daughter..." He started, still staring at you. "Did you know half her face had healed?"

You didn't move, knowing you weren't allowed to respond.

"And her chemical subjugation had worn off." He walked closer, so much so that you could feel his breath on your neck.

"Have any information about that?" He gripped the back of your neck and you almost yelped with how hard he pulled you out the door with him. He was leading you towards Antonia's training room where loud yelps could already be heard.

You could two things. Continue pretending and wish for the best, or expose yourself now and try to kill him. You went with option one until you saw what was happening; Antonia sat on the floor, hands tied behind her back while a guard was kicking her stomach. She had her suit on, but it provided barely any protection.

She was hunched over in pain, grunting each time the guard connected his leg to her stomach.

"NO!" You jumped forward, out of Dreykov's grip in attempt to attack the guard but he was too quick, pinning you tot he ground as you tried to wriggle out of his grip.

"Leave her alone, take me!" Antonia groaned in protest, shaking her head as she tried to get up. The guard lifted you up, but in a moment of weakness, you kicked his feet from under him which made him effectively drop you and himself onto the ground. You punched his face, hitting him unconscious. You swiftly stood up, taking out your knife and cutting the ropes on Tonia's hands. She rubbed her wrists, both of you turning to Dreykov.

For once in your life you saw him second guess himself. He took a step back, holding firmly onto the edge of the desk where the computer was. He was quick to regain his composure, standing straight as if he remembered something he wasn't willing to share yet.

"You know as soon as you touch me, the alarm sounds and the widows will come after you, right?"

You scoffed, twirling the knife in your hand before starting to run at him. Tonia did the same thing, gripping her own weapon in her gloved hands. You ran until you reached him, the sudden adrenaline making you grip the knife that much tighter before it impaled his chest. But he stood there, as smug as

ever. It confused you. He was about to die, why was he happy? You got your answers a few moments later, when the knife got stuck in the air a few inches away from his body. Your brows furrowed, and you felt some type of force holding you back. Antonia felt it too, because something stopped her as well.

"What-"

"You see, smelling my pheromones prevents you from committing violence against me."

You grunted trying again but to no avail. His hand reached up and his finger touched your forehead, slowly moving downwards across your nose before he let his hand fall down back onto his side.

"Tell me, widow. How'd you get free?"

"Like I'd tell you shit,"

He let out a humorous laugh, walking around the desk to the other side. You followed, standing directly in front of him, the only thing between you and him was the desk. Antonia joined your side.

"Ah, my Antonia." He smiled at her. "I was so proud of you up until now-" Both her hands slammed on the desk; "Quit the bullshit,"

"I'm your father-"

"You'll never be my father..." She continued but you trailed off. It was so fucking obvious now. Your nerves. It wasn't the chemical subjugation that made it impossible for you to hurt him. It was the nerve in your nose. "...and if you think I'd ever consider you a father after this, you're so wrong-"

You didn't think twice. You placed both hands on the desk and smashed your nose into the wood. The horrid noise of bones cracking echoed through the room, both Tonia and Dreykov staring at you. You couldn't see her face since she was standing beside you but the look on Dreykov's made up for it. His eyes widened, the white in his eyes now very clear.

You inhaled through your broken nose, blood racing down your lips. It wasn't his cologne or his pheromones that you smelt. It was his fear. The dread he was feeling was almost satisfying, but the only thing that could give you the most content, would be punching it off his face.

"What did you do?" He asked, backing away from you.

"I severed the nerve." You jumped over the desk, landing a punch right in his jaw. The alarms sounded immediately, red flooding your vision but you didn't care. Just as his body fell, you fell with it, but just so your could hit him more. Your fists burnt from the impact, but it only seemed to want you to punch more.

"(Y/N), we have to go. The rest will be here soon," Your head snapped towards her voice. She was anxiously looking over to the door where dozens of widows would appear within the next minute. You looked back down at his body. He wasn't dead yet, but you wanted him to be. So, you stood, smiling down at his bloody face before kicking his jaw with your heel, effectively making him fall unconscious.

You and Tonia ran through what seemed like hundreds of red-lit corridors before you saw a door which lead outside. Problem was, you were thousands of feet into the air. You couldn't jump, but there was no other way.

"D'you trust me?"

You nodded, letting her grab your waist before opening the door and jumping out. Everything happened so fast; the wind hit your face and she cradled your head under her chin with her hand, the other hand secure on her waist.

It wasn't long before you reached ground. Tonia used the parachute that was hidden in her suit to land you to safety, which just turned out to be a massive field with no end.

"What now?" She asked, looking up at the almost invisible infrastructure hidden in the clouds.

"Now we live."

THE END