My Girlfriend's Father Left Behind a Machine That's Tearing Our Worlds Apart

The morning light of Republic City, filtered through the wide glass panes of their penthouse apartment, was a soft, forgiving gold. It pooled on the polished floor and gleamed across the steel countertops where Korra was leaning, a mug of coffee held loosely in her hands. The quiet was a luxury, a rare and precious thing that she had come to associate entirely with Asami.

A soft rustle of silk, the scent of jasmine and clean linen, and then Asami’s arms were around her waist, her front pressed flush against Korra’s back. Asami’s chin rested on her shoulder, and Korra could feel the gentle puff of her breath against her neck.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Asami murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. Her hands slid from Korra’s waist, gliding up over the firm plane of her stomach, her long fingers tracing the defined lines of muscle beneath the soft cotton of Korra’s tank top.

Korra let her head fall back, her short dark hair brushing against Asami’s cheek. “Just thinking about the council meeting today. More debates about zoning for the new spirit wilds integration. Tenzin wants traditional gateways, Raiko wants… well, Raiko wants a monorail running through it.”

Asami’s lips curved into a smile against Korra’s skin. “Let me guess, you’d rather just air-scoot over everyone’s heads and tell them to figure it out.” Her fingers continued their exploration, moving higher, her thumbs brushing just under the curve of Korra’s breasts. Korra’s breath caught. A familiar heat began to build low in her belly, a current that had nothing to do with bending and everything to do with the woman holding her.

“Something like that,” Korra managed, her voice a little deeper than before. She turned in Asami’s embrace, setting her mug down on the counter with a soft clink. Now they were face to face, Asami’s dark green silk robe falling slightly open, revealing the smooth skin of her collarbone. “What about you? Big day at Future Industries?”

“Always,” Asami said, her gaze dropping to Korra’s lips. “Final diagnostic on the new power grid for the tech district. It’s supposed to be my masterpiece. Seamless, self-regulating… perfectly balanced.” Her hand came up to cup Korra’s jaw, her thumb stroking her cheek. “A bit like us.”

The word ‘balance’ hung in the air, charged with a different meaning. It wasn’t about politics or spirits; it was about the easy way their bodies fit together, the way Asami’s calm centered Korra’s fire. Korra closed the small space between them, her mouth finding Asami’s in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of coffee and the quiet morning. Asami sighed into it, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Korra’s neck, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, tongues meeting in a lazy, intimate dance. Korra’s hands found Asami’s hips, pulling her flush against the hard ridge of her own desire. A low sound escaped Asami’s throat, and she shifted, pressing herself more firmly into Korra.

The shrill, insistent ring of the telephone shattered the moment. It was loud, demanding, and utterly out of place in their sanctuary. They broke apart, breathing heavily, a flicker of annoyance in Korra’s eyes. Asami gave her a regretful smile and moved to answer it.

“Sato here… Mako? Slow down.” Asami’s posture straightened, the easy calm in her expression evaporating, replaced by sharp-edged focus. “What do you mean, crippled? The entire district? That’s impossible. My failsafes…” She listened, her face paling. “We’re on our way.”

Asami drove with a focused intensity that made the Satomobile feel like an extension of her own body, weaving through the panicked traffic with fluid precision. Korra sat beside her, her hands resting on her knees, her entire posture radiating a coiled readiness. The smell hit them first—the sharp, acrid scent of burnt wiring and ozone that stung the back of the throat. When they rounded the corner into the newly christened Innovation Plaza, the scene was worse than Mako’s frantic description had conveyed.

It was Asami’s vision of the future, twisted into a nightmare. Gleaming chrome towers were dark, their lights dead. Automated transport pods had crashed into one another, their doors jammed shut. And the mecha-tanks, the city’s new peacekeeping force designed by Asami herself, were haywire. One was spinning in a tight circle, its arms flailing uselessly. Another was repeatedly punching a hole into the side of a building. Sparks rained down from severed power conduits that snaked across the street like dead metal serpents. People were screaming, running, a tide of pure panic.

Korra was out of the car before it had fully stopped. “Get the civilians back! Clear the plaza!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the noise with the undeniable force of the Avatar. She stomped her foot, and a wall of solid earth erupted from the pavement, shielding a group of terrified pedestrians from a shower of high-voltage sparks. She moved with a fluid, powerful grace, a whirlwind of controlled elements. With a sweep of her arms, she sent a targeted gust of air that shorted out a sparking transformer, plunging one section of the street into an eerie, safer darkness.

Asami stood frozen for a single, stark second, her creation—her promise of a safer, more efficient city—in smoking ruins around her. The sight was a physical blow, a violation of the perfect logic and order she had built into every circuit. Then, the shock receded, replaced by a cold, sharp resolve. This wasn't just chaos; it was an equation she had to solve.

She pulled a diagnostic datapad from the car’s glove compartment, her movements swift and economical. Her green eyes, usually so warm, were now narrowed, scanning the destruction with the detached focus of a surgeon examining a wound. She ignored the panicked shouts and the crackle of electricity, her mind already sifting through terabytes of schematics stored in her memory. The primary grid, the secondary, the tertiary backups—all offline. The emergency breakers should have isolated the surge at its source, but they hadn't. It was as if the very laws of electrical engineering, laws she had mastered, had been rewritten. She moved towards a fried junction box, her fingers already flying across the screen of her datapad, initiating a full-spectrum energy scan. Something had bypassed everything. Something impossible. And she would find out what it was.

The quiet of the morning was a distant memory. Hours later, the apartment was dark save for the cool, blue-white glow of the holographic schematics hovering over the central table. Asami stood before them, her back rigid, her silhouette etched against the complex diagrams of her own ruined work. She had been standing there since they returned, sifting through endless streams of corrupted data, her jaw tight with a frustration that vibrated in the air.

Korra watched her from the couch, the plush cushions offering no comfort. An unsettling energy thrummed through her, a low-frequency disturbance that had been growing steadily since they left the plaza. It was a dissonant chord in the symphony of the city, a feeling that crawled under her skin and made it impossible to settle. It was more than just the stress of the day; it was a deep, spiritual wrongness.

“No,” Asami said aloud, her voice sharp enough to cut the silence. She swiped a hand through the air, dismissing one set of data only to pull up another. “No, that’s not right either.”

Korra rose and walked to her, her bare feet silent on the cool floor. She came to stand behind Asami, her hands landing gently on her tense shoulders, and began to knead the tight muscles there. Asami didn’t pull away; instead, she leaned back into the touch with a weary sigh, her head tipping back for a moment to rest against Korra’s collarbone.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Asami murmured, her eyes still locked on the pulsing light. “The overload didn’t cascade from a single point of failure. It happened everywhere, all at once. It bypassed every physical breaker and software protocol I designed.” She pointed a slender finger at a wildly fluctuating waveform displayed in the center of the projection. “Look at this. This is the energy signature from the surge.”

Korra leaned closer, her chin brushing the top of Asami’s head, her eyes tracing the jagged, unpredictable lines of light. The pattern felt chaotic, alien.

“My instruments are reading standard electromagnetic frequencies,” Asami explained, her voice low and intense. “But there’s another layer, something woven directly into it. It’s not technological. The scanners are flagging it as a form of bio-energy, but the signature… Korra, it’s almost identical to the readings I took from the Spirit World.”

As Korra stared at the glowing, corrupted data, the hum she’d been feeling all day sharpened into a clear, piercing note. It resonated in her bones, a feeling of deep violation. The agitation she sensed from the spirits wasn’t just a vague feeling of unrest; it was a direct reaction. This was the source.

“I can feel it,” Korra breathed, her hands stilling on Asami’s shoulders. “That’s it. That’s the feeling. It’s like a constant, grinding noise just on the edge of everything. The spirits aren’t just upset, Asami. They’re in pain.”

Asami turned then, her face pale in the blue light. The analytical focus in her eyes was gone, replaced by a dawning horror that mirrored Korra’s own. She reached up, her cool fingers covering Korra’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “So this wasn’t an attack on the power grid.”

“No,” Korra said, her voice grim. “This was an attack on the spirits.”