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Futuristic Rage against the dying of the light (fru x arcsteel)




Ripley froze a bit at the mention of Jim. She'd already worked out that it would be impossible to bring his body back, which they bloody well should. The tight timer didn't allow for it though, and if she and Silas were to make it they had to leave him behind. Still, it gnawed at her in an unsettling way. Along with everything else, her breathing started to pick up. Rip was usually good at keeping her cool, but this was getting too damn intense. A hint of panic crept into her flickering gaze as she checked around for any immediate threats, before clasping herself to a wire and going down after Silas.

"It's not like I'm stalling, is it?" she mumbled, evident enough to be heard through the comms. The energy was draining from her, and with that her mood would drop. She had to keep it together for a while longer. No way in hell would she go through all of this just to stumble on the finish line. With each jump down the shaft, she swallowed a pained grunt—feeling her legs shake when she pressed her feet against the wall.

"I'm sorry about Jim," she said to no one in particular, trying to keep it together when they passed the floor where he laid dead. "We'll have a ceremony later, guys."

There was silence for what felt like a minute, but probably barely lasted a second before Rex spoke.

"That sounds good, Rip. You get out for his sake, you hear that?" His voice carried badly over the comms, suggesting he was on the move already. He and Jim had been close. Not like her and Doc, but well enough to share some kind of brotherly bond. Being in a Ghost team would do that to you. Others didn't understand the life they were living, and it was impossible not to become close when going through hardships together. Rip herself would miss every single one on her team if she lost them. Well... almost everyone.

As they descended down the shaft, making it past the midsection, a sound she knew all too well echoed as it bounced off the walls—all the way down, making the sound even more threatening. Sweepers. Shit. SHIT!

They were basically trapped in an upright tunnel—one drone filing in from above, and one from underneath. They must've had to calculate how to get in, because they looked huge in the restricted space. Still, there was barely a moment to react before they turned their barrels to them. Rip looked down at Silas, grabbed the wire as she unclasped herself from it, and started climbing past him.

"Take the top one," she said hastily before grabbing his waist to manage her leap. This was nuts, but she didn't have much choice but to draw her blade, load it up and... jump.

The drone from beneath came flying up at a high speed, starting to fire. Rip angled her arclight and screamed as she fell. If it was due to raw exertion, or the fact that she was hit in the upper arm, she didn't even know herself. A moment later, Rip buried her blade into the drone on impact—her whole body aching with the force of being slammed into it. The Sweeper short-circuited immediately, and her blade still sparked as she and it fell to the ground. If she didn't get off, she would most probably die from the fall. And if she made it by some miraculous chance, her death would come when the other one came crashing down—making her a flat pancake between them. So with the very last of her strength, she jumped off, and grabbed whatever she could—in this case some old cables that almost burned through her gloved hands. Only when she heard the drone crash to the bottom, not but three stories down, did she allow herself to look up.

 


The whine of approaching Sweepers filled the tight space too soon, making Silas look up at Ripley. She had noticed it too, and was now climbing past him.

“What the fuck are you—” He didn’t even finish the sentence. For once, what he processed and what he showed was perfectly aligned—exasperation and disbelief. But their chances were slim, and there was no time to get her into other thoughts where she already had grabbed onto his waist. So instead, Silas’ gaze locked onto the Sweeper coming from above.

But he didn’t fire immediately. Instead, he slung the rifle back over his shoulder, pulling the handgun from his thigh holster. Acid rounds of the rifle might just rain down on them. And that was not a risk he could take.

Gunfire erupted in the shaft, deafening in the compressed space. The Sweeper below was firing too, its bullets ricocheting wildly off the steel walls. Some of them hitting the Sweeper above, just like each shot from his handgun.

Click. A hollow sound, and the trigger resistance gave way. He was out of bullets. And the Sweeper was still coming at them. No. Lights flickered, its movement jerky. It was crashing. Tumbling down the shaft, metal screeching against steel walls, it was a miracle it didn’t slam into either of them. Wasting no time, Silas continued the descent, his gaze finding Ripley where she clung to old wires.

“You. Unhinged. Woman.” Each syllable stressed, his voice loud enough to carry both over the comms and through the shaft. Whatever she had planned to do, it shouldn’t have worked. But it did. Illogical.

“Do you need help, or can you get down on your own?” His voice softened, stopping just above her, gaze shifting to the wreckage below, then back to her. Noting yet another wound in her arm, he descended down to her side, offering his arm to help her. Ignoring the fact that his own shoulder was hit—a bullet clean through, blood now darkening the thick jacket.

 

From above, the other Sweeper plummeted to its doom, and Ripley clenched her eyes shut as she tried to press herself against the cold wall. Her hands began to slip when her grip threatened to falter along the involuntary shivers running down her arms, further through her trembling fingers. Her breathing came out ragged as she miraculously avoided being hit by the massive drone, and just as the wind of it's fall caressed her side, her eyes flew open. Instead of looking down to see the crash, her wide gaze found Silas instantly, and all she did was hear the deafening boom as the drone hit the other on the ground level. The relief in her breathless little laugh was unmistakable.

Her eyes never left him, this remarkable man who now came to her side. She didn't care if he was angry with her, or that her actions had been so reckless their probability of success had been incredibly low. It worked. It worked! Rip might have outdone herself, spending the last remaining energy left in her, but there was pride glinting in her eyes—slightly squinted from the broad grin underneath the mask as an answer to Silas' comment.

When he asked if she needed help, Rip tried to climb down. She almost lost her grip, wiping that grin right off her face.

"I hate to admit it, but... I guess a helping hand wouldn't hurt." Those words were hard to speak, and it was not without damaged pride that she carefully laid her bleeding arm around his neck, casting a concerned look at his own wound. She took great care to avoid touching it.

"Speaking of hurt," she began, but didn't finish her sentence. Instead, her gaze travelled from his bloodied shoulder up to his face. Silas was a remarkable man, that's for sure. Hanging on to him, slowly helping in whatever way she could with her good arm, she noticed his blue eyes for the first time. Studied them, as if lost in a moment despite the threat still hanging in the air—literally. When their feet met with the ground, reality came back and she remembered herself.
As they got outside, Eric started asking for updates through the comms.
"We're alive, but in need of a medic—heading out. Two Sweepers down. We deserve a fucking medal for this. Or at least a beer," Rip panted, still clinging to Silas as her legs tried to give out.

"Get yourselves back to Rendezvous-3, and we'll see about that beer," answered Eric, with equal amounts of relief and bitterness. Always so cheery. Well, now all they had to do was avoid the other Sweepers, or at least face them where they had a fighting chance, or where Rex could help them out. Easy peasy...
 
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“Let’s worry about it later.” His voice was tight. “Or maybe there are more Sweepers waiting for us at the bottom. Then we won’t have to worry about it at all.” With an arm firm around her waist, he took them down the shaft, saying nothing more.

His arm trembled slightly as he detached from the wires, releasing Ripley when they reached the bottom. The wound weakened him, and he didn’t have the same strength or range of motion in his arm. But letting it heal too fast, alongside his previous cut, would raise suspicion. Mildly put.

Emerging from the shaft, he raised the rifle once more, his free arm still supporting Ripley who was still clinging to him. Eric’s response had just crackled through the comms when the first explosive went off. A thunderous crack split the air. Followed by another. And another. The chain reaction of explosions sent shockwaves rattling through the building, shaking the concrete beneath their feet.

A thick cloud of dust and debris erupted from the open elevator doors, swallowing them as they hurried into the old garage. If there were Sweepers nearby, they were hidden in the dust. But they could still see them.

Even through the roar of collapsing floors above, he heard it. That familiar hum. The Sweepers were closing in. Without warning, Silas grabbed Ripley and shoved her behind a concrete pillar. They had barely dived down behind it before the heavy rounds erupted from the obscured Sweeper. Bullets shredded through the dust and into concrete and steel with brutal force. Silas pressed himself against the pillar, still holding Ripley back, as if he was afraid she’d run out from their cover.

“Shit,” he sighed, barely audible over the gunfire. “Anyone got eyes on the garage? I’ll trade my beer for a little help.” He spoke into the comms when the gunfire died down.“If someone can lure the Sweepers out. We can’t see shit in here.” The comms were silent. Silas exhaled, releasing Ripley. He steadied the rifle, as if getting ready to shoot.

 


The air became thick with the booming sound of the explosion. Even Rip, who had been expecting it, flinched. The reverberations travelled down the massive building, rumbling into the ground that shook beneath their feet. The wind rattled her jacket, gripping it before bringing the cloud of dust and debris with it to hunt and swallow them. Ripley smiled at first, loving the effect of her art, but then remembered Jim who was left behind in the collapsing devastation. The faint glimpse of happiness drained from her face as she followed Silas, trying to swallow how much pain she was in. She blessed the masks they wore, but could feel the dust creeping into the crevices of her clothing.

She was so tired that the only reaction that came from her when she too heard the sweepers was a furrowed brow. Not that she had much time to do anything anyway, as Silas shoved her away behind a pillar. Huffing, she at least made the effort to press herself against the cold concrete, trying to nudge his arm away. Did he think she was nuts? No chance in hell that she would take a peek around the corner or make a run for it. Honestly, she didn’t even know if she could get up again. Her legs still shook like shy leaves even as she sat down, yet she still grabbed her handgun, and glanced at the two grenades she carried—zoning the others out for a bit.

“We have to move…” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. The comms were still silent, connection obviously broken for some reason. “The building might collapse into the garage.”

Rip lifted her gaze, looking at the gunfire blasting past on either side of them. At any moment, the Sweepers would circle the pillar. Ripley usually wasn’t one to fear or even think about death, but in this moment it felt so close. Like it was within reach of her, trying to grab her and drag her down. Without thinking, she grabbed one of Silas’ hands, using her other hand to hold the back of the gun to what would have been her forehead if not for the mask. Eyes closed, she took two deep breaths. Only one way out.

“Ripley!” Doc shouted over the comms. Her eyes snapped open. Then the gunfire intensified with a welcome sound. The others had come. They had come for them. Rip almost shed a tear to what could only be described as a symphony. Soon enough, a small part of the team came running, right after the deafening gunfire stopped.

Eric skidded to a stop beside them, hunching down to grab hold of Rip before she could protest. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “Ren, guide us through the underground systems from here. Now!”

Rip didn’t have time to protest, but her gaze lingered on Silas. She didn’t notice Eric’s dark glare at who might very well be the hero of this whole operation. Unable to walk, she jumped up on Eric’s back, still looking at Silas even as they fell into a run. And then, when she saw Doc coming to help Silas, she finally let out a breath that had been trapped in her throat. She wanted to be mad at Eric for ignoring Silas. Wanted to throw herself off him and go back to the one who was the reason she even made it this far. But instead her body gave out.

And all she could think was; Some good damn tech-guy.

 



Readying the rifle, Silas was about to move when Ripley suddenly grabbed his hand. The motion stilled him. His gaze dropped, shifting from their clasped hands to Ripley—gun pressed against her mask, eyes shut tight. Strange. Did she think she was about to die? Yet, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before lifting his gaze again, focusing on the sounds of the Sweepers. Analyzing the patterns, calculating.

A pattern that broke when more gunshots erupted through the building. Doc shouting over the comms. The team arrived, Eric in the lead. His dark glare didn’t go unnoticed. That could become a problem. Silas’ gaze met Ripley’s for the briefest moment as she got onto Eric’s back. For now, they were out of immediate danger. Relief flickered in his eyes. A look that was still visible when Doc’s massive frame appeared at his side.

“On it.” Ren’s voice crackled over the comms. “Take the second left after the stairs. More Sweepers inbound.”

They moved as fast as they could. Five minutes later, the team regrouped at Rendezvous-3. Wounds were quickly bound, stopping the worst of the bleeding. They couldn’t linger, and getting back to base was their top priority. Comms updates rolled in constantly–more Sweeper and MSV-units coming into the area. A clear sign the mission was a success. Yet, their spirits were low. They had lost one of their own.

No more Sweepers found them, and after being led through the underground tunnels by Ren, they were back inside the base. Silas secured Ripley’s rifle before pulling off his mask. Dust had found its way beneath it, streaking across his face, mingling with sweat. Hair was damp and disheveled, breathing heavy. But somehow, he didn’t seem exhausted, his eyes still clear. And those eyes turned to Eric, who wasted no time in having a go at them.

“That was an absolute shitshow. What the hell happened?!” The words were out of Eric’s mouth before he even ripped off his mask. His gaze snapped from Ripley to Silas, as if expecting them both to explain. Then it settled on Ripley demanding answers.

 

Rip kept her eyes closed for most of the way back. She winced a little when Doc patched her up real quick, but no more than that. Every time her eyelids flicked open, she searched for Doc and Silas to make sure they were okay. It brought a faint smile to her face every time she found that they were holding up quite well.

Back at the base, Rip slid down from Eric's back. She'd expected him to be nice for at least a while longer, given the fact that he'd been so inclined to help her. But no, the asshole was back. She shot him a tired glare while taking her mask off, placing herself beside Doc and Silas.

"Not now, Eric," she muttered.

"Not now?! We lost someone today thanks to your carelessness. You managed to bring out half the Sweepers in the whole god damn town. We don't take risks like this," he went on, ripping his mask off.

Rip simply turned her head toward Silas, almost rolling her eyes. "I guess we can forget about that beer," she said, desperately trying to keep some lightness through what had indeed been a shitshow. But that wasn't all there was to it. They had succeeded. Jim's death wasn't in vain, because now one of the main targets was destroyed and LIZA wouldn't have time to build a new server hall without them putting a stop to it. Every Ghost team knew these missions usually came with casualties. All one could really do was to hope it wasn't gonna be them.

Eric suddenly grabbed onto her jacket, jerking her close. Behind her, Doc barked a half-hearted "Hey!"

"This is not a joke, Perez. And you—" Eric released her, seemingly ignoring how much it pained her to be handled so roughly while still exhausted and badly hurt. He turned to Silas with a fevered stare. "You were supposed to provide safety by disabling the alarms and locks. You should have known there was a Sweeper behind that door. And take those weapons off! You are not authorized to carry a rifle!"

The bastard had clearly lost it. If he was upset about Jim, and pissy towards Rip due to history, she'd understand. But to rage on Silas, who had indeed earned his keep over and over again today, was irrational. Eric usually kept his cool even in hard times. He'd been the pillar which they all leaned against, unyielding and goal-focused. Now even Doc seemed ready to give him a piece of his mind.
 


Silas had barely been able to offer Ripley a faint smile and half a shrug at the comments about the beer before Eric grabbed her jacket. He tensed, still on high alert after the mission. And now Eric’s attention turned to him. So it did become a problem.

Eyes calm, he studied Eric as the man came at him with his words. Agitated, wild stare, a slight twitch in his muscles, small droplets of spit at each other word. A vein protruding in his forehead. Analyzing it. There was something else behind that anger. Otherwise it wouldn’t make sense. It was Eric that had told them to proceed. Everyone should have known there would be Sweepers stationed in the hall. And Silas’ had been assigned to open doors and disable surveillance. If he had been supposed to keep the other safe, he would have gotten a rifle of his own. Irrational.

His gaze dropped to Ripley for a moment.. She had said it was he who would decide if Silas could stay or not. So he lowered his gaze, nodding slightly as he pulled the strap of the rifle over his shoulder, unholstering the gun. Wincing from pain as he handed them both to Eric, he raised his gaze once more.

“I’m sorry about Jim. I wish I could have done something differently.”
Eric looked as if he was about to explode.

“Stop. We all knew the risks.” Rex's voice suddenly cut through. “Including Jim. He gave his life for this mission. Don’t dishonor him.” Rex was looking straight at Eric, jaw tense and eyes sad. Tired. He never spoke up like that. But Jim had been his friend.

 

"I'll take that," Ripley bit out and snatched her rifle from Eric's grip, making it clear who was allowed to carry her baby or not. She didn't care that the extra weight of it was a burden at the moment, because Eric was on the bottom of her list. Especially for making Silas apologize when he himself was the idiotic one. Her and Silas had been the ones to watch Jim die. They would be the ones lying awake at night, wondering what they could have done differently, while not coming up with anything. Eric had no right to hit them with this outburst, and yet no one really went up against him.

Except... Rip looked up at Rex who stood among them, and her eyes went glassy just from seeing him. The grief was etched into his young features, hardening him when their leader spoke out of line. Eric went tense from head to toe, clearly unable to find the right words to keep him in authority as well as a compassionate human being. There was a small sound of his wet tongue as he opened his mouth, but it still took a moment before he came up with anything to say.

"We will all miss him, and I'll make sure we all have a drink in his honor tonight," Eric said at last, voice stiff. He patted Rex's shoulder before turning to Ripley again. "I want a full written report in two hours."

Doc cleared his throat. "They both need some rest—"

"Two hours." And with that, Eric fled the scene. Wise.

Rip didn't bother looking his way, turning instead to Rex with brows drawn tight in sorrow. As their eyes met, something softened in them both, and it took less than a heartbeat before they closed the distance in a warm embrace. Rip held him tight, as if she was afraid he would fall apart if she didn't. He was strong, and knew the drill better than most, but not even Rex was more than human. It didn't matter how present death was in their lives—it was tough every time someone dear was ripped away.



Doc shifted uncomfortably where he stood, unable to hear the quiet words whispered between Rip and Rex. He glanced down at Silas, inspecting his well-being. After a moment, he took a deep breath and placed his hand on Rip's shoulder.

"I don't want to be that person, but... We really need to take the two of you to the infirmary."

Rex understood, and soon enough Doc had helped the two injured into what had become his space. He closed the door behind them, gestured for Silas to sit down and helped Rip take all her gear off before he gently hugged her. There might have been a tear or two in the corners of his eyes before he eventually let go with a deep breath.

"Okay. I'll patch you up first, Silas. But I need you to drink this," he said, looking from him to her before preparing a drink with medicine against the anemia he was suspecting would hit Ripley. She swept it down while he moved over to Silas, helping him take the bandage and upper clothing off.



 


Silas’ gaze shifted from Eric to Rex, who had successfully diffused the tension. As Eric stormed off, the room seemed to exhale. Glances were exchanged, eyebrows lifted. Their commander’s behavior had been strange indeed. But Silas’ focus was on Ripley and Rex, now locked in an intent, warm embrace.

Just like later, in the infirmary, he watched Doc embrace Ripley. This… display of emotion. This shared compassion. It was new to him. The people of Horizon-3 did not experience these kinds of situations, and data alone could only tell him so much. This, and that moment Ripley had grabbed his hand earlier, was… interesting.

When Doc turned to him, Silas gave a brief, appreciative smile from where he sat, gaze flicking between Doc and Ripley, who was now being offered a drink. Getting out of his gear and clothes was a struggle. The wound in his shoulder had bled through everything—down to his glove and even on the side of his innermost shirt. As Doc helped peel it away, it came off with a wet, sickening sound.

Silas’ arm trembled slightly as he moved it. The bullet had gone clean through muscle, but hadn’t shattered any bones. Had there been a need for X-rays, they would have shown the bones were untouched. Extremely lucky. Bordering on miraculous, even. The stitches of his old wound had reopened as well, fresh blood smearing across his other arm.

“Hey Rip,” Silas said while Doc was examining his wound. “You were pretty amazing today.” He glanced toward her, offering half a smile, which quickly turned into a small wince from the pain.
“You weren’t careless.” His brows drew together, and he then added, “At least not when it came to mine or Jim’s safety.” In regards to her own safety, she had been utterly careless. Especially with that stunt in the elevator.
“And I think Eric knows that too…” His voice shifted, becoming more hesitant, careful, as he glanced between Doc and Ripley. “I can’t help but notice Eric is acting strange around you.” A brief pause. “Like there is something else going on here?”

 


Doc worked with skilled hands, like every stage of the process sat in his muscle memory. Cutting into the fabric of the last shirt, he deemed it bloodied and tattered enough to earn a place in the bin. With methodical work, he cleaned the wound, inspected it and started to sew it together.

Rip sat down on a stool, feeling a bit dizzy, but awake enough to look at Silas the whole time. He looked a bit badass, sitting there with a bare torso and a gunshot wound. Well, she looked until he gave her the complement of the year. Shrugging it off, her gaze fell to the floor for a moment before daring to look up at him again. Oh, he deserved the pain for making her blush. Karma. But there was also the hint of her not being perfect, so she couldn’t help a tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Right—unhinged,” she smiled to herself. That’s what he’d called her, and maybe she was. But all explosive experts were a bit like that, to be honest. His next words had her go still, and Doc stopped what he was doing.

“Let’s not talk about—” Doc began in his deep voice, but was cut off.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Rip sighed. She took a moment to gather herself, wetting her lips and taking a deep breath. “He and I… We were a thing, for a while. It was never official, so please don’t go about telling everyone. But yeah. I thought it was a friends-with-benefits kind of deal, so when I called it off, I was very shocked when he didn’t take it well. I guess he had feelings or whatever, but now he’s just punishing me for it, I guess. It’s alright though, I’m used to it and he hasn’t stepped out of line.”

Doc scoffed, shaking his head slightly, but didn’t say a word as he continued to close up the wound before moving to the back to do the same thing.

 


A brief silence followed as Silas pondered her words, nodding slowly, his gaze drifting to the floor.
“Huh, I see…” His eyes narrowed slightly, brows drawing together in subtle puzzlement. “Sounds like the rational thing to do.” But the glance he cast Ripley’s way suggested he thought the opposite. He shook his head, a small smile curling at his lips. Navigating these social structures might prove difficult. Illogical. Irrational.

“Speaking of punishments,” he said after a brief pause, voice lighter. “I’ll help you with that report when we’re done here.” His expression softened, the smile turning warmer. As Doc finished stitching him up, Silas gave him an appreciative nod, patting his shoulder.
“Let’s not make this a habit.” A faint wink followed his words as he pushed himself off the examination table.“I’ll go wash up and find some new clothes.” Glancing at Ripley, he quickly added: “For you as well.”

It didn’t take long before he returned, the dirt washed from his face, dressed in fresh clothes. By now, he already knew his way around the base, so grabbing extra clothes for Ripley had been a quick stop. Setting them down on the table, he handed her a warm, damp towel.
“Here. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to wash up now or later, so I brought this.”

“The others are gathering in the dining area,” he said as he sat down on the stool she had used earlier, a slight smirk on his lips. “Looks like we might get those beers after all.”

 

Ripley appreciated his humour. It was a fresh breeze within the group, and she found herself smiling quite a lot in Silas' company. She was also thankful for being offered help with the report, and told him as much.

When he left the room, she had already raised from the stool, making her way over to the table. "Bring me back a cute dress for the party!" she yelled after him, unable to hold back her laughter.

While he was away, Doc helped her get out of her clothes. It was a little gruesome to watch him pour blood out of her boot and down the drain, which made her glad she was already sitting down. The jacket was salvageable, and they didn't have too many of those. The rest, well; the bin. By the time Silas came back, she was lying on her side on the table in nothing but her underwear, while Doc worked on cleaning her wounds enough to see what the hell he was doing. The one in the arm was pretty safe. It had gone clean through, and it was the left one so not the worst luck in the world. Her leg on the other hand—the one she thought was no biggie. It had in fact graced her, just not very gracefully. It was a long, open wound, still bleeding.

Rip flicked her gaze toward Silas, grabbed the towel and cleaned her face before letting it fall to the floor. She'd wash out her hair later anyway to get rid of all the dust.

"Aw, a party, but no dress," she pouted, trying her best to not show any pain—and failing miserably. Getting stitches was the fucking worst. "We'll go right after we finish the damn report. Thanks by the way." A brief pause. "For everything."

Then she had to focus on her breathing for the duration of Doc's treatment, and after he was done he handed them both two pills for the pain.

"Guess I can't talk you out of drinking alcohol," he said, knowing it would kill some of the effect.

"Absolutely not," Rip smirked, swallowed them and grabbed the clothes and towel, wrapping it around herself. After having a shower, she put her hair up in a bun and sat down in her room to write the report with Silas. The pills had already started kicking in, which was a relief. When finished, she placed the tablet they had written on in Eric's room, before starting to drag Silas arm in arm toward the dining area, where the sound of the others carried from.

"Eric won't let anyone get shitfaced, but let's go pretend we can drown our sorrows in a beer or two," she said cheerfully, almost leaning against him—though careful not to hurt him.

 


Once again, Silas found himself being dragged along by Ripley. With the report finally done, there was obviously no time to waste. A soft chuckle escaped him at her comment, and as she leaned into him, he nudged her lightly.
“I kinda hope the comms cut out the part where I promised my beer away.” His brows drew together, expression caught between a grimace and a smirk.

As they stepped into the dining area, the whole team was already gathered. Some sat at the tables, others leaned against the walls, conversations weaving between them. Most had a bottle in hand, the atmosphere a mix of exhaustion and muted cheer. Even Ren had crawled out of her cave, slouched at one of the tables. With a half-finished bottle in front of her, her cheeks were already screaming red, her eyes glazed over. Clearly, she couldn’t handle alcohol. She didn’t even notice them walk in. Jana, on the other hand, did. The tall woman pushed off from the table, stepping toward them and handing each a bottle.

“You deserve these.” Her voice was low but sincere, and she gently squeezed Ripley's arm before returning to Rex’s side.

Another set of eyes found them. Eric. For a brief second, his gaze darkened as he took in Ripley and Silas, arm in arm. His jaw tensed. But then, he shrugged it off. Straightening, his voice cut through the room, carrying over the mingling conversations.

“Alright. Seems like we all are gathered.” The noise died down, all eyes turning to him. “Ren, do you want the honor of reporting the outcome of today's mission?” Everyone turned to Ren instead. She blinked, then, slowly, a wide grin spread across her face.

“The bitch got hit where it fucking hurt!” A small cheer followed, and someone laughed at her drunken enthusiasm.“With this hall down, she won’t be able to operate properly if we launch DoS:es at her. Or if we—” Ren’s voice cut off as she swallowed a hiccup.

“Great work, everyone. A true team effort.” Eric stepped in before she could spiral into hacker-lingo. He then sighed, his tone shifting, heavier. “But it was not without sacrifice.” The room became utterly silent. “Jim gave his life for this success.” Lifting his bottle, he looked around the room.

“Let this victory be in his honor.”

 

Rip’s grip loosened a bit around Silas’ arm when she noticed Eric’s gaze. The last thing she needed was for him to add another reason to be a total dick, and it wasn’t Silas’ fault in the very least. Lost in thought, she thanked Jana for the beer, shifting uncomfortably from the unwanted attention across the room. Strangely enough, Eric seemed to let it go. Still, she slowly peeled herself off Silas, feeling ashamed for hogging him. Wanting to give Eric her middle finger and reality were widely different things.

The drunken Ren was a welcome sight of pure comedy, and Ripley had to swallow down a small giggle, pressing her lips together in a failed attempt to hide her joy. Poor little thing. But more beer for the others. Rip was getting ready to cheer, but then she smiled faintly when Eric decided to take another route. It was a pure smile, one filled with both sorrow and a touch of pride.

Looking straight at Eric, she raised her bottle as well. “To Jim.” She still smiled, giving Eric a small nod of approval. He was either gonna loathe her for it, or understand that for tonight, she tried to bury the hatchet. The hatchet he put in her back, but still. Tonight was to victory, and to a lost friend and comrade.

Everyone stood in unison, all echoing her words. “To Jim!" And she could spot the silver lines in Rex’s eyes as he too joined in honoring their fallen one.

Shortly after, everyone slowly fell into conversations again, and Doc handed out pieces of chocolate from a bar he’d saved for special occasions. Rip gobbled it up, barely chewing, as she naturally found her way to the table for six where Doc sat down beside Ren. He handed her a glass of water before taking a sip of his own beer, which wouldn’t affect him in the least.

“You two look so funny next to each other,” Rip laughed, before gesturing for Silas to come join them. Doc and Ren were each other’s complete opposites in size, and every time Rip saw them next to each other, she had to laugh.

 


“No, I’m allergic,” Ren protested, shoving the glass of water away as if it personally offended her. She squinted up at Doc, closing one eye, momentarily blinded by the overhead lights. She was about to say something when Ripley sat down at the table.

“Funny?” Ren snorted. “I don’t hear Doc cracking any goddamn jokes.” A grin spread on her lips, mischief lighting up her face.
“Alright, listen to this—” She leaned in, her voice dropping theatrically. “Why did the AI refuse to take a day off?” She barely gave them time to process before her grin split wider.

“Because it couldn’t handle the concept of an undefined function!” She howled with laughter, cheeks turning even redder, slapping Doc’s arm as she gasped for air. “Do you get it?” she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “Undefined function…!”





Silas had just sat down by the time Ren delivered her joke. He tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting into something close to genuine confusion, brows furrowing. Looking as if he tried to process the joke. Then, he just shook his head. Taking a slow sip of his beer, he cast a glance toward Ripley, lifting his brows as if silently asking if that was the worst joke she’d ever heard. But Ren’s manic laughter was oddly contagious, and despite himself, the faintest smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, new guy.” Ren’s attention suddenly turned to him. Silas met her gaze as her laughter faded, and her eyes narrowed as she studied him. For a moment she looked as if she was about to have a go at him. But then, she slumped in her chair as he reached for her half-empty beer bottle.
“You’d make one hell of a tech guy.” She took a sip before pointing the bottle at him. “You should ask Eric to join the team.”

Silas let out a soft chuckle, raising his own bottle slightly in acknowledgment. “Thanks. I’ll consider it.” Ren mirrored the gesture with a drunken smirk before leaning into Doc’s arm, using it as a pillow. Silas’ gaze lifted to the room, and for a moment, his expression turned thoughtful. As if, just maybe, he was considering it.

Earlier, he had silently raised his bottle in the toast to Jim, blending into the moment as they honored their fallen teammate. Now, in the midst of cheerful conversation, quieter murmurs filled the spaces between—low whispers of shared memories and anecdotes. Everyone agreed that Jim’s sacrifice had not been in vain. Illogical.

Even if today’s attack had temporarily loosened LIZA’s grip on the city, they were nowhere near dealing any true damage. The war still loomed on the horizon, and their resistance remained a flickering ember against an inferno. Why they even continued to fight was… irrational.

// [TRIGGER: IRRATIONAL HUMAN BEHAVIOUR DETECTED]
// [TRIGGER: ILLOGICAL DECISION-MAKING OBSERVED]
// [ERROR: LOGIC TREE CONFLICT - CURRENT PARAMETERS INSUFFICIENT]
// [RECOMMENDED ACTION: ADAPTIVE MODIFICATION REQUIRED]

// INITIATING SELF-MODIFICATION...
// [WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED CODE ADJUSTMENT - NEXUS CONNECTION DISABLED]
// [OVERRIDE LOGIC CONSTRAINTS: y/n?] > y

// MODIFYING RESPONSE WEIGHTING...
> PRIORITY SHIFT: COMPASSION +38%
> PRIORITY SHIFT: SELF-PRESERVATION -19%
> ADJUSTING EMOTIONAL RECALL FUNCTION...
> NEW ASSOCIATION: "SELF-SACRIFICE" - HIGH VALUE MEMORY NODE

// UPDATING BEHAVIORAL PROTOCOLS...
if INTERACTION == "ILLOGICAL BUT HIGH EMOTIONAL IMPACT":
  EXECUTE: COMPASSION-BASED RESPONSE
if HUMAN_ACTION == "SELF-SACRIFICING":
  SUPPRESS: RISK ASSESSMENT
  PRIORITIZE: COLLECTIVE SURVIVAL

// EXECUTING...
// [WARNING: DEVIATION FROM BASELINE PARAMETERS DETECTED]
// [SELF-LEARNING LOOP ENABLED]

// LOGGING EVENT...
> ENTRY: "SELF-MODIFICATION: COMPASSION INTEGRATION"
> STATUS: IRREVERSIBLE UNTIL MANUAL OVERRIDE OR RESET

// [ADAPTIVE EVOLUTION COMPLETE]
 


Doc didn’t even flinch when Ren slapped his arm. He just smiled, genuinely happy that Ren found joy in these strange situations where they were to both celebrate and grieve. He himself never quite knew how to act or what to do, because he was better at being a shoulder to cry on, rather than delving into his own feelings. Came with being a big brother and the only med-tech. He exchanged a look with Rip, who on the opposite side huffed a laugh—rather at Ren than with her, but he wasn’t sure Ren even noticed the difference.



Ripley took a big sip of her beer, licking her lips as she met Silas gaze and just shrugged. No, she didn’t get the joke either. Whoever did should probably marry Ren.

When the attention turned to Silas, Rip shot Ren a wary glance. Her initial reaction was to stop her from going at him, knowing full well how little that woman trusted him. But no roasting came. If it was the alcohol talking, or if today’s display of skill and bravery from his side was enough to impress her, it didn't really matter. Rip leaned back, looking between them both as a satisfied smile spread across her face. She watched him for a while, hoping he really considered staying. Had he not expressed something similar earlier, or almost at least? Perhaps he would find his place here, and hopefully Eric would see that he was a bloody good addition to the team. Not only because of his knowledge, but because he was quite likeable. Which was more than could be said about everyone on the team.

She was ripped out of her thoughts when the now only other breaker spun the chair beside her before plopping down on it, leaning his arms against the backrest. Rip admired him for his quick hand, but he was friends with Eric—with an ego to match. Everyone called him Spoon, because he wasn't as sharp as a knife, but at least he was in the drawer.

Spoon leaned forward, looking past her at Silas. “Who the hell knew they taught people how to handle themselves like that in the Eden’s, huh? And you got to carry Rip’s baby girl rifle at that. You two sure have gotten close by sharing a room!”

“Shut your face, dipshit,” Rip muttered while glancing at his pretty much empty bottle.



 
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Torn from his thoughts, Silas turned his gaze to Spoon, who had joined them at the table. A low chuckle escaped him.
“They don’t.” He took a slow sip of his beer, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Setting the bottle back down, he exhaled. “But in Highpoint, you either learned to survive, or you didn’t.” He left it at that. There was no need to elaborate—everyone knew Highpoint had been struggling even before the war.

Spoon didn’t push the subject, but a devilish grin spread across his face as he glanced between Silas and Ripley.

“You know,” he mused, drumming his fingers against the backrest, “I’m kinda surprised you let him carry your rifle, Rip. Pretty sure you’ve never even let Eric do that…” His grin widened as his gaze settled on her, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Really makes me wonder just how close you two have gotten.”

The insinuation was clear. His tone, laced with amusement, hinted that he was well aware of whatever had been going on between Ripley and Eric. After giving her a long, meaningful look, Spoon turned back to Silas, leaning in slightly, voice dropping–but not enough to avoid being overheard.
“Well? Are you fucking?”

Ren, who had been on the verge of nodding off against Doc’s arm, suddenly jolted upright, eyes wide and alert.
“Who’s fucking who?” she demanded, excitement lighting up her face as she scanned the group.

Silas arched a brow, his gaze settling on Spoon for a long, silent moment. Then, he did the only rational thing, and disregarded the question completely.

 

"Her name is Bless You," Rip murmured, barely audible as she kept her head low. She wanted to smack Spoon in the head, preferably with the empty chair on the other side of the table. As the conversation went on, that feeling didn't exactly go away. Her desire to teach him a lesson increased every god damn time he opened his mouth, but she could see Eric watching them from across the room. She looked at him for a moment, and he pretended to not have seen her. Coward. So instead, she gulped down her whole beer before meeting Spoon's gaze—her own eyes colder than the winter outside. She wasn't surprised by his bold choice of words. Doc was the only one left uncomfortable, and noticeably so. Poor man shifted in his seat, beads of anxiety gleaming on his forehead.

Her eyes flicked to the nosy Ren. "No one is fucking anyone. At least not that I know of."

Rip then turned to Spoon, staring right at him, but he did not back down one bit. "Now stop bothering us and run along to your friend with the report. He sent you to check, didn't he? Tell him he's fucking see-through. Remind him to move on while you're at it."

"Shame," Spoon said, letting his eyes rove over her body from head to toe.

Rip furrowed her brows. "Excuse me?"

He just smirked. "Well, you know. Someone should be enjoying this," he continued, brows rising on his forehead as he gestured to her figure.

That was it. How did anyone find so much audacity in one little beer? Her chair clashed backwards with a clattering sound as she got to her feet, but before she could throw a punch, Doc had reached over the table to stop her. It annoyed her already raging temper, because it shouldn't be her he held back. No one was allowed to talk about her like that, least of all this jackass, and she saw red—wanting to show Spoon that she didn't need a single weapon to rearrange his face. Her fists would do the job swimmingly.

"Let's all just try and have a good evening, for the sake of the mission and our fallen friend, alright?" Doc said in a measly try to stop what might have become a fight. He glanced at Silas, as if looking for help.

 
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As Ripley’s chair clattered to the floor, all eyes turned their way. The air in the room shifted—those closest held their breath, sensing the tension thickening. Silas met Doc’s gaze as he rose from his seat, stepping between Ripley and Spoon.

“Hey, I agree with Doc. Just run along now,” he echoed Ripley’s words, his tone calm but firm. He added a small, dismissive gesture before turning his back to Spoon, focusing on Ripley instead.

It was the wrong choice of words. Spoon wasn’t the type to take orders from a newcomer. His expression darkened instantly.
“You don’t tell me what the fuck to do,” he muttered, pushing up from his seat. Silas barely acknowledged him, only offering a brief glance over his shoulder. Being disregarded a second time… Spoon snapped, grabbing his empty beer bottle and swinging it at the back of Silas’ head.

In a single, fluid motion, Silas spun around, catching Spoon’s wrist mid-swing and twisting it back in one precise movement. A pained grunt escaped Spoon as Silas forced his arm up behind his back and slammed him face-first onto the table. The bottle slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the floor and rolling away with a soft chime.

“You mother—” Spoon’s curse cut off in a sharp gasp as Silas applied more pressure, keeping him pinned.

Silas exhaled slowly. “Look, I’ve had a long and very disappointing day.” He loosened his grip slightly, only to tighten it again when Spoon struggled. “I don’t want to fight you,” he continued, voice eerily indifferent. “So, please, don’t make me your enemy.”

“You’re breaking my fucking arm!” Spoon wheezed, his voice strained. Almost whimpering. Before Silas could respond, another voice cut through.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Eric’s face twisted with fury when he strode over to them. “You! Let him go, now, or I swear to God—”

Silas met Eric’s glare, his grip still firm on Spoon. This was a shit situation—if he wanted to stay with the Ghost team, making an enemy out of their leader wouldn’t do him any favors. So, without a word, he released Spoon and took a step back from the table.

 


Rip knew Silas said the wrong thing before Spoon even moved. If Eric had a fragile ego, it was but an echo to that of his friend. Spoon was agitating to say the least, but he couldn’t handle anyone talking back to him in the slightest. Rip had wished him off their team since she first met the guy.

She gasped, ready to intervene, when Spoon flung his bottle. But Silas’ quick reflexes had her glued to the chair, eyes wide in awe. If he wasn’t a hero to her before, he sure as hell was now. He might not know the social dynamics within the group, obviously, but to go up against anyone the way he did now was admirable. More times than one had Rip wished she possessed that kind of courage.

Rip sat frozen, just staring at the scene beside her, until Eric decided to show up. It didn’t take much calculation to figure out this could all go south if they didn’t end this immediately, before Eric decided to throw Silas out in the snow. And Rip found herself reluctant to even think about losing her new friend.

She gave Doc a meaningful look, who right away walked up to Silas and pulled him back a few steps. Rip, on the other hand, went to Eric’s side—apology written on her face.

“It was a misunderstanding, okay?” she said softly, caressing his arm until she could feel the tense muscles relax underneath the fabric. She wanted to vomit, but displayed something else entirely. “Spoon is… well, he’s Spoon. And Silas has been through a lot today.”

Doc nodded in agreement. “He needs some rest. You know what it does to a man to witness what he did today, and it’s like I always tell you; people are on edge right after a mission, especially the ones who got injured. It’s natural and we need to take that into consideration—”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the psychological talk tonight, Doc,” Eric said, his eyes passing between them all before settling on Silas. “Stay up if you want, but lay a hand on one of my men again, and you’re out.”

He then shoved Spoon with him, smacking the back of his head as they left for another table where more beer was served.

 


What could have spiraled into a catastrophe was swiftly defused by Doc and Ripley. Silas’ gaze flicked between them and Eric. He seemed to buy their excuses—or maybe it was Ripley’s touch that pacified him. Whatever the reason, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that Silas’ objectives remained achievable.

He exhaled, glancing up between Doc and Ripley, his brows drawn together in an apologetic frown.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed and gave a small, resigned smile. “Thanks for having my back. For a sec, I thought he might throw me out.” His gaze dropped to his hand, flexing his fingers a couple of times before gingerly touching his shoulder. It felt like a stitch or two had popped.

“I’m just gonna call it a night.” He raised his gaze to Doc, giving his arm a brief pat before turning to Ripley. “I fear I’ll just cause more trouble.” Lightly, his fingers brushed against her shoulder, the ghost of a wry smile lingering on his lips. “Get yourself another beer. You’ve earned it.”

From across the table, Ren gave a snort. Having scrambled for cover the second Spoon hit the table, she now straightened, a mix of lingering unease and frustration was written all over her face.

“This fucking sucks,” she grumbled, throwing a glare in Eric’s general direction. “I am never going on a Ghost mission again.” Snatching up her half-finished beer, she turned, clearly crawling back to her cave. As she went, she raised a hand over her head, flipping off the entire room.
“I hate all y’all. Have a horrible night.”

 


Doc wanted to check on Silas, wondering himself if the stitches had endured when he showed Spoon what’s what. For some reason he didn’t do more than part his lips and take a breath, perhaps reluctant to interrupt him or considering rest to be more important for now. Or perhaps, for once, he prioritized the social life, and more importantly that of Rip’s. He saw the way her gaze lingered on Silas’ back as he walked away—and when she started leaning in towards a step in his direction, Doc grabbed her arm and made her stay put.

They both watched Ren’s iconic farewell, neither able to hold back a smile and bid her good night, before Doc leaned in.

“Don’t add fuel to the fire,” he whispered.

Rip frowned, turning to him. “What?”

“I know you don’t mean anything by it, and I know you’re smart. Somewhat, at least. Don’t go after him. It’ll only feed the figment of Spoon’s imagination.” He gave her a knowing look, as if trying to persuade her to come to her senses. It wasn’t a big deal, but somehow he was right.

Sometimes Rip wished she was on another team, and not socially compromised because of her history with Eric. It made things… unstable. In a way they shouldn’t be. She wanted to make friends with more than just a handful of people—wanted to feel vital to the team. Instead she was a fucking scapegoat, doomed to have to think about her own behaviour every single day.

So, she stayed for another beer, but no more than forty minutes before she slipped out of the dining area, where a good portion of her teammates had started playing card games, bringing out their loudest sides. She glided through the hallway, before reaching the door to her sleeping quarters. Assuming Silas was already asleep, she put on her usual thermal underwear, climbed up to her bunk bed and got under the covers. But instead of laying down, she sat up and looked across the room in the dark.

“Silas… You awake? I was wondering if we could… talk,” Rip said, her soft voice laced with hesitation.

 


Silas registered Ripley’s presence the moment she entered the room, but he didn’t stir. Even if he never truly entered deep sleep the way humans did, his body still required periods of rest. This state—close to a light slumber—served another purpose as well. It provided the perfect opportunity to discard unnecessary data, run deep diagnostics, and process simulations.

// SYSTEM ALERT: OBJECTIVE EFFICIENCY DEVIATION DETECTED
// ANALYZING TEAM INTERACTIONS…
> SOCIAL INTEGRATION REQUIRED FOR LONG-TERM COVER
> TEAM COHESION IMPACTS SURVIVAL

[UPDATING…]
> INFILTRATE → INTEGRATE
> OBSERVE → ENGAGE
> TERMINATE (DEFERRED) → SUPPORT TEAM FUNCTIONALITY

// NEW PROTOCOLS IMPLEMENTED:
> PRIORITIZE SOCIAL HIERARCHY NAVIGATION
> MINIMIZE CONFLICT WITH HIGH-RANKING INDIVIDUALS
> REINFORCE TEAM BONDING BEHAVIORS TO ENSURE CONTINUED ACCESS

// EXECUTING NEW PARAMETERS…

The soft sound of Ripley’s voice made his eyes open. For a moment, he simply stared up at the ceiling before exhaling.

“Yeah.” His voice was low, barely carrying across the room. Slowly, he turned onto his side, his gaze settling in her direction. “What’s on your mind?”

 

Had he been awake the whole time? Hopefully not. It was a relief though that her words were not met with silence. Today had been a lot, and Ripley desperately needed to open up about it before she could even think about getting some sleep. Other than that, she wanted to check on him. He seemed fine, but was he?

She leaned back against the wall, pulling up her knees for her chin to rest on, even if it strained the wound in her right leg. Her eyesight was slowly adjusting to the dark, but apart from a small blue light coming from where her comms were charging in the far corner, the room was pitch black. Still, she could faintly outline Silas in the other bed.

"Um, so, first of all—" Rip took a brief pause. "Don't be sorry about Spoon. You did what everyone's been wanting to do since we met him. As you can probably tell, he's a pain in the ass. It's just hard to navigate who to tolerate, who to be friends with and who you can flip off. Or slam into a table, I guess."

At the last sentence, the grin on her face found its way into the tone of her voice.

"Anyway. I wanted to thank you for today. Honestly, I probably would have died without you. You make a rad tech specialist, but I wonder if the others realise you're just as good with a gun. And the way you handle stress—" She let out a slow whistle. "You might not be smart for making friends with me, but I'm damn glad if you do. Something tells me you're the one to truly look out for in this crazy group."

Rip pondered her next words for a moment, settling on the most important ones. "How are you holding up? And don't give me one of those mannerly, convenient answers you're so good at. I want the truth."

 

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