Godclads

Chapter 3-14 Unwilling Survivor

Chrome is a money trap. This isn't a statement. This is an objective fact.

Let’s look here at your standard implanted limb. Sure. It can be made of solid Adamantine. You know what isn’t as tough and strong as adamantine? Your spine. Your skin. Shoulders. So, every implant is a full-body package too.

But that’s okay, I hear some of you say. The nanosurgeons can fix it right up, ignoring the fact that if you could afford nanosurgery, you’d be purchasing less invasive augmentations anyway.

So, that leaves the poor and downtrodden with limited options. Sure, they can visit a grafter or, if they’re brave enough, a street sculptor. Plenty of old exo-armors laying around to protect you from the mean streets. Just need to bolt that to yourself right?

Energy. Don’t forget about energy.

That’s a category-E microfusion cell for the cheapest linear combat rig. You could make an argument about getting a category-A cell and cybering yourself to the roots and sinews, but by that point, you’re already spending enough imps to build a void cruiser, while only being about as effective as maybe a heavy drone.

Compare that to a wager with market-standard biomods, and you’re looking at a net loss in both effectiveness and longevity. Compare that to premium nanosuite injections, and the question of hardware and software begins to blur.

There is a tax that comes with the alloy, and it stays long after the implant gets chipped in.

-Dissertation on Cybertech’s Effects on the Socio-Economically Disadvantaged Populations of New Vultun

Unwilling Survivor

Back down to the guts of the Warrens Avo found himself descending. Again down, two hundred levels, and more. He was beneath the plates of the surface now. He could taste it in the air, in the rumbling weight of the city above him.

The question he had for why the medical levels were located so far down was a fleeting one. Building essential facilities far below Layer One was a deliberate choice for most organizations. There were too many points of insertion on the levels above, and it still wasn’t clear to him if Conflux controlled the entire structure or not. With how Mirrorhead had them stationed, there was a feeling that they were mostly squatting in the block rather than formal occupants.

“Ved,” he asked, watching as the elevator sank down toward the four hundred and fiftieth level; thirty-five more to go. “Medical: is there anything lower?”

She blinked at him momentarily, not understanding the vagueness of his words. “The Underways? We got a motorpool. Well, almost a motorpool. We got, like, three golems; two Shadowcrawlers and a Galeslither.” She chuckled. “And only half of them work.”

Avo stared at her in confused disappointment. “Why laugh? Unprofessional to have broken equipment. And how does half a golem work?”

His answer made Ved wilt. “The…uh, Galeslither has a busted engine. Still flies though.”

“Can it land?” Avo asked.

“Not sure. Haven’t really tried.”

Avo frowned. “Then you have one working golem.” Ved didn’t have much to say about that. Fitting. A broken tool wasn’t a joke but a sign of incompetence or ill-discipline. Such displays reflected poorly on Mirrorhead. For all his resources, the morale of his people was certainly abysmal. Imps could buy motivation, but having a boss that constantly monitored you and could kill you at any point from a reflection likely left everyone here risk-averse.

Flaws upon flaws. Mirrorhead probably viewed his control over Conflux like a master with a leash. Apparently, he forgot that when you pulled too hard, a leash could also be a noose.

The elevator doors chimed and opened. A flurry of movement was already underway, med-techs and their medical drones already in a whirlwind of motion. Overhead, another plane of mirrors coated the ceiling while cone-shaped surveillance drones whistled through narrow vents along the walls.

The shine of the room made him reflexively wish that he had found some shades or goggles. It was hard to see, even with his ghosts tuning his perceptive brightness. The cognition of sight could be adjusted, but the light stung his eyes all the same. He needed to find something to blunt brightness if he eventually found himself operating during the day.

Going with the flow of foot traffic proved to be a sound idea as the hospital’s layout was a maze. Hallways led to twisting turns that ended in plascrete-sealed dead-ends. Doors were melted shut or clamped down with mag-locks. It looked like they secured this place in the aftermath of a siege and never renovated it.

Following the crowd into a larger chamber, a hive revealed itself to Avo, the walls lined with hexagonal hab-cells, each meant to serve as a treatment center of some kind. Judging from the scuffed numbering painted over each cell, however, it was obvious this used to be a coffin hostel of some kind.

“This is C-Wing,” Ved said. “Used to be a capsule hotel. Back when the Blackways were the Underways. Back when the darkness wasn’t infested with…”

“Ghouls,” Avo finished for her.

“Yeah.”

One of the last insults from the Low Masters, the Blackways. Infusing all darkness beneath the city with a Heaven of liminal spatiality was one thing. Connecting that spatiality with random alleyways across the gutters to ensure their ever-replenishing nests of feral ghouls would always be a problem, meanwhile, was deliberately cruel.

Starring beyond an entire shredded wall of C-Wing, Avo found himself look down quick-fabbed plasteel railings leading to a twenty-foot drop to the former Underway station below. Rusted rails left unused for a nearly decade stung at his nose with a familiar stench of decaying metal. Three tunnels had been fused shut with battle foam and plascrete blockades, while a final path looked cored clean through by some impossible force.

“Oh, fuck me,” Ved said, sounding stunned, “I think the Reg punched her way through using a Shadowcrawler. Got nothing else down here that can do that.”

A team of enforcers was gathered in front of the new opening, their guns raised, lights burning away the encroaching limbs of the whispering darkness, wanting to drag the unsuspecting into its depths. Avo could taste the sheer anxiety in their voices, hear it in their gasping lungs as they faced the black and called for their engineers to jock into a construction drone and fill the gap.

Avo grunted a soft chuckle. Here was Draus making her own options. Probably used the shiv he gave her, then. Didn’t know how she did all this with only one arm. Reg was still a Reg, even discharged, it seemed. Looking into the umbral womb that was the Blackways, Avo felt the siren call of his infanthood home call out to him, offering him freedom if he just sank back into its embrace.

He knew better. There were things that lurked in the dark. Creatures, much like the Heaven Mirrorhead commanded. Up here, he lived in a tyranny ruled by the one. In the blackness? It was like wandering a dark forest, trying not to make noise, trying not to be spotted.

Another reason why Draus probably stole the golem. It was something to ensure that what she made was a getaway instead of a suicide. Weirdly, Avo wondered why Mirrorhead hadn’t noticed. With all the reflections present, he expected the Syndicate boss to already be present.

The silence breathed upon the embers of paranoia within Avo. There was something with his new boss that seemed more prey than predator in this instant. For all the boasts and control the man exerted, he certainly did like to keep his movements chaotic, keep his tracks hidden.

A low guttural cry rang out from one of the hab-cells behind. Avo knew the voice. Knew it better as a soft and measured cadence rather than fury-afflicted shrieks. Essus was here too.

But why had Draus left him behind?

Huddled outside hab-cell 37-D at the very corner of the chamber, awkwardly, a loose grouping of four med-techs. Only one of them was in a rig, and only two had brought their pistols. He could hear them muttering and arguing about what needed to be done under their breaths.

Avo wondered what had stymied their entry. The father was near critical condition when he was brought down; not in any condition to be a threat.

At least, not on his own.

As Avo approached, he smelled the stench of cooked flesh and melted plastic both. A scar of glass was burned into the tilted walls. The scrubbers inside were whining loud as they tried to drain away the dust and particulates in the air. From the inside, Avo heard two heartbeats, not one; saw two accretions of thoughtstuff, not one.

“Do not come in!” Essus shouted. “Come in, I’ll kill him. By Artad’s missing hand, I’ll kill him like I did the other one!”

Ah. The father had taken a hostage. Somehow. Half an hour ago, the man was barely alive, flesh flayed open along the back, face pulped and bloodied. Avo supposed the Syndicate injected him with some rainwater.

Avo considered the situation for a few moments. Ved stared, her eyes flicking between him and the cell.

“You…gonna do something?” she asked.

Probably wasn’t wise, as most of his hostage-rescue understanding came from illegal streams of Paladin raids. Unlike a Paladin, however, he could not release a literal phoenix from his eyes that was capable of melting an entire megablock while healing everyone within it at the same time.

Unfortunately, if he didn’t intervene then the Syndicate would. And Avo didn’t want to find out what Mirrorhead would do to the man. Or some up-jumped enforcer looking to earn some glory.

Avo growled, clacking his fangs in frustration. Breaking Rantula was a far simpler prospect than this. He didn’t want to speak with the father. Not really. But Walton wouldn’t just let the man die. “Yeah. Gonna do something.”

“He’s still in there?” Avo asked, striding up behind the med-techs. All four jumped in terror. One spun, mag-pistol raising.

Avo fired his reflexes. Time lurched. He snatched the pistole of the med-tech’s grip, snapping their finger as he pulled. He relaxed his organ.

“Mine, now,” Avo said, shoving the pistol into his pocket. The med-tech bounced back first against the wall, steam fogging the inside of her glass-domed helm as she groaned, face twisting in pain. He looked back at the other three, now slowly backing away from him, their eyes wide with surprise and terror. “Situation?”

“I’ll kill him!” screamed the father from inside the cell. “I’ll slit his throat. I have already killed one! I already killed one…Avo is...is that you?"

“Jaus, fuck!” snarled the only rigged-up med-tech. Stomping over to Avo, he reduced the opacity of his faceplate. A bald, scarred face with two-coal red implants for eyes glared at Avo, a curse dying between clenched teeth. “You–you… what hells do you want? Trying to find Rantula? Finish the job?”

“Maybe later,” Avo said. “Different want right now. Come to see how Essus is doing.”

The med-tech glared. “Essus just killed Rully with a las-scapel and took one of our rooks as hostage. The Reg managed to subvert the auto-surgeon somehow; gave its control module over to the flat before she took the crawler and left.”

“Got a plan?” Avo asked.

“Yeah. Wait for the enforcers. That, or gas the half-strand with anesthesia.”

Yeah. Sounded like they were going to end up killing Essus one way or another. Flats didn’t do well with tranquilizers meant for augments. That would also end Avo's day on a less triumphant note. The father survived the Crucible, only to die in a hab-cell. Didn’t seem right. He needed to finish saving the idiot. Again.

“No,” Avo said.

“No?” the med-tech replied, confused.

“Going to talk with him,” Avo said. “Keep enforcers out.”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

Avo fixed the med-tech with a flat glare. “Tell them I’m inside. Tell them I’m still hungry.”

All Avo could hear of the father and his hostage were brief heartbeats as he crossed into the room. A nagging way still pried at his will. He could walk away. Let someone else handle this. The father really wasn’t his problem anymore. Unfortunate as the boy’s death was, it was as it went. People died. It was part of the bargain: the city gave you Heavens and miracles, and when it came time to die, you went back to feeding the city.

In a weird way, the boy was closer to New Vultun than any of them would get for a while.

Avo had helped the man as best he could. Saved him well over five times now. So why the hells did he still feel responsible?

Walton. Walton was why. Sometimes, Avo wished he had never met the man. Sometimes, he wondered if his life and eventual death would have been easier if he became a feral like so many of his brothers.

A beam-butchered corpse greeted Avo as he entered the room. Blood did not pool and organs did not show, but it was clear that someone had taken to slashing the corpse repeatedly with a high-intensity laser until the body’s face hung in burning strips and arms were hanging from smoking sinews. Avo counted something north of a hundred slash-wounds, sloppily carved into cold flesh, driven by undiminished hate.

Reaching over, Avo pulled a piece of fried skin and ate it. It tasted crispy, but not nice. Overcooked. “Let it burn for too long. Burnt. Not cooked.”

Nothing came from the father. No laugh. Avo frowned. His attempt at initiating this conversation through humorous small talk had failed. He had to think of something else.

The space of the room wasn’t that large, but a holo-veil shrouded what lay beyond the halfway mark of the thirty-foot room. Avo wondered if that was Draus’ doing as well. This had all the makings of a good ambush with the obfuscation of the veil. If Avo didn’t have his Metamind, he wouldn’t even notice Essus’ presence or his hostage.

“Gonna step through the veil. Beam me and I eat you.”

No response.

Avo passed through the threshold.

There, laying upon a dull grey gurney, the father stared. A glinting plate of chrome had been installed over his forehead. In his hand, he had what looked to be a spherical module connected via wires to the tetrahedrally designed surgical drone hovering over his bed. Avo tilted his head. A cluster of glowing cells shone from the back of the drone. Additional power cells jury-rigged by Draus, Avo guessed. Explain the intensity of the surgical beams.

In the corner, next to an IV stand, the surviving hostage whimpered, a brown-haired juv wearing monochrome medical scrubs. He didn’t look much older than the boy did.

“Avo,” the father said. He gave a surprised chuckle. The joy didn’t reach his eyes. For a few moments, neither one of them said anything, the only sound was the thudding of heavy boots outside. Probably enforcers arriving. The med-techs were talking, but the boots didn’t stop falling until Ved interjected.

“I asked her to leave me,” the father said.

“Why?” Avo asked.

“Because you were right. I was a dead man. Still am a dead man. I do not need to weigh you or her down anymore. I will find a resolution here. With them.” The venomous hate that spilled out with the last word didn’t fit the father. It was like something else had taken to nest beneath his skin.

What a fascinating thing, to watch someone learn to truly hate in real time.

“She left?” Avo asked. He was asking about Draus.

Essus understood. “She wanted me to leave. I wouldn’t go. She had already escaped by the time I got here. Somehow, she had disabled her doctor. Stole his prosthetics. The machine,” he pointed at the surgery drone, “she was using it before she gave it to me. It was not something someone as useless as I could manage to do.” Essus laughed.

The hostage stared at Avo. His eyes were square implants, pulsing with strobing scanners. The juv wanted to plead for a rescuer, but his face wilted when he found himself greeted by a ghoul.

“You kill the other one?” Avo asked. “Or Draus.”

Essus blinked. “I think I did.”

Avo gave another look at the mangled corpse. From inside the veil, he could see out without issue. Deep lacerations revealed the whiteness of the corpse’s spine, along with a variety of other wounds. Yeah. The recklessness fit. Draus was efficient; ruthless. She would have taken lives in single slices.

“So,” Essus asked, “where do we go from here?”

“Don’t know,” Avo admitted. “Came in because if not me, then enforcers. They’ll kill you. Probably.”

Essus blinked. “I do not think I care that much. I wish you let me die.”

Avo crouched and met the tired man’s eyes. Tired, but there was something else there. Despair. Sorrow. Hate. Maybe an angle he could work against Mirrorhead. Essus was a flat, but his mind was ripe with potential. Something that could be used to feed a phantasmic.

Or a re-weaponized memetic contagion, built to infest others with misery and loathing.

“The boy,” Avo said, considering his next steps. “His name. Aurrie?”

Essus blinked. A tear fell. “Yes.”

“Tell me about him.”