Chapter Text
9S booted slowly, the lines of code ran languidly as sight and sensation slowly flooded back into weary processors. The dull white-painted concrete of the ceiling was the first thing to meet his sight. 21O sat at her computer, perched upon her chair at the end of the bed. She cut an odd sight against the unfurnished room; dark brown suit jacket with matching trousers, glasses slipped down to the end of her nose.
“Your boot time is double the average for your CPU. Do I need to run diagnostics again?” She asked, tone measured and calm. All the while her eyes burned a hole in 9S, barely disguising her raw nerves and concern.
“I'm up, I'm up.” 9S groaned
“One affirmation will suffice.” A relieved sigh.
9S merely grunted in response.
“We've got a client. You won't be meeting with him, just some representatives. It's a simple delivery job.”
9S climbed out of the bed, legs hitting the floor earlier than expected.
“I'm in a different shell?”
“Not much time to explain that. Same core functions, I had to make do with what we have to hand.” 21O responded. "We'll talk about it after the job's done."
“A few inches taller, I can't complain.”
21O shifted her laptop onto the end of the bed.
“The package is the backpack on the kitchen table. I'll forward you the drop-off once you're on the street. There's bribe money in the left side-pocket if you get stopped.”
9S nodded. Before his wits even had the chance to come around the Moscow street was upon him, slow rain hammered down on everything, coating the whole world in an oily film. The bus was packed to the gills, people scrabbling on to escape from the acrid smelling rain. Much to his chagrin 9S discovered that the Russian language pack had not made the transfer to his new shell. There was no secure connection, all his trusted VPNs absent, left in the last shell. 9S cursed and struggled to recall IPs, PGP keys; anything at all that might of snuck in with him.
An old man spits at him. 9S stops and stares down at the old man.
«упырь.» He muttered, walking past. It was the grey hair that gave it away. The Russian language pack didn't parse it for him, but the meaning was clear. 9S scurried off down the street as fast as his legs would carry him.
“You forgot your hat I'm guessing.” 21O chimed over the infranet channel.
“Yup, no language pack either.” 9S sent back, remote and without verbalisation.
“You're lucky there's another android waiting for you.” 21O paused. “It's my fault though. We were really pushed for time. Sorry 9S.”
9S didn't send anything back, cutting the connection. By the time he got to the drop-off point his nerves were frayed and every small glance set him off. The exterior of the building was unassuming enough, a small kiosk with a backdoor down the alley on the lefthand side. Just as the instructions directed. 9S weaved his way past the line of cigarette-buyers and gopniks waiting at the bulletproof kiosk glass.
His contact was not at all what he expected. She stood tall, taller than his old shell by a couple of inches, but equal with his new eyes. Distinctive silver-white hair cropped around her neck, impassive grey eyes watched the whole street from the alley. He wasn't sure, perhaps just a trick of the light, but she looked to be carrying guns in her dark-green combat trousers. Small side-arms, given away just slightly by the distinctive shape.
«Привет.» She greets him. «иди сюда.»
9S froze up. The context was easy enough to guess once she pointed to the stairs behind her. Still, he blustered and panicked, opening private comms.
“Language pack is damaged.” He sent as he stepped over the threshold.
The line remained silent for a beat as the two of them descended down the steps to the basement.
“You're in an import model then. Default language is English.” The android replied. 9S tensed, expecting a needle-round to burst through his skull at any moment.
“Salvage. My OS is English default. Last shell had the pack, but couldn't get all the data across in time.”
A single binary 1 is sent back over the line. Acknowledgement, acceptance, unable to be translated into perfect human context. 9S stumbled into the darkness at the end of the stairwell with a low exhale, tension still clinging to his shoulders. The new shell had none of the fancy brightness, contrast or infrared settings the old one did. Height be damned, salvage was never worth it.
The door revealed itself through the slit of light peeping under it, 9S fumbled for the handle briefly before entering. The room that greeted him was barren, the cold light of a single, florescent strip bulb lit the entire room, flickering every now and then. A steel table and set of chairs sat dead centre, another woman already occupied the seat opposite the door. She sat huddled in a leather jacket, fur lining poking out the sleeves and collar.
The android and her exchanged a few words in Russian. The woman turned back to him.
“Come! Sit down!” She insisted. Her tone rang oddly cheery for a drop off. “Call me 6O.”
9S squinted. She had none of the distinctive traits, her hair was a wheat blonde instead of the dull silver. 'It might be a joke-' He thought to himself 'an odd human notion of surreal humour.'
“This one is 2B.” She gestured to the android stood next to her. “I'm guessing she didn't introduce herself.”
9S nodded. “Right, uh, I'm 9S. Pleasure to meet you.”
“A scanner model, very fancy. Anyway, no need for formalities, let's take a look at what you've brought us!”
9S slipped the backpack off his shoulders, stuffing the bribe money up his sleeve as he did so. 'No sense letting them have more than they paid for, after all.'
6O moved to inspect the contents as soon as the bag was on the table. A block of C4 emerged from the top, dropped unceremoniously onto the steel. Then another. Then another.
'Shit. And to think I'd nearly taken it on a bus!” 9S thought to himself.
“Well, it's all here! So neatly made too.” 6O chirped. “Tell your handler I'm impressed 9S. I'll wire through the funds now.”
“Thanks.” 9S nods. “I'll just confirm the transf-.”
As soon as he'd extended his legs from the chair 2B's vice grip came down on his shoulder.
“Sit down.” She commanded.
9S slowly retreated back to the chair. Her strength was surprising, unnerving even. He ran through the possibilities and percentiles of what model her shell was. Combat? Attacker? Worse still, a custom rig? He cut off the line of thought, planning escape vectors and frantically calculating the top speed of his new shell.
“Quite right. We've still got business to discuss!” 6O remarked, the cheer in her tone eerier by the second. “Do you smoke 9S? Here.”
9S considered refusing.
The consideration was dashed as 2B's vice grip tightened around his shoulder.
“R-right, uh, thanks.” He took one from the pack dutifully.
It was ridiculous for an android to smoke, a misguided attempt at emulating humanity, nothing more than performance. The tar didn't agree with internal circuitry, nor did androids gain the benefit of nicotine.
'Ultimately though, it would do little harm compared to the effects on humans.' 9S thought.
2B's vice grip on his shoulder became slack, her hand slipping back to her side. She seated herself between 6O and 9S with all the considered grace of a steel suspension spring.
Smoking did not suit her, 9S noted. 6O perhaps, a surreal juxtaposition to the woman's oddly friendly temperament that seemed to parody itself. 9S inhaled, edges of the mouth curled into involuntary scowl as the harsh taste of the Drina rolled down his tongue.
“So, 2B tells me you don't speak Russian.”
“No. I haven't got the language pack.” 9S replied, shoulders tensing.
“Unusual. New rig?”
“Last one got fried. Barely had time to change over before I was due here.”
“Fried.” 6O raised one of her eyebrows. “Messing with other people's databases before you got here huh?”
“Nothing like that.” 9S struggled to keep his voice level. “It was overclocking.”
Overclocking. A white lie, barely even untrue.
6O sat back in her chair.
“Fiiiine. I won't press you on it.” She acquiesced, an unreadable smile working its way onto her face. “I've got another job for you. Your speciality, Mister Scanner.”
9S relaxed his shoulders a bit.
“Alright. Remote or On Location?”
“Aren't you on the ball today?" She laughed "Especially for someone who just fried themselves. On Location. 2B here will be accompanying you.”
9S felt the tension suddenly come rushing back. He glanced at 2B, trying to get a read, anything out of her impassive expression. The idea of having a partner that could kill him quick as look at him was hardly something he relished.
2B was a stone wall, stare lancing through him, indifferent gaze sliding over the room as the smoke curled up past her lips.
“To ensure the job gets done on your terms huh?” 9S voice came out thin and strained, like forcing concrete through cheesecloth.
6O stubbed out her cigarette on the table, uncomfortably close to the pile of C4 just scant inches away from it.
“We'll take care of the details with your handler, so don't worry about all that!” 6O's smile was plastered over her face in seconds. “Relax, you're free to go!”
9S stood cautiously, waiting to catch 2B in his peripherals. She remained relaxed in her chair, still smoking as if she were sitting in a bar instead of a basement.
"пока́." 2B's voice, a low amused tone, echoed out behind 9S as he turned to leave.
A curt “thank you” later and he was outside the kiosk, waiting in line with all the others. Quietly, he opened a private line to 21O.
> Did we get the transfer?
> All accounted for. You didn't think to ask before you left?
> You would'a told me otherwise.
> Unprofessional of you 9S. That aside I took the liberty of listening in.
> They send you anything about this new job then?
> Not yet. If they hadn't had a B model standing next to you I would have told you to turn it down.
> Security jobs are good money though. Potential death by B model aside.
> Hardly the point.
9S realised that he was first in queue, attention had been lost to the datastream. He pointed at a cartridge of Krasni. Then, on some odd whim, a packet of Drina.
> We can't risk frying another shell. Remember London two years ago?
9S shoved a 1000 rouble note into the kiosk's exchange drawer. The old man on the other side pulled it through, stuffing the note into his pocket, before roughly shoving the Krasni and Drina back through to the other side. 9S tucked them into the inside pocket and started off towards the bus station.
> Besides, I'm not there with you so there'll be no server transfers or backups.
> What I'm saying is, be careful, alright?
> I will.