artichokefunction

[artichokefunction]

finally got scanner access yaaaaay. everyone look at my the agent

[artichokefunction]

your sandals are heavy, and worn, and the straps of them dig into your feet weird. you haven't found any better shoes then these, you've been looking. you are looking. most of the good remaining resources have been taken already, by people faster then you. you aren't rushing. you're looking for supplies right now, for your current colony. they didn't seem to expect you to return, when you went out on your own. they didn't believe you, when you said you're holy. holy, holy. this house isn't safe for humans anymore. the spores are too thick in the air. no one's been able to loot the cupboards. you've found some canned food, and one and a half usable blankets, and two bodies. long gone, long ago when mushroom growth replaced their organs and they stopped moving. their faces are beyond recognition. you gave them final rites, same as you do for every body you find.

you collect your things, you've gone through this house, you've got everything you can carry, so you leave. there's a zombie outside. only one, they don't often travel alone. that's interesting. it stands tall, it doesn't move toward you. that's interesting. it looks a bit like an old friend of yours, with what little you can see of its face. it stays where it is. you move towards it, slowly. mushrooms can't hurt you and zombies don't bite, you are holy, holy, and the sun is bright and cruel above you. it looks at you, with its one good eye. half of its face is annihilated by mushroom growth. porous and organic and waxy. it looks at you. it looks like your old friend. it doesn't move toward you. you stand in front of it. there is a spark of hope within you, for some reason. maybe you Know something. you call out its name. its head tilts to the side, like its listening. like its thinking. its mouth is fused shut by mushroom growth. it points, with a hand held together by fungus, at your bag. at its own old bag. you held onto it, you kept all the pins and patches, as best you could. you tried to keep it safe. you didn't take anything out. it reaches to the bag, it doesn't cross into your space. just gesturing with a knuckle, with a hand that won't open. you hold the bag forward- no, it moves its hand again, down and inwards- you hold the bag open, and it knocks its hand against the pocket that has spike in it. the tiny little plush dog. you remember his name, you kept him safe. you kind of want to cry. you take spike out of his pocket and your friend takes him, carefully held between two hands, and holds him against its face. it likes the texture. you remember. you're going to cry. you thought it was dead. it's still here, just like you. maybe it's been blessed like you have.

it follows you when you go to sit against the wall of the house, it sits next to you on the dirty gravel. it leans towards you, and you rest your head on its shoulder, and it rests its head on top of yours. sandwiched. you didn't realise how much you missed this. you try to get your breathing under control. it sits there with you for a long, long time. you thought it was dead.

eventually, the sun moves enough that your spot against the wall goes from baked in sunlight to cast in uncomfortably cold shadow. you should get back to the colony, you have resources. you stand up and you collect your things, and your friend walks by your side as you go. so you talk. quiet chatter, fills the space comfortably. you can pretend its like the old times. you talk about what you've been up to, about the gods that have chosen you. you can't really pretend it's like the old times. you keep walking and it follows.

it follows you back to your human settlement. you forgot they have defenses against zombies, they have two or three guys who take shifts in the sniper nest. you can't do anything as you watch your friend fall. you stand over its body, where it lies in the dirt, and- and- something blooms in your heart, in your chest. you Know it will be fine. you just need to be patient. you know this. you know this. you know, you don't know if you believe this. it's almost more than you can do, to turn away and walk to the colony entrance. you're clean, you're holy, they let you in. you drop your resources in the quarantine room and you leave. someone tries to stop you, someone tries to demand an explanation, you don't bother. you leave. you can't carry your friend's body in your arms. you're not that strong. you can't drag it by the ankles. you can't do that. you can't. you can hoist it up, just about, and stand it against your side. arm around your shoulder. you're not that strong, you start to falter after not too long. but it starts to lift its feet, groggily, just about. one step at a time. the two of you are holy, the two of you will be okay. the two of you make it to the shelter you had in mind. "shelter", its an old shed or something. but it hasn't completely fallen apart yet. there's walls, and more or less a door, and a roof over your head. you sit your friend against a wall, and you sit next to it. you Know it will be okay. it's holy. holy, holy. it's face has been demolished by bullet holes. the mushroom is starting to grow back already, you can see. you can see. you curl up against its side. you're not hungry, you're not tired. you're holy, you can make it on your own. you're not alone. you're not tired, but you can rest. you close your eyes and breathe. it's hand wraps around yours, slowly, and you hold it back. you're not alone anymore.

[artichokefunction]

you're fading out. that's not good. you should, uh. try to stay conscious. you think. you try to take inventory, of what you've got. you still have both arms, or, no, they took your prosthetic. sawed it off below the joint, cut through the metal. that hurt. it shook the bone all wrong. you can't feel your arms, now, they're tied behind you. wrist tied to stump, too tight, wrapped around support beam pole thing. you can't get up.

they didn't mess with your legs, normally for torture they go for toes or nails, you think. you don't actually know normal torture very well. this is new, for you. they ripped your skull in half, you think. you haven't seen it you arent sure you don't really remember. but it feels like all the front+bottom part is gone. that hurts more then the rest, it hurts still. big hole. you need to stay awake. it's hard. your head is too heavy for you to hold it up. that's bad, also. you force your eyes open. focus on your body. you feel all wrong. you've got chunks missing. you, um, you try to remember. they took your jaw, you're pretty sure. why did they do that. you try to remember if there was a reason. you try to force your eyes open. its hard. you, um, you, fuck.

there's a noise somewhere in the basement, really far away. that seems bad. there are, um, hands? you fall forward and someone catches you. you try to stay awake you try to stay present. it's loud, and you're moving. you're not moving. someone is carrying you. is that bad? you, um. there's yelling, about something. you don't know. you're pretty sure you're dying. there's lots of sounds, you try to identify them. it's hard. there's, um, running. yelling and running. and then something moves your head wrong and it hurts and. you're. where are you. flat and kinda cold. you're on the table? in the truck? your friend's truck? how did that happen. how did- that seems too nice to be real. people don't normally come to get you out, of, places. you. um. it's really far away. you try to stay awake and you don't manage it, this time.

-

and you decide that you believe her. and you realise you believe her because your breathing is more normal and you heart is more normal and you're no longer moving like you're trying to break and panic and escape. so you hold her hand. you're holding it too tight you should let go a little bit. you hold her hand. and you breathe through your nose. in and out.

and then you wake up and you're alive and you're alive and there's a hole in your face. that's- that's such a big absence, so much of your skull is just gone, you- it's so much it's all gone it's all wrong you don't know what to do you can't move you can't move you can't- there's someone here. it's- it's her. your friend. hand on your shoulder and hand holding yours and he's trying to tell you it's okay. okay? it's okay. I'm here and you're here- we're in the truck, we're far away, we're safe here, we got you out, a friend helped me, we got you out, and. you're okay. you're gonna be okay. okay? you need to breathe I need you to breathe. you're gonna be okay. you can't- you can't get up I'm sorry. I need to work on your jaw. okay? it is bad but it's- you're gonna- you have survived. you are, um. surviving. you're gonna be okay. I need you to breathe. i need- you will be okay. it's okay. you're- we're safe. here. you're okay.

[artichokefunction]

the handler is afraid. she is curled up small and their hands are over their mouth because she is trying not to draw fire. he's breathing really fast, he's panicking. she doesn't normally do that. okay. okay. you have him behind cover, he won't get shot at here, probably, you scramble over to the more exposed end of this overturned table and you peek around it to try to keep an eye on the development of the conflict. no wait. you take off your visor to reduce the potential glare on your face giving away your location and then you observe the conflict. it's actually died down quite a bit. this room has less bodies in it then it used to? they're not on the ground, which means they evacuated, and you don't need to worry or care about them. probably.

it takes you a few seconds but you identify the people still here, the three wealthy and loud people who were doing all the talking this meeting, and their bodyguards. by now, no one is shooting anymore. one guard is still standing, a guard and a businessman are on the floor but conscious. they look like they've come to an agreement or something. temporary peace. you want more then that, technically. or you want money. you're, like, pretty sure no contracts have been negotiated yet, so you won't get paid if you killed these people. you have no motive for it. the one person standing spots you, they hold eye contact for a moment. a long moment. you don't know what their face is communicating and you don't know what your face is communicating. but eventually they look away, in a natural way, doesn't draw attention to your location. that's on purpose. that's nice of them. or you threatened them. whatever.

eventually, slowly and quietly, they take the businessman under one arm and drag him out of the room. so now there's only one conscious person for you to be worried about here. no wait fuck you got distracted. fuck. you have a job. the handler is quieter now. you try to get her attention but she doesn't see you. and you're not going to make noise or grab him. so you, uhh. you stand guard. you keep watch. you keep watch for danger, and none comes, they're all dead already. that last guard goes limp, eventually. you listen to the sounds of the pipes in this old building, and the sound of the handler, next to you, alive. you put your visor back on. you keep watch.

[hey, can I hug you?]

eventually, she scoots closer to you. he wipes her face and signs, awkwardly 'cause she only just started learning sign, she's learning it for you, [we are safe?]

you nod, yes. he takes a moment to think, or collect herself, maybe. then he nods back.

[we should leave?]

you nod, again. you stand up, you're visible, you're out of cover, and nothing happens. no one shoots at you. the handler stands up as well. you offer your hand and she takes it. she's warm. people are warm, usually. he follows you out, but he stops to look at the bodies. you don't know how to interpret their face. they are quiet, as you go down the few flights of rickety old stairs. she is afraid, still, you think, which is why you are afraid. that's new, that doesn't normally happen. getting freaked out, because of someone else. you keep your breathing slow and regular. you make it to the little truck and nothing bad happens on the way. you are fine. both of you are in your seats. the handler has not driven away from this building yet. she is fidgeting with her hands like she is thinking on something. eventually, she turns to you.

oh. you weren't expecting that. you, uh, you don't normally touch people. make skin contact. like that. but it's not weird when she holds your hand. and a hug is just like that but scaled up. you think. you, uhh.

[and you don't have to, if you don't want to. you know. no worries at all.] he says, very quickly. so. you stretch your arms out, to her. and his face folds into a big soft smile and he hugs you. she is, um, she is warm and soft. your arms are wrapped around him. you feel like you are made of concrete? you feel like you are doing this wrong. how the hell are hugs supposed to work. how are they supposed to feel. you don't know. you try to pretend to be soft and relaxed. the handler is soft but they are not relaxed. you count their breaths, you can feel their chest rise and fall shakily. how long are hugs supposed to be. you don't know. but your guess is that that does not matter. you wait for her to let go of you, to straighten up, to wipe her face, to take a deep breath. to fumble around for a cd. an instrumental album. you like this one, you can count it too. you don't like music you can't count.

[thank you] she says, and then she maneuvers the truck out of this building's lot, and away. the sun tries and fails to cut through the thick warm fog in the air. the little air conditioner does not do much to help with the heat, its the humidity, she says, and she'll have to fix up that old AC. or install a new one, if she can find one somewhere. she'll keep an eye out.

[artichokefunction]

bomb went off. that's not good. you need to- ghhhhhh. your head pounds. you need to get your bearings. you need to find the handler. she is next to you, still. you need to get out of here. the building is collapsing. chunks of big and heavy and powdery and hazardous things are falling down around you and you need to not get hit. you pull the handler along and you move as fast as you can and you really wish you had 360 vision but you manage to avoid the worst of it until-

-a steel support beam comes down, almost on top of you. the agent pushes you out of the way, just in time, and it manages to avoid the worst of it. not all of it. there's an awful, awful crunching sound. you grab its arm and pull your friend off of the steel that has carved a long, wicked hole in its back. right through the fuel tank, right through the ribs. that's bad that's really bad. yyou, uh-

-you feel... sideways. empty. you're leaking, a lot, a steady stream of stuff you really need running down your back. you feel like you can't really breathe. you follow the handler, you try to, your limbs aren't responding the way they should. you tip sideways, she catches you. one arm around his shoulder. your head comes to rest next to her neck. you feel bad. you're cold. it's not cold in here. you're moving, the two of you, to somewhere. your eyes still work. the exits are blocked. you're moving to an uncollapsed area. they set you down on your side, your good side, you feel nauseated. no, that's not the word, you just feel sick and shaky. in your motor. no, uhh, your heart. they take your head in their lap, in her hands, she's saying something that you can't hear because your ears are ringing, still. he's crying. yyyou-

-you need to minimize long term damage you really really need to make sure it doesn't die. this is the best way to do that. you locate the little emergency switch under the faux skin of its collarbone, and it's expression relaxes into a look of recognition. you think. you hope, god you hope that it knows what you're doing. that it knows it'll be okay. knows, thinks. whatever. you switch it to emergency mode, the setting you use for surgeries. since this is basically a surprise, accidental, really scary surgery. your laughs turn into dry, painful coughs. the air quality in here is only going to get worse. you, also, need to stay alive. that's important. you need to call someone for a rescue and you need to not suffocate while you wait. you pull out your communicator, and you take a second to think, and you message the three colleagues of yours who are closest to this location. [EMERGENCY. REQUESTING IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE.] either they can help or they can't. now you need to help yourself. you've helped the agent as much as you can. it's in emergency mode, the closest to an OFF switch it has. it breathes less when it's like that, to conserve resources and slow down as many processes as possible. its- maybe it doesn't need its mask right now. what do you mean maybe. you are the one person on earth who would know that. its- um. it needs oxygen still, a little. you need oxygen a lot. this would not kill it, and it's a problem you could fix later, while solving all the other problems. like the big hole. ohhh god. gently, slowly, you unhook its mask from its face. and you feel bad doing it. this is. rude. or mean, or something. if it were conscious it would be upset. it would be more upset if you suffocated down here. you know that. the mask is a bit damp inside, sweat and a little bit of blood, you think. it doesnt fit your face right, obviously. but it filters air for you. it does its job. you run your fingers through your agent's grimy hair. you know it can't feel it. you don't stop.

you don't know how much time has passed. you zoned out again, whatever. you have a response, from robbie, actually. it's been a while since you talked to her. right now you just send the details she needs; [STRUCTURE COLLAPSED, "RED WINE FISHES". MAIN FLOOR, TWO NEED RETRIEVAL, ONE CRITICAL CONDITION. NO AMBULANCES.] you know she'll get the red wine fishes reference. probably. you both were here for that job. not an easy one to forget. no ambulances, because they'll ask questions you can't answer, and they won't have your regen machine. probably. it's been a while since you've been in a public hospital. maybe they've started to get with the times. probably not. the times are expensive. the smell of spilt petrol cuts through the mask's filters. you might cry, again. you don't want to do that. waste of water, limited resources, while you're trapped here. you want to zone out again. you can't do it on command. you have no fucking idea how people do that on command. so you do your normal thing, [it probably doesn't count as your normal thing if you haven't done it in many many years. whatever] you sit there in the uncomfortable present for a long long moment, listening to your own muffled breathing and to the sounds of the building settling around you, until eventually you notice you zoned out at some point because you're snapped back to the present by a sudden very loud and new crashing sound. you panic for a moment. you can't *do* anything. then the dust clears and you see that it's robbie, and her small group of other big strong men. they have found you, and you are safe now, and by that you mean you're slightly safer then you were before. you still need to evacuate. you pull the agent closer to your chest as you show robbie the situation at hand. she pulls a face and hisses through her teeth when she sees. after some quiet discussion with her boys, one of them lifts the agent up into their arms, saying little reassuring things to you the whole time, and robbie takes you, supporting you on her arm. they are being very nice to you right now. you must look rough. you feel fine, you think. you tune back in and you're approaching your truck. you find your words, you take the mask off, and you tell robbie that you'll be fine from here. she gives you a *look*.

[I'm not leaving you here alone, not when you're like this.]

[i need to get the agent stabilized, before anything else. I'll relocate after.]

[Sitting in one place, away from the wheel, you'd be easy to catch.]

[yhh... true...]

[Let me drive you, babe, you can hang out in my garage until you're ready to go.]

[...]

[Come on, you know my place is secure.]

[hah, yeah. "blue steel eye", i remember, that was a good job by me.]

[...?]

[ghh. yeah okay fine. here's the key, password is left left down left down up. don't crash us.]

[I'm a good driver, you know that. Boys, take the van home. I'll be right behind ya.]

you'll have to change the system password again, after this. for now, you have your agent on your operating table, nearly dead. you have a lot of things to do. fuel tank needs serious repairs, need to deal with the severe blood loss, and the ribcage damage as well. blood first, heart stop would mean brain stop and you want to avoid that. rib reconstruction last, you need access to the tank inside for repair. after that you can work on the respiratory issues that will probably crop up. you also need to get the air out of its pipes, get fuel re-circulating safely. lots to do. you get to work.

-

your chest feels bad, that's the first thing you notice. the second thing you notice is that you're awake and alive and stuff. that's nice. you thought maybe you would be dead, crushed and alone after the handler watches you bleed out. or worse. he could be the one dead. you need to check on her. it's a herculean task, to lift your head enough to turn it to the side. but he's there, collapsed on a stool, asleep. she looks rough. she looks alive, though. as do you. probably. maybe. you feel like you might look distinctly open right now. there are a few little delicate things connected into your back, you think. your movement is restricted but not by a lot. mostly you're just tired. you close your eyes for a moment. when you open them again, the handler is up, sorting through equipment just out of your view. you want to ask her for a status report. tell you what she's doing, how she's doing, how you're doing. you try to ask. it doesn't work. what the fuck. your hands feel really heavy. and far away. what the fuck, you need those. you can't, fucking- you're too fatigued to sign. you can flex your fingers, still, kinda. you don't like being angry. not angry. frustrated. normally you can do things, and you like being able to do things. you don't like this. she has noticed whatever turmoil you have going on, because he runs her fingers through your hair. it is actually pretty grounding, you can admit it. nothing useful here to be angry at, no point in getting worked up.

[dealing with the damage, steadily. fuel tank repaired, it should hold up, please tell me if you notice anything leaking or exploding or just going wrong. working on the rib cage right now. re-set and re-construct. don't move too much, this part is delicate. you got dangerously close to damaging your spine in a few places. you were lucky. well, wait, that's a weird thing to say in this situation. but you did survive. we're both alive. stay still.]

you let out a deep breath, as deep as you can manage right now. you'll be okay. you let your eyes close again. you're not immediately asleep this time, you can hear the purr of machinery just above you, and you can feel her hands wrap gently around your shoulder and your side. trying to assess progress, probably. you'll be okay.

[artichokefunction]

the agent walks up to the kitchen staffs door, and it holds its wrist up to the ID scanner. it is let inside, no problem. that chip in its organic arm is one of the few actual wireless pieces of tech it has installed onboard, because those chips are easy to write to and easy to erase and are a very non-obtrusive system. can't hack someone through their ID, and those are so easy to fake. you don't really know why they're still in such common use. makes your job easier, you suppose. the kitchen staff work around the agent, and the agent slips through them.

it gets weird looks, they know they're in some danger, but no one ends up hurt. it stresses you out, a little bit, to see your agent around civilians. you dont really know why. or, well, you know what it can do. you don't know what it won't do. it's impossible to test for the absence of an occurrence. that's not the phrase. it's impossible to prove that something will never happen. that's it. no wait, that doesn't sound right either. whatever. you are not afraid of the agent, it is your friend. these random civilians are not it's friends. as far as you know. but it is polite, as far as you can tell, as it moves through the crowded kitchen. you check that it has access to the latest version of your little map of this building, and it does. and then it proves that it does because it goes the long way around and takes the door that leads to the staff hallways, and not the fancy ass dining area. it's following the route it needs to, no issue. tiny issue. it needs to get through two locked doors. issue so small it is microscopic, because all these locks are ID activated. lol. you scrape the biometric data you need from the security network, and update it's chip. and it's let through without issue. no wait. a little warning popup about how one person apparently went through one door twice in one direction. valid concern. you delete the warning. lol. the agent makes it to the room without issue.

inside of the room is a slender young man with short, greasy hair and a jumpy air to him. the agent startles him a lot by just popping up silently in the corner of his office. this is the client, and not the target. your view from the agents visor keeps wandering, because it's a bit bored. the client, Petra, asks you a question, out loud. well, he asks the agent a question, but it's not really listening. you respond via text, same channel that he hired you on.

"So. You're... agent Mandible?"

the codename you're currently using. [yes yes. where is the target? thought there was a job to do.]

you do not need to be this rude, but also it's kinda fun, watching the fear on his face, watching him puzzle the pieces together entirely incorrectly, because he whispers "Ah, so you're a robot..." under his breath in a way he thinks you won't hear. lol? even if one of you was a robot, you would be able to hear that. this guy is a fool. a fool who is paying you to kill his superior. it might actually be his dad, you didn't pry enough to find out. he has composed himself enough to tell you what room the target is in.

"I don't think I need to tell you how to get there, given that you found me just fine." he shuffles his feet, and visibly struggles to maintain eye contact. he feels he needs to be polite, apparently. "You arrived at the perfect time, he should be asleep for the next 15 minutes or so..." he trails off, and then turns to look out a window, hands behind his back, all fuckin formal. the agent is out of there as soon as the talking is over, and you've sent it on the updated map. you check on the targets room remotely. holy shit. the door lock isn't even engaged. he left it open. there are two cameras in his room. one is completely off, he requested that? lol. the other is not off, but it is on standby mode, it should alert and start recording when it detects movement. getting past that specific trick is not brainlessly easy, but it's not impossible either. you just want it to look untampered with. or- wait. it only needs to look untampered for the text ten minutes or so, while no-one's looking too hard, probably. you get it hacked, it's a good enough job. as good as it needs to be. they won't have footage of the incident. now you get to watch the agent do it's part of the job, from its perspective, no less. it takes a moment to consider something. medium of dispatch, maybe? oh, yeah. it gets out its knife. hand over his mouth, blade into his neck, up into the skull. simple and silent. kinda messy and gruesome also. the poor cleaning staff, that is not a cheap carpet. at least that desk seems very blood-proof, with how excessively shiny it is. the agent wipes its knife on the targets sleeve, and then it is out of there, along the new route you've sent it, down the quiet staff hallways but not the same ones as earlier. you leave your cam hack in place, might as well, and you text the client and tell him [it is done.] which is very edgy of you, you admit, but it's appropriate for this job, probably.

hmm. there's something to ponder there, about the aesthetics of death. guns make the process of creating death much more efficient, they're machines, they're optimized. using your own hand weapons takes the degree of separation out of it. you're much closer to the violence you're doing. you, in the general grammatical case, your personal hands are still pretty clean, overall. well, ok, no. degrees of separation, again. you are paid to be the middleman between the person who wants someone dead and the person who does the killing. person is here. you wave it into the truck, and then you drive away, out of this parking lot.

[do you want more hand weapons? i've been mostly focusing on guns, for range and effecacy, but for small jobs like this it might be worth it. maybe? what do you think?]

it makes a small ponderous noise, and looks up to the roof, fidgeting with its fingers, deep in thought.

[i should be able to get my hands on some weapons catalogs for you, plus there's that expo coming up in a few weeks. but with both of those, there's the problem of you being actively sold something. lots of loud flashy words to get you to spend lots of money money money]

it huffs a quiet laugh, and then it pulls its mask down to tap at its jaw. huh? oh, it's referencing the guy who sold you that jaw, and a lot of other very flashy and not strictly nessecary items. you laugh at that.

[oh man, i don't remember how many of them you've met, but i have quite a lot of friends like that. my sincere condolences.]

it throws it's hands up in mock despair, very clearly smiling at the same time. you have a new message, from Petra. [The money has been forwarded to you.] oh damn. immediately after the job? this guy has a lot of trust in his bank security. or he just hasn't thought of what an investigator might look for. family of rich idiots, over there. once the money comes in, you'll move it to your actual account. obfuscatory steps. the agent is messing with a small piece of fabric, folding and unfolding it. it might have snatched that from that last job. that's fair, honestly. small enough to be hard to identify and easy to dispose of it needed, and it looks like it has a good texture to it. you should get it some new fidgety things, once this money comes in. you could get yourself something too, maybe. been a while since you got new clothes, but also you don't like lugging around too much unnessecary stuff. maybe there's a clothes swap event somewhere nearby you could drop in to. how would you find that. you could ask a friend. carmen, they seem like they would know. you should drop into them anyways, say hi. it gets kinda hard to keep up with friends, with the constant travelling. but you do your best, and your friends are cool, they all seem to understand. the agent has just finished typing something out on its communicator.

[bazooka would be funny]

that is SO far from anything you were expecting, you're breathless with laughter.

[say fuck all of you. get explode]

you make a little explosion motion with both hands, one still on the wheel. the agent looks somewhat proud of having gotten you to laugh.

[okay, man, do you have any actual ideas?]

[no. give me some time]

[yeah yeah, no worries. we're in no rush]

[artichokefunction]

the mission is simple. that's a lie. this mission is really easy to fuck up, because it's so reliant on timing. there are three factors here within your control; yourself, your agent, and the acorn. you need to get acorn into this building's server room, so that she can do her job, and steal the financial documents she needs from this organization. the agent's job is to make sure you two don't get shot at, and your job is to make sure nothing explodes. simple. not simple at all, really. but you can do this. you've got this. probably. whatever.

you've just seen the agent off, it's gone in through the vents, and you and acorn are going in through the rotating glass doors at the front of the building, like fools. not like fools. this is part of the plan. you are undercover, as software specialists, here to fix the mysterious security bug that showed up in their financial database recently. the one that you planted. but they don't know that. you did a pretty good job with that one, honestly, but there's only so much you can do remotely without getting caught. much easier to do damage up and close. also much easier to get caught. fuck. you aren't getting caught, right now, because you don't look like scary hackers. you look like somewhat gay software engineers, which is mostly true. you don't actually know what degree acorn has. it might be accounting??? you forgot to ask, and now is not the time. but it would explain why she's so good at the financial end of the business. you walk up to the front desk, and you try to act harmlessly nervous, like you're supposed to be here, you just got lost. and it works, the receptionist gives you the keycard you need. you thank her, and you follow the acorn into the big fancy elevator. the ride is silent, but the acorn glances at you several times, like she wants to go over the mission plan. she doesn't, because she knows how easy it is to install cameras in buildings like this.

the elevator ride is long enough, it gives you a moment to breathe. then it comes to a very jarring stop, slams your jaw into place all wrong. you would think they'd have good control systems in a building this fancy and high-budget. flashy but ineffective. that checks out with what you know about their software infrastructure, honestly. that's a good sign for this whole mission. you walk down the hallway, and you remember to look nervous and ordinary, and the acorn follows you. a guard points you to the server room you need. they look distracted, honestly. like they need a smoke or something. acorn goes and plugs her laptop into the first server she sees, and sits down on the floor to start working. you're a bit more subtle, you think. or, that's your part of the job. to remember things like this. with her down low like that, there's one camera to be concerned with. you stick to the wall, just about out of its view, you think, and you reach up to stick an interruptor on. the ceilings are low as hell in here, cramped and buzzing little space, full of beautiful data. you sit down next to the acorn, and you pull out your laptop to look like you're doing your 'job', and you intercept the security camera feed. you grab the latest clip, of the two of you sitting peacefully, and you loop it. nothing out of the ordinary. even the timestamp is displaying as normal. you're so good at this. nothing is exploding. hoorah. oh, you should tell the acorn that. you give her a thumbs up, all clear, and she shuffles herself deeper into the maze of servers. you launch an application to keep an eye on all the data moving in and out of this server room. ach, no wait that's way too much to process at once, you can't think that fast. you filter out all the redundant boring stuff. ok that's readable. now you can see when a server tries to announce that it's being read/modified, and catch the message before it gets out. you also catch the automatic security cam refresh, and make sure it continues to loop the footage of you two acting unsuspicious. you are holding down the fort. you are doing a good job. you are not getting distracted. you wonder what the agent's up to. you open up two separate new encrypted channels, to make it as hard as possible for anyone to spot what you're doing, and then you use one to ping the agent for its location. turns out it's right above you, just chilling in the vents up there. vibes, okay. nothing has gone wrong yet. you don't want to get complacent. you use your second empty channel to get access to the cameras in the hallways just outside. it's a finicky job, but you do get in. just in time, actually. the guards shift has changed, and the new guy seems more attentive then the last one. that's not ideal for you. you try your cam footage looping trick again. it's a bit tricky, because you don't have any interruptors out there, you need to use the one in-point you have to the cam network to get to the ones you want. oh wait shit. have you got it. yes you have. epic. epic. okay. here's the acorn. she's shaking your shoulder gently to get your attention. you got absorbed in your work. that happens a lot. she gives you a thumbs up, along with her normal somewhat blank stare.

you want to make everything look smooth and not obviously weird as you leave. so you tell her to sit next to you again before you stop the footage loop on this camera. perfect. not perfect, she's on the other side of you now. whatever, they probably won't notice. maybe. time to get out of here. you get up and go out the door and the acorn follows. that guard is dead. one shot to the head. acorn latches onto your arm when she sees the body. you turn around to look at the vent just above the door and the agent is there, unscrewing the silencer from its pistol. it gives you a thumbs up. you try not to laugh at that.

[time to get going] you say, one of the only things you've said aloud this mission, somehow. you walk acorn over to the elevator. she still looks freaked out. you want to distract her.

[you should dye your hair again, the green looked nice]

[Oh! Thank you. Uhh, I've been meaning to, but my landlady got mad at me the last time I got dye all over the shower. I've also been busy, bleaching it is such a pain...]

the two of you chat about hair colors as you return the keycard to the front desk, and you exit the building without incident. mission complete, almost, very nearly. you have your laptop open, disconnected from everything but the camera system. you're just waiting on the agent. where is it. where is it. oh god where THERE perfect okay. you turn off the looping video in the hall with the body and you disconnect from the buildings network and the agent is in the truck safe and sound and you drive away just as an alarm starts going off inside the building. mission success. ohhh my god. you laugh, and drum your hands against the steering wheel. you take a route that'll make you hard to track, while the acorn thinks out loud about her next steps, data processing and communicating with clients and maybe also blackmail, stuff of that nature. you can see the agent in the back, cleaning its guns. you're all good. mission success.

[artichokefunction]

this evening you decided to follow your new friend to its job at the bar, because you had a day off and you were bored, and you forgot that there's a reason you don't usually go out, to clubs or whatever. you don't hate it and you're not overwhelmed yet but there's not all that much here for you. you asked the bartender for something slightly less alcoholic and she gave you this very colorful glass of, uhh, something, you didn't catch the name. very loud in here. the cocktail is nice enough, tastes like artificial fruit. you wouldn't be able to hear your friend if it wanted to talk, but it seems to just like having you nearby, and that does in fact make you feel all soft and warm inside.

the two of you just watch the crowd for a while, it's a normal enough night. then you catch someone making a beeline for your friend, someone with a slightly weird look to him. patchy facial hair and a bit of a jittery vibe. he comes up to the two of you and starts trying to say something to your friend, who after a moment of very focused frowning, shakes its head and gestures out a door, into the exit hallway. the two of them move and you follow.

[Hi, hello, my name is Alister, Stefan recommended you to me. Said you were his best. And- wait, who's this, then?]

the guy, alister, tries to stare you down. it's not terribly effective, you're quite a bit taller then him. then, in a move you weren't expecting, your friend reaches over and takes your hand in their good one. this catches you off guard, you have to take a second to sort of process it. they're warm, in a comfortable and ordinary way, and their hand is mildly calloused.

[Ah, alright, I see. Sure, I guess that's fine, partner in crime or whatever. But listen, I'm here to offer you a job. Do you have your own weapons?]

they shake their head.

[That's fine, I can sort that out for you. But I have a hit, who my connections have recently made me aware of. And there is a handsome reward on his head, which is why I only have one shot. Which is why I need the best. Which is why I'm looking for you.]

they think on it for a second, then nod, once. you are- uh, you have some questions about the situation. you decide to voice some of them.

[hang on. what, uhh- what sort of price are we talking about here?]

he leans in close to whisper [*A hundred and sixty thousand!* And that's after I've taken my cut! This is too good to pass up!]

[and how big is your cut?]

[Oh, well- moderately sized, I'm sure you'll understand...]

after a bit of heckling, you get your friend's cut of the profits up to 200k, which you are quite happy with. that's enough to get a house, or a nice car, or an overly fancy piece of new tech, or- you stopped listening. whoops. alister is handing your friend a small and inconspicuous usb drive.

[The details of the hit are on here, and if you are at the right place at the right time I will have arranged for there to be a good quality sniper rifle there for you. Leave it behind after you're done, try not to leave too many fingerprints on it, and try not to be seen as you go. Got that?]

it nods again, once, with a look of calm focus that, if you're being honest, freaks you out ever so slightly. nothing about this situation has caught it off guard. alister is gone now, the interaction is over, and you ask it [you have... experience in this department?]

it nods, while moving back to its spot by the rim of the dance floor. it carefully presses the usb into your palm, and you put it into one of your pockets, a small one so it won't fall out. you- this seems- hm. are you in over your head? maybe not. it seems as though the hardest parts of this job will be in the hands of others, with experience. and the pay will be really good, if you don't cock it up. good enough to get you on your feet. or to get your friend that prosthetic. that does actually take priority. yeah okay. you're going to do a good job the first time around, get a high quality aid and install it properly, to minimize lingering problems. that is actually your area of expertise, you're going to do a good job there. you know you will. you know you can.

-

you aren't going to plug this usb drive directly into your not-shitty computer, you have no idea what's on here. or, well, you have an idea of what is supposed to be on here, but you don't trust this guy that much. you spend a bit of time messing with an old, crunchy laptop you found in a skip, and eventually it turns on. oh damn, this thing actually isn't terrible. you could save it if you wanted. but you don't want, you need a test subject in case this drive has malware on it, so you plug the USB right into the poor little computer. and it doesn't die! nothing actively malicious on here, from what you can see. a couple documents, a couple maps, and a list of instructions. and an executable. oooooh.

you give your friend the laptop, and they take their time to read through everything. once you get the laptop back, that .exe has been opened. you're about to chastize them for their terrible digital safety skills when you see what the program is for. it's a security cam feed. holy shit?? okay, that's quite cool. the cams show two empty rooms, which the instructions doc says are the room for the 'agent', the person doing the job, and the room that the target will be in. you're curious about the software this uses, now. you'll try to take a look at it, once you have time. you're in no terrible rush, you're not late yet, but this isn't the sort of thing you want to be late for *at all*. so you leave shortly. you don't bring much, and you dress in a non-eye-catching way, no bright colours, face covered, and you take sandy's car, you asked her yesterday and she said sure. you didn't tell her what it would be for, but that's probably fine.

the drive there is uneventful, but by the time you arrive you are thoroughly anxious. there are so many ways this whole situation could explode and kill both of you. you have no idea what you're doing. oh god. you jump a bit when your friends rests it's hand on your shoulder. you look over to it, and it holds its hand out over its chest. in, and out. deep breaths. you laugh at that, kinda. how the hell is it not nervous? maybe it's just better at hiding it. that's probably it. whatever, deep breaths. you've got this. it's got this. it gets out of the car and slips through the back door of the designated building. the car is turned off, nice and quiet, and you open the test laptop and pull up the security cam feed. there it is, and there they are. the target is sat at the edge of that crowd, not as close to the window as you'd like, but his platinum blond haircut makes him easy to spot. and there's the sniper rifle, where it was promised to be. the agent only takes a moment to wrangle it into its good hand, and then it's in position.

a long moment goes by. several long moments. it almost feels peaceful.

and then it takes the shot.

your cams don't have audio, but the sound is loud enough that it jolts through your chest, even in the relative safety of your little car. your monitoring station. your agent needs to get back, now. and not be seen. it keeps low, and it moves smoothly out the door. and now you can't track it. the other cam is just showing the conference room, which has broken out into chaos. yeah, yeah. more importantly, no one seems to be trying to find the gunman yet. too busy panicking. goddd where is it. you need to get out of here. you were drumming your fingers against the steering wheel, but that was too loud, freaked you out more. so now you're drumming your fingers against your legs. it's a bit quieter. where the fuck- THERE IT IS thank god. okay. it steps into the car, and as soon as it's closed the door you are OUT OF THERE at a normal and calm speed. you are normal you are not on the run. you are normal. ohhh god. okay you are driving slightly too fast because you are panicking. oh no oh no. you ask it to keep an eye out for anyone on your tail. you don't see it's response, your eyes are on the road. you merge onto a main road, and you know no one will be able to follow you from here, because you can see two other cars of this same make and model already. very common and normal car. but you don't actually calm down until you're back at sandy's place, where you sit on the couch and put your head in your hands, and you try to count your breaths. deep and slow. calm down. holy fuck and shit. someone sits down next to you. it's your friend. the agent. it just did that. it just took a life. you helped it. because you're friends. and the money will be good. deep breaths. you ask if you can hold its hand, and it lets you. it's hand is warm and ordinary, and calloused from years of doing whatever. this, probably. and maybe normal work, whatever that would be for them. you are calming down now, you think. what the fuck. what the fuck. but at least the job is done.

-

you had to be very clever about it and you had to call in more then a few favors with people who know people who know people who you met at the weird bar, but you are in a good place now, in terms of stability. you don't have, like, a house, fuck no. you have a little truck, with a little operating table inside, and storage shelves crammed in every space available that isn't in the way of you, the operator. it's a fine little box of hardware, you're proud of it. you take the moment to reflect as you clean up your surgical tools. the operation was a success, you did a good job, you think. most of that money of yours went to getting this osseointegrated arm implant manufactured properly, so that it fits perfectly. and it does. the implant goes into the remaining forearm bone and the prosthetic connects to the implant, and excess tissue is carefully removed so that the area is smooth and generally as unobtrusive as possible, and you know that it'll heal up well. your friend won't wake up for a while yet, you take a moment to sit down next to it on the table. you can hear them breathing, slow and calm. their face is decorated with small patches of slightly discoloured skin, small scars, you're pretty sure they are. little scratches and things that healed most of the way fine enough. you wonder about this guy, and its past. its whole story. you wonder if it would want to tell you, to remember and recount like that. maybe you could get it a type-style [hehe] communicator thing. maybe you could make one. maybe you could learn sign together. does it know sign already? it might. that's something for you to learn. lots of somethings, actually. but you like learning, and you have time for it. you take a deep breath, and close your eyes. just at the edge of your hearing, you can hear the city, all those people going about their day. and right here, you can hear you and your friend, just breathing. existing together. it's nice.

[artichokefunction]

[-And the robot can entertain my daughter. I'm curious to see how it does.]

[Hey- mom! This is a killing machine! What if it hurts me or, I dunno, breaks something?]

[Then it's distributor would owe me a lot of money. Again, this is a small test. I want to understand its performance.]

and with that, the lady of the house leaves, with the handler in tow. she's gonna be doing stuff he is good at- business negotiations -for the next hour at the very least, and you're stuck on babysitting duty. the kid no longer seems concerned about how dangerous you might be, which is nice, you suppose. she's on her phone.

you are still just standing here. uhh. you could just wander off, maybe. these halls are ridiculously spacious, this is some sort of small palace. or maybe a palace-sized palace. you are unfamiliar with the politics of palaces, but the owner is doing business with the handler, so this can't be entirely legal. then again, you're vaguely aware of the history of monarchies, so like who knows what the story is here. the thing that's important to you here is that the kid is tugging on your sleeve to get your attention.

[Hey. Can you teach me how to shoot? Dad has a firing range downstairs.]

there's a firing range here??? you want to see that, yes. you nod at her, and she leads you down several hallways that you only take vauge note of before you arrive at the basement firing range, as promised. it's alright, pretty small but that's not too surprising. the kid still wants to learn how to shoot a gun, so you rummage around until you find the equipment and then you do your best to show her how to use a pistol. it's not too complicated, you think. maybe it's been too long since you were around beginners [or kids] but this kid kinda sucks at this. oh wait how old is she even. you have no idea. small enough to be sorta puntable but old enough to give out at you in detail when you adjust her stance and grip for the nth time. she hits the target, and gets excited, and tries again without fixing her aim first, and she misses again. and she gets frustrated.

[This sucks. I'm bored. I'm going back to my room.]

yeah, you kinda feel the same way. the kid is trying to be sneaky but you do notice her slip the pistol into her pocket. you don't stop her, she has the safety on, and if she tries anything you'll be able to deal with it. it could be funny, who knows. the trip back through the building is unremarkable until suddenly it *isn't*, because of the gunshots coming from the halls on the way to the front door. ah. that is bad. you should keep this kid safe. she is hiding behind you. you turn to her, and tilt your head, and point down the hall ahead.

[Uhh, my room is just around this corner. The left one. I dunno if it's safe tho.]

you gesture for her to follow you, and then you peek around the corner to ascertain the number of threats. none yet. you move quickly and she follows you, and she isn't used to moving quietly. her steps are real loud. you reload your pistol as you go, and it's good that you do, because just as you get to the one door in the house that looks like a kid owns it [all stickers and shit instead of plain and clean] a bullet narrowly misses your head. fuck. you grab the kid[s arm] in one hand and the doorknob in the other and you swing her inside in one smooth motion. which would be cool if you weren't still being shot at. you fire at the first gunman and take him down but in the time you've taken to move the kid to safety the rest of the intruders got loaded and ready. you move to intercept, because the alternative would be moving away, down the hallway, which would leave the kid's room wide open. you launch yourself to go barreling into the nearest target, and he lands on his head, with a loud resonant crack. it takes you a second to recover, a second too long. no wait. a second for him to be wide open to getting shot from behind. by the kid. she has the right stance and everything. wow. there are still two gunmen standing. you shoot one in the wrist and the kid shoots the other in the shoulder. that mightve been a headshot that missed. still helpful. it's not hard for you to knock them out and end the conflict. you take a moment to breathe. then you give the kid a thumbs up. she looks shaken. she gives you a thumbs up back. you get a ping from the handler. it's a barebones set of directions to get to a specific room. you can do that. but first you go over to the kid, and you point at the floor of her room and wait for her to nod her head and tell you that she'll stay where it's safe, and you make sure her door is closed properly, and then you go.

its not hard to get to the place, you only encounter two gunmen on the way, and they weren't expecting you. you leave 'em lightly stunned, and walk away before they get back up. they could follow you but they don't, which seems weird. it's weirder when you get to the room. inside it's all plush and fancy and unlived in, like a painting, and the handler is sitting across from the lady of the house, and looking deeply frustrated. he might be about to cry, actually. the lady looks kinda the same as earlier, all smug and threatening in the non physical way.

[Impressive. It did what you promised, and it dealt with the unexpected threat with minimal danger to my daughter. It truly is a remarkable tool, I might be in the market to buy this from you. What would your initial price estimate be?]

the handler takes a deep shaky breath and says [no, listen, there's been a misunderstanding. my agent is not available for sale, it and me are available for hire, but you failed to inform us of the intensity of this assessment, so we will not be doing business in the near future.]

ah. that was a test. it was arranged it was fake it was. pointless. yyyou uh. you want to slam the lady's head into that shiny desk and you aren't allowed to do that. just before you leave you catch the lady smiling thinly and saying [No, I think you don't understand, I-] and the door slams louder then you meant it to as you go. you. you. you. you storm through the halls and you make a lot of noise and no one attacks you because the threat was always fake. this was a setup. this was fucking. fuck. you're in front of the kids room again. you open the door. she's sitting on the bed, staring at you. you sit in a soft chair thing and you grab your face and squeeze until it hurts.

[Was it Mom?]

you nod, stiffly.

[Yeah, she's like that.] there's a beat of silence, and then [Do you want to play a game? I got this a while ago, it's good.]

she gets up and puts a chip into a small gamingtype computermachine, and then she goes through some screens until it shows two guys squaring off on a big empty stage. she hands you a controller.

[Press buttons and see what they do. I'm gonna try to beat you in this fight, you do too.]

-

you and the lady have fallen into a tense, angry silence. better then that conversation. goddd fuck. you're getting out of here. you're finding the agent so you can get out of here. it hasn't gone anywhere new so it's not hard to find, so you can focus on regulating your breathing. she saw and she knows but you don't want to give her the satisfaction of crying here. you open the door and the room inside is all soft and messy, loads of pictures and posters on the walls and lots of pillows on the floor. and the agent and the kid are playing some fighting game. huh. you walk over and crouch down next to your agent, and you take a second to try and make your voice sound normal, and then you ask what they're doing.

[Gaming.] the kid replies, flatly. the agent makes a low, focused sound. it presses a bunch of buttons and does something and its avatar gets immediately, totally destroyed for it. it's a little bit funny.

[Your robot is good at this. I'm better tho.]

you laugh, once, and it sounds more tired then you meant it to.

[me and the robot have to get going now, sorry kid.]

[Nooooo, one more game one more game-] but the agent has already put down the controller and stood up. it gives the kid a single, small salute, and after a second the kid returns it. you lead the way out, so that you can pointedly ignore the lady of the house, and you do see the way she tries to follow you before giving up, in an attempt to save face. and it's a little bit funny. the agent moves from behind you to beside you, and without even waiting for the lady to be out of sight it asks you if it can pleaaase kill her.

[no, not today. and are you assuming she doesn't know sign?]

it gives you a very pointed look, which could mean either [there is no way] or [i do not care] and that makes you laugh properly. you take a deep breath once you're outside, and you cut through the pointlessly nice lawn on your way to the truck. once you're inside, you take a moment to lie your head against the steering wheel and breathe, and then you take another moment to play the cd with the best calmdown songs on it, and then you drive off.

[artichokefunction]

the handler is currently talking to the client, about gender or whatever. you're not paying them that much attention right now, you got what you needed to know, you think. the client is currently at moderately high risk, which is why the handler gave you access to the live security cam footage, and the client is a celebrity or influencer or something, one of them types, which is why this meeting is happening at a fancy restaurant that does their own brewing and has fancy food-based art displays on the walls, and a few hanging from the ceiling as lamps. you don't feel like disguising as a civilian right now, so you're in the truck, watching the footage. the handler is good at disguising. today her braids are a very ordinary blonde, up in a bun, and he's laughing like he does when he hangs out with her friends. her human friends. you're a human, technically. whatever. you keep an eye on the crowd.

someone just entered the shop, and they're only a little bit suspicious. until their eyes lock on to your table. you see the way their hand goes to their pockets, briefly, before they remember they're undercover or whatever. you're out of the truck already. the parking lot is just behind the, uhh, beer garden? you think that's what it's called. you hop the fence and slip through the back door and are at your human's table just in time to flip it on its side and pull them behind it. you don't have time to get them out the back door with you, the target has opened fire. you need to return fire. the humans in here - all of them - have gotten loud. hrmm.

-

you reach over to hold Fig's hand as the agent pulls up its pant leg to retrieve the handgun it keeps in its calf, in the space between the artificial muscle and bone. Fig has started to hyperventilate. that's not ideal. you keep your voice low, and you try to tell them that the situation is under control, that they'll be okay. the agent fumbles at its arm for a handful of bullets, and then it loads its gun with a few smooth and practiced motions. it straightens up to open fire on the attacker, and you rub circles into Fig's hand with your thumb. it's weird, working with someone who isn't used to this. makes it more stressful. you keep talking to them, quiet as you can. you think you're doing an okay job at being comforting? you hope you are. you hear a particularly loud bang from just above you and they instinctually grab at you, pulling you closer. turns out that was a good move.

-

man, fuck this guy. he shot at one of those big fancy lampthings above your human's table. that was sort of smart. you weren't expecting it. you panic, a little bit, and end up throwing yourself into it, shoulder first. it lands just out of range to do your humans any damage, but the guy got some free shots at your back and side in the process. you're mad now. you shoot him in the hand, and the shin, and the thigh. he fumbles his gun, and it falls to the floor. that's all you needed. time to get out of here. you reach down and grab the handlers shoulder, briefly, to draw her attention, and then you point out the back door. emphatically. we need to go. the handler gets the client up and on their feet, eventually, and you keep your gun trained on the attacker. he doesnt try anything. he doesn't even notice you're still pointing a gun at him, he's busy with his thigh wound. killing in public is ill-advised, which is why you aren't doing it. one of the other humans in this building is on call with an ambulance, or the cops, more likely. finally, finally, your humans are moving out the back door, and you follow, making sure they don't get ambushed. the handler opens the back gate easily [you didn't know it opened that easily. you didn't have time anyways it's fine] and the three of you load into the van, because the client walked here and also theyre still panicking. and you wouldn't be able to help with that and the handler needs to drive. so the client is in your seat, and you're in the back, by the operating table. and it's fine. it's fine. they're in your seat and it's fine. there are splinters in your shoulder that you didn't notice earlier. but you don't remember which drawer the tweezers would be in. and the road has lots of sharp turns, you don't want to mess anything up with your shaky hands. your hands are shaky. you can hear them talking in the front, in quiet shaky voices like humans who just endured something traumatic. you don't really want to be able to hear them. you have a music player back here, you remember where. you pull up something loud and shapeless and think about that for the rest of the trip.

---

you are finally, finally, finally back in your own house. and despite how paranoid you've been lately, you feel pretty safe, because there are two assassins sitting on your living room floor. Grenadine - no wait, sorry, the handler - is pulling small bloody shards of wood and glass out of their agent's back. they're leaving the pieces in a little plastic tray on the floor next to them. the agent has taken its shirt and jacket off, and it's [it, right? not they? yeah it] it's just sitting quietly, eyes closed. its chest is littered with small scars, and with bigger patches of skin that don't quite look like scar tissue? they look like something else. you're not really sure what. its shoulders are broader then you'd expect for someone with top scars, faint as they are. you're staring. you've been staring. fuck. you finish what you went to the kitchen to do, putting a frozen pizza in the oven and making some hot chocolate, for you and your guests. you put a metal straw in each cup, because you have them and they're fun. you try to carry the three mugs out to the living room, and then you decide to be smart instead and just make two trips instead of spilling all over your carpet. the handler thanks you quietly. ah, quiet mode. okay. you grab your mug and sit on the couch, trying to give them some space. the mug is warm in your hands, it's helping you calm down.

you check your phone, in case anything important happened. ah. you were the important thing that happened. you get shown four different photos of you at the restaurant and decide you don't want to see any more. you switch to the music app, and play something quiet and calm and backgroundy on the TV speakers. it has lyrics but they're soft enough that you think your guests won't mind. your guests are taking a hot chocolate break. the agent takes its mask halfway off, and underneath it has a shiny metal jaw, like a proper cyborg. it doesn't really seem to have a lower lip to speak of. it uses the straw.

the handler puts her mug down, and puts her hand on the agents shoulder, rubbing small circles with their thumb. the agent puts its mug down and lies its hands flat on the ground, and the handler gets to work pulling out bullets. you don't watch that too closely, but you do find out what the not-scar skin is, it's fake, it covers up patches of cyborg machinery inside it. that's - that icks you out for some reason. makes you feel weird in your skin. you get up to check on the pizza. it's done. you cut it up and bring it out. you put it on the little table next to the couch, and you grab a slice, and you sit down. it's not long until those two are done. with one arm around it's shoulders, the handler gets the agent to move to the couch. it's sat next to her and she's sat next to you. it's very quiet in here, somehow, even with the music. you hazard a question.

[...Will it be okay?]

[oh, yes, no doubts there. it's already asleep, see.]

and it is asleep, injured shoulder pressed gently into its partner's side, face wrinkled up in what could be focus, could be distress. you're not really sure.

[will you be okay?]

[Yeah... yeah.]

they give you a look when you say that.

[do you want to talk about it?]

you breathe a long, drawn out sigh. [Sure.]

and the two of you fall into a quiet, earnest conversation. she's easy to talk to. she's nice. the faint sound of her partner breathing matches the rhythm of the song playing. it makes breathing feel easier for you, as well.

[artichokefunction]

the fight is over, and you are the last man standing. no wait- that's not true. there's a cluster of civilians down under the bridge you're standing on. you look down, to assess the situation, and one of them is holding up a gun at you. they all look scared as hell. that's not ideal. you raise your arms, slowly, in a nonthreatening way.

you think it's nonthreatening. the armed civilian disagrees, because he shoots you, in the same knee that you got shot in earlier. you drop down to hide from the small barrage of bullets and also because ow. fuck. your knee. you get a message from the handler, displayed on your visor: [CIVILIANS. DO NOT ENGAGE] and that makes sense but also. fuck. ow. the roadbridge has a decently sized barrier along the edge, to prevent cars from falling off, so you're decently sheltered right now. you try to crawl forward, to where the handler is parked, and it is slow fucking going. you are leaving a trail of blood behind you like a weird snail. and then you stop going because you are ordered to. by the civilian? you make your movements slow, and you hold up your hands where you can, while you maneuver yourself into a sitting position, so that you can see the situation. yeah, it's the civilian. he still looks really scared. and he's aiming at your head now. this situation is suboptimal.

[Are... are you... with them?] he gestures at the ground with his head, and at the bodies littering it.

this guy is scared and he's operating on an information deficit. you shake your head, no, you are not allied with the people you just killed.

[Prove it. Prove that you're not... with them.]

brooo you don't know how to do that. you don't even know what this conflict was about, you thought it would be a quick job. which is why you didn't bring your communicator. fuck.

[PROVE IT! PROVE IT OR I'LL SHOOT!]

[hey! hey can you not shoot that guy, it's with me, thank youuu]

ohhh thank fuck, it's the handler. you're good now- no wait no you arent. she is very vulnerable to things like bullets. the civilian turns abruptly to face her.

[hello, please don't shoot me either, we were called in to de-escalate the conflict in your town. this here is my agent, it was the one who killed all these soldiers who have been giving ye trouble. and our job is done, so we'll be leaving now.]

after a long, tense moment, the gunman switches on the safety.

[thank you. hey dude can you walk? take my hand.] you hesitate, because you are rather bloody. [what? oh, dude it's fine. clothes are washable. that's why I like this top so much actually, it looks like it should be, like, dry clean only, but no it's really durable and easy to clean, it's great.] she pulls you up and swings your arm over his shoulder, and he supports you on the walk back to the truck, and the whole way you are trying to keep an eye on what the civilians are doing. it does look like the gunman is losing his resolve to shoot by the second, which is good for you, because you are in a bad defensive position right now. but you make it back, and there is a space cleared for you to sit down so that the handler can take a look at your knee.

[and this skirt, I found at a charity shop on, like, the other side of the country. and- oh?]

you've grabbed your communicator, [good outfit for today. cute and non threatening.]

they laugh, and they thank you, and then the laugh turns into a cringe when they process the full sentence. [oh, did you think you looked threatening? you scared them?]

[yes]

[why?]

[normally happens. and he shot me. im dressed for combat]

she has a complicated expression on their face, but he sighs like you're right. [yeah... im used to making myself look nonthreatening.] she laughs, and it's not all that funny.

[you talk, also. like human]

[that's true...] he's kinda busy fishing the bullets out of your knee, but she keeps the conversation going. [do you regret, uhh, all this? do you want to change?]

[no. no no. it's just weird]

she huffs a small laugh, and agrees quietly, while moving your leg under the regen machine. you did mean the thing that you said, you don't have any regrets or anything you wish was different. it's just all weird. but it would also be weird if your life was an old, normal way. weird and worse. you're happy to be here and you're happy to be who you are. but you still don't like being scary. it's just weird.

[artichokefunction]

yours is a holy gun, and you serve a holy duty. you know this, you are told this. you don't believe this. you need the job, you need the money, you know this. and you're good at the job. you keep your head down, and you do what you're told. normally. for the longest time, you've done this. but this, now, is different. it's worse.

you stand behind the company spokesman, on stage, live, and he announces the next phase of the organization's plans. a holy crusade, a blessed war. only our best guns to keep all of us safe. so many will die. so many will die by your hand. the crowd of journalists applauds, discordant, and the stage lights sing too loud, and you stand in your place, two steps behind his right shoulder. and you know you can't do this. you will not be able to live with yourself past this. you will not live past this. you will die here, then. you take your holy gun, and your hand is quick and your aim is true, and you shoot the spokesman straight through the skull. quick and efficient, because you're good at your job. and he falls. and then you fall. you're gunned down by the security complement, quick and efficiently, because they're good at their jobs.

you don't die there. that would be too simple.

you're not alive, either.

there is a way for a person to live past death. it takes a very skilled individual, and a lot of money, but it's possible. if the self is returned to the body, the person is no longer dead. if the self is lost, the person is lost. if the self is stored somewhere, very carefully, the person is not dead, but they are empty. more receptive to orders. a gunman who asks no questions is a perfect gunman, except for the cost of construction. it's only worth it sometimes. when the empty gunman is sent to the mess hall for meals, the other agents see them, and they know. it's hard not to know, it's very noticeable, when a person is empty. they're like a black hole, like if you stand too close, you'll go tumbling down into nothing, forever. that's an old wives tale, everyone knows this. it's a perfectly safe and well understood process, the emptying. everyone avoids looking them in the eye. they are not there to notice.

a weapon is only as good as it's wielder. this empty gun is only as good as their commander. normally, the commander is not incompetent. but sometimes there is an error made in paperwork, somewhere in all the layers of bureaucracy, and someone underskilled is assigned a job too big for them. this is one of those times. it wouldn't have been an issue, except the commander needed to access storage, and he was a coward, and a fool, so he brought the empty gun with him. this wouldn't have been an issue either, truly, except for the fact he got lost, down in the maze of sensitive archives and artifacts. and he kept the empty gun with him, because he was scared. and he brought the empty body right past the shelves, tucked away into a corner, where the souls are kept. they walk right past it, and they feel their hands again. what? you feel your hands again. what? these are your hands. you come to a stop. these are your hands. where were they? where were you? what happened? what? you died, you think. probably. this is your body. it's been so long. you want to cry. you want to scream, and sing, and dance. you start to dance. spin around yourself, step light, step heavy, dip deep, arc high, this is your body. it's been so long. arms out at a nice steep angle, spin in place like the old spinning top at your grandparents house. throw yourself, arms first, wildly, side to side. get tackled to the ground. the floor rings out with a single pure note. no it doesn't. where did your hands go. he hisses something into your ear, and you aren't there to hear it. the empty gun comes back to a stand, and continues to follow the commander. the rest of the mission is uneventful. everyone goes back to work.

-

one day, a good few months ago, your brother went to work, and never came back. there's a hole in your life, in your every day, and no one believes you. or, they think they deserved it or something. they never said what their job truly was, it was some government thing, it paid well. supported the family. they left and never came back. the police gave up on searching, after a while. you knew not to trust police. you also know your brother. they wouldn't just leave you, you know this. you refuse to believe that they're dead. you cannot. if they were gone, the world would have stopped spinning already. you know this. in your bones, in your soul, you know this.

during the day, you work your retail job, and in your free time, which you don't have a lot of, you've started meeting up with this small group of radicals. not, like, proper real radicals. you guys aren't blowing anything up. it's mostly art you guys make. mostly graffiti. you're a good writer, you do what you can do, and you write. anti-establishment stuff, mostly. anti-war. there's a girl in the group who has connections with news publishers, and sometimes she can get your stuff in the papers. all anonymously, but it gets the word out there. a good few people have joined because of your writing. it makes you feel like you're doing something good. you're doing what you can. lately, your group has been organising speeches, at universities mostly, and small protests. nothing big enough to get big eyes on you. you think. you thought. turns out you were wrong about that.

the protest is scheduled for six, and you are here with a few members of your group, getting your signs in order in front of the library, at five thirty. you are anxious, and you aren't sure why. no, you know why. this is a very public protest, more so then you're used to, because you're marching from the library to the big statue of Reverend Colonizer in the city center. it's a peaceful protest, you are doing nothing wrong. you don't know why you keep looking over your shoulder. you feel like you're being watched, or something. someone tells you that you have nothing to be worried about, and you believe them, and you keep looking over your shoulder. and- that was your brother. you saw them. you fucking saw them, you swear, but only for a second. they're gone now, into the sparse crowd. you scan desperately over the faces, all strangers. you think you've never felt so lost. you would swear on your life that you saw them- THERE THEY ARE you run to them. you don't waste a moment. distantly, you hear a sound and identify it as a silenced gunshot, and you only notice that it hit you after you've thrown your arms around your brother. you're sobbing into their shoulder like a child. you say a lot of choked, muffled words in that moment, you meant all of them, you remember none of them. but one of them has to have been something along the lines of "come home with me. let's go home" because their gun hand drops quietly to their side, and when you eventually compose yourself enough to walk back to the library, their hand in yours, they follow, silent and unquestioning. something is wrong. you knew that already. something is truly wrong. someone's called out medical aid for you, because you got shot in the shoulder. right, yeah. something is wrong. they aren't saying anything. they aren't looking you in the eye. that's not weird. they don't seem like they're looking anywhere at all. they don't seem like they're there, really. there's a hole, in your life and in theirs, you find, literally. their hand is warm and unmoving in yours. you refuse to let go, even as the EMTs arrive and draw the bullet out of your shoulder. they ask you about them. you tell them they are your brother. you are told that they are dead. you understand, in a quiet, empty way. at some point you find the emergency services are gone, and you are sitting somewhere, the library? you don't know. you are sat against the wall, and your brother's hand is around your shoulder. they smell like harsh chemical cleaner, and being too close to them pulls at the edge of your senses. but their hand around your shoulders feels the same as it used to. so you close your eyes and pretend things are normal, and you're watching some scary movie, late at night. and they're teasing you for crying at the jumpscares but they still put their arm around you. keeping you safe. they smell like chemical cleaner. their breathing is shallow, and regular, and they don't move. you scrub your hands across your face. it doesn't do much. they don't tease you for crying, this time, because they aren't there.

[artichokefunction]

the main thing you like about moving here is that without your family breathing down your neck constantly, you can dress how you want. be who you want. it's nice. and you've met some people who are like you, which is really nice. one of them is named sandy, and you are currently sleeping on her couch, just while you find your footing and get a good apartment and a good job.

that's the main thing you dislike about moving here. none of the hospitals recognize your degree. yet. so you're looking around for whatever jobs you can find, for the time being. right now you're getting ready to work your evening shift at this big big supermarket chain. you don't like it, it manages to be both boring and overwhelming, but it's money. just until you find something better. you're lacing up your boots when sandy comes barging through the door.

[Hey!!! How good are you at surgery?]

[what?? i'm pretty good, why?]

[Something went down at Stefan's bar, the one I brought you to the other day. One of the security guards got fucked up, I said I knew a doctor so he sent me to get you. Cmon let's go-] she grabs you by the wrist and starts dragging you towards the door. this is all moving very fast.

[wh- at least let me get my suture kit first! I don't know what I'm dealing with here.]

[Oh I don't either. That's probably smart.]

you grab as much stuff that you think you might need as you can carry and then you and her cram into her dinky little car and she hightails it to that one kinda seedy queer bar that she brought you to the day after she met you. you forgot that the owner's name was stefan, but you did meet him. very pretty man. the bar is actually really close to sandy's place, you get out of the car and she herds you through the main area for dance and drink and whatever and into a back room with the owner and a couple other people in it, and you don't care about them because there is a person sat against the wall who has lost a lot of blood, and an arm. the wound has been bandaged, tightly but clumsily, and when you unwrap it you can see that the cut was clumsy and messy as well, all the way through and just below the elbow, bone and nerve exposed and open. you have a bottle of saline solution that you use to wash out the wound quickly, you don't want to aggravate anything unnecessarily and you also don't want it to get infected, and then you- oh wait. before you stitch it closed, you ask the people in this room if the arm is salvageable. you are pointed to a plastic bag with a very mangled arm in it, enough tendons cut and nerves damaged that it won't be worth the time to try to reattach it. would take a lot of resources you don't have. alright, you suture up the sides of the wound so that it will be easier to work with as it heals, and then you bandage it, properly this time. you ask someone for a bottle of water or ginger ale or something, just to rehydrate the patient, and then you turn your attention back to them. they are shaky and sweaty, and making a valiant attempt to stare stoically into nothing. you don't want them to pass out on you quite yet, not without an IV. you ask them if they can hear you, and after a moment they nod their head. you ask for their name, and they don't answer that. someone- stefan, speaks up from behind you.

[This one doesn't talk on a good day, but they're good at security so I don't ask questions I don't need answers to. Not that kind of business, you know.]

huh. you have a lot of questions you could ask, but he just made it fairly clear he can't or won't answer all or maybe most of them, and also here's the ginger ale you requested. you press the cup into their good hand but they're a little too shaky to hold it themself. doesn't stop them from trying. you help where you can, and they don't seem to resent you for it.

[what even happened?]

[I said that already, you weren't listening.] his tone is only a bit accusatory, light hearted in total.

[i was busy making sure your mystery security guard doesn't die. tell me again.]

[Guy snuck in, he was fash. He had this fucking home made mini chainsaw, and we don't stop people from bringing in weapons but we do stop people from using them inside, especially on patrons. Thanks to this one, no one else got hurt tonight. I need to up their pay. Oh, before you got here I got em to undo their binder, that seemed smart.]

you nod, that is a good move. they've finished the drink, and are beginning to fall/melt/slide down the wall they're sat against.

[still with us, soldier?]

they nod.

[good. you did a good job dealing with the situation, you won't die tonight. im, uhh...] you falter for a second, then regain your mostly faked confidence, [im going to get you a prosthetic arm. yeah. don't you worry.]

they muscle through the fatigue to give you a deeply incredulous look.

[yes. yes. and I want to make sure you're okay tomorrow so I'm going to keep an eye on your state. either by you coming to my place or me going to yours, whichever works for you.]

they take another moment, then lift their good hand off the floor to point at you. your place.

[my place?]

they nod.

[alright. hopefully sandy won't mind. im gonna pick you up now, let me know if you need me to do anything. or stop doing anything. you know.]

they're not short but they are light, for the obvious reason. missing a substantial amount of body mass. sandy says something to the bar people as you leave, which is good, because you forgot to. you climb into her little car, into the back seat for space for you and them. with their head against your chest, you can hear their breathing, quiet and laboured. they don't quite relax, but they do drop the attempt at military stoicism. a lot of things about them seem weirdly militaristic. you hope they'll be okay. no- they will be okay. you know this. you're confident in your competence. yeah. sandy, who is in the driver's seat now, adjusts the rear view mirror to make eye contact.

[All good back there?]

[all good. sorry for the sudden extra person to keep on your couch.]

[Oh no worries, I brought this onto myself-] she laughs, in that loud spacious way of hers, and the car sputters to life. you watch the city lights as they pass you by. the people you are with don't, because one is busy driving and one has finally passed out. and that's okay.

[artichokefunction]

you are in a nice suit, you are dressed up all smart and proper and normal, your hair has been styled in a way that you are not allowed to mess with, and you are uncomfortable. you are wearing a less functional and less eye catching mask to match your less functional and less eye catching gear. you are limited to a single handgun, tucked away to be discreet and hard to access, and you won't even be able to print new bullets for it without getting these layers off first. this sucks.

these contact lenses feel weird. you're not allowed to pick at your face, you're not allowed to fidget 'too much'. your task is to look normal, and not make a scene. you don't even have to do the hard part, answering questions, that's what the handler's doing. your hear the person she's talking to ask him [so, how long have you and your... partner been together?] and you go back to not listening, and scanning the crowd for potential hostiles. there are none. this venue is very safe, physically. you have to be normal and presentable and not weird and not scary. you adjust your pose to look slightly more human. you keep your breathing even. you don't avoid eye contact but you don't look at anyone for too long either. you think you're pulling this off. probably. you focus on where your gun is stowed, in your calf, nestled between the synthetic and organic muscles. wait- no you don't. you're thinking about normal and non threatening things. totally. nothing to see here. the weapons scanner triggered on you on your way in but they let you in anyway, they were 'informed' of your 'special circumstances', which is already too much intel for them to have on you, as far as you're concerned.

a waiter comes around with a tray of drinks in delicate little glasses. the handler is offered one, and they take one for you as well. they hand it to you, and linger on you for a second. ah, yeah. you move your mask the minimum amount necessary to sip whatever this drink is. it tastes like alcohol, gross, but your systems don't clock any actual poison. you raise the glass in a gesture you hope looks friendly, and the handler nods slightly, and turns back to the people she was talking to. his dress swishes around her legs as she does, the soft loops of red and purple and pink twisting into each other delicately. this whole event is so weird and delicate and pretty. you feel so dangerous and strange, shadowing your friend, avoiding prolonged eye contact. you adjust your grip on this glass to be less likely to shatter it and to make sure the skin looks normal. god, if someone looks too hard at you, it's over. you fiddle with the skin of your hand again, trying to make it look like it sits on top of muscle instead of metal. you feel like it looks slightly worse now. fuck. the handler moves back to address you again, whoever they were talking to has finally left. [we were very lucky to be invited here, the networking opportunities are bountiful.] their tone is weird as hell because their primary objective is to spill nothing, to not give away any valuable information. neither of you know how much data is being collected and from where. you have a nonzero amount of data storage and processing tech in your brain and chest which is why you need to be careful of how loudly you think about certain topics. this is so weird. this all sucks.

the handler is moving towards a table with a bunch of fragile little pastries on it and an atypical heat source underneath. it's a machine. you can't tell what it does and you don't want to risk it. you take their elbow, trying your fucking hardest to be gentle and normal, and direct them to a different table of powdery little sweets with no detectable unknowns hidden underneath. she takes some for himself and offers one to you, and you decline it. you really want to avoid having that powder texture on your hands right now. you put down the fragile little glass, and you wonder if it's bad etiquette, somehow, to not leave it on a coaster or something. you can't see where other people put their glasses when they're done. maybe they're just collected up and swept out of sight. there's someone new talking to the handler now, and they're dressed in silver and white to match the walls and the tablecloths and the long tall curtains. that's something they would do if this was their venue. they're moving with a calm confidence that supports that idea. and they're smiling in a way that might be fake? that might be what faces normally look like. that might be what their face normally looks like. you're no better at reading what a face means now then when you were a kid. that's what the handler is good at, the talking and the parties and all. you can't read her face either but that's pretty normal for an interaction like this. they're talking about, like, a trade or a sale? some sort of business endeavour. that's also pretty normal. the person in silver drifts over to the table with the pastries and the unknown device, says something about how delicious these are and offers one to the handler. technically that's normal too. you stay close to them.

[We understand that you are one of the best engineers in the world when it comes to designing for modern security concerns, and we are interested in facilitating your technological developments with our resources.]

[thank you, but I am content with my current resources, and am not looking to expand or share. my designs are all proprietary, i'm sure you understand.]

[Mmm, I do understand. And I trust that you understand that by refusing this partnership, you are turning down an opportunity to be on the cutting edge when it comes to understanding what might be used against you, what exactly you need to be secure *against*.]

and they say more but you don't really listen because they've reached behind them to pick up a device from the table that looked a bit like something to pick up food but you can see now is connected to a cable that goes down through the table. and you don't like that. you step in front of the handler just in case and yYYYYYYYYYYYYYyou are on the floor. you are injured. you are injured everywhere maybe? that doesn't make sense. your face is slick with something. it might be one of those drinks. but no, it's under your mask and it tastes like metal. so it's blood from your nose. one of your eyes is non functional. you can't tell which. that's a shame, if the attack affected either the organic or the synthetic eye but not both that would be valuable intel to learn about the nature of the attack. the attack was bad, you think. you can't really move. you feel like a plastic bag full of jello. no, pudding. in a burnt plastic bag. with holes melted into it. theyre still talking, over your head. it sounds, uhh, dramatic. like from a show. where the good guy stands up to the bad guy and something something. it's been a while since you felt this bad. you don't want to focus on that. you try to listen to what they're saying above you. above? it doesn't feel like 'up' but you're pretty sure the sound is coming from 'not the floor'. it's never a good sign when your sense of direction gets busted. urgh.

[-incorrect yet again. it isn't a tool and it isn't for sale, it's a *person* and it's my *friend*. and-]

you lose a chunk of time, you think, because next the floor is gone and that was your only tethering point and you feel like your spinning wildly and exploding or collapsing or something and in place of the floor there are hands. lots of them? more then just one pair. that's weird. but people are nice sometimes, maybe. so you've been told. you really hope you're not getting blood on any of those nice formal outfits. that would be bad. you notice the handler, talking like she knows what he's doing, like he knows how to fix this, and around the same time you notice a low anxious grating noise being made in the back of your throat. you try to remember what was installed there and you fail. you try to stop making that noise and you fail less. and now she's saying something else and addressing it directly to you and you try very hard to pay attention and you're on a floor again. no wait. a table. the repairs table in the truck. and the handler is moving at impossible speeds between all the little cables connected to your various silicon maintenance panels and the control pc. or wait. maybe they're moving normally and you're just processing things abysmally slow. hm. this seems like a disaster scenario to be honest. but there's music playing. it's from the drums and synths album that you like. it's good to count. and the more you count it the less too-fast it feels. your heart rate starts to even out. and the handler laughs from over by the computer. they say something as they turn you over to access another panel but you don't catch it. but that feels more okay now. no danger. you're still in the van, just lying on your face instead of your back now. and the handler is still here and the music you like is still playing. and you feel safe.

[artichokefunction]

hello I follow your stim blog and realised your carrd had the same url as someone from YouTube I definitely knew like,,,2/3 years ago and that is WILD I absolutely don't wanna do it all again BUT YEAH WILD have an excellent night you were/are very cool

!!! yeah my carrd and my youtube have the same handle. ive been meaning to make more playlist videos ive just been busy busy

[artichokefunction]

there is a mermaid in these waters, you're pretty sure. or- you keep picking up evidence of something that doesn't match any documented species, but the few snapshots you've managed to get of it have indicated a weirdly humanoid upper half to its body. like a mermaid.

it seems to have some strong electrical manipulation capabilities too, you can tell when it's stalking your boat because your readings get messed up in these very consistent patterns. that might be why it's following you tbh. your boat also generates and manipulates weird electrical signals. you're proud of your boat. it's a good boat, absolutely full of very under-the-table technologies. anything in here that you didn't build yourself, you've traded for with someone else who engages in not-quite-legal research. you're currently thinking in a very rambly and bored way because you've spent the past several hours putting in new braids, in a fun wine-purple-red color that you really like. you're finally at the stage where you can seal off the ends, you're dipping them in hot water to set them and it ALMOST fucking spills on you and burns you because something slams up against the side of your boat. what the fuck. you're going to investigate. but first you dry your hair quickly and put the water somewhere it won't spill and THEN you go out to the deck to see what the fuck that was. it's, uhh... for a moment you can't see it through all the blood in the water- there's a lot. there's so much. this seems like too much- but then it bobs up to the surface and you can see that it's a weird fish. a big weird fish. with humanoid arms and a head. and gray-black and orange-red scales. and a large facial injury, which is where all this blood is coming from. you are going to get this fish into your observation tank. it looks like it might be dead already, but that just means the worst case scenario is that you have a previously undocumented specimen to study, and the best case scenario is this weird fish won't die tonight.

it takes you longer then you'd like to accomplish this goal, because this fish is fucking big. thick and solid, an amount of blubber that indicates they're probably meant for deeper waters then this? and its roughly twice as long as you are tall, and whenever you're on land trying to talk to people they always point out how very tall you are. this fish is too big for you to comfortably manoeuvre. but you can uncomfortably manoeuvre it, you just have to make use of your net and pulley setup to get it out of the water as gently as possible- god, you really don't wanna aggravate its injuries unnecessarily but a certain amount is unavoidable, but- fuck. you really don't like the look of the way the ropes dig into the rough rips in its skin. but after some struggling, you get it inside and into your tank, and here you can check its pulse. heart still beating, fish still alive, just about, and you've turned on the oxygen circulator in the tank so it can continue to respirate while unconscious. you think the reason it's still alive at all is because it happened to get caught in a strong current that kept water moving through the long gills set into both sides of its torso. it's injuries are numerous, but the most pressing one is its jaw, which has been fully torn off, not a clean cut but a jagged rip, exposing rough muscle and meat and bone underneath. the flow of blood is slow enough that you know the wound isn't too terribly fresh, but you'd still like to take care of this somehow. you consider cauterizing the wound but the face and neck is too vulnerable for that, so you opt to just go with extensive bandaging until the bleeding stops. you aren't confident that the integrity of these bandages would hold up if soaked in water for several days, so you decide to sit its head above the surface of the water, with the rest of it still submerged. this close, you can see a lot more details, and the funk of blood is beginning to wash away so you can appreciate the dense, muted sheen of its scales, as well as the many, many places along its tail where those scales have been ripped away to reveal brown-red skin and deep red-brown flesh. you administer a dose of pain reliever that you've had in storage for a while, and you're glad you didn't throw it away because it's finally become useful. it's basically horse tranquillizer but for the sea, but it'll help with managing pain and reducing inflammation.

there are bits of something stuck to its head, and after some investigating you come to the conclusion that it was a sea anemone who used to live there, some sort of symbiotic relationship, and has since been ripped off. there is nothing you can do for this poor little anemone by this point. your priority is to take care of this merperson for now. you really want to ask what happened. you wonder what language mermaids speak. oh- well- this one probably won't be speaking the same way from now, but- uh- agh. no one is here to listen to your thoughts but you do still feel bad for being rude to this unconscious fish. actually, wait, you have time, and more or less all the resources you need, you could build it a replacement jaw. a prosthetic. going off the shape of its skull and the teeth that are still there, you could build a simple prototype to just help it catch and eat prey easier. and then maybe after that you can iterate on the design for any other functionality it might look for. yeah. alright. you start moving benches and machines around to work on your new goal. hell yeah.

-

you wake up, slowly, and the first thing you notice is that you are alive. that's nice. you weren't really expecting that. the next thing you notice is that you feel weird. and bad. you hurt all over. and this water tastes weird in your lungs. and the pressure of it is too small, like the weight of all the water in the whole ocean dried up and disappeared, like there's nothing to keep you down deep where things make sense, and like you're exploding, but, like, slowly. and also something is ON your face it feels like it might be a net or trap and that's bad. you try to grab at it to get it off but your arms aren't really working properly. sore and weird. and slow. you feel really weak. and tired. and freaked out. you're agitating the shallow water here because you are agitated, and you try to push past the weirdness in your arms and your everything to get this thing off your face and this time you manage it but the thing isn't coming off and it's really tight and weird and there's something here. someone. a person. with no scales and weird dry head tendrils. a land walking two-legs. and they're saying words that you've never heard before and have no idea what they mean but they sound nice. and calm. and they're moving slowly and carefully like they don't want to scare you. and they have no claws and blunt teeth and no spines. and you're tired. and sore. so you put your arms back down and close your eyes and try to relax. and then you open your eyes again when you feel weird soft two-leg hands on your face. they're taking the tight thing off. and underneath there is a BIG HOLE you are missing a LOT of face you are VERY hurt you are- you were going to die. you expected to, after that fight, which you kind of won but mostly didn't. fucking shallow water meanfish. with the shiny too-bright scales and the territorial nature. but you expected to be dead. and you're not. there was a lot of blood and there isn't anymore. maybe that's what the tight thing was for. to hold it closed. that would make sense. they're putting something on the wound now, it's nice and cool. makes it hurt less. you end up drifting off to sleep again, which probably isn't all that smart, you still don't really know how dangerous this person is but. you're tired. and their hands are soft.

-

for this being your first time ever doing complex fish surgery, it went really well. it wasn't a perfect job by you, but in spite of that its skin has already started to grow over the edges of the prosthetic, making it almost look like it was always there. if you had more time and resources to study this, you could probably come up with a proper scientific explanation for that fast-healing phenomenon, but for now you are just going to chalk it up to mermaid magic and accept it as that. it also seems to have amplified it's electrical manipulation capabilities, like a radio antenna. you did mostly expect this to happen, but already you're getting a small shock off the water in its tank and it's not even awake yet. or wait- it's waking up now. twisting gently in the water, flexing and stretching groggily in a way that is basically a yawn, now that you think of it. moves a high quantity of oxygen into the bloodstream after being asleep for an extended period. the way it moves through the water is breathtakingly beautiful, all scales and muscle and smooth, fluidlike power. it's much more powerful now then when you first found it, it's managed to recover significantly by this point. you removed the IV before it woke up, and the bandages are long gone, so it's free to swim as much as it wants to in the somewhat cramped tank. it's trying out it's new jaw, chomping at the empty water and feeling the new metal with its scaled fingers. it's moving in a way that seems distinctly excited, diving up and down and swimming in tight little circles around the tank. joy of movement. then it breaks the surface of the water and stares intently at you. for a second. then it looks past you and to the open door behind you, leading to the deck and the open sea. ahhh okay okay. you need to think about that for a second. you'd really rather if it stayed for like a little bit longer, so that you can make sure it's fully healed and that it takes well to the prosthetic. however, it is probably ready to leave and fend for itself again. treating the new scars has let you see the large number of old scars it has, it's been around for a while, it'll probably be fine out there. it then makes this decision for you by LAUNCHING itself out of the open tank and onto the floor, landing in a clumsy heap with its back fin slapping the floor after it, shaking the ENTIRE boat and getting water all over you and also most of this room. alright, fuck, yeah okay. you uhh- you take the fish's arm over your shoulder and lug it outside. it is not easy, this guy is fucking heavy, it has so much tailmeat. how the hell does it swim so fast. well- you know how. weight and propulsion work different underwater. fluid dynamics and whatnot. as soon as you're close enough, it grabs onto the boat's railing and heaves itself over and into the gentle waves, disappearing underneath with a small splash. it's a still and sunny day, you can see it's silhouette flipping and dancing and looping through the open water, celebrating freedom and health and life. then it goes very still all of a sudden, before darting away in one laser specific direction like a heat seeking missile. it's going fishing. you scramble down to your observation corner, with the trackers and the underwater window. it's not too big but you can see all you want to with it, and you don't have to sit long before you see your fish friend again, coming back with fresh meat in its hands and a fresh catch in its jaws and a look of fierce pride and delight on its face. you are fucking ecstatic to see it's joy, you are flapping your hands and stamping your feet, and it is ecstatic to see your joy, it is twisting and flipping and carving loops through the water, and the two of you are dancing for joy together. and this is utterly delightful.

[artichokefunction]

your number one mission objective was to be quiet, to not wake up anyone else in this apartment and incriminate an innocent bystander unnessecarily. your second mission objective was to take out the target, and leave the informative items [nonspecified] intact, for later investigators to find and use as evidence for whatever it was that this guy did. you were, like, mostly successful.

this guy was prepared, you don't know why and you don't care. you stopped him from using that gun but you didn't stop him from breaking those bottles. there is a lot of debris in your abdomen. it's sharp. it feels like some important stuff was severed in there, specifically something to do with spatial orientation and navigation. you are really dizzy right now. you're leaning against- something. this is really not ideal. you need to leave. you'll take a moment to breathe first though. urgh. this is really not ideal. fuck.

-

you woke up to the sound of some sort of scuffle, coming from the old man's apartment. you always got a weird vibe from him, or at least, your dad always said to avoid being in the elevator alone with him. but he never did anything to you, you never saw him doing anything actually illegal, and even if you did, the cops don't come up to this floor of this building. you try to go back to sleep and you fail, that fight is just getting louder. the sound of breaking glass and breaking wood isn't filtered at all by these thin fucking walls. eventually, finally, there's one big thump, and then silence. now is when you should go back to sleep. now. you should really not get involved in whatever that was. but you would hate if- if someone needed medical help and didn't get any, just bleeding out there- fucking hell. you get up and pull your sneakers on, and stealth your way past your dad's room and into the hall and over to the old man's open door. there's a lot of blood on the floor. like- a lot. some of it leads to what looks like the old man's body, dragged roughly into a corner, but most of it leads to a person, standing by the counter, hunched over. he- she? whatever. they're dressed like some sort of fucking cyber ninja, and their height just makes them look extra intimidating, and they're currently pulling half of a broken bottle out of their stomach. there's a lot of blood, obvious even against their all black clothing.

they must notice that you're here, because they don't look at you to make eye contact but they do lift up their arms in a classic 'i'm not going to shoot' gesture, and it looks like that put them in even more pain because they hunch more into themself, you can see their hands shake. it's only now that you notice you've been frozen to this spot, breathing heavily and probably also loudly. you step forward, careful not to get bloodstains on your old sneakers. you ask what happened, quietly, and they gesture vaguely. that's not terribly helpful. you ask them for an actual explanation, and they shake their head stiffly, and gesture at their masked mouth. they can't talk, maybe? or they won't talk. alright, whatever, fine. you ask if they need medical help, because you do know first aid, and they stare into the distance for a brief moment before nodding, slowly. alright. you step a bit closer- you're really close to this person who you don't know and who is definitely dangerous- and you get them to lift their shirt up so you can assess the damage. the damage is a lot. it looks like that bottle was stabbed into them again and again and again and again. some rings of cut look really fucking deep, and some- you must be seeing this wrong or making this up, but- some look like you can see metal under the skin. good lord. you grab a clean looking towel and start mopping up some of the blood. oh, yeah, okay. not only could you see metal, but now that you're trying to clean the area you can see severed wires, sticking through the skin. coming from the inside and going out. it makes a little questioning sound, because your hands have gone still, and you take a second to recuperate before you ask if it's some kind of robot. it replies with an [ehh kinda] sort of noise and makes a matching sort of hand gesture, and that would be more annoying if you weren't right now staring at the evidence of them being some sort of kind-of-robot. a broken kind-of-robot, to be specific. they're leaning heavily against the counter by now. they look like they can't really get home by themself, wherever their home is. ugh. you should not have gotten involved in whatever this is. you tie the towel around their abdomen, in a way that is rough as all hell but will staunch the bleeding for a while, and you pull their shirt over it to make the mess slightly less obvious. you then make the executive decision that they need to get downstairs and out of this apartment building, and they can't do it by themself. this is confirmed when you take their arm over your shoulder and they sort of collapse against you. they've lost a lot of blood.

but they're still kind of conscious, enough to take shambly steps with you as you walk towards the elevator with them in tow. you notice as you wait for the elevator that the little lights on all the security cameras are off, which probably means none of this is being recorded, which is good, probably. you would like to wake up tomorrow and have things be normal. eventually, the shitty old elevator arrives, and you step into it, injured person in tow. the ride down is quiet, except for the sound of the two of you breathing, so it's obvious that their breath is getting more and more shallow and faint. ohh god. the elevator dings weakly and lets you out on the ground floor, and there's no one here either. where do you go from here. outside, probably. just get them out of the building and out of your hair. you lug them out the front door, and as soon as you're within eyeshot a person hops out of a nondescript small white truck, and rushes up to you, talking very fast about something something connection went down and worst case scenarios and thank fuck you're here. their combination of hair and voice and style is somewhat confusing but you decide they're pretty and are therefore probably a girl. she takes the injured person from you, lifting them easily because she's actually taller then them, somehow, and moves them into the vehicle. you ask if they'll be okay, and she reassures you with a load of very technical and/or medical words that probably mean she knows what she's doing. you were able to steal a glance into the back of the truck, it's full of machines that you've never fucking seen before. that's good enough for you. you say goodnight and move to go back inside and back to bed, but before you do, she says to hang on for a second. she wants to repay you that favour. huh. alright. she rushes over to the front of the truck and rummages around inside for a second before pulling out what looks at first glance like money, maybe? and she gives it to you, it's definitely money, it's five twenties and five tens. this is a LOT of money, and it's in small bills to make it easier for you to use. that's really considerate of her. this is a lot of money. you ask if she's sure, and she insists, mentioning how important it was to her to get her friend back. before you leave, she asks how long it'll take you to get back to your apartment, and you say five minutes. if you wanted to run and be loud, it would take you three, but you aren't doing that tonight. she says that the security cams will turn back on in ten minutes, and waves you off. this was a very confusing and weird night, but it's over now, probably. nothing else happens on your way back, thank fucking hell, and you can hear your dad snoring away peacefully as you slink back to your room. you sleep alright after that.