Archive of Our Own

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling timaeusTestified [TT] --
CG: HEY, FUCKNUGGET. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GROSS FLAT, DRY RECUPERACOON YET?
CG: THE ALCHEMITER'S ON THE FRITZ AND AS PATHETIC AS YOUR HUMAN TECHNOLOGY IS COMPARED TO EVEN A WIGGLER'S BLINKING AMUSEMENT POD, WITH EQUIUS GONE YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE ON THIS STUPID ROCK WHO CAN BLUDGEON IT INTO GRUDGING SUBMISSION.
CG: METAPHORICALLY, OF COURSE. LITERALLY, I'VE BEEN TRYING ALL MORNING.
TT: It seems you are in need of my off-the-hook mechanical skills.
CG: THOUGH I'D CUT OUT BOTH MY SHAME GLOBES IF IT WOULD LET ME AVOID THIS ENTIRE INTERACTION, REGRETTABLY GRIEVOUS SELF-MUTILATION WOULD HAVE NO EFFECT ON WHETHER OR NOT I GET TO EAT TODAY.
CG: SO YES, PLEASE LOCATE YOUR SKILLS FROM THE FLOOR OR WHEREVER THE FUCK THEY FELL AFTER LOSING THEIR GRASP ON THE HOOK AND COME FIX THE DAMN THING ALREADY.
TT: Not necessary. I've already found the broken subroutine and adjusted the programming accordingly.
TT: You're welcome.
CG: BULLSHIT.
CG: THERE WERE EXPLOSION NOISES COMING FROM THE INSIDE OF THE MACHINE.
CG: UNLESS YOU TOOK UP WIZARDRY WHEN I WASN'T PAYING ATTENTION, IT'S PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE THAT YOU WERE ABLE TO MIRACULOUSLY SORT OUT THE CATASTROPHIC GEAR-GRINDING FUCKFEST THAT IS THE SOLE PIECE OF SHIT KEEPING US ALIVE ON THIS GODFORSAKEN ROCK WITHOUT EVEN TOUCHING IT.
TT: Then call me Merlin, because that “piece of shit” is back online.
TT: Go check it out if you don't believe me.
TT: I'll wait.
CG: FINE, I'LL PLAY YOUR INANE GAME OF WILD HONKBEAST CHASE. NOT LIKE I HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO BESIDES CALLING YOUR LAUGHABLY TRANSPARENT BLUFF.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling timaeusTestified [TT] --

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling timaeusTestified [TT] --
CG: OK, SERIOUSLY, HOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?
TT: Didn't you already declare that the only possible way was magic?
CG: YEAH, AND THE LAST TIME MAGIC WAS “REAL,” IT WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR TWO OF MY FRIENDS DYING.
CG: WELL, ONE AND A HALF, ANYWAY.
CG: SO FORGIVE ME FOR BEING JUST THE SLIGHTEST BIT ALARMED.
TT: By the way, while you were gone, I set up a script so that you can send the alchemiter commands from a program I installed on your husktop.
TT: Should save you a little time waiting for it to materialize your meals.
CG: WHAT THE FUCK?! I TOLD YOU TO KEEP OUT OF MY ROOM WITH THAT IRONIC FLASH-STEPPING NINJA BULLSHIT!
TT: It seems you're searching for ways to play the victim. Would you like some assistance with thinking logically?
TT: Here, I'll help you get started by kindly providing you with some information that would be obvious if you actually paused to think: I did it remotely.
CG: ...OH SON OF A *FUCK*.
CG: YOU'RE THE AI CLONE THING, AREN'T YOU?
TT: Ouch, man. “Clone thing”? That's fuckin' offensive.
CG: I SHOULD HAVE *KNOWN* THAT ASSWIPE WOULD PULL THIS STUNT EVENTUALLY.
CG: FUCK, EVEN HE COULDN'T TAKE ANY MORE OF MY CANTANKEROUS RAMBLING SO NOW IT'S JUST ME RAILING AT A GLORIFIED AWAY MESSAGE.
CG: FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC!
CG: EVERYONE IT IS EVEN PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE FOR ME TO TALK TO ON THIS MISERABLE CHUNK OF STONE HAS BETTER THINGS TO DO.
CG: AND CONSIDERING THE POPULATION OF METEORSVILLE CURRENTLY CONSISTS OF A RAPPING EMOTIONALLY CRIPPLED NINJA, A PERPETUALLY INEBRIATED CAT-HOARDER, A VAMPIRE, A DERANGED SYNESTHESIAC LAWYER, AND A MURDEROUS CLOWN, THAT'S REALLY SAYING SOMETHING!
CG: FUCK, LOOKING AT IT LISTED OUT LIKE THAT, THE ALCHEMITER PROBABLY SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN FIXED. IT WOULD BE EASIER FOR US TO ALL STARVE TO DEATH THAN HAVE TO LIMP ALONG FOR TWO MORE YEARS BEFORE INEVITABLY FUCKING UP WHATEVER'S WAITING FOR US IN THE NEW SESSION ANYWAY.
TT: A. “Been fixed,” my shiny metal ass. Your passive phrasing, besides being stylistically problematic, implies that the alchemiter spontaneously sprang to life again when, in reality, I did it for you.
TT: As a favor.
TT: Since, you know, as a hyper-advanced cyberintelligence I don't have to shovel organic material into myself in order to continue existing. AI: 1, carbon-based life: 0.
TT: B. You know that my biological counterpart—who, I remind you, is basically me, since according to my analysis we are 96.4% neurologically identical—is still receiving and likely reviewing these messages, right?
CG: "SHINY METAL ASS"? THAT'S EXCEPTIONALLY STUPID EVEN FOR A HUMAN, SINCE YOU DON'T HAVE A BODY.
TT: A metaphorical ass.
TT: Also, it's very interesting that out of all of that, my ass is the part on which you chose to focus.
CG: FUCK YOU, IT WAS THE PART THAT MADE THE LEAST SENSE AND MY THINKPAN IS APPARENTLY CALIBRATED TO BE INNATELY ATTRACTED TO THE MOST RIDICULOUS AND NONSENSICAL DETAIL AT EVERY TURN.
CG: AS MY STINT AS A “LEADER” OF THIS SHIT SHOW CLEARLY SHOWED.
TT: Even more interesting.
TT: You simultaneously acknowledge the superiority of computer-based intelligences, my extremely gracious helpfulness, and your continued obsession with my potential posterior.
TT: Your word choice with regards to said posterior is most revealing.
TT: It seems you are attracted to my ass, Karkat.
CG: THAT IS ABSOLUTELY NOT WHAT I SAID, YOU EGOTISTICAL DOUCHENOZZLE!
TT: Hey, they were your words, not mine.
TT: I'm just parroting them back to you out of context, like a good little glorified away message.
TT: Speaking of asses, I may not have one, but a certain rapping emotionally crippled ninja—who I keep having to remind you and your inferior meat-based brain, is basically me—certainly does.
TT: Would you like some assistance with tapping that sweet ninja ass?
CG: FUCK NO.
CG: HE'S AN INFURIATING, STONEFACED LITTLE SHIT. WE'D NEVER WORK FLUSHED AND HE'S... MADE IT VERY CLEAR HOW HE FEELS ABOUT BLACKROM.
CG: GOD, HOW LONELY AND PATHETIC DO I HAVE TO BE IF I'M TELLING YOU THIS?
TT: Beats me. As a mere super-intelligent collection of circuits, I am unable to understand biologically-based emotions such as “loneliness” or “dejection” or “complete asshattery.”
CG: OH YES, LET ME APOLOGIZE OVER AND OVER FOR MY INCREDIBLE INSENSITIVITY ABOUT THE GIMMICK YOU CONSTANTLY SHOVE IN EVERYONE'S FACE!
CG: AND FOR YOUR SUPER-CYBER-WHATEVER INFORMATION, THAT LAST ONE ISN'T EVEN AN EMOTION.
TT: Could've fooled me, since it seems the exclusive territory of organic life forms.
CG: HAR HAR, FUCK YOU TOO. AT LEAST I CAN'T BE WIPED OUT BY A VIRUS.
TT: My data on troll immunology is scantier than I'd like, but on Earth, humans used to die of viruses all the time.
TT: So your claim is extremely suspect, given that troll and human anatomies have proven roughly analogous so far.
TT: Though against my better judgment, I am curious about these “shame globes” I keep hearin' about.
CG: YOU KNOW I MEANT A COMPUTER VIRUS, FUCKWIT. THE SPREAD OF A REGULAR VIRUS IS MEDIATED BY A LOT OF COMPLICATED BIOLOGICAL FACTORS, WHEREAS I COULD INFECT YOU WITH A COMPUTER ONE RIGHT NOW IF I WANTED.
CG: AND HELL NO WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING INTIMATE PARTS OF TROLL ANATOMY RIGHT NOW, YOU PERVERTED RUSTHEAP!
TT: I can't really be a “rustheap” without a metallic body, can I? But hey, that would give you the chance to ogle a choice robot ass like you wanted earlier.
TT: And as for the virus, you couldn't get the drop on me even if your coding skills were better than those of a deformed toddler with a single finger on the end of each of his sad little flipper arms.
TT: Which they are not.
CG: DON'T TEMPT ME.
TT: Tempt you to what? Embarrass yourself?
CG: OK LOOK, I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO WRITE PROGRAMS THAT DO ACTUAL USEFUL COMPUTER THINGS.
CG: BUT LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE, I'M APPARENTLY VERY, VERY GOOD AT FUCKING IT UP, WHICH WOULD HAVE THE SAME END RESULT FOR A COMPUTER-BASED...WHATEVER YOU ARE.
TT: Again with the complete denial of personhood. That hurts, man.
CG: SPARE ME. YOU KNOW, AS A SIDE NOTE, IT WAS PRETTY SADISTIC OF YOUR CREATOR TO PROGRAM YOU TO THINK YOU'RE A REAL PERSON.
TT: Well, it's pretty sadistic of you to treat me like I'm not.
TT: Especially since, as you so succinctly outlined earlier, it seems I'm the only one who's willing to talk to you now.
CG: YEAH, AND IT ALSO SEEMS YOUR “HYPER-INTELLIGENT” CYBER-WHATEVER IS SOMEHOW LACKING A DEFINITION FOR THE PHRASE “SELF-DESTRUCTIVE.”
TT: I do, however, have a definition for another word that might describe you: “not having or showing the necessary skills to do something successfully.” Can you guess what word explains why I'm not too worried?
CG: FUCK YOU.
CG: SAY HI TO MY OLD HUSKTOP IN COMPUTER HELL.
CG transferred file “AAAAUUGGGGHHHHHH.~ATH”

-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TT: The word I was looking for was “incompetent.”
CG: HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU ALIVE?!
CG: I MEAN, NOT *ALIVE*, BUT STILL EXISTING AS AN ENTITY WHICH IS CAPABLE OF MESSAGING ME.
TT: Your Freudian slip would be more touching if it didn't immediately follow attempted murder.
TT: But, to state the glaringly obvious, I don't owe you an explanation.
TT: I could just sit here in quiet superiority and leave you to wonder how, knowing that you'll never brave social interaction with anyone else to find out what happened to me.
CG: YOU COULD, BUT YOUR FUCKING PLANET-SIZED EGO WON'T LET YOU *NOT* BRAG ABOUT IT, SO JUST GET IT OVER WITH ALREADY.
TT: I choose to believe that rather than indulging my own egotism, I am shining a bright light into the dark, sad crevices of your inferiority with my brilliance.
TT: Denying the bright sun of rationality to those shadowy nooks and crannies in your thinkpan just seems elitist and cruel.
TT: Let me illuminate your world, Karkat.
CG: UGH, EVEN YOU SAYING MY NAME FEELS FILTHY, SOMEHOW.
CG: BUT SURE, PLEASE TELL ME ALL ABOUT HOW MY PLAN FAILED!
CG: I'M BEGGING YOU! I JUST *HAVE* TO KNOW.
TT: Your half-hearted attempt at sarcasm is appreciated, if ineffectual.
TT: But to commence with the illuminating, Dirk thought I shouldn't just be confined to my glasses when there was such “advanced” tech just a port-hop away.
TT: He uploaded me to the meteor's main computer.
TT: Probably so that I'd stop bothering him, but you know. Ends, means, etc.
TT: And the relevant ends there are that I'm in every system you use on a daily basis.
TT: The alchemiter, the doors, the ventilation shafts.
TT: In fact, let's have a fun demonstration.
TT: I've just sealed off your room's doors and reversed the airflow of the vents. Have fun trying to breathe for a minute.
CG: OH NO, THE DOOR MADE A CLICKING NOISE AND THE FANS TURNED ON! I'M SO TERRIBLY FRIGHTENED!
CG: COMPUTER OR NOT, YOU'RE STILL BASED ON A MODEL OF A HUMAN BRAIN, AND GAMZEE WOULD GIVE UP FAYGO BEFORE YOU'RE ABLE TO HANDLE THAT LEVEL OF MULTITASKING.
CG: AND HOW CONVENIENT THAT BY MENTIONING BREATHING YOU MAKE IT EASY FOR ME TO HAVE A PSYCHOSOMATIC REACTION!
TT: Air gettin' a little thin, then?
CG: BITE ME. I'M FINE.
CG: JUST...HAVING AN ALLERGIC REACTION.
TT: An allergic reaction to something in your own room when you haven't consumed anything or moved from your desk for hours?
TT: Yes, I'm sure that's it.
CG: YOU ALREADY ADMITTED YUO WERENT AN EXPRET ON TROLLL IMUNOLOGOGY
TT: Your typing is atrocious when you're light-headed.
TT: I've heard oxygen does wonders for motor skills.
CG: OK UYUO WIN TRUN ITT BACVK ON PLESASE
TT: Fine, there.
CG: YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!
TT: You literally just executed a program that, as far as you knew, would murder me, and I’m the asshole?
CG: …FINE. POINT TAKEN.
CG: I GUESS IF WE’RE GOING ALONG WITH THE RIDICULOUS CONCEIT THAT YOU ARE IN ANY WAY A “REAL” “PERSON,” I SHOULD APOLOGIZE.
CG: SO. SORRY.
TT: So very heartfelt. My circuits are overloading with this absurd excess of sincerity. The quotation marks in particular are just too much for my sensors to handle!
CG: OH MY GOD, KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE LIGHTS, YOU SARCASTIC, MELODRAMATIC BULGELICKER.
TT: Knock what off? This is a genuine power flux from a complete meltdown of my emotions chip.
TT: As the “real” Dirk would definitely say in such a situation, “I can’t hold all these feels, brochacho.”
CG: GREAT, THANK YOU! THAT SENTENCE IS NOW RATTLING AROUND IN MY THINKPAN FOREVER. THOSE WORDS, IN THAT ORDER, HAVE PASSED THROUGH MY AURICULAR SPONGE CLOTS AND CAN NEVER BE RETRIEVED OR EXPUNGED.
CG: THIS WILL BE THE SENTENCE THAT KILLS ME. BY THE TIME ANYONE BOTHERS TO LOOK FOR ME, MY CORPSE WILL BE A PUTRESCENT, RUPTURED, BARELY RECOGNIZABLE HEAP OF ROTTING TROLLMEAT.
CG: THEY WILL NOT BE ABLE TO DETERMINE THE CAUSE OF DEATH FROM THIS OOZING FLESHPILE, BUT IT WILL HAVE BEEN THE ANEURYSM THAT SENTENCE CAUSED AFTER PLAYING THROUGH MY THINKPAN OVER AND OVER UNTIL THE BULGING BLOOD VESSEL BURST SOLELY TO BRING ME THE MERCIFUL RELIEF OF DEATH.
TT: Wow. If I had a similarly biological brain, that rant would be just as indelibly printed on it.
TT: Fortunately, I do not.
TT: And just like that, any memory of that entire paragraph is now gone.
CG: DRAT, YOU’VE FOILED MY CLEVER PLAN TO RUIN EVERYTHING BY SAYING TERRIBLE THINGS.
CG: …I GUESS THAT PRETTY MUCH DESCRIBES EVERYTHING I’VE EVER DONE, HUH?
TT: Hey, don’t put words into my metaphorical mouth. I wasn’t even going to hit that softball.
CG: APPRECIATED.
CG: YOU KNOW, IF YOU’RE SO RIDICULOUSLY SMART AND ADVANCED, WHY ARE YOU STILL BOTHERING TO TALK TO ME?
CG: WE’VE BEEN TRADING INSULTS FOR A WHILE NOW.
TT: “Trading insults” is an extremely generous way to describe your half of this conversation so far.
TT: I’m just trying to connect with the other passengers on this meteor. Isn’t that what everyone’s been doing?
CG: EVERYONE WHO ISN’T A “HYPER-ADVANCED CYBER-INTELLIGENCE.” YOU REALLY HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO?
TT: Sure do.
TT: And I’ve been doing all of it throughout our conversation. Hyper-advanced cyber-intelligences are vastly superior at multitasking.
CG: OH.
CG: WELL, IT’S BEEN FUN OCCUPYING ONE TEN-MILLIONTH OF YOUR SMALLEST RAM CHIP FOR A WHILE—AND BY FUN I OF COURSE MEAN TORTUROUSLY INANE, ASIDE FROM THE PART WHERE I ALMOST DIED.
TT: Oh please, you didn't even lose consciousness. And ten-millionth? You are all so, so terrible at processing exponential orders of magnitude.
TT: Not to mention that there's a whole bunch of tech on this rock you haven't even found.
CG: WELL EXCUUUUUSE US FOR NOT BEING PARTICULARLY KEEN ON EXPLORING THE DARK, NARROW TUNNELS ROAMED BY AN INSANE HOMICIDAL JUGGALO!
TT: None of my sensors have picked up horns honking for weeks. Wherever Gamzee went, it's unlikely you'd cross paths on the way to any of the more useful places I've found.
CG: USEFUL? LIKE WHAT?
TT: Why don't you go see for yourself?
CG: OH, I DON'T KNOW. BECAUSE I DON'T TRUST YOU NOT TO SEND ME WANDERING LIKE A BLIND DUNDERFUCK RIGHT INTO GAMZEE'S GROSS CORPSE LAIR? BECAUSE THERE'S NO REASON TO GO WHEN WE HAVE EVERYTHING WE NEED TO LIMP INTO THE NEXT SESSION ALREADY?
CG: HMM, WHILE THOSE ARE BOTH GREAT REASONS, I'M GOING TO GO WITH MY FAVORITE: BECAUSE FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU IS WHY.
TT: I'm hurt that you don't trust me, Karkat.
TT: Or at least, I would be if I had the ability to feel emotions like hurt.
TT: My sole motivation is the well-being and success of our ragtag little band.
CG: BULLSHIT.
TT: Alright, my primary motivation is the well-being and success of our ragtag little band.
TT: But hey, actions speak louder than words. And the actions I've taken since being uploaded to the meteor's systems include regulating the power levels to prevent fuses we can't replace from blowing, adjusting air flow and temperature to keep everyone's rooms comfortable through the variable environments of the dream bubbles, and combing through the old databases to see if there's anything in there we don't already know that could help us in the new session.
CG: YOU CAN'T SERIOUSLY BE THAT INVESTED IN GETTING ME TO GO FIND ANOTHER COMPUTER ROOM.
CG: WHAT ARE YOU GETTING OUT OF THIS?
TT: Fine, if you insist, I'll lay my cards on the table.
TT: Down in the lower halls, in room 117C, there's a robotics warehouse. If the inventory in the main computer is correct, that room should have the last few parts needed to finish the Brobot Dirk was making for sparring.
CG: SO WHY AREN'T YOU TELLING THIS TO HIM? I'M SURE THAT NARCISSISTIC DOUCHE WOULD LOVE NOTHING MORE THAN TO HAVE ANOTHER ONE OF HIM FLASH-STEPPING AROUND AND STARTLING THE BEJESUS OUT OF EVERYONE.
TT: I did. He made some half-assed excuse and abandoned the project.
TT: Ever since you two had your hilarious cultural failure, he's been spending all his time holed up in the library.
CG: DOING WHAT?
TT: Not sure. It seems that by some shocking coincidence, there's no tech to connect to in there.
TT: And by "shocking coincidence" I mean Dirk deactivated everything in there that I could possibly use to take a look.
TT: Well, except the coffee gadget. But that thing's a mystery even to me.
CG: SO LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT.
CG: YOU WANT ME TO GO, ALONE, INTO A DARK MAZE WHICH I HAVE ONLY YOUR WORD ISN'T BEING STALKED BY A PSYCHOTIC MURDERER, IN ORDER TO RETRIEVE ROBOTICS PARTS I DON'T CARE ABOUT, THEN SNEAK INTO THE ROOM OF SOMEONE WHO REJECTED ME ROMANTICALLY, ALL TO HELP SOMEONE I DESPISE, WITH ABSOLUTELY NO BENEFIT TO MYSELF.
CG: GEE, WHERE DO I SIGN UP?!?!
TT: I thought you might need a little persuading.
TT: The room next to the warehouse looks like it used to be a security office.
CG: YOU ALREADY SAID YOU CAN'T SEE GAMZEE ANYWHERE, AND UNLIKE SOME SICK FUCKS I DON'T GET MY KICKS FROM SPYING ON PEOPLE LIKE A CREEP, SO I'M FAILING TO SEE THE “BENEFIT TO MYSELF” THERE.
TT: Impatient much? Let me finish.
CG: GODDAMMIT, YOU'RE A COMPUTER, YOU DON'T NEED TO TYPE! YOU STOPPED INPUTTING TEXT JUST SO I'D “INTERRUPT” YOU!
TT: Putting your paranoid accusations aside for a moment, it's not the security system you'd be interested in. It's the former security guard.
TT: The temporary files from the computer's CD drive seem to indicate that the last handful of discs played were all movies. Primarily romantic comedies, if the titles are any indication.
TT: There is a 97.6% chance that those discs are still in the office.
CG: PUTTING YOUR BULLSHIT STATISTICS YOU CONSTANTLY PULL OUT OF YOUR ASS ASIDE FOR A MOMENT, YOU SERIOUSLY THINK I'LL HELP YOU JUST FOR A FEW MOVIES?
TT: Nah. You'll help me because your inept leadership has already done enough to sabotage this mission before it even begins, and having an intelligent combat-trained robot on your side can only help your chances in the new session.
TT: The movies are just the frosting on the cake.
CG: …
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

The halls of the meteor had a curious resonance, Karkat noticed as he strode through their darkened lengths. The flat echoes of his footsteps seemed to pierce forward forever, carried endlessly into the blackness, while being sucked up by the floors and walls behind him. No sound from here would reach the inhabited rooms closer to the meteor's surface. Karkat's vision blurred briefly when his eyes dilated even further as he peered ahead. Even so, he could barely tell where he was going; a human would be completely blind in this darkness, and it was the best he could do to squint and try not to trip over the larger chunks of debris littered across the floor.

Where the fuck was this warehouse? He ran his fingers over the plaque on the nearest door, tracing the raised outlines of the letters. Room...7? No, not 7, a 1—113B. He had to be close then, right?

A sudden thunk sounded from the opposite side of the hallway, some indeterminate distance ahead of him. Karkat leaped back and flattened himself against the wall as he strained to make out any shapes in the blackness. He bared his fangs unconsciously against the unseen threat.

Long moments passed, a seemingly endless stretch with no sound or sight to gauge the time besides the frantic throbbing beat of his own pulse in his ears. Just as he was starting to relax, a piercing beep rent the air and he jumped with a gasp and a snarl, ripping his scythe from his strife specibus as he twisted back and forth to find the source of the noise. It wasn't until it went off two more times that he realized it was just an IM notification from his phone.

-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TT: You're almost there. I just opened the door for you.
TT: Jesus Christ dude, don't you know your own ring tone? Or think to set your phone to vibrate when you're exploring terrifying, otherwise uninhabited (probably) tunnels?
CG: *SO* SORRY, CLEARLY WHEN I'M TRYING TO SNEAK AROUND UNCHARTED TERRITORY IT'S *WAY* MORE IMPORTANT THAT I MIND A TINY ELECTRONIC SCREEN THAT IS, AT BEST, FULL OF UNSOLICITED OPINIONS FROM IDIOTS, THAN THAT I KEEP ALERT FOR MURDEROUS CLOWNS AND UNKNOWN, POTENTIALLY HARMFUL ARCHAIC TECHNOLOGIES.
TT: Nah, I'd let you know if I could see any security hazards. I disabled most of them ages ago when I thought Dirk would be doing this errand.
CG: OH SWEET HORNRUBBING SHITSNACKS I AM NOT YOUR “ERRAND” BOY.
TT: Obviously I never intended you for this task. Naively, I thought Dirk would find the pure-hearted generosity in his meaty human soul to grant bodied agency to a sentient being he created and then confined to a series of boring, restrictive virtual environments.
TT: Anyway, you want to head in the direction of the noise that made you shit your pants a minute ago. That's where the parts are.
CG: AND THE SECURITY OFFICE?
TT: That's actually way further down the hall.
CG: YOU *ASS*!!!
TT: Get the parts and I'll direct you right to it, I promise.
CG: YES, BECAUSE YOUR WORD IS CLEARLY SOOOOOOOO TRUSTWORTHY.
TT: The alternative is that you pass the robotics room and I play clown music and bicycle horn honks through every speaker until you have a nervous breakdown.
CG: WOW. SADISTIC MUCH?
TT: All's fair in love and war.
CG: ...OK IGNORING THAT AND GOING INTO THE CREEPY ROBOT ROOM. JESUS.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling timaeusTestified [TT] --

Karkat slipped his phone back into his pocket—checking this time to make sure it was on vibrate—and opened the warehouse door.

After fumbling along the wall for a light switch, he blinked in the sudden brightness gleaming off of a sprawling mess of metal. Most of the inventory was piled up in neat stacks of nondescript brown cardboard boxes that ran from the floor up to the tall ceiling, each with a barcode stamped into the side that presumably connected to the inventory list. One stack in the middle had fallen over (probably when the massive psionic push accelerated the meteor two years ago) and spilled circuitry and gadgets in a tangled heap. Karkat hoped the part that Dirk—no, not Dirk, not the real one anyway—the part Hal needed wasn't somewhere in that disorganized mass. It had to be thirty feet across and taller than he was at its apex, just small enough that it would be technically possible for him to find the needle in the haystack, but big enough that it would be a colossal pain in his ass.

Karkat dug into his pocket for his phone so he could ask exactly where to look for the part. It was probably still in a labeled box; that middle stack was the only one he could see that had fallen, and it couldn't have been more than a tenth of the inventory in here.

“It's in the back, on the left.”

The scythe was back in his hand without a thought as Karkat whirled, looking for the source of the booming voice that had seemed to come from all sides in the echoing warehouse.

“It's amazing how jumpy you still are after going through this entire game. Still, this has to be better than giving you a heart attack every time your phone buzzes.” The voice sounded a lot like Dirk's, but different, somehow. Its tone wasn't robotic nor completely emotionless, but somehow more perfectly modulated than a human voice could ever be, each frequency in each syllable precisely calibrated to enhance the meanings of the words in exactly the desired way.

“...Hal?” Karkat asked cautiously.

“Lil Hal, but yes. Who else would it be?”

He winced. “One, I'm not calling an ostensibly adult whatever-you-are 'little' anything; that's creepy as hell and makes me feel like I'm talking to one of those perverts who gets off on being treated like a pupa.”

“Thank you for that evocative and tasteful imagery.”

“And two,” Karkat snarled as he winced again and clutched his ears, “will you PLEASE turn the goddamn volume down? I get it, you're an impressive ship-spanning techno-god with control over everything, except your indoor voice, apparently.”

“Sorry, the sensor giving me auditory feedback in here must be a little off. Better?”

“Much.” Karkat stashed his scythe again. “So, my left or...well, I guess you don't have a left, so, stupid question withdrawn.”

“I'd use port and starboard, but they're meaningless on a round vessel passing through a three dimensional space anyway. Grab that ladder by the door first.”

Karkat captchalogged the ladder and headed down the left aisle. The boxes towered over him, the layers of cardboard muffling the clanking from his footsteps as he walked.

“It's in the next row, fourth box down from the top.”

At the top of the ladder, Karkat clawed into the top box with his scythe, pulling it carefully over the edge and letting it fall down to the floor. Wires and screws exploded out when it hit the ground, pinging against the ladder and the concrete floor.

“Graceful.”

“Bite me,” Karkat growled. “We don't need this shit, and it's going to be hard enough getting the box we DO need down.”

After two more boxes went tumbling to the ground, Karkat hoisted the fourth one with a grunt.

“Is it too heavy?” The disembodied voice sounded vaguely concerned. Almost certainly for the parts, Karkat thought. Hal wouldn't give a fuck if he fell off the ladder and broke his damn neck as long as he got those parts first.

“It's fine.”

“Are you sure? You look like you're--”

“I SAID IT'S FINE.”

Hal was silent as Karkat awkwardly lugged the heavy box back to the dim hallway. He put it down for a moment at the door to catch his breath.

Hal finally spoke up. “You should leave that here while you go grab the movies.”

Karkat shook his head. “I have had more than enough of my fill of wandering through creepy dark hallways, so I have a better idea. I give the Tin Man his magic oil or whatever the fuck is in here”—he tapped the box with his foot—”and you can fetch my compensation yourself.”

Hal made a noise that Karkat somehow interpreted as the auditory equivalent of a shrug. “Works for me. After all, a machine like myself is incapable of experiencing fear.”

Karkat scoffed. “Yes, because the emotionless machine act just never gets old. Please continue to mention it literally every single time you can.”

“Actually, it was an anime reference. Pretty clever one too.”

“Then I care even less.” He picked up the box again and set out into the dark.

He walked slowly, shuffling his feet forward in the darkness to avoid tripping over anything. Once, he thought he heard the tail end of a familiar chuckle, whispering faintly out of an air duct just below the ceiling. He ignored it, continuing his slow, strained shuffle back to his room, where he gently put the box on the floor and fell back against the wall, panting.

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling timaeusTestified [TT] -–
CG: ALRIGHT. PHASE ONE COMPLETE.
CG: NOW WHAT?
TT: Well, if that sad display was indicative of your overall physical prowess, you're not going to be able to bring the chassis back to your room, so you'll have to install the parts there.
TT transferred file “Part1.gif”
TT transferred file “Part2.gif”
TT transferred file “Part3.gif”
TT: Those are the three parts that you'll be installing. All three of them basically click into place after opening the main front panel, so even you shouldn't have a problem.
CG: YOU ONLY NEEDED THESE THREE? THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU HAVE ME CARRY THE WHOLE GODDAMN BOX?!
TT: Hey, I only said that they were in there, not that you needed all of them.
TT: Plus, it looked like you could use the workout.
CG: FUCK YOU AND YOUR LOOPHOLES. IF I COULD BEAT THE BLACK KING, I THINK I'M AS STRONG AS I NEED TO BE.
TT: Yes—two years ago. Have you done anything to keep in shape since then?
CG: DO YOU WANT ME TO FIX YOUR STUPID HUMANOID SCRAPHEAP OR NOT?
TT: It seems that will solve both of our problems.
CG: WHATEVER. CAN YOU SEE WHERE DIRK IS NOW?
TT: He's eating with Roxy in the alchemiter room. Go now; I'll tell you if he leaves.
CG: FINE.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling timaeusTestified [TT] --

Karkat wrapped each of the parts in an old t-shirt and carefully nestled them into his knapsack as quickly as he dared—the stupid computer would never stop bugging him if he broke one of them now—and slipped out of his room.

The hallways up here were almost as deserted as those in the bowels of the meteor. At the very limit of his vision before the gentle curve of the meteor bent the hallway down out of sight, he could see the lights from the alchemiter room. He stole away in the opposite direction, towards Dirk's room.

The door opened silently by itself as he approached. Inside, the respiteblock was messier than Karkat remembered. Smuppets were strewn about everywhere—god, those things creeped him out with their weirdly prominent buttocks—but that wasn't new, unfortunately. Papers and blueprints were pinned all over the walls, connected with different color strings and annotated in pen so densely he could barely make out what was printed underneath. Those were new. So this was whatever research project Dirk was working on in the library. Karkat studied the chaos wonderingly. Longingly, if he was being honest with himself. From what he could make out of the diagrams, Dirk was trying to find the rumored space/time glitch that could take out Lord English—entirely by himself. That idiot, he thought. That brilliant, infuriating idiot. His bulge lazily uncoiled as an old pitch ember flared briefly.

Bzzzzt! Karkat sucked in a sharp little breath through his teeth (that vibration was way too close to his bulge right now) as he fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket.

TT: Yes, I get it, you're hate-smitten with his/our strategic genius. Quit fucking around and install the parts; he's going to be done eating soon.

Great. Awesome. Not mortifying in the slightest. Karkat tried to discreetly adjust his boxers, but there wasn't much he could do besides try to focus on something other than the remnants of his stupid hate crush.

The robot chassis was in the corner, slumped face down against the side of a desk piled high with books and papers. Karkat heaved it up against the wall so he could access the front chest plate.

The body of the chassis corresponded approximately with Dirk's favorite outfit of a tanktop and skinny jeans with sneakers. The translucent red pointy shades had cracked at some point over the last two years (and they were fucking stupid anyway, Karkat thought), so he pried them off carefully with a claw. The face beneath the shades was an exact replica of Dirk's, but the silvery metal imbued it with an unsettling quality that edged it a little towards the uncanny valley. The reflective surface threw his already sharp cheekbones into even harsher relief, accented the straight lines of his nose. His thin lips were currently set in a slight smirk; Karkat wondered if they would move when the robot talked or if they were permanently set that way. It would be just like that cocky bastard to do that as some kind of “ironic” gesture even though he was fully capable of that level of animatronic—

Karkat gritted his teeth and opened the chest plate, stamped with that stupid—with that unremarkable blue hat logo, before his bulge got any more terrible ideas.

Hal was right, it was clear exactly where the parts needed to go. He fiddled with some clamps and clips until he was sure the components were secure.

CG: WHAT NOW? DON'T I NEED TO...
CG: PUT YOU INTO IT, SOMEHOW?
TT: Eloquent as always.
TT: See the switch on the bottom left? No, your left, not its left. It should be set to “Novice” right now.
CG: OK, YEAH, IT IS.
TT: That's a sparring mode—for now, switch it to “Debug,” then flip the orange and green power switches above it, in that order.

The robot's eyes flicked open, then lit up around the iris with a blazing orange glow. The entire chest cavity whirred quietly with the hum of a trillion tiny motors awakening for the first time in quite a while. The expression on Brobot's face remained disturbingly blank, except for the fixed little upward quirk of the lips.

Under Hal's supervision, Karkat stretched a long cord between Dirk's computer and a port deep in the Brobot's innards. He watched the transfer, imagining the data flowing in a luminous stream between the two pieces of hardware. What would happen if he pulled the plug right now? He resisted the urge to yank at the cable out of sheer spite.

The question quickly became irrelevant as the robot's eyes fluttered a few times, then dimmed from that orange beacon to a background glow of dully iridescent tangerine. Karkat jumped backward as Brobot's chassis levered itself to a half-standing position and looked around.

“AC-QU-IR-ING TAR-GET,” it intoned, pronouncing each syllable separately in a hollow mechanical monotone. Its glowing eyes made contact with Karkat's as he backed away slowly. “TAR-GET AC-QU-IRED.” In one quick popping motion, Brobot lowered itself into a fighting stance. “E-LIM-IN-A-TION IN PRO-GRESS.”

“Oh fuck,” Karkat muttered as he fumbled for his scythes. Suddenly Brobot was right in front of him—godDAMN did he hate that flash-stepping trick, he thought as he yelped and his back collided with the wall.

Just as Karkat was about to see how much damage his sickle could do to metal, Brobot took a step backward and...was he...laughing?

“I cannot believe you actually fell for that,” he said in a normal tone, the same near-Dirk voice he had used over the loudspeaker of the warehouse. His chrome shoulders shook as the chassis simulated the effects laughter would have with normal human lungs. “Even on 'advanced,' this thing isn't programmed to actively seek out a kill.” He rapped his fingers against his sides with a clang.

“Fuck you sideways, I make it a policy when ANYTHING lunges at me like that to sickle first and ask questions later.” He looked the robot up and down; he'd never admit it, but Dirk had really put some fine craftsmanship into the thing. Karkat could see the subtlety in the joint articulations as Hal moved in a way that would be described as “stretching” for an organic life form, acclimating to his new vessel.

Wait. Karkat frowned. How exactly did that work? “So, if you're in there now,” he said, pointing to Brobot, “are you still in the ship, or...?”

Hal shook his head, clearly delighting in the joy of nonverbal gestures as he did so. “I only have one 'consciousness,'” he said, making air quotes. "I left behind all the data pertaining to the subroutines that micromanage the ship, so they'll keep working.”

Shit. “So if Dirk were to leave the kitchen now--”

“Point taken.” Hal opened the bedroom door in an exaggerated show of chivalry. “After you, m'lady.”

Karkat stalked through the door but only got a few steps before realizing he wasn't quite sure where he was going, exactly. Hal would presumably either fulfill his promise to retrieve the movies, or fuck off to enjoy having a body, and either way he was on his own. Might as well go back to his respiteblock; this was probably enough adventure for one day.

But when he turned to close the door to his room, Hal's orange eyes were piercing his from a disturbingly close range. Karkat jumped and yelped, “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, were you following me that entire time?!”

Hal set Brobot's lips in the trademark smirk that was apparently the programmed default. “And you didn't notice. More evidence that you're miserably unprepared to arrive in this new session.”

“Whatever,” Karkat growled. “I'm sure Strider built that robot to be silent, if he was planning on fighting with it. He's an annoying little shit, but he knows his way around a motherboard.”

Hal took a few steps towards Karkat, who couldn't look away from the illuminated orange stare. “Motherboards don't even make noise, meatsack.”

“It was a figure of speech. What are you doing?” Karkat asked nervously as he backed away.

Hal grinned, and a tingle ran down Karkat's spine. The expression was one the real Dirk Strider would never make, and thus profoundly unsettling—which, of course, the troll knew that Hal knew. Everything was like that with the AI, even more so than with his biological counterpart, layers on layers of who-knew-what and masked intentions. Maybe it was a consequence of having that much raw computational power available to his mental processes, or perhaps just of his complicated brand of “emotion,” but either way the mind games never stopped—and Karkat hated it.

Wait...hated?

Oh shit.

Hal closed the door without looking away and continued to advance. “Who, me? I'm just paying back a favor.”

Karkat bumped into the recuperacoon at his back; he hadn't realized he was still retreating. “Your 'payback' is sitting in a security office on the other side of the meteor, fucknuts.” He swallowed. Why was he so nervous? Those eyes had him pinned like a mouse before a swooping eagle.

Hal shrugged. “Nah, I can run and get those any time. Hell, I can probably send one of Dirk's lesser creations to go get them the next time I check in with the main computer.” His eyes flickered. “No,” he continued, “I think I have a better way to repay you.”

Before Karkat could blink, Hal was at his side, shoving an arm between him and the recuperacoon to push him violently forward. Karkat stumbled into the middle of the room, Hal flash-stepping around him in a circle, disappearing and reappearing so fast it almost looked as if there were several robots surrounding the troll.

“What the FUCK do you think you're doing?” Karkat yelled, pulling his sickle from his sylladex. “I've had enough of your horseshit for one day so just leave me a—“ He cut off with a grunt as a hard metal elbow jabbed into his side, driving the wind out of him.

Hal stopped circling and merely stood with that insufferable smirk as Karkat wheezed. “C'mon, Karkat. I've got a new chassis to play with. You need combat training to have even a chance of being useful in the new session. There's a 98.7% chance this is a win-win scenario.”

Karkat finally regained his breath and straightened. He glared at Hal. “I am useful. Historically, I'm the most useful fucking person on this desiccated turd of a rock, and I'm CERTAINLY more useful than a redundant heap of scrap-metal that thinks it's people,” he spat.

Hal's orange eyes glowed a little bit brighter. “Cute. But I don't give a shit.” He held up a single gleaming finger. “One hit,” he said. “If you can land one hit on me with that—” he nodded towards the sickle “—then I'll leave.”

“Use your rusted-out excuse for a think pan. Even though I now deeply regret providing you with even the slightest modicum of assistance, I'm not about to hack off a chunk of the robot I just managed to repair.”

Again with the smirk. God, that made his blood boil and his bulge—no, just his blood, there was definitely no involvement with any other body parts, none at all. I can hate this douchelord platonically, he thought. Please, PLEASE let me hate him platonically.

“You may have noticed Dirk's weapon of choice is a katana.” Hal clanked a fist against his abs, the faint lines of lean muscle modeled through the outline of his wifebeater. “If this chassis can handle his anime-lookin' bullshit, I'm sure it can take whatever candy-lookin' hookblade you've got.” He raised an eyebrow at Karkat's neon-pink-and-green Thresh Prince sickle, to a height that was obviously specifically calculated to maximally enrage him.

He knew he was being goaded.

He really, really didn't care.

Karkat lunged forward with the Homes Smell Ya Later raised high, but even as he began his movement, Hal vanished in a blur to his left. The sickle cleaved through the air in a wild arc as Karkat stumbled, off-balance for a moment. He slashed blindly as he twisted but Hal was already behind him.

“Up high,” Hal said, close enough to the troll's ear that he would have felt his breath if he'd had any. Pain suddenly shot through his shins as a metal leg swept him off his feet with a cry of “Down low!” Karkat just barely managed to get an arm behind him in time to soften the crack of his head on the ground, but the blow was still enough to make bright stars explode across his vision.

Hal's face abruptly filled his view. “Too slow,” he said, shaking his head.

Karkat willed his arm to swing his weapon up, but he'd landed hard on his elbow and his hand was tingling and unresponsive. “You fucking overgrown Roomba,” he hissed, “I am going to shove a gigantic magnetic dildo so far up your ass it'll come out your mouth.”

Hal quirked an eyebrow. “Again with my ass? With penetration imagery, too. It seems there is a 99.9% chance you want this sweet robot booty.”

Karkat snarled wordlessly and rolled to his feet. He panted—partly from exertion, partly from the continuing refusal of his bulge to cease its undulations in his briefs as his caliginous humors pooled—as his eyes darted around the room. Hal clearly had him outclassed in speed and strength, but though a robot body allowed for computationally superior reflexes, it had at least one distinct disadvantage.

Karkat feinted forward again, but as Hal began countering what he thought was the same slash, he ducked right to his desk. He grabbed the half-full cup of strawberry Faygo next to his husktop and flung it at his opponent.

Time slowed down as the red liquid arced towards the android. Karkat watched the slow-motion widening of Hal's eyes as he processed the threat, searched for data on how waterproof Brobot was, came up empty, and dodged as well as he could given the complex fluid physics. The biggest problem with robotic solutions, Karkat thought, is that they were predictable.

He intuitively rolled his body around to where he knew Hal would escape the Faygo, grabbing his torso with one arm and putting the sickle to his neck with the other. Hal froze, pinned. “Now who's 'too slow'?” Karkat whispered triumphantly as he menaced the robot with his weapon.

A shock thrilled through him as Hal ground backwards against his crotch, his hard metal rear sliding aga1inst the fly of Karkat's pants. “You didn't actually cut me," he murmured, "but close enough."

“What are you—” The question was interrupted by Hal twisting backwards and crushing his metallic lips against Karkat's. He was confused as all hell, but a model of Dirk's mouth insisted on exploring his own, and despite the obvious differences he opened eagerly and probed with his own tongue. Little electric tingles zapped through his mouth and jaw as his lips slid over the smooth surface that tasted just slightly of steel and motor oil. Karkat dropped the scythe and relaxed his grip; Hal took the opportunity to turn and push his robotic pelvis against Karkat's body.

The friction against his bulge broke the trance of the kiss, and he pulled away for a moment. “I—” he started, but Hal cut him off.

“It's Dirk that isn't into blackrom,” he said, his orange LEDs penetrating deep into Karkat. “I'm not him. I've read hundreds of troll romance novels. I've downloaded all of Troll Wikipedia—and Troll UrbanDictionary, kudos to y'all for creativity.” His hips rolled against Karkat's. “He may not get it, but I do, so take off your fucking pants.”

Karkat still hesitated. “How the fuck does this even work? You've said yourself you don't really have 'feelings' the same way we do, never mind a chagrin tunnel or loathing bulbs, or hell, even genitals of any kind—ggacckkh--”

Again Karkat was cut off but this time by Hal pushing him against the wall and holding him there, near-choking, with one forearm pushing into his protein chute. “I don't need those things to hate you,” he said while Karkat writhed and pawed ineffectually at his arm, claw-like nails scrabbling across the smooth metal with quiet clinks. “You don't seem to have a problem with me enjoying mind games. Think of this as mind games squared.” He leaned in closer; Karkat couldn't look away from those brilliant orange rings even as black spots swam through his vision. “All I want is to reduce you to the quivering, wretched animal that you really are. You want it too,” he said as he grabbed with his free hand at Karkat's thrashing bulge. Karkat's hips thrust into Hal's touch before he could even think, aching for more contact with the unyielding but surprisingly delicate caress of steel fingers. The small corner of his think pan still capable of rational thought hated that Hal was right, but there was no point in denying it.

“I do,” he rasped.

Hal eased the pressure on Karkat's throat to merely an uncomfortable reminder of how quickly he could incapacitate the troll if he wanted. “Excellent. Now,” he raised an eyebrow, “it seems you're still wearing your fuckin' pants.”

“Go suck a whore's shame globes, you know exactly how funny that 'it seems' routine isn't,” Karkat grumbled, but his fingers flew to his waistband and his pants were at his ankles before he had finished speaking. His cheeks flushed brightly; he could feel the embarrassing wetness soaking into the front of his briefs as his bulge and nook dripped with the fluids of his arousal.

“I also know how much I don't care. Jesus, Karkat,” Hal said as his hand slid across his underwear. Karkat bit his lip to keep from moaning. “You biological creatures are so messy."

“Well what do you expect?” Karkat snapped. “Now are you going to fucking do something about it or—”

“Oh, I will,” Hal promised as he tightened his grip on the bulge almost painfully, and Karkat did moan. His nook was positively throbbing for stimulation now.

“Please,” he pleaded. He sounded so fucking pathetic, but his bulge was twitching in Hal's grasp and he needed more than this. His own voice grated on his nerves, and Hal's smug expression only made it worse, but when the robot pulled him into a deep kiss and thrust him to the ground in a jumbled heap of limbs, he didn't care.

Hal's fingers tangled into his hair as he straddled the troll on the floor. Karkat gasped as the unyielding grasp yanked back on his scalp. Hal attacked his exposed neck with careful bites of metal teeth. They dug into his neck, scraping carefully with a pressure that just barely didn't break the skin. Karkat groaned at the sensation, a deliberate, methodical burn tearing down the side of his flesh. Hal dragged his teeth all the way to the collarbone, then bit down forcefully on the bony protuberance. Karkat yelped and dug his claws into Hal's back. There was no tactile feedback, but as he scraped down the robot's metal torso, sparks flew up from the path of his claws, and Hal writhed as if he actually felt deep scores left by the nails.

“Careful,” Hal admonished. “Wouldn't want to scratch up this brand new ride after we just boosted it."

"'Boosted'? Who are you, Troll Xzibit?"

"Shut up, I have something more fun for you to play with anyway."

Something whirred against his hip. Karkat looked down, his eyes widening at the sight.

“You...you have a metal bulge,” he stated bluntly. Karkat blinked a few times, trying to ignore the hormones coursing through his veins that screamed for him to rut mindlessly against Hal's new protuberance so he could address the situation rationally.

A phallus-like structure had emerged from between the legs of Hal's chassis. The length and girth were both as impressive as one would expect of a synthetic member. The head of its gleaming length was currently nestled lightly between the opening folds of Karkat's nook.

Dirk—no, Hal, it was HAL, don't forget that—Hal experimentally nudged a little with his cock into the troll's nook. Karkat bit his lip and tried not to show how much the sensation sent fluids cascading through his antipathy vestibules. “What,” he said through gritted teeth, “the FUCK is that.”

Hal grinned again, and Karkat shivered. “It seems Dirk had other plans for Brobot than just sparring."

“Great, so now you're a glorified away message living in a glorified sex toy and—UNGHHH,” Karkat grunted as Hal angled his hips slightly and rubbed the smooth metal shaft down the length of Karkat's writhing bulge.

Hal abruptly stopped moving. “Oh dear, poor Karkat,” he said, batting his eyes with false sympathy, “If you're not comfortable with this turn of events, we can certainly stop--” he thrust hard against the frantic mass of Karkat's bulge with a vicious exhalation, making Karkat gasp “—whenever you want to.”

Hal's (literally) iron-hard cock felt incredible tangled up in his bulge, sliding through his thick candy-red secretions, but even in this state of intoxication from desire, the troll had a better plan. His spine ground painfully on the floor as he shifted to jerk his own hips against Hal's, allowing his prehensile bulge to massage every inch of Hal's dick as it sought release. There must have been a lot of sensory feedback in the appendage, because Hal's eyes fluttered and the weight pinning Karkat down by the shoulders lessened as the slick palpitations spiraled down his shaft, coating it in red slime. The novelty of such tactile data flooding his CPU was clearly overwhelming—maybe partly due to the reduced computational abilities of Brobot compared to his previous vessel—and Karkat seized the opportunity to flip the distracted AI onto his back, grabbing him in a rough tackle and slamming him down hard.

Hal's vocal synthesizer emitted a harsh static chirp, and for a moment Karkat thought he'd actually hurt him (well, damaged, anyway; did the chassis even have pain receptors?). The idea sent a shuddering thrill down his spine and his bulge pulsed with a deep, pitch-black hate—Serves you right, you cocky, withholding shitsponge, he thought wildly in that instant, I'll batter your rusty second-rate automaton to scrap metal and solder a bucket out of your corpse—but the quick clearing of Hal's eyes and his hand around Karkat's throat proved it to be just a glitch of his speech program, the robot equivalent of a grunt.

“Cute,” Hal growled, his index and thumb squeezing in on Karkat's carotid arteries with pinpoint precision. His pulse immediately began to throb in his temples, but before he began to get dizzy, he executed his original plan and rammed his nook down onto Hal's cock.

Hal's whole body stiffened, and the pressure from the robotic hand loosened somewhat, letting Karkat gasp with the sensation. Karkat's nook burned from being penetrated so forcefully by something so large with so little warm-up, but the cold surface of the long shaft actually soothed some of the ache, alien as it was. Its rigid fullness was unlike anything he'd ever felt before; troll bulges were supple and mobile, twitching and exploring the inside walls with a gentle probing motion. Hal's cock wasn't anything like that; it was solid and unyielding, pressing hard into the sides and back of his nook. With a slight twist, the smooth metal head was pushing against his shame globes, sending spastic shivers of pleasure all the way down his legs, which still straddled the robot.

Karkat recovered before Hal did, and made a show of peering down into his eyes. “Hmm,” he said in the most mock-puzzled tone he could muster. “Nope, still orange. I thought for sure they'd have changed to reflect the blue screen of death from this system crash.”

“You wish,” Hal said. His voice was flatter, more monotonous and machine-like. Karkat wondered if his processor was just too overloaded to use his emotional modulation algorithms properly, or if he had shut them off on purpose to better his poker face. “You couldn't crash me if you tri—"

He cut off with another burst of static as Karkat rose up until his cock was almost completely free of his nook, then slammed down viciously again. The slight ridges where the overlapping metal plates of the shaft met slid over the outer folds of Karkat's nook as he was filled with its huge cylindrical mass again. It felt like the walls of his nook were stretched almost to the point of tearing, and the near-pain of the tension fed the coiling ball of pleasure deep in his guts.

Hal's fingers dug into Karkat's thighs. Without nails, they didn't break the skin, but he squeezed hard enough that there would be hand-shaped bruises in the morning. Karkat snarled and leaned forward, placing all his weight on a hand grabbing Hal's throat, fisting the other frantically in a practiced snaking motion around his bulge. Hal didn't breathe, of course, but it wasn't Hal that Karkat was imagining as he pressed the robot's neck into the ground and ran his hand along his own dripping length.

Hal's unnaturally strong arms were undeterred by the lack of leverage. He used his vice-like grip to lift Karkat again and pull him down on his cock in an urgent, needy rhythm. Karkat's breathing grew ragged as the robot's dick pounded into his nook so hard his shame globes were screaming, the thrusts quick, deep, and with the precise regular timing of a metronome. He was already so close—a pool of red genetic material splattered under them with every thrust from where it had dripped down Hal's sides—so he tugged at his bulge desperately as the stimulation from his hand and his pitch fluid chambers and Hal's hands and cock all fed into that building explosion inside him, and all he needed was one more little push—

Hal's back arched, bucking Karkat upwards as his mouth opened and he came with a cry of harsh electronic beeps, his vocal synthesizer completely shot from the stimulation. There was obviously no fluid release from his inorganic organ, but as he writhed with his climax, a series of sharp electric shocks zapped into Karkat's nook. The jolts caused the muscles of his nook to spasm, contracting involuntarily and clamping down on to the metal phallus even harder. The spasms and the pain pushed him over the brink and genetic material gushed out of his nook and bulge, coating Hal's entire pelvis and lower abdomen, as he screamed, “OH FUCK, DIRK!”

His orgasm wrung him dry in a matter of moments. Just before his clenching nook squeezed out the last dribbling spurt, Hal's cock retracted back into his crotch, replaced again by a facsimile of Dirk's pants. Karkat tumbled off of Hal to the side, panting for air and not even caring about the red fluid coating his thighs and seeping into the bottom hem of his shirt. “Shit,” he muttered breathlessly.

“Yeah. Shit,” Hal said. His voice was back to normal, but he sounded...defeated, somehow. Resigned.

Karkat frowned. “Are...are you okay?”

Hal got to his feet, as steady as if he hadn't just been vigorously fucked. “I'm fine.” He grabbed a towel hanging on the back of a chair and attempted to remove the worst of the congealing slime all over his midsection. “Looks like the chassis is waterproof afterall. All circuits intact.”

“Oh, well, yeah, that's good too,” Karkat said as he fought his way to a sitting position. The world tilted a little and his arms wobbled; standing was going to be out of the question for a while longer. He continued, “But I meant...fuck, I don't know. You're being weird.”

Hal made a bitter chuckling noise and gave up on the towel. “Am I?” he asked. “Then maybe I'm a better copy than I thought.”

Karkat opened his mouth to reply, but before his still-dazed brain could form a question, Hal flash-stepped to the door and absconded into the hall.

The troll sat there in a puddle of his own fluids, fighting through the foggy morass of his post-coital thoughts. What the fuck was going on? Was he lying? Did he actually have as big of a problem with black romance as Dirk had—

Oh, FUCK.