the main thing you like about moving here is that without your family breathing down your neck constantly, you can dress how you want. be who you want. it's nice. and you've met some people who are like you, which is really nice. one of them is named sandy, and you are currently sleeping on her couch, just while you find your footing and get a good apartment and a good job. that's the main thing you dislike about moving here. none of the hospitals recognize your degree. yet. so you're looking around for whatever jobs you can find, for the time being. right now you're getting ready to work your evening shift at this big big supermarket chain. you don't like it, it manages to be both boring and overwhelming, but it's money. just until you find something better. you're lacing up your boots when sandy comes barging through the door.
[Hey!!! How good are you at surgery?]
[what?? i'm pretty good, why?]
[Something went down at Stefan's bar, the one I brought you to the other day. One of the security guards got fucked up, I said I knew a doctor so he sent me to get you. Cmon let's go-] she grabs you by the wrist and starts dragging you towards the door. this is all moving very fast.
[wh- at least let me get my suture kit first! I don't know what I'm dealing with here.]
[Oh I don't either. That's probably smart.]
you grab as much stuff that you think you might need as you can carry and then you and her cram into her dinky little car and she hightails it to that one kinda seedy queer bar that she brought you to the day after she met you. you forgot that the owner's name was stefan, but you did meet him. very pretty man. the bar is actually really close to sandy's place, you get out of the car and she herds you through the main area for dance and drink and whatever and into a back room with the owner and a couple other people in it, and you don't care about them because there is a person sat against the wall who has lost a lot of blood, and an arm. the wound has been bandaged, tightly but clumsily, and when you unwrap it you can see that the cut was clumsy and messy as well, all the way through and just below the elbow, bone and nerve exposed and open. you have a bottle of saline solution that you use to wash out the wound quickly, you don't want to aggravate anything unnecessarily and you also don't want it to get infected, and then you- oh wait. before you stitch it closed, you ask the people in this room if the arm is salvageable. you are pointed to a plastic bag with a very mangled arm in it, enough tendons cut and nerves damaged that it won't be worth the time to try to reattach it. would take a lot of resources you don't have. alright, you suture up the sides of the wound so that it will be easier to work with as it heals, and then you bandage it, properly this time. you ask someone for a bottle of water or ginger ale or something, just to rehydrate the patient, and then you turn your attention back to them. they are shaky and sweaty, and making a valiant attempt to stare stoically into nothing. you don't want them to pass out on you quite yet, not without an IV. you ask them if they can hear you, and after a moment they nod their head. you ask for their name, and they don't answer that. someone- stefan, speaks up from behind you.
[This one doesn't talk on a good day, but they're good at security so I don't ask questions I don't need answers to. Not that kind of business, you know.]
huh. you have a lot of questions you could ask, but he just made it fairly clear he can't or won't answer all or maybe most of them, and also here's the ginger ale you requested. you press the cup into their good hand but they're a little too shaky to hold it themself. doesn't stop them from trying. you help where you can, and they don't seem to resent you for it.
[what even happened?]
[I said that already, you weren't listening.] his tone is only a bit accusatory, light hearted in total.
[i was busy making sure your mystery security guard doesn't die. tell me again.]
[Guy snuck in, he was fash. He had this fucking home made mini chainsaw, and we don't stop people from bringing in weapons but we do stop people from using them inside, especially on patrons. Thanks to this one, no one else got hurt tonight. I need to up their pay. Oh, before you got here I got em to undo their binder, that seemed smart.]
you nod, that is a good move. they've finished the drink, and are beginning to fall/melt/slide down the wall they're sat against.
[still with us, soldier?]
they nod.
[good. you did a good job dealing with the situation, you won't die tonight. im, uhh...] you falter for a second, then regain your mostly faked confidence, [im going to get you a prosthetic arm. yeah. don't you worry.]
they muscle through the fatigue to give you a deeply incredulous look.
[yes. yes. and I want to make sure you're okay tomorrow so I'm going to keep an eye on your state. either by you coming to my place or me going to yours, whichever works for you.]
they take another moment, then lift their good hand off the floor to point at you. your place.
[my place?]
they nod.
[alright. hopefully sandy won't mind. im gonna pick you up now, let me know if you need me to do anything. or stop doing anything. you know.]
they're not short but they are light, for the obvious reason. missing a substantial amount of body mass. sandy says something to the bar people as you leave, which is good, because you forgot to. you climb into her little car, into the back seat for space for you and them. with their head against your chest, you can hear their breathing, quiet and laboured. they don't quite relax, but they do drop the attempt at military stoicism. a lot of things about them seem weirdly militaristic. you hope they'll be okay. no- they will be okay. you know this. you're confident in your competence. yeah. sandy, who is in the driver's seat now, adjusts the rear view mirror to make eye contact.
[All good back there?]
[all good. sorry for the sudden extra person to keep on your couch.]
[Oh no worries, I brought this onto myself-] she laughs, in that loud spacious way of hers, and the car sputters to life. you watch the city lights as they pass you by. the people you are with don't, because one is busy driving and one has finally passed out. and that's okay
this evening you decided to follow your new friend to its job at the bar, because you had a day off and you were bored, and you forgot that there's a reason you don't usually go out, to clubs or whatever. you don't hate it and you're not overwhelmed yet but there's not all that much here for you. you asked the bartender for something slightly less alcoholic and she gave you this very colorful glass of, uhh, something, you didn't catch the name. very loud in here. the cocktail is nice enough, tastes like artificial fruit. you wouldn't be able to hear your friend if it wanted to talk, but it seems to just like having you nearby, and that does in fact make you feel all soft and warm inside.
the two of you just watch the crowd for a while, it's a normal enough night. then you catch someone making a beeline for your friend, someone with a slightly weird look to him. patchy facial hair and a bit of a jittery vibe. he comes up to the two of you and starts trying to say something to your friend, who after a moment of very focused frowning, shakes its head and gestures out a door, into the exit hallway. the two of them move and you follow.
[Hi, hello, my name is Alister, Stefan recommended you to me. Said you were his best. And- wait, who's this, then?]
the guy, alister, tries to stare you down. it's not terribly effective, you're quite a bit taller then him. then, in a move you weren't expecting, your friend reaches over and takes your hand in their good one. this catches you off guard, you have to take a second to sort of process it. they're warm, in a comfortable and ordinary way, and their hand is mildly calloused.
[Ah, alright, I see. Sure, I guess that's fine, partner in crime or whatever. But listen, I'm here to offer you a job. Do you have your own weapons?]
they shake their head.
[That's fine, I can sort that out for you. But I have a hit, who my connections have recently made me aware of. And there is a handsome reward on his head, which is why I only have one shot. Which is why I need the best. Which is why I'm looking for you.]
they think on it for a second, then nod, once. you are- uh, you have some questions about the situation. you decide to voice some of them.
[hang on. what, uhh- what sort of price are we talking about here?]
he leans in close to whisper [A hundred and sixty thousand! And that's after I've taken my cut! This is too good to pass up!]
[and how big is your cut?]
[Oh, well- moderately sized, I'm sure you'll understand...]
after a bit of heckling, you get your friend's cut of the profits up to 200k, which you are quite happy with. that's enough to get a house, or a nice car, or an overly fancy piece of new tech, or- you stopped listening. whoops. alister is handing your friend a small and inconspicuous usb drive.
[The details of the hit are on here, and if you are at the right place at the right time I will have arranged for there to be a good quality sniper rifle there for you. Leave it behind after you're done, try not to leave too many fingerprints on it, and try not to be seen as you go. Got that?]
it nods again, once, with a look of calm focus that, if you're being honest, freaks you out ever so slightly. nothing about this situation has caught it off guard. alister is gone now, the interaction is over, and you ask it [you have... experience in this department?]
it nods, while moving back to its spot by the rim of the dance floor. it carefully presses the usb into your palm, and you put it into one of your pockets, a small one so it won't fall out. you- this seems- hm. are you in over your head? maybe not. it seems as though the hardest parts of this job will be in the hands of others, with experience. and the pay will be really good, if you don't cock it up. good enough to get you on your feet. or to get your friend that prosthetic. that does actually take priority. yeah okay. you're going to do a good job the first time around, get a high quality aid and install it properly, to minimize lingering problems. that is actually your area of expertise, you're going to do a good job there. you know you will. you know you can.
you aren't going to plug this usb drive directly into your not-shitty computer, you have no idea what's on here. or, well, you have an idea of what is supposed to be on here, but you don't trust this guy that much. you spend a bit of time messing with an old, crunchy laptop you found in a skip, and eventually it turns on. oh damn, this thing actually isn't terrible. you could save it if you wanted. but you don't want, you need a test subject in case this drive has malware on it, so you plug the USB right into the poor little computer. and it doesn't die! nothing actively malicious on here, from what you can see. a couple documents, a couple maps, and a list of instructions. and an executable. oooooh.
you give your friend the laptop, and they take their time to read through everything. once you get the laptop back, that .exe has been opened. you're about to chastize them for their terrible digital safety skills when you see what the program is for. it's a security cam feed. holy shit?? okay, that's quite cool. the cams show two empty rooms, which the instructions doc says are the room for the 'agent', the person doing the job, and the room that the target will be in. you're curious about the software this uses, now. you'll try to take a look at it, once you have time. you're in no terrible rush, you're not late yet, but this isn't the sort of thing you want to be late for at all. so you leave shortly. you don't bring much, and you dress in a non-eye-catching way, no bright colours, face covered, and you take sandy's car, you asked her yesterday and she said sure. you didn't tell her what it would be for, but that's probably fine.
the drive there is uneventful, but by the time you arrive you are thoroughly anxious. there are so many ways this whole situation could explode and kill both of you. you have no idea what you're doing. oh god. you jump a bit when your friends rests it's hand on your shoulder. you look over to it, and it holds its hand out over its chest. in, and out. deep breaths. you laugh at that, kinda. how the hell is it not nervous? maybe it's just better at hiding it. that's probably it. whatever, deep breaths. you've got this. it's got this. it gets out of the car and slips through the back door of the designated building. the car is turned off, nice and quiet, and you open the test laptop and pull up the security cam feed. there it is, and there they are. the target is sat at the edge of that crowd, not as close to the window as you'd like, but his platinum blond haircut makes him easy to spot. and there's the sniper rifle, where it was promised to be. the agent only takes a moment to wrangle it into its good hand, and then it's in position.
a long moment goes by. several long moments. it almost feels peaceful.
and then it takes the shot.
your cams don't have audio, but the sound is loud enough that it jolts through your chest, even in the relative safety of your little car. your monitoring station. your agent needs to get back, now. and not be seen. it keeps low, and it moves smoothly out the door. and now you can't track it. the other cam is just showing the conference room, which has broken out into chaos. yeah, yeah. more importantly, no one seems to be trying to find the gunman yet. too busy panicking. goddd where is it. you need to get out of here. you were drumming your fingers against the steering wheel, but that was too loud, freaked you out more. so now you're drumming your fingers against your legs. it's a bit quieter. where the fuck- THERE IT IS thank god. okay. it steps into the car, and as soon as it's closed the door you are OUT OF THERE at a normal and calm speed. you are normal you are not on the run. you are normal. ohhh god. okay you are driving slightly too fast because you are panicking. oh no oh no. you ask it to keep an eye out for anyone on your tail. you don't see it's response, your eyes are on the road. you merge onto a main road, and you know no one will be able to follow you from here, because you can see two other cars of this same make and model already. very common and normal car. but you don't actually calm down until you're back at sandy's place, where you sit on the couch and put your head in your hands, and you try to count your breaths. deep and slow. calm down. holy fuck and shit. someone sits down next to you. it's your friend. the agent. it just did that. it just took a life. you helped it. because you're friends. and the money will be good. deep breaths. you ask if you can hold its hand, and it lets you. it's hand is warm and ordinary, and calloused from years of doing whatever. this, probably. and maybe normal work, whatever that would be for them. you are calming down now, you think. what the fuck. what the fuck. but at least the job is done.
you had to be very clever about it and you had to call in more then a few favors with people who know people who know people who you met at the weird bar, but you are in a good place now, in terms of stability. you don't have, like, a house, fuck no. you have a little truck, with a little operating table inside, and storage shelves crammed in every space available that isn't in the way of you, the operator. it's a fine little box of hardware, you're proud of it. you take the moment to reflect as you clean up your surgical tools. the operation was a success, you did a good job, you think. most of that money of yours went to getting this osseointegrated arm implant manufactured properly, so that it fits perfectly. and it does. the implant goes into the remaining forearm bone and the prosthetic connects to the implant, and excess tissue is carefully removed so that the area is smooth and generally as unobtrusive as possible, and you know that it'll heal up well. your friend won't wake up for a while yet, you take a moment to sit down next to it on the table. you can hear them breathing, slow and calm. their face is decorated with small patches of slightly discoloured skin, small scars, you're pretty sure they are. little scratches and things that healed most of the way fine enough. you wonder about this guy, and its past. its whole story. you wonder if it would want to tell you, to remember and recount like that. maybe you could get it a type-style [hehe] communicator thing. maybe you could make one. maybe you could learn sign together. does it know sign already? it might. that's something for you to learn. lots of somethings, actually. but you like learning, and you have time for it. you take a deep breath, and close your eyes. just at the edge of your hearing, you can hear the city, all those people going about their day. and right here, you can hear you and your friend, just breathing. existing together. it's nice.
the handler is afraid. she is curled up small and their hands are over their mouth because she is trying not to draw fire. he's breathing really fast, he's panicking. she doesn't normally do that. okay. okay. you have him behind cover, he won't get shot at here, probably, you scramble over to the more exposed end of this overturned table and you peek around it to try to keep an eye on the development of the conflict. no wait. you take off your visor to reduce the potential glare on your face giving away your location and then you observe the conflict. it's actually died down quite a bit. this room has less bodies in it then it used to? they're not on the ground, which means they evacuated, and you don't need to worry or care about them. probably.
it takes you a few seconds but you identify the people still here, the three wealthy and loud people who were doing all the talking this meeting, and their bodyguards. by now, no one is shooting anymore. one guard is still standing, a guard and a businessman are on the floor but conscious. they look like they've come to an agreement or something. temporary peace. you want more then that, technically. or you want money. you're, like, pretty sure no contracts have been negotiated yet, so you won't get paid if you killed these people. you have no motive for it. the one person standing spots you, they hold eye contact for a moment. a long moment. you don't know what their face is communicating and you don't know what your face is communicating. but eventually they look away, in a natural way, doesn't draw attention to your location. that's on purpose. that's nice of them. or you threatened them. whatever.
eventually, slowly and quietly, they take the businessman under one arm and drag him out of the room. so now there's only one conscious person for you to be worried about here. no wait fuck you got distracted. fuck. you have a job. the handler is quieter now. you try to get her attention but she doesn't see you. and you're not going to make noise or grab him. so you, uhh. you stand guard. you keep watch. you keep watch for danger, and none comes, they're all dead already. that last guard goes limp, eventually. you listen to the sounds of the pipes in this old building, and the sound of the handler, next to you, alive. you put your visor back on. you keep watch.
eventually, she scoots closer to you. he wipes her face and signs, awkwardly 'cause she only just started learning sign, she's learning it for you, [we are safe?]
you nod, yes. he takes a moment to think, or collect herself, maybe. then he nods back.
[we should leave?]
you nod, again. you stand up, you're visible, you're out of cover, and nothing happens. no one shoots at you. the handler stands up as well. you offer your hand and she takes it. she's warm. people are warm, usually. he follows you out, but he stops to look at the bodies. you don't know how to interpret their face. they are quiet, as you go down the few flights of rickety old stairs. she is afraid, still, you think, which is why you are afraid. that's new, that doesn't normally happen. getting freaked out, because of someone else. you keep your breathing slow and regular. you make it to the little truck and nothing bad happens on the way. you are fine. both of you are in your seats. the handler has not driven away from this building yet. she is fidgeting with her hands like she is thinking on something. eventually, she turns to you.
[hey, can I hug you?]
oh. you weren't expecting that. you, uh, you don't normally touch people. make skin contact. like that. but it's not weird when she holds your hand. and a hug is just like that but scaled up. you think. you, uhh.
[and you don't have to, if you don't want to. you know. no worries at all.] he says, very quickly. so. you stretch your arms out, to her. and his face folds into a big soft smile and he hugs you. she is, um, she is warm and soft. your arms are wrapped around him. you feel like you are made of concrete? you feel like you are doing this wrong. how the hell are hugs supposed to work. how are they supposed to feel. you don't know. you try to pretend to be soft and relaxed. the handler is soft but they are not relaxed. you count their breaths, you can feel their chest rise and fall shakily. how long are hugs supposed to be. you don't know. but your guess is that that does not matter. you wait for her to let go of you, to straighten up, to wipe her face, to take a deep breath. to fumble around for a cd. an instrumental album. you like this one, you can count it too. you don't like music you can't count.
[thank you] she says, and then she maneuvers the truck out of this building's lot, and away. the sun tries and fails to cut through the thick warm fog in the air. the little air conditioner does not do much to help with the heat, its the humidity, she says, and she'll have to fix up that old AC. or install a new one, if she can find one somewhere. she'll keep an eye out.
this mission has been going well so far, to be honest. not that many guards, all easy to take out. it doesn't strike you as all that odd until you reach the targets office. the walls are thin enough for you to see her heat signature through them, she's armed and aiming at the door you need to go through. waiting for you. fuck. you still need to complete your mission, the handler was clear about the fact that there are no alternative access points to the targets office, and it has to be done quickly. you don't have time to wedge yourself into the vents, or scale the building. alright. you'll have to just be a faster shot then her. three, two, one.
fail.
she has good aim, she broke your visor, as well as everything behind it. shame. you use what is still operating to deliver a headshot of your own, and then you switch to emergency mode.
you got the notifications that the target was eliminated, but something went wrong. that's a weird combo. the agent seems to still be operating, so you wait for it to exit the building, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel. damn, this truck is beautiful. you've done a good job with it, brought it back to working order and then some. a project to be proud of. not to be shared, obviously, most of this is highly illegal, but still. you're good at what you do. you're quite pretty too. damn, who's that fine person in the overhead mirror? oh wait there's the agent. it's walking weird. that's not good. you pull up closer to the building. there's a big hole in its head, that's the problem. it's a pretty big problem, actually. you hop out, and lead it into the back of the truck. one of its eyes is wide and empty, seeing nothing, and the other is wide and empty in the literal way where it is now a big hole. goes about halfway through the skull, several pieces of sharp debris embedded in it. you know, logically, that the agent doesn't feel pain in the normal way, but it still looks really painful. eugh. you get it seated inside the truck, and you take a deep breath to ensure you speak clearly.
[you are safe now, agent. switch to rest mode.]
it's good eye falls closed, and it goes limp in your arms. alright. the regen machine will be able to remove the small pieces of debris, but you're not sure about the larger, more visible ones. just to be safe, you opt to remove those yourself, holding its face carefully in your hands as you pick out the bullet and plastic shards with a pair of tweezers. god, this is- you know it's going to be alright in the end, but- urgh. as you get the regeneration machine prepped you chat to the agent idly, about nothing in particular. there's a surprising amount of frogs in this area, saw a bunch while you were on the mission. i think they all live in the targets lake, doesn't seem like the sort of thing she'd be happy about. all those tadpoles. darned wildlife. see, sometimes rich people will do something actually impactful, like change the landscape in a way that isn't immediately harmful. i can't even imagine the cost of all that water. hopefully she got ducks to swim in that lake. what's the point of a lake with no ducks, honestly. you know the agent can't hear you, you just want to fill the silence. you lie the agent down on the makeshift operating table, and get the deepest point of the wound aligned with the focal point of the regen machine. if we ever settle down and get a property somewhere i want to get ducks, and geese, i know you like geese. it would be a place with a lot of land, obviously. you set its shoulders into the stabiliser, so that the bumps of the road won't mess anything up too badly. a lot of land, yeah. by this point we'd be rich enough that there'd be no need to rent, we could just find our dream place and buy it immediately. do you still dream? i should ask you, when you're awake. i know i do. the machine whirrs into action, and you clamber into the drivers seat. you should get going, staying in one place for too long is a bad idea. i tend to dream about space, of big open skies with nothing in the way to block the view of the stars. just... just me and you i guess. that sounded gayer then you meant it to. you put in a cd, a familiar old one. you got this when you were a teen, it's good stuff. the sky is clear and empty as you drive away.
you're fading out. that's not good. you should, uh. try to stay conscious. you think. you try to take inventory, of what you've got. you still have both arms, or, no, they took your prosthetic. sawed it off below the joint, cut through the metal. that hurt. it shook the bone all wrong. you can't feel your arms, now, they're tied behind you. wrist tied to stump, too tight, wrapped around support beam pole thing. you can't get up. they didn't mess with your legs, normally for torture they go for toes or nails, you think. you don't actually know normal torture very well. this is new, for you. they ripped your skull in half, you think. you haven't seen it you arent sure you don't really remember. but it feels like all the front+bottom part is gone. that hurts more then the rest, it hurts still. big hole. you need to stay awake. it's hard. your head is too heavy for you to hold it up. that's bad, also. you force your eyes open. focus on your body. you feel all wrong. you've got chunks missing. you, um, you try to remember. they took your jaw, you're pretty sure. why did they do that. you try to remember if there was a reason. you try to force your eyes open. its hard. you, um, you, fuck.
there's a noise somewhere in the basement, really far away. that seems bad. there are, um, hands? you fall forward and someone catches you. you try to stay awake you try to stay present. it's loud, and you're moving. you're not moving. someone is carrying you. is that bad? you, um. there's yelling, about something. you don't know. you're pretty sure you're dying. there's lots of sounds, you try to identify them. it's hard. there's, um, running. yelling and running. and then something moves your head wrong and it hurts and. you're. where are you. flat and kinda cold. you're on the table? in the truck? your friend's truck? how did that happen. how did- that seems too nice to be real. people don't normally come to get you out, of, places. you. um. it's really far away. you try to stay awake and you don't manage it, this time.
and then you wake up and you're alive and you're alive and there's a hole in your face. that's- that's such a big absence, so much of your skull is just gone, you- it's so much it's all gone it's all wrong you don't know what to do you can't move you can't move you can't- there's someone here. it's- it's her. your friend. hand on your shoulder and hand holding yours and he's trying to tell you it's okay. okay? it's okay. I'm here and you're here- we're in the truck, we're far away, we're safe here, we got you out, a friend helped me, we got you out, and. you're okay. you're gonna be okay. okay? you need to breathe I need you to breathe. you're gonna be okay. you can't- you can't get up I'm sorry. I need to work on your jaw. okay? it is bad but it's- you're gonna- you have survived. you are, um. surviving. you're gonna be okay. I need you to breathe. i need- you will be okay. it's okay. you're- we're safe. here. you're okay.
and you decide that you believe her. and you realise you believe her because your breathing is more normal and you heart is more normal and you're no longer moving like you're trying to break and panic and escape. so you hold her hand. you're holding it too tight you should let go a little bit. you hold her hand. and you breathe through your nose. in and out.
the fight is over, and you are the last man standing. no wait- that's not true. there's a cluster of civilians down under the bridge you're standing on. you look down, to assess the situation, and one of them is holding up a gun at you. they all look scared as hell. that's not ideal. you raise your arms, slowly, in a nonthreatening way. you think it's nonthreatening. the armed civilian disagrees, because he shoots you, in the same knee that you got shot in earlier. you drop down to hide from the small barrage of bullets and also because ow. fuck. your knee. you get a message from the handler, displayed on your visor: [CIVILIANS. DO NOT ENGAGE] and that makes sense but also. fuck. ow. the roadbridge has a decently sized barrier along the edge, to prevent cars from falling off, so you're decently sheltered right now. you try to crawl forward, to where the handler is parked, and it is slow fucking going. you are leaving a trail of blood behind you like a weird snail. and then you stop going because you are ordered to. by the civilian? you make your movements slow, and you hold up your hands where you can, while you maneuver yourself into a sitting position, so that you can see the situation. yeah, it's the civilian. he still looks really scared. and he's aiming at your head now. this situation is suboptimal.
[Are... are you... with them?] he gestures at the ground with his head, and at the bodies littering it.
this guy is scared and he's operating on an information deficit. you shake your head, no, you are not allied with the people you just killed.
[Prove it. Prove that you're not... with them.]
brooo you don't know how to do that. you don't even know what this conflict was about, you thought it would be a quick job. which is why you didn't bring your communicator. fuck.
[PROVE IT! PROVE IT OR I'LL SHOOT!]
[hey! hey can you not shoot that guy, it's with me, thank youuu]
ohhh thank fuck, it's the handler. you're good now- no wait no you arent. she is very vulnerable to things like bullets. the civilian turns abruptly to face her.
[hello, please don't shoot me either, we were called in to de-escalate the conflict in your town. this here is my agent, it was the one who killed all these soldiers who have been giving ye trouble. and our job is done, so we'll be leaving now.]
after a long, tense moment, the gunman switches on the safety.
[thank you. hey dude can you walk? take my hand.] you hesitate, because you are rather bloody. [what? oh, dude it's fine. clothes are washable. that's why I like this top so much actually, it looks like it should be, like, dry clean only, but no it's really durable and easy to clean, it's great.] she pulls you up and swings your arm over his shoulder, and he supports you on the walk back to the truck, and the whole way you are trying to keep an eye on what the civilians are doing. it does look like the gunman is losing his resolve to shoot by the second, which is good for you, because you are in a bad defensive position right now. but you make it back, and there is a space cleared for you to sit down so that the handler can take a look at your knee.
[and this skirt, I found at a charity shop on, like, the other side of the country. and- oh?]
you've grabbed your communicator, [good outfit for today. cute and non threatening.]
they laugh, and they thank you, and then the laugh turns into a cringe when they process the full sentence. [oh, did you think you looked threatening? you scared them?]
[yes]
[why?]
[normally happens. and he shot me. im dressed for combat]
she has a complicated expression on their face, but he sighs like you're right. [yeah... im used to making myself look nonthreatening.] she laughs, and it's not all that funny.
[you talk, also. like human]
[that's true...] he's kinda busy fishing the bullets out of your knee, but she keeps the conversation going. [do you regret, uhh, all this? do you want to change?]
[no. no no. it's just weird]
she huffs a small laugh, and agrees quietly, while moving your leg under the regen machine. you did mean the thing that you said, you don't have any regrets or anything you wish was different. it's just all weird. but it would also be weird if your life was an old, normal way. weird and worse. you're happy to be here and you're happy to be who you are. but you still don't like being scary. it's just weird.
you're in your truck, waiting for the agent to finish up its mission. the target was eliminated, it should be here any minute now. the apple core you're holding is getting annoying, you forgot to throw it out earlier but you can't really be bothered getting up right now. plus, you're parked next to some fairly dense foliage, a small woodland or whatever that this road cuts through. that's a fine place for an apple core to be, makes for good compost or food for small beasts. hell yeah. you roll down your window and throw it out into the bushes and you hear the gunshot but you don't respond fast enough to avoid the BULLET THAT HITS YOU IN THE SHOULDER. FUCK. THAT FUCKING HURTS. FUCK. FUCK.
you curl in on yourself a bit because that FUCKING HURTS and it's good that you do because the second bullet zyooms right over you, where your head was a moment ago, and hits the bulletproof glass on the other side. that hurts. that hurts. fuck. alright. you move to roll the window back up but your closer arm is the one with a FUCKING BULLET in it so you reach over with the other hand and it's shaky because you're HURT it HURTS but you get the window up. you're safe now. fuck that hurts. you take deep breaths. one, two, three. the third gunshot startles you back into fear mode. fuck. fuck. the sound was closer, but nothing hit your truck. it's all quiet now. you're fine, probably. fuck. you rest your forehead against the steering wheel, being careful not to sit on the horn. that would be funny if it wasn't gonna be so loud. too loud. fuck. fuck. blood is seeping through your shirt, you can feel it on your fingers as you grip the HOLE in your ARM where you were SHOT. fuck. fuck. fuck. you need to calm down. fuck. someone opens the car door. it's the agent. it looks- it looks like it completed its mission without incident.
all good?
it glares at you a bit for that, things are clearly NOT GOOD over here, before doing damage control. it takes your injured arm in its hands, prying your bloody fingers away so it can examine the wound. fuck that hurts. fuck. you really hope you don't- you- fuck. it's trying to get you on your feet now. you stand up and a wave of dizziness hits you. the agent is there to make sure you don't fall. that's nice. you say thank you. you ask where the gunman was. it points in a direction that leads into the woods, and then to the gun on its back. yeah, alright. that makes sense. you say thanks again. it sets you down somewhere- the operating table. fuck that hurts. fucking hell. you try to focus on what the agent is doing. it's done cleaning the wound now, at some point it ripped part of your shirt out of the way. that's a shame. this was a nice shirt. maybe you can fix it, later. it removes the silicone cover from its metal hand and quickly signs to you to hold still. you do your best. it uses the thin metal fingers to fish the bullet out of your arm. WOW that hurts. fuck. alright. it's removed the bullet now. it shifts you around so that you're lying down under the regen machine. you know how this works, you've done this before. it's set your feet up on a shelf, good move. keep blood to the important areas. the regeneration machine feels WEIRD, wow. fuck.
ghhh, sorry i'm so- uhh... useless here. bad with pain. not used to this. i should probably, uhhh...
the agent cuts you off there, but you weren't really sure what you were going to say anyway. it gestures [NO] repeatedly and forcefully, looking VERY concerned. it's kind of cute, honestly. that's not the right word. charming, maybe. it clearly cares about you, it's having a hard time articulating that, floundering for something appropriate for the situation. you laugh a bit. it's fairly strained, your arm still hurts a distracting amount.
alright, i get it, i get it. no, uhh..... unnecessarily negative self-talk. yeah yeah. oh woah the painkillers kicked in. wow that's a relief. holy fuck.
it reaches over and pats you on the head, very awkwardly. it might have already exhausted all its easy modes of showing affection with all the wound care stuff.
thanks for all this, man. you did a good job.
[thank you. after this i will go out and keep watch. you can sleep]
thanks.
the regen machine finally finishes up rebuilding the last of the epidermis, and the agent moves it away and puts something soft under your head, moving very carefully the whole way. slow and measured. afraid to break something, maybe. your eyes fall closed as it goes outside, and you listen to the sound of it moving through and around the foliage to find a spot to keep watch as you fall asleep.
the sniper rifle is comfortable in your grip. you are lying low on the roof of this building, waiting for when the target comes back to their room alone. you don't know who it is and you don't really care, but they seem to be rich enough to have dead animals hung on their walls. bears and deer and stuff. what's the word. taxidermy, that's it. it's evidence of a good kill, you suppose. provided they were the killer. otherwise it's just a dead thing that's sitting in their house to look at or whatever.
the sky is overcast and boring, fine day to be sat out here for several hours. you don't like overly warm weather. you don't like overly cold weather, either. this place manages to have both. at home the weather stayed more or less the same all the time, since you were surrounded by water. absorbs all the extra stuff. the target hasn't shown up yet. your heart beats loudly in your chest. you're not anxious, or excited, you're pretty sure. this mission isn't anything special. your blood seems slightly more metallic then usual, actually. that's a bit strange. you'll bring it up to the handler when you get back. haha. lead in your veins. that would probably be bad, actually. you don't think it's lead. you'd be able to tell if you were poisoned, you have something installed to notify you of stuff like that. you don't remember the name of the thing. it's probably in your stomach somewhere. or under your ribs. could potentially be in the skull, if that's where poison control happens. you don't know enough about biomedical stuff to know what you're talking about here. the handler will know. you're not going to ask them, it doesn't actually matter. you do have a poison detector installed, you know because you've gotten the notification a few times in the past, on your visor. oh- there's the target. that's a dumb looking outfit. too frilly, weird colours. hm. you're one to talk when it comes to fashion. whatever. you're almost confident no one else is in the room right now, but you can't see through that door. could be someone waiting there. well, this is a gunshot. someone's going to hear it, might as well go for it. the bullet hits them square in the head. nice. spray of pink all over that weird dead bear. you need to leave, now. you keep low to the roof and move over to the other side as fast as you can. depending on how early the response was, they might not have seen you. you aren't sure.
you need to get down this building. there is a gutter pipe that won't support you for long, a twisty and very loud set of fire exit stairs, and the several storey wall. you could rock-climb down that. no that's a terrible idea. wait- no it's not. you pull back some of your gear and open a hatch in your leg. there's a rope inside, coiled around the bone, or maybe the bone substitute. you almost forgot you had this. how did you manage that? maybe you're not resting enough. low on fuel or food or something. worse at brain as a result. there is a clasp on the end of the rope, and a small button in the rope compartment. they're connected, probably. you secure the rope around a pole or something- you're in a hurry- and walk backwards off the roof. the feeling of freefall is brief but it still sucks. your feet find purchase against the wall and you start climbing down. this is going pretty well, honestly. nothing has- ow. shot in your back. that's annoying. you can deal with this, you've just got to execute on it properly. one foot is braced against the wall and one hand is wrapped securely around the rope as you grab your handgun and turn to face where the shot came from. where are they- there. on top of a much shorter building. they're exposed, it's an easy shot and you take them out without issue. you can't see any more potential threats, so you continue climbing down. you reach the end of your rope about a storey off the pavement. you can make that jump. you launch off the wall to swing outwards a little bit and press the button to release the rope. there's another long moment of freefall, which still sucks, but you bend your knees to absorb the shock and land safely on the ground. nice. you take a moment to spool the rope back up into its slot. the map in the corner of your visor tells you that the truck is about two minutes away. unless she had to move it somewhere else. he talks a lot about how she minimised the amount of wireless tech in your roster for security reasons, so you're not sure if or when that map would be updated. ah, whatever. no ones around this area, not hard to take back alleys and stay out of sight. not many people seem to actually live around here, it's mostly industry buildings. weird place for someone that wealthy to be, actually. or maybe they were just doing business. in that weird frilly outfit. oh, here's the handler. they moved the truck but not by a lot, easy to find. you hop into the passenger seat.
all good?
you give a little salute, to indicate that you got the job done and you did it damn well. you don't know if she got that it meant that specific thing but he does laugh, so she definitely picked up on some of the smugness. another success, you made them laugh.
hey, hang on. you got shot.
[only once]
still- dude. he laughs more. go clear off the table in the back, i'm gonna find a place to park so it looks like we definitely didn't have anything to do with that entirely random death, and then i'll get that sorted for you.
[entirely random headshot] you sign, as you get up to move to the back. she snorts at that too. wow, you're doing a good job at stuff today. hell yeah. mission success.
[-And the robot can entertain my daughter. I'm curious to see how it does.]
[Hey- mom! This is a killing machine! What if it hurts me or, I dunno, breaks something?]
[Then it's distributor would owe me a lot of money. Again, this is a small test. I want to understand its performance.]
and with that, the lady of the house leaves, with the handler in tow. she's gonna be doing stuff he is good at- business negotiations -for the next hour at the very least, and you're stuck on babysitting duty. the kid no longer seems concerned about how dangerous you might be, which is nice, you suppose. she's on her phone.
you are still just standing here. uhh. you could just wander off, maybe. these halls are ridiculously spacious, this is some sort of small palace. or maybe a palace-sized palace. you are unfamiliar with the politics of palaces, but the owner is doing business with the handler, so this can't be entirely legal. then again, you're vaguely aware of the history of monarchies, so like who knows what the story is here. the thing that's important to you here is that the kid is tugging on your sleeve to get your attention.
[Hey. Can you teach me how to shoot? Dad has a firing range downstairs.]
there's a firing range here??? you want to see that, yes. you nod at her, and she leads you down several hallways that you only take vauge note of before you arrive at the basement firing range, as promised. it's alright, pretty small but that's not too surprising. the kid still wants to learn how to shoot a gun, so you rummage around until you find the equipment and then you do your best to show her how to use a pistol. it's not too complicated, you think. maybe it's been too long since you were around beginners [or kids] but this kid kinda sucks at this. oh wait how old is she even. you have no idea. small enough to be sorta puntable but old enough to give out at you in detail when you adjust her stance and grip for the nth time. she hits the target, and gets excited, and tries again without fixing her aim first, and she misses again. and she gets frustrated.
[This sucks. I'm bored. I'm going back to my room.]
yeah, you kinda feel the same way. the kid is trying to be sneaky but you do notice her slip the pistol into her pocket. you don't stop her, she has the safety on, and if she tries anything you'll be able to deal with it. it could be funny, who knows. the trip back through the building is unremarkable until suddenly it isn't, because of the gunshots coming from the halls on the way to the front door. ah. that is bad. you should keep this kid safe. she is hiding behind you. you turn to her, and tilt your head, and point down the hall ahead.
[Uhh, my room is just around this corner. The left one. I dunno if it's safe tho.]
you gesture for her to follow you, and then you peek around the corner to ascertain the number of threats. none yet. you move quickly and she follows you, and she isn't used to moving quietly. her steps are real loud. you reload your pistol as you go, and it's good that you do, because just as you get to the one door in the house that looks like a kid owns it [all stickers and shit instead of plain and clean] a bullet narrowly misses your head. fuck. you grab the kid[s arm] in one hand and the doorknob in the other and you swing her inside in one smooth motion. which would be cool if you weren't still being shot at. you fire at the first gunman and take him down but in the time you've taken to move the kid to safety the rest of the intruders got loaded and ready. you move to intercept, because the alternative would be moving away, down the hallway, which would leave the kid's room wide open. you launch yourself to go barreling into the nearest target, and he lands on his head, with a loud resonant crack. it takes you a second to recover, a second too long. no wait. a second for him to be wide open to getting shot from behind. by the kid. she has the right stance and everything. wow. there are still two gunmen standing. you shoot one in the wrist and the kid shoots the other in the shoulder. that mightve been a headshot that missed. still helpful. it's not hard for you to knock them out and end the conflict. you take a moment to breathe. then you give the kid a thumbs up. she looks shaken. she gives you a thumbs up back. you get a ping from the handler. it's a barebones set of directions to get to a specific room. you can do that. but first you go over to the kid, and you point at the floor of her room and wait for her to nod her head and tell you that she'll stay where it's safe, and you make sure her door is closed properly, and then you go.
its not hard to get to the place, you only encounter two gunmen on the way, and they weren't expecting you. you leave 'em lightly stunned, and walk away before they get back up. they could follow you but they don't, which seems weird. it's weirder when you get to the room. inside it's all plush and fancy and unlived in, like a painting, and the handler is sitting across from the lady of the house, and looking deeply frustrated. he might be about to cry, actually. the lady looks kinda the same as earlier, all smug and threatening in the non physical way.
[Impressive. It did what you promised, and it dealt with the unexpected threat with minimal danger to my daughter. It truly is a remarkable tool, I might be in the market to buy this from you. What would your initial price estimate be?]
the handler takes a deep shaky breath and says [no, listen, there's been a misunderstanding. my agent is not available for sale, it and me are available for hire, but you failed to inform us of the intensity of this assessment, so we will not be doing business in the near future.]
ah. that was a test. it was arranged it was fake it was. pointless. yyyou uh. you want to slam the lady's head into that shiny desk and you aren't allowed to do that. just before you leave you catch the lady smiling thinly and saying [No, I think you don't understand, I-] and the door slams louder then you meant it to as you go. you. you. you. you storm through the halls and you make a lot of noise and no one attacks you because the threat was always fake. this was a setup. this was fucking. fuck. you're in front of the kids room again. you open the door. she's sitting on the bed, staring at you. you sit in a soft chair thing and you grab your face and squeeze until it hurts.
[Was it Mom?]
you nod, stiffly.
[Yeah, she's like that.] there's a beat of silence, and then [Do you want to play a game? I got this a while ago, it's good.]
she gets up and puts a chip into a small gamingtype computermachine, and then she goes through some screens until it shows two guys squaring off on a big empty stage. she hands you a controller.
[Press buttons and see what they do. I'm gonna try to beat you in this fight, you do too.]
you and the lady have fallen into a tense, angry silence. better then that conversation. goddd fuck. you're getting out of here. you're finding the agent so you can get out of here. it hasn't gone anywhere new so it's not hard to find, so you can focus on regulating your breathing. she saw and she knows but you don't want to give her the satisfaction of crying here. you open the door and the room inside is all soft and messy, loads of pictures and posters on the walls and lots of pillows on the floor. and the agent and the kid are playing some fighting game. huh. you walk over and crouch down next to your agent, and you take a second to try and make your voice sound normal, and then you ask what they're doing.
[Gaming.] the kid replies, flatly. the agent makes a low, focused sound. it presses a bunch of buttons and does something and its avatar gets immediately, totally destroyed for it. it's a little bit funny.
[Your robot is good at this. I'm better tho.]
you laugh, once, and it sounds more tired then you meant it to.
[me and the robot have to get going now, sorry kid.]
[Nooooo, one more game one more game-] but the agent has already put down the controller and stood up. it gives the kid a single, small salute, and after a second the kid returns it. you lead the way out, so that you can pointedly ignore the lady of the house, and you do see the way she tries to follow you before giving up, in an attempt to save face. and it's a little bit funny. the agent moves from behind you to beside you, and without even waiting for the lady to be out of sight it asks you if it can pleaaase kill her.
[no, not today. and are you assuming she doesn't know sign?]
it gives you a very pointed look, which could mean either [there is no way] or [i do not care] and that makes you laugh properly. you take a deep breath once you're outside, and you cut through the pointlessly nice lawn on your way to the truck. once you're inside, you take a moment to lie your head against the steering wheel and breathe, and then you take another moment to play the cd with the best calmdown songs on it, and then you drive off.
it's late at night. the handler is already asleep, out cold on the soft mat the two of you use. there is room for you on the second half of the mat, normally you'd be asleep by now too, but there's an oil leak somewhere around your shoulder. you don't want to get any of your nice stuff irreparably greasy. you also don't want to wake up the handler. you decide to see what you can do yourself.
a bit of poking reveals the problem spot, its high up on your back, between the shoulder and the neck. you can't see what you're doing, but you decide to go for it anyway. you lift up the silicon layer and see if there's anything obvious there that you could fix yourself. you're strong, and you're fairly big, so your dexterity isn't the best. sometimes you're kinda clumsy. this is one of those times. something snaps under your fingers, metal wedged awkwardly into skin, you can feel blood start to slowly pool. oh no. oh, that's not good. that was a bad move, agent. the handler is still asleep, and it's 2am, you don't want to wake them. most humans need several consecutive hours of good sleep to function well. you can't fix this, but it's not all that bad, honestly. not that much blood, should stop on its own at some point soon. maybe you should just go to sleep and sort it out in the morning. you begin to move to get into a more comfortable position, but the feeling of metal tearing into meat stops you. you're fine here. you're upright, too, so you won't spill any more oil. yeah. yeah. you're fine. you're fine. you switch to sleep.
you wake up to the handler standing over you, taking a look at the problem area.
there you are. what happened? why didn't you call me to help?
you move to sign that you didn't want to wake them, but your bad arm is still bad, and your good arm is somewhat shakier then you expected it to be. you lost more blood then you thought you would.
uh- here. she hands you a tablet, and you communicate what you meant to.
ugh, dude- if this happens again, just wake me up. i don't want you... ghhh- sitting there suffering, pointlessly.
[apologies. how bad is it?]
it won't heal perfectly flat, but it's not horrible. how did you get it wedged in like this, anyway?
[broke it. looking for problem with oil]
oh, the oil! i can see that, it's an easy fix. i'm more worried about this injury, and any potential cross-contamination, actually.
you let your hand fall down. you're sorry, but he knows that already. you're thankful for the help, but there's not much else to say. oh wait. you could say that.
[thank you]
anytime. literally. next time, wake me up in the middle of the night, so we can stop things from getting this bad.
you make an affirmative sound, and let your eyes close. you didn't sleep for the full seven hours. you don't plan on catching up now, you're just tired. their hands feel nice. they always do.
you are sitting behind the counter at your parents stall, and you are very, very bored. as far as you're concerned, you're old enough to explore the convention on your own, and normally your parents would let you, but according to them this specific one is too dangerous, all criminals and stuff. whatever. you have your tablet, but you aren't playing games on it cuz it's on low power mode and you're saving the battery cuz you're smart. this means that you have nothing to do, other then watch the people that walk by. some of them stop to look at the weird guns on the table and argue with your dad about prices, and that is boring, like usual.
you see a person with red and black hair and a purple shirt, arguing with a person with yellow hair and a green coat. the first one tries to stop and look at your dads stall, but the second one pulls them away, towards the wall and into a closed room. you don't see what's in the room, they shut the door too quick. you see a person in a very shiny dress, and she sees you too, and she makes a face like you smell. you do not smell, you took a bath yesterday, so she's probably just mean. you stick your tongue out at her as she walks away, but she doesn't see it, because she is walking away. lame. you see a person wearing all blue and white, walking a robot dog. that is VERY cool and you want to go see the robot dog and ask if you can pet it but your dad stops you. lame. the dog is gone now, anyway. there's a big crowd of people all trying to move in different directions, it looks very busy and stressful, actually. you're not going to say that out loud, you're cool and brave and could totally go by yourself if your dad let you. there are lots of augmented people here, you learned that word recently. one person has robot legs on top of their human legs. one person has a whole robot arm. one person has red eyes that look like they can shoot lasers out of them, and a big face mask. they look cool. they look scared, actually. they're signing [lost] over and over. you think they're trying to find someone. you stare at them, and soon they stare back at you.
[lost?]
their face goes all funny when they see you sign. probably no one else here knows hands, that's true in most places. but talking out loud is hard and annoying, you like hands better. the laser person comes up to the stall, but they don't talk to your dad, they talk to you. this is new, and not boring at all, it's exciting.
[i'm looking for my friend, i lost her. big crowd]
[what does she look like?]
[purple top, red and black braids. we match for today]
[i saw her! walked by earlier, went into that door over there] and they're right, they do match. black clothing and red eyes, same color as the black and red hair. they must be best friends, to match like that. one time you matched outfits with your best friend for a school trip to a farm, you wore a shirt with a chicken on it and he wore a shirt with a cow on it. you both got very muddy that day. it was fun. the laser person is saying thank you, but you interrupt them with a question.
[do your eyes shoot lasers?]
they make another funny face at that, they do that a lot.
[no, i can't shoot lasers. but do you want to see what i can do?]
[yes!!!]
they pull up their sleeve, and open a little box stuck into their arm. three bullets come out, one by one, like a printer.
[i can make these]
you are leaning onto the counter to get a better look, this is incredibly cool. you reach out to grab one, and then remember that taking stuff without asking is rude. but before you ask, they give the bullets to you anyway.
[here. payment, for help. goodbye]
[goodbye! thank you!]
you take the bullets and roll them around in your hands, they are all shiny and smooth and new. the laser person who does not shoot lasers walks away into the crowd, towards the room with their friend in it. your dad says that your parent will be here in an hour, and that you can go home after that. you still have time to maybe see other cool people, so you don't think you will be bored while you wait. the bullets clink together as you put them in your pocket.
the showroom door slams open, and your agent is on the other side. it makes a beeline for you as soon as it sees you, and takes up a position just next to you so it can complain at you.
[i LOST you. where did you go. who is this. when can we leave]
[this is billy asterix, he's the one who made your jaw. you probably remember him?]
it makes a face that indicates that it very much does remember him. billy is loud and strange and rather tiring to talk to, but his prosthetics are some of the best on the market at the moment so you put up with him dragging you around to the various places he stores his products.
[And here's the secret agent! We've been talking about you quite a bit. You still have that old jaw prosthetic, right? Right. I have some better models for you to take a look at, come over here, c'mon. This one is designed for subtlety and functionality, it emulates organic bone so the skin can grow overtop it! Makes things like talking that much easier! What do you think?]
it scowls, obvious even with the mask covering most of its face, and just in case that wasn't clear enough it shakes its head vigorously.
[Alright, alright, fine. You're not interested in talking, I get it. Well, I don't get it, but no matter. I also have this one, it might appeal to you more. Look at this, retractable tusks! You can deploy these big boys whenever you want, and they're not just for decoration, they have some serious bite force to them! I could lose a finger to these if I wasn't careful, but you know i'm always careful, you know, you know. What do you think?]
it looks at you, clearly interested but deferring to your judgment, so you ask the question billy always avoids.
[whats the cost?]
[Oh, well, now, its normally 2 million, but just for you i'll give it to you for 1 and a half. How's that?]
[half a million]
[Aw come now, ms grenade, you'll put me out of business! 1.3 million.]
you've played this game before, you'll be able to get it down to a good price. the agent has wandered off to look at the other things in this showroom, you'll probably be sold some more of it shortly. while you negotiate the price down towards, ideally, 800k, the agent pokes at a shiny and showy prosthetic hand, testing its grip strength by wrapping it around its own. it interlocks the fingers, and then shifts its grip to press its thumb against the shiny plating around the knuckles. evidently coming to the conclusion that it doesn't want the new hand, it moves on to a piece of intricate metal twists that looks entirely decorative. this catches the asterix's attention.
[I am so glad you noticed that, it's a new jewellery design I'm currently testing out! Hand carved and finished by me, by hand, of course. All my goods are top quality, I would never sell you anything less then the best. Would you like to try it on?]
it takes the twist of metal off the stand, and then abruptly turns to you. you weren't expecting that. it beckons for you to lean down a bit and you do. with gentle hands, it loops the dramatic swoops at either end of the thing around your ears, and the cool metal settles against your nose bridge in a way that is surprisingly nice. billy has brought up a mirror, naturally, and you can see the way it ends in little heart shapes framing your eyes. the agent is staring intently at you.
[looks nice on you] it says, gaze fixed on your face, just below your eyes. you feel your cheeks warm.
billy says, in a low, somewhat conspiratorial voice, [I can give you the jaw and the facepiece for 820k. Special deal, just for you. What do you say?] he is grinning like this is the cutest thing he's ever fucking seen, but he's tactfully chosen not to voice any of his thoughts in that vein. you feel yourself blushing even more. [you have yourself a deal, sir! i'll forward you the money now, and then we'll be on our way.] your agent has moved back to the showroom door and is bouncing on its heels, waiting for you to wrap things up here so it can explore the convention properly, with you.
your agent breaths with a quiet, regular rhythm, eyes closed and untracking, as you carefully sever the connection between artificial skin and metal bone. under your hands, the tendons and tubes disconnect from their sockets, separating the old jaw from the gum and bone.
you place it to the side, and make sure the insides of the agents face are as clean as they should be. there's some buildup of old skin cells and normal fluids, nothing major. this is not the first time you've seen its face open and vulnerable like this, but it doesn't feel substantially more normal or less distressing then when the injury was fresh and you had to work fast to minimise long term damage for your friend. this time, there is less stress. the silicon has integrated properly with the skin, the pipes filling in the gaps where the throat was ripped away are in their right place and holding strong, the synthetic tendons connected where the old ones were without rejection from the body. all is good. you know this. you pick up the new jaw and give it one more quick inspection, the connection points, the extra little mechanical spots that the old one didn't have, the shine and the weight of it. the metal isn't cold to the touch, that would be an unnecessary shock to its system. it's just a little bit cooler then it's body temperature, you are taking this slowly and carefully so the metal is slightly less warm then when you started. you gently pull the skin aside to put the new jaw into its place. for a half a second, you're struck by the fear that it's too big, it won't fit, you'll have to abort this whole- but no, it fits perfectly. it was designed to fit perfectly, an improvement on the old design. it suits them well. you take your time with reattaching the synthetic connections, you want them to hold strong and be resistant to strain damage, and they will be, if you do this right. you carefully seal the artificial skin, pinning it into the continuous groove around the jaw's perimeter and then melding it into place. it won't hold up to everything, but it will hold up to more damage then organic skin would.
you take a step back, and look it over. it looks good. the jaw really does suit it. a little bit flashy and intimidating, but not overly so. a part of its body. a part it chose for itself. powerful, but easy to hide. skillfully crafted, for a skillful user. it's breathing is even and relaxed. you wash your hands, along with the old jaw, in the little truck sink, then you switch the agent out of surgery mode, with the stiff little switch hidden under the false skin of its collarbone. you pack away your medical tools as it slowly wakes up. it begins to slowly flex its fingers, and then it carefully works its new jaw, opening and closing, left to right movements. testing out the new component. you ask it how it finds it, and it grunts in reply. it opens its eyes just slightly, then closes them again. still waking up. you start moving the trays of tools back into their boxes and drawers, you didn't actually need too much equipment for this procedure. it was fine. it is fine. it is pushing itself up to sit, and feeling the new jaw and the skin around it with its fingers. you have a mirror for this moment, actually. you pick it up off the desk and hand it to it. it takes the mirror and stares at its reflection with a fierce intensity that you recognise as being positive, feeling around it with a hand, snapping the jaw open and shut. there's a quiet {shnk} sound as it deploys its new tusks, and all of the skin on its face is pulled into a genuine grin, lightly banging a fist and tapping a foot against the operating table. it works, it likes it, its happy, you did a good job. all good here. you let out a deep breath you didn't really notice you were holding. the new component looks good, and that euphoria looks even better. you did a good job. yeah.
you are in a nice suit, you are dressed up all smart and proper and normal, your hair has been styled in a way that you are not allowed to mess with, and you are uncomfortable. you are wearing a less functional and less eye catching mask to match your less functional and less eye catching gear. you are limited to a single handgun, tucked away to be discreet and hard to access, and you won't even be able to print new bullets for it without getting these layers off first. this sucks. these contact lenses feel weird. you're not allowed to pick at your face, you're not allowed to fidget 'too much'. your task is to look normal, and not make a scene. you don't even have to do the hard part, answering questions, that's what the handler's doing. your hear the person she's talking to ask him [so, how long have you and your... partner been together?] and you go back to not listening, and scanning the crowd for potential hostiles. there are none. this venue is very safe, physically. you have to be normal and presentable and not weird and not scary. you adjust your pose to look slightly more human. you keep your breathing even. you don't avoid eye contact but you don't look at anyone for too long either. you think you're pulling this off. probably. you focus on where your gun is stowed, in your calf, nestled between the synthetic and organic muscles. wait- no you don't. you're thinking about normal and non threatening things. totally. nothing to see here. the weapons scanner triggered on you on your way in but they let you in anyway, they were 'informed' of your 'special circumstances', which is already too much intel for them to have on you, as far as you're concerned.
a waiter comes around with a tray of drinks in delicate little glasses. the handler is offered one, and they take one for you as well. they hand it to you, and linger on you for a second. ah, yeah. you move your mask the minimum amount necessary to sip whatever this drink is. it tastes like alcohol, gross, but your systems don't clock any actual poison. you raise the glass in a gesture you hope looks friendly, and the handler nods slightly, and turns back to the people she was talking to. his dress swishes around her legs as she does, the soft loops of red and purple and pink twisting into each other delicately. this whole event is so weird and delicate and pretty. you feel so dangerous and strange, shadowing your friend, avoiding prolonged eye contact. you adjust your grip on this glass to be less likely to shatter it and to make sure the skin looks normal. god, if someone looks too hard at you, it's over. you fiddle with the skin of your hand again, trying to make it look like it sits on top of muscle instead of metal. you feel like it looks slightly worse now. fuck. the handler moves back to address you again, whoever they were talking to has finally left. [we were very lucky to be invited here, the networking opportunities are bountiful.] their tone is weird as hell because their primary objective is to spill nothing, to not give away any valuable information. neither of you know how much data is being collected and from where. you have a nonzero amount of data storage and processing tech in your brain and chest which is why you need to be careful of how loudly you think about certain topics. this is so weird. this all sucks.
the handler is moving towards a table with a bunch of fragile little pastries on it and an atypical heat source underneath. it's a machine. you can't tell what it does and you don't want to risk it. you take their elbow, trying your fucking hardest to be gentle and normal, and direct them to a different table of powdery little sweets with no detectable unknowns hidden underneath. she takes some for himself and offers one to you, and you decline it. you really want to avoid having that powder texture on your hands right now. you put down the fragile little glass, and you wonder if it's bad etiquette, somehow, to not leave it on a coaster or something. you can't see where other people put their glasses when they're done. maybe they're just collected up and swept out of sight. there's someone new talking to the handler now, and they're dressed in silver and white to match the walls and the tablecloths and the long tall curtains. that's something they would do if this was their venue. they're moving with a calm confidence that supports that idea. and they're smiling in a way that might be fake? that might be what faces normally look like. that might be what their face normally looks like. you're no better at reading what a face means now then when you were a kid. that's what the handler is good at, the talking and the parties and all. you can't read her face either but that's pretty normal for an interaction like this. they're talking about, like, a trade or a sale? some sort of business endeavour. that's also pretty normal. the person in silver drifts over to the table with the pastries and the unknown device, says something about how delicious these are and offers one to the handler. technically that's normal too. you stay close to them.
[We understand that you are one of the best engineers in the world when it comes to designing for modern security concerns, and we are interested in facilitating your technological developments with our resources.]
[thank you, but I am content with my current resources, and am not looking to expand or share. my designs are all proprietary, i'm sure you understand.]
[Mmm, I do understand. And I trust that you understand that by refusing this partnership, you are turning down an opportunity to be on the cutting edge when it comes to understanding what might be used against you, what exactly you need to be secure against.]
and they say more but you don't really listen because they've reached behind them to pick up a device from the table that looked a bit like something to pick up food but you can see now is connected to a cable that goes down through the table. and you don't like that. you step in front of the handler just in case and yYYYYYYYYYYYYYyou are on the floor. you are injured. you are injured everywhere maybe? that doesn't make sense. your face is slick with something. it might be one of those drinks. but no, it's under your mask and it tastes like metal. so it's blood from your nose. one of your eyes is non functional. you can't tell which. that's a shame, if the attack affected either the organic or the synthetic eye but not both that would be valuable intel to learn about the nature of the attack. the attack was bad, you think. you can't really move. you feel like a plastic bag full of jello. no, pudding. in a burnt plastic bag. with holes melted into it. theyre still talking, over your head. it sounds, uhh, dramatic. like from a show. where the good guy stands up to the bad guy and something something. it's been a while since you felt this bad. you don't want to focus on that. you try to listen to what they're saying above you. above? it doesn't feel like 'up' but you're pretty sure the sound is coming from 'not the floor'. it's never a good sign when your sense of direction gets busted. urgh.
[-incorrect yet again. it isn't a tool and it isn't for sale, it's a person and it's my friend. and-]
you lose a chunk of time, you think, because next the floor is gone and that was your only tethering point and you feel like your spinning wildly and exploding or collapsing or something and in place of the floor there are hands. lots of them? more then just one pair. that's weird. but people are nice sometimes, maybe. so you've been told. you really hope you're not getting blood on any of those nice formal outfits. that would be bad. you notice the handler, talking like she knows what he's doing, like he knows how to fix this, and around the same time you notice a low anxious grating noise being made in the back of your throat. you try to remember what was installed there and you fail. you try to stop making that noise and you fail less. and now she's saying something else and addressing it directly to you and you try very hard to pay attention and you're on a floor again. no wait. a table. the repairs table in the truck. and the handler is moving at impossible speeds between all the little cables connected to your various silicon maintenance panels and the control pc. or wait. maybe they're moving normally and you're just processing things abysmally slow. hm. this seems like a disaster scenario to be honest. but there's music playing. it's from the drums and synths album that you like. it's good to count. and the more you count it the less too-fast it feels. your heart rate starts to even out. and the handler laughs from over by the computer. they say something as they turn you over to access another panel but you don't catch it. but that feels more okay now. no danger. you're still in the van, just lying on your face instead of your back now. and the handler is still here and the music you like is still playing. and you feel safe.
the agent is in its cell, a bare gray cube of a room with a bed and a table. it has been stripped of everything that wasn't bolted to it, which did leave it with all of its internal enhancements. the simple white clothing it was given leaves its arms, legs and face exposed. you can see it's sleek metal jaw prosthetic, and it's hard for you to spot on the security cam screen but you can just make out the many patches on its limbs where the skin connects to silicone and scar tissue. it pops open a panel on its upper thigh, takes a quick look at whatever's inside, and then tries to slam it shut. it doesn't fit perfectly, perhaps something has grown or deformed, but it manages to wedge the panel closed. it gets up and walks around the room, looking for... something. inspecting, that's probably a better word here. there shouldn't be much for it to find, provided everything was put together correctly. the room is an almost perfect Faraday cage, to prevent communication signals from getting in or out, as far as you understand. it's searching has brought it to the security cam, it looks up at it and you find yourself staring eye to eye with one of the most deadly killers alive. or- it can't see you, there is a screen in between, but still... you feel like you can't look away. it's eyes are an obviously unnatural shade of red. one pupil expands and contracts like a camera lens but the other stays very, very still. finally, it looks away, and you flip through the other security cams, hands shaking slightly. that got to you more than it should have, honestly. it's not gonna jeff the killer you, it can't even see you. there isn't much else of note going on, eventually you cycle back around to the agents cam. you are just in time to see it launch itself off the table, at the security camera wedged in a corner of the ceiling, and rip it right off the wall. as your display goes to static, you take a moment to catch your breath, and then you follow protocol and call up the security guard team, but if you're being honest here you don't really expect it to stay in containment for much longer.
the cam in its cell is dead, so the next thing you see of it is it running through the halls as the alarms blare, making a beeline for the storage units. there is almost no way for it to already know the layout of this facility, maybe it just has internal trackers installed??? god. the doors are as locked as they can be but it rips through them anyway, it does something to its left hand and the skin [which you assume is silicone] falls off the metal bones underneath, which it uses to rip and cut. it finds its gear and takes the time to put everything back on, which does give security more time to find it. unfortunately, by the time they get there it is fully armed, and it mows them down easily. it's confident now, it takes its time going through the halls of cells, looking for its partner, you assume. the person it was captured with, listed in your database as 'special operative grenadine', 'the handler'. their real name is fully unknown, which is probably a testament to their skill at hacking and information handling. you switch to the camera feed from their cell, but there isn't much to note. they seem to have significantly less augmentations than their partner. you switch back to the feed of the agent. it guns down every guard it sees, specifically avoiding the other inmates. it doesn't free them, either, which is better for you, you suppose. from your spot behind the monitor there is nothing you can do to either help or hinder it as it finds and frees its partner. that didn't last long. nothing you could've done, though. hopefully you won't be fired.
this is bad. this is bad. this is bad. most of your abdomen is gone. this is bad. this is bad. you need to. you need to notify the handler. you need. the. the. the. the switch. on finger two. finger two. you need to. this is bad. finger two. under the silicon. under the. under the. there it is. there it is. the switch. switch to red. switch to left. switch to bad. this is bad. this is bad. click. there we go. there we go. alright. alright. alright. alright. alright. all good.
you find the agent in almost two pieces, connected weakly by a strip of stomach tissue. the leaves of the bushes it was thrown under are spattered with red and pink. that's a biosecurity hazard honestly, but you don't have the time to clean that up. this is an emergency. your agent is- it is- you kneel down next to its head. it's periscopic eye focuses on you, for a second, before going blank. you check its pulse. there's one beat... and a second... nothing. alright. okay. okay. you need to- oh god. you need to get it into the truck. it's awkward and terrible but you pick up both halves at once so nothing else is torn and get it inside the truck. you can't fix this. not here, with this equipment. hey, dude, i'm gonna call up the albatross and see if he'll let us use their equipment. alright? yeah. you sound way closer to tears then you thought you did. you have to. um. i'm gonna go up to the drivers seat for a second, but i'm not leaving. i promise. you're gonna be alright. i just need to make a call. fuck. fuck. don't cry. cmon. you are in the drivers seat and you are breathing deeply. you are calming down. you need to make a phone call. yeah, you're fine now. there we go. alright. dialling. hello? bird man?
Gangrene! I don't hear from you too often! How's it hanging?
hilarious. and pretty bad, actually. i need to use your regen tech for a couple hours. my agent is... dead. my stuff's not gonna cut it for this.
Ah, I see. Well, that's gonna cost ya... uh, let's see here. he starts audibly flipping through a book, the fucker. then he slams it on the table. I'm messing with you. It's free this time.
thanks man. seriously.
Very seriously! You're not as good at hiding tears as you think you are.
shut up egg man. he laughs at that.
How long do you think the drive over will take?
uhh, probably like. 55 minutes. i'm not all that close.
I'll have everything set up for you by the time you arrive. Drive safe.
thanks again, man. you hang up before they can insult you again. call success. you consider going to the back to check on it again, but it would still be- fuck. it's sharp, smart eyes, the way they'd snap from one subject to another, but linger on you for just a bit longer then everything else. the way its dead eyes stared up at you from the short, bloodied grass. you aren't crying too much to drive. you'll be okay. it will too.
[state your name and business.]
hello, this is sonic 2 & knuckles, and we're here to, uhh, defeat the evil dr eggman.
[...what? oh, uhh... hang on.]
...
[entry granted. please make your way to the second basement layer.]
thank you.
you navigate your little truck through the facility. it's been a while since you were here, but you still more or less remember where to go. the albatross would definitely tease you if you got lost.
There you are! It's all set up for you.
thanks man. it's in the back. i'm gonna need help moving it, if that's alright.
Sure, yeah. And next time you show up, please don't confuse my security staff so much.
i needed to make sure you knew it was me! i promise nothing, that was effective encrypted communication.
you and them step into the back of the truck, and they get a good look at the agent. he's silent for a minute, which is funny, they aren't usually. you and him move the agent out of the truck and into the big boxy regeneration machine. he knows that you know how this thing works, he leaves you to strip it of its gear and get the necessary info inputted. once the thing has gotten to work, you just kinda stand there and watch the display, as it slowly and steadily rebuilds your agent. your machine has one focal bit, this has six. it's somewhat hypnotic to watch, even on the shitty pixelated display. after about 20 minutes you are brought a drink. some sort of fruit juice. they said what flavour, you just weren't listening. it's good. there's probably something you can do to repay the albatross for all this. maybe just money, you're not horribly short on that. finally, finally, finally, its vitals come back online. quiet, unsteady heartbeat. there isn't any work needed on its head, so you open the upper quarter of the machine.
air in your lungs. cloth under your hands. you- you try to- you open your eyes. concrete. oh wait, this is probably the uhh. the place. where you got your jump boosters installed. alright. you recognise the feeling of yourself being rebuilt. you stay still. the handler comes into your line of sight. their face splits into an expression you don't recognise. like joy, but with more tears. dude, i was so fucking- worried! i was scared! i- i thought i would lose you, i- i- you carefully close your eyes, then open them again. slow blink. affection. it lands, they start laughing. still crying. very weird emotion. she takes your head in his hands, very carefully, and rests their forehead against yours. it's nice. warm and familiar. you let your eyes close, and just enjoy the moment. i love you, dude. so much.
the mission is simple. that's a lie. this mission is really easy to fuck up, because it's so reliant on timing. there are three factors here within your control; yourself, your agent, and the acorn. you need to get acorn into this building's server room, so that she can do her job, and steal the financial documents she needs from this organization. the agent's job is to make sure you two don't get shot at, and your job is to make sure nothing explodes. simple. not simple at all, really. but you can do this. you've got this. probably. whatever.
you've just seen the agent off, it's gone in through the vents, and you and acorn are going in through the rotating glass doors at the front of the building, like fools. not like fools. this is part of the plan. you are undercover, as software specialists, here to fix the mysterious security bug that showed up in their financial database recently. the one that you planted. but they don't know that. you did a pretty good job with that one, honestly, but there's only so much you can do remotely without getting caught. much easier to do damage up and close. also much easier to get caught. fuck. you aren't getting caught, right now, because you don't look like scary hackers. you look like somewhat gay software engineers, which is mostly true. you don't actually know what degree acorn has. it might be accounting??? you forgot to ask, and now is not the time. but it would explain why she's so good at the financial end of the business. you walk up to the front desk, and you try to act harmlessly nervous, like you're supposed to be here, you just got lost. and it works, the receptionist gives you the keycard you need. you thank her, and you follow the acorn into the big fancy elevator. the ride is silent, but the acorn glances at you several times, like she wants to go over the mission plan. she doesn't, because she knows how easy it is to install cameras in buildings like this.
the elevator ride is long enough, it gives you a moment to breathe. then it comes to a very jarring stop, slams your jaw into place all wrong. you would think they'd have good control systems in a building this fancy and high-budget. flashy but ineffective. that checks out with what you know about their software infrastructure, honestly. that's a good sign for this whole mission. you walk down the hallway, and you remember to look nervous and ordinary, and the acorn follows you. a guard points you to the server room you need. they look distracted, honestly. like they need a smoke or something. acorn goes and plugs her laptop into the first server she sees, and sits down on the floor to start working. you're a bit more subtle, you think. or, that's your part of the job. to remember things like this. with her down low like that, there's one camera to be concerned with. you stick to the wall, just about out of its view, you think, and you reach up to stick an interruptor on. the ceilings are low as hell in here, cramped and buzzing little space, full of beautiful data. you sit down next to the acorn, and you pull out your laptop to look like you're doing your 'job', and you intercept the security camera feed. you grab the latest clip, of the two of you sitting peacefully, and you loop it. nothing out of the ordinary. even the timestamp is displaying as normal. you're so good at this. nothing is exploding. hoorah. oh, you should tell the acorn that. you give her a thumbs up, all clear, and she shuffles herself deeper into the maze of servers. you launch an application to keep an eye on all the data moving in and out of this server room. ach, no wait that's way too much to process at once, you can't think that fast. you filter out all the redundant boring stuff. ok that's readable. now you can see when a server tries to announce that it's being read/modified, and catch the message before it gets out. you also catch the automatic security cam refresh, and make sure it continues to loop the footage of you two acting unsuspicious. you are holding down the fort. you are doing a good job. you are not getting distracted. you wonder what the agent's up to. you open up two separate new encrypted channels, to make it as hard as possible for anyone to spot what you're doing, and then you use one to ping the agent for its location. turns out it's right above you, just chilling in the vents up there. vibes, okay. nothing has gone wrong yet. you don't want to get complacent. you use your second empty channel to get access to the cameras in the hallways just outside. it's a finicky job, but you do get in. just in time, actually. the guards shift has changed, and the new guy seems more attentive then the last one. that's not ideal for you. you try your cam footage looping trick again. it's a bit tricky, because you don't have any interruptors out there, you need to use the one in-point you have to the cam network to get to the ones you want. oh wait shit. have you got it. yes you have. epic. epic. okay. here's the acorn. she's shaking your shoulder gently to get your attention. you got absorbed in your work. that happens a lot. she gives you a thumbs up, along with her normal somewhat blank stare.
you want to make everything look smooth and not obviously weird as you leave. so you tell her to sit next to you again before you stop the footage loop on this camera. perfect. not perfect, she's on the other side of you now. whatever, they probably won't notice. maybe. time to get out of here. you get up and go out the door and the acorn follows. that guard is dead. one shot to the head. acorn latches onto your arm when she sees the body. you turn around to look at the vent just above the door and the agent is there, unscrewing the silencer from its pistol. it gives you a thumbs up. you try not to laugh at that.
[time to get going] you say, one of the only things you've said aloud this mission, somehow. you walk acorn over to the elevator. she still looks freaked out. you want to distract her.
[you should dye your hair again, the green looked nice]
[Oh! Thank you. Uhh, I've been meaning to, but my landlady got mad at me the last time I got dye all over the shower. I've also been busy, bleaching it is such a pain...]
the two of you chat about hair colors as you return the keycard to the front desk, and you exit the building without incident. mission complete, almost, very nearly. you have your laptop open, disconnected from everything but the camera system. you're just waiting on the agent. where is it. where is it. oh god where THERE perfect okay. you turn off the looping video in the hall with the body and you disconnect from the buildings network and the agent is in the truck safe and sound and you drive away just as an alarm starts going off inside the building. mission success. ohhh my god. you laugh, and drum your hands against the steering wheel. you take a route that'll make you hard to track, while the acorn thinks out loud about her next steps, data processing and communicating with clients and maybe also blackmail, stuff of that nature. you can see the agent in the back, cleaning its guns. you're all good. mission success.
you have some time between assignments, so you've taken the opportunity to sit by this lake for a while. your agent is next to you, on the old dock, lying stomach down so that it can run its fingers through the water. it's holding onto the wood of the dock with its silicon hand, it's at no risk of falling in. you've taken your boots off to dip your feet in the water. it's a buttfuck hot summer day, and the water is lovely and cool and clear enough that you can see some little fish swim along the sand and pebbles at the bottom of the lake. the agent is watching the fish intently while still looking like it doesn't plan on moving at all in the next hour. aside from the way it swishes at the water, but that's slow and careful enough not to disturb the fish. you found this spot when you were a kid, and you never shared it with anyone in order to keep it a secret. you found no evidence that anyone else was here in all those years, no items left behind, no new scratches on the old wood, you feel safe enough to relax outside for once. a bird flies out of the trees that line this side of the lake, and sits on a branch to watch you two. a small black and red thing, it puffs up all proud when you shift to look at it. after a moment, it retreats back into the trees, and a few notes of birdsong ring out over the lake. [this is, like, really nice. incredibly so.] the agent makes a small agreeing sound, and then brings its hand out of the water to tap a finger next to its periscopic eye, before letting go of the dock to sign [recording]. you point out that it's been watching the fish this entire time, and it lazily brings both hands through the water and up to its chest to make the sign for [important]. you laugh at that. [be sure to send me the highlights from your three hours of fish footage.] it nods, contentedly, before settling back into the same position it was in earlier, now slightly splashed. you take a breath in -the air smells nice here- and let it out in a sigh, and you close your eyes to feel the evening sun on your face. in a few hours, the sun will have set, and you two will be long gone, but for now you are in this moment, and it is wonderful.
you can't really tell why you're awake. you can't tell if you qualify as awake right now. your processing speed is abysmal, roughly one thought every two seconds, atrociously slow. or maybe just sleepy? half-awake. human term, only kind of applies. where even are you? you're flat on your stomach, head to the side, hands all up in your back. pulling bits out. you can only sort of feel it. just left of a real feeling. the shelf across from you is where the handler keeps all their mid-tech medical supplies, the high-tech stuff is packed very carefully closer to the front. you remember what happened, it was a bunch of small explosives. caught you from behind. in the moment it was more annoying then anything else, but some metal components did get uncomfortably hot in there, as well as all that fucking shrapnel that good friend coolguy is currently fishing out. you should say thanks. you don't know if you can right now, actually. you go for it, and end up making a low droning sound. they do respond, with a little sound of their own. you try again. two sounds, descending. [thank you]
[you're welcome. now stay still, you got fried and i'm trying to minimise long-term damage.]
you make one more sound, it's quiet. you don't have to do anything else here, all done all safe all good. it seems you're properly falling asleep now, actually. about time.
the agent walks up to the kitchen staffs door, and it holds its wrist up to the ID scanner. it is let inside, no problem. that chip in its organic arm is one of the few actual wireless pieces of tech it has installed onboard, because those chips are easy to write to and easy to erase and are a very non-obtrusive system. can't hack someone through their ID, and those are so easy to fake. you don't really know why they're still in such common use. makes your job easier, you suppose. the kitchen staff work around the agent, and the agent slips through them.
it gets weird looks, they know they're in some danger, but no one ends up hurt. it stresses you out, a little bit, to see your agent around civilians. you dont really know why. or, well, you know what it can do. you don't know what it won't do. it's impossible to test for the absence of an occurrence. that's not the phrase. it's impossible to prove that something will never happen. that's it. no wait, that doesn't sound right either. whatever. you are not afraid of the agent, it is your friend. these random civilians are not it's friends. as far as you know. but it is polite, as far as you can tell, as it moves through the crowded kitchen. you check that it has access to the latest version of your little map of this building, and it does. and then it proves that it does because it goes the long way around and takes the door that leads to the staff hallways, and not the fancy ass dining area. it's following the route it needs to, no issue. tiny issue. it needs to get through two locked doors. issue so small it is microscopic, because all these locks are ID activated. lol. you scrape the biometric data you need from the security network, and update it's chip. and it's let through without issue. no wait. a little warning popup about how one person apparently went through one door twice in one direction. valid concern. you delete the warning. lol. the agent makes it to the room without issue.
inside of the room is a slender young man with short, greasy hair and a jumpy air to him. the agent startles him a lot by just popping up silently in the corner of his office. this is the client, and not the target. your view from the agents visor keeps wandering, because it's a bit bored. the client, Petra, asks you a question, out loud. well, he asks the agent a question, but it's not really listening. you respond via text, same channel that he hired you on.
"So. You're... agent Mandible?"
the codename you're currently using. [yes yes. where is the target? thought there was a job to do.]
you do not need to be this rude, but also it's kinda fun, watching the fear on his face, watching him puzzle the pieces together entirely incorrectly, because he whispers "Ah, so you're a robot..." under his breath in a way he thinks you won't hear. lol? even if one of you was a robot, you would be able to hear that. this guy is a fool. a fool who is paying you to kill his superior. it might actually be his dad, you didn't pry enough to find out. he has composed himself enough to tell you what room the target is in.
"I don't think I need to tell you how to get there, given that you found me just fine." he shuffles his feet, and visibly struggles to maintain eye contact. he feels he needs to be polite, apparently. "You arrived at the perfect time, he should be asleep for the next 15 minutes or so..." he trails off, and then turns to look out a window, hands behind his back, all fuckin formal. the agent is out of there as soon as the talking is over, and you've sent it on the updated map. you check on the targets room remotely. holy shit. the door lock isn't even engaged. he left it open. there are two cameras in his room. one is completely off, he requested that? lol. the other is not off, but it is on standby mode, it should alert and start recording when it detects movement. getting past that specific trick is not brainlessly easy, but it's not impossible either. you just want it to look untampered with. or- wait. it only needs to look untampered for the text ten minutes or so, while no-one's looking too hard, probably. you get it hacked, it's a good enough job. as good as it needs to be. they won't have footage of the incident. now you get to watch the agent do it's part of the job, from its perspective, no less. it takes a moment to consider something. medium of dispatch, maybe? oh, yeah. it gets out its knife. hand over his mouth, blade into his neck, up into the skull. simple and silent. kinda messy and gruesome also. the poor cleaning staff, that is not a cheap carpet. at least that desk seems very blood-proof, with how excessively shiny it is. the agent wipes its knife on the targets sleeve, and then it is out of there, along the new route you've sent it, down the quiet staff hallways but not the same ones as earlier. you leave your cam hack in place, might as well, and you text the client and tell him [it is done.] which is very edgy of you, you admit, but it's appropriate for this job, probably.
hmm. there's something to ponder there, about the aesthetics of death. guns make the process of creating death much more efficient, they're machines, they're optimized. using your own hand weapons takes the degree of separation out of it. you're much closer to the violence you're doing. you, in the general grammatical case, your personal hands are still pretty clean, overall. well, ok, no. degrees of separation, again. you are paid to be the middleman between the person who wants someone dead and the person who does the killing. person is here. you wave it into the truck, and then you drive away, out of this parking lot.
[do you want more hand weapons? i've been mostly focusing on guns, for range and effecacy, but for small jobs like this it might be worth it. maybe? what do you think?]
it makes a small ponderous noise, and looks up to the roof, fidgeting with its fingers, deep in thought.
[i should be able to get my hands on some weapons catalogs for you, plus there's that expo coming up in a few weeks. but with both of those, there's the problem of you being actively sold something. lots of loud flashy words to get you to spend lots of money money money]
it huffs a quiet laugh, and then it pulls its mask down to tap at its jaw. huh? oh, it's referencing the guy who sold you that jaw, and a lot of other very flashy and not strictly nessecary items. you laugh at that.
[oh man, i don't remember how many of them you've met, but i have quite a lot of friends like that. my sincere condolences.]
it throws it's hands up in mock despair, very clearly smiling at the same time. you have a new message, from Petra. [The money has been forwarded to you.] oh damn. immediately after the job? this guy has a lot of trust in his bank security. or he just hasn't thought of what an investigator might look for. family of rich idiots, over there. once the money comes in, you'll move it to your actual account. obfuscatory steps. the agent is messing with a small piece of fabric, folding and unfolding it. it might have snatched that from that last job. that's fair, honestly. small enough to be hard to identify and easy to dispose of it needed, and it looks like it has a good texture to it. you should get it some new fidgety things, once this money comes in. you could get yourself something too, maybe. been a while since you got new clothes, but also you don't like lugging around too much unnessecary stuff. maybe there's a clothes swap event somewhere nearby you could drop in to. how would you find that. you could ask a friend. carmen, they seem like they would know. you should drop into them anyways, say hi. it gets kinda hard to keep up with friends, with the constant travelling. but you do your best, and your friends are cool, they all seem to understand. the agent has just finished typing something out on its communicator.
[bazooka would be funny]
that is SO far from anything you were expecting, you're breathless with laughter.
[say fuck all of you. get explode]
you make a little explosion motion with both hands, one still on the wheel. the agent looks somewhat proud of having gotten you to laugh.
[okay, man, do you have any actual ideas?]
[no. give me some time]
[yeah yeah, no worries. we're in no rush]
you are manually switched awake. you sit up and are face to face with someone who looks angrier then you've ever seen a human face look before. correction: angrier then anything you can remember right now. you can't remember much right now. that's probably normal? maybe it's not. maybe it is, but not to this extent. hmm. the angry person orders you to get up and get equipped. their haircut is short in places and long in others, in a way that leaves their neck exposed. your database says they're your current primary director. yeah alright. you disconnect the cables from your back and get out of this little storage rest plate thing. it looks a bit like the uhhh. the things waiters would carry in old movies, to cover food. maybe they still have them in fancy old restaurants. you haven't been in one of them in. wait how long has it been. you have no idea. many a time. while you were thinking about all that you put on your gear. your guns aren't as familiar as they should be, you think. not as familiar as the gear itself, that all goes where it goes, comforting and heavy. same and good. but you're done now, ready to go do whatever this mission is, so the director motions you through a door and out into a mildly damp basement. they make their way to an elevator, and as the door slides open they send you a very small info packet.
MISSION OBJECTIVE: KILL KILL KILL
that's very vague. you send a request for clarification.
MISSION OBJECTIVE: Kill everyone in this building. Leave the Director alive.
you can do that. there's only one target in this basement, in another little side room. you open the door and shoot them twice in the chest. you take the stairs up, there's two more targets who were coming down before and are now trying to escape. they aren't fast enough though.
the director's plan for this was terrible. by the time you'll make it to the top floor, reinforcements will have arrived through the main entrance on the ground floor, where main entrances are. armed reinforcements, presumably. you'll be able to deal with it, but this director is not a good strategist. or maybe they're less dumb when they're less emotionsfull. whatever, you're currently working your way through floor four, where there are a number of targets who are actually armed. they probably had time to hear all the noise and get prepared. you've taken most of them out, and only been hit yourself a few times in the non-critical areas. there's one room left before you can go up the stairs and start clearing out the next floor. this looks like an open sort of cubicle area, you can see where the targets are, huddled towards the back. one of them is an idiot and stands up all obvious and starts saying stuff, you don't know what, you're not in the headspace to process complex audio inputs, you have a
MISSION OBJECTIVE: KILL KILL KILL
but this weird dumb person seems. hmm. they have red braids and a long soft face and a voice that sounds. like. um. their voice is shaking but they're still saying stuff. you. um. they're important. definitely. they're really important. you don't remember why but. you. her hands are soft. and. and. you turn around, and gesture for him to follow you. you flick the safety of your gun on and off and on and off as you lead them down the stairs. this is weird. this is weird. but you've given yourself a new
MISSION OBJECTIVE: GET OUT AND KILL ANYTHING THAT STANDS IN YOUR WAY
and redFriend seems to trust you? you were just pointing a gun at him but shes still willing to follow you out. they don't know that's where you're going. but maybe she knows that you aren't going to/can't tell him and that's why they're more important then that director. down the stairs, to the ground floor, and she starts heading for the back exit. you protect his back, but it seems like backup hasn't arrived just yet. she stops at the glass door, and you can see the heat signatures for loads of people, grouping into an attack formation. ah. that's where the backup is. you move to go in front, draw fire so they can get out. but she stops you, and whispers something. you make an effort to comprehend this time, and catch the tail end of it.
[-like a fish in a fucking barrel! come on, i think i know a safer way out.]
hmm. yeah, there are way too many armed targets out there, and you wouldn't have the element of surprise. plus, after they're done shooting you they might move on to the handler. they're probably supposed to be here to protect them but you aren't gonna count on that. you follow them down to the basement, and then into that elevator the director took. huh, maybe it isn't actually an elevator. no wait, it has all the right buttons for each floor. the handler presses the ZERO and GROUND buttons together, and after a short burst of movement the doors open to a cramped garage-ish area. the director is also still here, aiming a handgun at you shakily. hmm. you step forward to act as a meat shield and you get shot once near your collarbone but you shoot them once in the neck and there isn't anyone else in here so the standoff is over. you turn to the handler.
[dude, that was just showing off.]
hey now. well. yes. you shrug, and then gesture towards your own neck, which messes with the bullets in your arm but it gets the point across, they laugh in a way that sounds, like, really tired. you indicate that the two of you should leave and she makes an agreeing sound and pokes around at the walls until they find a small exit. the door is silent as it opens, and the two of you step out into the chill of the evening. you follow the handler, you trust him and she seems to know where to go. you don't have a way to look any less generally dangerous other then just putting your weapons away and trying to make yourself look a bit smaller. you'll probably be fine. maybe. you don't walk for long before coming to a small truck. the handler unlocks it and opens the passenger door, and they refer to it as your seat, all casually. hm. interesting. you sit down. there's a little storage compartment here, with a bunch of random little objects inside. you pull out a rock, smooth and palm sized, with a length of old worn chain bolted to it. very interesting. it has a nice texture to it, and the chain makes a faint tunk-tunking sound at it hits against itself. you like it. the handler gets into the drivers seat, and it's only after getting a few blocks away that she heaves a big sigh, like he's been holding his breath for the past hour. maybe she has, honestly.
[that was such a fucking shitshow! i had to- i went in there to fucking negotiate given that they fucking captured you and then that DICKHEAD decides that they're better then everyone else in their company and just fucking orders them all dead?! i guess!? and they didn't have a better weapon for it then the PERSON that they STOLE FROM ME and-]
you're holding a hand up, and when she stops you move the hand to your chest, in and out motion. breathing. would be good here. you think. they laugh in a way that sounds a bit like crying, and then he takes a moment to catch her breath.
[yeah, yeah. when we get to the warehouse district, i'll pull over and do a full assessment, get those bullet wounds sorted and all that. in the meantime, uh, there's a communicator in your storage compartment there, anything you can tell me would be helpful.]
you look again, and there is a tablet in there. you take it out, and it turns on to a communicator screen thing, as promised. you quickly type out the main details of what you can remember, which is just today, and they get all sad and quiet after that. hmm. probably you're missing something big. correction: definitely you're missing something big, you forgot the handler. you don't even know what else you forgot. damn it.
the little scanner finishes its journey across the table you're lying on and the handler wastes no time in analysing the results. she scowls at the little tablet, like the data was rude to him.
[they- ggrh! the memory issues probably come from that there implant in the base of your skull, they didn't want to risk totally breaking your brain forever so they didn't actually erase or damage anything, i think. i should be able to restore it. it doesn't look like they healed any of your injuries properly? thought that eye was a fluke, but i guess not. i have the new one ready for you by the way, with a periscopic function cuz i had some time on my hands. the ports in your back are just a clunky way to interface with your internal systems, i was worried they were integrated into the spinal column but evidently they didn't have that good of a surgeon on hand. thirty-two bullets in you, a fair few of these look old and partially healed over, i'm gonna have to dig them all out, sorry about that. uhh-] she starts fidgeting with the tablet in his hands, in a way that looks distressed; [i'm gonna have to switch you off temporarily for that brain surgery, everything else could technically be done while awake but the brain is too delicate, which is why i always avoid brain augmentation. um, if you're uncomfortable with that please let me know, i don't wanna, like-]
you shake your head, this is not a scary situation. you know what's going on and you know they can do it. you reach out a hand, and after a second, he takes it. her face kinda melts. in a positive expression way.
[i missed you, dude. really glad to have you back, safe and... alive]
and you're glad to be here. you blink once at her, slowly, affectionate. his hands are soft.
your number one mission objective was to be quiet, to not wake up anyone else in this apartment and incriminate an innocent bystander unnessecarily. your second mission objective was to take out the target, and leave the informative items [nonspecified] intact, for later investigators to find and use as evidence for whatever it was that this guy did. you were, like, mostly successful.
this guy was prepared, you don't know why and you don't care. you stopped him from using that gun but you didn't stop him from breaking those bottles. there is a lot of debris in your abdomen. it's sharp. it feels like some important stuff was severed in there, specifically something to do with spatial orientation and navigation. you are really dizzy right now. you're leaning against- something. this is really not ideal. you need to leave. you'll take a moment to breathe first though. urgh. this is really not ideal. fuck.
you woke up to the sound of some sort of scuffle, coming from the old man's apartment. you always got a weird vibe from him, or at least, your dad always said to avoid being in the elevator alone with him. but he never did anything to you, you never saw him doing anything actually illegal, and even if you did, the cops don't come up to this floor of this building. you try to go back to sleep and you fail, that fight is just getting louder. the sound of breaking glass and breaking wood isn't filtered at all by these thin fucking walls. eventually, finally, there's one big thump, and then silence. now is when you should go back to sleep. now. you should really not get involved in whatever that was. but you would hate if- if someone needed medical help and didn't get any, just bleeding out there- fucking hell. you get up and pull your sneakers on, and stealth your way past your dad's room and into the hall and over to the old man's open door. there's a lot of blood on the floor. like- a lot. some of it leads to what looks like the old man's body, dragged roughly into a corner, but most of it leads to a person, standing by the counter, hunched over. he- she? whatever. they're dressed like some sort of fucking cyber ninja, and their height just makes them look extra intimidating, and they're currently pulling half of a broken bottle out of their stomach. there's a lot of blood, obvious even against their all black clothing.
they must notice that you're here, because they don't look at you to make eye contact but they do lift up their arms in a classic 'i'm not going to shoot' gesture, and it looks like that put them in even more pain because they hunch more into themself, you can see their hands shake. it's only now that you notice you've been frozen to this spot, breathing heavily and probably also loudly. you step forward, careful not to get bloodstains on your old sneakers. you ask what happened, quietly, and they gesture vaguely. that's not terribly helpful. you ask them for an actual explanation, and they shake their head stiffly, and gesture at their masked mouth. they can't talk, maybe? or they won't talk. alright, whatever, fine. you ask if they need medical help, because you do know first aid, and they stare into the distance for a brief moment before nodding, slowly. alright. you step a bit closer- you're really close to this person who you don't know and who is definitely dangerous- and you get them to lift their shirt up so you can assess the damage. the damage is a lot. it looks like that bottle was stabbed into them again and again and again and again. some rings of cut look really fucking deep, and some- you must be seeing this wrong or making this up, but- some look like you can see metal under the skin. good lord. you grab a clean looking towel and start mopping up some of the blood. oh, yeah, okay. not only could you see metal, but now that you're trying to clean the area you can see severed wires, sticking through the skin. coming from the inside and going out. it makes a little questioning sound, because your hands have gone still, and you take a second to recuperate before you ask if it's some kind of robot. it replies with an [ehh kinda] sort of noise and makes a matching sort of hand gesture, and that would be more annoying if you weren't right now staring at the evidence of them being some sort of kind-of-robot. a broken kind-of-robot, to be specific. they're leaning heavily against the counter by now. they look like they can't really get home by themself, wherever their home is. ugh. you should not have gotten involved in whatever this is. you tie the towel around their abdomen, in a way that is rough as all hell but will staunch the bleeding for a while, and you pull their shirt over it to make the mess slightly less obvious. you then make the executive decision that they need to get downstairs and out of this apartment building, and they can't do it by themself. this is confirmed when you take their arm over your shoulder and they sort of collapse against you. they've lost a lot of blood.
but they're still kind of conscious, enough to take shambly steps with you as you walk towards the elevator with them in tow. you notice as you wait for the elevator that the little lights on all the security cameras are off, which probably means none of this is being recorded, which is good, probably. you would like to wake up tomorrow and have things be normal. eventually, the shitty old elevator arrives, and you step into it, injured person in tow. the ride down is quiet, except for the sound of the two of you breathing, so it's obvious that their breath is getting more and more shallow and faint. ohh god. the elevator dings weakly and lets you out on the ground floor, and there's no one here either. where do you go from here. outside, probably. just get them out of the building and out of your hair. you lug them out the front door, and as soon as you're within eyeshot a person hops out of a nondescript small white truck, and rushes up to you, talking very fast about something something connection went down and worst case scenarios and thank fuck you're here. their combination of hair and voice and style is somewhat confusing but you decide they're pretty and are therefore probably a girl. she takes the injured person from you, lifting them easily because she's actually taller then them, somehow, and moves them into the vehicle. you ask if they'll be okay, and she reassures you with a load of very technical and/or medical words that probably mean she knows what she's doing. you were able to steal a glance into the back of the truck, it's full of machines that you've never fucking seen before. that's good enough for you. you say goodnight and move to go back inside and back to bed, but before you do, she says to hang on for a second. she wants to repay you that favour. huh. alright. she rushes over to the front of the truck and rummages around inside for a second before pulling out what looks at first glance like money, maybe? and she gives it to you, it's definitely money, it's five twenties and five tens. this is a LOT of money, and it's in small bills to make it easier for you to use. that's really considerate of her. this is a lot of money. you ask if she's sure, and she insists, mentioning how important it was to her to get her friend back. before you leave, she asks how long it'll take you to get back to your apartment, and you say five minutes. if you wanted to run and be loud, it would take you three, but you aren't doing that tonight. she says that the security cams will turn back on in ten minutes, and waves you off. this was a very confusing and weird night, but it's over now, probably. nothing else happens on your way back, thank fucking hell, and you can hear your dad snoring away peacefully as you slink back to your room. you sleep alright after that.
you and the agent have arrived at a small town. your plan is to refuel and restock, maybe hang out for a bit, and then leave. you pull the truck into the grocery store parking lot. it also has a petrol station, that's handy. you have like half a tank of fuel right now, but buying two tanks worth of diesel would be way more suspicious. this way is better.
you ready?
it nods.
lovely. like we normally do.
you hop out and start filling the tank, and it clambers into position to start filling its personal canisters with fuel. it doesn't take too long, once you're done you go into the store to pay for the diesel and stock up on food.
now is as good a time as any to refill your internal tank, you're not critically low at the moment but there is no need to be. you move into the back to be more discrete, remove some gear, and open the spot on your left shoulder that connects to your primary fuel reserve. you slot the canister into place and wait for it to empty. this is not a task that requires much focus, you can let your mind wander. there is a holiday coming up, the handler doesn't expect a gift which is why they would be very surprised if you managed to find her something. you don't have many options available to you. you'll keep an eye out for whatever you can find. you very much like the handler. you enjoy your job and you enjoy your life and it is thanks to them. your tank is full. you seal the canister and pack it away into its place. you move back into the passenger seat, and stare at birds until the handler is done shopping. proud little beasts, strutting about like they own the place. eating fries out of the gutter. what a life they lead. the handler opens the passenger door and hands you a bunch of bananas and a pack of sandwiches. hey dude! got all the usual stuff, except for bacon cuz it was a really terrible deal, but i'd be willing to stop somewhere else for that, honestly. he moves around the truck and gets into the drivers seat. sometimes it is worth paying more for better quality, especially with meat, but like this was not good quality meat. not bad enough to give you food poisoning, mind you, but not worth that price. she starts navigating out of the parking lot, once he's on the road you offer them one of the bananas. there was that one time a store somewhere had, like, smoked maple bacon? it was- oh, thank you -it was SO GOOD and it was on special offer too, i went back to get more just because i liked it so much. i've seen it other places, but never for that cheap. bacon and eggs for breakfast are a truly top tier experience, i've said it before and i'll say it again. you go for one of the sandwiches as the handler continues chatting. something with white meat and leafy vegetables, it's good. the sun is high in the sky, but there's just enough clouds that it's not terribly hot. comfortably warm. it's nice.
the handler is currently talking to the client, about gender or whatever. you're not paying them that much attention right now, you got what you needed to know, you think. the client is currently at moderately high risk, which is why the handler gave you access to the live security cam footage, and the client is a celebrity or influencer or something, one of them types, which is why this meeting is happening at a fancy restaurant that does their own brewing and has fancy food-based art displays on the walls, and a few hanging from the ceiling as lamps. you don't feel like disguising as a civilian right now, so you're in the truck, watching the footage. the handler is good at disguising. today her braids are a very ordinary blonde, up in a bun, and he's laughing like he does when he hangs out with her friends. her human friends. you're a human, technically. whatever. you keep an eye on the crowd.
someone just entered the shop, and they're only a little bit suspicious. until their eyes lock on to your table. you see the way their hand goes to their pockets, briefly, before they remember they're undercover or whatever. you're out of the truck already. the parking lot is just behind the, uhh, beer garden? you think that's what it's called. you hop the fence and slip through the back door and are at your human's table just in time to flip it on its side and pull them behind it. you don't have time to get them out the back door with you, the target has opened fire. you need to return fire. the humans in here - all of them - have gotten loud. hrmm.
you reach over to hold Fig's hand as the agent pulls up its pant leg to retrieve the handgun it keeps in its calf, in the space between the artificial muscle and bone. Fig has started to hyperventilate. that's not ideal. you keep your voice low, and you try to tell them that the situation is under control, that they'll be okay. the agent fumbles at its arm for a handful of bullets, and then it loads its gun with a few smooth and practiced motions. it straightens up to open fire on the attacker, and you rub circles into Fig's hand with your thumb. it's weird, working with someone who isn't used to this. makes it more stressful. you keep talking to them, quiet as you can. you think you're doing an okay job at being comforting? you hope you are. you hear a particularly loud bang from just above you and they instinctually grab at you, pulling you closer. turns out that was a good move.
man, fuck this guy. he shot at one of those big fancy lampthings above your human's table. that was sort of smart. you weren't expecting it. you panic, a little bit, and end up throwing yourself into it, shoulder first. it lands just out of range to do your humans any damage, but the guy got some free shots at your back and side in the process. you're mad now. you shoot him in the hand, and the shin, and the thigh. he fumbles his gun, and it falls to the floor. that's all you needed. time to get out of here. you reach down and grab the handlers shoulder, briefly, to draw her attention, and then you point out the back door. emphatically. we need to go. the handler gets the client up and on their feet, eventually, and you keep your gun trained on the attacker. he doesnt try anything. he doesn't even notice you're still pointing a gun at him, he's busy with his thigh wound. killing in public is ill-advised, which is why you aren't doing it. one of the other humans in this building is on call with an ambulance, or the cops, more likely. finally, finally, your humans are moving out the back door, and you follow, making sure they don't get ambushed. the handler opens the back gate easily [you didn't know it opened that easily. you didn't have time anyways it's fine] and the three of you load into the van, because the client walked here and also theyre still panicking. and you wouldn't be able to help with that and the handler needs to drive. so the client is in your seat, and you're in the back, by the operating table. and it's fine. it's fine. they're in your seat and it's fine. there are splinters in your shoulder that you didn't notice earlier. but you don't remember which drawer the tweezers would be in. and the road has lots of sharp turns, you don't want to mess anything up with your shaky hands. your hands are shaky. you can hear them talking in the front, in quiet shaky voices like humans who just endured something traumatic. you don't really want to be able to hear them. you have a music player back here, you remember where. you pull up something loud and shapeless and think about that for the rest of the trip.
you are finally, finally, finally back in your own house. and despite how paranoid you've been lately, you feel pretty safe, because there are two assassins sitting on your living room floor. Grenadine - no wait, sorry, the handler - is pulling small bloody shards of wood and glass out of their agent's back. they're leaving the pieces in a little plastic tray on the floor next to them. the agent has taken its shirt and jacket off, and it's [it, right? not they? yeah it] it's just sitting quietly, eyes closed. its chest is littered with small scars, and with bigger patches of skin that don't quite look like scar tissue? they look like something else. you're not really sure what. its shoulders are broader then you'd expect for someone with top scars, faint as they are. you're staring. you've been staring. fuck. you finish what you went to the kitchen to do, putting a frozen pizza in the oven and making some hot chocolate, for you and your guests. you put a metal straw in each cup, because you have them and they're fun. you try to carry the three mugs out to the living room, and then you decide to be smart instead and just make two trips instead of spilling all over your carpet. the handler thanks you quietly. ah, quiet mode. okay. you grab your mug and sit on the couch, trying to give them some space. the mug is warm in your hands, it's helping you calm down.
you check your phone, in case anything important happened. ah. you were the important thing that happened. you get shown four different photos of you at the restaurant and decide you don't want to see any more. you switch to the music app, and play something quiet and calm and backgroundy on the TV speakers. it has lyrics but they're soft enough that you think your guests won't mind. your guests are taking a hot chocolate break. the agent takes its mask halfway off, and underneath it has a shiny metal jaw, like a proper cyborg. it doesn't really seem to have a lower lip to speak of. it uses the straw.
the handler puts her mug down, and puts her hand on the agents shoulder, rubbing small circles with their thumb. the agent puts its mug down and lies its hands flat on the ground, and the handler gets to work pulling out bullets. you don't watch that too closely, but you do find out what the not-scar skin is, it's fake, it covers up patches of cyborg machinery inside it. that's - that icks you out for some reason. makes you feel weird in your skin. you get up to check on the pizza. it's done. you cut it up and bring it out. you put it on the little table next to the couch, and you grab a slice, and you sit down. it's not long until those two are done. with one arm around it's shoulders, the handler gets the agent to move to the couch. it's sat next to her and she's sat next to you. it's very quiet in here, somehow, even with the music. you hazard a question.
[...Will it be okay?]
[oh, yes, no doubts there. it's already asleep, see.]
and it is asleep, injured shoulder pressed gently into its partner's side, face wrinkled up in what could be focus, could be distress. you're not really sure.
[will you be okay?]
[Yeah... yeah.]
they give you a look when you say that.
[do you want to talk about it?]
you breathe a long, drawn out sigh. [Sure.]
and the two of you fall into a quiet, earnest conversation. she's easy to talk to. she's nice. the faint sound of her partner breathing matches the rhythm of the song playing. it makes breathing feel easier for you, as well.
bomb went off. that's not good. you need to- ghhhhhh. your head pounds. you need to get your bearings. you need to find the handler. she is next to you, still. you need to get out of here. the building is collapsing. chunks of big and heavy and powdery and hazardous things are falling down around you and you need to not get hit. you pull the handler along and you move as fast as you can and you really wish you had 360 vision but you manage to avoid the worst of it until-
-a steel support beam comes down, almost on top of you. the agent pushes you out of the way, just in time, and it manages to avoid the worst of it. not all of it. there's an awful, awful crunching sound. you grab its arm and pull your friend off of the steel that has carved a long, wicked hole in its back. right through the fuel tank, right through the ribs. that's bad that's really bad. yyou, uh-
-you feel... sideways. empty. you're leaking, a lot, a steady stream of stuff you really need running down your back. you feel like you can't really breathe. you follow the handler, you try to, your limbs aren't responding the way they should. you tip sideways, she catches you. one arm around his shoulder. your head comes to rest next to her neck. you feel bad. you're cold. it's not cold in here. you're moving, the two of you, to somewhere. your eyes still work. the exits are blocked. you're moving to an uncollapsed area. they set you down on your side, your good side, you feel nauseated. no, that's not the word, you just feel sick and shaky. in your motor. no, uhh, your heart. they take your head in their lap, in her hands, she's saying something that you can't hear because your ears are ringing, still. he's crying. yyyou-
-you need to minimize long term damage you really really need to make sure it doesn't die. this is the best way to do that. you locate the little emergency switch under the faux skin of its collarbone, and it's expression relaxes into a look of recognition. you think. you hope, god you hope that it knows what you're doing. that it knows it'll be okay. knows, thinks. whatever. you switch it to emergency mode, the setting you use for surgeries. since this is basically a surprise, accidental, really scary surgery. your laughs turn into dry, painful coughs. the air quality in here is only going to get worse. you, also, need to stay alive. that's important. you need to call someone for a rescue and you need to not suffocate while you wait. you pull out your communicator, and you take a second to think, and you message the three colleagues of yours who are closest to this location. [EMERGENCY. REQUESTING IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE.] either they can help or they can't. now you need to help yourself. you've helped the agent as much as you can. it's in emergency mode, the closest to an OFF switch it has. it breathes less when it's like that, to conserve resources and slow down as many processes as possible. its- maybe it doesn't need its mask right now. what do you mean maybe. you are the one person on earth who would know that. its- um. it needs oxygen still, a little. you need oxygen a lot. this would not kill it, and it's a problem you could fix later, while solving all the other problems. like the big hole. ohhh god. gently, slowly, you unhook its mask from its face. and you feel bad doing it. this is. rude. or mean, or something. if it were conscious it would be upset. it would be more upset if you suffocated down here. you know that. the mask is a bit damp inside, sweat and a little bit of blood, you think. it doesnt fit your face right, obviously. but it filters air for you. it does its job. you run your fingers through your agent's grimy hair. you know it can't feel it. you don't stop.
you don't know how much time has passed. you zoned out again, whatever. you have a response, from robbie, actually. it's been a while since you talked to her. right now you just send the details she needs; [STRUCTURE COLLAPSED, "RED WINE FISHES". MAIN FLOOR, TWO NEED RETRIEVAL, ONE CRITICAL CONDITION. NO AMBULANCES.] you know she'll get the red wine fishes reference. probably. you both were here for that job. not an easy one to forget. no ambulances, because they'll ask questions you can't answer, and they won't have your regen machine. probably. it's been a while since you've been in a public hospital. maybe they've started to get with the times. probably not. the times are expensive. the smell of spilt petrol cuts through the mask's filters. you might cry, again. you don't want to do that. waste of water, limited resources, while you're trapped here. you want to zone out again. you can't do it on command. you have no fucking idea how people do that on command. so you do your normal thing, [it probably doesn't count as your normal thing if you haven't done it in many many years. whatever] you sit there in the uncomfortable present for a long long moment, listening to your own muffled breathing and to the sounds of the building settling around you, until eventually you notice you zoned out at some point because you're snapped back to the present by a sudden very loud and new crashing sound. you panic for a moment. you can't do anything. then the dust clears and you see that it's robbie, and her small group of other big strong men. they have found you, and you are safe now, and by that you mean you're slightly safer then you were before. you still need to evacuate. you pull the agent closer to your chest as you show robbie the situation at hand. she pulls a face and hisses through her teeth when she sees. after some quiet discussion with her boys, one of them lifts the agent up into their arms, saying little reassuring things to you the whole time, and robbie takes you, supporting you on her arm. they are being very nice to you right now. you must look rough. you feel fine, you think. you tune back in and you're approaching your truck. you find your words, you take the mask off, and you tell robbie that you'll be fine from here. she gives you a look.
[I'm not leaving you here alone, not when you're like this.]
[i need to get the agent stabilized, before anything else. I'll relocate after.]
[Sitting in one place, away from the wheel, you'd be easy to catch.]
[yhh... true...]
[Let me drive you, babe, you can hang out in my garage until you're ready to go.]
[...]
[Come on, you know my place is secure.]
[hah, yeah. "blue steel eye", i remember, that was a good job by me.]
[...?]
[ghh. yeah okay fine. here's the key, password is left left down left down up. don't crash us.]
[I'm a good driver, you know that. Boys, take the van home. I'll be right behind ya.]
you'll have to change the system password again, after this. for now, you have your agent on your operating table, nearly dead. you have a lot of things to do. fuel tank needs serious repairs, need to deal with the severe blood loss, and the ribcage damage as well. blood first, heart stop would mean brain stop and you want to avoid that. rib reconstruction last, you need access to the tank inside for repair. after that you can work on the respiratory issues that will probably crop up. you also need to get the air out of its pipes, get fuel re-circulating safely. lots to do. you get to work.
your chest feels bad, that's the first thing you notice. the second thing you notice is that you're awake and alive and stuff. that's nice. you thought maybe you would be dead, crushed and alone after the handler watches you bleed out. or worse. he could be the one dead. you need to check on her. it's a herculean task, to lift your head enough to turn it to the side. but he's there, collapsed on a stool, asleep. she looks rough. she looks alive, though. as do you. probably. maybe. you feel like you might look distinctly open right now. there are a few little delicate things connected into your back, you think. your movement is restricted but not by a lot. mostly you're just tired. you close your eyes for a moment. when you open them again, the handler is up, sorting through equipment just out of your view. you want to ask her for a status report. tell you what she's doing, how she's doing, how you're doing. you try to ask. it doesn't work. what the fuck. your hands feel really heavy. and far away. what the fuck, you need those. you can't, fucking- you're too fatigued to sign. you can flex your fingers, still, kinda. you don't like being angry. not angry. frustrated. normally you can do things, and you like being able to do things. you don't like this. she has noticed whatever turmoil you have going on, because he runs her fingers through your hair. it is actually pretty grounding, you can admit it. nothing useful here to be angry at, no point in getting worked up.
[dealing with the damage, steadily. fuel tank repaired, it should hold up, please tell me if you notice anything leaking or exploding or just going wrong. working on the rib cage right now. re-set and re-construct. don't move too much, this part is delicate. you got dangerously close to damaging your spine in a few places. you were lucky. well, wait, that's a weird thing to say in this situation. but you did survive. we're both alive. stay still.]
you let out a deep breath, as deep as you can manage right now. you'll be okay. you let your eyes close again. you're not immediately asleep this time, you can hear the purr of machinery just above you, and you can feel her hands wrap gently around your shoulder and your side. trying to assess progress, probably. you'll be okay.
there is a mermaid in these waters, you're pretty sure. or- you keep picking up evidence of something that doesn't match any documented species, but the few snapshots you've managed to get of it have indicated a weirdly humanoid upper half to its body. like a mermaid.
it seems to have some strong electrical manipulation capabilities too, you can tell when it's stalking your boat because your readings get messed up in these very consistent patterns. that might be why it's following you tbh. your boat also generates and manipulates weird electrical signals. you're proud of your boat. it's a good boat, absolutely full of very under-the-table technologies. anything in here that you didn't build yourself, you've traded for with someone else who engages in not-quite-legal research. you're currently thinking in a very rambly and bored way because you've spent the past several hours putting in new braids, in a fun wine-purple-red color that you really like. you're finally at the stage where you can seal off the ends, you're dipping them in hot water to set them and it ALMOST fucking spills on you and burns you because something slams up against the side of your boat. what the fuck. you're going to investigate. but first you dry your hair quickly and put the water somewhere it won't spill and THEN you go out to the deck to see what the fuck that was. it's, uhh... for a moment you can't see it through all the blood in the water- there's a lot. there's so much. this seems like too much- but then it bobs up to the surface and you can see that it's a weird fish. a big weird fish. with humanoid arms and a head. and gray-black and orange-red scales. and a large facial injury, which is where all this blood is coming from. you are going to get this fish into your observation tank. it looks like it might be dead already, but that just means the worst case scenario is that you have a previously undocumented specimen to study, and the best case scenario is this weird fish won't die tonight.
it takes you longer then you'd like to accomplish this goal, because this fish is fucking big. thick and solid, an amount of blubber that indicates they're probably meant for deeper waters then this? and its roughly twice as long as you are tall, and whenever you're on land trying to talk to people they always point out how very tall you are. this fish is too big for you to comfortably manoeuvre. but you can uncomfortably manoeuvre it, you just have to make use of your net and pulley setup to get it out of the water as gently as possible- god, you really don't wanna aggravate its injuries unnecessarily but a certain amount is unavoidable, but- fuck. you really don't like the look of the way the ropes dig into the rough rips in its skin. but after some struggling, you get it inside and into your tank, and here you can check its pulse. heart still beating, fish still alive, just about, and you've turned on the oxygen circulator in the tank so it can continue to respirate while unconscious. you think the reason it's still alive at all is because it happened to get caught in a strong current that kept water moving through the long gills set into both sides of its torso. it's injuries are numerous, but the most pressing one is its jaw, which has been fully torn off, not a clean cut but a jagged rip, exposing rough muscle and meat and bone underneath. the flow of blood is slow enough that you know the wound isn't too terribly fresh, but you'd still like to take care of this somehow. you consider cauterizing the wound but the face and neck is too vulnerable for that, so you opt to just go with extensive bandaging until the bleeding stops. you aren't confident that the integrity of these bandages would hold up if soaked in water for several days, so you decide to sit its head above the surface of the water, with the rest of it still submerged. this close, you can see a lot more details, and the funk of blood is beginning to wash away so you can appreciate the dense, muted sheen of its scales, as well as the many, many places along its tail where those scales have been ripped away to reveal brown-red skin and deep red-brown flesh. you administer a dose of pain reliever that you've had in storage for a while, and you're glad you didn't throw it away because it's finally become useful. it's basically horse tranquillizer but for the sea, but it'll help with managing pain and reducing inflammation.
there are bits of something stuck to its head, and after some investigating you come to the conclusion that it was a sea anemone who used to live there, some sort of symbiotic relationship, and has since been ripped off. there is nothing you can do for this poor little anemone by this point. your priority is to take care of this merperson for now. you really want to ask what happened. you wonder what language mermaids speak. oh- well- this one probably won't be speaking the same way from now, but- uh- agh. no one is here to listen to your thoughts but you do still feel bad for being rude to this unconscious fish. actually, wait, you have time, and more or less all the resources you need, you could build it a replacement jaw. a prosthetic. going off the shape of its skull and the teeth that are still there, you could build a simple prototype to just help it catch and eat prey easier. and then maybe after that you can iterate on the design for any other functionality it might look for. yeah. alright. you start moving benches and machines around to work on your new goal. hell yeah.
you wake up, slowly, and the first thing you notice is that you are alive. that's nice. you weren't really expecting that. the next thing you notice is that you feel weird. and bad. you hurt all over. and this water tastes weird in your lungs. and the pressure of it is too small, like the weight of all the water in the whole ocean dried up and disappeared, like there's nothing to keep you down deep where things make sense, and like you're exploding, but, like, slowly. and also something is ON your face it feels like it might be a net or trap and that's bad. you try to grab at it to get it off but your arms aren't really working properly. sore and weird. and slow. you feel really weak. and tired. and freaked out. you're agitating the shallow water here because you are agitated, and you try to push past the weirdness in your arms and your everything to get this thing off your face and this time you manage it but the thing isn't coming off and it's really tight and weird and there's something here. someone. a person. with no scales and weird dry head tendrils. a land walking two-legs. and they're saying words that you've never heard before and have no idea what they mean but they sound nice. and calm. and they're moving slowly and carefully like they don't want to scare you. and they have no claws and blunt teeth and no spines. and you're tired. and sore. so you put your arms back down and close your eyes and try to relax. and then you open your eyes again when you feel weird soft two-leg hands on your face. they're taking the tight thing off. and underneath there is a BIG HOLE you are missing a LOT of face you are VERY hurt you are- you were going to die. you expected to, after that fight, which you kind of won but mostly didn't. fucking shallow water meanfish. with the shiny too-bright scales and the territorial nature. but you expected to be dead. and you're not. there was a lot of blood and there isn't anymore. maybe that's what the tight thing was for. to hold it closed. that would make sense. they're putting something on the wound now, it's nice and cool. makes it hurt less. you end up drifting off to sleep again, which probably isn't all that smart, you still don't really know how dangerous this person is but. you're tired. and their hands are soft.
for this being your first time ever doing complex fish surgery, it went really well. it wasn't a perfect job by you, but in spite of that its skin has already started to grow over the edges of the prosthetic, making it almost look like it was always there. if you had more time and resources to study this, you could probably come up with a proper scientific explanation for that fast-healing phenomenon, but for now you are just going to chalk it up to mermaid magic and accept it as that. it also seems to have amplified it's electrical manipulation capabilities, like a radio antenna. you did mostly expect this to happen, but already you're getting a small shock off the water in its tank and it's not even awake yet. or wait- it's waking up now. twisting gently in the water, flexing and stretching groggily in a way that is basically a yawn, now that you think of it. moves a high quantity of oxygen into the bloodstream after being asleep for an extended period. the way it moves through the water is breathtakingly beautiful, all scales and muscle and smooth, fluidlike power. it's much more powerful now then when you first found it, it's managed to recover significantly by this point. you removed the IV before it woke up, and the bandages are long gone, so it's free to swim as much as it wants to in the somewhat cramped tank. it's trying out it's new jaw, chomping at the empty water and feeling the new metal with its scaled fingers. it's moving in a way that seems distinctly excited, diving up and down and swimming in tight little circles around the tank. joy of movement. then it breaks the surface of the water and stares intently at you. for a second. then it looks past you and to the open door behind you, leading to the deck and the open sea. ahhh okay okay. you need to think about that for a second. you'd really rather if it stayed for like a little bit longer, so that you can make sure it's fully healed and that it takes well to the prosthetic. however, it is probably ready to leave and fend for itself again. treating the new scars has let you see the large number of old scars it has, it's been around for a while, it'll probably be fine out there. it then makes this decision for you by LAUNCHING itself out of the open tank and onto the floor, landing in a clumsy heap with its back fin slapping the floor after it, shaking the ENTIRE boat and getting water all over you and also most of this room. alright, fuck, yeah okay. you uhh- you take the fish's arm over your shoulder and lug it outside. it is not easy, this guy is fucking heavy, it has so much tailmeat. how the hell does it swim so fast. well- you know how. weight and propulsion work different underwater. fluid dynamics and whatnot. as soon as you're close enough, it grabs onto the boat's railing and heaves itself over and into the gentle waves, disappearing underneath with a small splash. it's a still and sunny day, you can see it's silhouette flipping and dancing and looping through the open water, celebrating freedom and health and life. then it goes very still all of a sudden, before darting away in one laser specific direction like a heat seeking missile. it's going fishing. you scramble down to your observation corner, with the trackers and the underwater window. it's not too big but you can see all you want to with it, and you don't have to sit long before you see your fish friend again, coming back with fresh meat in its hands and a fresh catch in its jaws and a look of fierce pride and delight on its face. you are fucking ecstatic to see it's joy, you are flapping your hands and stamping your feet, and it is ecstatic to see your joy, it is twisting and flipping and carving loops through the water, and the two of you are dancing for joy together. and this is utterly delightful.