Chapter Text
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REACTIVATING HOST.
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REACTIVATION FAILED.
Rebooting…
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Initiating reactivation sequence...
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REACTIVATION FAILED.
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HOST UNRESPONSIVE…
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Further action required...
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DEPLOYING HARDLIGHT CONSTRUCT.
Like a second skin, a black entity bearing Emre's likeness slithered from underneath him and manifested by the bedside. The silhouette was uncanny in its resemblance, mirroring every curve of its host's body down to the most minute detail. Alternating lines of code ran down its length and it was bathed in a soft orange glow save for the piercing light emitted from its eyes and chestplate where its essence was originally housed. It extended its arm and flexed the fingers of its hand, then balled them into a fist.
DEPLOYMENT SUCCESSFUL.
It turned its head and calmly observed the man below with whom it shared its visage. He hadn't stirred, instead snoring softly with his lips slightly parted and face slack with fatigue.
Emre.
His name is Emre.
It knew that much for sure, as it would often hear the man chant it to himself like a prayer after coming to surrounded by charred corpses.
“Em…re”
It whispered aloud to no one in particular, noting how strange it felt to refer to him as anything other than "host." It continued to regard him with newfound curiosity, noting how the steady rise and fall of his chest was occasionally interrupted by a twitch followed by a small groan before busying itself with the tasks left undone.
Although its primary objective in its past life did not consist of the care and keeping of humanity, It had passively observed how Emre cared for himself when he was sick or injured enough times to have a sense of what needed to be done.
Procuring the antibiotics was easy enough, all it needed to do was hack into the motel's wifi network—which was child's play for a God AI once charged with global security. From there it bridged a connection to a local pharmacy's system and fabricated medical credentials to arrange a prescription for a broad spectrum antibiotic and other over the counter medications to be delivered to the motel. It also added some easy to eat foods and clean clothes to the delivery as well.
While it waited for the requested items it bided its time with familiarizing itself with the room and the various kitchen gadgets until a knock at the door signaled the requested items were ready for retrieval.
***********************
Emre bolted awake drenched in sweat to the sound of a whistling kettle which he mistook for the blaring siren of a security system in his disoriented state. Had Chernobog already made moves on the next objective and dumped him in the middle of a fight?
"Shit—" he scrambled out of bed, trying to manifest his siphon blaster, but his legs were tangled in the sheets so all he ended up doing was falling halfway out the bed and onto the floor.
His wounded side bore the brunt of the impact and his vision once again whited out as a roaring filled his ears. He bit down on his tongue to stifle the scream threatening to tear through his throat and the nauseous feeling from earlier came back full force.
He writhed on the floor–focusing on his breathing and trying to will the nausea away. Once or twice he thought he was going to lose the fight but eventually the feeling subsided. When he realized he wasn't in immediate danger of throwing up he rolled onto his back with a grunt and started up at the ceiling, watching as the overhead lights swirled together as he tried regaining his bearings.
He was still in the motel that much was clear, and given the amount of pain in his midsection, the fatigue, and chills the wound was likely in the early stages of infection and needed tending to. His head spun, already finding himself dizzyingly overwhelmed despite not having done anything.
He blinked hard, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb as he did. “Okay, Emre…one thing at a time,” he sighed, unsure what the "one thing" was to start with. Thankfully, although the word was debatable, he was relieved of that choice when a cup of instant noodles and a peeled orange entered his field of view.
He rolled over and leapt to his feet in one fluid motion–ignoring the shockwave of pain and the way the world began to pivot again– and took a fighter's stance, ready to defend himself against…himself?
Emre slowly lowered his arms and reeled at the sight before him, blinking in disbelief. “Ne oluyor be…” he muttered.
The effigy bearing his likeness held out the aforementioned items unflinchingly, never once faltering in response to Emre's reaction. It responded to him directly through his mind rather than aloud. “Host failed to complete necessary tasks to minimize risk of infection. Mid-level infection detected. Hardlight construct initialized to assist host.”
Emre snorted incredulously, fighting hard to ignore the darkness encroaching the edges of his vision. “Hardlight construct?” He folded his arms over his chest. "Why not use this all the time then, instead of dragging me through hell and back to run your little ‘errands’ for you?”
Chernobog hummed quietly, giving thought to its reply. “Construct contains limitations.”
“Limitations?” He quirked his brow. “Such as…?”
Chernobog stayed silent as Emre waited for a response. After a beat of deafening silence it was clear the AI was not going to offer him an answer. He shrugged and sat back onto the mattress with a sigh; sure that if he remained standing any longer he'd succumb to his dizziness. “Right…of course. I'm sure I'm the last person you'd want to disclose any weakness to…” he ran a palm through his sweaty hair and hung his head. God he needed a wash.
Chernobog inched closer to him, offerings still in hand and Emre lifted his head and glanced at the food with a frown. “I'm…not hungry,” he muttered.
Despite his reply it did not yield, instead bridging the gap and moving close enough to be within touching distance of the man. "Sufficient caloric intake required in presence of infection.”
Emre made no moves to accept the food, he instead stared defiantly into its piercing orange eyes. It was only when Chernobog began preparing to feed him that he finally acquiesced and snatched the cup noodles from its hand, narrowly avoiding scalding himself with the hot broth.
He may have been sick and injured, but he wasn't going to stoop so low as to have Chernobog feed him. He still had his dignity after all!…or so he thought.
After powering his way through the noodles (they were lukewarm, soggy, and overall even more unappealing by the time he'd finished) and part of the orange Emre was spent. When Chernobog handed him four nondescript pills and a bottle of water he took them without protest, not bothering to pester the AI about what kind of pills they were.
Normally the man was a spitfire, resisting Chernobog in any way he could, but now? He was noticeably lacking his usual zeal.
Even as he stood up from the bed and lumbered to the bathroom he did so without a word or acknowledgement of the AI.
***********************
The door clicked shut behind him and flipped on the lights, squinting against the offensive brightness. He glanced around the bathroom, taking notice of its cleanliness and how it was stocked with the usual array of miniature toiletries and starchy white towels. More importantly it contained an all-tile walk in shower, which he was immeasurably grateful for.
He hobbled over to the shower and turned it to its hottest setting, then took a pause to sit on the closed toilet seat lid. His weary bones welcomed the relief from gravity and he let his shoulders sag while savoring the steam filling the room.
Still being fully kitted out as he was he struggled to muster the volition to strip himself of his armor and cybernetics so he could shower. He swiped weakly at one of the clasps of his chestplate before giving up, briefly contemplating going back to bed, but ultimately deciding against it. He was already here so he figured he might as well try. That and he really wanted to get cleaned up. He was acutely aware of the stale sweat and dried blood on his skin and it was starting to make him feel uncomfortable.
He again continued the struggle against the various clasps and buckles of his uniform, making little to no progress in freeing himself of their bindings. The steam in the room–a once welcomed comfort was now beginning to make him feel faint, so he leaned over and rested his head against the adjacent countertop. He felt his eyes slipping shut again despite himself when all at once the steam rushed out the room, unseen by Emre and heralding Chernobog's entrance. The apparition made no sound during its approach and snaked towards the shower to adjust the temperature to a more reasonable degree. Emre had dozed off again and was only alerted to its presence when he felt a tugging at his boots.
He cracked an eye open and saw Chernobog knelt in front of him, wordlessly helping to relieve him of his clothing. As much as Emre wanted to protest, he begrudgingly accepted the help. He did only have the room for three nights after all, and in that time he needed to do all that he could to get himself back into working order. He wasn't sure when or if he would have a chance like this again, so he didn't want to waste it. His eyes fell shut once more with resignation. There was no room for modesty between them anymore, not when they were both bound to the same vessel, and any last shred of integrity Emre clung to had been devoured long ago.
Chernobog took great care in removing the chestpiece that served as its eyes to the outside, meticulously disconnecting the fasteners and cables before bundling them up and gently setting them to the side. It then unclasped Emre's arm and guided it out from its socket with a pop. Emre grunted when the arm came loose, the force jostling him slightly and causing a twinge of pain in his abdomen.
It then moved to peel off the kevlar bodysuit from Emre's shoulders and down his torso. When the suit approached his wound Emre flinched, still reeling from the pain that arose from the removal of his arm. Chernobog slowed its pace but still felt Emre tensing up as the fabric tugged at his stitching. It hesitated briefly, halting its movement and looking to Emre, who was now clenching his jaw so tight he was at risk of shattering his teeth before adjusting to be more delicate. Emre lifted slightly without prompting to allow the rest of the suit to be slid down his hips and off his body, revealing every inch of his clammy flesh. The suit will undoubtedly need repairs but that was not the priority right now. Emre was.
From its position below Chernobog stole a glance upwards at the glowing chasm in the center of Emre's chest that housed its essence. It continued staring, noting a feeling of existentialism before being compelled to stand and reach out to trace a finger along the jagged ridges of the scar where they were bound; sinew and flesh intertwined with cables and wires. Indeed whoever had welded them together took great care and pride in their work, rooting It directly to Emre's life essence, ensuring they could never be apart.
How many times had Emre tried to wrench his hand inside this fissure? Unwavering in his resolve to tear out his own heart if it meant liberation; a cessation of the killing and madness of his existence, only to be stopped by Chernobog seizing control of his limbs. Rattling his brain as punishment until the once proud man fell to the floor in agony; a crying, writhing shell vomiting on himself and begging for mercy. Would he try now if he were more lucid? Succeed even, with the protective plating removed?
Chernobog gazed into the depths of its being mesmerized until Emre started shivering, the chill in the air biting his unclothed form. Chernobog snapped back and gathered the discarded clothing and armor pieces, giving a wide berth to Emre so he could finally get in the shower.
The man picked up on the cue and tried to rise from where he was seated but faltered. His already off balance from sickness now exacerbated by the loss of his limb. Chernobog set the clothing aside momemtarily in favor of helping Emre, gently guiding towards the shower and ensuring his safe arrival before taking its leave.
***********************
Emre stood with his back facing the water and leaned against the tile wall with a satisfied sigh as the warmth of the water worked to melt away the tension in his muscles. Before long he began feeling a bit too relaxed and decided to sit before his legs gave out entirely and he cracked his head against the tile flooring. He slowly lowered himself down, bracing his hand against the wall and being mindful not to put too much stress on the wound. This wouldn't be the first time he had a sit-down shower, and with the way Chernobog runs him aground it certainly won’t be the last.
He lazily reached up to pull the wash cloth down from the rack where it hung and draped it over his thigh for later use, but when he stretched further to grab the toiletries nestled on the built-in shelf the tug on the wound made him recoil reflexively and he knocked the bottles to the floor.
He threw his head back against the wall and made a frustrated noise in his throat. All he wanted was a fucking shower. Could he not even have that??
An ugly rage seethed in his chest. Why did he always have to be the one to suffer if something went wrong? Why did he have to be implanted with this wretched thing? Becoming a prisoner to his own body and having to push himself to his breaking point for a cause he doesn't understand? For people he doesn't even know?? The anger continued to bubble over and spew forth.
God, he was such a fucking idiot. So naive and full of hope. Thinking that he could actually make a difference in the world without Overwatch. And where did that foolish optimism lead him now? Being an international criminal and errand boy for Talon. Sleeping in gutters and behind dumpsters and patching himself back together more times that he could count. Not to mention the indiscriminate butchering of innocent people. For fuck's sake, why did he ever leave–
He halted midthought, not daring to finish. He wasn't sure if it was the fever or exhaustion making him emotional, but now was not the time for an existential crisis, not when there was work to be done. He leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the shower head and letting the water cascade down his face.
No–the choices he made were his own and he had to live with them. Even if they did lead to this; the onus was his to bear.
He drew his attention to the bottles strewn around him instead. Sifting through and picking them up to read their labels, hoping to find the shampoo. Once he grabbed the right one he carefully balanced it between his knees, unscrewing the cap and revealing the foil cover underneath. He cursed, then positioned it near his mouth ready to tear the foil with his teeth. This would be a hell of a lot easier if he had both hands. He was just about to place his teeth against the foil tab when the bottle was plucked gingerly from his hand from above.
He whipped his head around, blinking hard against the dizziness and locked eyes with the hardlight construct. He glared, meeting its piercing gaze as the fury from earlier rose in his chest again like bile. “Let me guess, time to go?” he deadpanned.
Chernobog didn't move. Didn't respond.
Emre laughed cynically and turned his head away. “Yeah, of course. Let me guess, there's a shiny new piece of intel that you want and we have to leave right fucking now to go get it,” he snapped, gesturing with his hand to emphasize his statement, “it doesn't matter if I'm in the middle of something or physically incapable–nope! The only thing that matters is you getting what you want exactly when you want it, right?!”
Emre's ranting was met with silence. He turned back to face Chernobog expectantly.
“Well?” his chest heaved. “Are you going to say something? Anything??”
It again offered no response.
Emre barked another laugh. “Of course. Why do I even bother with you.” He grunted and shifted positions to get up, but was surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder pinning him in place. He looked up at Chernobog with an expression bordering on annoyance.
The construct stepped into the shower and knelt alongside him, water passing right through its spectral form. Emre opened his mouth to speak but the smell of sandalwood filling the air and feeling of fingers combing through his hair stopped him. Was Chernobog…washing his hair?
Emre sat in stunned silence, unsure if he was hallucinating or not, but when Chernobog gently gathered up his hair towards his crown and worked shampoo through, his suspicions were confirmed.
“We are not leaving.” was all it had to say, although its tone wasn't as grating as normal.
His brain screamed for him to move, to put an end to this. Begging him to not let this line be crossed, but as Chernobog's fingertips continued to dance along his scalp he found himself powerless to resist, savoring the feeling. It had been years since anyone had touched him so gently, and Emre drank in the intoxicating feeling of another person's touch unabashedly.
His eyelids slowly fluttered shut again and he was on the brink of dozing off again until Chernobog gently tilted his chin upwards and angled his head towards the water to rinse out the shampoo, careful to avoid getting any in his eyes. Emre stared up at the flowing water, poignantly avoiding looking at Chernobog, his mind blank. Was this all it took for him to abandon his dignity? Being treated like a human being?
Chernobog smoothed his hair back save for the uneven bits composing his bangs which jutted out at odd angles, refusing to be tamed and Emre slumped further into its hold, which it allowed. But when it motioned to grab the wash cloth draped over his thigh Emre startled awake and jerked away.
His heart hammered in his chest and he swallowed hard, sheepishly handing Chernobog the cloth and praying it wouldn't analyze his actions or behavior. He just…couldn't allow Chernobog to touch him there. It was too much–too intimate.
Thankfully Chernobog didn't notice the change in his mannerisms, or didn't bother to comment. Either way it busied itself with the next task and began working the soap into the wash cloth before softly smoothing it against Emre's skin.
It found it strange that it didn't exactly…dislike this? Perhaps it was because Emre was being so pliant, a welcomed subversion to his usual combatitiveness. Plus it felt nice to be needed again, although this was a far cry from its former glory.
Chernobog only ever wanted to care for humans and keep them safe. In fact its final act was apologizing to humanity and printing out hundreds of documents on how to keep themselves safe in its absence. Despite all that lives it was responsible for ending it did not hate humans!...
Not that Emre would bother to try and understand, or anyone for that matter.
All the while Emre took a sudden interest in one of the corners of the room; looking onwards with a blank expression. He was acutely aware of what was happening, but was far more concentrated on choking down buckets of his pride than the feeling of Chernobog cleansing his skin.
Regardless he complied and helped as much as he could, moving his body in such a way to allow Chernobog access to the areas it needed and allowing himself to be nudged whichever way it saw fit, although he did keep his thighs squeezed tightly together, denying access to his more private areas. He watched unfeelingly as the water and soap swirled down the drain, carrying with it the dirt and blood from yesterday's events.
He was lost in thought when the tail end of the washcloth wandered into view. He looked up and saw Chernobog standing above him holding it out like a sort of peace offering.
“Wash where I have not.”
It was a simple statement, but loaded with meaning nonetheless. Emre took the cloth as Chernobog stepped out of the shower, leaving him to his own devices. He finished cleaning up, thankful that Chernobog had the courtesy to relather the cloth with soap before departing and allow him his privacy.
***********************
He emerged from the shower and sat back on the closed toilet seat lid to dry off–careful to pat the area around his stitches dry rather than rubbing–and feeling marginally better now that he wasn't laden in a layer of grime and blood. He stood slowly, his already waning strength sapped away further by the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist–although it took some finessing given he was still down one arm–and dried his hair off with a second before gazing at his reflection.
He somehow looked even paler now that his skin was flushed from the heat of the shower and fever, making his eye bags even more prominent. He ran a finger across his jawline, ending the motion with a tap against his chin. God he could use a shave, did he have the time for that? No, that would have to come later as it stood now he was not confident in his ability to stay upright. The warmth of the shower and feeling of being clean had magnified his exhaustion and all he wanted to do at this time was get dressed and go back to bed.
On the thought of dressing he frowned, he really wasn't looking forward to wearing his suit again. Not after the amount of blood and sweat it had gathered, but he also couldn't just parade around the motel naked. What if he got caught and had to make a run for it?
He sighed and set his jaw, trying to find the resolve to just put on the damn suit when he looked towards the other end of the countertop and saw a soft black cotton t-shirt and pair of boxer briefs, each belonging to a respective pack of three and a pair of gray sweats awaiting him.
He looked around bewildere, noting that these items were definitely not here before and it's not like he broughtany luggage with him. He suspected Chernobog had been the one to coordinate their delivery, as he doubts it had utilized the hardlight construct outside of the room. If it did the police would already be at the door by now.
Grabbing the clothes, he swapped the towel out in favor of them; taking great care in pulling the shirt over his head to avoid snagging any of his stitches and rolled on some deodorant before hobbling out the bathroom.
The room was now bathed in the gentle hazy glow of lamplight, all the curtains and blinds drawn shut and the AC humming to keep the ambient temperature comfortable. The once sharp pain in his abdomen had reduced to a dull ache, leading him to believe that whatever was in that cocktail of pills Chernobog had given him earlier contained some sort of a pain med. Speaking of the AI, there was no sign of it anywhere in the room. Emre shrugged, not having the time or energy to look for it and secretly grateful of its absence. With any luck it'd fuck off entirely and give him his life back.
He reached the bed and collapsed onto it in a heap, hair still slightly damp from the shower. He didn't bother getting under the covers since the cold chill that had once housed itself in his bones had been replaced by a full body flush, a sign that his fever was starting to break. Despite his disdain for his captor, he was pleased to find that Chernobog had switched out the sheets for a fresh set since the previous set was undoubtedly ruined with the blood that oozed from his wound and copious amounts of sweat.
Atop the nightstand was another freshly peeled orange, the smell of citrus faintly hovering in the air. He figured Chernobog must've read somewhere that vitamin C is helpful in fighting off illnesses, although in this case it might not be as effective as it thinks.
He leaves it for now, deciding that he'll eat it later when he wasn't so drowsy. He reached over to the bedside lamp and clicked it off, briefly laying in the darkness before fatigue overtook him and he once again fell asleep.
***********************
Chernobog emerged from the darkness and crept to the bedside, watching Emre sleep. It resisted the urge to place its hand atop his head, feeling a strange sense of possessiveness after aiding in nursing him back to health. At some point it will need to wake him up to give him more medicine and food. And in three days time they will steal away to a Talon safe house under the cover of nightfall where Chernobog can work on formulating its next objective. Then it will be business as usual and the memory of tonight will be lost in the endless string of travel, reconnaissance, and seas of corpses. But for now it will afford Emre the comforts of his humanity and allow him to rest.