Fandom Armored Core: Ides of Rubicon [Closed]

[vampviscera]

Songhua, who’s strict attention was on two screens, was trying his damnedest to tune out the gossiping around him. He knew people had doubts or morbid curiosity about him. He even heard mentions of him being referred to as a “butchered pig” (he thought that was funny) and a “robotic dog” (didn’t find that as funny) but either way, people were surprised the new sack of meat could get anything done. Of course he could? Wasn’t that the point of all the damn mods?

He didn’t take it to heart, having learned so quickly the nature of Balam’s people. As long as it sounded like a net positive with a little smirk added on, he assumed it was a compliment. If he was catching fists in the chest or the cheek, he’ll assume it’s an insult. Foolproof deduction.

Chewing into what he assumed with a sub sandwich, he took his time savoring the flavor before his eyes snapped over to an approaching man, talking first before sitting down. The lens in his irises adjusted much like a camera’s, increasing their field of view and taking in the sight of his senior.

“G5- good evening-” he swallowed hard, trying to finish his bite as he listened to the complaints. Instead, all he could give him was a mirthful look in his eye instead of the usual dull one.

They’re starting off small today, a little less antagonistic.

“I can imagine-”

He clamped his mouth shut onto his sandwich when G1 Michigan popped himself in. Nope, nope, opinions to himself now. This white shirt was brand new.

“Sir,” Songhua saluted formally with the flat of his hand before taking another bite of his sandwich, watching as G1’s brow creased and a wicked smile curled on his lips, ignoring the fresh blood in favor of old, agitating blood.

“Easy work?? Easy work! If you want clean up duty so fuckin’ badly, then I ain’t sure why you’re on my Redguns team at all!” G1 spoke loud in that commander’s cadence with enough authority to silence the room.

G13, who was already trying to evade everyone’s fucking stare, was curling into himself. Elbows on the table, his shoulders slouching forward into this cardboard box they call a meal, pretending like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

All he wanted was some dinner and his blurry extraterrestrial TV show and instead he was caught in the crossfire of G5’s scolding.

——

Walter watched his “pup” play with her meal from the sidelines.

It’d be humorous were it an experienced pilot and not a child fresh out the womb. He heard the crackle of the student’s comm, shouting wildly into space for anyone to hear. Without any arrogance behind the screeches, it was almost sadistic to keep listening in, so Walter muted the line and allowed it to feed into his database, just in case the kid started speaking in code to unveil some top secret between all his crying.

Not really, but there have been times where faraway, subsonic sounds could have been captured in footage. He doubts it here.

“Good job, 621.”

He turned his attention away from the brutal slaughter in favor of the overhead scans, seeing if anything decided to pop out during her little hunt. Nothing. Nothing important anyways. A minor avalanche over the top side of the mountain that cascaded a small draft of snow down towards the bottom.

There were some sensors in the area, likely Balam’s, watching the scene as well. Good. It’ll score her some notoriety with them, he hopes, but not too much, Maya was still his.

A message popped up on his side screen after his pilot was done playing and he flipped it over to his main screen,” they did not. Not explicitly anyways. If they wanted it, they should have been more specific on the details.”

He panned over to the helicopter,” do you see anything inside?”

Through the digital view, it started to pixelate the darkness from inside the ship, leaving everything to the imagination. Walter assumed that if anything were to be left in there it would be spare weaponry, upgrades, and maybe a battery pack. If that. It seemed too light to carry more than just the AC itself.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘Not this shit again.’ Iguazu did not want to deal with Michigan, but he also couldn't ever back down. He couldn't just apologize and take away the personal bite from his antagonism. No matter how much he hated the consequences, he still chewed whatever he bit off.

So he'd chew through this situation, too.

“I'm in your team because I'm good at what I do, and you pay me,” G5 answered. He wasn't seeking glory. Coam for his debts was really it. He'd take easy jobs any day for the coam, but he knew jobs as an independent merc vanished. It wasn't reliable enough, so he couldn't live that way.

No, he needed Balam.

He needed the Redguns.

“Easy cleanup work for some coam sounds great to me,” he stated, rising from his seat, letting his sandwich stay on the table. He was already sure now he wasn't going to get to finish it as Michigan stalked closer. Broad and tall, Michigan intimidated with a smile, like the one he wore now. Iguazu wasn't cowed. “It's not like there's enough freelancers on Rubicon-3 for this work.”

Down fell the heavy hand on his shoulder, and he couldn't mask the flinch. Was he going to be beaten?

“You've got a point, G5!”

Oh no.

That was worse.

“There is a cleanup job I've needed a volunteer for! There's these pesky RLF forces all along the Wall–”

“I don't want the Wall!” Iguazu protested, only to feel a fist strike his gut. The hand on his shoulder was all that kept him up, as he curled into himself.

“Didn't say the Wall, G5. Around it. I wouldn't trust you with cleanup duty off the Wall,” Michigan chuckled, as if this was a friendly misunderstanding. “G13!” An unfortunate caught in the crossfires. Not really on his shit list, but he didn't have another to spare, “How about a field trip?”

It wasn't really a question.

~***~

The helicopter was obviously large enough for an AC unit, so Maya did go in. There were a few metal boxes, and Maya went to them, opened them up, and began to take pictures as she sorted through the items.

Ammunition and repair packs, understandably, dominated.

There was a curiosity in an additional back-kit, another missile launcher, perhaps another tester. ‘If it was faster homing missiles, it might have saved your life.’ likely not.

The student made their error when they tried to run.

That's all. I'll go check the city.​

Maya sent that back up to Walter, assuming he would want to pick these up, even if they weren't worth much. Additional ammunition and repair kits were always needed.

She didn't have Walter to offer guidance from her earlier scan, so she'd bolt off west into the city, boosting through to get beyond the range of her scanners quickly so she could try them again and see if anything notable beyond other sensors was in the city.

It wasn't a ping on her radar that caused her to turn off her path. Rather, it was a simple bit of fresh debris, still sparking and threatening fire. She followed the scraps around a building, and saw wrecked Balam MT units, and other orb-style units she couldn't claim to recognize, so she snapped a picture of it.

It seemed they all died at the entrance to a bunker, but Maya picked up no readings of any life forms, but she hesitated on the precipice. Something happened here. She was curious for answers, but she wasn't sure the worth of it compared to her life.

That was Walter’s call now.

 

[vampviscera]

Songhua tried his best to angle away from the tragedy before him, scooting inch-by-inch down the table bench until he's about 2 to 3 feet away from the hot zone. Not to say Iguazu didn't rile up their CO with his unnecessary comments, he just wished it these things were handled somewhere else, far away from him.

"Yes, sir," he spoke loudly, stretching his throat taut in his neck. It itched his trachea, boiling up another cough from within him, but he managed to suppress the reflexive need to, lowering his head and staying compliant.

"Perfect! What's exactly what I like to hear," G1 smirked unforgiving, schooling Iguazu with the newbie as the example. He dropped G5 back to his seat, hard, forcing the table to scratch over the linoleum floor.

"You two report to me in the morning, 0500 sharp. Don't be late or I might have to do some clean-up myself." Michigan gave a half-assed salute to have them stand at ease before turning heel to meander off somewhere else. Maybe important, maybe not. Songhua didn't want to find out.

Sitting in silence for a moment, G13 finished what was left of his dinner. His primal need to satisfy his hunger stronger than the stomach-shrinking response of empathy. It was a moment for him to think before he moved in to the fallen man, no pity in the eyes; couldn't emulate it if he tried.

"Uh, Iguazu-" he lowered his voice, "you want to take a lap around the barracks?"

Songhua was sure not to touch him, or make any gestures to emasculate him. Those were things Raven reprimanded him for: a sympathizing look and caring too damn much. So much for being human, right? There was nothing to talk about, nothing that G13 wanted to hear for certain, but if his senior wanted to, they could blow steam outside before Niles followed up with equally scathing commentary on either of their behavior.

Or, Iguazu might try to lash out on him too. Heavy handed fist and all.

Either way, Songhua slipped a sneaky hand behind him to finish off his ration as well.

——
Walter had hoped more would be in the ship. Spare parts were asking for too much, but at this point, the helicopter would be the spare part if they could rip it off the field and dissect it for scrap. Better sale value than imported steel with heavy tax.

"Noted."

His fingers laced together again, elbows resting on either arm rest. Balam did easy work of this city, leaving nothing except the metal barrings that held the buildings up right. Its a miracle they left that iron at all.

Surya turned the corner, driving out-of-bounds of where Walter expected the mech to travel. He didn't see anything impressive at first until the screen updated its rendering, presenting a column of smoke birthed from the ruins of trashed MTs. It sparked, leaking the last of its electricity out into the cold off stray wires and severed chords.

"621, pull closer."

There wasn't anything threatening in the vicinity that Walter could scope. Unless they were perched high in the sky, some ways and away. Too far to be an issue thar Surya couldn't evade.

"There was no feed in this area prior to the student testing. Someone, or something broke in."

Wouldn't be Arquebus. No point in posting for the cash if they would just do it themselves. Balam wouldn't for the obvious reason, but they did have many unruly soldiers that are not above recalcitrant behavior. RLF is a likely culprit, if not a merc. Which meant there was something here of value that is no longer here.

"Pull close to the wreckage and see if you can find any evidence of conflict."

 

[Lucyfer]

‘I hate him.’ Iguazu thought, before his glare turned to the suck up, Songhua. And that look was enough for him not to be wholly prepared for the shove back down into his own chair. His feet slipped a bit on the floor, and he didn't hide his hatred when he had to look up at Michigan, before Michigan was strolling away like he already owned the damn planet.

“Tch.”

Whatever this job was, it was no doubt a damn suicide mission. Iguazu wasn't sorry about getting the kiss ass involved. He'd be dead weight, and Iguazu would once again prove his worth, and Michigan would completely ignore it. There was no damn respect for good work, just submission.

Fuck that.

He dug into his sandwich to dispel the moment.

He couldn't even have that, though. The suck up had to interject about taking a walk. Iguazu looked over his sandwich warily at him, wondering what his deal was. Did he want to chew his ass for getting him involved? Iguazu wasn't going to apologize for it. That was Michigan being a bastard. Not him.

“Heh. Fine. If that's what you want.” If he wanted to yell at Iguazu, too, well, he could learn what Iguazu’s fist tasted like. He threw down the remaining quarter of his sandwich on his plate, not bothering to carry it to the wash line or toss the sandwich in the trash. Someone else could do that. He rose to his feet and started towards the exit of the canteen, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure the kiss ass was following along, before stepping out, shoving his hands in his pockets, and kicking the first rock that crossed his path near the door.

Once they were both outside, he added his thoughts immediately. “If you want to blame me for your luck you can just shove it. I didn't ask for Michigan to go assigning me any babysitting duties while you get your bearings with us.” Though he knew Songhua recently had a mission almost on his own. It was with Arquebus, so not exactly.

~***~

Maya nodded, though it couldn't be seen by Walter. Surya mimicked, and Maya went further into the bunker, finding further destroyed scrap MTs. It seemed to be a conflict, and Maya made sure to continue snapping pictures as she went, trying to figure out what this bunker was for.

As she finally reached the bottom of the long ramp down, she noted the loading station for an AC unit. There was no AC, and no scrap parts left behind. The area was clear of much of use, some medium Schneider parts, an arm unit bearing a snake logo upon it that Maya didn't recognize. Not much of a surprise, given she didn't exactly memorize all emblems.

There were also some logs scattered near the the catwalks bearing RLF logos and a new snake logo, this one three entwining serpents.

‘Cleared hastily.’ dried fuel stains suggested as much coming away from the loader. Someone took what they could and left, their bunker discovered by people they didn't want to find it.

She went to retrieve the logs, careful not to break them, as her AC unit picked them up.

AC parts. Schneider make. Some logs – maybe an RLF bunker. ​

Without hesitation, considering the area was empty of anything living, she opted to connect to one of the logs and play it through her AC unit, keeping Walter in the loop in case he wanted to listen in to the findings she chose to preview as she made her way towards one of the empty metal boxes to throw in the AC parts. She may not be a retriever, but she could make life a little easier for when they did come through to retrieve the parts by putting them into a box to grab.

“How long did I listen to her about coral, only to come to this?”​

The voice on the log questioned, one quite unfamiliar to Maya.

 

[vampviscera]

It was crazy how Iguazu’s bad mood seemed to suck the life out of everything within its gravitational pull. Songhua found himself with a furrowed brow and a nervous “smile” (more like a lip twitch if anything), a little worried that he’s finding himself in a fight he didn’t intend on having.

He supposes he could. Iguazu could punch him in all his metal and Songhua could dig his nails in all those pretty tattoos on G5’s arm. An equal back-and-forth of dirty exchanges, then probably Iguazu devolving down to every messy tactic until he received a crumb of victory over G13.

And, Songhua wasn’t really interested in any of that. Not right now. His adrenaline inhibitors were fueling into his bloodstream and he felt nothing other than languor.

“Ah, no…” he raised his brow,” if it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else.”

Probably Volta or Wu Huahai. Nile, if Michigan wanted to be cruel.

G1 could easily be testing G5’s patience by working with the new wash, G13. Though Songhua has been on difficult missions long before the Redguns and didn’t see it —his babysitting— as being any sort of punishing task other than the executive command to ensure he stayed on brand and in pace to his partners. His only shortcoming is that due to rotating command, he could hardly adapt to any one soldier’s fighting style and had to default to a more neutral positioning of his own.

He could give Hell, if he wanted to. He had the burn scars to prove it; all the lengths he’d go to scorch the Earth.

“I got tired of sitting in there and I figured you did too,” he shrugged.

The laser-red of his eyes darted in a triangle over Iguazu’s features, searching for missing pieces where the original meat remained. Songhua was still deciding if he was envious of his natural beauty absent of surgical blemish. His personality remained contained somewhere in the back of his frontal lobe, dormant and unimportant, so he couldn’t come to a conclusion on his feelings.

“We can brawl if you want. If it would make you feel better,” he offered loosely anyways,” but then we’d feel like shit tomorrow.”

——

Curiosity got the best of the Handler.

Several list items populated his screen, searching for recent jobs. Everything from the main market to the black market, even going as far as unlisted backend deals that went unmarked on any official accounting check, but still posted its details on some encrypted forum.

There was nothing.

He went with his base assumption of a rogue mercenary plunging through a line of MTs who had the misfortune of being in its war path. Didn’t make any sense why the trail seemed to have stopped at the front without any burn lines into the center of the city or black pits where the AC would have taken flight. It was like it traveled into the inner sanctum and vanished.

“621-”

His voice died in his throat when he saw the single coiling snake; the ouroboros.

“-If it were the Liberation Front, they were in a hurry to leave,” he commented, playing off his abrupt pause.

He ripped his hand off the receiver like the metal was suddenly burning hot coals and he couldn't remove his hand quickly enough. His mind was equally as fast to fill in the empty space with forgotten memories and unwanted thoughts, opening old wounds that wouldn't heal.

Surely, that wasn’t him. It wasn’t possible. There were no remains when Walter travelled the universe looking for him. Silent, unassuming death had to have taken him, he wouldn't accept any other answer.

The handler tempered himself. Two fingers touched to his temple, seeking the floor in his reality as Maya continued down the bunker to the next item piece: some arm part.

The design was highly reminiscent of the ouroboros, drawing in the creative liberty of tripling the snakes and tying them around each other in a triangular pattern. Walter begged for this to be inspiration and not an evolution.

Begged he did, yet no god listened.

That aged voice with its high metal ringing scratch— its failure to be properly recorded by ancient technology. It pinged with a metallic ring as it inquired in its logs about something that Walter didn’t care to address right now.

“What are the other logs, 621?”

 

[Lucyfer]

It probably would have been Volta if it wasn’t Songhua. Volta was one of the few people that G5 could stand in the Redguns, and so, perhaps due to not wanting to punish anyone else, G1 usually assigned Volta to work with him. He wouldn’t call Volta a friend, exactly, but he certainly wasn’t offended by his presence as he was so many others who thought themselves better than him.

At least G13 recognized that.

Plenty of the other Redguns would blame him, not Michigan.

“Heh.”

Iguazu was tired of being on a Balam campus in general. He was tired of Rubicon-3. Tired of not being able to lead the life he wanted, of having it all scraped from him to pay off his debts. He knew, just given another week, he could have hit it big. He could have paid it all off…but the damned debtors wouldn’t listen to him.

At least they actually pushed him into a good surgery, and not under some quack doctor, who gave him real coral and not that synthetic shit people like Snail ran on and claimed was ‘better’. He’d show them, one day.

“You say that like we’re not gonna feel like shit tomorrow anyways, suck-up,” he stated, though not to pick a fight. He did want to punch something, but that something wasn’t G13. It was Michigan, and he knew where that led. He wasn’t able to take Michigan in a fight. He’d tried. The stupid little spars the Redguns held, occasionally, he always tried, and he always lost. Badly. It was infuriating.

But one day.

Just as one day he’d take on G1 in their AC units. The ALLMIND program ought to help him improve enough, and he even had G1 to spar against in their arena simulation. “Not much of a difference feeling like shit before a mission and going through it anyways to come out shittier.” Somehow, G13 should know, with all his markings. “But you’re not the one I want to punch in the face.” He snorted, “I’m not even sure I wouldn’t break my fist trying.”

Although he couldn’t tell, really, how much was metal, he got the vibe from the fake eyes and the markings that there was certainly plenty that wasn’t original. He could punch Songhua’s nose and regret it immediately.

Not that he wouldn’t still do it, if he ever did get pissed at Songhua, and hit hard enough until even the metal broke. “You even feel pain anymore? Or – anything?” These weren’t polite questions.

Iguazu wasn’t a polite person.

“How many fucking augmentations did you go through?”

~***~

The voice spoke of a ‘coral release’ with no context. Maya didn’t know what it was, nor this mysterious ‘she’.

“…already experimented with similar in the augmented humans, but they didn’t go far enough, and so they left us all wretched—”​

Walter’s voice cut through, asking about the other logs. Apparently, this one didn’t interest him. Maya ended it, and flipped to another without question. This one was narrated in a different voice. Deeper, a bit raspy with age, and yet strangely melodic. The voice of someone who had become accustomed to speaking to crowds.

To spreading a message.

“The Coral is Rubicon’s blessing. The land is frail and withered, yet within lurks
limitless abundance--and just a single drop grants us our flesh and blood. Yet, it was not until I saw her voice, that I understood how far this blessing goes. That it is not a blessing given unto us, but taken by us. Unlike water, the red streams of Coral…they live. Seria lives.”
​

Was that the She in the other logs?

Maya’s brows knit together as she listened to the log try to explain Coral – the way it lived, the way it propagated, citing Rubicon Institute information that this Seria had found. This Seria, that was clearly Coral, and clearly alive and able to gather information on her own apart from him.

If it was alive, she expected, somehow, to feel it – but Maya didn’t.

These had to be the ramblings of a mad man. Coral was simply a resource, and a highly volatile one, given the history of the Fires that made this system unapproachable for many years, and closed it down. Yet, he talked about how it propagated, how it always sought to come together, and converge. Coral got lonely. Coral wanted to be around its brothers and sisters.

‘Then it should all be leaving me to find the source of the convergence here so we can take it and get off this planet.’

The remaining logs were also this man, further outlining Rubicon Liberation Front dogma. He didn’t espouse Coral Release – it never even came up. Maya would guess he was probably an opponent of it, given he seemed all about keeping coral on Rubicon.

So who was the other voice?

Do you know the speakers? Do you know what they mean?​

Maya sent the question up to Walter as she made her way out of the bunker, not really expecting he did. She was already certain both were RLF, and one was just…a bit more insane than the other.

Maya didn’t go back to that log when she finished the RLF propaganda logs. ‘If they think Coral is alive, I suppose that makes sense of why they fight. Protecting another living thing….’ Better than just protecting fuel.

They clearly weren’t trying to just sell it for profit, as one would expect. They could restore this planet if they’d just offer it up to the corporations.

 

[vampviscera]

“You’re right,” Songhua reluctantly agreed, not wanting to think about it.

He wasn’t sure what Michigan was talking about exactly concerning clean-up around the wall, but that could only mean a bang-up job on DEADLINK with a caring gift of bruises on where the mech’s heart attached into his body.

“I can put on a patchy beard and pretend to be G1. You’ll have to forgive my voice acting, though,” he joked.

The thought almost made him chuckle. With a metal jaw and next to no follicles left on his face, he couldn’t grow any facial hair. So, that left the more hilarious thought of him putting on a cheap synthetic old-timey styled beard, tag and all hanging off the side.

G13’s train of funny thoughts broke when Iguazu interjected with personal questions.

His eyes idled on G5’s countenance, wondering the philosophical question…. Could he feel pain? Yes, technically. Did it register as pain? Not so much anymore. The soreness and joint inflammation he felt after the fact was very real and very terrible, but when the sharp slicing tear on his muscles just sorta’ happen, his body was helpless to it. So, instead, it seems to filter it as expected stimuli then goes on with its day.

“Yes - sometimes,” he nodded before adding, “I’ve had at least 13 surgeries within the last decade.”

To be exact, he was about 33.2% natural anymore. ‘Natural where it’d mattered’ he would joke when some people would ask and in return would usually receive a nervous laugh afterwards. No one really knew how to manage their reactions with living corpses and surgery freaks, like they wanted to be sympathetic without revealing that they were actually viewing them as circus acts.

“This is not your fate, if that’s what you’re wondering,” probably not. Iguazu didn’t seem all too concerned about ending up like a fictional cyborg as he was his vengeance with Michigan.

“Maybe one day I’ll earn enough riches to reverse all the surgeries and be normal again,” he said with no commitment to the line. If he was like G5, yes that was a possibility, but he’s lost so much of himself that the most he could reverse were AC essential augments then maybe switch out many of the practical features with silicone structures.

That’s if he could accrue that much money in the first palace.

That’s if he could survive this coral war.

That’s if- no, he would never truly be just human again.

——

To avoid spiraling into agony, Walter logged that voice log away in his database. For a better day where he wasn’t moments away from dry heaving; purging his body of all the bad memories that he’d hoped left the first time he tried to forget about them.

He adjusted in his seat, one leg over the other ready to receive the next log. Thankfully, it was not the ghost he thought it was and someone else. Someone wiser, by the sound of it.

Seria lives.

Walter frowned.

621 shouldn’t be hearing of this mystical talk. He recognized these utterings. It could only come from the Rubicon Liberation Front. A group of coral cultists trying to breathe with the spirit that existed in the vast unknown enormity of the Coral Sea. The handler was ashamedly all too familiar with their works, especially as someone who worked tirelessly to integrate their intimate knowledge with his technology. Too bad there’s only one thing that they’d all ever amount to: fanatics.

“I don’t recognize these voices,” he lied coolly.

It was half true. He didn’t bother to recognize the Rubiconian extremist, as they were all the same to him. Maya didn’t need to know about the other one, if he could help it.

“You found yourself some old teachings that exist within the RLF. They were probably here first before Balam seized it.”

“...”

“Good work today. I will send the drop ship in to retrieve you,” he pressed into the line again,” if there are more, we can review them together-”

The line fizzled into silence.

 

[Lucyfer]

The thought of G13 trying to play Michigan stuck in his head. Why the fuck was G13 even offering that? Did he want to get beat up? Iguazu couldn’t really imagine that G13 cared enough about him to be invested in making him feel better that quickly. He wasn’t sure what to think of it, and didn’t have to respond to it.

G13 actually did answer his question, without looking offended to be asked it.

Thirteen was a lot of surgeries.

“Tch. No, I’m not worried about that,” Iguazu shook his head. He really wasn’t; his debtors weren’t paying for anymore surgeries now that he had a stable flow of income they could take from him. When he started to earn money on his own, he didn’t really think he’d get anymore surgeries. That depended a bit on the coral burn.

He heard that could be bad – but he didn’t think he was experiencing much of that. He wasn’t hallucinating any voices, at any rate, so he was probably doing all right. That was apparently one of the major signs of coral burn on the brain, and needing an upgrade.

But he still didn’t want it.

He still wanted to prove himself better. He wasn’t going to succumb go the usual Gen 4 ails. He was better than that. “I’m not really interested in more surgeries, either way,” it wasn’t like he could go back to human. He could just…upgrade further. “Wasn’t my choice to begin with. Not sure why people really want so damn many, anyways.”

Sure, it made some of them better pilots. And it probably did improve him; he liked to think he had natural talent, but the truth was, he didn’t know. He never planned to be an AC pilot until was thrust upon him.

“Can’t go back to being normal, anyways, so,” another shrug, “seems pointless to me.” And he noticed, Songhua didn’t sound enthused by it. Could be that lack of feeling thing, or it could be he was just spouting the expected words of an augmented human.

Everyone was supposed to want to be more ‘normal’.

Even though they were augmented.

Fucking weird, if you asked him. Get augmented and accepted it, or stay human, if you had the choice.

Maybe Songhua didn’t have a choice, either, though.

“It’ll be cheaper to buy that patchy beard, though. Maybe G1 will think it’s some form of flattery and give you a raise.” Probably not. Definitely not.

But Iguazu would find it amusing. The thought still tickled at the corner of his lips as he returned to it. It offset his bad mood, just a bit. Just enough, that he at least wasn’t thinking of punching anyone, anymore.

~***~

The voices were unknown to Walter. That was what Maya expected, so she didn’t even consider doubting him. He seemed to know a bit of the topic, and it was indeed tied to the RLF. Not surprising, either. She didn’t know much of their teachings, let alone what they stood for outside of wanting to keep their planet to themselves.

Admirable.

Pity it likely wasn’t going to work out for them, to stand against two corporations. Not that Maya had any pity to spare.

The only thing that gave her a little pause, was the way Walter decided to end the mission there, after a bit of static on the line. His silent debate, turned into dismissal of anything else that could be found in the area. No more searching the contaminated city – with these logs, it seemed he was done having her search. ‘He doesn’t like them.’ Well, no surprise, why would he? He was going to use coral just like the corporations to profit, and get the hell off Rubicon-3.

There was no room for any other thought about coral beyond its use.

Just as there could be no thought about the lives ended, like the Dafeng student, the lives in the heavy helicopter, the MTs she’d slaughtered – these things were just jobs, means to an end. ‘But information on the enemy is useful.’

Maya didn’t know if that would be found in the other logs, as she stepped out of the barracks and back into the sun of the contaminated city.

I’ll head towards the decommissioned AC.​

Maya made short work of traversing back to where the poor Dafeng student fell, and used Surya to help load the copter with some of the equipment found. Not all of it; there would be other copters with robots for that. That wasn’t her job.

As the door shut and the helicopter started to lift up, she relaxed back against her seat. The red lights went out from Surya as she shut her eyes, fully intending to get a quick nap on the way up to the ship.

She heard the chime of ALLMIND, and the words, “ALLMIND appreciates your assistance in allowing us to collect data on a real-world mission. We have logged the details, and will use this to improve our support of mercenaries.”

Maya paid the AI little mind, already drifting to sleep.

It was too short when the jostling of the copter making its rough landing within the hangar disturbed her awake. She stretched, the sensor-lights came back on for Surya as she opened her eyes. Vision overlapped before adjusting to the outwards view of Surya, and as the door lowered and laid flat, she walked Surya out, and back to Loader 4 – though couldn’t hide the yawn as Surya mimicked the gesture of raising its hand to the face of the AC to cover a non-existent mouth.

Ah well.

Maya had the logs dispelled gently onto the ground, before she shut Surya down, unplugged herself, and headed out to gather the logs and await any additional direction from Walter.

 

[vampviscera]

There were lingering rumors about G5’s situation. Songhua didn’t listen in too much because he already knew most of the crew, and civilians, didn’t take so well to the 5th squad leader, so the chances of mistruth were too high for him to care. Though, some of them were confirmed with his general disinterest in wanting more surgeries.

“Some people are addicted to the feeling of ‘power’,” he said, his words decorated with a bitter tune.

If G13 could turn back time, he’d never consider being a pilot, ever. Even if disgrace cost him everything and sent him to some remote colony hidden in the stars. He rather deal with some calamitous tundra trying to decipher ancient technology readings than sit himself in some nice pleather interior strapped to a highly specialized death machine.

Raven and King? They were ones who cried for power. Power over themselves, the corporations, and sometimes even the world. They’d trade out every part of themselves that was deemed “weak” for an extra bullet point in bragging rights. The mere existence of such an ego disconcerted Songhua.

“Some people just want to be robots, I think. A mini-version of an AC,” he shifted the mood before his distaste became obvious with a little snicker.

“It’s pointless to be normal, yeah. But, you know, after a certain point, having all this metal inside of you becomes itchy.”

It didn’t, at least Songhua hoped to the universe it didn’t. He’d be in trouble.

Funnily enough, Iguazu bit into the silly dress-up bit and Songhua laughed for him. If one could call a breathless wheeze a “laugh”.

“If ‘giving a raise’ means 12 laps around the base then mopping duty for a month, then yes, I think he’d be very eager to give me one.”

Which was a dangerous thought because if it made enough people laugh, he would definitely consider it. What’s a couple more knocks on the head, anyways?

——

Maya’s words didn’t go unnoticed blinking on his screen. No acknowledgement was sent, just the ship itself as it closed into her area, the hooks dropping down ready to magnetize onto Surya.

The ship was programmed to return back to the hangar on its own, leaving plenty of time for Walter to unsteadily stand up and pace about the room, trying everything to gather himself back to normal. He was the Handler, he couldn’t appear weak nor moved by what was a small bank of words strung together in meaningless clauses.

But, he did. Less the content and more the creator: Sulla.

Like the very name itself was a curse. Even thinking of it felt like hot coals pressed the inside of his ribcage. Was it fear that he felt? It shouldn’t be. He didn’t fear the man…

He was afraid of what he could do. Off his leash and free in the world, Sulla could destroy everything. He would, since he was that spiteful. Not only Maya, but everything else Walter worked so hard to keep under wraps and locked in some power-downed server. He knows that in Sulla’s heart, he wouldn’t stop at the Rubiconian Institute. He’d reap everything from Walter, including his last surviving pilot, his knowledge base, and his assets, leaving the handler with nothing.

After a few comb-throughs of his graying hair, he managed to put most of himself back together. A jigsaw puzzle with only a few missing pieces, a person could still make out the image no problem. He had to remind himself that Sulla died in the fire, leaving nothing behind, not even his ashes after the smoke cleared.

…

With no evidence of this death, could that mean…

“Maya,” his tongue slipped, uncaring about correcting himself,” good work on the field today.”

He already praised her once. He did it again for safe measure since he was doubting everything he’s ever done.

“How many logs did you find out there?” He ought to have counted before he called her back, but he was preoccupied,” go ahead and gather them. I’ll lay them out on the table, so you can get cleaned up.”

 

[Lucyfer]

G5 heard the bitterness.

He felt it, even if he couldn't lie. He was also addicted to power and thrills, he just preferred it in other ways. Money. Freedom. Things he lacked. Physical prowess hadn't really been an issue until he was thrown to Michigan. Sometimes he wondered if that's how he got in the Redguns over the Vespers.

He couldn't imagine Snail managing him at all.

Not without a lot of reeducation.

The Redguns were kinder, in that respect. Not that Iguazu would ever say or suggest it. Being better than one sort didn't make them good, or kind, or worthwhile at all. He still disliked it.

But these were the cards he was dealt. And that's why he had ALLMIND now. He would get better.

“Yeah. But there's something to kicking their ass when you're not as far gone as them. Not as robotic. To prove they just never had the talent, and they can't buy that, or change it. I get the addiction to power. But not that way.”

Maybe he'd learn otherwise, one day. Or maybe he'd find the changes that suited him. He wasn't really shopping around for it. “I don't want to be that itchy.”

He wasn't entirely sure if the new kid was pulling his leg or not. He was pretty sure he didn't want to find out if it was true, though. Besides, the kid apparently had a sense of humor.

Iguazu snorted. “You're right, if that's all you'd get, might not be worth it. You gotta go for at least a year of dishes and toilet cleaning.” Although dishes wasn't too bad, it could take a while, and he wasn't getting back that time anywhere.

“Maybe add in a muscle suit,” Iguazu suggested, “and sunglasses,” Michigan did not wear them often enough, but it went with the stereotypical muscle bound jackass he felt everyone understood Michigan to be. “Grab his suit out of the wash, and that should do you for a year's worth of raises.”

And likely plenty of favor from others not Michigan for having the gaul to do it. Iguazu sure as hell wasn't going to do it. Of course, it wouldn't come off the same from him as it would from the more mild mannered suck up. That surprise factor would sell it.

~***~

Maya?

Although 621 looked up instantly, recognizing her name, it was akin to the sharp slap of icy water on her skin. The furrowed brows and evident confusion made the novelty of it all the same. Not a negative – as even that icy water she’d relished after a moment of recognizing it felt like something – but not something she was quite sure what to do with, either.

When did Walter last use her name, and not her callsign?

It had to be ages ago.

Months. Maybe even a year. It felt that way, as much as the time before augmentation felt like another life. Was Maya just another life? ‘No.’

But….

She tried to focus on what he was actually asking, beneath the praise. This didn't need to be overthought.

He wanted the logs.

Right. She offered them out in one hand – 5 logs. Only one bore the three entwining serpents upon it, the others had the RLF insignia emblazoned on them. It still seemed odd that the snake was even there, if these were all RLF thoughts, but it could be an important member of the RLF who deserved to be seen on his own.

Maya had no idea the poison within that log, or its creator.

She nodded, understanding the dismissal, but that nagging, uncertain something remained. She canted her head in the offer, trying to query out why Walter would use her name in the first place, but she couldn't deduce it. Nothing in his demeanor gave him away, so she would let the logs go into his hands, a bit more aware of her own fingers, a bit more careful to avoid a shock of contact.

Perhaps he was just tired. ‘So is that the name he actually thinks of me under, then?’

She certainly was tired, to even consider agreeing to the use of the name in words.

With a swallow and a step back, she brushed her hands by each other as they fell away, empty of logs. With a gesture of her thumb towards the bunker, where she could get out of the sweaty jumpsuit, she also meant to confirm same table. She'd be quick.

Same routine.

A return to 621.

 

[vampviscera]

Songhua let out another one of his airy giggles,” yeah, yeah- I suppose you’re right. That’s probably what V.I Freud thinks, sitting on top of the hill over the rest of us.”

He thought about it and wondered. If someone was truly gone, nearly robotic with all the ineffectual lifelines and systems that make them no more than a brain in a metal box, would it be more impressive for them to beat someone of full flesh instead? A brain that could only ping electric pulses to the machine strapped to it and hope that none of it breaks down. At least a full human subconscious sustains itself.

He shivered. It was an awful thought to end up like that. A punishment of the highest caliber; no more a bot satisfying a company’s wallet.

“Sunglasses… I’d look like robocop,” he pictured it with the police uniform and all.

He’ll conspire on this. Maybe for Michigan’s birthday he’d do it, then later that night meet his gravestone.

“If you become the best fleshy pilot then, what will you do afterwards? Boot Michigan out of his spot and lead the Redguns?” he asked, innocuously.

G13 wasn’t set on the theory that G5 would want to lead the rest of them, much less stay at all, given how poorly he ranked with the others, but who knows. Maybe he’d do it out of spite and he was here for the check, much like Songhua himself.

He clicked his teeth.

Oh… Was he doing this for only a check?

King’s callous words rung in his ears like an echo chamber. The sore spot in the middle of his chest grew sensitive against his shirt where he was jabbed repeatedly that night with an accusing finger.

“At the end of the day, Blue, the only thing you’ll end up caring about is either killing everyone you see or making more money than the rest of us. Your heart will never be into it because you can’t get over yourself.”​

He touched his palm to where the memory lives and rubbed it absentmindedly,” you’d look cooler than him with all those tattoos you have, that’s for sure.” He automated his compliment, too busy derailing his mind somewhere else.

——

He tried to refuse it, but he couldn’t. His gaze lingering over the tri-snake design intertwining with itself over the datapad. It was too close and it was giving him a morbid hope that what should be dead actually lived. Followed by the despair that he’ll have to shift his guilt from someone’s death to someone’s tragic survival, now left alone in the cosmos.

And, the general fear of what narrative he could be spinning.

“Go ahead,” he nodded 621 off, no need to have her watch him struggle with gathering everything neatly then dragging himself to an old meeting room.

Full of dust with clouded fluorescent overhead lights, it was worth more as a broom closet than it was a “professional” room. He hardly put any effort clearing off the table and the chair he was due to sit in as he scattered the devices in a pile between himself and another empty chair where 621 was due to be seated at.

RLF logs, nothing special to him. Outside the confirmation that they are still chasing over the alleged humanity (coral-manity?) that lived within the spiritual sea, there was nothing new. No hints that there could have been any advancement to their technology. C4 augmentation had been the final in the series to prove any linkage between coral and the human mind, at least, the slow car crash that was spoon feeding coral exposure to the delicate grey matter of the brain.

The man in the logs was much older, more likely to have had generation C2 or even C3 implants. C1 if his voice was a more generous signifer of his age. If he was still around, then he’d likely lead the movement now and they are preoccupied with saving the planet from its doom that all corporations lined up to devastate it with— especially the Rubicon Institute.

Sulla’s logs… They sat there cold on the table.

Walter contemplated if he should linger on them as he has. If it would become obvious that he was drawn to them and unveil an unnecessary connection to the speaker. He could lie and state whatever is said in the log intrigues him. Embellish the details that this seemingly third party contact is affirming the mad ramblings of the old man in the other logs.

It was less the information gathered as it was the technology.

A discarded arm unit nearby freshly destroyed MTs. Was he looking for something? Had he gone mad as well? Walter didn’t want to believe he’d fall for such a myth, but if such a person could survive the fires, then it could be considered divine revelation. Fires from Ibis, no less.

Sighing into the cold air, he gathered himself still and waited for Maya to return. Hopefully in one of those distasteful graphic shirts to inspire good humor in him.

 

[Lucyfer]

“Pah! Why the fuck would I want to run the Redguns?” G5 couldn’t help but make the abhorrence of the idea clear. Not that he had a good idea of what he’d do. Get revenge on the bastards who did this to him, probably. Then what? He didn’t know. But he sure as hell wasn’t dealing with Balam bureaucracy. “He can keep all that red tape, paperwork, bullshit and run the Redguns. I don’t want to deal with that.”

Not to mention, deal with managing people.

He’d be no better than Michigan.

He might even be worse.

“But I’ll change fucking naming rules. Who wants to be named after a river?” And Michigan’s name was the worst. At least Iguazu had an interesting waterfall tied to it, and Nile was famous, but Michigan? That was such a stupid river, and a stupid name.

He realized, then, he didn’t actually know Michigan’s real name.

Or Songhua’s.

Or Volta.

They never used them anymore.

He didn’t know what he’d do, though, and that delay gave Songhua time to comment on the tattoos. In a nice way. Iguazu looked over at him and saw him absently rubbing his chest, looking a bit distracted. For all the inhuman nature of him, Songhua still seemed…human enough. He could laugh. He had humor.

And he could be distracted by his own mind.

Wretched fate.

“I already look cooler than Michigan,” he didn’t doubt that at all. Michigan was just a big blowhard without style. Iguazu obviously had him beat in that department. “If you ever want a tattoo, I can hook you up with the one who did my lines,” he offered, not even sure why, in the moment.

Not sure why he let this suck up well…work their suck up magic on him.

He could acknowledge it. It was a talent, that was for damn sure. He couldn’t quite raise his guards as it was acknowledged, but he kept it at the back of his mind all the same. “But you definitely seem too nice to run with the Redguns long. You really should see about getting out before you get eaten alive. G13s don’t tend to last long. I’ve seen a few before you. It’s an unlucky number.” Why did he care?

Well, that was easy enough. Suck up, sure – but a suck up that hadn’t proven to have malintent. He could spare a little good advice of getting the fuck out of there.

~***~

Wash.

Change.

Eat.

Or, perhaps not eat.

Maya stepped into the mess, indeed dressed in yet another “fun” tank – this one a gift from 618 that seemed morbid if she thought about it now, as it had a skeleton lifting a barbell with ‘Deadlift’ emblazoned above the skeleton’s head.

She saw no Walter on entry. No evidence of any robots cooking. No evidence he went through the area. She paused, letting her head mind around the error, until it stumbled on the other possibility: the office. Perhaps Walter didn't want the robots to hear the logs?

Either way, Maya decided to check there before she'd consider sending a message to Walter over being lost on a ship she lived on. That would just be sad.

Thankfully, the second thought turned out to be the right one. It was strange to step into the room, not that she hadn’t been in the dusty office before, but it was usually reserved for…well, 617. The leaders of the hounds. Not for her, or those lower in the hierarchy. They came in here for formal debriefings or additional information that hounds like her didn’t need to know about.

The heaviness that should have pressed down on her was absent. She stepped in and took her seat in the single chair, gathering her legs up onto it as the cold bit into her, colder here than plenty of other rooms. Perhaps they didn’t run the heat over to this part of the ship often; it wasn’t used much.

She set her tablet on the table, though, so it’d be easy enough to reach out and type.

She did have one question – that terribly cold one:

Will the logs be worth any coam?​

 

[vampviscera]

Songhua thought it was silly that G5 flat out refused the idea of leading, but then turned around with fresh suggestions on what to change. He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t also wonder about the naming convention. He quite liked his previous callsign, not that it made any sense to keep it, but he figured he could stay thematic with his personal theme.

At least the emblem somewhat calls to it.

“Tattoos? Oh!” he reflexively gasped. Old habits getting to him.

Strict as his parents were, they were vehemently against such things. Big fancy research corporations as well and the academy. Any sign of free thought was dashed at first mention with a hefty fine or generous punishment of excommunication. Sometimes, warnings and write-ups were triggered at the sight of risky haircuts and too-casual outfits. He couldn’t imagine markings on this skin, art no less.

Which really shouldn’t matter once he really thinks about it. He had barcodes and item tags inked near many of his impacts. And then there were the implants, cutting up his skin more than any other modification one could find on the market. He wasn’t 18 again, standing small in the center of an ever-expansive corporation lobby, dressed in all white next to his fellow students and future competitors.

G13 geared himself to say something else until the words were robbed from him with G5’s little warning.

The smile returned to his lips with a hint of melancholy.

“That bad, huh?” he wanted to laugh, but didn’t,” I’ll be okay. The colonies won’t accept me unless I have a tantamount reason to return and they won’t take ‘12 years on the field’ as an answer. It wouldn’t even qualify me as a hero nor a celebrity, how fucked up is that?”

Even if they did, the fight in Songhua’s bones would vibrate with unrest. He’s had the thought before: ditching everything, going AWOL on a hired escapade, then vanishing into the cosmos. It would have been easy, if his routine and life weren’t so consumed by the hunt and the trials. It wasn’t about money anymore for him and he’ll refuse to admit that, even in death.

“You should get out too, then. I can see your heart belongs elsewhere and I’d want you to see that before it’s too late.”

He caught himself in his politeness. Unsure why he was being so generous with a man who looked towards him with so much disdain in his eyes. Was it a defense mechanism or did he simply have worse? Iguazu, while rough around the edges and petulant, was certainly no Raven nor was he a King. When he wasn’t snapping at everyone near him, he was… normal.

Or tragic. G13 didn’t pin him as someone totally helpless though.

——

Flipping through all the pads like the emblems would suddenly change into something else, Walter was almost hypnotized by the action alone until he heard the large metal door hiss open. 621 stood there in another one of her overly casual wear and it was when Walter actually took notice of her did he realize he didn’t tell her that he would meet her in here.

“I apologize. It must have slipped my mind to tell you,” he opened her chair for her to sit down.

He was too used to 618 assuming his spot in his office and talking business. Even when Walter had no want nor need, 618 would still toil in here. Not that the handler wanted to name the room as his, but due to his early passing, the least he could have done was leave his items in here. The only inconsiderate thing about it was that said items collected dust from neglect.

“To the right people- maybe.”

It would be worth some good amount for the Rubicon Institute, hard to say for other corporations. Unless they have some sort of prophecy board and these useless logs will somehow triangulate a hidden location of dense coral.

Not Sulla’s log though. No amount of money would be enough for Walter to let it go.

“Since you’re here, it would be more appropriate of me to ask: what do you think of the logs?”

With how Maya was now after the accident, he couldn’t gauge how indifferent she’d be to it all. He figured no child-like curiosity about the subject, at least not the enthusiasm a child would have. Although, he refused to believe her to be that detached from it all and to have some sort of opinion, even if it’s detached and uncaring.

 

[Lucyfer]

A gasp?

A gasp?!

Iguazu could have laughed at the suck-up’s gasp, the way Songhua sounded so…well…startled at the mere idea of tattoos! Like some old woman clutching her pearls! Of course, he didn’t, he’d already gone into talk of getting out – which an old woman clutching her pearls should definitely do, and Songhua put on that strangely soft and infuriating smile to his lips again. Iguazu wanted to imagine he wore it like paint.

False.

Unreal.

How could anything that soft above such hard metal be genuine? How could anything about Songhua be genuine?

Yet he felt more real than others less augmented.

Iguazu felt a flare of hatred in a flash of envy.

He shoved it down so he wouldn’t punch Songhua on principal for a warning, for words he knew all too well from within his own head. He just scoffed, “That’s the plan,” the obvious response, as the fence that separated Balam from the world came into sight, keeping Rubicon out, making their own little world on a planet that didn’t belong to them.

It would.

Obviously.

And they’d still raise their fences.

He could have said something nice. Reminded Songhua there was a large galaxy. He didn’t have to retreat the galaxies. Instead, he offered, “Jupiter’s not all it’s cracked up to be. You have options,” it was close enough to the nice way of saying it.

He stopped, unsure the direction as the fence told them they were done with his portion of the walk. It was time to split up, or time to figure some new direction, some new path.

Perhaps that was why he said, “But if you need coam to get out, you need a way to improve and stay sharp. You use the ALLMIND program, Songhua?” He didn’t see Songhua’s AC in there, so probably not.

Maybe it could be useful for him.

Maybe it could help them both get out. They could find something beyond the colonies. Well, Iguazu had to go back to at least strangle a few throats, but after that, he didn’t know what was out there for him.

~***~

Maya merely shook her head at the apology. It wasn’t needed; she figured it out, after all. They were both going to have problems with assumptions, for a little while. They both assumed things about the other, which came from very different circumstances than the ones they found themselves in now.

Like a time when 618 was alive.

At least the logs might be worth some coam. Upgrades to Surya had to be coming up soon.

But Walter didn’t want to talk coam.

He wanted to talk about the logs.

Maya wasn’t sure what to make of them. There was that reflection-of-feeling that suggested a logical inclination to betrayal and frustration: if Coral was everything the RLF thought it was, then why didn’t it fix her? Okay, sure, it saved her life, but was this a life? That reflection-thought felt so far detached from herself that its anger still couldn’t pierce the still waters, but its thoughts rambled on in the back of her mind.

Fury, thy name is Durga.

Was that what Walter wanted? Were those even her true thoughts anymore, or just an echo of lies?

Maya uncurled her knees from her chest to reach for the pad and actually try to figure out what to type. There were backspaces. There were pauses. She didn’t feel the anger, so why mention it? She rephrased.

Their understanding of Coral must have been why Coral was thought to be revolutionary. I guess dosers may have led to the human augmentations that have failed. ​

She was a failure. Every generation that used coral was a failure.

Coral is not alive, nor anything but a fuel source for humans and machines. And fuel is useful. But it is not divine. They are misguided. They could be selling it for profit to better their planet after the Fires, but they hold these beliefs instead. Once the RLF is dealt with, I’m sure others of Rubicon will be more willing to deal. Then we can make our coam and leave. ​

The logs were just an exploration of delusion. The reason the planet suffered, radicals. If they ‘saw’ voices, it was just an effect of too much, the way too much morphine could cause weird side effects.

But Durga threw her thoughts in anyways, the touch of anger still only a whisper, unheard on text, in a simple statement:

Unless there’s more to this that you want to talk about. ​

Underneath, the question: is there more to this than coam? More to what you did to me, than coam?

 

[vampviscera]

Songhua approached the fence with him, his focus staring through random links within the barrier into the nighttime sky. The stars were unsettlingly bright, near sparkling between the several nebulas they were stacked against.

Space wasn’t foreign to him. How many shuttles has he taken in his life? More than he can count to several different colonies on at least 6 of the different planets. It was all an empty vacuum, merciless to the little specks of life that traveled within it. By all means humans should be fearful of the frontier, but just like anything else, they conquered a portion of it for no other means than just to survive.

“ALLMIND?” he asked.

He knew. Oh yes, he knew very well that program and all the arguments he had with King about using it. Chartreuse was the mediator and softened Songhua up to the idea and coerced him into the program. Not that he’d let it have all his data anyways, he didn’t trust automated machines like that. Didn’t trust them on Jupiter, sure doesn’t trust them with his life as it was. But, he’ll play ignorant, as it was more truthful that he wasn’t entirely familiar with it outside of its very expansive collection features.

“I’ve heard of it. Why? You use it?” He looked over Iguazu again.

Maybe he got it to have the simulated feeling of beating the lights out of G1, but the pure fact he was suggesting implies something else that G13 wasn’t so sure about.

With uncertainty of where this will take him, he asked,” is it good?”

——

He searched within Maya’s eyes for an inch of reaction.

He could try, anyways. The cybernetic eye did no more than reflect the room around it and her other human one was lost in thought. With any luck, she didn’t think much about any of it all and he can go on with his life pretending that deep philosophies about coral were a thing of the past; soon to be buried under the rest of this forsaken planet.

Redirecting himself towards her tablet, he nodded, taking in all she had to say.

“Right,” he said, optimistically.

A part of him believes that when RLF falls, the rest of the corporations fall or something else will simply take its place. So long as there’s citizens on the planet to fight for it.

That’s why they have to burn it all.

“No. I just wanted your thoughts on the matter. I didn’t want you to sit alone with the information you gathered with- no one to talk to about it.”

His shoulders tensed and aches weaved into his joints. All reminders of how he is technically the reason she sits alone here today and he is probably the last person she’d care about talking about all these trivial things with. Would it be better to turn a cold shoulder and risk her potential dissertation? Was he just overcompensating for something he can never fix?

All of that was irrelevant.

“Anyways, your new augments. They are not bothering you, correct? No signs of irritation after being in the new AC?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Songhua wasn’t completely oblivious. Iguazu didn’t anticipate that; ALLMIND did make AC parts, and any pilot worth their salt knew the major brands. Just because they were both with Balam didn’t mean they were stuck with just knowing Balam equipment, after all. He sure as hell didn’t want to be bound to Balam equipment forever.

He knew Michigan didn’t, either.

“Yeah. Just started,” and as if it were a boast, added, “Already hit Rank D.” He wanted to be higher than that, but he’d say he did pretty well for how long he had it. He’d figure out this Rokumonsen and deal with him, soon.

“Not sure how good it is practically yet, though it at least has Michigan ranked second, so it can’t be too dumb,” he said, that suggestion coming on the heels of a snort of amusement. Yes, he was going to find a way to rub that into Michigan’s face, sooner than later, he just needed a good moment to catch the bastard with that fact.

His reaction would be worth any punishment he could dish out.

“It’s got a lot of different AC types, and styles of fighting in the arena database, so I think it’s going to help improve for the real thing. It felt real enough being in the simulation,” and he would keep pressing through it, keep ascending the ranks, until he was above Michigan.

Above Freud.

Above everyone.

“It’s got most the Redguns and Vespers in there, and then a few random independent mercs I’ve never heard of. Lowest one is some kid named 'Raven'," he had to shake his head at that. It didn't make sense how an independent merc could be the lowest; the ought to be a lot higher than that, though that scout model 'Surya' was pretty rough. "Didn’t see you in there, though,” Iguazu pointed out, “Did see some guy in there who calls himself King. They're ranked right below Michigan,” he seemed to find that amusing, having no idea who King was. Just that it was a pompous name, “Kinda glad for that. I’d hate for a guy with that name to be first.”

~***~

No reason, Walter claimed. Just a need to make sure she could share her thoughts if she had any, and of course, a question about her augmentation. Talking wasn’t really necessary any longer. Sharing thoughts. There was little behind them any longer. Emotion didn’t fuel opinions. She understood her missions. She understood her AC and the way it needed to be improved.

Desperately.

She understood chasing feeling, but that wasn’t something she intended to mention, as she considered the question about augmentation. ‘Cold water is sharp agony and pleasant pain. Your use of my name was an auditory shock verging on a similar response.’

Maya shook her head.

Still adjusting. Nothing worth reporting.​

Would she end up chasing feeling forever? Perhaps she could do it better chasing tastes. Spicy food would be enough of a rush if she could find it hot enough. Ice cream for brain freeze. Alcohol…how would alcohol impact her now? Without emotions, what even was her inhibition like?

Something to consider when she had…well, time off.

Which was unlikely to be soon.

Given the AC was mentioned, she also added, after showing that non-report:

My mercenary license came with access to ALLMIND’s program. I did some training. Parts were promised for completion. I am not sure when they will be delivered, but you can sell them for coam. They don’t match what I work best with.​

 

[vampviscera]

Songhua listened intently with how Iguazu explained the system. It was interesting to see how he viewed it compared to most of the pilots who usually do, but the sentiment was all the same: upload your data, get better, pray the skills translate to the field.

Now that he actually thinks about it, he isn’t all too sure if pilots gained much expertise from the simulated program, but it isn’t all too often that pilots have dog fights with each other. Not any worth their salt. And, going by the data alone, the A-rankings didn’t seem to have shifted at all, so it also makes Songhua wonder if the data is up-to-date or these pilots truly are commendable.

“Ah, yeah I hadn't downloaded it when I joined the Redguns,” conveniently prays he never mentions ‘Blue Digital’,” ‘King’? Tch, yeah that guy sounds pretentious.”

More than G5 would ever know.

“I’ll give it a shot later. I thought it was all bogus data, but if there are pilots like that in the ranking, maybe it’s worth checking out.”

DEADLINK would constitute as a throw away AC, wouldn’t it? There was no telling how long his contract would last, how long he would last, and all the frivolity of this dangerous life, would it be of any harm to upload this corporation branded AC into the mix?

What if he ranks higher than G5? He’d lose a potential friend. The thought humored him, but he doubts it. He’d join and remain at the bottom due to unuse.

Songhua turned his sights to the stars again, taking in the colony of moons far out in the distance just idling along the inky darkness of night. Aches returned to his joints, right where all the metal nails slotted into the bone.

“Well, sir, the hour is getting late. I’ll catch you in the morning?” he asked, already tired at the thought.

Didn’t hate going on missions, just didn’t know what to expect with G5 nor what cruel and unusual punishment G1 wanted for the both of them.

——

It’s not that Walter didn’t want to seem not convinced, but he likes to think a healthy amount of skepticism went a long way.

With Maya, he hates to regard her as some sort of medical miracle, successful experiment, or whatever colorful languages the Institute would often call C4 augment survivors, but Walter couldn’t help utilizing the same methods he would have with previous pilots. Her word was truth and his prodding was second, even the ever silent assessment he’d make from head-to-toe on her person.

“Okay. Just tell me if you experience any unnecessary discomfort with the modifications.”

Shifting back into this seat, he heard a mention of ALLMIND and fought an exasperated sigh. Newage technology, of course.

“I’ll keep an eye out for the delivery and sell them if you truly don’t want them.” Not that it would be too difficult to buy them back. If the program handed out parts freely like that, then there’s no doubt other pilots have sold them all the same.

“The arms you’ve requested for Surya will be in tonight. I’ll get to work on the preparation for them and locking them into the mechanics grid, so ideally your AC will be ready in the morning,” he said, now standing out of the chair,” also, I’ve received a request while you were freshening up. I’ll forward you the details in the morning as well.”

This formal emptiness. It should be routine, but barking at one person felt a bit more rude than it was a team of cohorts.

Walter brushed the feeling away and kept this box of needless thoughts locked up. “Need anything else before I return to my office?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Well, at least the suck-up knew pretentious when he heard it in a name. Iguazu nodded in agreement, and wondered how long until he’d see this AC DEADLINK in the ranking. Likely soon enough, and he’d see it shoot by plenty of others.

There was that thought it might shoot by him.

There was that realization it would be upsetting.

Not that he expressed it. No, if that was the case, he’d just have to get better than the suck-up, too. Better than everyone. “I’ll look forward to facing your AC in the ranks,” he said instead, before his gaze followed up to all those stars, all those places he longed to be. Anywhere, but Rubicon-3, amongst the Redguns.

He gave a bit of a baffled look when Songhua called him ‘sir’, nose wrinkling, quite unable to help the expression at the authoritative title said in such a casual way. Not that he’d mind wielding authority, but…, “Tch. Yeah.” He agreed, deciding not to even waste his breath on asking if Songhua was mocking him.

Not like he’d own up to it.

Not like Iguazu was sure of it, either.

He wouldn’t follow Songhua in. He went back to ALLMIND, deciding to backtrack and take a look at some of the newer mercs who had joined the system, and making sure they weren’t any better.

The one called ‘Raven’ had their model changed from the basic scout, though their rank remained lowest. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was from lack of use, rather than skill, as he opted to jump into the arena, and heard ALLMIND’s little spiel.

“C4-621 Raven, Rank F, AC: Surya. One of the infamous Hounds of Walter, a generation 4 augmented human who has not become accustomed to the augmentations….”

Iguazu mostly tuned it out before he was finally allowed to punch forward and face the AI controlling the AC. The difficulty did surprise him, the blast radius of their cannon unexpected, but he was able to pull out a victory in the end, before trying a few more rounds for actual advancement – and then turning it off in a rage and heading to his bunk to rest.

Morning came only too early, but he was getting used to it.

Used to grabbing a protein shake and a ration on the run, not that he actually ran – hell no, he wouldn’t give Michigan that satisfaction – to Michigan’s office, where the door was wide open, waiting for him and Songhua to arrive.

He strode in with the ration bar between his lips, and gave a ‘Mrr’ sound as greeting before plopping down into the seat and rending his piece of the ration from the bar, chewing it, and swallowing it down as Michigan leveled his gaze on him.

“Gun-5! You’re actually early! That eager for an ass-kicking?”

Iguazu was too tired for this shit, and yet, he found the words, “Ready to prove you wrong.”

“Ha! I’ve told ya, that attitude ain’t gonna get ya far here on Rubicon-3, but that’s why I’m sending you along with two well-behaved partners, or at least that’s what I hear.”

“Wait—two?” Iguazu straightened in his seat, annoyed at this sudden change. “I thought I only had to babysit Songhua.”

~***~

Maya gave the courtesy nod that she would tell Walter, even if she considered that she might not if she found the payoff of the discomfort worthwhile. She didn’t want to lose the sharp pain of cold water. That was where the conversation ended. ALLMIND derailed it, and she nodded at his query. She really didn’t want the parts; they didn’t fit in her design.

She didn’t really have ALLMIND parts in her design. Well, there was one weapon – but she doubted they sent that along. She didn’t get a spreadsheet or choice.

When Walter mentioned having the arms soon, her brows rose, not at all displeased, though they lowered, not sure if they’d actually fit on the core without overburdening it. That was a problem for later, so she just nodded, as she also rose.

Her throat itched with a need to ask for allowance to do the work herself, but the words died as always, though the thought didn’t. She rose, and turned the tablet towards Walter with the simple request:

Let me add the arms. I still know how to work on my AC.
​

She’d know, even if the specification read said otherwise, if her AC could hold them or not. Besides, she needed to get the paint on Surya. She also needed to sleep more. Likely, get back to a holistic routine with her physical body, as well, but…well, that could wait a bit.

The rest of the day would pass, and when the arms arrived – oddly enough, well-timed with the delivery from ALLMIND, Maya was able to work on updating Surya, and she did go through the parts that ALLMIND sent, mostly ALLMIND Alpha parts, which didn’t interest her, even though they touted being able to synergize better with augmented humans.

She didn’t want to know.

Thankfully, the arms from RaD fit onto Surya without any issues or threat of breakage. ‘I still need another back-kit.’ A problem for another day. These four missiles weren’t really enough at all, but the JVLN ALPHA ALLMIND sent…well, Maya threw it onto Surya, deciding to keep it after going over the specifications.

That was the solar explosion she was missing, all right. The power to just obliterate most MTs with a point of her arm.

She touched up Surya and the new arms with some gold paint, though what they had in stock wasn’t quite what she wanted. More orange-red than rosy gold. Still, she made a note to put it on the list, as a ‘last’ item. Function was more important than looks.

With Surya touched up, Maya did rest rather than hit the gym or touch ALLMIND, and woke early the next morning to freshen up and find Walter for the briefing on the next mission.

 

[vampviscera]

Songhua retired early that night, thankful that he was able to make it through the evening with a scuff on his clothes and his skin unbruised.

He laid into his bed thinking about logging into ALLMIND, creating the account, and being nosey about the happenings. See where the rankings were at, seeing if he could hack beyond the surface layer to see if the rankings were truthful versions of the current mechs. See if maybe Chartreuse was still around.

He held the holographic screen above his head, tapping away at it, looking at the portal for it, but something nagged at him to save this for a later date. It was unclear where the hesitation was born from, whether it be his insecurities or something less important than that. For now, he bookmarked the tab and flicked the screen away to get ready for a busy morning.

By the time the sun drifted over the horizon and illuminated this icy tundra of a planet, Songhua was well out of bed, shrugging on his pilot suit with the customary jacket over it. Complimentary dark circles colored under his eyes and his feet dragged up until he made it to the corridor, where he put a little more effort into looking prepared and alert than he did in the barracks.

Michigan’s boisterous tone could be heard from the far end of the hallway, already crushing down into Iguazu. Songhua sighed, only hoping to have made it before he did, so he could maybe soften the impact before G5 inevitably speaks his mind and has the both of them flying broken MTs instead of their mechs (or anything equally terrible).

Slipping around the corner, he walked slightly behind his senior,” g’morning…”

Judging by the look on Iguazu's face, Songhua tried not to stare before looking towards Michigan, wondering what awful thing had already been said.

——

Walter wasn’t all too surprised when Maya insisted on working on her AC herself. Maybe he was being too hopeful in wanting her to take more rest, but soldiers are soldiers until the end.

He permitted her to do what she needed to do, given that she doesn’t overextend herself before the upcoming tasks, then went on with his night. Another long, blinkless evening where he stared at his many screens and completed the labor of keeping everything in order.

During the night, he’d curiously prod at the Institute’s archive, daring himself to follow up on Sulla’s previous file ( or any file on the public archive that might allude to his return ), but he found nothing of value. The insurgence of mercenaries to Rubicon saturated the feed with all sorts of names, pseudo-names, and updated AC designations, so if Sulla did return, he was clever with the idea to blend in with the new crowd.

The rest of the night passed by quickly and by morning, Walter rubbed the dry, stinging feeling out of his eyes before checking in on Maya.

“621,” he greeted her whenever he made his way to the bunker. “Morning.”

Thumbing through his tablet, he forwarded the debrief to her commlink, so she had all the updated maps and inquiries about it before he explained.

“Today’s mission has been commissioned by Balam Industries. You will be heading to Gallia Dam Complex where you will work with two of their pilots: G5 Iguazu and G13 Songhua. Your task is to destroy the surrounding generator supply lines being used by the RLF.”

It was a simple enough request. Exceedingly too simple. It had Walter wondering if this throwaway mission really needed two in-house Redgun pilots plus additional mercenary help, or if there was more to it all and 621 was to be used solely for clean-up.

He wouldn’t dwell on it too much, trusting Maya’s capabilities to be wise about the situation and avoid any unnecessary company drama. He hopes.

“Surya has been loaded to the dock and we will take flight in 10 minutes.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Michigan didn’t answer Iguazu immediately, seeing Songhua approaching the room. “Gun-13! Glad of you to finally show your face!” Not that he was late, but he was later than Gun-5, so by default, he was late. Whoever was first, was the one on time. Michigan did make the rules, after all. “Now I can start the briefing.”

“What, we don’t have to wait for this third person?”

“Not at all! They’re getting their briefing elsewhere,” Michigan said, “Gun-13, as I was telling Gun-5 here, it’s going to be you, him, and the new little mercenary who screwed us out of an AC unit, 621-Raven, one of Walter’s little pups.”

The words meant nothing to Iguazu, other than the name of the pilot. Iguazu scoffed, “That pilot?” At least based on the ALLMIND simulation, they weren’t worthwhile, “Really? Songhua and I could handle this on our own.” This was just another way to suggest he wasn’t worth his salt, wasn’t it? Giving him two people on a mission, making it seem like they bore the weight of the mission – it was bullshit.

He didn’t pay attention to Songhua’s reaction, and Michigan was briefly more caught up in Iguazu’s – G5 did have a way of baiting him, “Then it’s no problem to include a third to tag along and make sure to wipe your asses when you inevitably leave something behind, is it?” Michigan said, “Now, listen up!” he snapped.

That voice which always forced Iguazu to sit up.

He hated it.

“You three will be attacking Gallia Dam Complex, and taking out the generators. This is part one of our assault on the Wall, as this will cut off the majority of their power supply to the Wall,” Michigan said, “so this ain’t just some bullshit field trip you can fuck around on.”

Iguazu blew air out loudly, but strongly resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“There are four generators,” Michigan tapped a tablet on his desk, and a 3-D scale model of the complex rose up over his desk. The generators were marked, “This information will be sent to your ACs. Just follow the damn markers.”

Iguazu snorted.

“What?” Michigan asked.

“…dam markers.”

Michigan’s lips quirked, just a bit, in actual, amused mirth. “Damn right, Gun-5. You’re getting it.”

~***~

Maya took her comm into hand when Walter forwarded the message, and brought up the details, noting the marks on the map. Walter cleared it up – hit and run mission, generators. It made sense. Generators were the lifeblood of any organization. Power was necessary. ‘Why not just take the Dam itself?’ Well, that wasn’t her concern, was it?

She was just here for the coam, and they weren’t paying her to take the dam.

Though, they were paying her to deal with other people, apparently.

She looked up from the maps, expression still deadened as usual, but in that way that still spoke of questions. The task was too simple for three AC pilots, unless the RLF also had an AC up their sleeves. Not impossible, but Walter didn’t mention it, nor did the briefing hint at anything other than MTs and sedentary artillery units.

Ten minutes.

Not enough time for more than one question, then.

Is their safety my actual priority, or is it the generators?​

A valid question for why she had to accompany Redguns on a mission. Also a way to figure out what the priority actually was for the coam. Did she get paid more if she handled the generators on her own, or was the job to get everyone home safely because the Redguns couldn’t afford to lose someone, after she, well, took care of an AC unit they were going to get from Dafeng?

They couldn’t be happy about that.

Was this an ambush instead, a trap layered with false coam?

She’d handle it. Scrap the AC units, make coam off of that.

Mostly, she just didn’t want to deal with the hassle of…people.

Walter was difficult in his own way. She had memories of how to act – and couldn’t do it. But Walter knew what happened. G5 and G13 weren’t going to understand why they got paired up with a mute. Odds were, the synergy would be off. They wouldn’t know how to work with her. She wouldn’t know how to work with them.

It was going to be a literal headache.