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This was a last resort of many.
In a substation maintenance shaft deep below ground, Emre walks along the dark corridor of corrugated metal with the only light being from his chest plate. His nerves were alight like always, never able to have a moment of rest or ease in the perpetual state of motion in which he was trapped.
The armor plating on his chest was heavy and too warm like always. The mechanics of it, hooked and barbed into his skin and muscle, generated heat like an overclocked computer processor, bordered on being constantly unbearable. But he had to endure it, because there was no other option.
Death wasn’t even an option.
He was directed here by an unknown operative that promised him answers that nobody else could provide. Hinting at an insight into his problem that had so far eluded those that sought to help him, and was kept out of reach by those who wished to utilize him.
If the message had a name ascribed to it, he couldn’t remember. There wasn’t much he truly could remember these days, caught in a perpetual cycle of fight or flight where adrenaline and cortisol prioritized survival over creating long-term memory.
Emre mused to himself, maybe the answer waiting for me is death at the hands of somebody that knows how to kill this thing, too.
He was no longer an individual by himself. Chernobog went with him everywhere he went, oversaw everything he did, and when he wasn’t doing enough whether through obstinance or incapacitation, it simply overrode his being.
Settled on his chest, the roving red sigil of an eye darts this way and that, taking everything in. He could tell that, wherever he was and with whomever he was going to meet, the AI was not comfortable— if he could even ascribe such basic instincts such as that. He had often thought that it would be better if the AI had any level of true sentience to it past a directive, for it would be easier to be under the control of something that hated him than something that simply could not care about him, one way or another.
A once noble and righteous man, he was nothing but a fucking tool, no more elegant and sophisticated in use than a hammer.
At the end of the corridor, there was an access shaft elevator. Most of the numbers for different floors were destroyed, the buttons removed entirely, save for a select few. The floor he was on, where he had managed to scuttle himself through a ventilation shaft to enter, the surface level, and one far, far below. It made no sense to go back to the surface to find this stranger.
His arrival is long awaited. It didn’t start with a note that had exchanged just the right number of hands, seen by a carefully selected chain of eyes. It started long, long before that.
Standing at an array of monitors, computer components were everywhere. Mechanical organs of machines stitched together to create new equipment that exists nowhere else, with wires trailing the floor in every direction. It looked like the entrails of some great, digital beast had been spread about in a discordant, upsetting mess that made no sense to the untrained eye.
It served its purpose, and that’s all Ramattra cared for.
In truth, he had not expected Emre to heed his message and make the passage to see him in an undisclosed, remote location. Even moreso, he hadn’t expected the man nor the AI embedded within him to traverse the uncomfortable, cramped, and alien space of the abandoned substation.
He admired Emre’s courage, or perhaps it was recklessness. In his observations of the man, taken from stolen Talon mission logs and outside witness accounts, it wasn’t as if Emre treated himself with much kindness. Everything was a suicide mission with how he threw himself at it, and he couldn’t blame him one bit.
Every attempt to die was thwarted by the cruel AI that forcibly slammed adrenaline into his veins, surging back to life regardless the mortal injuries he had sustained. Wounds held together by Chernobog, just long enough to ensure mission completion and deliver him, battered and unresponsive, on the doorstep of Talon once more.
One of the monitors reflecting the substations jerryrigged security system pings him of movement in the elevator shaft.
He keeps his back to the open doorway to the repurposed server room. He’s sure that, if Chernobog were anything like Anubis, the God AI would be running more calculations than typical in overprecaution. And it had every right to. Not for a human emotion such as discomfort or fear, but because the AI was cognizant enough to possess a sense of self-preservation just like any living thing does, though it was no more complex than a snake.
Footsteps start at the end of the maintenance corridor. They’re light, restrained, and hesitant. As they draw near, they slow until they stop completely at the entrance to the server room.
“Who are you?”
Busying himself with a line of code, Ramattra doesn’t turn to address his company for a long moment. Long enough that he catches the rustle of armor and gear as Emre shifts in place nervously. But he hasn’t run yet, which is a great sign.
Even better is that Chernobog has not forced his retreat or assault.
Satisfied with his work, he turns to face the man he had been so determined to meet. And at the sight of his face, he sees a poorly stifled flinch of recognition.
“Why have you called me here?” Emre says with an untrusting bite to his words.
“Presuming you got the message I had sent your way, and you hadn’t merely stumbled several stories underground on a whim,” Ramattra says, bodily turning to address the smaller man, “I am the one that can free you.”
“Ramattra,” Emre says, feeling the name in his mouth and testing his memory for its validity. “You’re the leader of Null Sector. I—“
Emre starts to edge backwards, and it cannot be blamed on Chernobog. Decades of Overwatch propaganda has created a bad perception of the omnic, though he had never faulted any human for their knee-jerk reaction of him. It was warranted, and it was wanted.
But here, now? With this specific human?
“It was a mistake to come,” Emre says, hissing the words. At once, he begins to turn and start back towards the elevator, only to stop at the omnic’s words.
“Have you ever considered the likeness between you and I?”
There’s a reflexive flair of indignation, to be compared to a terrorist and a merciless annihilator. He wheels around, the cables of his scarf swirling around him with anger.
“We are nothing alike,” Emre spits. “Do not waste your breath!”
When all Ramattra does is angle his head, the faceplate of his body staring at him with cold impassivity, it makes Emre flounder. And the longer he stalls in his retreat, the more he tries to think of justifications and reasons why they had nothing in common, the more he realizes how little ground he had to stand on.
“There is nothing you could do for me,” Emre tries again, angling his refusal differently in hopes that it could convince himself to leave.
But the ache and burn in his chest that for years has haunted him, about who he has been forced to become, keeps him rooted firmly in place. He has long since decided that any lead that could point towards liberation was a lead worth taking, regardless the cost. He could no longer justify the concept of self-preservation or allegiances when he had no autonomy left within him.
“I would argue otherwise,” Ramattra says evenly, calmly. He makes no move to approach the harried man, instead leaving him to work through his reservations at a distance that felt safe for both of them.
“Why?” Emre says after a long moment, finally turning back though refusing to step forward. “What could you possibly know that nobody else does? What could you possibly even begin to try that hasn’t been tried before?”
With a quiet scoff, Ramattra casts his gaze around at his ensemble of electronics. Machines whir at a constant thrum in the room and make a deep, resonate ambiance within the metal walls that surrounded them. With a gesture, he draws Emre’s eyes to all the computers, and the intrigue written across his face is encouraging.
“That is the question,” Ramattra says. “I do not know yet.”
Where his gaze had begun to take in the room, the impressive equipment, and complex level of computer engineering with a touch of awe, his eyes snap to Ramattra. They blaze a dark, bloody red in the poor light of the monitors, and he jabs a finger at the omnic.
“All of this was just a lie, then,” he hisses. “Luring me out with false hope and a promise.”
Ramattra watches with curiosity as the smaller man’s anger seems to awaken the AI upon him. The eye on his armor plate darts around rapidly as if searching for the clear and obvious threat, reading his biometrics like a second algorithm to feed its protocols. The cable scarf disavows gravity, rising into the air like a mockery of hackles raised, and a soft hiss of static enters the space with his voice.
“You are just the same as the rest of them!” he yells, and could Ramattra hear hurt in his voice? “You don’t wish to help me. Nobody does!”
Calmly, Ramattra crosses his arms and leans heavily against one of the many desks occupying the server room. Observing and nothing more, feeling no reason to fear the man even in an increasingly agitated state, and it’s almost as though his complete nonreaction was the assurance Emre needed.
After a moment, he slowly comes back to himself with an unsteady breath. His scarf resettles along his back, and the Chernobog eye on his chest fixates ahead at the omnic.
“You…” Emre starts, wetting his lips. “Why aren’t you doing anything?”
“What would you believe me to do?” Ramattra posits, tilting his head. “Attack you? Lock you up down here?”
With a gesture to the corridor behind Emre, he lets out a scoff.
“You are free to leave as you please, Emre. I have not done a single thing to keep you here.”
Finally, Emre relaxes. The edge of paranoia and frustration smooths out into utter exhaustion. There’s a resignation in his eyes, ringed in deep, purple bags that showed many, many nights without proper rest. He wonders if Chernobog ever permitted his body to stop moving, or if it kept it perpetually in motion even when his brain gave out.
Silently, Emre steps into the server room, and comes straight up to the omnic. He’s unarmed, though from reports, it seems as though it was merely an illusion. Should the God AI necessitate it, a weapon could be in his hands within an instant. It was something he was crucially aware of and keen on preventing. So far, he had gotten his guard down enough to put the worry aside for the moment.
The omnic is more than just a head taller than Emre. The height disparity makes it so he has to crane his head back when they’re so close, just a foot from each other. They appraise one another silently, with the only thought in Emre’s head that he could still claim as his own being that, up close, Ramattra was as terrifying as stories claim.
His faceplate was scruffed but not damaged from war, testament to his affinity for combat and survival. He was always hailed as a keen strategist, and there was a prickle of curiosity to see how far that intellect traveled. Only after a moment of scrutiny where he felt as though he wouldn’t be sicced upon with his drifting attention, he turns to look fully at the computers.
“What is… all this?” Emre asks softly. He can’t help the quiet stirrings of hope rising up from his doubt and cynicism, after so many failed attempts to separate him and the God AI.
"It doesn't concern you," Ramattra says, and although Emre would've taken it as an indirect insult from anyone else, the omnic's tone is simple and honest. It does nothing to put him at ease any further, but there's something to appreciate at being told that it wasn't his problem.
"Okay," he says slowly, taking in more and realizing the cables don't end, "then... where are we?"
"You didn't recognize it?" Ramattra says, a touch of surprise in his words. "I would've thought you or your puppeteer would've recognized the old Anubis substation."
It takes Emre a long moment before the name sparks any recollection, and he doesn't know if it is his own memory, or Chernobog's. Anubis is— was— the God AI that controlled the omnics and turned them against humanity. It led to the Omnic Crisis, led to the foundation of Overwatch, led to—
With a gasp and a strangled cry, Emre wrenches away from the monitors as if attacked. He clutches at his head as a blinding, searing pain consumes his cerebral cortex, like a divine punishment for remembering too much, connecting too many dots on his own.
"Stop—!" he snarls, stumbling forward a pace as though he could run away from the AI infesting his nervous system, as if he could shut his eyes hard enough to blink away the invasive HUD of protocol script starting to upload.
Just as he could feel the AI start to consume his autonomy once more, casting him aside like he were a mere passenger in Chernobog's body, something rips him backwards.
Ramattra had been anticipating Chernobog to rear its head at some point, though it was more abrupt and explosive than he anticipated. Moving fast, he grapples Emre against his chest while he blindly grabs for the central adapter cable of the computers. Deftly, he rips the connected wiring out of the port at Emre's right shoulder blade, and slams his into its place.
At once, the struggle against his chest wanes to nothing, and he's left with deadweight supported in an arm. Carefully, he lowers them both to the floor, before quickly reaching onto the desk and grabbing more cables and probes.
When Emre rouses, it's with a gasp and the reflex to jerk upright like he were submerged in water. He doesn't get far, as Ramattra kneels between his legs with one palm braced on his chest, over Chernobog's eye.
"Stay down," Ramattra rumbles. He glances over his shoulder at the monitors, to the one tracking Emre's biometrics.
"What did—" Emre starts, still resisting the omnic to no avail. He felt utterly weak and boneless, like his spine were removed and all joints rendered inert. "What did you do to me?"
"I sent your friend away for a short while," Ramattra explains. "Not forever."
"You... what?" Emre says, his resistance slowly leaving his system as he tries to wrap his head around the notion of Chernobog no longer being crammed next to his brain. "Wh- how?"
"Like I said, it doesn't concern you," Ramattra says simply. Where he's knelt between Emre's thighs, he leans forward and takes his forearm in his hand. The gesture is remarkably gentle. "That, and I am certain you wouldn't understand if I tried to explain."
Emre allows himself to sink back onto the floor, staring up at the network of pipes and cables along the ceiling. Whatever Ramattra was doing with the cables he had stuck into his arm doesn't worry him, not as his head spins and his heart races with happiness. A chuckle bubbles up in his chest, weak and desperate, that devolves into a laughing fit.
Alarmed, Ramattra pulls back. He doesn't understand this, whether it was a human reflex or he just did something irreversibly wrong to the smaller man. When he turns to the vitals, they're now all over the place, with his heart rate skyrocketing.
"Emre," Ramattra hisses. "Control yourself. I do not know to what end your God AI will go to return if it thinks you are in trouble."
At that, Emre goes eerily still. So still, that Ramattra has to doublecheck his vitals once more. Turning back to the operative, he regards him silently, then hums to himself.
"I was very much the same with my God AI program," Ramattra says quietly.
Emre blinks, trying to think through the haze that Chernobog left behind. It was hard for him to think without the AI automating most of his processes, and even harder when it felt as though the absence of Chernobog effectively stifled his memories further. But he's cognizant enough to remember Ramattra mentioning Anubis.
He was in an Anubis substation. He remembers now.
"You were?" Emre asks, his voice sounding small and trapped in his chest— god, his chest— he wants this thing off—
In a flurry of movement, he scrabbles at his chest plate. With Chernobog gone, it felt like his only chance to rid himself of the God AI. In his frenzy, he tugs loose a couple of wires, and Ramattra sucks in a harsh breath and swears.
"Stop."
Ramattra presses his weight down into Emre's chest, pinning him to the ground with a hand. Looming over the smaller man, he sees the frantic desperation in his eyes that glint at the waterline. He's breathing hard, quick and shallow, and he keeps his hands raised near his head as though he were under siege.
"You must stay calm, Emre. You must."
"Okay," Emre whispers hoarsely, nodding quickly. "O-Okay, I'm— I'm calm."
"Good," Ramattra hums, slowly leaning back onto his knees as he watches him carefully to make sure he kept his word.
He begins to the process of reconnecting the cables to Emre's ports. There was a level of morbid curiosity to him as he takes his wrist and turns it over, seeing several pockmarking his flesh. It was muscle, not cybernetic replacement, and even in his detachment and fostered resentment of humanity, there's stirrings of pity as much as horror at the state of Emre. A new, burgeoning resentment grows, aimed solely at Chernobog.
"I am sure you know that all omnics were held under the control of the Anubis program," Ramattra says as he works, moving from one arm to the other, all the while Emre stayed stockstill. "We had no thoughts, no control, nothing. It was only the program."
Emre makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement, staring up at the ceiling and tracing the pipes with his eyes to try and remain calm. He didn't understand why panic was sitting so heavily inside him, trying to suffocate him and force a desperate, feral scream from his lungs. He bites it down, taking a shuddering breath.
"The only reason I am no longer a prisoner under the Anubis program is because of Aurora."
"Aurora."
The name is mumbled reverently. Emre has the most vague memory of meeting her once, during the height of his Overwatch career. It was brief, and he recalled the prominent thought of wishing he had more time to understand her, know her as an individual.
"But... she's not around anymore," Emre murmurs, and the thought that his only hope of liberation was years in the past makes his throat tight with a sob. He wasn't otherwise capable of considering ways to escape Chernobog when it was blanketing his thoughts.
"She is not. But the Iris is."
One of Ramattra's hands traces the edges of his chest plate, feeling for more ports. They were numerous, and he wanted to make sure that he got them all. His fingertips, despite being metal and blunt, ghost along the borders of his gear. Emre tries not to respond to it, but it was the first time he's experienced physical contact outside of medical testing and combat in far, far too long.
"Forgive me if this is uncomfortable," Ramattra says idly, passively remembering how humans can be with their bodies.
"I-It's—" good— "—fine."
Deft hands find the ports available on his abdomen. They're small and unoccupied by his typical cables. Ramattra leans down to examine them closer, trying to decide if they would be of any use for him before he straightens. With what little records he could find of Emre's current body condition, and even less documentation about what all Chernobog has done to forcibly alter his body, he had the forethought to splice his cables at varying sizes to ensure he could cover everything.
The moment the port is accessed, the gentle pressure of pushing the cable connector into place garners a flinch and a quiet though sharp inhale. Ramattra's head jerks up in a way that can only be construed as concern.
"Painful?"
Emre blinks at the dusty ceiling, trying to figure out what the feeling was. All he can do is shake is head mutely.
"I apologize if it is," Ramattra says quietly. "It is not my intent to make this process painful. My liberation was not pleasant and I wouldn't wish that upon anyone."
"Keep talking."
Ramattra pauses, his palm splayed across Emre's stomach to steady the body's reflexive movement. The next cable is in his hand, ready to connect but hesitating as Ramattra tries to parse the tone of the words.
"You wish to hear more of my liberation?" Ramattra asks, tilting his head in such a way that the long, flat cables that created the illusion of hair fell down across his shoulder.
"Anything," Emre says in a quiet breath.
"Hm."
It was unusual for him to come across anyone that truly sought to hear his story, and even rarer for a human to care. Emre simply wished to hear his voice, have something to concentrate on, as it seems like the longer he spoke the more lax his body became.
"You already known much of my story, being an Overwatch agent of the past," Ramattra says in a smooth, deep rumble. "I do not overestimate the extent that I have been spoken about amongst your old colleagues, but I do doubt that it did me justice."
Silently, Emre shakes his head.
"Even after Aurora gave me the gift of true free will, I held onto my weapons— but only after I tried to assimilate with humanity," Ramattra continued. His hand hesitates, and despite the bitterness of the memories, he's careful as he presses the last abdominal connection in. "I was treated like a rabid animal, and my kin were put down like they were before my very eyes. This is an experience that is, ironically, so human. To be targeted amongst others for things outside of one's control. But to the scale of it, and the reality of an empirically limited number being so callously reduced... that is an experience only Omnics hold."
Emre was listening intently, soaking in the omnic's words, when he's surprised to feel a hand slide down the length of his thigh and turn beneath. Gently hooking his hand under Emre's knee, he lifts his leg up so it was perpendicular to his body, pausing in his speech to look for more ports.
"There's— there isn't any," Emre gets out, keeping his eyes high to the ceiling. A blush creeps across his features. "There's no ports on my legs."
Ramattra looks for another moment, then hums. He rests the limb back on the cold ground gently.
"You do not share that experience, but we are so much more alike than you may realize."
Settling back onto his heels, Ramattra reaches towards his own abdomen, into the exposed nest of neat wiring amongst the metal frame of his body. Plucking free one of countless, he doesn't even need to examine it to know which one he had grabbed before he's shifting back over Emre.
Watching with wide eyes, Emre stays as still as he can as Ramattra takes one of the connections he had first started with, near the edge of his chest plate, and unplugs it. Deftly, he slips his own connection in, and the response is immediate— it feels like a shock of static hitting his spinal cord.
Gasping, he flinches and tenses against the shock. Ramattra seems to anticipate it, as he gently keeps him steady beneath a hand splayed over Chernobog's empty eye.
"The initial connections were to the software I have created, just for you. It enabled me to displace the God AI plaguing you for the time being," Ramattra murmurs. "These are a direct connection to my software. I wish it were more pleasant."
"No, it's— it's..."
The shock recedes, but there's something settled within him that he had otherwise only come to know as where Chernobog lives. It's lighter, and spurs warmth throughout his entire body.
Ramattra looks at him curiously, hesitating before he goes for the next one.
"There are traces of Aurora in all omnics, and even moreso for the ones that worship the Iris," Ramattra explains, better prepared for the next wave of response. "I have no idea what humans experience when in contact with the Iris."
"It feels... good, I think," Emre manages to get out, finding it difficult to parse what he was truly feeling. It was a nebulous, body-wide sensation that started in his core and radiated outwards.
"Oh," Ramattra hums, then chuckles. "Then disregard my concerns."
Bracing on an hand planted beside Emre's head, he tugs free another cord from his core and brings it low to the smaller man's stomach. This close, he realizes that the omnic has a pupil swimming in the dark behind his faceplate, but it was so dim that it was like it wasn't there at all. He watches it dart to his features, taking him in when he sucks his teeth, unable to stop his legs from stretching out, his heels digging into the ground.
"Oh. I see," Ramattra says, amused.
"H-How long is this going to take?" he asks, his throat feeling tight.
"I'm not sure. I have yet to start truly accessing the coding embedded through you," Ramattra says matter-of-factly. "But it isn't something to be rushed. Why, are you expected elsewhere?"
"No, I'm not," Emre says, shutting his eyes tight and forcing his breath to come out steadier. "No one knows I'm here."
"Good," Ramattra says, head angling down to better see where his hand worked. "I do not do well with uninvited guests interrupting my work."
The human beneath him outright bucks when he slips his connection into the lowest available port of his abdomen. It surprises Ramattra with the intensity of it. It only takes a matter of seconds to process why exactly he had grown so responsive, and he's unable to stifle a laugh.
"It's not fucking funny," Emre growls, moving to throw an arm over his face when he realizes he's tethered to the omnic. Not wanting to tear out the cables and restart the whole process over— either to preserve his integrity or save his dignity, didn't matter— he instead finds purchase on the arm beside his head and turns his face towards it.
"I do not believe that it is," Ramattra says. "I think it is a wonderful development to see you so responsive to the Iris already."
"Is that what this is? The Iris?" Emre mumbles, too embarrassed by his own body's responses. "Is that why I'm, eh..."
"Why what?" Ramattra presses, pausing to glance at Emre's vitals before charging forward with his teasing. "Why you're getting hard beneath me?"
"Aren't you supposed to be this emotionless, fucked up humanity-killer?" Emre snaps, turning those strikingly red eyes upon the omnic. His cheeks were beginning to match the hue of his irises.
"Aren't you supposed to be a highly skilled, elite terrorist operative?" Ramattra counters easily, owlishly angling his head to peer down at the man. His tone was light, almost playful.
Emre glowers at him, though it falls far short of being anything intimidating. It only dredges up another chuckle from Ramattra's chest, the audio of it carrying a suggestion of static.
"I can be many things, Emre, as can you," Ramattra says easily, turning back to the connection of their bodies. "I am not here to cast judgement for how you respond to me."
"I-It's not to you!" Emre manages to get through gritted teeth. "It's—"
"You will want to hold onto that thought."
Before Emre can get another word in edgewise, he's struck breathless by a wave of indiscernible stimulus. He couldn't differentiate between blinding, nerve-searing agony, or world-ending pleasure. Every nerve within him light up like fireworks, and he wasn't able to control himself as he threw his head back, mouth open in a silent scream, back bowed as he dug his heels in and reflexively shot his hands out to push at Ramattra.
It recedes within moments, but it leaves him breathless and shuddering. He isn't aware of himself entire for another second longer, then realizing that he had gotten his hands on Ramattra's metal rib cage and held on for dear life. His hands tremble viciously as he reclaims them, attempting to mumble out a form of apology when the words come out nonsensical.
"Do what you must, Emre," Ramattra says. "As I said, I do not know how long this may take."
Swearing weakly under his breath, Emre gives in and, timidly, curls his fingers around the middle ribs of the omnic. Allowing the human to make up his mind about what he wants to do, Ramattra adjusts according— settling down heavier between his legs, bringing himself closer while never sacrificing his view of the monitors.
Chernobog's coding held few similarities to Anubis. In the years since the demolition of the God AIs, there have been a birth of new scholarly research, about the inner mechinations of how such entities worked. It was ultimately a fool's errand, seeing as the AI themselves worked their own code to the point of being unrecognizable to their human creators, but there was enough general principles to be widely applicable.
He was aiming to neutralize Chernobog's access to Emre. It wasn't to destroy the AI entirely, as that would be impossible. There was a chance he could locate within the human all the access ports the AI had created, like a disease destroying healthy cells for more of its virus to take root.
"What are you doing to me?" Emre says breathlessly, limp against the ground.
"Freeing you," Ramattra says simply. Then, as his eyes vacantly look around at coding invisible to Emre's eyes, he shifts and brings a palm down to Emre's stomach.
He feels his cock twitch with how close Ramattra's hand was, bound tight in his operative suit, just before he's wracked with another wave of confusing agony. It was to try and settle him, keep his bucking to a minimum, though he doesn't account for the human physically pulling him down by the frame as he went rigid.
This time, a clawing growl escapes Emre. Collapsing back onto the floor, his head lulls to look down between them. Watching as Ramattra glides his hand to his naval and keeps it there, siphoning body heat into the cool metal of his palm.
Without thinking, he reaches through the gap of their bodies, amidst the wires and cables conjoining them together, and loosely grasps Ramattra's wrist.
The sudden contact disrupts his focus, and it takes a few blinks of his shutters before it processes what the human was doing. He wasn't doing anything more than holding his hand in place, suggesting that he wanted for it to remain right where it was. A curious reflex, but not a reflexive one.
Being around the planet and experiencing much of what there is for an omnic to enjoy, Ramattra was no prude. He knew quite well the silent war that was going on in Emre's head as it begin to get more and more scrambled. He could quite easily chalk it up to Emre losing his inhibitions the more he probed at the coding that had so tightly intertwined within his nervous system, but this arousal was already beginning to show before he had gotten to work.
"I warn you Emre," he says, slow and careful. "I understand that this process may... lower inhibitions. But I do not believe you that far gone yet."
Emre doesn't angle his head, but merely looks up at Ramattra through his thick lashes. His eyes were already heavy-lidded, the blood-red of his eyes being swallowed by his dilated pupils. He hadn't realized just how affected the man was until he made a point to look at him.
"You are the first person that hasn't tried to kill or control me in over a decade," Emre says hoarsely. He shifts, lifting on one his legs until it was clear from Ramattra's thighs, and slings it over his hip.
"I see," Ramattra muses with a low hum. "And you must understand that I will not stop until I am satisfied with my work."
Emre's eyes round at that, and his cheeks flush darker. He didn't want to intrude or interrupt, and he quickly felt the clamp of dismissal and rejection start to sink in at the thought that Ramattra was merely humoring him— that the omnic would just let him do as he pleased while he stoically continued picking apart his nervous system.
He's startled when Ramattra shifts his palm down and gives him a generous squeeze through his suit.
"I fear you are underestimating my ability to multi-task," Ramattra says smoothly.
Biting his lip, Emre allows his eyes to flutter shut before he allows himself to respond. He reaches down, only his fingertips brushing over Ramattra's knuckles, and cants his hips up into the contact.
It's almost as if he's rewarded for it with another burst of bright energy pulsing through his veins. He swears that it shines through his eyes as they fly open.
At the same time, Ramattra rolls him in his palm, squeezing and groping through the shuddering waves of too-much. It works against him, Emre finding it harder to come down. His head tips back, baring the column of his throat with a low, baying groan.
Blindly, he fumbles along the middle seam of his suit until he finds the zipper. While hidden in the reinforced material of the suit, it was necessary for a variety of reasons, and he hears the omnic chuckle under his breath as he watches the human try to tug it down with shaking hands. He offers no help, taking pleasure in seeing just how worked up Emre was already with minimal contact.
“It cannot be that you are so lacking in suitors that you’re this desperate,” Ramattra muses, idly. Watching raptly as he manages to get the zipper down, revealing an expanse of tanned, flush skin.
Emre only glowers at him, even as he grasps for his hand and pushes it against his bare skin. He shivers at the cool metal palm along his stomach, and urges Ramattra to push under the suit where he isn’t able to unzip any further.
“What makes you say that?” he mumbles. His breath catches, and his body tenses like he were expecting the next surge of electricity arcing through his nerves. Ramattra makes a low noise at the reaction, the blunt tips of his fingers only petting above the base of Emre’s cock.
“Many things,” Ramattra says softly.
It takes more than he’s willing to admit to bite back the question burning across his tongue— tell me, what things?
Ramattra pauses, staying true to his word about his affinity to multi-task. He sees a particularly promising point of entry into Emre’s protocols, and brings it close to his own to compare. Sitting up, he brings both hands to Emre’s waist and loosely squeezes, his thumbs sliding along his bare skin.
“Take a breath,” he warns, staring off into middle distance as he sets about reorganizing code and readying it to patch.
The operative manages to take a breath and hold it before its pushed out of him in a sharp cry. His hands ball into fists at his sides when he’s unable to find leverage in the concrete flooring, back bowing despite Ramattra’s attempt to steady him.
“Good,” Ramattra murmurs as Emre slowly settles, twitching and harried with a flush of confusion.
Emre blinks up at the omnic with wide eyes at the scant praise before he swears weakly, a hand sluggishly coming up to his face to hide behind. It's endearing, the toughened, infamous operative covering his reddened face as his blush deepens.
"Ah..." Ramattra hums. "Shy, is that it?"
Emre squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, taking to take a full breath but coming up short. He felt like his face was on fire with a fever, his entire body flush and wracked in chill-like shudders. He strains his hips, almost like he were valiantly trying to present himself to the other.
The code is patched. It should be harder for anybody to get into his protocols now, mirroring Ramattra's own. He doesn't vocalize it, but there's a touch of possessiveness that drums up inside him at the idea that he was imparting his security measures unto Emre. That he'd be with Emre always, unless something came through and changed him again.
The thought of that made it exceedingly difficult to keep down a low growl as he's once again reminded of Emre's situation. At least under the Anubis program, it was without awareness of himself. Emre was not as lucky, as though the periods of lucidity were a uniquely designed torture to break him down.
With a soft touch, he handles Emre's legs so he can get the zipper completely down, leaving the operative exposed to him without disturbing their nest of wires. Emre keeps his face tucked away, peeking through his fingers as his breathing comes short and ragged.
"I do not understand how anybody would overlook you," Ramattra mumbles, momentarily casting his work aside to take in the sight beneath him. He doesn't touch him yet, and he still nets himself a quiet, wanton sound. He can see Emre's cock twitch at his words.
With his legs splayed across his own, Emre was entirely at his mercy. He trails his fingertips lightly down the seam of his muscles into the start of feathery-soft hair south of his naval. Even the slightest touch makes Emre twitch and shudder, his breath faltering.
"So capable. So strong," Ramattra muses, head tilting as he merely drinks it all in. "So sweet."
A hand reaches out and bats for the omnic. He provides his own, allowing the operative to take it as he wishes. What he doesn't expect is for him to interlock their fingers tightly like he were afraid Ramattra was going to pull away from him now. He makes a hushed tsk sound, leaning into it as he gets his other hand around Emre's cock.
"I'm not going anywhere, Emre," Ramattra assures, the tone of kindness far unfamiliar to him but feeling as natural as thought and binary. "There is still much I have to do with you."
His palm, while not smooth and soft like a human's, fits snugly around him. The protosensory connections within his hand allows him to feel just how hot he is, cock heavy with need. The comparatively cooler precum that beads at the tip breaks into a rivulet that finds the seams of his plating, assuredly finding itself in his internal components.
Pacing himself carefully as to not bring Emre too close so soon, his attention drifts back to his work. Emre sees it in his eyes, the inorganic pupil look about the room like the writing of his protocols was etched into the brick and mortar of the substation. And he reflexively braces himself for another surge when he sees Ramattra's gaze lock on to something he couldn't see.
Flinching, squeezing Ramattra's hand in his own, it's far less intense as others previous. A small patch, something insignificant he doesn't concern himself with, having laid his trust entirely upon the omnic to care for him. It's a staggering shift that has held a knot of anxiety in his chest, waiting for the betrayal, the switch, that never comes. He fights to keep it within himself, forcibly relaxing back against the floor once more as he tries to mentally keep up through the haze.
It was just so hot, now. The concrete floor beneath him had warmed to his body temperature, and the ambient air of so many computer processors working in tandem made him shift and squirm. The cool of Ramattra's body is a welcome relief.
Without warning, Ramattra leans back, untangling their fingers and allowing Emre's cock to rest against his own stomach. The noise that the separation drags out of his throat is unbecoming and humiliating, caught off guard and unable to make peace with the loss.
"Calm, Emre," Ramattra reminds, and there's amusement in his tone. "I am right here. I only need a moment."
Rolling back onto his haunches, Ramattra deftly finds the clasps in his armor that secure his modesty. It was a poorly kept secret, but a secret to some nonetheless, that omnics were very much designed by humans. And humans did not restrain themselves in imparting their more base needs into their creations.
Admittedly, he had been ignoring himself. He wasn't here for his own pleasures, and Emre's was a pleasant byproduct of his work and the Iris' influence. But he couldn't deny that he was more than just a little invested in the operative now.
The plate is released, and the low, rumbling sigh that rises from deep within him is of utter relief. He shares the sentiment with Emre that it has been far too long since either of them had held intimate contact without there being caveats and mistrust. His cock, gently ridged and hued in relation to the rest of his plating, bobs under its own weight once freed.
The laugh he gives at Emre's wide-eyed astonishment is genuine.
"Don't tell me you were unaware that most all omnics share this with you humans?" Ramattra teases, coming back into the cradle of Emre's thighs and bringing them flush.
He was hardly able to think clearly through the repeated bouts of code-editing and arousal. All Emre can do is stare, feeling his blush completely consume his face and start trailing down his throat.
"I-I... I never..." he says hoarsely. He swallows thickly.
"Not to your liking?" Ramattra prompts. "I won't be offended."
"No—! No, no, it's not... that... you're just—"
Timidly, he reaches down between their bodies and runs his fingertips along the length of him that he can reach. The ridges are pleasingly gentle under his touch, soft and responsive as Ramattra throbs under the contact. To his surprise, he adds to the mess of pre already wetting Emre's stomach, though it was far more than what he was capable of putting out.
"Jesus..."
He was big. Definitely proportionate to the rest of him. While not a small man, Emre feels dwarfed with their cocks pressed together.
Ramattra lets the operative do as he wished, petting over his length and becoming familiar with the shape of him in his palm. It's a good opportunity to skim through his binary, lazily finding a few small bugs and errors in his protocol to pick at, all the while soaking in the light pulses of pleasure the exploratory touch brings.
He snaps out of his reverie of focus when Emre shifts, guiding his length further between his thighs to press against his perinuem. Far too tongue-tied to verbalize what he wants, he makes it well known as he rocks his hips and works Ramattra's cock against him.
"I must ask you to use your words, Emre," Ramattra says lowly. "I need to hear you ask for what you want. I am not of the mind to simply take without asking."
He gets a weak glare, and no words. While he had warned of decreased inhibition, he seemed that Emre was remarkably resilient to the alterations to his algorithms. It was a pleasant surprise, even if it led to moments of bashfulness and embarrassed refusal that contradicted his actions.
Leaning forward, he ruts his cock between Emre's thighs. He feels his own pre slick the soft skin there, passing across his hole and butting against his balls before sliding along the length of his cock. The sudden shift garners a gasp, Emre's eyes flying open with a mix of surprise and excitement, thinking he was going to get away without using his voice.
"You've been doing so well, Emre," Ramattra murmurs. "Keep being good. And use your words."
The praise goes straight to his cock, and he restrains a sound by biting down on his lip. He keeps his hand over Ramttra's length, keeping it against him in a tight channel between his palm and his intimacy as the omnic slowly rocks against him.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" Ramattra goads, watching with fascination at how the words make the smaller human's face darken considerably, his lids drooping.
"Yes," Emre whispers, the single syllable scarcely audible.
"Yes, what?"
"...yes, please."
It looks as though the quiet plea is enough to kill the man, the embarrassment and need bound up so tight in his chest it almost reads as pain across his features. Ramattra moves a hand down between his legs, sweeping his thumb through his own pre and passing it over his hole.
"So well trained, but I am not looking for you to beg," Ramattra says. He knows he's not helping, working a digit against him.
"I-I..." Emre starts, having to suck in a shuddering breath as he squeezes his eyes shut. "Ramattra. I... I want you to fuck me."
"There you go," Ramattra coos, drawing his hips back just far enough to press the tip of his cock against him.
He understands that his output was heavier than that of a human, and that unlike them, he had the unique perk that his pre was actually useful. Emre would've flinched away at the press against him without any prep, but he had noticed at once that his slick was most certainly a type of lube. And he has to forcibly remind himself that he needs to trust.
Adjusting his hand, he presses the flat pads of several fingers against his hole and pets over him slowly. All the while, teasing more pre from himself until there was ample coating his fingers. It makes the push in easier, though glacially slow as he works against years and years of abstinence.
The hand returns to cover Emre's face, palm crushed against his mouth to stay silent. He couldn't help from how his hips buck and twitch, trying to settle into the pressure pushing into him, feeling against his walls, exploring him so intimately.
"I must keep working," Ramattra says softly, stilling with his palm flush to his skin. "Relax for me."
Emre can only afford a nod, blinking up at him through misty eyes. He pulls out until only his fingertips pressed at his rim before pushing in again, slow and sweet. Working him open, listening with half his attention at how his breath caught in his throat each time his fingers bottomed out. It's a task that allows him to more effectively focus on why they were truly there together, and he begins picking away at what he finds in Emre's coding.
Beneath him, Emre gasps and tightens down around his fingers. Curiously, he looks to the operative with a tilt to his head.
"Was that in response to my work, or..."
Emre glares at him pitifully. It disappears a moment later when Ramattra curls his fingers where they were, eliciting another harsh flinch and an airy sigh.
Ramattra chuckles, and adjusts to press a third finger against him. Emre takes it easily, having relaxed in the shadow beneath the omnic until he was a limp, shivering mess of sweat and wires. It was a pace that felt wonderful, slow and purposeful and working to further reduce Emre into pliancy.
It made it that much easier for Emre to clear his head. His only objective at the moment was to lay on his back and let Ramattra do as he pleased. There was no room for decisions or harm for him here, his legs splayed over Ramattra's with his cock drooling against his stomach.
Perhaps it was whatever alterations he was making to him. Maybe he truly was that desperate to be taken apart by somebody that wasn't simply trying to weaponize him. It was doing little to curb the edge of desperation that had taken residence in his gut, sitting just beneath the constant swirl of anxiety in his chest, and only worked to make that need loud enough to drown it out.
He's surprised by a jolt of electricity arcing through him, yelping at the intensity of it before he slumps back against the floor. Ramattra looks at him with what he can only construe as a curious hunger, just before he withdraws his fingers.
Grabbing the base of his cock, Ramattra steals a moment to slick himself with his own pre. He had moved to steady himself with a hand beside Emre's head, where he has an uninhibited view of the smaller man's face. He watches between their legs intently, eyes wide as Ramattra works himself over in his palm. Catching the flash of purple at the tip appearing from his fist with each pass before the omnic finally angles to press against him.
Crushing his palm over his mouth, Emre can't suppress the little, piping breaths that flutter through his fingers as Ramattra slowly sinks into him. He's gentle, settling his hands around his waist and passing his thumbs over his hipbones soothingly as he pauses.
The stop makes Emre peek out behind his hand, where he finds Ramattra looking at him rather intently.
"Let me see you," Ramattra says quietly.
It takes a moment, Emre hesitating before lowering his hand to settle over Ramattra's.
"Good," Ramattra rumbles, pitching his hips forward and feeding the rest of his cock into the tight body beneath him. "I wanted to see you take it."
Emre can't respond, not as his breath is stolen from him. He hardly makes out the soft assurances Ramattra showers him with as he squirms and reflexively tries to pull away from the building pressure in his hips. That flutter of anxiety in his chest threatens to become a panic with the discomfort bordering too much.
Bottoming out, the growling sigh Ramattra lets out thrums in the air, louder than all the processors working at max capacity. A plume of steam escapes from behind his faceplate, releasing the rising temperatures mounting in his core. His head tips back, reveling in the tight, slick heat around his cock.
Looming over the smaller man, he takes stock of Emre's state. Shaking, stomach fluttering with labored breaths, with the prominence of Ramattra's cock showing through the lean muscle. It causes his cock to lay to the side of it, hardly reaching past the bulge the omnic created.
"Like I said— so capable," Ramattra muses.
Sliding his hand up, he grinds himself as deep as he can as he presses his thumb down into the shape of himself through Emre. It makes the operative cry out breathlessly, legs twitching and hitching up around Ramattra's hips.
Folding over, Ramattra braces on his elbow beside Emre's head, bringing their faces close. The cords of Ramattra's hair cascade over his shoulder, curtaining around them both. Emre bites his lip and tries to duck, but there wasn't anywhere he could hide now with the omnic so close.
"And so pretty," Ramattra says, so quiet he could hear the low thrum of static that was typically drowned by volume. His hand moves, cradling the back of Emre's head and encouraging him to keep their eyes locked together.
It's then that Ramattra realizes tears were lightly dotting his lashes. His optics dart across his face, the shutters focusing on his features for signs of distress.
"Emre," Ramattra prompts, watching the operative's glassy eyes focus more pointedly on his own. "Too much?"
Mutely, Emre shakes his head, and with unsteady hands, finds a hold on Ramattra's frame. One of his fingers tangle in a wire, accidentally tugging and eliciting a soft hiss.
"You must be careful with me, as I am with you," Ramattra murmurs, the ghost of a laugh to his words.
The apology he mumbles out is cut short when Ramattra rocks his hips, edging out just a few inches before bottoming out once more. It escapes as a hiccup, and he finds a better hold over the omnic with the frame of ribs surrounding his core.
"Just relax," Ramattra says quietly, fingers threading through Emre's hair. "I have to keep working."
"O-Okay, yeah," Emre whispers, trying to do as he's told. "Keep working."
It takes only seconds before he's surprised by a light shock, traveling from the center of his chest outwards. It steals his breath for a moment, leaning back into the cradle of Ramattra's palm as he tenses against it.
The omnic lets out a low groan, then chuckles.
"Thought that would happen," Ramattra says, not immune to the basic instinct to buck his hips into the reflexive tightening around his cock. "Just so responsive."
Whimpering, Emre can feel a flush of embarrassment bloom across his body. In spite of it, or because of it, his cock twitches and spits a rope of pre across his abs. Being so far removed from the last time he had ever felt gentled hands across his body, he was desperately trying to will himself not to peak embarrassingly fast.
Ramattra had said he didn't know how long it would take for him to work.
Swearing under his breath, he finds a place to hide his face beneath Ramattra's chin. His panting fogs up the metal of his frame and garners a throaty rumble from the omnic.
Settled into a steady rhythm, he enjoys the soft noises he plucks from the hardened operative. Quiet moans that disappear in his neck and the softest hitches and hiccups.
"Big one," Ramattra warns lightly.
There's a choked whimper as Emre tries to brace for it, though it never seems to be enough. Ramattra wasn't lying— having found another glaring exploit that he felt couldn't wait to be patched before he continued working. It's as intense, if not moreso, than the one that felt as though it destroyed his ability for intelligent thought, and he could swear that he whites out for a few seconds.
Ramattra tenses for an entirely different reason— Emre bears down around him so tightly that it robs him the ability to do anything other than fuck himself as deep as he can. It was too good, something getting twisted in his circuitry as he quickly uploads several queued patches before the human has a chance to come down.
Emre cries out, clawing at Ramattra's frame as he spills his load across his stomach. The force of the electrical signals pulsing through his nerves with Ramattra fucking him through the waves rips his release from him.
"Fuck—!" Emre gasps welty, clinging to the omnic as he trembles through the aftershocks.
"Good," Ramattra growls, the echo of his own panting caught between them. "Doing so good, Emre."
"O-Oh my god," he breathes out, nuzzling into Ramattra's cabling and wetting them with overwhelmed tears.
He's jostled in the cage of Ramattra's arms, kept in place by the hand on his hip as the omnic's pace lengthens until he's steadily fucking into the operative. Slow, heavy strokes that wrench a litany of sounds out of Emre, it quickly becoming apparent that his voice was giving out.
Working through the pleasure, Ramattra tries to think through his own building release. It was becoming exceptionally hard, with how he's gotten the other man reduced to a pliant, whimpering mess. It was not what he had planned for when he had invited Emre to his location of operations, but he was not going to deny the pleasure so readily given.
"Can you handle another?" Ramattra asks breathlessly.
"I— I don't know," Emre admits, far past the point of knowing which way was up and what he was capable of. All he knew was that he felt as though he could very happily die right where he was in that moment.
"I think you can," Ramattra asserts. "You can be good."
"I can be good," Emre echoes, "I can be—"
His voice gives out with a keen, and Ramattra feels the last tether of restraint fail him. As the new algorithm is uploaded, Ramattra buries his head in Emre's shoulder with a wounded groan. Fucking Emre through the electrifying waves of stimuli wracking him, he surrenders himself to the slow build at his core and drives his cock into the willing body.
He can hear Emre resurface through the haze with a dizzied whimper, caught between being fucked dumb with his protocols being scrambled.
Burying himself to the hilt and grinding in deep, he growls out a plume of steam as he works himself through his peak. There's a mewling moan against his throat as he abandons all work to focus on his release. Fucking his load into the operative, he knows he's stretching Emre far more than he's ever been before, and it makes the pleasure of it all run even deeper.
"Perhaps not the best for workflow," Ramattra rumbles. Even he, not possessing the need for air, sounds breathless.
He begins to sit up, attempting to untangle himself from the operative beneath him, when frantic hands flash out for any point of contact. It stops him at once, surprised by such desperation to maintain closeness.
"Stay—" Emre whispers, his voice hoarse and croaking. "I— I need—"
Softening, Ramattra obliges. He hadn't anticipated the man to be so fragile, though in hindsight it only made sense. He was toughened to the world and all of humanity within it, but Emre was so far removed from everything and everyone that he existed as his own entity in Ramattra's mind. He was far more than just willing to lend himself as a solace.
"I'm here," Ramattra coos. "Like I said, Emre, I am not going anywhere."
It was impractical for them to remain on the concrete floor for however long Emre wanted him. He wished he had enough foresight to have relocated them to the small cot he had prepared, anticipating degrees of unconsciousness from Emre while he worked on his protocols. Ironically, it entirely slipped his mind to utilize the cot for the second most common reason they tend to be used for.
"I do not want you laying on this floor any longer," Ramattra says, adjusting his hold over Emre so he could support his body. "Hold on to me."
Dutifully, Emre listens, and whimpers as he's suddenly hoisted up and onto Ramattra's lap. It pushes his cock even deeper into him, and the weak, warbling moan stifled against Ramattra's shoulder is met with a chuckle.
"Is this okay?"
He gets a fervent little nod.
"Good," Ramattra hums. Adjusting, he shifts until he's braced against the support of his workstation. He allows Emre to get comfortable, sinking against his chest with a sigh. "You should try to rest, now."
"No more big ones?" Emre asks quietly.
"No, I do not believe there are anymore 'big ones,'" Ramattra muses. "It shouldn't wake you."
The hushed okay lost against his plating is the last thing he hears before Emre closes his eyes and lets his body relax. It's the first time he's ever felt completely secure since his Overwatch days, sure that he wasn't going to find himself with a weapon in his hands and Chernobog having seized control of his body.
Ramattra merely watches for a long while, contemplating it. Contemplating everything. What this could mean for him, or for Emre, or for both of them. He hadn't anticipated developing such a fierce fondness for the operative's silent weaknesses, nor the raging anger he harbored towards Chernobog and those who weaponized his emprisonment under the God AI.
The last thing he wanted was to release him back into captivity.
Silently, he continues to work on the protocol algorithms. He was fortunate he didn't feel physical discomfort and didn't need to adjust at any point, or else he feared he would interrupt Emre's deep sleep. He hadn't argued against it when they shifted, but perhaps staying hilted within the smaller man's body wasn't the wisest decision for Emre's rest.
It made him happy, and Ramattra would never deny him of that.
It was perhaps a couple hours of quiet work when a sudden flash of red stops Ramattra in his tracks. Tucked into his chest, it was hard to see clearly the source of it, but the omnic knew immediately. Internally snapping his own software connections shut, he carefully angles his head to see between their bodies.
Chernobog's eye roves around the black glass case strapped to Emre's chest. Searching, examining its surroundings, before focusing on Ramattra.
It takes everything in him to stay quiet and calm, knowing that anything else may trigger the God AI. But he can't deny his utter rage at the sight of that beseeching eye.
"You are a disgrace to sentience," Ramattra says, almost silently. He takes a finger and taps it on the glass, the eye snapping to the movement before looking back to his face. "And I will not let you destroy this human for your end goal."
The eye says nothing, but it also does nothing— he made sure that is was substantially harder for Chernobog to interrupt Emre's deep sleep cycles. But he knows it hears him.
"Do not bother using him to try and drive me away," Ramattra says lowly. "I am not going anywhere."