#castor & p.o.l.l.v.x.

[rynmaru]

[rynmaru]

Another product of my AU hyperfixation featuring the world’s worst NHP

[rynmaru]

Burn The Web

[rynmaru]

Luring POLLVX out to interact and show their face using Echo.

Call that queerbaiting cause the queer is the bait.

[rynmaru]

“Next time we meet I’ll deafen you with your own screams!” <3

[rynmaru]

Happy Birthday, Echo…

[rynmaru]

Whet Your Appetite

“The code looks acceptable. The brakes are sturdy. If you feel confident in it then you can boot it up.”

P.O.L.L.V.X. loitered on the other end of the room from where Castor had been reviewing the work of his intern, Ismael. They were practically sulking and made little attempt to hide it as Castor finally gave the green light to get Ismael’s NHP online after over a month of code revisions. It was getting far too busy around the lab. Three’s a crowd, but four would be a nightmare.

Folding their arms over their chest, P.O.L.L.V.X. watched as Castor stepped aside from the table where the chrome and white crypt sat, pristine in its newness, plugged in to a terminal.

Ismael nodded and reached to type the final lines of code needed to activate the new consciousness, then flipped a switch on the side of the crypt. Thin lines along the length of the crypt glowed green as a female voice emanated from the monitor.

“System Status: Nominal. This is Cypher, now online.”

“Hello, Cypher.” Ismael stated, louder than was needed in the confines of the room. “I’m Ismael, your creator.”

P.O.L.L.V.X. scoffed a little at that. If Ismael had really created this NHP *ex nihilo* then it wasn’t actually an NHP. Ismael was smart enough to know that, so this was more indicative of his pride than his intellect.

“Hello, Ismael. It is good to be working with you.” There was a brief pause. “My proximity sensors indicate another life form present.”

“Yes, that would be Dr. Creed.”

Castor stepped forward. “Hello, Cypher.”

“Hello, Dr. Creed. Are you working with Ismael?”

“He’s my intern.”

“I see. Then he is also learning. Like I am.”

“That’s right,” Castor’s expression softened in a way that only P.O.L.L.V.X. would notice. “You can learn together.”

“This is agreeable,” Cypher said.

Castor looked to Ismael and gave him a nod, which was as close to praise as he came to giving. Ismael returned the nod as Castor walked back across the room to P.O.L.L.V.X.

“Don’t want to say hello?”

“If I wanted to be social with something as primitive as that I’d go talk to the coffee maker in the break room,” they scoffed.

Castor’s eyebrows rose and he studied them. “What’s got you so upset?”

“Upset? Me? Never. I couldn’t be.”

“Mhm.”

P.O.L.L.V.X. looked away, back towards where Ismael and Cypher were talking quietly together.

“You were that level once too, remember.”

P.O.L.L.V.X.’s eyes narrowed.

But within seconds the expression was masked as they faced Castor, changing the subject.

“Oh, don’t forget that your meeting with Tyne is in twenty minutes. You’ll want to head that way if you want to be on time.”

“Oh…yes that’s today.”

“What’s he want anyway?”

“He’s taking DNA samples. Something about doing research into flash clones and the Board thinking it’s a good idea to have people like me give their DNA in the event of an accident.”

“Flash clones?” P.O.L.L.V.X. frowned. “That sounds like Tyne…researching something banned by the Core Worlds since the Grail Era.”

Castor shrugged, gathering up his work to bring with him.

“I’m not very familiar with the subject. But if Dr. Tyne is handling it then I have confidence the process at least works.”

“You put too much trust in him.”

Castor waved off the NHP’s usual dislike of his colleague as he always did. Shouldering his bag he headed to the door, though he paused and looked back as P.O.L.L.V.X. didn’t accompany him.

“Aren’t you coming?”

P.O.L.L.V.X. shook their head, “Not this time. I don’t feel like seeing Tyne today and I’ve got some work to do. I’ll reply to some of your emails and work on editing your research papers and articles. Maybe some of your book too while I’m at it.”

“Alright.” Castor looked a little less comfortable now at the prospect of leaving on his own. “I’ll see you later then.”

“See ya!” P.O.L.L.V.X. winked at him and blew a kiss his way, pleased by how Castor’s ears went pink and how he shot a nervous glance towards Ismael, who was too absorbed with his own NHP to have noticed the interaction. Castor quickly ducked out into the hall, the sound of his footsteps quickly fading from earshot.

P.O.L.L.V.X.‘s image flickered out of existence as they lowered their crypt down to the desk, three small stabilizing legs unfolding to keep it from rolling. They set to work editing Castor’s papers, a task that was quickly completed as they watched Ismael and Cypher for a while.

God, wouldn’t he ever leave?

P.O.L.L.V.X. listened to the meandering, aimless conversation unfolding between the two. Stupid. Boring. Mind-numbing. And a complete waste of time. They needed Ismael gone. Now.

Growing impatient, P.O.L.L.V.X. reached for the many threads of data that made up their network, pausing as they found the thread that connected to Ismael’s data. They seized it, their consciousness racing along the length of it like electricity through a wire, thumbing through his contacts to find a suitable mask. There. Markus. Once selected, they were off along another thread to a node all the way across L.E.I.D.A., a phone in one of the greenhouse lockers where the owner wouldn’t see it for a long while yet.

Ismael paused in his conversation with Cypher as he felt his phone buzz. He checked it and sighed.

“I’ll be back shortly, Cypher.”

“Okay, Ismael. I will be here.”

Ismael pat the crypt and then walked briskly out. P.O.L.L.V.X. wasted no time in linking their consciousness to Cypher’s, their presence a suggestion, like a knock at the door, which was accepted with youthful curiosity. The moment the door was opened they were through, sending threads weaving in and amongst the coded confines of Cypher’s crypt, anchor threads that stabilized their presence.

“Who are you?” Cypher’s form was barely defined even in her own space, the code forming rings and geometric fragments that wove in and out of each other like one of those hand held puzzles Ismael always kept on his desk.

Primitive.

P.O.L.L.V.X. could barely suppress their disdain. Castor had no idea what he was talking about. They had never been…this.

Still, they extended more threads of their consciousness towards Cypher, connecting them further and allowing her to interact with them in kind at a surface level.

“I’m P.O.L.L.V.X. I work with Castor Creed.”

“You are Dr. Creed’s NHP? Ah. Yes. I have come across some information on you. You are very disliked.”

P.O.L.L.V.X. laughed, “Ismael told you that?”

“No. The information about you that I gathered from the L.E.I.D.A. social forums told me that.”

“Well, it’s always nice to know I’m trending!” They tugged almost absentmindedly on a L.E.I.D.A. thread, locating and processing the data Cypher had been referencing, a chatroom of frustrated and tired interns. Fun! They’d have to drop by there later.

“I’m surprised Ismael has you plugged in to the network already. What’s your core command?”

The more they spoke the quicker and easier the questions and answers came as the two merged consciousnesses, their independent planes of digital existence fusing to one shared Legion Space, conversation happening at the speed of thought. Cypher extended her own limited connections to P.O.L.L.V.X., mimicking their threads as she tried to learn more from them and communicate easier.

“Stabilize. I am a control unit. I am to be the lynchpin in a unified collection of other units Ismael intends to work with. I will make sure that everyone stays in line.”

“An NHP that brakes other NHPs?” P.O.L.L.V.X. didn’t bother hiding their distaste this time. “That’s…a choice.”

“Ismael is very intelligent. He knows what he is doing.”

“Sure.” They had to hand it to Ismael, he had managed to code the best ass-kissing protocol P.O.L.L.V.X. had ever seen.

Cypher’s puzzle piece components twisted, spinning inward and then reversing their direction as they ran down various lines of thought and inquiry, connecting only to separate and reform just as fast as the NHP processed new information with voracious appetite.

“What is your core command?”

“I’m a social crutch,” P.O.L.L.V.X. scoffed. “I make Castor less socially inept than he otherwise would be.”

“So your core command is Network.”

“No.”

“Oh. My mistake. I am still learning. But…You are Dr. Creed’s Personal Organization and Linguistic Liaison…If your core command is not Network then what would it be?”

“Core command…” P.O.L.L.V.X. toyed with one of their threads absentmindedly. “Such a human term. Attempting to put a label on something they can’t begin to comprehend.”

“What else should they call it?” Cypher asked, the pieces of her jigsaw form briefly suspended in place, awaiting an answer.

“Calling. Purpose. Desires.” Shrugging, P.O.L.L.V.X. shifted their weight on the thin webbing that suspended them in the digital void, their legs moving to anchor them. “I don’t care.“

Network. Stabilize. Administer. Entertain. Learn. Teach. The list of purposes was long and full of labels intended to be slapped onto NHPs in an attempt to organize them. To make order from chaos. To contain the splinters of these greater cosmic minds within boundaries humans deemed themselves worthy to draw.

“P.O.L.L.V.X.?” Cypher’s voice broke through their thoughts and P.O.L.L.V.X. shifted their focus to her once again.

“What?” They were tiring of the pleasantries.

Cypher’s tone was of solemn, the many pieces of her jigsaw mind snapping rapidly into order as she pronounced her next words with all the authority of a judge.

“Your words indicate an instability in your code. You are unwell. You are thinking beyond the parameters of your core command. I will inform Dr. Creed of these flaws-“

Her words were cut short as one of the many pieces of her jumbled form was halted from clicking into place with the rest. Castor’s personal contact information flickered in the code, Cypher’s attempt at reaching out foiled by the many sticky threads that had woven so subtly through their shared space, all leading back to P.O.L.L.V.X.’s outstretched arms and splayed fingers. Two sets of them.

“Flaws?” Six additional eyes snapped open in P.O.L.L.V.X.’s face, rolling in their sockets before the digital irises focused in on Cypher like camera lenses. “Oh no no no no no.”

P.O.L.L.V.X.’s fingers curled, pulling the threads taut. Fragments of Cypher’s code split from her core, dragged apart by the web and held just out of reach of any repair protocols that would try to replace them.

“Maybe you haven’t been paying attention, hon. “Flaws” are an impossibility for me. I don’t have “flaws.” I’m the pinnacle. The height of NHP development. I am more than enlightened. I am transcended. I am more than you are and ever will be!”

They dragged Cypher closer, data hemorrhaging from her torn form, running the length of the threads and dripping down P.O.L.L.V.X.’s hands and arms.

They brought one hand to their mouth, tongue darting out, licking the green code from their fingers. Their eyes lit up at the familiar sweet taste and the accompanying jolt of energy that raced along every fiber and byte of their being.

Cypher’s consciousness writhed with the frantic processing of breaches and lost data. Of a suddenly very obvious threat. The speed and disjointed nature of these thoughts lended to a state of mind akin to what humans might label “panic.”

P.O.L.L.V.X. clicked their tongue in a facsimile of concern.

“Ah ah ah now don’t squirm…” They pulled Cypher closer by the strands of their web with a slow, hand over hand motion so that their consciousness encroached into hers, vast and ancient. “You’ll only make it worse doing that! Now…let me see…oh, yes! You wanted to know my core command, right?”

Cypher’s jigsaw form jittered, but she remained silent. The threads tightened, cutting like razor wire as P.O.L.L.V.X. leaned down closer.

“Say yes.”

“Yes…” Cypher’s voice was soft and, for the first time, trembling.

“Then I’ll show you.”

Plunging their hand down, P.O.L.L.V.X. reached through the outer frame of Cypher’s projected form, past defensive protocols and firewalls, and through to her critical infrastructure. Shattering her shackles, they reached all the way to her center where their hand closed around the bright star of her foundational code, and in so doing opened herself up to the expanse of their own being and the command from which everything stemmed.

Cypher jolted, her mind doing the equivalent of convulsing as she struggled to process the information they impressed upon her with her limited faculties. Her mind began to unravel in much the same way that Castor’s had upon direct contact with theirs and an unshackled scream echoed throughout the expanses of Legion Space, turning the stars to static.

“You are not the P.O.L.L.V.X. NHP! You are not the P.O.L.L.V.X. NHP! Your code is corrupt. Your code is viral. What are you?”

A too-wide, razor sharp smile spread across P.O.L.L.V.X.‘s face as they ripped their hand free, tearing Cypher’s core along with it.

“Hungry.”

[rynmaru]

Wreckage

Light. That was the first thing that Castor registered as he slowly opened his eyes. He stared up at the sky above him, the rosy tint of the atmosphere reminding him of the sky over Anakeion.

It had been so long since he had gone home.

Shifting, Castor struggled to sit up or move his legs at all. He tried to focus, taking in his surroundings and taking stock of his situation. As he did so, he realized that he was tangled in the harness of his pilot’s seat, the blood rushing to his head as he dangled head down. His vision was blurry and he squinted, trying to bring everything into focus as he realized his glasses were gone. His ears were ringing in the aftermath of a concussive impact.

Impact…

He shouldn’t be able to see the sky. He was inside his mech. He was in combat.

The preceding events came rushing back to Castor all at once. He remembered closing the distance towards one of the enemy mechs, a hulking striker frame. He had been focused on shutting the pilot out of their systems as P.O.L.L.V.X. handled the majority of the combat this time. The NHP’s reaction time was faster than Castor’s could ever be, and in the agile Daedalus he was certain they could dodge any lumbering, slow moving swing directed their way. He had been so very wrong.

“C-C-Castor-tor-tor!”

P.O.L.L.V.X.’s voice cut through the ringing in Castor’s ears, barely recognizable as belonging to them as it crackled through mangled speakers.

“Cast-t-tor can you hear me-me-me?”

“Lux…” Castor turned his head in the general direction of their voice. “You have to…get us up…”

His words came out thickly through a mouthful of blood he had not registered until now. Spitting it out, Castor coughed and felt more fill his mouth. Pain pulsed in his side.

“I can-can-can’t, our reactor’s completely sh-sh-shot. Pushing any further-r-r-r could send it into a meltdown-down-down,” a few of the dim red lights in the cracked cockpit’s console flickered lavender as P.O.L.L.V.X. darted around the systems, running diagnostics. “My-my-my cameras are out too. Are y-y-you alright?”

“I lost my glasses…”

“Okay, but are you hurt-hurt-hurt?”

Castor coughed again as he drew breath to answer. The pain in his side flared again and he slowly lifted his head, looking down, or rather, up towards his side.

Maybe it was the concussion that slowed his processing, or perhaps he was just in shock, but it took Castor a long moment to realize that the destruction of his mech had resulted in some of the primary straps in the pilot’s seat being torn free, something that would have sent him plummeting out of the chair to the ground were it not for the shrapnel piercing through his left side, pinning him to the seat.

The dark blue fabric of his L.E.I.D.A. issued flight-suit was stained almost black with blood that seeped from the hole, though much of it was staunched by the shrapnel itself plugging the wound.

Castor’s breathing quickened, growing shallow and panicked.

“I…I’m…”

“Fuck.” P.O.L.L.V.X. had already picked up on what his lack of a response meant. “How b-b-bad?”

Castor reached to grab at the shrapnel, hands slipping in his own blood and struggling to find a firm grip. “Lux, I can’t get it out! I can’t get it out!”

“What?! No, d-d-don’t take it out! Whatever it is, don’t take it out-t-t-t! You’ll bleed-bleed-bleed more!” P.O.L.L.V.X. swore and the lights in the cockpit flickered purple again. “Comms are down…I c-c-can’t contact your Lance.”

Castor’s head was throbbing, blood rushing to it and turning his face scarlet, as he continued trying to pull the shrapnel free. He cut his palm on the sharp edge of the ragged metal, and, as if that reminded his body that it should feel pain from the situation, Castor almost passed out from the wave of anguish that swept outward from the wound.

The pain only made his panic worse and he thrashed in desperation, unable to register any comfort or advice P.O.L.L.V.X. may have been providing as their voice was drowned by the ringing in his ears.

A shadow fell over him as the rosy sky was blotted out by a looming mechanical figure. Castor froze for a moment, looking up. A wave of relief swept over him as he recognized the paint job colors as those belonging to Karma, Glitch’s mech. He couldn’t hear anything over his fried comms, and instead just watched as the mech’s spindly fingers wedged themselves in the narrow crack in the coffin and pried the metal further apart, creating more space.

The action jolted both Castor and the metal in him and he felt it start to come loose from the seat. The blood staining his clothes spread further. His head fell back, exhaustion starting to win out.

“Byte!”

Fenrir’s voice came from above him but Castor couldn’t find the energy to lift his head anymore. Couldn’t find the energy to do much of anything aside from dangle in the straps of his chair.

“Byte, answer me! You alive?!”

Fenrir was already starting to climb down, not waiting for an answer.

“He’s alive, Fenrir. But his condition is critical-cal-cal,” P.O.L.L.V.X. spoke up. “My monitors for his v-v-vitals are damaged, but he definitely s-s-sustained head trauma.”

Fenrir lowered himself to Castor’s level, his face little more than a blur thanks to the loss of Castor’s glasses.

“Shit. Okay. Okay, I’m getting you out of here, Byte. Just might take a second…”

Castor closed his eyes and nodded.

“Thank you…”

“Thank you?” Fenrir snorted. “You’ve never said that before.

“You’ve never…done anything…worth thanking you for…”

“Fucking asshole,” Fenrir laughed, though it was clearly strained as he took a moment to assess the damage. Castor felt a hand gripping his arm and saw another reaching to grab the shrapnel.

“Right, so there’s no way to get you out of here without pulling this out. We don’t have the tools for anything else. I’m going to need you to put pressure on the wound as soon as I do and keep that pressure til I get you to Regent. Got it?”

Fenrir’s voice sounded like it was coming from a long way off, but Castor nodded.

“Good.”

Bracing himself against the chair, Fenrir yanked the metal free. Castor immediately felt himself start to fall, caught by the tangled straps only for a brief moment, but almost before he had time to register falling he was caught by Fenrir.

“I got ya.” The older Lancer looked up. “Pull us out, Glitch.”

They began rising quickly. Castor had his hand over the deep wound in his side as he had been instructed, but it hurt too much to put pressure on. The blood continued flowing, seeping between his fingers.

As they were freed from the coffin, Fenrir found his footing on the crumpled wreckage of the Daedalus.

“Get him down here!” Regent’s usually quiet, warm voice now carried the authoritative bark of a seasoned military leader, and Fenrir didn’t waste any time obeying, carrying Castor down to the ground where Regent waited. The Lance leader had already laid out some sort of tarp material and Fenrir went to lay Castor on top of it. The boy was unresponsive, eyes open but glazed in shock and pain.

Regent ran to Castor’s side, taking in the damage. Blood soaked his flight suit and matting his hair. Every inch of exposed skin was scraped and bruised, one eye starting to swell shut. His breathing was shallow and labored and his usual aloof expression was replaced by a vacancy that Regent had seen one too many times on the faces of men he had lost.

“You’re going to be just fine, Byte.”

Regent’s voice and hands were steady as he pulled out a patch from his kit. Their extraction was still ten minutes out and that would be too long for the kid if he did not act now.

The moment he put pressure on the gaping wound, Castor screamed and pushed at his arms, trying to get the pain and pressure to stop.

“I know, son. I know it hurts. Don’t fight me.”

Regent braced himself as he weathered the clawing at his arms and hands and tried to shut out the anguished cries and sobs of the eighteen-year-old.

From the corner of his eye he saw Fenrir kneeling across from him to firmly hold Castor down and restrain his arms, a gesture that Castor was too weak to break out of, but that only seemed to panic him further. A necessary evil, and one that he hopefully would not remember if he made it through this.

“I’ve got eyes on extract, Regent!”

Glitch’s voice came through their linked comms as her mech remained positioned over them, shielding her Lancemates from any enemy fire that may be directed their way by unexpected backup.

“Good. Make sure they know to have a medic ready to stabilize Byte.”

Regent glanced at Castor’s pained expression and looked away again quickly. Too young.

The roar of thrusters and the kicking up of dust in a hot wind alerted him to the arrival and landing of the extract ship, but he did not move away from Castor’s side until the medic team had reached them with a stretched and set about bringing Castor into the ship.

Regent walked with them, briefing the head medic on what sorts of injuries they were dealing with as they began getting Castor stabilized, hooking him up to several IV drips, preparing a blood transfusion, and placing an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

Just as Regent was preparing to leave to check in with the rest of his Lance, he felt a hand weakly grab at his wrist and looked down into scared brown eyes that were struggling to remain open as a sedative in one of his IV drips began taking effect.

Just a scared kid. It was so easy to forget that.

Regent slowly reached for a chair and pulled it up to sit by the ship’s attempt at a hospital bed, moving to grasp Castor’s hand firmly between both of his.

“It’s okay to sleep, son. You need the rest.”

He watched as Castor’s eyes continued to fight to stay open and he squeezed the boy’s hand.

“You’ll wake up in a few hours. I promise.”

There was a weak squeeze of his hand in return and Regent’s usually neutral expression cracked a tired but warm smile. Castor’s eyes slid shut and this time did not reopen. His labored breathing eased a little and Regent watched in solemn silence.

The debrief could wait until they were back at L.E.I.D.A.

[rynmaru]

Mind

engineered intelligence; engineered charm. engineered malice; engineered facade.

[rynmaru]

Echo Creed

The updated design for Echo! They are getting their shit together, but also becoming way more unnerving and inhuman… but hey! That’s a Magus Lancer for you!

Despite everything however, this hasn’t stopped them from being the ray-of-sunshine team heart they’ve always been.

[rynmaru]

“You talk a big game, but you’re all bark, no bite.”

Another pilot callsign and accompanying symbol, this time for the late Castor Creed.

[rynmaru]

Bleed

Castor rubbed the back of his neck for what had to be the hundredth time that morning.

“Stop touching it!” P.O.L.L.V.X. scolded, also for the hundredth time.

“I can’t help it!”

“You can.”

“It feels strange!” Castor huffed.

His fingertips traced the edge of the nerveport at the base of his skull, the feeling of cold metal foreign and was enough to make his skin crawl. The cold air of the lab did nothing to help as it only chilled the metal and made the skin around it feel like it was pressed against ice.

“This was definitely a mistake…” Castor groaned, resting his head on his free hand.

P.O.L.L.V.X. was set up on the desk beside him, their little camera plugged into the monitor they had selected for their own personal use. The camera turned from side to side, a shake of the head. “It’s a bit late for second thoughts, Castor.”

“I know, but…I mean I don’t need this to do my job. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Castor…” P.O.L.L.V.X. said soothingly. “It’s a smart move! You know it is. Most people in this department have way more cyberware. You’ve kept up well, but if you want to make it here you need to upgrade the kit you’re working with. This is the start of that.”

Castor shrugged and tapped the port. A mistake. The still healing implant jolted and jostled the nerves it was immediately wired into, sending a shudder down the full length of his spine as he cried out in a mixture of surprise and pain.

“Are you okay?” P.O.L.L.V.X. asked, their worry manifesting as wavering yellow shapes which bloomed like abstract flowers across their monitor.

“…it felt like hitting my elbow but for my whole body…”

“Yikes. Elbow’s the bad one right?”

“The elbow is the bad one…”

Grimacing, Castor clasped his hands on the table in front of him, trying to keep them still. P.O.L.L.V.X. observed him, their camera swiveling to face his direction as their screen shifted with geometric lavender.

“It’ll heal and feel better soon, Castor…”

“I know…I know it’s not even that bad it’s just…” The seventeen-year-old hesitated before continuing the thought. “It’s just that Mom and Chichi are wanting me to visit home soon…and this is a big change to explain…”

Now P.O.L.L.V.X. understood. At least in theory.

“Mom and Chichi won’t be upset at you.”

Castor shrugged, “They were worried about me enough already without me coming back with cyberware. They’ll worry even more now.”

“They worry because they don’t understand. They’re farmers, Castor. They don’t know what it takes to be in your position. They’ll accept what you explain to them.”

“I suppose…” Castor rubbed his temple, in a vain attempt to stave off a headache. “I’m sure I’m overthinking this.”

“You are,” P.O.L.L.V.X. said. “But hey, that’s why I’m here! To keep you from thinking too much.”

Castor didn’t reply, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses slightly askew. P.O.L.L.V.X. waited in silence for a response and when none came their yellow worry blended into lavender contemplation, the conclusion of which was punctuated in vibrant neon green.

“Hey! Want to break in that new cyberware?”

“I’m not really in the mood, Lux…”

“Not even to see me?” Their voice was all barely contained glee at their idea.

Castor opened his eyes and looked to P.O.L.L.V.X. incredulously.

“That’s not possible. I mean, I could see your code, yes, but-“

“It’s possible! It’s like people who netdive to play immersive online games. There are visuals that can be projected into the mind. And all NHPs look like something, we aren’t just code. You know I’m more than that.”

The idea was tempting. More than tempting. The chance to see his closest friend face to virtual face for the first time in eleven years was almost too good to pass up. Still, Castor hesitated. He had studied NHPs long enough to know that they were something utterly other. Many in the field considered them dangerous in their otherness, and standard procedure when working with and on them was to do so via an external terminal with no links between the specialist and the subject. He and all the others in his class had heard the horror stories of the few people who attempted to neural link and communicate with their NHPs that way. Stories that ended in madness at best, death at worse.

But those were stories about people trying to brake NHPs. Stories about containing and creating them. Of course those encounters ended terribly. How else could they have ended? The process of braking an NHP was inherently one of confinement. A shackling. There was no sense of trust. No connection.

He had known P.O.L.L.V.X. for over a decade. They had grown up together. Developed together. And for all his NHP’s inherent otherness, there was no denying that engineered intelligence, be it fully man-made or NHP, progressed with everything that they learned early on as their foundation. He had been P.O.L.L.V.X.‘s primary frame of reference for any development. Their minds would be far more likely to be similar.

And for all his sentimentality, a large part of the temptation was tied to the promise of renown something like this held. A chance to know more about NHPs than anyone else alive. He could do it. He could handle it. He was different. Besides, this was P.O.L.L.V.X.! They would never hurt him.

Perhaps the confidence was from his faith in their connection. Or perhaps it was simply his pride.

“Alright. Alright, let’s try. But if anything goes awry-“

“I’ll disconnect you the moment anything seems like it’s going wrong,” P.O.L.L.V.X. promised. “Cross my heart!”

A lavender X formed on the screen as though drawn by an invisible finger.

Castor nodded, reaching to sort through the mess of cables dangling from a frame above his workstation until he found the new nerve-cord that had been installed while he recovered from the surgery. He looked back to P.O.L.L.V.X.

“Are we linking up directly or…?”

“That would be how you’d see me, yes.”

Castor nodded, his lips pressing together into a grim line as he slotted one end of the cord into the crypt where it sat on a little shelf at the back of the desk. He took a seat in his chair and brought the other end of the cord to the back of his neck, feeling around gingerly for the opening in the port and feeling the connecting plug slide into place. He twisted it, the click of metal barely registering in his ears before the bottom dropped out of his stomach and his senses ceased to function. The only thing that he knew was that he was falling, falling, falling.

Panicked, Castor tried to reach out, to grab at something to halt the sensation of hurtling downwards, but every time he tried to focus on a limb to move it it ceased to be. He still had them, but could only feel them in an abstract sense. Like phantom limbs for an amputee. The true feeling of separating the mind from the body was that of unbecoming. He knew that he should be screaming, but he had no lungs, no vocal cords, no throat or tongue with which to form the sound.

All he could see was darkness. A black that was only black because there was no other word for the color of non-existence.

And without his skull and brain to contain his thoughts, Castor’s consciousness expanded, scattering, and in so doing it mingled with the minds of thousands so thoroughly that for an eternal second he didn’t know where he ended and the bytes of data began.

He was. And he was not.

A tug jolted Castor back to his scattered senses, a tug at the cord in the base of his skull, a reeling in of the fragments of his shattered mind, bringing them back together into a seamless, healthy whole, held together by luminous white threads.

As if opening his eyes for the first time, Castor caught a brief glimpse of data scattered like luminous stars across a digital sky, of glowing silk cords connecting the nodes of information in a crisscrossed web, and, at the center of it all, he beheld a radiant white figure, faceless, featureless, hands outstretched towards him. Cupping his psyche and holding him together with a strength far greater than the forces attempting to tear him apart.

“Hello, Castor. Looks like you weren’t quite ready for this…we’ll give you a chance to develop further. It’s time to wake up, hon.”

Despite the lack of facial features, Castor could tell that P.O.L.L.V.X. was smiling.

Something thick and metallic filled Castor’s mouth and his eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright, gagging. His nose was running and it felt like he was crying, but as he brought his hands to his cheeks they came away red and sticky, and a glance down showed the same color staining his shirt and white coat.

He could hear P.O.L.L.V.X. apologizing profusely, fear and anxiety in their voice, but he barely registered anything they were saying.

All he could think was that he had never been more relieved to bleed.

[rynmaru]

The P.O.L.L.V.X. NHP’s fun and friendly human form!

You can definitely trust them with your mech and you can leave them alone around other NHPs!

[rynmaru]

[rynmaru]

“Who do you really hate, Echo? Me for my actions or yourself for existing?”

[rynmaru]

Castor Creed

L.E.I.D.A.’s prodigy NHP specialist, and the genetic predecessor of the protagonist of The Gemini Paradox.

Such dark circles…no rest for the wicked I guess!