[Guilty Gear] Version Up
Title: Version Up
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Pairings/Characters: Sol/Ky, Sin, original characters
Rating: PG
Warning: humor, crack, unrepentantly AU (or would this be more of an AT?)
Notes: This is a non-Overture-compliant AU (or perhaps calling it an Alternate Timeline would be better). Some 100 years in the future, Sin finally manages to bring home a Mrs. Sin, and Sol can enjoy dealing with the consequences.
Version Up
The thing was... tiny.
That was the observation he had made upon seeing it for the first time, and it hadn't changed very much in the last half hour. The thing was tiny, and surprisingly quiet. He had expected it to be much more brat-like. Squalling. Demanding attention. Trying to bite through his jeans. The usual stuff. None of that meant that it was any less annoying. In fact, it was more annoying because it was not like the brat. It wasn't giving him an excuse to kick it, or set it on fire, or pick it up by the scruff of its neck and toss it at a passing Ky. The passing Ky was usually happy to take it away from his influence.
No, this thing was much more frustrating because it was not doing anything at all. It was just sitting there on the floor, cross-legged, and staring straight at him.
Its gaze was piercing the book he was pretending not to use as a shield, the kind of "You're air to me" defense that hadn't worked on Ky, or the brat, and was most certainly not working on this thing. After his experiences with the brat and his attention-grabbing ways, though, it was unnerving to have something so small be able to use the Ky-method so perfectly that even the inventor of the look would be impressed.
He lowered his book for a cursory assessment.
Yes, definitely still staring. Huge, serious blue eyes.
Damn, he hated that look. Staring back hard only got the thing to give him a slow, very deliberate-seeming blink. Then, it went back to staring, not intimidated in the slightest.
Sol went back to his book.
"What are you reading?"
The voice was as tiny as the thing, though there was nothing shy or hesitant about it. Just interest, and perfect grammar. No well-it-looks-about-two-to-me thing should be able to use perfect grammar, in Sol's opinion. It meant the thing wasn't just able to talk, it also knew it was able to talk, so you couldn't pretend you hadn't understood what it was saying.
"The clusterfuck of Gear genetics," he growled, hoping that would sufficiently deter further questions.
"What's a fuck?"
"...Nothing you need to know about."
"It must be important, if you're reading about it."
"No, it's not."
There was no reply, and after a little while, he could hear the soft rustling sound of thing-in-motion, socked feet scampering out into the hallway. Good riddance. Sol briefly debated getting up and locking the door, but then decided that that would mean admitting defeat. If the brat hadn't managed to get him to do that, he wasn't about to give his little demon spawn the pleasure, either.
Voices in the living area. If he wanted to, he could listen, but he'd come here because he hadn't wanted to listen in the first place. He'd come here to ponder the thing, actually, away from the idiots who thought it was sweet and adorable and some kind of achievement to be proud of. Well, the brat thought that. The girl had a right to be proud of herself, after giving birth to something that might very well have decided that gnawing its way out of her womb would be a sign of affection. Ky had been floored-as far as Ky ever was floored, of course-but not appropriately dismayed and questioning anyone's sanity, which meant he was probably well on his way to warming up to the idea by now. Sometimes, Sol wasn't sure whether to curse or admire his ability to adapt.
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the book. He still hadn't made it past the introduction.
Damn the thing.
Greek blahblah. Mendel blahblah. Standard recapitulation of human genetics blah. How could he have written this crap? He must have been insane. At least half of that could be tossed out as filler. Stupid academic bingo-type filler. If he'd be forced to do it all over again, he'd write the whole thing in the sacred language of Internet-savvy felines, just to get back at the entire academic circus.
Or lyrics. He could do lyrics. Set it to Ride of the Valkyries for acoustic guitar. That'd sound appropriately crazy. Just like the entire undertaking had been.
Blahblah proto-modification experiments blahblah eukaryotic cell division blah laevorotatory DNA blah. Ah. Now this was looking better. Had only taken almost a hundred pages. Of course, nobody had ever had the opportunity to observe third-generation Gears in the making at the time he'd penned this down, between intravenous coffee supply and screwing over the planet in excelsis. Never mind third-generation human-types. Still, it might do some good, seeing it spread out like that again. It would at least help him to determine how to classify the damn thing. Certainly wasn't quarter. Might be half. The girl was a quarter. The idiot was half. It would be nice to take a sample. The girl might comply. The idiot would be clueless. Ky would argue about the ethics of experiments on children. Even if it was only a damn blood sample.
Amino acid docking changes. Nucleotide mutation. Might be worth getting into the argument later. It'd certainly help them to know what to expect. Transcription factors...
"Grandpa says that 'fuck' is a highly vulgar and often inaccurate term related to sexual intercourse."
Sol almost dropped the book. He hadn't even heard the thing come back.
"He says I shouldn't commit such language to memory at my age, preferably not ever," it reported, obviously word for word. "He also says to tell you that you're 'in the doghouse' for swearing in front of me."
"You're... some kind of evil being formed by a hole in the space-time continuum, aren't you."
The thing cocked its head, seriously contemplating the question. "Grandpa says there's no evil. Just sides."
Ah. So Ky had gotten to the kid first with this one. Smart move, that. Couldn't count on the idiot to impart anything worthwhile or practical. Almost a hundred years and there were still morons with the same old ideas out there. Well. Not like he was in a position to talk, but it did seem a tad unfair to the thing. It was just... tiny. Not its fault. Not really. Even if he didn't like it.
Increased transcriptive bonding ability. Formation of magic particle streams in the mitochondria. Nothing new there.
"What's a mi. Mito. What's that word?"
There was nothing like jerking away from the sprawling text to stare at the thing's frustrated scowl from a few inches away, trying to read the words upside down.
Wings. How lovely. He might have known. More reason to get that limiter working, stat.
"Waaah!"
Abruptly, the thing disappeared from view, but hovered back up before it hit the ground, tiny wings flapping madly in an attempt to keep its weight afloat.
"There's no pictures in that book."
"Umm, okay." The thing's face was growing red with the effort.
"It's not a kid's book."
"Okay."
"You're not going away unless I kick you, right."
"You have cool things here. And dad says you're a mad scientist."
"The jury's still out on my sanity, kid."
More frantic flapping, the thing trying to peer into the book again.
Sol sighed. "Well, damn. Here. Chair." He reached over, pulling a rickety swivel chair close, and the thing practically fell out of the air, spinning round a few times when it hit the seat. Sighing again, Sol caught the rotating base and the thing blinked up at him woozily, before checking the integrity of its pigtails. Tiny and fussy. Bravo. Should have been blonde, by all means.
"So..."
"So. As I was saying, I don't have books for kids here."
"But you have machines! And you know things! And grandpa says it's good for you if I bother you." The thing was positively glowing now, while still managing to look utterly serious. There was that added glint in its eyes that meant it had found something to obsess over, and wasn't going to back down. It was the kind of glint Ky got with his parade of fine china. The kind of glint the idiot got with just about anything that was either sparkly, edible, or possibly both, because the idiot was easy to entertain and didn't discriminate.
"Fine. If you promise to shut up and leave afterwards, I'll tell you the awesome story of the wondrous heterozygous alleles."
"Okay."
-----
"Sickle-cell anemia is a genetic disorder caused by the presence of two incompletely recessive alleles. Because the disorder is incompletely recessive, a person with only one sickle-cell allele and one unaffected allele will have a mixed phenotype. As a result..."
"How sweet, you're already teaching her about deadly diseases."
Sol let the book flop down on his thighs, glaring blearily at the speaker standing in the doorway. He should have turned on the overhead lights for this.
"Looks like we're officially out of beta now," Ky said, coming closer to stand beside him and patting him in a mildly condescending fashion. "I knew you'd get along fine."
"Not turning her into a roasted roll isn't the same as 'getting along'," Sol muttered, and it sounded a lot more sullen than he would have liked.
"It's synonymous in your case." The hand expertly found his stiff neck, fingers kneading in all the good places, and Sol knew then that this was as close to an apology as he was going to get. A part of him detested the thought of being easy enough to be satisfied with neck rubs, while the rest, predictably, didn't give a damn.
"Well. No matter." Ky was motioning over to the swivel chair, where the thing lay curled in on itself, the too-short tail attempting to drape over its legs, wings folded against its back. He hadn't even realized it had zonked out.
"Waste of time. I thought it'd make her go away."
Ky chuckled. "I'm sure she's dreaming about beautiful genetic mutations."
"Oh, screw you." Not the most biting retort in the universe, but certainly one that appropriately conveyed his feelings on the matter.
"Thanks for reminding me, I still need to beat the hell out of you for that."
"I have a right to swear after you settled me with that... that... thing."
"'Toddler', Sol. It's okay to say it."
"That's not a toddler. That's... I'm not sure what that is. How the hell did that happen."
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself. We didn't manage to cover that part yet... just the part where I asked her if she was sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life slapping him, and him if he knew how not to be one fourth German shepherd for a couple of hours per day. You know, an approximation of a concept that might count as 'respectable father' in a somewhat sane household."
"Where is the idiot, anyway?" Sol sighed, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I should kill him for this."
"Outside. I told them to take a look around. Thought you might be able to use some moral support."
"You're not here to provide moral support. You're here to gloat."
An innocent smile, and he could practically hear that damn halo going 'bling'. "Maybe a little."
"Might I remind you that the idiot breeding is not a thing to gloat about?"
"Well, Sin seems to be taking it appropriately seriously, at least. And the child is already more sensible than he'll ever be. I think we're fine."
"...We have the brat's mutant hell spawn speaking in perfect grammar and listening to my postulations about Gear genetics," Sol felt obligated to point out. "I can't be the only one who sees something wrong with that."
"You know what they say, intelligence skips a generation. I'm sure the world will survive another one, if it survived Sin. We'll just have to keep her from turning into an evil genius living in a fiery volcano pit." Another smile, this one kinder and less amused. "Just think of it as a challenge. We're good with those, no?"
"It won't be a challenge to neuter the idiot," Sol hissed, still feeling entirely too much like he was the butt of some kind of glorious cosmic joke between Fate and her sister Payback. And, of course, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
All this thinking and dragging up memories was giving him a headache.
"Since you're in full-blown 'I hate the world' mode, how about we do that thing now where I kick your ass for swearing and you get to let off some steam?"
"That better be a three out of five. I want to be able to at least pretend it's a challenge."
A mild jolt stung his shoulder, as much a warning as it was a provocation. "Let's see you follow up on that big talk."
"You remember where I parked my sword?"
Ky gave him a flat look. "How am I supposed to know where you leave your weapons of mass destruction? You're diverting it from its intended use at least three times a week."
"I think... I think I used it to prop up something or other in here," Sol said, getting up and poking around the mountains of notes and books. Several delicately piled towers of documents began to shiver as he brushed past them, collapsing in landslides of paper.
"You have a way of really killing the mood, you know that?"
"Oh, hey. There it is." He dragged the Fuenken off the corner worktable, tearing out the cables of the measuring instruments plugged into its hilt. "I wanted to see if I could improve it."
Heaving a sigh, Ky leaned against the doorframe. "Is this like the time you improved the stove to become a motion-sensitive trebuchet?"
"Nah." He flicked the sword to see if anything would rattle inside, satisfied when nothing happened. "Fine-tuned the output capability, built in an ashtray. Might add an extendable grill for outdoors. Cleaning the blade's kind of a pain."
"...If you ever touch the Furaiken, may God have mercy on your soul, because I certainly won't."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist. These things were a beta, too. Nothing wrong with improvement, wasn't that what you were getting at?" Sol pointed out, carelessly stepping on and over his notes.
"And then there's such a thing as backwards development."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, less talk, more fight. Let's get this show on the road, before I change my mind and turn the thing into a half-orphan."
Ky barely seemed to be paying attention to his threats anymore, already halfway down the hallway. "Rules are no setting the forest on fire, and no using any part of the house as projectiles."
"And you wonder why I call you an anal-retentive bastard."
The door to the lab fell shut behind him, with the release candidate still happily, obliviously asleep by the time the first explosions went off.
----
THE END (of the world as we know it)
Author's Notes: As I said, this is unrepentant crack, for which twigcollins has to be named as partial enabler. Hope that cheers you up, Twig! ♥ As for anyone else reading this, I sincerely apologize if I broke any brains. C&C is welcome, as always.
1) I just consider this a normal, if crack-addled progression of things. Sin would eventually wander out and find that girl who'll give him the asskick of true love, and landing Sol with a little genius grandchild to torment him was just too good to pass up.
2) Yes, I Gearified Ky. Oh come on, like he wouldn't stick around.
3) Ditto the girl. I can't imagine a normal human being able to keep up with Sin. Plus, if Overture can dish out more humanoid and/or sentient Gears, so can I.
4) Twig, any suggestions for names?
5) Ride of the Valkyries, metal version.
<< Return to Guilty Gear Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Pairings/Characters: Sol/Ky, Sin, original characters
Rating: PG
Warning: humor, crack, unrepentantly AU (or would this be more of an AT?)
Notes: This is a non-Overture-compliant AU (or perhaps calling it an Alternate Timeline would be better). Some 100 years in the future, Sin finally manages to bring home a Mrs. Sin, and Sol can enjoy dealing with the consequences.
Version Up
The thing was... tiny.
That was the observation he had made upon seeing it for the first time, and it hadn't changed very much in the last half hour. The thing was tiny, and surprisingly quiet. He had expected it to be much more brat-like. Squalling. Demanding attention. Trying to bite through his jeans. The usual stuff. None of that meant that it was any less annoying. In fact, it was more annoying because it was not like the brat. It wasn't giving him an excuse to kick it, or set it on fire, or pick it up by the scruff of its neck and toss it at a passing Ky. The passing Ky was usually happy to take it away from his influence.
No, this thing was much more frustrating because it was not doing anything at all. It was just sitting there on the floor, cross-legged, and staring straight at him.
Its gaze was piercing the book he was pretending not to use as a shield, the kind of "You're air to me" defense that hadn't worked on Ky, or the brat, and was most certainly not working on this thing. After his experiences with the brat and his attention-grabbing ways, though, it was unnerving to have something so small be able to use the Ky-method so perfectly that even the inventor of the look would be impressed.
He lowered his book for a cursory assessment.
Yes, definitely still staring. Huge, serious blue eyes.
Damn, he hated that look. Staring back hard only got the thing to give him a slow, very deliberate-seeming blink. Then, it went back to staring, not intimidated in the slightest.
Sol went back to his book.
"What are you reading?"
The voice was as tiny as the thing, though there was nothing shy or hesitant about it. Just interest, and perfect grammar. No well-it-looks-about-two-to-me thing should be able to use perfect grammar, in Sol's opinion. It meant the thing wasn't just able to talk, it also knew it was able to talk, so you couldn't pretend you hadn't understood what it was saying.
"The clusterfuck of Gear genetics," he growled, hoping that would sufficiently deter further questions.
"What's a fuck?"
"...Nothing you need to know about."
"It must be important, if you're reading about it."
"No, it's not."
There was no reply, and after a little while, he could hear the soft rustling sound of thing-in-motion, socked feet scampering out into the hallway. Good riddance. Sol briefly debated getting up and locking the door, but then decided that that would mean admitting defeat. If the brat hadn't managed to get him to do that, he wasn't about to give his little demon spawn the pleasure, either.
Voices in the living area. If he wanted to, he could listen, but he'd come here because he hadn't wanted to listen in the first place. He'd come here to ponder the thing, actually, away from the idiots who thought it was sweet and adorable and some kind of achievement to be proud of. Well, the brat thought that. The girl had a right to be proud of herself, after giving birth to something that might very well have decided that gnawing its way out of her womb would be a sign of affection. Ky had been floored-as far as Ky ever was floored, of course-but not appropriately dismayed and questioning anyone's sanity, which meant he was probably well on his way to warming up to the idea by now. Sometimes, Sol wasn't sure whether to curse or admire his ability to adapt.
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the book. He still hadn't made it past the introduction.
Damn the thing.
Greek blahblah. Mendel blahblah. Standard recapitulation of human genetics blah. How could he have written this crap? He must have been insane. At least half of that could be tossed out as filler. Stupid academic bingo-type filler. If he'd be forced to do it all over again, he'd write the whole thing in the sacred language of Internet-savvy felines, just to get back at the entire academic circus.
Or lyrics. He could do lyrics. Set it to Ride of the Valkyries for acoustic guitar. That'd sound appropriately crazy. Just like the entire undertaking had been.
Blahblah proto-modification experiments blahblah eukaryotic cell division blah laevorotatory DNA blah. Ah. Now this was looking better. Had only taken almost a hundred pages. Of course, nobody had ever had the opportunity to observe third-generation Gears in the making at the time he'd penned this down, between intravenous coffee supply and screwing over the planet in excelsis. Never mind third-generation human-types. Still, it might do some good, seeing it spread out like that again. It would at least help him to determine how to classify the damn thing. Certainly wasn't quarter. Might be half. The girl was a quarter. The idiot was half. It would be nice to take a sample. The girl might comply. The idiot would be clueless. Ky would argue about the ethics of experiments on children. Even if it was only a damn blood sample.
Amino acid docking changes. Nucleotide mutation. Might be worth getting into the argument later. It'd certainly help them to know what to expect. Transcription factors...
"Grandpa says that 'fuck' is a highly vulgar and often inaccurate term related to sexual intercourse."
Sol almost dropped the book. He hadn't even heard the thing come back.
"He says I shouldn't commit such language to memory at my age, preferably not ever," it reported, obviously word for word. "He also says to tell you that you're 'in the doghouse' for swearing in front of me."
"You're... some kind of evil being formed by a hole in the space-time continuum, aren't you."
The thing cocked its head, seriously contemplating the question. "Grandpa says there's no evil. Just sides."
Ah. So Ky had gotten to the kid first with this one. Smart move, that. Couldn't count on the idiot to impart anything worthwhile or practical. Almost a hundred years and there were still morons with the same old ideas out there. Well. Not like he was in a position to talk, but it did seem a tad unfair to the thing. It was just... tiny. Not its fault. Not really. Even if he didn't like it.
Increased transcriptive bonding ability. Formation of magic particle streams in the mitochondria. Nothing new there.
"What's a mi. Mito. What's that word?"
There was nothing like jerking away from the sprawling text to stare at the thing's frustrated scowl from a few inches away, trying to read the words upside down.
Wings. How lovely. He might have known. More reason to get that limiter working, stat.
"Waaah!"
Abruptly, the thing disappeared from view, but hovered back up before it hit the ground, tiny wings flapping madly in an attempt to keep its weight afloat.
"There's no pictures in that book."
"Umm, okay." The thing's face was growing red with the effort.
"It's not a kid's book."
"Okay."
"You're not going away unless I kick you, right."
"You have cool things here. And dad says you're a mad scientist."
"The jury's still out on my sanity, kid."
More frantic flapping, the thing trying to peer into the book again.
Sol sighed. "Well, damn. Here. Chair." He reached over, pulling a rickety swivel chair close, and the thing practically fell out of the air, spinning round a few times when it hit the seat. Sighing again, Sol caught the rotating base and the thing blinked up at him woozily, before checking the integrity of its pigtails. Tiny and fussy. Bravo. Should have been blonde, by all means.
"So..."
"So. As I was saying, I don't have books for kids here."
"But you have machines! And you know things! And grandpa says it's good for you if I bother you." The thing was positively glowing now, while still managing to look utterly serious. There was that added glint in its eyes that meant it had found something to obsess over, and wasn't going to back down. It was the kind of glint Ky got with his parade of fine china. The kind of glint the idiot got with just about anything that was either sparkly, edible, or possibly both, because the idiot was easy to entertain and didn't discriminate.
"Fine. If you promise to shut up and leave afterwards, I'll tell you the awesome story of the wondrous heterozygous alleles."
"Okay."
-----
"Sickle-cell anemia is a genetic disorder caused by the presence of two incompletely recessive alleles. Because the disorder is incompletely recessive, a person with only one sickle-cell allele and one unaffected allele will have a mixed phenotype. As a result..."
"How sweet, you're already teaching her about deadly diseases."
Sol let the book flop down on his thighs, glaring blearily at the speaker standing in the doorway. He should have turned on the overhead lights for this.
"Looks like we're officially out of beta now," Ky said, coming closer to stand beside him and patting him in a mildly condescending fashion. "I knew you'd get along fine."
"Not turning her into a roasted roll isn't the same as 'getting along'," Sol muttered, and it sounded a lot more sullen than he would have liked.
"It's synonymous in your case." The hand expertly found his stiff neck, fingers kneading in all the good places, and Sol knew then that this was as close to an apology as he was going to get. A part of him detested the thought of being easy enough to be satisfied with neck rubs, while the rest, predictably, didn't give a damn.
"Well. No matter." Ky was motioning over to the swivel chair, where the thing lay curled in on itself, the too-short tail attempting to drape over its legs, wings folded against its back. He hadn't even realized it had zonked out.
"Waste of time. I thought it'd make her go away."
Ky chuckled. "I'm sure she's dreaming about beautiful genetic mutations."
"Oh, screw you." Not the most biting retort in the universe, but certainly one that appropriately conveyed his feelings on the matter.
"Thanks for reminding me, I still need to beat the hell out of you for that."
"I have a right to swear after you settled me with that... that... thing."
"'Toddler', Sol. It's okay to say it."
"That's not a toddler. That's... I'm not sure what that is. How the hell did that happen."
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself. We didn't manage to cover that part yet... just the part where I asked her if she was sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life slapping him, and him if he knew how not to be one fourth German shepherd for a couple of hours per day. You know, an approximation of a concept that might count as 'respectable father' in a somewhat sane household."
"Where is the idiot, anyway?" Sol sighed, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I should kill him for this."
"Outside. I told them to take a look around. Thought you might be able to use some moral support."
"You're not here to provide moral support. You're here to gloat."
An innocent smile, and he could practically hear that damn halo going 'bling'. "Maybe a little."
"Might I remind you that the idiot breeding is not a thing to gloat about?"
"Well, Sin seems to be taking it appropriately seriously, at least. And the child is already more sensible than he'll ever be. I think we're fine."
"...We have the brat's mutant hell spawn speaking in perfect grammar and listening to my postulations about Gear genetics," Sol felt obligated to point out. "I can't be the only one who sees something wrong with that."
"You know what they say, intelligence skips a generation. I'm sure the world will survive another one, if it survived Sin. We'll just have to keep her from turning into an evil genius living in a fiery volcano pit." Another smile, this one kinder and less amused. "Just think of it as a challenge. We're good with those, no?"
"It won't be a challenge to neuter the idiot," Sol hissed, still feeling entirely too much like he was the butt of some kind of glorious cosmic joke between Fate and her sister Payback. And, of course, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
All this thinking and dragging up memories was giving him a headache.
"Since you're in full-blown 'I hate the world' mode, how about we do that thing now where I kick your ass for swearing and you get to let off some steam?"
"That better be a three out of five. I want to be able to at least pretend it's a challenge."
A mild jolt stung his shoulder, as much a warning as it was a provocation. "Let's see you follow up on that big talk."
"You remember where I parked my sword?"
Ky gave him a flat look. "How am I supposed to know where you leave your weapons of mass destruction? You're diverting it from its intended use at least three times a week."
"I think... I think I used it to prop up something or other in here," Sol said, getting up and poking around the mountains of notes and books. Several delicately piled towers of documents began to shiver as he brushed past them, collapsing in landslides of paper.
"You have a way of really killing the mood, you know that?"
"Oh, hey. There it is." He dragged the Fuenken off the corner worktable, tearing out the cables of the measuring instruments plugged into its hilt. "I wanted to see if I could improve it."
Heaving a sigh, Ky leaned against the doorframe. "Is this like the time you improved the stove to become a motion-sensitive trebuchet?"
"Nah." He flicked the sword to see if anything would rattle inside, satisfied when nothing happened. "Fine-tuned the output capability, built in an ashtray. Might add an extendable grill for outdoors. Cleaning the blade's kind of a pain."
"...If you ever touch the Furaiken, may God have mercy on your soul, because I certainly won't."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist. These things were a beta, too. Nothing wrong with improvement, wasn't that what you were getting at?" Sol pointed out, carelessly stepping on and over his notes.
"And then there's such a thing as backwards development."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, less talk, more fight. Let's get this show on the road, before I change my mind and turn the thing into a half-orphan."
Ky barely seemed to be paying attention to his threats anymore, already halfway down the hallway. "Rules are no setting the forest on fire, and no using any part of the house as projectiles."
"And you wonder why I call you an anal-retentive bastard."
The door to the lab fell shut behind him, with the release candidate still happily, obliviously asleep by the time the first explosions went off.
----
THE END (of the world as we know it)
Author's Notes: As I said, this is unrepentant crack, for which twigcollins has to be named as partial enabler. Hope that cheers you up, Twig! ♥ As for anyone else reading this, I sincerely apologize if I broke any brains. C&C is welcome, as always.
1) I just consider this a normal, if crack-addled progression of things. Sin would eventually wander out and find that girl who'll give him the asskick of true love, and landing Sol with a little genius grandchild to torment him was just too good to pass up.
2) Yes, I Gearified Ky. Oh come on, like he wouldn't stick around.
3) Ditto the girl. I can't imagine a normal human being able to keep up with Sin. Plus, if Overture can dish out more humanoid and/or sentient Gears, so can I.
4) Twig, any suggestions for names?
5) Ride of the Valkyries, metal version.
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