Chapter Text
The second Gamma's apartment door closed behind them, Subspace was already thinking, his mind locked onto Medkit. Gamma carefully lowered him from the chassis before beginning its usual post-walk diagnostics. Subspace ignored the robot entirely, pacing across the apartment while his tail twitched behind him.
Medkit. . .
After all these years. Still alive, still kicking, and apparently playing house with some dumb bird-inphernal. What were the chances of him finding this out? . . . Actually, no. Subspace hated that phrase. There were no chances. These were variables, patterns and outcomes. And somehow, against all reasonable statistics, one of those outcomes had dropped Medkit's brother directly into his lap.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"Your Heart Rate Is Elevated."
"I'm thinking."
"You Usually Have Elevated Heart Rate While Thinking."
"Exactly."
Gamma paused.
"That Does Not Clarify Anything."
Subspace ignored it, rolling his eyes. Instead, he crossed the apartment towards his couch to sit down.
"Gamma, open your logs."
Gamma does as told, a panel opening in their back to reveal a screen containing everything Subspace needed. The digital storage space wasn't the biggest, but it was serviceable for what he needed. Many illegal files were digitized and contained within Gamma. He scrolled through the logs, skimming through the words.
After a moment, he pulled a small recorder from a drawer. He needed to have this down. A small red light blinked as he switched it on and cleared his throat.
"Audio Log One."
A pause lingered before he frowned.
"No, that's stupid."
He clicked the device off, then back on.
"Project: Loose Ends."
Better, that sounds much better.
"Audio Log One. Following recent developments, I have acquired potentially useful information regarding the whereabouts of former KORBLOX medical and research personnel."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Specifically Medkit."
The name tasted sour, resentment lingering in the back of his throat. Saying that name makes him remember everything
The fight. . . The threats. . . The violence. Honestly, all three.
"The current objective is determining Medkit's activities, associations, and potential usefulness to my current objective. . ."
Gamma stared blankly as Subspace continued.
"Through an absurdly fortunate coincidence, contact has been established with an individual connected to the target."
"The Bird."
"The bird."
Gamma nodded.
"The Friendly One."
"The irritating one."
"The Friendly-Irritating One."
Subspace hated how accurate that was. He continued recording.
"The connection appears unusually trusting. Excessively trusting, even. During our second interaction, the individual voluntarily disclosed personal information, family connections, social relationships, and behavioural patterns."
Subspace scratches his skin a bit as Gamma goes to get him a glass of water.
"The subject appears highly social and possesses concerningly poor judgment. Further observation will be required."
"You Mean Spending More Time With Sword?"
Subspace nearly choked. That was the worst way to put it! No way would Subspace want to spend time like that with that idiotic inphernal!
"I mean gathering information."
"You Mean Spending More Time With Sword."
"I do not."
"You Do."
"I don't!"
"You Do."
Subspace switched the recorder off before he got into an argument with Gamma about this. He'll chop that part out of the recording later. . . The scientist groaned and leaned back in his chair. This situation was absurd. If someone had told him a week ago that one of his most promising leads would come in the form of an overly friendly avian who spent half his conversations talking about birds and bakeries, he would've laughed in their face.
Yet here he was.
His gaze drifted toward his phone sitting on the desk, and a contact stared back at him.
!!!!!!!SWORD!!!!!!!!
The punctuation was still offensive, and Subspace considered deleting it, but he knew he needed it. He opened the contact. Then immediately closed it. Then opened it again. Purely for research purposes, obviously. Across the room, Gamma watched.
By the time night settled over the apartment, Project: Loose Ends contained exactly one audio log, three pages of notes, and several increasingly questionable plans involving Medkit. As for Sword? Subspace still considered him annoying. Just annoyingly useful now.
He had barely finished writing down the last few notes for Project: Loose Ends when his phone buzzed somewhere on the desk. At first, he ignored it. Most messages he received were either automated reminders, medical notifications, or something from his parole officer. None of those deserved immediate attention.
The phone buzzed again.
Then again.
Subspace slowly looked up from his notes.
"You Have Received A Message."
Gamma helpfully informed him.
"I am aware."
"You Should Read It."
"I don't want to."
"You Have Been Staring At The Phone For Twenty Seconds."
Subspace clicked his tongue and finally reached over, grabbing the device from beside his recorder. There was only one unread contact.
!!!!!!!SWORD!!!!!!!!
Of course. The moment he opened the messages, he was immediately greeted with exactly the sort of thing he should have expected.
> Sword: hey!!! :D
> it was nice seeing you again!!
A second message sat directly beneath it.
> sorry if i talked too much lol
Then a third.
> actually i definitely talked too much
Subspace stared at the screen, and the messages stared back. What exactly was he supposed to do with this?
Nobody texted him like this. Nobody willingly approached him like this either, but apparently Sword had already established a pattern of questionable decision-making. As far as Subspace could tell, the avian had sent three separate messages simply to announce that he enjoyed their conversation.
Which was ridiculous, Subspace had barely contributed to that conversation. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before another message arrived.
> anyway i hope u got home okay!!
". . ."
"What Does It Say?"
Gamma asked.
"The bird is checking if I survived the walk home."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"That Seems Polite."
"It seems strange."
Gamma tilted its head.
"Most Polite Things Are Strange To You."
Subspace hated how difficult it was to argue with that.
He looked back at the messages. There was no request attached to them. No hidden motive that he could identify. Sword wasn't asking for money, information, access to Gamma's systems, or anything remotely useful. Even as in character as it was for the idiot, it still felt strange. He was simply talking.
The realization was oddly unsettling for someone like Subspace. . .
People always wanted something.
The former KORBLOX employees wanted resources, and the government wanted compliance. His parole officer wanted reassurance that he wasn't secretly rebuilding a criminal organization, which, to be fair, he was trying to. Everyone wanted something.
And Sword apparently wanted conversation.
A fifth message appeared.
> oh wait
Subspace immediately felt suspicious.
> i STILL never got your name
There it was. Subspace locked the phone and immediately set it face-down on the desk.
"No."
Gamma looked over.
"No?"
"No."
"You Could Simply Tell Him Your Name."
"I could also not do that."
"He Already Has Your Number."
"He does not have my number."
Gamma was silent for several seconds.
"You Are Currently Texting Through Your Number."
"That is not the point."
"It Feels Like The Point."
Subspace shoved the phone further across the desk.
The entire situation was absurd. Earlier that day, he'd been outlining potential ways to track down former KORBLOX personnel and reconnect with valuable assets. He'd spent nearly an hour discussing Medkit, security concerns, prison logistics, and long-term planning.
Now he was being interrogated by an overly friendly bird about his name.
Across the room, Gamma watched him with what Subspace swore was amusement.
"You Could Give Him A False Name."
Subspace paused. Slowly, he looked up.
"Damnit, why didn't I think of that first?"
A false name would prove useful. Considering how much Sword seemed to run his mouth, the chance of Medkit finding out he's in contact with his brother could make this plan crumble instantly. Possible even crumble the plan to retrieve Korblox assets too. . .
Begrudgingly, he types back after thinking of something that sounded like a name.
> Scalpel: Scalpel.
> Sword: oh! u responded haha
> lol thought i was getting ghosted or something
> thats the right word right?
> still getting used to the internet thing
Was. . . Was Sword new to the internet? He has to be kidding, right? He's in his mid 20's he. . . Oh my gods, it explains a lot of this is the case.
> Scalpel: No. . . No worries.
> Sword: anyway hiii how are yoy
Subspace ignores the lack of grammar, punctuation, and honestly, everything about Sword's writing style.
> Scalpel: I'm fine.
> Sword: thats good to know
This was going to be a tedious process if he wanted to get to Medkit. . . But it's for Korblox, so he must. He will be remembered in the history books for how he cleverly gained leverage over a lead on Korblox's most valuable asset, as well as how he single-handedly brought the Administration back into power!
Let's just leave out how Subspace needs to grovel through small talk with a bird who has less of an IQ than a rock.