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Tyrell didn’t know how to feel about Joanna anymore. He was young when he fell in love with her, and willing to do anything to please her, followed her around like a puppy and obeyed her as such too. To acquire her approbation, she sent him off to do her deeds that she was too scared to do herself. She was raised wealthy, and hence, had the attitude of a stuck-up, ostentatious princess. She previously thrived off of her daddy’s wealth back in Denmark, he would buy her bracelets and necklaces embellished and bedazzled in expensive gemstones far beyond what Tyrell would ever afford.For her pursuit into the elitist realm of American businessmen, she required a husband who was willing to get his hands dirty. Tyrell was glad to shove his hands wherever Joanna fancied, getting himself tangled up in all kinds of social catastrophes and sexual relationships — one night stands with the wives of businessmen too important and prim to care about their bitch of a wife who cooks them supper when they get home from a night of drinking and fucking prostitutes at a club for the most privileged men of society. Once he was done exploiting their wives, he found a way to exploit the husband, hacking their personal computers that they were too incompetent to properly install some security on; most of them were still running Windows 98.That was a life that Tyrell was okay with, he was amenable, pliable like clay, and Joanna used that. She was okay with his dirty paws on her thighs at the end of a long day if it meant solidifying her place within bourgeois American society.But after a while, her husband’s hands began to disgust her.Tyrell had always had a fixation on purity. From the moment he had left his father’s house in the Swedish countryside. That place was known only for an alcoholic, abusive father, and an absent mother. That was far from the perfect family. He wanted to be a god with Elliot because that meant purging all the poison, disconnecting himself from the actions his former partner made him do. he had a revelation of morality, he felt wonder when he saw the light flicker in and out of Sharon Knowles’ eyes, and he wouldn’t deny the pleasure he felt when he knew he had total control over someone else, that he was playing God without permission, that he had gone beyond humanity.This preposition was the one he used to worm his way into Elliot’s life. He was cruel, but not cruel enough to disengage himself from his partners feelings and values. Despite Elliot’s rejection of him, he felt empty without him guiding him on what to do. Stage 2 had given him purpose with the promise of praise. Without the love of others, Tyrell didn’t know how to love himself, and Elliot had already trusted him, now he needed to prove that he’s worth it.Shooting Elliot had to have been the worst day of Tyrell’s life. He was usually far removed from the usual associated feelings of letting down your fellow human; he felt this newfangled grief after hurting Elliot. He had asked him to, done what he was ordered, Elliot had pulled his leash and he reacted. He even praised Tyrell afterwards but something just didn’t feel right. It was as if Elliot’s eyes were begging for the bullet to be fake, before flashing to anger, like Tyrell had done something wrong. Elliot was an anomaly, one that Tyrell was desperately eager to solve.Elliot had been typing away at the computer for a while now, almost too long. He had inquired to Irving if he could stay longer tonight to read all of the code currently written for the next action plan. Irving reluctantly accepted, although he didn’t have the consent of Whiterose. His eyes had been glued to the screen for hours, scanning each line for an error, almost as if he were one with the machine, like symbiosis.Tyrell knew about Elliot’s split identity, he didn’t know how to tell what Elliot was his, they were both closed off, both physically and psychologically, with an impenetrable barrier that Tyrell could never get into, but he could only name their similarities, not their differences. Tyrell would like to think he was observant, he spent a lifetime practicing seduction to please his wife and to climb the corporate ladder that had never accepted people like him. Perhaps, Elliot was blessed with this condition to create the perfect trinity together, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, only now, he needed to find out who was who.Steadily, Tyrell shifted his chair forward and reached his hand out to hold Elliot, his hand floating over his forearm, sensing Elliot’s body heat, pulling back on the urge to conceal that warmth with his hand as if they were two opposite magnets, as if they were different, yet made for each other, like how God created positive and negative, light and dark, and fire and ice. This is what Tyrell was made for, what fate was guiding him towards, Joanna was just a hurdle, a distraction, a tool he needed to find Elliot, in order to be where he is now.This was all part of God’s design.Tyrell stretched fingers extended around Elliot’s thin forearm, gently, yet firmly holding him, pulling himself a little closer in the process, his chair scraping against the cold, inhospitable, concrete floor. Elliot flinched, eyes widening yet not making eye contact with Tyrell, as if he was something to be avoided, something to be ashamed of. Tyrell felt that undeniable urge to prove him wrong. His whole life, his father had been a distant, calloused, man; he had never comforted his son, there was too much to criticise first, too weak, too feminine and too attached to his mother to be of any use in the real world. Tyrell internalised this precept, to the point that to feel happy, was to be useful.This wasn’t enough to get Elliot’s attention, he was discontented with merely watching Elliot’s work. This was inefficient, Tyrell knew that there were many more effective ways of getting this job done, and it started with them communicating more. Elliot constantly ran away from the truth, he was afraid of hearing anything he disagreed with, or anything that made him feel vulnerable — he had been distant ever since he was a child, it was the most effective way of coping with emotions that weren’t necessary to achieve goals that were grounded in logic. This was no exception.Tyrell’s closer hand slithered around Elliot’s back, not quite touching him yet, but still, too close for comfort if he was truly paying attention. It was fascinating to see Elliot in such a trance, in complete concentration when, usually, Elliot didn’t look twice at the world around him, too devoted to himself and his own personal matters, too used to analysing the world from a desk and too dissociated to form any mindful conclusion about the social activity he was forced to labour through.Tyrell firmly gripped the skin between his neck and his shoulder. Elliot flinched.“What the fuck are you doing?!” Mr. Robot yowled, Tyrell’s hands immediately flying off of him. He wasn’t sure this was his Elliot anymore, he felt tears slowly prick up at his eyes, forming in perfect droplets, like the way God has created every pebble to be perfect and smooth. He thought of their night together again, his hands on Elliot’s cheeks, scrimmaging between caressing Elliot, begging him to accept the love he was willing to show him, hands on him in prayer, God was the only person who could fit between them.He was only met with disdain from Elliot. He frantically let go, blubbering and grizzling as he felt that sharp feeling in his heart.Rejection.“I’m sorry Elliot— I just—“ It was hard for Tyrell to keep himself level headed when Elliot became irate and discontent. First, it was his mental break in the cab, causing a scene in front of the taxi driver, claiming that Tyrell was just an illusion, and when he couldn’t accept that Tyrell was real, he grappled with this imaginary quarrel of control between them, even though Tyrell was never there to fight. He was never a fighter, he had moments of juvenile anger, hysterics where he loses control and feels ashamed after but, he never weaponised it. He was only a lover for Elliot.Robot scowled, knowing that Tyrell wanted vulnerability as an apology for not knowing about his condition for so long. Tyrell had never even known Elliot, and yet was feigning over him like he was the prize princess in some kind of misogynistic bachelorette party. He consistently barged his way into Elliot’s life, expecting affection and praise for something that he had chosen to do for him. Emotional vulnerability was never Elliot’s thing, but if someone was going to demand it off of him, he knew Elliot would eventually crack under the pressure. Tyrell was not to be trusted, so he took over the endeavours involving him, and now he was caught up in this mess.Tyrell’s face contorted, his eyebrows scrunching up and the corners of his lips pointed down, almost as if he wanted to cry, but there were no tears left to shed. He thought that perhaps Elliot would still want to work with the true him, the real him, but he was seriously starting to doubt that. This mask had been put on the first few times they met? This cold, calculated businessman mirage? It had slipped as soon as he ran out of his car back at Coney Island.It wasn’t Robot’s usual reaction to affection. Usually, he would snarl and bark before anyone could get anywhere close to him. He wanted Elliot’s love, for him to see him as his father, his true father, but he was too cruel and harsh to ever gain his trust or affection. Tyrell, however, seemed to disregard this completely. He barged into Robot’s life, and into his movement, and took what he wanted, showed off his most vulnerable of emotions to him without any shame. It was unusual. It didn’t set off that usual alarm bell in Robot’s mind, the one that leans into hard cynicism. He could’ve accused Tyrell of being a psychopath attempting to manipulate him, but he didn’t. There was some type of uncanny connection between them — as Tyrell described — and he couldn’t deny it, and he felt as if Tyrell was being genuine.He heard Tyrell’s voice falter, fumbling on words he just couldn’t quite get out. Robot’s reaction must have left a nasty stain on his psyche, that bitter slap of rejection striking Tyrell once again.“It’s still you, right?”As expected. Robot knew he would start a conversation about this. This was his least favourite topic. It’s awkwardly embarrassing, because when you have to explain to someone that you are in fact, multiple people who fight over control of one body, you sound like someone who’s had a bit too much to drink while watching Fight Club. Robot always found it easier to just pretend to be Elliot, it helped him serve his purpose effectively, you have to keep your weapon concealed until you need it, and to threaten it before use. If people know what that weapon is, they’ll find a way to prepare against it.Unfortunately, Robot had to answer to this cry, for the sake of Stage Two.“Yes, It’s me.” He turned around, stating with confidence. Their eyes locked together, Tyrell’s shining from the tears in the dingy basement light. Robot’s were too dry for comfort and bloodshot, too busy wasting his night away working. It was the only time he could take back control.“Why didn’t you tell me, Elliot?” He interrogated, Robot feeling himself hardened up, his natural instinct to questions like this. Vulnerability never means anything good. When you tell someone that their security system has a vulnerability, you know that hackers can get in and exploit that. So why do we value it within relationships? Most relationships are built on the ability to exploit the other for all sorts of needs. Many men marry a feeble, submissive woman so that they can show their ‘love’ through doing chores, absent mothers and fathers raise their oldest child to become a parental figure that they were too neglectful to ever become, Robot used Tyrell in order to keep the plan protected from Elliot’s meddling. However, there was an unfortunate feeling burning at the back of Robot’s mind:He still trusted Tyrell.“I want to understand you please.” Tyrell insisted, hands once again travelling to Robot’s arm, only this time to be met with reluctant acceptance from the receiver. Perhaps it would be smart to let Tyrell in. He needed an anchor to the real world, it was difficult to make any impact when he spun so out of control, and his chance was here, again, someone who was willing to be exploited and used as a tool, in exchange for one thing, vulnerability. It was a hard bargain; there was a lot on the line for Robot, but he was sure Tyrell would have no use for the things he would learn about him. Would it be so scary to let Tyrell in? His hands were soft, and warm through the fabric of Elliot’s hoodie, melting brilliantly into the thin frame of Robot’s arm, like a sculpture, like they were made as one.“Angela tells me I never look away.” Robot informed, his eyes once again locked to Tyrell’s. His were bright blue, almost terrifying, but at the same time, mesmerising. His pupils enlarged whenever he stared at him, hiding away that beautiful blue colour; some may say that means love, but Robot knows that’s a load of crap, you can’t decipher that. Pupils also dilate when you’re scared.Tyrell’s eyebrows furrow, head tilting slightly to one side.“That’s how she tells the difference between us, apparently.” Robot didn’t understand that observation, he found himself looking away at things he didn’t want to acknowledge far too often. Him and Elliot are more alike than the latter would ever like to admit.There had been times in Elliot’s childhood where Robot had taken over for him. Usually situations that resulted in arguments with his abusive mother. Elliot never knew how to fight and fend for himself, so it was his job to keep him — as well as himself — safe and protected. Tyrell was asking for his weapon to be disabled, in order to take care of it, to replenish its bullets, to clean its barrel. Robot can’t seriously consider this.Was Tyrell his exploit?
There was a shift in Tyrell’s demeanour, he inched closer to Robot, his hair messy, falling over his face, a stark contrast from his original, serious businessman attitude, he looked closer to a puppy left out in the rain, his hair a little bit too greasy from the lack of access to a shower, his shirt buttons undone, his collar stretching out across his clavicle. This was the real him, the Tyrell that was hidden away behind the mask of corporate sponsorship and exorbitant, well-tailored suits that could pay Robot’s bills for at least half the year. His hands were gentle and methodical as he carefully unzipped his hoodie.Robot felt his breath hitch as his body went eerily still, both calm and panicked at the same time, his regular breathing pattern disturbed by unnatural pauses as Tyrell’s hands moved the edges of the hoodie to the side, revealing a black t-shirt. Tyrell’s face seemed relaxed, but his eyebrows were knit together, and his eyes were still glassy, it was as if he was paused, almost too still, even his undomesticated strands of hair were frozen. Robot felt a chill run through his spine as Tyrell peered at him, faintly nodding his head as if to ask for something.Surprisingly, Robot wasn’t too sure if he wanted to accept or reject this advance — whatever it may be. Tyrell was proposing some kind of meticulous intimacy, he was handling Robot as if he was a piece of antique china, it was foreign to him that he could be treated so well. Elliot had always struggled with his self-esteem, he would never feel as if he was deserving of any love or care, whenever Robot attempted to help or show him that he was worth it, he was shut out. He supposed he carried some of those feelings from Elliot, as well as his deep-seated fear of people finding out about his existence. He supposed it was a little too late for that last point to matter.Hands peeled away at Robot’s slightly bloodied shirt, revealing a bandaged bullet wound that Robot had chosen to neglect, the once white bandages now stained yellow, splotches of blood speckling around each fold, as if to mimic ornamentation.“You should change that.” Tyrell stated, now sniffling and gulping, leaning closer to analyse the wound, his fingers ghosting the place of impact. Tyrell’s face swirled up in disgust and despair, a look on his face that could only be described as a realisation of ‘I did that.’ Droplets rolled down his cheek at a quickening pace as he caressed the laceration, Robot’s body jerking up from the contact, and both of their faces scrunched up. It was almost as if Tyrell could feel his pain, like their bodies were connected somehow, by a force neither of them could explain.“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Tyrell choked out, the words getting stuck in his throat from the guilt.“It’s okay. Like I said, you did what I asked, didn’t you?” Robot recalled, attempting to relieve the stresses Tyrell felt from the gunshot wound. “You were doing what was necessary.”Once again, Tyrell’s mind went to Joanna. The crimes she had asked him to commit, the affairs he had to endure, people ruthlessly using him for sex and for business purposes. His wife had always pushed him to enjoy those sorts of things, and he had ended up getting accustomed to enjoying the power he felt from it; shooting Elliot was the complete antithesis of that. It was counterproductive, for one, Elliot seemed in more pain than he led on, Tyrell had caught him gently pinching his hoodie and moving it away from the injury because the friction had been causing him discomfort. If Elliot let him, he would kiss all the pain away.But just like Joanna, Elliot always felt cold, and distant. What was different between them, however, was the fact that Joanna’s was a mental barrier, and Elliot’s was a physical barrier, and he had just let Tyrell unravel it. He used a hoodie to hide himself away and keep himself protected, but he had just allowed Tyrell to strip away his protections as if they were nothing. Tyrell felt a little more at ease knowing that the injury he had inflicted didn’t propose a new barrier between the two, that — in some kind of twisted way — this was progress between them.Joanna had always thought progress wasn’t good enough. That it was a failure. Black or white. Winning or losing. That was all.“My wife said that about me. That I do what’s necessary.” Tyrell admitted, propping up the rough hem of Robot’s shirt to another fold, attempting to secure the cotton together, up and out of the way.“I know she did.”Tyrell felt his body go rigid. “What do you mean?”“I spoke to Joanna, she wanted me — well, ordered me — to find you. If you want me to be honest, she creeps me the fuck out, she had eyes that kept trying to stare into my soul. No offense, obviously.” Robot rambled, as he recollected the meet with Joanna, the way her eyes invaded him, as if she knew that she was speaking to more than just Elliot. In many ways, she and Tyrell were similar, both of them would do anything to get what they wanted.Tyrell, remarkably, took no offense to the passive-aggressive insult. His wife had already found a new man, kicked him out of the family for his failure to become E Corp’s next CTO. She had rarely shown him any sort of physical affection anyways. She would never face him, never let him hug her unless she was turned away. Their sex felt meaningless and clinical, their faces far apart, and even after, they slept with a gap large enough to fit a person between them, backs turned. He couldn’t recall the last time his wife had even started a kiss between them, she hadn’t for months. The last person Tyrell had kissed was Sharon. He could swear that he still felt her saliva on his lips, as if he was tainted, and that nobody would ever want to kiss him again.It was a surprise to him that Joanna had even thought about him while he was gone. He’d assumed from all the articles he had read while he was locked away that she had moved on. Maybe she had, and just wanted to know what Tyrell was up to. He was the most wanted man in the world, and yet he was kept hidden for months. She was most likely interested in the power that was keeping Tyrell put, wanting to hold that leash for herself. There was a lot she would put on the line for the sake of prestige, Tyrell was one. To Joanna, he was expendable.“Come on, what am I saying? You’re not taking offense anyways. Your wedding rings off, and I may be speaking out of turn but it doesn’t seem as if you two had a particularly happy separation.” Robot chuckled.No couple who split like this would be happy. Tyrell wasn’t sure if Elliot was trying to rub salt in the wound, or was attempting to show some sort of genuine care for him. There had been hints of heed from Elliot, he had named Stage 2 after the poem Tyrell had told him about, although maybe that was also a backhanded insult towards Tyrell’s resentment of his father. He knew that Elliot was extracting his revenge on E Corp because of the death of his father, but when he mentioned him, there seemed to be a look of disdain on his face.“She doesn’t matter now. I’m upset. But I made my choice long ago.” Tyrell explained, his eyes locked onto Elliot’s face, then his hair, wondering what it would be like to run his hands through it; probably thicker than Joanna’s, harder to push through, it required more force to reach to the other side.“And what was that choice?”Instantaneously, Tyrell felt his body gravitate towards Elliot’s, he shifted his chair forward, hearing the wooden legs uncomfortably scrape on the concrete floor. Tyrell was never very good with words, he liked to show his intimacy physically. Despite his wife’s demands, he never became very socially intelligent, he would rely on her for advice, for pursuing a higher paying job to sustain her lavish lifestyle. Consequently, he never developed an ability to vocalise his wants and needs.Steadily, Tyrell’s head leaned up against his shoulder, his hair strands on one side gently pushed up from the ends of his hair being caught in his hoodie, but still too lathered in old, dried up clay to relax on his forehead. Tyrell’s nose pointed towards his neck. His opposite hand leaned over to rest on Robot’s shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing it rhythmically. Tyrell’s body melted into Robot’s, as if they were fusing together, as if this was their natural state.Robot couldn’t bring himself to move, he held his breath, too afraid to look back at Tyrell’s piercing blue eyes. He had never been put in this position prior, Elliot had previously ventured, and had a few encounters with women that were more than platonic, but it was never him. Robot hadn’t had the best history with the idea of being touched in the first place, he was born to prevent that from happening. Most people putting his hands on him would chill him to the bone, and in response would get some kind of verbal or physical consequence.But not Tyrell. There was something oddly comforting about his shameless attempts at affection with him, he had felt a bit of pity towards Tyrell, and wanted to satiate his feelings. Despite Tyrell’s constant overstepping of his and Elliot’s personal space and boundaries, he had grown a soft spot for him. It felt nice to feel wanted, and selfishly, Robot craved that feeling more and more as of recently.“You” Tyrell shakily verbalised, as if he was scared too. Tyrell had lost all of his security over the last few months just to please Elliot, his job, his wife, his freedom. Robot didn’t want to imagine what it would be like being shoved around by Dark Army officers to do as they say or else, following their orders as if you were their pet. Robot had been aggravated enough when the cheap prick in the suit decided that it was a smart idea to threaten and order him around.Tyrell’s nails gently pressed into Robot’s shoulder as he shut his eyes, allowing himself to relax for the first time since the hack, his shoulders recoiling back to their normal position, his muscles letting go as Tyrell squished his nose into Elliot’s shoulder to smell him.
It was just another unusual predicament for Robot to handle. If Elliot takes control, he’ll be confused about Tyrell’s attachment becoming even more strengthened, he’ll start questioning, and the already damaged bond between himself and Elliot will be exacerbated; Elliot had already tried countless times to get rid of him.Tyrell was the only person who wanted him to stay, the only person who appreciated him, the only person he could trust, and Tyrell was willing to bear all his vulnerabilities without looking at Robot’s. All it would take is putting on a good poker face whenever Tyrell got close to him. It was hard though, when every time someone got close to him, he thought of Elliot’s father. He held those memories, where his own father had violated his trust, and his duty of care. It reminded Robot that he would never do the same to Elliot, but it also deterred him from ever getting close to anyone, subconsciously afraid of becoming vulnerable, and allowing himself to be violated.It was no surprise that Tyrell attempted to push his luck even further by rotating his head up, leaning in closer to Robot, looking at his eyes from the side, as if he was asking for permission, although for what, Robot didn’t know what for.Robot felt his whole body shake as Tyrell gently rested his lips on his neck, as if he was about to kiss him, his slightly chapped lips chafing against the soft skin of his neck, his lips pursed, so close to kissing his pain away–Frantically, Robot’s arms extended out as he moved his whole body away from Tyrell, almost standing up out of his seat, like a reflex. Robot hadn’t even thought about it, only seeing Tyrell’s dismal face when he looked back. Rejection. Again.Tyrell couldn’t hide how much that hurt him, he felt guilt for overstepping his boundaries, and making him flinch away from him, he felt his body go cold from the lack of contact. He felt his eyes water up, shutting them to allow the tears to trickle down his face, squeezing them shut so as to not see Elliot’s fear-stricken, widened eyes.“I’m sorry Elliot, I’m so sorry,” He blubbered, his own hands clasped together, angrily digging at his own hands for the pain he caused Elliot.“Are you scared of me–? Be honest, please,” Tyrell begged as Robot laggardly shuffled his whole body back onto the chair.Robot couldn’t bring himself to answer that. He had always told himself it’s better to display your anger than your fear, but Tyrell muddled his wires. He didn’t want that hug to end, and he revelled in the feeling of loyalty in a union, of feeling safe while in Tyrell’s arms. He felt the urge to apologise, but subjugated it, it was always better to resort to belligerence, or, at least stay silent.“I’m sorry that you’re scared– but why?” Tyrell raised the question. Tyrell was afraid of his father, afraid of becoming him, afraid of being a failure. His dad would scold him for not contributing to the farm, or questioning his unhealthy drinking habits, the bottles of empty vodka congregated around his armchair and desk. His dad allowed himself that loss of control through becoming intoxicated, but Tyrell could never allow himself to be lost to his own emotions like that, unable to provide..Robot was afraid of that union that Tyrell so heavily leaned on for his sense of self and usefulness, but, Robot also craved that partnership, it made him feel protected. Tyrell could aid him in purging all the poison that had infected him when it came to love, even if it couldn’t last, it wasn’t meant to.“Why do you look at me like that?” Robot blurted out.“Like what?”People had often told Tyrell that you could tell what he was feeling through his eyes, his face was malleable, and easily changed with his mood. He couldn’t help but display to Elliot the love he deserved – the love Tyrell wanted to give to him. Elliot was truly magnificent to Tyrell. It hurt to find out that the person he cared so deeply for and loved was in fact, not just one person at all. It was difficult to adjust to, he wasn’t even sure about which Elliot he was in love with, but his feelings still stuck.Robot tucked both of his arms into a fold, careful as to not hit the gunshot wound. His thoughts were scattered, still shaken up by his own visceral reaction to touch, but responded regardless, “You look at me like I’m the only person in the world, like I’m different, special.”To Tyrell, he was. From the moment he met Elliot, he knew he was special, knew what he was capable of. Initially, he wanted to have Elliot work at ECorp to manipulate him into helping Tyrell get the CTO position in order to please his wife’s demands, to get them a bigger home, like Joanna had wished for, so they wouldn’t stand out compared to the rest of the elites.Instead, he found himself more attracted to Elliot than ever, he was divine, he was intelligent, and he was unfulfilled, the perfect exploit to crawl under Elliot’s skin, to morph himself into Elliot, he needed to fuel Elliot’s desire for destroying capitalism, even if it meant leaving his former family behind. It was easy after Tyrell heard about the divorce, but he had made his choice even before then. There was a special place for Joanna and their son, but they weren’t the recipients of his love anymore, her orders for control didn’t matter to him anymore.Not when Elliot could give that all to him, could control the world all through a computer, meticulously typing code out on a keyboard that had the ability to bankrupts banks and blow up buildings. Elliot – whatever one that may be – may be the one to argue that it was those at the top who had the most control, the ones who play god without permission, but, in reality, Elliot was truly the one pressing the button. He was above human hierarchy, perhaps that was the reason Tyrell was so drawn to him.Coding was something that Tyrell had learnt from a young age, he was fluent, not as skilled as Elliot but close enough, in many coding languages. The social code that Joanna urged him to learn was a lot different. When you enter code, you already know what the response will be to it, it’s memorisation, all about matching up the response to the action. Socialisation required Tyrell to completely subvert his programming, only knowing the action without the response, and that uncertainty frightened him.Tyrell was fatigued by the constant chasing, having to sell his body and dignity away for a job, or a pay rise. He had never realised it, but his eyes were looking for someone new to replace her with for a while, but nobody connected with him like Elliot did. Elliot would allow Tyrell to become pure again, to forget about his past life with his wife, to disobey the hierarchy that Joanna was born up into. She never had to work for her wealth, but Tyrell had to work for everything he had in life. Now, it was his chance to topple that tower.“You are special.” Tyrell stated, almost as if it was fact. Perhaps it was to him. Robot squinted his eyes as if he was attempting to look further into his point, only to find nothing, and end in confusion.Tyrell continued rambling, “You know, many religious prophets admitted to hearing voices in their heads.” He pressed his lips together to give a small smile to Robot, as if to tell him that his condition was okay, and did make him more special. Robot didn’t buy into any of that. He actively criticised and despised the bible, they were just tools used to divide and conquer, to turn people against each other, A singular book should never dictate your entire morality and being. Most of its followers were too idle to even bother to read it regardless.Robot supposed Tyrell was conditioned too, but it didn’t seem that way. Religious people would look twice at the nonsense he spouted at the arcade. He was not something to be worshipped, but Tyrell took it upon himself to get on his knees and pray with a gun against his head, to ridicule himself to gain Robot’s love, as if Elliot had become his own personal religion, and he confirmed this:“and you’re the only God in the world.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Robot’s midnight plans began to leave traces on Elliot’s face. His dark circles had been fully lodged into his face, like the excess fat had been scooped out with a spoon, or sucked up a syringe. His already pale skin was turning grey, losing all the colour that he had when he was a kid. Angela felt cruel, guilty, and a little responsible for his worsening health, but she had always valued her family above all else. Whiterose would help Elliot get better when the time was right, when they could live together in a better place, a new world.Angela leaned back against the brick wall of the Red Wheelbarrow’s basement, gazing at Tyrell and Elliot – well, Tyrell and Mr. Robot – working. Robot was focused, his head barely moving as his eyes darted up and down the screen, observing the code written to allow the batteries to emit hydrogen gas, correcting any mistakes and shortening any code that he could to make the process as efficient as possible. Tyrell leaned over him, his hand ghosting Elliot’s lower thigh, mousy brown hair falling over his bright blue eyes as he gazed not at the code, but at Elliot’s face, examining his poor condition, his hollowed out cheekbones and furrowed eyebrows.“Elliot, what’s wrong? You look hurt.” Tyrell inquired, his hands travelling up to clutch Elliot’s shoulder, wanting to comfort him despite the lack of reciprocation.This one-sided love never annoyed Angela as much as it hurt her to see. She knew Elliot had needed some sort of love in his life, Mr. Robot too, but he’d always been the one to push against that. Intimacy requires vulnerability, and Mr. Robot was hesitant to even say his own name, let alone give up the wall he had built around himself – and around Elliot – for protection.Protection was Robot’s reason for existence, after all. Tyrell was just a temptation away from his duties, a beautiful flower designed to make him preoccupied, deluding him with the idea of gods and his absolute obsession with submission. Tyrell was a loyal soldier who would follow Robot into battle, obey his every command. He wasn’t vital to the mission, but that level of loyalty is rare, and Robot wouldn’t dare to let that go.Perhaps it was more than just loyalty. Robot knew Tyrell desired his attention, which he (at first) reluctantly handed over. Their relationship was purely transactional. ‘You get my attention, and, in return, you don’t question me; you stay loyal to me no matter what’. It was perfect, too perfect, to the point Robot began to crave this sick feeling of being seen by someone else. Angela and Darlene both have an adverse reaction to him, like he was the rotten, toxic, evil version of Elliot. Tyrell, on the other hand, had never got to learn the difference.When Elliot’s dull eyes met his bright ones, he only saw what he knew. The Elliot that had held him at gunpoint, the one he confessed to loving. That was his Elliot. In reality, he was following Mr. Robot, but nobody had the courage to tell him otherwise. Irving and the Dark Army were oblivious to Elliot’s condition, despite the obvious signs, and Angela wouldn’t dare to utter Robot’s name to anyone, let alone to Tyrell.It was a strange feeling to Robot. Being loved but not seen.Tyrell’s breath wandered over his too-pale skin, the warmth bringing Robot back to consciousness. Elliot was constantly attempting to take control and fight back, to the point that it had become tiring, and Robot felt that disgusting feeling of weakness overcome him. He had become reliant on Tyrell to feel real, when everyone else rejects you, talks to you as if you’re less than human, you cling to the only unsevered connection left.Robot knew what pot that was stirring, Tyrell’s not-so-platonic feelings were evident to everyone, he was obsessed with Elliot – Robot, even – and was too dismal and uncontrolled to hide it anymore. For the first time in Tyrell’s life, he had felt free to express himself. Joanna was no longer there to keep him at bay, and the man beside him very obviously benefited from the attention that came from Tyrell’s shameless displays. Someone liked, or at least pitied, Tyrell for who he truly was – although, Tyrell didn’t know if there was anything truly there.Robot had seen Tyrell at his darkest moment. Tyrell was in a fugue state, in complete hysteria, controlled by a delusion that the two were gods, orchestrating a new world. Robot thought that description never quite fit, some delusion between Christian Fascism and the illusion of an Übermensch, neither of which Robot would ever want to play into. He couldn’t help but pity Tyrell, and find his loyalty fascinating, the way he got on his knees in front of his gun like a dog being euthanized, the way he pulled Robot into a hug, the warmth made him feel safe.That same warmth was felt in Tyrell’s breath, the two a bit too close for comfort, wanting to pull away, but also towards each other, oscillating between dependency and rejection. Robot felt his body instinctively move to rest his forehead on Tyrell’s shoulder, grasping the back of his neck, feeling the plush pale skin against his rough hands, almost as if Tyrell had never been carressed there, kept perfectly preserved, much like the rest of his appearance, although Tyrell had some new wear and tear on his hands from his time hidden away by the Dark Army, systematically chopping logs for hours at a time.Tyrell responded by mimicking the hand gesture, his breath hitching from the contact, the way Elliot’s hair stuck up to tickle his face, the way Elliot’s breaths were heavy, with each heave, his back raised, the hood of his jacket following suit. Tyrell thought about the last time Joanna had been inclined to hold him like this. It must have been at least a couple of years since they had shared a moment this intimate.It felt taboo to say anything, to question Elliot for the display of affection. Angela’s eagle eyes were peering at them from the corner of the room, their love under surveillance at all times. Tyrell was more used to that. Irving took the time to question what Tyrell had really felt for Elliot. It was obvious that it was love, and that Irving knew, but he still struggled to wretch the word out of himself. He knew it would be better off as subtext.Alas, the discussions between Irving and Tyrell continued. Tyrell confesses, with a bottle of vodka locked in place in his hand, that he did desire to lay against Elliot at night, to massage his tense shoulders and make the pain go away, to scare Elliot’s monsters away. Elliot always seemed scared.Tyrell could’ve sworn Elliot had stretched his hand over his back, rubbing the ridges of his spine with each finger, his lips gently moving against Tyrell’s dress shirt, warping the fabric as he counted each time he felt his finger drop. Eyes squeezed shut as if he was testing his senses, to check if he was real.The last time he had checked, he ended up with a bullet hole in his stomach. Tyrell wondered if the ache matched the ache in his heart for being the perpetrator. Elliot seemed to reject any consultation about the event, accepting it as a necessary pain for his revolution. It was clear he was in pain now, hand clutching at the gauze, eyes squeezed together despite already being hidden from the light, the small whimpers that rebelliously ripped from his vocal cords whenever he adjusted himself in his chair.Tyrell tilted his head downward, mouth travelling against his scalp, pushing apart the thick, black hair to gently kiss the untouched skin there. If Elliot was Joanna, he would ridicule him for showing affection in front of someone else. She usually brushed Tyrell’s cheek, or held his forearm but nothing this intimate, not even behind closed doors.He wondered what Angela thought of him. She had told him she loved Elliot too, but she seemed to be perfectly okay with the small peck Tyrell just gave to him; even more than Elliot himself, who had frozen at the touch.Angela knew this was the other Elliot, the one that never looked away, the one that kept a stiff upper lip, the one that kept the distance. It was unlike him to be so close to anyone, unless it was to intimidate. Sometimes, Angela would forget that Mr. Robot had feelings too, he never bothered or cared to show that he did, or perhaps he kept his emotions veiled for another reason – to strengthen his direction and control over the project.Stage 2 was imminent, but Elliot’s body was in pain. No matter how hard Robot attempted to endure the pain radiating from the wound, both Angela and Tyrell could feel the atmosphere shifting whenever Elliot’s face scrunched up in pain, or held back a yelp whenever the wound had scraped his own shirt.“Elliot? Are you okay?” Tyrell inquires, talking gently into his ear, and Robot feels that reflex to respond to him.“Yeah.”“Is that the truth?”Robot couldn’t recall the last time he had told the truth to someone. He was a serial liar, he had lied to Elliot about Tyrell’s whereabouts because he couldn’t trust him, but now that he looks back and reviews that train of thought, it only ever had broken gears. He was afraid to admit to himself, to Elliot, that the reason why he hid Tyrell was more about his self-satisfaction of not being denied his humanity, being seen, and having someone who will provide you an unbreakable bond of trust.He could’ve convinced Elliot to go ahead with Stage Two, he didn’t want anyone to die in those explosions, you can’t plan evacuations with code regardless, he could’ve saved himself the trouble, but he didn’t. Now, Elliot was working against them, all because of a prick in an all-too-expensive suit.Slipping like this was out of the ordinary for Robot, allowing his real emotions to seep through chaperoned danger and uncertainty. He knew Tyrell would not take advantage of him, but the stern, stiff girl in the corner may take her shot of using his connection to Tyrell against him, if not the Dark Army men keeping him hostage. Robot losing his grip on his duties meant falling down a hole that he’d be unable to scale himself out of.He lifted his head up, Tyrell’s hands pushed away by the manoeuvre, his icy blue eyes locking with Robot’s as he managed to gulp out an austre, “I have to go,” before pulling out a packet of tobacco and a lighter, placing them on the grimy table.Methodically, Robot opened the packet, pulling out another box with some filter tips and rolling paper shoved inside. Elliot didn’t smoke often, if at all, so there were no pre-made cigarettes to smoke. Robot had to make one on command.He began by taking a translucent, off-white rolling paper and placing it gently on the table, before loading a generous amount of tobacco into the crevice of the paper by pinching it out of the packet and laying it as he moved his hand from left to right – as if he was writing. Then, he grabbed a filter tip, shoving the tobacco back to place it on the end, before rolling it up tight, and licking the paper to glue it all together. Tyrell watched in near silence, only the sound of him sniffling echoing in the room.Neither Angela nor Robot had taken the time to analyse Tyrell’s living conditions. It reeked of damp, the shelves in the basement caked with dust, despite it being a new addition to the restaurant. The walls were clean, although black mould littered the corner (between where the wall and the ceiling) above the bed. There was a thin mattress negligently tossed onto an even thinner metal frame, that probably struggled to stand Tyrell’s weight, and the mattress cover was too small, wrinkled, and was so discoloured it looked as if someone had dipped it into coffee. There was no blanket, but Tyrell’s lavish blazer hung gracefully on the post beside the malformed pillow, most likely used as a replacement.As Robot looked around, he felt a pang of guilt for leaving Tyrell here. His mattress may be situated on the floor, but at least he slept with a clean blanket tucked around him, on a clean bed, Tyrell completely lacked that luxury, but he didn’t complain. It was probably not the first time Tyrell had to sleep in a not-so-perfect house; he was most likely one of the lucky few who got to marry into wealth, build himself up off of the reputation of his wife. Robot wonders whether it would be a wise idea to bring him a blanket for his empty bed, he also wonders how it would feel to be the blanket, but ignores the hypothetical entirely.Tenderly, Tyrell grabbed the cigarette, pushing it behind Robot’s ear.“It’s late, you should get some rest,” Tyrell stressed, his hand running down from his jaw to his collarbone, following a path to his shoulder, which Tyrell then mellowly squeezed.Unusually, Tyrell was the first to break contact, turning away and covering his mouth to yawn, it had gone half 1 by this point, and all three of them had droopy eyes, ready to call it a night. Robot knew that didn’t mean a good night's sleep for him, but at least his insomnia made it possible to stay up this late for their project.The trains and buses – unfortunately – will be packed with drug addicts and alcoholics by this point, and Angela and Robot will have to awkwardly look away to avoid any conflict. The noise some of these people can create alone could wake Robot up almost instantly.Robot satisfied Tyrell’s demand with a nod, standing up and walking towards the exit, tilting his head at Angela to signal to her to follow. She unfolds her arms, picks herself up off of the wall, and shiftly walks behind Robot, flat shoes clacking against the concrete floor, as Tyrell watches, half asleep, tears forming in his eyes as he’s left, once again, on his own.There wasn’t much competition between Angela and Tyrell. They both loved Elliot, but in different ways. Tyrell wanted to consume Elliot, Robot, it was all the same to him. He wanted to make him feel loved and accepted, and Angela wanted that for Elliot too, but she didn’t mind who gave that love to him. She was okay with Tyrell, she was okay with never getting to be with Elliot. That kiss between her and him, it had felt so wrong, but she had desired it for so long that none of that mattered anymore.She wondered what it would be like to kiss Mr. Robot, although she knew she’d never be permitted to, she wondered if he would kiss differently, incessantly running his tongue up and down the top row of her teeth like he was playing piano. Although, she didn’t feel any attraction towards him. When she looked at his face from a distance, she saw Elliot, but when he talked or moved, it was clear that she was talking to a stranger.Robot lit his cigarette as soon as they had exited the dingy basement, holding his hand over his mouth to salvage the last few flames that his overused lighter could bear to ignite.A puff of smoke shot out the end as Robot chuckled, Angela stiffy walking beside him, as if they barely knew each other.“This is for my mother, and Elliot’s father, I hope you know that.” She introjected the silence between them. Robot leaned against the bus stop pole, holding the smoke in his mouth just a bit too long, condensing it into a straight line when he unpursed his lips. He didn’t want to think about that monster. His father.He had never thought to tell anyone what happened to him as a child. His mother blamed him for jumping out of the window. As a child, she seemed too devoid of empathy to ever trust with such an event. Robot was scared of her, the tyrant of the house, and when the monster bit the dust, she became the centre of Robot’s vitriol.Robot despised himself for even thinking of them as his parents. When his father was dying in the hospital, he ran his fingers gently up Elliot’s hoodie in a state of delirium. Robot was too paralysed by the peril, he felt his feet sink into the unfriendly floor of the ward. He had begged his son for a cuddle, to huddle into bed beside him, but Robot didn’t want to know what would go on under the sanitised white sheets. He croaked out an “I love you son”, before he closed his eyes for the final time, and Robot felt his face morph into that of a monsters.
There were a few moments that Angela could recall of a barking, disobedient Elliot, one that acted very much like the man beside her, but it felt too personal to ask, like she was prying into Elliot’s psyche. She had already gone behind Elliot’s back, and although she had learnt from Whiterose to hide it, she did feel a sense of dread about hiding her reasoning from Elliot; but it would all be forgiven when his father was here to guide him once again.Robot scoffed at her remark, smoke leaking from his teeth. “I could’ve guessed that, sweetheart.”“You speak to me like you know me.”Robot reminisces about a young Angela, hair parted in the middle and pinned back by a headband, “I know you better than you think.”Unusually, Robot told the truth. He hid many things from Elliot, one of which being the time of his creation, because Elliot knew that they shared separate memories. He had to soothe his impulses, hesistate about his every word, to keep Elliot at bay, to keep him from locking him out of control. He wasn’t born to die, and Elliot struggled to comprehend that.The bus slowed to a halt, and Robot twisted the end of his cigarette against the pole, dropping it carelessly onto the floor. Nobody was there to clean the streets anymore anyways. Angela pulled her cardigan across her chest, blocking out the code as they both got onto the bus, using their dreaded E Coin to pay for the journey.The bus was surprisingly clean at a first glance, although a junkie was asleep in the back for decoration. On further inspection, the seats were dusty and dirty, covered up by the shiny surface of the plastic seats. The windows collected dirt, the window on the right be considerably more cloudy, and littered with etches and spritzes of graffiti.They both sat down, Angela cramming herself against the window, and Robot using the pole to swing himself dramatically down onto the seat. He spread his legs out and intertwined his arms, yawning so wide his jaw clicked, before looking back at Angela so as to not fall asleep. He caught her looking at him like she looks at Elliot, half lidded eyes and slightly parted lips – like she’s in love.“Is that your plan, really?” Robot derided. “You claim you see us as different, but you still look at me the same way you look at him. Don’t tell me your plan is to try and seduce me like I share any feelings for you, and I would never do that to him.”“Your feelings are for Tyrell instead, no?” Angela retorted, eyes not leaving his sunken face.Lamentably, Robot couldn’t fully deny that accusation, he had grown soft on Tyrell, found himself caring about his well being far more than he originally should have. He even searched for Tyrell in prison, desperately cutting out sections of newspaper of him and the manhunt, piecing them together whenever he had the chance to be alone, so there would be no Elliot to stop him, no Elliot to probe into his investigation; he would be usurping all the information Robot found for his own purposes, which would be stopping the hack.The feelings Robot had were far from romantic, he wouldn’t allow himself to indulge in that.
“Not like that. Dark Army is the one keeping him on, if I was the one making the decisions he’d be out of here–”“You don’t want that.” Angela retorted, her glassy, large hollow eyes staring into his soul, suddenly devoid of all emotion, detached from her attraction to Elliot. It was as if she was possessed, she wasn’t acting like herself regardless, Angela a couple months ago would never be in support of this movement; Robot wasn’t even completely sure how she had managed to grab a piece of the Dark Army and fsociety pie. He didn’t know what side she was on, though. He didn’t want to know.Angela cleared her throat with an indistinct cough, before continuing, “The Dark Army wants this done by mid-September, at the latest.” She looks away, a hint of aggression in her voice as she scoffs at him, stuttering out, “And you want to… indulge Tyrell’s love for you? We don’t have time for that.”He couldn’t deny that.He hated himself for not being able to deny that. He hated Angela for being able to push her love for Elliot aside. He hated that he could do that to Elliot too, but not to Tyrell. He locked his fingers together, his thumbs tussling as he felt an anger inside of him build up. He hated being accused, his whole life, he was blamed. For his father’s actions – his mother would ridicule and yell at him for ruining the family. She thinks it’s because he hid his father’s cancer diagnosis. For Elliot’s actions – he’d always take control to bear the consequences. Even now, to finish a revolution that he started, while Elliot blamed him and alleged him of being evil for doing so. For Tyrell – even though he couldn’t admit it, he blamed Robot for hurting Elliot.The bus shook the two of them – the smooth, frictionless seats of the bus didn’t help – and they almost bumped each other's heads as the driver raced over a speedbump. The rowdy driving seemed to end the conversation. However, Robot couldn’t help but worry for Angela, too afraid to ask her what was really going on. Not for the sake of their relationship, but for hers and Elliot’s.More and more lately, Angela had seemed more and more dishevelled, swapping out tight high ponytails and perfect makeup with smudged mascara running down her cheeks and unbrushed hair that fell in front of her face. He knew this wasn't the Angela him and Elliot knew when they were younger, she was more sinister, indoctrinated into a movement she shouldn’t have been a part of in the first place. Did she know what they were fighting for?Robot needed to stop staring, the more he looked at her, the more he felt himself slip away, and Elliot’s presence strengthened. He brought his mind back to Tyrell, his hands scouring his body, pulling him in so Robot could smell him, trapped in his embrace, yet safe in it. Tyrell was his anchor, and Angela would never understand how useful that was. She was never meant to know of Robot, and yet Robot didn’t know what she was capable of, what she could use. A chill rushed up his spine.It was Robot’s stop next, he thinks – he could never recollect anything anymore – and he clutches the top of the seat in front of him to lift his body up, his eyelids heavy, scrunched up from the glaring lights of the bus, so bright they could burst; far different from the brownouts the nation had been experiencing. Tyrell would believe that the all-too-bright light was a sign of God, that he had faith in their project, that he had faith in those he had chosen to lead his revolution. He had learnt that from his father. Robot learnt not to steal what didn’t belong to you. His father was a hypocrite.The bus was silent for the next minute, Robot holding onto each pole and seat as he guided himself groggily to the open door of the bus, finally being able to see again. He stopped scrunching his eyes, watching the bright bus drive away. Elliot’s presence had gone with it, and Robot enjoyed a lonely walk back home, his eyes flickering past each streetlamp, some brighter, some duller, but all the same purpose.His trainers clopped up the stairs as his nose was greeted by the regular smell of weed and piss, scrambling in each of his pockets to look for his keys, eventually feeling the cold metal brush his sweaty fingers. The fingers that weren’t his, the hands that weren’t his, the body that wasn’t his – but he had to take care of it either way.It took Robot a couple of tries to get the door open, too tired to have the hand-eye coordination to turn the key the right way, or to not turn it too far, he always forgot how strange the lock was. There was no point fixing it, however, it still works. Flipper was curled up in the corner of his bed, rested on one of the pillows, fast asleep. “Thank god you didn’t shit.” he mumbled under his breath.After he took his shoes and jeans off, he wandered to the edge of the bed, spotting the bathroom door ajar. Through the gap, Robot could see a pale face staring back at him, wide blue eyes with dark caverns for eyebags, a face he knew, but not as his own. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like for someone to see him for what he really looked like, who he truly was.He pulled the cold covers over himself, his head facing the leg of his chair. He thinks of his father, then Tyrell, then the red wheelbarrow, glazed with rainwater, beside the white chickens.Then, nothing.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mr. Robot hates that Tyrell has become something to look forward to.Feeling his breath gently travel from his cheek to his clavicle, making Robot’s heart beat through his ribs, spilling out the sides, bearing himself shamefully. His wound even ached for Tyrell’s soft fingers to press gently against it, to help reduce the pain. It made his stomach churn in disgust. Love. Since when did he ever believe in that?It was rare for him to feel such a positive emotion – although, longing isn’t such a positive after all. The yearning was killing him, and it was difficult to hide from a prying Elliot. The feeling was so strong, and overwhelming, just like Tyrell’s hands on him, just like how he hugged him at the arcade, the safety he felt – like a bodyguard promising to protect him no matter what – when Tyrell had confessed his love. It was hard to forget, or to ignore. It had been the first time in Robot’s life that he craved to be held.He’d always rejected his father, and his mother eventually fell to the same treatment the moment she attempted to blame Elliot for the death of her husband. When Robot took control, he’d get into fights with her, disobeying her, contending with her until he stormed to his room in a fit of rage, the wooden floorboards creaking blaringly as he attempted to hold back spilling tears.Ever since then, there had been an invisible pressure to be the best, to know, to be certain that they’d never be hurt ever again. He’d kept his promise for almost a decade, and a little sister heard of his freshly eighteen year old brother running away to disappear off into the big city.It was Robot’s idea, he was sure nobody had known that, though. He felt guilty for leaving Darlene behind with their mother, but that wasn’t his duty. Even thinking that meant Robot never had the maturity to live on his own, and for many months, he had been in constant control, just scraping by on the streets until he bargained himself a small apartment deep in the south of the Bronx. It barely had clean, running water, but it was better than fearing a harsh, formidable mother and her unnerving hand.His only experience of any positive affection had come from Darlene, she loved Elliot, but whenever Robot had the chance to speak to her they had never gotten along. They were both opinionated and cocky. Darlene had thought that Elliot was acting strange everytime Robot had the chance to engage in a peaceful conversation with her, like she could sense another entity. Robot always felt exposed around her, even more now that she was certain of his existence.The duvet was still smothering Robot’s body, covering him up from the lack of heating in the apartment. Autumn had rolled around fast, and the temperatures had plummeted, but they were in so little of the time that it wasn’t cost efficient to use the heating anymore. So the few hours of sleep that they were able to get each day is severely limited by the poor quality; the cold making it exponentially more uncomfortable on the already hard mattress situated straight on the floor, and itchy, irritable bedsheets.Robot rolled himself out of bed, immediately feeling the cold air hit his bare chest. Elliot had wriggled out of his work clothes when he finished his shift, his jeans turned inside-out flung at the foot of the bed. his button-up shirt with a few buttons still done up lay beside his resting spot, his hoodie hugging the corner of his chair.The tap squeaked as Robot gripped the handle and spun it, water rushing out as the pressure was released. He grabbed an almost empty bottle of unbranded face wash and smothered it over his face, fingers digging into the missing fat under his cheekbones and eyes, skin stretched tightly over the crevices like saran wrap. None of them had ever been the sort to look after themselves, physical appearance served nothing at all to them, as long as they existed; Mr. Robot couldn’t help but look in the mirror and feel his stomach contort, it was a face he recognised, but it wasn’t his.He cupped his hands and filled them up with water, bending down to press the chilling liquid against his pale face, waking himself up. This was more than Robot usually did. He would only ever brush his teeth, before running a stick of deodorant under his arm for a couple of seconds. He’d become complaisant, disgustingly so, getting himself ready to see someone like it was his job to do so.It felt like some sort of twisted revenge on Elliot. He’d already explored with Angela, he’d loved her for decades, too shy to ever put a label on it. Tyrell was new, experimental, Robot could relish in his touch, the warmth of Tyrell’s body soldered together with his; but the word “love” ringing in his ears like tinnitus, coming back just to spite him with a rapier of culpability piercing through his chainmail armour. He wasn’t meant to love, or enjoy. He was cynical, harsh, and formidable. That’s what he was known for, that’s why he was created.There was still this underlying need, no matter what, that Robot needed someone to love him, someone to trust. The world was dangerous, full of monsters, dickheads and criminals, and Robot knew that from a young age. He knew this pseudo-affair with Tyrell could only ever go one way, but he despairingly hung onto the connection, a hand he could hold, the warmth he could provide to both his heart and body. He felt protected.He snatched Elliot’s hoodie off of his chair and left the cramped apartment, hands crammed into the pockets of his skinny jeans, shielding them from the cold.The train journey was the same as usual, mundane, quick, but Robot having to displace one of his hands to hold onto one of the grab poles made his heart palpitate with trepidation. Perhaps it would have been optimal to take a seat instead, but he was only going a few stops, and the frictionless vinyl of the subway seats, combined with the chilly autumn air, meant that the cold seats would give him more discomfort than safety.Seeing the Red Wheelbarrow restaurant again filled him with a twisted sense of relief. It was comical that they had named a whole restaurant after a poem their prize pig fugitive’s abusive father, but Robot couldn’t help but feel pity for him, perhaps he shouldn’t have nicknamed Stage Two after it, but it was meant to be more of a signal to apprise Tyrell that he had the same monster.Robot insisted that fathers were people who you never got to choose anyways, a speculative gamble. The cards that both Elliot and Tyrell were dealt were just a poor hand. Their fathers had become their monsters, the first face they ever saw.A father figure, rather, would be the more feasible option, with the best outcomes.It wasn’t expedient for anyone apart from Robot to endeavour on keeping Tyrell a part of fsociety by this point, Robot knew Whiterose had the (lack of) heart to splatter his brains if anyone called for it. He pontificated on Tyrell’s fixation on fate, that, maybe after all, some higher power kept him as a part of the mission, the Dark Army’s free will bent to turn a blind eye to Tyrell’s further participation in Stage Two. He wrote the legacy code, he wasn’t needed here anymore.Nevertheless, there was still some type of survival need of Robot’s to value that safety and love that Tyrell had so willingly offered to him. It was like a guilty pleasure, it felt dirty, but it also felt so right when Tyrell held him like he could sense the pain that he felt, able to comfort him with just his presence. Elliot was oblivious to all of it, the way Tyrell’s eyes flickered across his body, his bright blue eyes consuming him. Robot kept this interpretation hidden away not primarily because of an inherent selfish desire to keep a partner all to himself, but because there was a monster who used to look at them the same way.Mr. Robot entered the Red Wheelbarrow’s basement from the back entrance, flinging one of the wooden flaps outward and squeezing himself through. Someone had left the doorway open, and he could hear the faint clicks and claps of typing on a keyboard. He closed the trapdoor behind him, a gush of air rushing up his back as he did so.Tyrell had his chin on the desk, arms stretched out to a keyboard he pushed back, mindlessly pressing the keys and teary eyed; that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. His dirty blond hair split apart by the formation of grease, chunks of it fell flat across his face, curling up against his eyelashes. He sniffled, not bothering to wipe the tear streaks from his face.The footsteps didn’t startle Tyrell, he assumed it was another mysterious Dark Army guard or underpaid cargo worker passing through with the next box of documents or chicken wings. It was the same everyday. They never spoke to Tyrell, but he was sure a few of the latter workers had seen him, and just wondered how much hush money the Dark Army was utilising to keep them quiet. Maybe they didn’t bother, they owned the FBI anyway.“Tyrell–”That was all Robot had to say before Tyrell burst into tears, wretched sobs escaped from his mouth as he sunk his head down, almost as if he was trying to make himself seem smaller to avoid Robot’s gaze. Ultimately, it drew even more of his attention to Tyrell, who he hadn’t seen sob like this since he told him about his father’s favourite poem.Tyrell valued his appearance inordinately, to act and look beautiful was all part of his perfect image. He couldn’t stand to be truly seen, wanting the solace of a false image to conceal himself with. Joanna handed that new image to him, rich, clean and competitive, fighting for the best job, to be the youngest CTO, the most successful. She made it easy for him.Elliot was hard to read. He was extreme, intemperate, yet extremely difficult to read. He would either look away, avoiding gaze as if he was shielding frustration, or letting that out through intense eye contact. He was passive at times, when Tyrell has seen him for the first couple of times he certainly shrunk into himself, somehow becoming a passive listener in a two-person conversation; his social anxiety eating away at him. Mr. Robot was different.Vocal, shameless and highly political, a lot of the times he made other people in the room feel small, Tyrell being one of them. He could listen to him rant and ramble, or rather he could’ve. He just couldn’t separate the fact that Elliot was highly unstable, a fractured soul, with his political ideology. He had doubts that he was following the wrong thing, or rather the wrong person. He wasn’t even sure that Elliot cared for him.Tyrell was looking for something new, a new ideology, something freeing, away from his estranged wife. Elliot was his answer, his rebirth, his retribution, relied on him. No more ass-kissing executives and having sex with random figures under Joanna’s thumb. It was soulless, careless and inhumane of Tyrell to do those things. He thinks of Sharon Knowles’ face often, the pool of guilt that formed after he wiped his fingerprints off of her neck. He thinks of his father.There was a dripping sound of the taps in the distance, water whirring around the building like a high-speed train. Tyrell looked up at them with tear-ridden eyes. “I want to wash, but they won’t let me.” He admits, looking down at his hands, at the yellowed skin and calluses littering them. “I haven’t been this dirty since I lived with my father. On the farm.”That admission came as a shock to Mr. Robot. He always assumed that Tyrell was born into wealth, a member of the bourgeois, but he had truly worked himself up, through marriage specifically. He wondered if the pressure of the upper class world had driven him to love him.“My father didn’t like paying for water. I had limited shower time.” Tyrell continued, remembering the shack he used to call a home. His angry father, with a vodka bottle at his side, wearing a dirt-ridden, crumpled shirt. He never wanted to end up like him, not being clean was shameful to him. He didn’t want Elliot to see him as dirty. He loved him too much to let him down, but he supposed Elliot was not much cleaner than he is.“My face is greasy, I can feel my sweat – I probably stink I’m sorry–”“Tyrell.”He looked up at Mr. Robot, who had gently placed both of his hands on his shoulders, squeezing as if he was wringing the tears out of him.“You think I’m any better? I brushed my teeth for the first time in 3 days before I came here. You don’t have the amenities to wash, and that’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Robot reassured, grabbing the metal fold up chair that was propped up against the desk, unfolding it and sitting down beside him.If this was anyone else, Tyrell would’ve shifted away out of disgust for himself, but he didn’t move an inch as Elliot leaned over him to grab the keyboard, the fabric of his hoodie gliding over his sore knuckles.“Is Angela coming today?” Tyrell questioned, gently picking at the irritated skin at his fingers.Angela, in Mr. Robot’s eyes was not to be trusted. She’d become clinical, burrowing her feelings behind a thick layer of smudged mascara, her lips uptight, pulled straight by string so as to not show any real emotion. She wasn’t the Angela that he used to know. She wasn’t the Angela that Elliot used to know, and that, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, scared him to his core. He couldn’t sniff out any breadcrumbs when it came to allegiance, whether she was loyal to the cause or to whatever bonds she’d created with the Dark Army from when he had last seen her. She spoke to Irving like she was his minion, and that only made Robot more suspicious.“I don’t trust her.”“Angela?”“Yes, Angela – who did you think I was? –” Robot interrupted himself before he said something to Tyrell that would damage their trust too. It was integral to the operation that Tyrell was loyal to him, even if that meant feeding into deluded power fantasies of Gods, or whatever romantic feelings he may be harbouring.Close enough to give Tyrell the validation he needed, but enough distance to ensure no strings were attached; Robot felt those lines blur the more he felt that “something” between him and Tyrell, he was dangerous.Tyrell sniffled, pushing himself upright with one hand, then using both to fix the crumpled collar of his dress shirt. “I’m sorry, I might not work the best today.” He muttered out through a shaky breath, he shook his hands into fists as he tried to quell his feelings to a stop.Robot chuckled at the glaringly obvious statement, cracking his knuckles as he teased, “No shit.” Which didn’t evoke the reaction he expected, forgetting Tyrell’s sensitivity to everything. It frustrated him, but he still felt a pang of guilt as Tyrell couldn’t even muster up a response to him through his own flowing tears.It was hard for Tyrell not to take everything personally. He was shallow, he knew he was empty inside and that all he was to people was a hologram of expectations. He didn’t know how to control his tempestuous sadness, or his juvenile anger, or his overwhelming love; never emotionally maturing enough to be able to command his feelings like his fellow adults. it was his weakness, why Joanna had supposedly left him. He was weak, but with the hack, Joanna will see him as strong again, and Elliot will accept that their unbreakable bond was real, that they were stronger together.There was a strong urge for Tyrell to reach out to Elliot – whatever one that may be – at this moment. He was soothing, even despite the other’s apathy, he wanted validation, the feeling of his heart being calmed as he hugged Elliot back in the arcade. It was a feeling that he was refused throughout his childhood, one he had to fill through his own means, a perfect partner, a perfect father, a perfect worker.The situation needed salvaging, so Robot reached out to rub Tyrell’s arm up and down, reassuringly. “Relax, you know I didn’t mean it like that, just tryna cheer you up.” Tyrell mindlessly nodded, his shoulders falling back down, his fingers dispersing from his bunched up fists, the tension in his muscles dissipating, his pale eyes now locked onto Elliot; as if he was waiting for a command.Tyrell’s intense desire to be ordered was a complete phenomenon in the corporate world. It was unlike the usual covetous practice of climbing up the corporate ladder, a title giving you all the ego boost needed, where losing a soul, conscience and your emotion was necessary for survival. If you had any of these things, the capitalist exploitation you were complicit in would whip you mentally until there was nothing left.Unusually, Tyrell broke that model. He was so desperate to be led by someone more powerful, like a dog being strung and pulled on a leash. It fascinated Mr. Robot, he couldn’t deny it, that despite Tyrell’s facade of narcissism and entitlement, he was still so desperate to please, that he’d throw away his old desires to create new ones for someone else. Perhaps he was empty inside, people like Joanna and him were used to fill that emptiness, so that Tyrell would never have to think about who he truly was.Truthfully, Joanna likely has no interest in Tyrell by now; their relationship was entirely contingent on his ability to further himself within capitalist society, for economic and social success. As soon as he had wrapped his hands around Sharon Knowles – he never knew if he did this to please his wife or for his own fear of finding sexual satisfaction from her – he knew that it was over for them. Luckily for Tyrell, his eyes had already been wandering. A God, who could offer him something so much greater.Someone who would save him.Rebirth. A retribution. From hopeless, failed CTO to the maker of the revolution of a lifetime, and Elliot would be the one to lead them, to let them play God without permission, to take down the people that left Tyrell without a job, who made him grovel at Joanna’s feet for a chance to free himself from the shackles of his lower class. When they were done, class would no longer exist.“My father. He was always dirty.” Tyrell admitted, and a fuzzy memory replayed in Robot’s mind like a damaged tape, a poem, of sorts, then Tyrell in tears, talking about his father. He couldn’t make out the words, they were muffled as if he was underwater.The farm was always a memory that reappeared inexplicably in Tyrell’s head. His father, tossing him a plaid shirt far too big for him to aid him in herding the sheep in for the night, or to pull animal corpses he had captured from his weekly hunts in the woods. The blood would seep under his fingernails and between the cracks in his skin, and the wood-chopping would form hard, yellowed, ugly callouses atop the raised parts of his hand.They were ugly, far too ugly, and the other children looked at his hands oddly, and Tyrell recognised that there must be something wrong with them. He attempted to avoid his duties when a boy in his class asked why his hands were so disgusting, but his drunken father noticed, waving a bottle of vodka in Tyrell’s face, vociferously chucking emasculating insults at him, questioning his strength, questioning his existence. Shame was always the feeling that Tyrell’s father demanded of him. He was too agreeable, too afraid, too empty to say no. It wasn’t until he escaped that town until his hands were clean for the first time.Tyrell snivelled, wiping his nose with his sleeve cuff. “He put me in dirty clothes. Made me touch dead animals with my bare hands. He never washed, too drunk to do so, so my clothes and my house always stunk.”Tyrell’s upset shifted to frustration, “He disgusts me, but you already know that.”This validated Robot’s memory of his admission, realising that they had more of a connection then he had originally thought. He saw that same anger in Tyrell, who had been picking at a hangnail on his finger, it was red and sore. He had been trying to run away from the same horrible generational fate, to become what you hate.There was a strange pause for a moment, Tyrell stops fidgeting, eerily still, before turning his whole body towards Robot. “And you know what?” He inquires, “I still find myself wanting his affection and acceptance, for him to feel gratified with me. But I don't think he ever did. I didn’t see him past the age of 18. Joanna’s family berated me for that… but you don’t.”The comparison made Robot stutter, almost as if he wanted to let out a snarky comment to disprove Tyrell out of his own desire to protect the crazy facade that somehow, nothing could ever hurt him.It was a dangerous preposition, Robot constantly going as far as self-harm to prove to everyone, to himself, that he controlled his own fear. He gave Tyrell the gun to control Elliot, but also to prove to Elliot, selfishly, that he was able to follow through with his kamikaze. People were afraid of crazy, and he was so crazy he could follow that train of thought through, so that nobody could ever hurt him. Nobody had gotten close enough since his father.Robot mustered up the comment nonetheless: “Yeah? Well I’m not your wife.” He scoffed afterward, booting up the code on the PC. Tyrell may not have the will to work but they have six weeks. Time can’t be spent wasting away on meaningless smalltalk on past trauma.“Well, maybe I’d like you to be something like that. Not as in a woman–”“Didn’t I tell you not to mention that?” Robot snapped his head round, eyes widened, finger wagging at him like he was a pet, to be commanded. They both stared at each other uncomfortably, and Robot shifted his weight so that he leaned forward in an attempt to intimidate Tyrell, whose jaw tightened and eyes squinted to cover up tears in response.Robot slammed the table as he stood up, towering over him. “We have 6 weeks, Tyrell! And this is what you’re caught up on! We don’t have time to debate relationship status like updating your fuckin’ Facefuck profile is your biggest concern at the moment!”“I don’t care! I’m doing this for you, and… right now? I don’t even know who you are!” He shrieked in response, yelling back through broken sobs. He looked down dismally. There was a darker stain on his shirt from his tears. If his father was here, he would reprimand Tyrell for getting his shirt dirty, for being a crybaby, and he felt that same feeling now, like he was a boy again.They both went silent, and the only thing you could hear was the blustering flow of water through the visible rusted pipes above them. They both look up.The basement light hanging from a wire was flickering, from bright to dim, and it settled on a brightness so dim that both Tyrell and Robot were basking in a mist of thick shadow. There was just a faint outline of the light shining on the rim of Robot’s face, and the loose strands of hair of Tyrell’s slicked back hair from the screen between the both of them.“The light’s gone off.” Robot stated, knocking the palm of his hands on his thighs, looking around for some sort of cause.Tyrell wiped the inner corner of his teary eye with his index finger, “The monitor is on, though. Must be the lightbulb.”Robot shifted himself towards the screen monitor, grabbing it and pulling it towards the both of them, the keyboard placed now adequately to the side, they both leaned into the light, close enough that they could feel each other’s warm breath. Tyrell’s eyes popped from the blue light of the bright monitor, Robot could see that his eyes were still daubed with tears.Those tears then dripped down as Tyrell’s face bunched together like pulled fabric, letting out mewls and sobs. The light going out must have been the last straw, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, holding the sides of his head, avoiding Robot’s gaze for the first time since they met. He’d always found Elliot’s eyes beautiful, but presently, he’d want anything but seeing those eyes stare back at him.He couldn’t even stammer out an insult, or ask for him to look away, only letting out an embarrassingly guttural scream, before pulling himself back into the comforting darkness by crawling off his chair and carelessly, but slowly stomping towards the direction of the bed, each step made the worn-out soles of his feet hurt even more. He hadn’t taken off his shoes in over a day. It was painful to walk, he wondered what Joanna would think of him like this.Tired and bedraggled, Tyrell felt his mask of a perfect man slip. Ever since he found out about Elliot’s condition, he’d shamefully found himself questioning his loyalty, but without him? He’d have nothing, he’d have to succumb to the emptiness inside him, eternal loneliness. He wondered if that feeling was comforting for Elliot.He felt like a disfigured spring, stretched too far from all angles, overworked and overran with Whiterose’s deadlines for the project. He couldn’t even clean himself, at times he had to wait hours before he was given the chance to access the bathroom that the cleaning staff would lock after every shift, he was sure prison had more adequate conditions for human life than this, but he was starting to realise that the Dark Army couldn’t give a shit about him, and neither could Elliot.He felt his shin hit the metal frame of the Dark Army’s pathetic excuse of a bed – it was closer to a camping cot – and he let out a grumble from the pain rushing through his bone, too focused on that rush to realise that Robot had shifted the monitor towards him, then getting up, staggering through the room to look for him, following the faint glint of light bouncing off of Tyrell’s glossy hair, careful not to bump into him.Truthfully, Robot didn’t want to know why he was entertaining Tyrell’s pity party. He shouldn’t be, Tyrell had no other option at this point but to cooperate with him, practically owned by him and the Dark Army, but, somehow, Robot felt something driving him to help, a survival instinct, as if Tyrell was somehow needed in his life.Robot would never admit it but, perhaps he did need him, he trusted Tyrell, at first it was tactically beneficial for him to use Tyrell as a secret weapon against Elliot, practically premeditating their future battle for control, giving himself the upper hand. He was a safety measure, nothing more, nothing less.Now, he was more of a liability, he was no longer necessary, they had made very little progress today thanks to him, but when his eyes welled up, when he let out that pain-filled yelp, Robot felt the insatiable urge to protect him, the one that he has felt towards Elliot, but even then the reasons were different. He was family, this was something else. Perhaps this was what love felt like. Robot didn’t want to acknowledge that possibility.Hands stretched over Tyrell’s shoulders, gripping the skin under it, followed by the soft skin of a cheek rested against the small of his back. It calmed him almost immediately, feeling the touch of another human, even if it was through the cotton of his shirt. It was the first time Elliot had ever reciprocated touch, or love, of any kind, even through tears he found the strength to smile, teeth and all.“We still have light, they’ll come and fix it soon, see? Nothing to worry about.” Robot reassured, rotating his head so that his face was buried into the shirt.“Besides, you don’t smell as bad as you think.” He joked truthfully, letting go and gently commanding, “Sit down.”Gingerly, he stepped back to allow Tyrell the space to pivot to sit facing towards him, his tumultuous breathing gradally returning to its normal pace. As a child, Tyrell would have these moments of panic and uncontrolled emotion, but without anyone to calm him down. He would shout at the other children and his father until he stormed out and tried to run away from all the pain and hurt.Violence was the escape for that, he would bang his fists and head against the wall just so that the physical pain could distract him from the mental pain. If not, he would get into fights with his classmates, ripping at their clothing until it was as worn and battered as his. Even when he grew older, he still enjoyed the sadistic pleasure of feeling his fist come into contact with someone’s face. It was the only time he felt powerful, in control, independent.But, it felt better to let someone else take care of you, like a normal parent when a child gets sick. All humans desire nurture, and Tyrell speculated whether Elliot would let him repay the favour one day.“Just relax here, I’ll go work on the project, you can watch me.”Tyrell nodded, climbing into bed, laying down on his side, back facing the wall while staring up at Elliot, who tapped his hand before following the light of the screen like a map, scavenging around, groping in the dark until he felt the cold metal of the fold-up chair, pulling it to his back and sitting down. He couldn’t see Tyrell from here, he didn’t know that Tyrell found himself unable to look away, surveying Robot’s concentration on his duties. This was something that Tyrell could get used to.