A Heart in the Machine (Serial Designation V x Reader)

Chapter 18: Machinations

But as you move to the next vent, that silence starts to feel... heavy. Oppressive. There's a faint vibration in the air, almost imperceptible, but it's enough to set your nerves on edge. You tell yourself it's just the tension playing tricks on you—nothing more.

Then you hear it.

A voice.

Faint at first, like a whisper just out of earshot. You freeze, the welder still in your hand, and tilt your head toward the open vent. It's not the usual murmur in your mind, the one you've grown almost accustomed to ignoring. No, this is something else. It's... closer. Louder.

It's coming from the vent.

Your breath catches in your throat as you lean in slightly, trying to make sense of the sound. The voice is distorted, as though it's filtering through layers of static and garbled speech. You can't make out words, but the tone sends a shiver down your spine—low, coaxing, and impossibly alien.

For a moment, you wonder if the others are hearing it too. Then you realize: no one else is here. You're alone.

The voice grows louder, the static clearing just enough for fragments to slip through.

"...return... find... you..."

Your grip tightens on the ladder as your heart pounds against your ribs. You know you should move—finish the job and get out of here—but it's as though your body is locked in place, rooted by some invisible force.

"...repair... incomplete... join..."

The vent seems to stretch deeper as you stare into it, the darkness almost pulling you in. Your mind screams at you to stop, to pull away, but the voice is relentless now, cutting through your thoughts like a hot knife. The welder in your hand feels suddenly cold, a stark contrast to the heat of your anxiety.

And then, just as quickly as it started, the voice goes silent.

You blink, the oppressive weight lifting slightly, though the unease remains. You shake your head, trying to focus as you finish welding the cover onto the vent.

Whatever that was... you're not sticking around to find out.

With the vents finally patched up, you step back, inspecting your handiwork. It's far from perfect, but it will have to do. The feeling in your chest—tight, restless—hasn't gone away. If anything, it's grown worse, gnawing at the edge of your mind. You hastily clean up your tools, tossing the welder back onto the cart with a clatter. The sooner you get out of this area, the better.

Heading toward the lunch room, you try to shake the unease. It's been a long, relentless day, and you could use a moment to catch your breath. When you finally arrive, the hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint scent of warmed oil greet you. The room is empty—a small relief. For once, no one's here to ask questions or add to the noise in your head.

You pour yourself a cup of hot oil and take a seat at one of the worn tables. The warmth of the cup in your hands is grounding, even as your thoughts drift into darker territory. Sipping slowly, you let out a long, weary sigh.

Khan's betrayal hangs heavy in your mind. How could a father abandon his child like that? Uzi's words replay over and over, each repetition cutting deeper. You grip the cup tighter, the steam rising in lazy spirals as your frustration simmers beneath the surface. Part of you wants to storm up to him right now, demand answers, make him feel even a fraction of the pain Uzi must have felt.

But then your thoughts shift, and the blame turns inward. Maybe this was your fault too. Maybe you should've stopped Uzi when she first came to you with whatever plan she'd cooked up. You could've talked her down, convinced her to wait, to think it through. Instead, you'd let her charge ahead, and now...