Chapter Text
When there's no one at headquarters, Reca and Elio let themselves to watch TV. Because he's always busy. And because of him, things happen galactic wars and terror and Aeons ascending and killing and stars exploding happen. Elio doesn't watch movies on the internet, he still uses it through force and torture, preferring his native retropunk to convenience and innovation, and Reca is overly supportive of that. Hence today's course: Incorrect content programs on a channel that's been hijacked by TV pirates. Or a Silverwolf's.
— The Remote! Assistant, the remote! — It's unclear whether Reca is shouting to the screenwriter or the toad, but the remote is in his hands when Elio brings popcorn from the kitchen, still hot, smelling of butter, peanuts and barberries. The assistant rattles his gears, making a mute mechanical “qua-qua-qua” sound.
— And what kind of content are we watching today? — Elio asks, knowing very well what they will watch. Without even asking Reca. It's not clear, do they share the same brain, thoughts and feelings, or did Elio foresee the future again?
— Incorrected!!!! — Reca laughs and Elio enjoys it. They laugh like maniacs, terrorizing the neighbors. The shitty programs of the pirate channel stir the blood and imagination, even Reca hasn't filmed such a thing, and Elio enjoys it. Reca emotionally comments on every cinematic shot, interesting moment of the program, possible reactions of the actors (or is it live and people aren't actors?). Elio laughs too.
On the screen kill people in the most brutal way, carry out executions, shoot, blow up, destroy entire existences at once, but for them it is only a funny comedy, which is played exactly at midnight. So be it.
The issues end at six sharp, when the rest of the Hunters pull up from their assignments. Sunday follows Kafka, sleepy and tired, apparently quite tiring to follow, Silverwolf climbs out of the quantum portal, Prometheus' hologram chirps something as she rolls off her feet to her room, and Sam, Firefly, and Blade look like they've just come off an amusement ride, a little cheerful and chatty, and it's sickeningly surprising
Because of the TV, galactic wars, murder, terror, yelling and swearing are happening again. To the chagrin of the neighbors. Elio and Reca retire to the kitchen.
— Let's leave it to the youth.
They laugh again.