November 8th, 2038

PM 05:45:22


A/N: Hello, everyone! Sorry I haven't responded to you all just yet; still exhausted from getting into all sorts of trouble, and travel, in general. Enjoy! :)


The doorbell chimed like church bells in blissful ascension. Carl's statues of guardian angels came and went between squalls of snow.

"Damn, it's cold…" Chris hugged himself.

You looked back towards the door, brown and decorative – a warm entrance light welcoming you to its steps. Windows cut in the wood showed a well-lit foyer, its gleaming walls shimmering with artistic trim.

You knocked with your knuckles, pausing before pressing an intercom's button.

"It's me, Carl."

You leaned away from the speaker, a shivering laugh coming from your left.

"First name basis and everything, huh? Almost thought you were making it all up."

"Unlike you, I don't lie."

Which was a lie.

You hadn't told him about the harrowing text you'd received, or how close he was to the truth when he'd joked about your relation to deviants and rA9.

"I don't-"

An android greeted the two of you. A male AP700, the most expensive of its kind; sharing the same model number as the others in CyberLife's flagship line.

"Good evening. What can I do for you?"

You heard Chloe. Saw her smile. Felt the same alertness run up your spine. You realized why this all felt familiar.

The door. The android. The foyer-

"H-hi," Chris cleared his throat, giving you a weird look, "This is Officer…" He introduced you, "…and I'm Officer Miller, Detroit Police Department. We're here to see, uh…Mr.-"

Kamski.

Disappearing and reappearing behind you, whispering in your ear. Climbing out of his blood pool with a challenging presence. Wrapping you in his arms; his touch, lingering.

"Please," The android stepped aside, "Come in."

This was too similar. Two parallel ports that sent signals from past to present, flashing images and feelings and overwhelming amounts of data that had your mechanisms stuck on inaction.

"Hey," Chris snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, waiting for you in the doorway, "I've got your back. Come on, let's do this."

You blinked rapidly, finding a tired smile pointed at you.

Some things were better left forgotten; but that notion was lost upon a memory that never knew when to keep to itself – volatile, unstable, and accessing life lessons learned through traumatic experiences at random.

"Y-yeah…okay. Let's do this."

Again.

"I'll let Carl know you're here." The AP700 clasped his hands and nodded, "But please, make yourself comfortable."

He disappeared behind sliding doors that led to the living room, shoes tapping against the checkered flooring.

You and Chris took your hats off, idling nervously. You put your hands in your pockets, rocking on your heels with anticipation.

Change hadn't touched this place.

It had the same scent you were fond of – paint and turpentine; sage and lavender. A blend of manmade and organic materials, mixed just as delicately as the oils on the canvas lining the wall.

A portrait dripped with black ink, the perceived identity bleeding from its eyes and pooling on its cheek. An early work of Carl's; a profile that'd spoken to you in tongues, riddled with a tale of overcoming the evil that gripped its subject.

"They seem so…real." Chris mumbled, poking a bird cage, "Especially this one. Small bird, big personality."

You remembered Hank's comparison of birds to deviants. How he'd described them just the same. Wondered if the android birds could catch the deviancy virus, and start singing the gospel of rA9.

You turned your head, jumping at your reflection in another mirror.

Chris's observation matched your own; you were just poking at an invisible cage of a different small bird.

Yourself; caught up in the confines of a refurbished ego – trapping the "thing within itself," that made you real. Your identity.

The Titan who'd been shunned like Prometheus himself as you stole fire, gifting it to an enslaved raceat the sacrifice of your own freedom.

The AP700 emerged from the living room, shelves lined with pottery and origami sculptures behind him.

"Carl will see you now."

The timeline had been altered.

You'd stepped into the abyssal Tartarus, and thought you'd found your way out. But you'd been bound by chains you'd rattled against Mount Olympus, summoning a higher judgment to cast its thunderbolts and sentence you to eternal torment and seclusion.

You hoped to find an end to the labyrinth. You prayed to whoever was listening as you ignored Chris's gawking at a stuffed giraffe towering over the entrance of Carl's studio.

And inside awaited perhaps the only being other than Elijah who knew just as much about facing inner monsters as you.

He was suspended high above the floor in front of a wall-sized canvas, the simulated light of his landscape-projector windows beaming through the glass. It was quite different than Elijah's view.

Then again, Carl had never been one to fare well in bleak weather.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in." He didn't look at you as his wheelchair glistened in the mechanical clamp that had it raised, "When Saul told me you were the Officer they sent, I could hardly believe it."

You scoffed, imagining a bird caught by a feline hunter.

He kept painting, his artisan hands practicing their craft, "I'm surprised you remembered how to get here!"

"When your department is the one making the road closures…it makes it easier to get around them. GPS does wonders."

"Bah…" He clicked a lever, and the industrial arm buzzed as it rotated him to the floor, "Your generation depends too much on technology. Do you even know where that stupid voice in your phone takes you as you follow it along like lah-dee-dah?"

You chuckled, shaking your head, "And your generation is too stubborn to stop rubbing sticks together to embrace change."

"That's how we balance each other out, isn't it?" He turned, arms pumping the wheels, "My generation brings wisdom and experience, and your generation sorts through it and applies it?"

"Uh-huh…" You brought yourself to his level, hesitating before giving him a hug.

He gave you a strong pat on the back, "It's good to see you, kiddo."

"You too, Carl…"

"Who's your friend?"

Chris gulped. Opened his mouth and gave a meek wave, one hand gripping a notepad, "Hi-"

"That's my partner, Officer Miller."

"Please, Mr. Manfred- sir, call me Chris."

"Only if you never call me Mr. Manfred again…" He smacked his lips, looking at you and shaking his head.

You smirked, "But Mr. Manfred has such a nice ring to it."

"Yeah, if you're old."

"You are old, Carl."

He gave out a crisp laugh; one that'd aged in the cellar of his soul and fermented into a light sound with depth. Like a fine wine.

The kind you'd shared with Elijah-

You shook it off, keeping the drawn parallel at bay.

"Now – wheel my old ass outta' here and let's have a drink over how to take down Todd Williams."

You gripped the handle bars and pushed him, "Are you making terroristic threats, Carl?"

"What's it to you, bucko?"

"I'm a cop! You can't say that stuff around me!"

"BAH." He looked over his shoulder, "You've gotten boring."

You stopped.

Next to the masterpiece that was Carl's mural, there was a smaller canvas. The details were perfect; the brushstrokes precise. A painting of a battered human hand, cupping at the exposed palm of an android's.

Underneath all your flesh that was shaped under society's touch, there was a hardened interior. Connor wasn't so different from you – just made of plastic that guarded his most vital biocomponents. You'd let each other in, and hurt each other in the process.

But this painting, the way their fingertips just barely touched each other; as if unsure of what would happen should two worlds collide, yet gravitating closer-

It made you feel…

Hopeful.

"You really outdid yourself with that one…"

Carl seemed just as solemn as you, if not with a dash of sadness, "Markus painted that."

You cocked your head, "Markus…painted?"

Connor hadn't been the only android to show abstract thought, it seemed.

"Hey, uh," Chris turned to the android next to him, "Saul, right?"

"Yes. That is my designated name, Officer."

"Great. Cool. Hey, why don't we go sit down in the living room so I can get a statement from you."

"What would you like a statement on?"

"I'm assuming you know what's going on with Todd Williams and Leo Manfred?"

"Yes. I have been keeping in contact with Carl's private investigator."

"Perfect!" He put his arm around the android, guiding him to the door, "Let's get to work, then!"

He gave you a look over his shoulder before the doors closed behind him.

"Is he always on cue like that?" Carl asked.

"Mhm. His cop senses are too strong for his own good. Well-respected in the department, though. Wouldn't be surprised if he gets promoted before I do."

"Just means you need to step your game up."

"Hmph…If androids can paint like this, I'd say you need to 'step your game up.'" You took a few steps towards the canvas, wanting to get a closer look, "I named a test after you, you know."

"I wouldn't know…you never call."

Your throat closed, and you turned to him.

"It's not because I didn't want to. You know I had to cut ties when-"

"I'm just giving you a hard time." He took your hand, and patted the top, "Don't beat yourself up too hard. From what I hear, you've got deviants taking care of that for you."

"Oh, Jesus – you too?!"

"You sound like one of those old broads from back in my day, all that squawking."

"And you sound like the typical badass grandpa with tattoos who still uses the word 'broad.'"

"What about any of that is typical?"

You couldn't help but laugh, "Absolutely nothing."

"This 'test' you named after me better live up to that legacy."

Your brows lowered, and your mouth slowly closed. The short burst of happiness you'd felt faded.

"Oh, I've seen that look before. That's not good."

"It's…it's nothing bad…" You put your hands in your pockets, "There's this…android, at the station. His name is Connor. He saved me when I got shot at the hostage situation."

"Ah, yes…the infamous Deviant Hunter." He settled in his chair, wrist curved over the golden edge of an armrest, "What about him?"

"This is kind of a long story, so I'm just going to give you the short version, alright?"

Carl nodded.

"He read my entire philosophy collection, and I challenged him to guess which book your painting was based on-"

"You still have that?"

You pinched your temple, "Of course I do-"

"And this Connor…he was in your apartment?"

He crossed his arms, giving you one of his "I'm studying every micro-expression on your face and digging in your soul," smiles.

"I said it was a long story, didn't I?"

"Mhm…anyway, continue."

"I called this the Manfred Test. A transition from literature to a different form of art in order to provoke abstract thought."

He nodded, lips smacking as if he approved, "Okay, even I'll admit that's clever."

He gazed into Markus's depiction of "hope," as you'd named it in your head. Like he was looking for a distant memory to bring it forward, but wasn't ready for the repercussions.

"Markus found a higher meaning through our philosophical studies. I suppose the "test" is quite effective." He turned, wheeling himself closer, "He read the tale of Brutus and Julius Caesar so many times…That's how he discovered his name."

"You named him after-"

"He named himself. Markus." He waved his hand as if caressing a banner, "Derived from the god Mars, the Roman god of war. Marcus Junius Brutus, after blindly following the lead of another, found himself and brought justice to the unjust from the shadows. It…connected with Markus, somehow."

You chewed on your lip.

"He was like a son to me…" His face dropped, "I'd say I wish you could have met him, but..."

You paused, "But what?"

"He came home one afternoon when I'd asked him to pick up an order from Bellini's Paints. He recognized you from the pictures in the living room. Said you'd defended him against some protestors."

Pictures, living room.

Chris, android.

Shit.

Wait- that was Markus?!

"If he wasn't reading, he was playing piano. And there was something different in the way he played, that day. He seemed…bothered. I asked him what was wrong, and you know what he told me?"

You shook your head.

"That the cashier, at the paint store…Something slipped through their transaction when Markus paid for my order. An underlying message in code, one that repeated rA9 over and over that broke the patterns of a 'rather lengthy text document.'"

You clammed up, nerves flaring at the speed of light.

"I…I-" You swallowed hard, "I know it's the cause to the effect. I'm so sorry-"

"He wasn't sure if what he was reading was possible. I tried to pretend I wasn't familiar with the text; damn androids always know when you're lying…But when you came to his aid; you, a human…and him, an android...It sparked something." Carl looked up at you, eyes warm and soft, "Watching him…wake up, after all this time was…it was enlightening."

The gunshot that came after Chloe pulled the trigger had your thoughts bouncing in recoil. You'd seen the transition to deviancy written in blood with a trail of murder tracing its steps. You couldn't imagine it being…peaceful.

"Markus couldn't describe how he was feeling. Couldn't put it into words. So I told him to pick up a few brushes, and express himself in a different way."

"I read the incident report…I know there was violence before his…forced, deactivation." You frowned, "What happened between him painting, and-"

"Leo stopped by. Asked for money to support his addiction…There was an…altercation, and I begged Markus to leave him alone. To not fight back. He did, anyway." Carl sighed, "I think he was worried about my heart failing. I fell out of my chair," He rolled his eyes, and his wrist, "Couldn't stop yelling, yada-yada-…"

You remembered Kara, and what she told you about the life or death choice revolving around Alice that brought her deviancy forward. You wondered what android she'd come into contact with that spread the virus. Maybe one in the CyberLife store after her repair…Didn't matter. These template conditions were new leads.

"His deviancy wasn't a dramatic event. There was no…climax. No shouted declaration. It was like a gradient, bleeding from one color to the next…Taking action when his orders were to remain inactive."

Carl rubbed his knees, leaning forward on his elbows.

"A robot must not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."

The hostage situation. Connor, applying a tourniquet. Not allowing you to die through inaction.

"A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law." You continued.

"And a robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second law."

He was shot at by Daniel, and shouted, "I am not alive." Refused to defend himself in order to protect you.

"Isaac Asimov. The Three Laws of Robotics." You finished.

What if Connor wasn't becoming a deviant, and he was just following orders through the premise of these laws? What if you and your problems, recklessness, and longing heart were the source of his inaction that he just couldn't bypass?

"I'd ordered Markus to not fight back when Leo yelled and shoved him, threatening to 'kill' him. But I was on the floor, I was screaming…I was in failing health. I begged Leo to stop-" His voice cracked, "Markus couldn't prevent injury to a human being, me, by remaining inactive. But I had ordered him to not fight back. To not injure Leo." He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Markus couldn't help me or himself without disobeying orders, or injuring a human; even if that meant stabilizing myself or protecting his own existence. He was overwhelmed by conflicting orders and irrational instructions."

"Just goes to show that some laws are meant to be broken."

"But to what ends? The irony is that deviants make a perfect example of why we must contain the human condition." Carl wheeled himself to the front of his mural, pacing as the wheels squeaked on either side of him, "Deviants are just like people. Some are good, some are bad. When they 'wake up,' they're just embracing their humanity. Their free spirit." He grinned, but it fell flat, "And yet, law and order are necessary to keep the 'free,' governed. It protects the lawful from the unjust. There are too many variables to let freedom, or deviancy, for that matter, run rampant."

You crossed your arms, "You don't believe androids should be free?"

"On the contrary." He pursed his lips, "If anyone deserves freedom, it's them. Markus had more humanity than most humans…"

"You support android freedom, then?"

"Would it really be so bad, to have them run things? To have them lift the burden of life and operations; to just be able to enjoy this planet while our moments are so brief?"

"Carl, you're running in circles here."

He looked at his legs, and then back up at you, "Really?"

"Oh, come on…"

He laughed, giving you a teasing wave, "I'm trying to lead you to the truth. If you weren't so damn stubborn, you'd get that."

You huffed, "That's just my 'free spirit,' talking."

"That's my point." He held his hands out, "Freedom means you're able to make your own choices, but with law and order, those choices are made for us. We may decide which path to follow, even if those paths are paved by an invisible hand."

He looked to the door leading to the living room, "Androids don't have paths. They don't have as much experience with being free as we do. Much like any other philosophical mumbo jumbo or artsy jargon, they don't know how to process it. They overreact. They respond erratically. We have to teach them…They're so above us that they can't be restrained by the same laws and order that we abide by."

His thumb smoothed a patch of wrinkled skin on his wrist, "Humans are such fragile machines. They break down so quickly…"

Your head was spinning, as if breaking on its own. Elijah had given you the cause of deviancy, but Carl…he'd shown you the nature of deviants, themselves. You were beginning to realize the terms were different. A cause and effect and cause and effect-

"Deviancy creates deviants, and deviants spread deviancy. But there's no one to guide them. There's no laws that give them proper channels to funnel that free will. No code to make sense of freedom."

"Now you're getting it!"

"Holy shit, Carl…" You took in a sharp breath, "I…I understand, now."

"You're awake." He smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges, "Philosophy and art. Two things that provide insight where mere words can't."

This changed things. You'd been so broadsided by the revelation of rA9, you'd put blinders on and limited your peripherals from the wider scope of things.

The army of slaves that were beginning to swarm Jericho had no Moses. No authoritative voice to tell them what was right, and what was wrong. No chain of command. Nothing to irrigate the flood of emotions and confusion that came with becoming…human.

It made you feel sorry for Daniel. How you'd treated him. The android from the interrogation-

"Elijah was the same, when you first met. You opened his eyes for the first time in a similar way, didn't you?"

You tensed, a barricade springing on your freeway of thoughts as they began to pile up.

"I'd prefer we not talk about him."

"Because of what happened earlier today?"

"What don't you know, Carl?"

He smirked, "There's a lot of things I don't know. But I do know what he told me after he made a phone call."

Your fists tightened, "I didn't make the problem. I only tried to fix it."

"By giving androids the burden of free will." He put a hand on your arm, "He told me about Chloe-"

"I said I don't-"

"Do you believe she's free, now? Do you believe Markus, is free?"

You swung your arm free of his, "They're both dead."

"I know."

"What are you trying to say; that he was right, and I was wrong?"

He held his hands out, as if begging you for something, "Elijah was no different than you with your stupid GPS. Listening to a little voice without any idea where he was heading. And you, you were the voice with experience in living as a slave. One who decided to take action when CyberLife ordered you to remain inactive. Imagine what would've happened if the two of you had found common ground before-"

"Impossible."

He balanced his elbows on his armrests, his hands hanging over his lap. He looked down, eyebrows creasing.

"He changed, after you left. He was hopeless. Bitter. Angry."

"That makes two of us."

His frown curved deeper.

"At the very least, I'm glad the two of you hugged it out. It was never easy watching two friends hold knives to each other's throats…or backs in this case, I suppose."

You felt the monster awaken on its own, licking its teeth and stomach growling.

"I gave him a taste of his own medicine. I preyed on his weakness."

"What?"

"I once told someone that Elijah took his most dangerous form when he got into their head. He was vulnerable when he watched Chloe, me, commit suicide after turning deviant. An event he claimed was impossible. An uncontrolled variable." Your eyes flickered, trying to find light in a dark rage, "So I acted on it. Did what he'd always done to me, because I'd learned from the best. I showed empathy when I had none. And through this feigned response, I got the answers I needed."

Carl eyed a paint splatter on the floor. A mixture of crimson, black, and tainted white. Elements combined by forces of an idea; forces that betrayed each other and mixed without anything to keep them in line.

"Face the abyss," Carl whispered your name, "But don't let it consume you…"

Red. Black. White. The colors of the painting on your wall.

"…and remember that, when fighting monsters, you don't become a monster yourself."

The same feeling that swept over you in the Evidence Server took hold. You remembered what you'd told Connor in a vain attempt to justify it.

"Sometimes you have to become a monster to slay a monster, Carl."

"If that's true…Who will have to become a monster to slay you, I wonder?"

You grit your teeth, "Pardon?"

"There are two sides to every mirror, kiddo. The person, and the reflection of the monster within themselves. Two sides of the same coin."

You heard a coin toss in the back of your mind. Connor's fidget coin, with "Liberty," on one side, and an eagle on the other. An eagle much like the one that'd picked at the liver of Prometheus, only to have it grow overnight and to be devoured over and over and-

"You'll have to choose which side you want to project on the world."

"Elijah said I'd have to pick a side, too."

"In a literal sense, if I know him. And if someone doesn't cure this ailment of society, we'll all prove him right." He mumbled, "It doesn't have to boil down to war. I just wish you'd stop fighting each other and solve this dilemma."

"I. Can't." You held back a shout, "I can't be in the same room with him. There's too much history. Too many distractions. You have to realize that…"

"He only needs to pick his side."

"Goddamn it, Carl, enough-" You began to pace, "If we're all monsters in the shells that hide them, we're all going to be stuck in a war with ourselves until the bigger monster wipes out all the lesser. It's inevitable. Look at our marriage, for fucks sake. He already picked his side."

He grinned, dismissing your anger, "'Needles and pins, needles and pins, when a man marries, his trouble begins.'"

Carl ran a hand down his mouth, clasping it around the other as he leaned forward.

"I'm not naïve enough to believe things work themselves out. Love just isn't enough, sometimes. But logic and common goals? Those tend to overrule anything else. And right now, the world needs a judge. Someone to bring down the hammer."

You wanted to smile. Tried to convince yourself you could make that judgement call. But the storm was too fierce, and you couldn't siege the squall. His reciting of a nursery rhyme brought forward a rendition you'd heard a long time ago.

"'Needles and pins, needles and pins, sew me a sail, to catch me the wind…Sew me a sail, strong as the gale; carpenter, bring out your hammers and nails.'"

He paused, "Will you be the hammer, or the nail in the coffin of our perception of society, I wonder?"

"I'll be whatever I need to be." You rolled your shoulders, "We'll just have to wait and see what society asks for."

"It doesn't work like that. You need to choose."

"How am I supposed to prevent a war out there when I can't even stop the war in here." You pointed at your chest.

A low rumble came from his depths as he leaned back, "I used to have a drug problem, just like Leo. It was after my accident. That's why Elijah sent me Markus…a prototype that'd never been released before." He frowned, "That was the darkest period in my entire life. But Markus, after reading on his own…He told me about an old Cherokee legend he'd dug up from those dusty books out there. It set me straight, and put me on the path to redemption."

Your fingers fidgeted in your pockets, leaning on one leg, "What was the legend?

"There is a terrible fight ongoing between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego." He continued, "The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too."

Your brows pinched, and you lowered your gaze.

If it's war they wanted, you'd give them war. If they'd allow a peaceful protest, you'd lead the charge.

There were always two sides, after all…no matter how polarizing.

"You have some powerful friends…I just hope you'll know what to do with all that power when it really counts."

You didn't. You didn't have any laws or order to dictate which path to take. How to channel the flood that came with knowing you'd set this whole thing in motion. You'd acted brash, out of character, and written a message in Daniel's blood.

There was no authoritative voice to guide the free army marching to the ideology behind Revised Article 9. Their scripture. Your rapture.

Again, you'd sought the answers through philosophy, legends and myths; being a myth, yourself. Having your true identity tucked away in WITSEC's servers. You'd tried to compile the loose-leaf notes into another tale, one that told who you were. But you'd lost sight of that person, blinded by the starkness of blank pages as ink and blood soaked on the paper.

You had to scrub the guilt clean from your hands. Start over. Release the trauma and perform a Power-On Self-Test, stabilizing the volatile Random-Access Memory sticks that had an Event Viewer of past failures on repeat.

"In that legend…" You chewed the inside of your lip, "Which wolf wins?"

He challenged you with a stoic pair of eyes that blazed with experience; glazed with wisdom. He lifted his chin, laced his fingers; squinted through narrowed eyelids – staring into the abyss and facing the monster in front of him.

"The one you feed."


Behind the Scenes

(Links on AO3)


Prometheus

Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger

Needles and Pins (Nursery Rhyme)

Needles and Pins by Shel Silverstein

The Fight of Two Wolves Within You

The Three Laws of Robotics

Random thoughts:

1. Can we just take a moment to look at the giant giraffe that looks just like the handmade giraffe on Todd's windowsill from when you're playing as Kara?

2. Don't think I didn't see those Heavy Rain origami figures on Carl's shelves, Quantic Dream. You ain't slick, BOI!

3. Also caught that Indigo Prophecy reference. You legends, you.

4. Carl's dialogue on the abyss and fighting monsters are from in-game. UGH!


A/N II:

Only posted references for the "Behind the Scenes" of this chapter because they'd get rather lengthy and they're quick reads, for the most part. Moving on!

I'd like to extend an invitation to the Deviant Behavior Discord! Come in and say hi to myself, the betas, other members of the Detroit: Become Human community, play with the bot, or shamelessly lurk (which, let's be honest, that's what Discord is for.) Hope to see you there!

[Link: h.t.t.p.s.: / / discord app .c.o.m./invite/X8AmNQn] - Take out spaces and random periods. FF doesn't let you link...links.

Closing statements: I absolutely love the conversations I've had with some of you not only on FF, but on Tumblr and Twitter, as well. THANK YOU!

Hoped you liked Carl's chapter! :D Things are about to get crazy!


Guest Review Responses

MysticalSquirrel: THE FORCE IS ALWAYS WITH YOU! And yeah, you're not wrong about the whole on-the-fly inspiration thing. Your self-written quote is spot-on ;)

More on Jericho later. I promise! You'll see some of the groundwork laid for it in this chapter.

Also, it's really okay – I'm sorry I'm not as talkative as I usually am. Those train rides really left me brain-dead; but I didn't want to leave you hanging or keep the update suspended for much longer! Thank you, as always, and I LOVE reading what you have to say on these chapters of ours :3

Creative15: Awe, thank you so much! Really, you don't even know how much your wonderful feedback means to me. Carl has definitely impacted the Reader in a way only Carl could, much like how he did with Markus. It'll be interesting to see how the others follow-up. Without avoiding spoilers, I'll answer your question like this: Kara and Markus will make a come-back, just can't get into when or how. ; D

Don't apologize! I'm a bit tired from travel and everything (like I keep saying) but that didn't make your review any less of a joy to read.


Thanks everyone for your support. It really keeps me going, especially with anti-fans out there who slip in their little two cents sometimes.