Godclads

Chapter 9-15 Lingering (II)

Shard-2: Shard-3, I’m blown. Someone just jacked through my host’s mind. I think they have me… I’m gonna–

[010 - error metamind wavelength lost]

Shard-3: Shard-2? Shard-2? … Fuck.

-Last transmission of Shard-2

9-15

Lingering (II)

+Jaus,+ Draus muttered. A breath of disbelief struck her voice. +They godsdamned chromed the shit out of him for nothin’.+

Nothing? No. Mirrorhead was a fool. Mirrorhead was a narcissistic egotist of the highest order, but he had a vision guiding his decisions and delusions. For all the arms, organs, implants, drugs, and phantasmics they trafficked, the real game was in entertainment. The FATELESS served to farm the cheapest of products, and human drama was hard to cultivate without the genuine dynamic of each individual’s unique emotions, each story of novel fears and raw hopes.

Conflux, at its core, was a criminal enterprise that yearned to be an amusement park.

He studied the man he once only called 'the father' through the periscope of Chambers' perception. A sacrifice. That was what the man had become. An offering to the altar of engagement, of stimulation, of media.

In his current shape, Essus was barely more than the savaged remnant of a man. Entombed in dead metal bearing the stylized aesthetic of undeath, there was little question of what Mirrorhead intended to use him for.

The Crucible.

What better way to capitalize on the popularity of a survivor than turn them around as an instrument of pain? It was an old storyline repeated over and over by countless Syndicates. Mainly because it worked every time.

A piston of flesh clutched by cogs of metal. That was all that remained of the man. As Chambers stepped into the brightness of the elevator, the light painted deeper detail to Essus’ visage. Faint was the flat he once was.

Some said that the eyes showed a glimpse into one’s inner world. Well, Avo would say, it seemed that most inner worlds were windowed by something rather delicious. Still, the lack of human eyes on Essus felt wrong for other reasons–uncanny red dots glimmering like coal in the hollow pits of the man’s face.

The natural rubbery texture of his skin stretched thin, diluted by snaking circuits running beneath the flesh. There were tunnels inside him, connecting organs below to machine wiring to a locus somewhere, administrating it all. Flaps of skin swayed from his back like a cape. Avo knew the translucence–the apparel was flayed from a ghoul. Doubtless another one of Conflux’s choices.

Like two curved doors, the opened Slaughterman rig clasped Essus’ mundane remains with layers of teeth pointing out from a lipless mouth of reinforced titanium. Atop, there was no head, just Essus and his bone-like prosthetic limbs. No obvious implanted weapons adorned the man’s form beside the monoblade beneath the wrist.

In a sense, Essus’ rig was armored, but unarmed. Capable of might yet without proper potential to inflict harm.

Castrated, when compared to his adversaries.

However the thing that clutched Avo’s focus was the hap-graffti disfiguring the design of the exoskeleton itself. A projection of light spilled out from behind the father, rising into different scenes composed of competition holoprojections. Scenes from first-person kills and other deeds of brutality stained the space behind Essus, the lore behind his new form unfurling like wings feathered by neon and atrocity.

A final insult taunted the man at the tips of both wings. On the man’s left was a curtain of static, merging to form an imitation of the boy. His curious eyes were wide with concern, mouth open in a perpetual question. One that would never come.

But it was the creature on the other side that truly jabbed at Avo’s annoyance.

Clouded in a wreath of holo-projected red, he found himself studying a version of himself prior to gaining the Bone Demon. He leaned over the father’s right shoulder, jaws wide, fangs bared, claw pointed toward the horizon.

The motif was one of duality. The boy was innocent. Softness. The ghoul was vengeance. Brutality.

All was a lie. Theater. And the former flat? He was just an actor, willing or not.

Avo offered a grim chuckle. He felt Draus turn her attention to him, confused. +The tats. Didn’t offer you any billing. Shame.+

She understood his prodding. +Well. It appears you gotta die to get in on that honor, so I respectfully decline.+

+When are you ever respectful?+ Avo asked. +Other than begging the Sang for favors.+

+I was plenty respectful not shootin’ you in the head after beatin’ your ass in the Circuit.+

A mournful sigh came from Avo. Poor Draus. She had such terrible memory issues. Ones that he couldn’t fix because she wouldn’t let him. And poor, pathetic Essus. Still unable to control his own fate, owned by another.

It would be proper to free him. A thought blossomed inside Avo: Should he had let the father kill himself before? Walk into the electric perimeter during the Mall Brawl?

Such an end seemed a softer, kinder fate than the life he currently endured.

But perhaps the man lingered on for a reason.

After all, there was a promise between him and Avo that had yet to be fulfilled. The coming death of Mirrorhead was growing to be a communal event.

Carefully, Avo waited, watching as Essus leaned down to greet Chambers.

He would not attempt a leap across minds yet. Not until he ascertained Mirrorhead’s current focus. However, there was a new priority on his horizon. He had a new experience he wished to sample.

What choice would the father make, now that he was left with less than nothing?

***

This was complete godsdamned bullshit. Chambers eyed the monstrous chrome rig the flat had been stuffed into and shivered.

First he got kidnapped by Scalpers, marched back to Conflux without clothes, then pulled through the fucking glass–because asshole Mirrorhead wasn’t hugged right as a juv or some shit–brain tortured by being forced to look at whatever bullshit horror Mirrorhead actually was, held to sanity by sheer fucking balls, was driven into insanity again, came back again, and now the fucking flat was grafted to Slaughterman’s chassis?

Where the fuck was his hyper-expensive chromer outfit when he worked here? It was always, “hur hur, Chambers, shut the fuck up and put on the rusty rig. It’ll be enough.”

It was not enough. None of this was enough. And the half-strand that was his boss wouldn’t even let him modify the godsdamned thing.

Why the fuck did he bust his ass learning new ways to slack off and watch his vicarities when any random Crucible survivor–the load, by the way–got to have all the good stuff?

Conflux would have had some of the worst turnover even in the Warrens, but the bomb in everyone’s head made those who left a different statistic. Harder to quit when your severance package was literal.

“Hey, hey, Essus,” Chambers said, pointing both fingers at the man as he stepped through the looking glass. He tried to keep the shivers out of his digits. He tried to avoid the oddness when his thoughts still skipped a beat, his mind sweeping across missing memories like a tongue finding a gap where teeth used to be. “You’re lookin’ good! You got… taller? And your dead son–” Shit! He didn’t mean to say that. But it wasn’t his fault: the little fuck was staring at him over the guy’s shoulder. “Must be proud of how nova you look right now.”

“Hm,” Essus said, leaning away, not even looking at him.

Great. A bit of chrome and the formerly chatty flat was doing his best Avo impression. Chambers looked up to the glass ceiling of the elevator and shook his head. You see this shit, rotlick? This is what you get for dying! You made the flat a whiner! Chambers was gonna have to deal with… with this whiner!

A weirdly vivid memory burst back to life in his head. Something about him getting his ass kicked in the back of a garbage barge by the Regular. Strange. But still kind of hot in the Regular being so overwhelmingly strong he couldn’t do anything about it kinda way. And traumatizing too.

…

Shit. Thinking about her asskicking was bringing back his daddy issues.

Better than Mirrorhead though. A cloud of bitterness and rage flickered inside him. A memory of his father’s fist crashing down, again. Again.

Anything was better than Mirrorhead.

What was it about life that made it give Chambers nothing but assholes? Why’d he deserve this?

“He doesn’t care,” Essus said, misunderstanding his preoccupation. The voice was so sudden and deep that Chambers spurted a trickle of fear-piss all over the ground.

“Shitfuck,” Chambers muttered.

“He does not care about that either.”

Yeah, Mirrorhead didn’t care about a lot of things, it seemed.

“Jaus,” Chambers hissed. “Stop talking so loud, consang. Hell–”

Essus’ tone took on an acerbic quality.“The coward does not look upon us. He refuses to even acknowledge us. Speak whatever you will of him. He will kill you in time. But not now. Not now”

“I… thanks?”

Essus bounced more than he lumbered in his new sheathe, servos a working a steady melody as he stepped away from the puddle. It surprised Chambers how fast the man took to being a chromer. Well. It wasn’t like he had anything else going for him.

“We are beneath him right now. You seem a fool, friend. But be wiser than I. Choose wisdom. He has not harmed you yet. Truly.”

Chambers’ eyes bulged in disbelief. Hadn’t harmed him yet? This half-strand didn’t know what harmed was. Still, the chrome-fiend was right. They had to get out of here. Anywhere was better than near Mirrorhead and getting his mind-melted. Of course, lower holdings was the second to last place he wanted to be. That shithole was leaking sewage down the walls, and they kept the practice ghouls down there.

He flicked a nervous look around the glass. Nothing.

Gods don’t let that fucking thing snatch him again. Gods please…

The elevator rang loud. Chambers felt his shit nearly eject through his asscheeks. “Jausfuckshitgods.”

Another figure shuffled through the open door. Looking up, Chambers found himself surprised.

The miserable creature whimpered in abject terror as she looked away from Essus. Her head was shorn bald, and dismembered she had what looked like a single spider-like limb attached to a mangled external servo-port along her spine. Hunched, she still towered over Chambers.

Those scars on her face… he knew that pattern. “Rantula?”

“Don’t bother. She cannot hear you.” Essus spat a globule of something black at the Scaarthian’s feet. For the first time, Chambers tasted anger from his new “manager.” All the other leakage from the guy’s mind was cold and painful. This was hot and swollen. Gods, did the guy hate her something fierce. “Since her defeat by the Moonblood, others took to challenging her. She no longer fares as well as she once did. A pity.”

At his words, Rantula shivered. She cupped at the rust titanium caps bolted through both ears. “Jaus. One near-snuffing from a ghoul really did it to you, huh?” He chuckled. Her head turned, a flash of the hateful sow she used to be shining through.

That version of Rantula died a quick death when Essus clenched his bullshit-enormous fists. I mean, godsdamned they were larger than a mastiff-pattern nu-dogs head; like c’mon, what was even with that. The mechanisms inside the former flat’s arm screamed in warning. Rantula shivered. “I will make a victim of you again.” Essus tilted deliberately, showing her the hologram of Avo. “I remain. And so, a part of him remains. A part of my son remains. But my boy never met you. So I will remind you of the ghoul. Heel, dog, heel.”

Rantula’s lip quivered as she made a groaning sob. She turned her focus back into the corner and faced away from them, headbutting the wall as an unexpressed tantrum boiled over.

Well. That was an ugly sight. Godsdamned Mirrorhead probably had this planned. Cruel shit never wasted a moment to lord his influence on his minions. Slammed everyone against each other, he did. Then kept people apart. Siloed.

Shaking his head, Chambers sighed. “Hey, Essus. Consang. I know you gotta take me to holding but, I can feel parts of myself worming back into my body–”

He needed to say no more. Essus reached over and, while Rantula continued to pound her head against the growing dent in the elevator wall, plucked the ragged leather coat from her back, unlatching its magnetized plate from around where the only implanted limb she had left remained. With a casual toss, he chucked the jacket over to Chambers. It hit him more like a falling blanket in terms of size.

“Shit,” Chambers said, ducking under the coat. But damn did Rantula smell like motor oil. “Thanks. Owe you one.”

He felt a shiver leave his mind then. Like a thought connected him to Essus somehow. In a flash, a moment of sonder hit him hard. Hurt. Hurt the same kind Chambers used to feel after his mom left. After his dad told him it was his fault. Not by words. Never by words.

Essus though? He loved his boy. They never had much. Chambers could feel that, but he loved his boy.

Why didn’t Chambers ever get that? Why was he supposed to be a hurtbag since birth. Why did he have to play this fucking clown role in this clown city for half-strand clown people that hated him anyway?

Fuck. The boy was lucky. He got to die before he grew up and realized how shit everything was.

A single tear escaped from Chambers’ eye. He caught it in his palm before it could hit the floor. “What the fuck?”

***

Working at the father’s thoughts using Chambers as a vector, Avo felt an unexpected harmonization of sadness form between the two. Essus missed his boy and countless others. People who never made it to New Vultun. To Avo’s surprise, the man had held a vigil in his mind for him as well.

Chambers, though? His hurt was all childlike. Like a boy who didn’t understand why he was being punished. He wanted more. The flashes of his trauma were always moments connected to his father hitting him, the unforgettable sensation of a skull bouncing off the ground, and the seizure that followed.

+Hm,+ Avo said. +Think they gave Essus same kind of wards Slaughterman used. Terrible. Conflux Necros should consider suicide. Would make them better at the craft to have firsthand experience.+

Draus' attention only briefly lingered on the thing that was Essus now. Instead, he found her studying Rantula. +You do that to her?+

+Only one ear. Other probably came after. She lost. Only victims lose here. Victims. Victims to be.+

Using the time it took for the elevator to descend, he worked to twin a sufficiently deceptive memory to pierce past the defenses Essus had. With them being the same variant that Avo broke using a thoughtshiv against Slaughterman, slipping through exacted a cost in only time.

Time, and surprise.

He was barely three surface sequences in when he noticed it: the irregularity in the mem-data. The sudden and hasty shifting of memory artifacts and structures. As he watched, it changed again.

Using Chambers as a conduit, his Ghostjack came online. He cycled in Lucille’s Regret–he wanted to keep the father intact if he could.

+Avo?+ Draus asked, not understanding the sudden spike in his alertness. She didn’t see it. The single inconsistent digit in the mem-data. The sequence didn’t fit right. But he did.

+Not alone,+ Avo said, a thrill of two natures rising within him. The beast wanted to hunt and the Necro wanted to scry. +There’s another Necro here.+