Cyborg Noodle Novels & Stories

“Here, let me try, Kane says, lifting his friend to a sitting position, “Here, you have to drink this buddy.” I watch Finn take small sips as Loki hands me the fire poke, red hot from the fire. Kane gently puts Finn down and sighs, “This is going to hurt, but it’s our best chance,” he tells him as Loki begins to hold him down. Finn nods and I grab his hand, “Look at me,” I tell him. “Look into my eyes.” Finn nods, looking at me but as the poker, cauterizes his skin, he screams out in pain, losing consciousness.

She wished she could join in the meditation but she couldn't, knowing she wouldn't focus. She missed her mate a lot but she didn't want to miss him too much. He had gone out to fulfil his duties and she was happy he didn't stop because of her. She felt hungry and ran to the kitchen to prepare noodles. While preparing it, she shifted to the large fridge in the sitting room. She opened it and saw a lot of her favourite biscuits. She didn't hesitate to pick out some to taste since she hadn't gotten time to shop at her new home. She mulched on her snacks and waited for her noodles to cook.

The sarcasm was strong enough to punch him right in his guts with guilt. But before he could apologize or say something else, John continued. “What do you need help with? You know I'm down to help you with anything you need.” He sighed. “Thank you. My knowledge of the top hackers and coders had grown rusty. Can you give me full details of each of them?” “Is that why you called? Everyone knows Cyborg is the best in the industry, even if no one knows who they are. I've been trying to find who they are, but it seems futile.”

𓎢𓎠𓎟𖦁‎𓎟𓎠𓎡 An hour later, I was curled up on Jason’s couch, drowning in one of Zo’s oversized hoodies and a pair of leggings. Jason had ordered vegan noodles for me, my favorite, the kind with sesame oil and sautéed bok choy, the ones I used to beg him for during exam weeks. They sat on the coffee table in front of me, still warm. I held the chopsticks in my freshly bandaged hands, clumsily trying to stab at the noodles, but the pain in my palms made every movement awkward and stiff. Not that I had any will to eat. Jason had done his best, carefully cleaning the cuts and wrapping my hands in gauze. But no amount of comfort or antiseptic could fix the aching, hollow mess inside me.