Chapter Text
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On the 48th floor of the Kruzchka Corporation’s needlessly extravagant office building, Keqing was tucked underneath a metal desk, cursing quietly as she examined the damage in her laser-resistant armor. She had taken too many direct hits from the laser rifles of the twin assassin droids that were lurking in the same cubicle-filled room; she’d perhaps last a couple more shots before the armor would be too damaged to protect her body from incoming laser beams.
The amateur mercenary attempted to slow down her heart beat as she continued to hide – was she actually going to die here? It was Keqing’s second time on the field as a gun-for-hire, and possibly her last.
Someone had put up a bounty contract on Signora – a wealthy heiress to a scummy conglomerate that had single-handedly put Inazuma City in an economic chokehold by either buying out or intimidating all of its market competitors. You couldn’t rent property, own a vehicle, have cybernetic implant surgery or eat any god damn sushi without Signora making some money off it.
Apparently Signoria pissed off the wrong fat cat with her shady business practices and now someone who also had money wanted her dead. The price on her head was quite high, and Keqing had leapt at the opportunity to earn lots of cash along with the notoriety that accompanied being the Merc that killed Signora and claimed the LifeChip that was implanted in the businesswoman’s neck.
Regrettably … such a high bounty seemed to attract multiple mercenaries and assassins, including whoever owned the two assassin droids that were now targeting her.
As Keqing loaded armor-piercing plasma bullets into her pistol, the ridiculousness of the situation made her feel exceptionally bitter. She wasn’t even the droid’s ultimate target, but the soulless machines had identified her as a threat to accomplishing their mission. Rather than trying to rush to Signora to kill her first, they calculated that killing a competitor now was the best course of action.
Damn it … Keqing thought, as the sound of one of the droids’ heavy footsteps came closer to the desk she was hiding under. Thankfully she had a scrambler device that obscured her from the droids’ organic matter sensors – keeping her from being detected through heat signatures. So now they were tracking her down within the office the way a simple human would have to – with vision and sound.
Remaining crouched beneath that desk, she aimed her pistol and waited for one of the mechanical humanoids to enter her line of sight. If she could sneakily kill the first one that found her, perhaps she could outmaneuver the second one …
As the heavy steps of one of the nearby droids got closer and closer, she braced herself.
It was probably only about a foot away from her desk.
It was time: do or die.
An anxious breath escaped her mouth.
Suddenly the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard within the room – a contrast to the heavy, deliberate pace of the droids. Someone had arrived.
Keqing heard the whirring sounds of defense systems being activated within the droids … the one closer to her shifted noisily.
The other droid got out a few of words in its inhuman voice: “do not resist -- “
Suddenly the deep resonate sound of metal getting struck, along with noises of damaged circuitry, filled the room – a chaotic symphony. The further droid gave off a bizarre sound that resembled an electric scream; combat droids were intentionally programmed to do this – a way to communicate to organic owners that its functions were about to cease.
The droid closer to Keqing got off two shots with its laser pistol before the dreadful song of a droid getting dismembered resumed. The purple-haired mercenary watched a robot arm fall onto the ground in front of her hiding spot… with its head joining it several milliseconds later. Both pieces of metal had signs of laceration and heat damage in its metal.
Someone had just dismembered both of the droids attacking her – within the span of several seconds.
A nearby male’s voice – sounding oddly friendly -- called out: “I know these assassin-droids weren’t just taking a detour on the way to killing Signora, so save me the trouble of finding you and come on out.”
“ … who are you?” Keqing asked.
“The janitor. -- You injured?”
Keqing made the bold decision to trust the stranger.
“I’m under the desk. I’m going to come out with my arms up.”
“Wise choice.”
The female mercenary slowly crawled out from underneath the desk – hands raised in the air.
Then she saw him – a smooth-faced redhaired man in a black armored nanosuit that covered every inch of his body except his head, currently. Portions of a nanosuit could be deactivated at any time – he likely deactivated the helmet so they could greet each other face-to-face.
Keqing was struck by a sense of jealously. The man was wearing a high-quality nanosuit that was undoubtedly fitted with various weapons that could integrate perfectly within the armor – hidden until he activated them with either subtle body maneuvers or neurotransmitters. He had to be able to activate a plasma blade from the technology in the arm of his nanosuit – a plasma blade was one of the few weapons that could effortlessly cut through the armor of the fallen assassin droids.
Now that Keqing was looking him over … she saw a subtle bulge in the portion of the nanosuit that ran along the man’s back. There was some sort of large, inactive piece of equipment there. Perhaps he had a jetpack that could be activated … ?
Keqing briefly wondered if she’d ever be able to afford such expensive combat equipment – its presence suggested the redhaired warrior was an incredibly successful mercenary.
Of course, while she had been sizing him up, he was evaluating her.
“So, Pigtails,” the man said with a light smirk, “how are you going to get through Signora’s tactical defense droids if you can’t even take out two assassin bots?”
Keqing’s eyes narrowed.
“I figured she’s on the top floor -- I was going to wipe out the entire level with a M3000 Insidium grenade.”
The handsome stranger chuckled.
“Bold plan,” the man pointedly looked over her far-from-impressive combat armor, “I guess your budget for this mission went into that grenade. -- Out of curiosity, how you gonna extract Signora’s LifeChip if you incinerate her?”
“I’m … sure the blast wouldn’t … completely incinerate her … ”
“Well, I guess we could give it a shot, see what happens,” the man started heading to one of the office’s windows, “we can pull this off if we engage from outside the building – “
Keqing was stunned. She’d ask: “You … want to do this together?”
“Let me be clear – I can tell you’re new at this, and your plan is terrible,” the rehaired Merc replied as he unlocked and pushed open a window, “you’re going to incinerate her body if she’s anywhere near the blast, which means you won’t be able to snag her LifeChip, which means you won’t be able to prove you killed her and you won’t get paid. I dub your plan ‘Operation: Idiot’ … “
“ … well, why do you want to help me if you think it’s a terrible plan ... “ Keqing muttered as she approached the stranger.
“I kinda want to see an M3000 decimate the top floor of a building. Explosions are fun. So let’s go, Pigtails.”
“I … have no means of scaling the building, and I don’t have a jetpack,” she announced.
“I got one – I’ll carry ya. At this point I’m super invested in the success of Operation: Idiot,” the man informed as he stuck his head out the window and gazed upwards. There were aerial combat droids circulating the top floor of the building – too far away to be a problem for the male merc’s actual plan.
Keqing continued to walk toward the mercenary. She proposed: “So we … split the money? You help me get up there and -- “
When Keqing stepped within a couple feet of the redhaired man, his arm suddenly whipped toward her. It snatched her by one of her pigtails and tugged.
Their altercation lasted less than two seconds. The arm that had reached for her – the right arm -- had moved at an impressive speed … but the left arm moved at an even greater speed. An inhuman speed.
She barely had enough time to process a single cohesive thought: he’s part cyborg …
Then she was falling out of the building – the merc had actually shoved her out of the window.
Before Keqing had been thrust out the window, the redhaired mercenary had pulled off three miracles during the two second altercation they shared.
He managed to keep her from successfully aiming her gun at him.
He managed to reach into her equipment bag and pluck an item out of it.
He managed to slap a small device on her upper back – it stuck to her armor and started to make an ominous, repetitive ‘beep’ noise.
So now Keqing was falling downward – thankfully the man had tossed her with enough force to keep her from skidding along the side of the building.
A mix of anger and fear seized her. The man betrayed her, and now she had no way of stopping her plummet toward the concrete sidewalk below.
Before her thoughts could become frantic, the device the male Merc had slapped onto her back stopped beeping. It popped open. There was a ‘whoosh’ sound as a life-saving parachute emerged from the device.
She was able to hear some final words from the man as she slowly descended.
“You’re not cut out for mercenary work, Pigtails! But thanks for the grenade!”
Keqing’s fear was gone – but her anger simmered. Gun still in hand, she lifted it in a vain attempt to aim it toward the mercenary … but even if he was still lingering at the window – the parachute was obscuring her vision.
Obviously it would be stupid of her to blindly shoot through her own parachute … but she still found herself tempted to try.
“Asshole!” Keqing shouted as she sailed further and further from the window she was ejected from.
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The redhaired mercenary – who went by the name Tartaglia – resumed his ascent through Signoria’s office building. He reactivated his nanohelmet in anticipation for imminent combat before stuffing the M3000 grenade he had managed to pluck from the female Merc's equipment bag into a compartment of his nanosuit that was situated at his hip.
Pigtails was such a damn amateur. He didn’t feel bad at all for stealing her grenade and chucking her out the window. She could have really screwed up his mission by blowing up the top floor before he could rend Signora’s LifeChip from her neck … or, ya know, kill Tartaglia himself if he was on the top floor when she decided to blow it up.
If Pigtails had a single brain cell, she’d quit mercenary work. She truly didn’t belong on the field with mercenaries of his caliber.
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Signora, sitting at her opulent desk in a bust-emphasizing black dress, felt a sense of rage and a pinch of fear after a small explosion went off within the elevator in her office.
One of the assassins that had infiltrated her building had finally reached her.
No less than seven assassins had come to collect the bounty on her head. Five humans and two assassin droids had infiltrated her building equipped with millions of dollars worth of security technology and armed, armored droids. The two assassin bots had been destroyed, three of the human infiltrators were dead, one had apparently jumped out of the window with a parachute … So now, only two infiltrators remained … and one them had now arrived at her office.
Signora tapped her red-painted nails against the desk, trying to shed herself of nervous energy as she stared at the smoke that currently billowed out of the elevator shaft. She suspected it was a member of her own family that ordered the hit, but she wouldn’t survive long enough to sniff them out.
A smoke grenade would get tossed into the room from the elevator shaft – obscuring vision for both Signora and her defense drones. She barked for her security automatons to open fire – perhaps shots from several different guns will either deter or get a lucky kill on the bold assassin that was coming for her.
Each droid shot their laser weapons as commanded – rapidly and recklessly – for a full minute until all of their weapons stopped simultaneously ... leaving the room in a state of pure silence as smoke continued to obscure everyone’s vision.
Signoa quickly realized she had made an error: demanding they all shoot at once without clarification that they should not use all of their laser charges meant that they’d each lose the ability to fire at the same time …
“God damn it, you idiots!” Signora yelled loudly, ignoring the urge to cough as she inadvertently inhaled smoke.
A man’s voice called out from somewhere in the depths of the smoke-filled room: “Didn’t think that one through, did ya?”
A violet-colored plasma blade ignited within the smoke directly behind one of Signora’s security droids – illuminating a six foot tall humanoid figure in a black nanosuit armor.
He sliced through the droid with inhuman speed – summoning that loud, awful electronic whurrr noise that indicated multiple system errors and failures were occurring.
The rest of the droids would communicate to each other – some recalibrating their ranged weapons while others summoned their own plasma blades – red and roughly equal to the size of the assassin’s blade.
The attempt at a coordinated defensive formation did not produce meaningful results. The assassin was quick – the man’s left blade-wielding extremity moved at an insane speed. Clearly a cyborg.
Fear surged within Signora as -- one by one – the droids fell to the assassin’s blade.
As she listened to the mechanical shriek of her final droid as it fell upon the floor, the businesswoman wondered if her fate would have been any different if she had hired a group of nanosuit-wearing mercs for her protection. She chose not to because they were so much more god damn expensive. Also, humans can betray you … droids cannot.
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“Whatever they are paying you – there is no question I can pay you more. Substantially more,” Signora argued – voice cracking with desperation, “you’ll never have to work again!”
“I enjoy my work,” the assassin replied as he stalked toward the trembling businesswoman, “and I can’t be breaking my contracts in the middle of the damn job. Reputation is everything is in this city … as a matter of fact, you’re about to die over yours.”
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Tartaglia’s cybernetic hand was hovering over the back of Signora’s corpses’ neck. From the very center of his palm, a small, half-inch wide plasma beam was slicing through her skin. This was actually an automated process – sensors located the small metallic LifeChip that was embedded inside a person’s neck – which surgeons placed at the base of one of your neck’s vertebra at birth --, and then his nanosuit technology calculated the perfect slice for LifeChip removal without Tartaglia having to put any thought into it.
A surprise was coming for Tartaglia. Just as he was digging the LifeChip out of Signora’s neck, he heard the shockingly still-functional elevator door open.
He glanced toward the door.
A relatively petite individual stepped into the room – wearing an emerald-colored nanosuit that was familiar to Tartaglia.
Shit. It was Xiao.
Xiao was a fellow mercenary -- an extremely successful, capable mercenary. In fact, Xiao was literally the only mercenary Tartaglia was familiar with that might actually be able to outfight him. Though Xiao was small, he was strong and skilled. He had top tier equipment, just like Tartaglia, and both of Xiao’s legs were cybernetic ... which meant he could run, leap and kick at insane levels.
Also … the legs led to some pretty hot sex; Xiao was really good at riding pick.
Tartaglia deactivated his helmet to expose his face, then put on a mocking smile for his frenemy.
“Oh, Xiao. Looks like you’re too late. How sad for you.”
“My timing’s perfect,” Xiao countered, “you took care of all of Signora’s defense droids for me, and now you’re going to hand over her LifeChip.”
“Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m going to do that.”
“Well … this bounty is large enough that I’m willing to use force,” Xiao warned, “even against you.”
“Cool. But first, I wanna show you something-- “
“ -- don’t do anything stupid, Tartaglia,” Xiao growled as he began to step forward.
Tartaglia’s cybernetic hand rapidly moved to snatch the M3000 grenade out of the hip compartment of his nanosuit.
Xiao froze.
“Is that an M3000 grenade?”
“Yep,” Tartaglia replied – that smile deepening.
“ … we’ve known each other for a few years now and somehow the combination of your audacity and stupidity continues to surprise me.”
“Four seconds,” Tartaglia warned as he pulled the pin out of the grenade and chucked it in the corner of the room.
Both men moved instantly.
Tartaglia reactivated his helmet and charged toward the glass of one of the massive windows within Signora’s office. He triggered his jetpack for additional speed and slammed his cybernetic fist into the glass; a spiderweb of cracks formed within it.
Adrenaline surged as Tartaglia’s cybernetic fist slammed into it again – with all the force the technology could muster.
This time the glass broke – leading to an explosion of sharp shards that clattered against Tartaglia’s protective nanosuit.
Tartaglia flew out into the night sky.
After a second of full speed flying, he twisted in the air so he could visualize Signora’s office building.
The combat-loving merc wanted to see the M3000’s explosion.
He also wanted to confirm Xiao got out of there – even though Xiao was a skilled rival/competitor and it’d be better for business if the petite warrior died. He was aware Xiao didn’t typically run missions with a jetpack -- so he’d feel a little bad if the bold decision he just made led to the cute merc’s death. Xiao was a tough little shit though, so Tartaglia was optimistic he’d find a way to survive the blast.
It’s a good thing Tartaglia turned around – because Xiao was in the air right behind him and closing in.
The little bastard had used his powerful cybernetic legs to jump off of the top floor of Signora’s office building – and his legs were so damn powerful that his leap was able to outspeed Tartaglia’s jetpack.
Xiao was now twisting in the air – seemingly with the plan of kicking Tartaglia mid air.
Tartaglia whipped his cybernetic arm into a defensive position and activated a violet-colored plasma shield just before Xiao’s leg slammed against him.
The manifested shield prevented any serious damage, but the force of Xiao’s strike sent Tartaglia spiraling wildly through the air.
Xiao’s kick caused him to lose forward momentum and he started to fall downward.
Meanwhile, the top floor of Signora’s office building exploded with chaotic flame.
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“Ah, that was fun,” Tartaglia breathed out after gracefully landing on top of a building several miles away from Signora’s now-decimated office, “what a rush.”
Then the merc called out: “status?”
An internal computer display flashed on within his helmet – it informed him his nanosuit had used 83% of its available power reserves, armor strength was now reduced by 72% and a couple of the suits’ utility mechanisms were malfunctioning – the emergency oxygen supply and heat sensors.
“Well, good thing the recently departed Signora will be covering the bill for repairs,” Tartaglia commented as he pulled her LifeChip out of his hip compartment and gave it a look over. Undamaged.
Tartaglia’s telecommunicator started to ring.
Xiao was calling.
Tartaglia smiled incredulously as he muttered to himself: “You little cockroach – did you seriously survive a nearly 800 feet fall out of the sky?”
The redhaired merc accepted the call. He opened with: “Hey buddy – how was your flight?”
“The landing went smoothly,” Xiao’s voice replied, “I’ll forgive you for tossing an M3000 at me if you give me Signora’s LifeChip.”
“Heh. If you meet me at a hotel tomorrow night, I’ll forgive you for trying to steal the bounty that I rightfully earned.”
Xiao disconnected from the call.
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Albedo glanced at the clearly damaged nanosuit that Tartaglia had just dropped on his workbench.
The redhaired warrior would say: “Fix it within twenty-four hours and I’ll pay you 20% above your usual rate.”
Albedo sighed.
“Don’t you have a backup?”
“I do, but this one’s my favorite.”
As Albedo looked over the nanosuit more thoroughly, the blonde technician commented:“I’m assuming you’re the one that collected Signora’s bounty … “
“Yep. Tell your friends: Tartaglia triumphed over dozens of defense droids, Xiao, and some amateur merc who showed up with her hair styled in pigtails – but I probably shouldn’t brag about that one. It’s like bragging about kicking a puppy.”
“Congratulations – pay me 30% over my usual rate and I’ll have this repaired by tomorrow.”
“ … 25%.”
“30%.”
“28%.”
“30%.”
“ … Fine.”
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Tartaglia stepped into Ayato’s office. An impressive office with modern styling – though it wasn’t quite as extravagant as the now-dead Signora’s had been.
“Hey Ayato – how’s the wife and kids?” Tartaglia asked flippantly – fully aware that Ayato had been divorced for four years and had no children. The redhaired merc had no love for his handler. There were details to Ayato that simply annoyed him. Firstly the man was too stiff for Tartaglia’s tastes: prim and proper in a way that didn’t suit a man standing on the dubious end of the moral spectrum. The Signoras of the world felt a lot more honest.
Another detail of Ayato that annoyed him was that the blue-haired man always wore a white suit and white gloves. Perhaps he was showing off an ability to keep white fabric perfectly clean – but the fashion choice felt obnoxiously deceptive. Ayato made most of his income off of distributing jobs involving murder, infiltration and theft, yet he wore white like no other color exists. Tartaglia supposed that, at the end of the day, it was Mercs such as himself that got to deal with the grime and the bloodstains that came with unscrupulous work, leaving managers such as Ayato forever free to enjoy irritatingly white wardrobes.
“I heard you encountered Xiao while retrieving Signora’s LifeChip,” Ayato announced, ignoring the derisive wife-and-kid question.
“Yep. -- On a completely unrelated note, how long do you think a fuck-buddy would hold a grudge at someone that tossed an M3000 grenade at them?”
Ayato decided not to fish for any more information – he had a very low tolerance for Tartaglia’s abrasive personality.
“I already have another commission lined up for you,” Ayato revealed, “security detail – part of a team that will be running 24/7 surveillance on one individual. – “
“ – Ok, I can already see multiple problems here. First, I work alone. Second, protection work is glorified babysitting. That shit is boring and can last for months. Third, it’s a waste of my damn talents – ”
“ – One,” Ayato interrupted with mild irritation, “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to play nice with others. You’d be working in shifts with six other Mercs – operating alone when you’re on duty. Two, I have a strong reason to believe you’ll feel incentivized to partake in this mission if you actually close your mouth and hear out the details of it.”
Tartaglia folded his arms across his chest – waiting with a skeptical expression.
Ayato pressed a few buttons on the computer console affixed to his desk. In the center of his office, a full-sized 3D image appeared: a six foot tall male with amber eyes and tied back brown hair.
Tartaglia’s heart skipped a beat – the man was gorgeous.
“This is Dr. Zhongli Xu. He – “
“ – I’ll take the job,” Tartaglia interrupted with a mischievous smile.
Ayato stared at Tartaglia with an unamused expression.
“Presuming he’s willing to fuck guys,” the redheaded mercenary added, “tell me he’s willing to fuck guys.”
The blue-haired man sighed.
“ … All I know of his personal life is that he is recently divorced.”
“From … ?”
“ … a civil rights lawyer.”
Tartaglia set his hands on his hips and cocked his head before repeating: “From … ?”
“ … a male.”
Tartaglia balled his fist and shook it – as though a sports team he had been rooting for just scored a winning goal.
“I’ll take the job until I fuck him. After that, it’ll depend on his performance as to whether I’ll be demanding you to rotate a different Merc in.”
“ … Sometimes I feel just speaking with you could earn me a sexually transmitted disease … “ Ayato muttered before continuing, “Dr. Zhongli has been involved with extremely important research for Barbatos Pharmaceuticals – “
“ – Barbatos pharmaceuticals?”
“They’re a small, nonprofit pharmaceutical company – far off from being household names in the way commercial juggernauts such as Mondstadt Labs or Bubu Medicinal Solutions are.”
“Didn’t even know nonprofits still existed,” Tartaglia noted, “how the hell can they afford our price tag?”
“Donations from multiple wealthy benefactors,” a pause, “I also lowered the cost of our services as I find myself wishing for this man to succeed in his research.”
“It goes without saying that my pay won’t be effected by your act of generosity.”
“It goes without saying,” Ayato replied.
“So what important research is Dr. Hot Stuff doing that has you lowering your fees and Fat Cats throwing money at a no-name pharmaceutical company?”
Ayato’s following words would cause a series of intense emotions within Tartaglia – emotions that would shift and surge like restless winds.
“He’s working on a vaccine for Arescet. Much like you, Tartaglia,” Ayato plucked off one of his white gloves, revealing a sleek cybernetic hand, “I have a reason to be invested in this man’s safety – I want him to successfully complete his research.”
Ayato’s mechanical hand tugged off the white glove of his opposite hand – revealing yet another cybernetic hand – before he added: “In fact, I will admit I have two reasons to be inspired by this man.”
Tartaglia pondered Ayato for a brief moment before an unrelated thought stole his focus; one that caused a potent sense of bitterness to emerge within.
“Why does a labcoat that literally might save hundreds of thousands of lives and prevent millions of permanently disabling injuries with his research need 24/7 security?” the redheaded Merc asked.
“While Barbatos Pharmaceuticals never made an official announcement, word has spread within the medical community that Dr. Zhongli is close to completing his vaccine. Unfortunately, he received an ominous message three weeks ago. The message was delivered to his apartment in paper form from an unknown sender,” Ayato answered, “the message was a threat. It advised Dr. Zhongli that if he continued his development of an Arescet vaccine, there would be permanent consequences.”
Tartaglia couldn’t shrug off the ire that had built inside him; it transitioned into vicious amusement.
“Heh. The good scientist has to sleep with one eye open cause trying to save lives is pissing someone off. – You know, sometimes I really think this world should fucking burn.”
Temporary silence.
“ … Tartaglia,” Ayato called out – taking a moment to gaze down at his cybernetic hands, “I’ll never again enjoy the experience of touching a lover’s face with my own palm and fingers. -- Tactile Simulation Technology fails to replicate what’s in my memory … “
A quiet moment was again shared. Tartaglia, more apt to evaluate this comment than most given he had one natural arm and one cybernetic arm, could only agree with the sentiment. During sex he exclusively caressed partners with his organic hand – his cybernetic hand was used for positioning, holding or pinning partners.
Ayato’s eyes finally left his own inhuman hands and returned to the redheaded warrior.
“I am by no means a paragon of morality,” Ayato noted, “villains and criminals sometimes want other villains and criminal dead – I have no qualms with accepting work that involves murdering the culpable. Sometimes we steal, sometimes we destroy – those jobs I will take with no questions asked. But, now is the time that I accept a commission which will inevitably lead to a financial loss for me, because people of the future should not have to suffer as our generation has. No more fathers having to explain to their child why their limb or limbs need to be amputated, no more young adults joining the military or taking out thirty-year loans so they can pay for cybernetic replacement limbs, no more mothers burying their children over a mosquito bite. No more, Tartaglia. For however long it takes for Dr. Zhongli to finish the vaccine -- weeks, months – let us for once stand among the heroes. The sordid work will surely be there waiting for us after the world has been changed for the better.”
A wordless second passed before an unkind smile formed on Tartaglia’s face.
“Beautiful speech. Ten out of ten. How many times did you practice it in the mirror?”
“ … Words cannot describe how much I loathe you,” Ayato muttered as he began to reapply his gloves to his cybernetic hands, “take this ‘glorified babysitting’ job seriously, Tartaglia.”
“Ayato – am I the best fucking Merc you work with?” the warrior asked cockily, “actually – you don’t have to answer that – I know I am.”
Ayato would quietly murmur: “one of the reasons why I disregard your frequent demonstrations of insolence.”
“You’re paying me my usual rate, you’ll get my usual performance: fan-fucking-tastic. If the doc dies before his vaccine is complete, it won’t be during one of my damn shifts.”
“Good,” Ayato replied simply.
Tartaglia’s blues shifted from Ayato to the image of the amber-eyed brunette that remained in the center of the room. So damn pretty.
“And I will definitely be fucking present day researcher, soon-to-be scientist legend: Dr. Hot Stuff.”
“Please leave my office,” Ayato requested as pressed the button on his console that switched off the projected image.
“Tell your kids I said hi,” Tartaglia stated smugly on his way out.
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Tartaglia had only one picture of a family member in his house.
It was of him and Teucer as children; he kept it on his bedroom nightstand.
There were time periods -- weeks or sometimes months – when Tartaglia left the picture planted face-down on the dresser … because sometimes he couldn’t stand looking at it.
Right now it happened to be facedown on the dresser – because the anniversary of Teucer’s death had passed three weeks ago.
Tartaglia reached with his organic hand to grab the picture and set it properly on the desk, so he could once more observe Teucer’s oversized smile that had been forever captured in the photo.
“Well, Teucer, looks like there’s a doc out there that believes he can create a vaccine for Arescet,” Tartaglia announced, “other docs said it couldn’t be done, but apparently this one is telling people he’s almost got it figured out.”
Of course, the picture of Teucer did not respond.
Tartaglia continued: “once he finishes it – I’ll hop in a time machine … go back to before you got sick and give you the shot.”
Tartaglia couldn’t look at Teucer after speaking that silly lie, so he took a small moment to gaze at his cybernetic arm. He mused over it briefly – he was both stronger and weaker as a result of that final day he spent with Teucer.
“Sorry,” the redheaded Merc apologized, “just kidding. Stupid joke. We ain’t got time machines yet. I … can’t go back for ya, little guy.”
… Something soft and sad had fully taken over Tartaglia’s mood; he forced his eyes back to the picture of himself and Teucer.
“I can’t fix what happened, Teu … but I can fucking make sure future kids can go outside and play with their brothers without … without anyone getting sick. You bet your ass no one’s gonna touch that doctor.”
Tartaglia pictured Teucer with a light, approving smile.
“Also, Teu … dont tell ma I cussed in front of you, ok? You know that shit pisses her off.”
The Merc imagined the sound of Teucer’s laughter – high-pitched and always full of energy.
It almost made him smile.
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Tartaglia was excited; today was the day he got to meet his newest target/client – Dr. Hot Stuff.
He approached the front door of a reasonably nice home just outside of Inazuma city. The house belonged to the owner of Barbatos Pharmaceuticals – an oddly young-looking man named Venti.
It was decided that it was too dangerous for Dr. Zhongli to remain in the modest apartment he rented – one of hundreds within a single building. Too many people entered and exited apartment buildings that large. It would be easy for an assassin to pose as a neighbor’s guest … or for a bomb to get planted in a nearby apartment. A single body guard would have a difficult time protecting Zhongli with so many people and unsupervised rooms nearby.
So, hoping to help ensure the doctor’s safety, Venti offered his own home for Zhongli’s use as he finished the vaccine.
Touching.
Tartaglia knocked on the front door.
It opened.
A familiar face appeared. It was one of the other mercs Ayato routinely worked with – Kaeya. A man with indigo-hair and an eyepatch on the right side of his face.
With an insincere smile, Tartaglia would say: “Hey Kaeya – what happened to your eye?”
Kaeya sighed, annoyed. Tartaglia knew how he lost his right eye, but the asshole asked him about it every time they crossed paths because the redhaired warrior was wholly committed to the role of an instigator.
“My shift is over – later, asshole,” Kaeya growled out as he stepped by Tartaglia to leave.
That’s when Zhongli appeared at the door to confront the redhaired Merc – work-ready in a dress shirt and his labcoat, wielding a coffee thermos.
Tartaglia maintained a cool expression, though secretly he was gushing over the man’s perfectly smooth skin and the long lashes that framed his unique eyes. Somehow prettier in person than he had been on the hologram. Even the scientist’s unfriendly countenance came across as pretty.
It was clear to Tartaglia that this man didn’t belong in a lab. He belonged in bedsheets -- Tartaglia’s bedsheets, specifically.
“You’re Tartaglia, then?” Zhongli asked coolly – voice deep and smooth.
“The one and only.”
“I was informed you are a licentious cad that has a sexual interest in me.”
Something a little devilish and a little bitter tainted the smile on Tartaglia’s face. Of course Ayato would share that information with Zhongli ...
The redhead declared: “Well, even if no one told you … you would have found out pretty quickly.”
“ … Rather interesting choice by your manager – to assign you as my protector during the work week … A time I need to be productive, and I’m forced to interact with a ‘licentious cad.’”
Tartagla chuckled.
“Babe, you wouldn’t get any damn sleep if Ayato assigned me the night shift. -- That also would effect your productivity.”
“How charming,” Zhongli replied -- unamused. He exited Venti’s home, locked the door and began moving to step passed the mercenary so he could get to one of the vehicles.
Before Zhongli could walk by Tartaglia, the redhaired man placed his arm directly in front of the scientist – blocking him.
The two men’s eyes connected.
Tartaglia would say: “Cold as ice, huh? I like that – it’ll feel like more of an achievement when I make you melt.”
Zhongli’s eyes betrayed nothing, but Tartaglia saw the physical signs of the man inhaling deeply.
This was inspiring for Tartaglia; that moment of subtle breathlessness left him convinced that Zhongli did consider the Merc attractive.
He’d have the handsome scientist moaning and writhing in the sheets of his bed … sooner or later.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Author’s Note: Thanks for reading!! I have multiple Genshin projects out there and I tend to get inspired to update the stories that get the most kudos and reviews. So I’d love some feedback if you enjoyed the first chapter of this story!
If people want a descriptive sex scene in future chapters just let me know!
If you enjoyed this you may enjoy my major flagship Genshin fanfic: Taken by Criminals and its sequel Used by Criminals. It’s a spicy story involving a gang of criminals led by Tartaglia kidnapping millionaire Zhongli and his secretary: Ningguang. It’s more of a porn fic than Im planning for this fic to be, but make no mistake its got plot/character development too.
Next update will either be Used by Criminals or When Warriors Fall(Unless this one goes bonkers with kudos/reviews).
Thanks again for reading. And anyone willing to leave a review – I will give you my eternal love. So much eternal love it’ll make you feel awkward about the whole thing.