Work Text:
Technically, he wasn’t the one who’d died.
Gun Gibson had laid down on Shinkura’s repair bench, the end of the road looming before him. After that, there were then two of him. One had woken to Janperson and Kaoru crying with relief as they clutched at his freshly repaired body.
The other Gun Gibson had left the bench and gone to his death. A horrible, lonely death, from the sound of it. Poor bastard.
But that hadn’t been him! Next time Makabe was dead, he’d make sure of it!
Next time…
Gun Gibson laid with Janperson on his recharging bench, the two of them pressed together so closely it was hard to tell where the other began.
He slept, and, for the first time in his life, he dreamt.
Gun Gibson dreamt about falling to the ground, his fingers gouging desperate lines in the sand and gravel. Forcing himself to draw his gun, shaking too much to aim properly. Jun running at him, his fiery self-destruction causing his failing body to start shutting down.
He dreamt about being shot. The brilliance of the setting sun had dyed the landscape in hues of orange.
He dreamt about dying.
Gun Gibson woke like a drowning man breaking through the water’s surface. His fingers scrabbled at the red disc on his chest, its translucent surface cracking as he pulled it out using too much force.
His AI chip was still there, looking pristine.
“Gun Gibson?” Janperson said. He hugged him tightly from behind, tracing the edges of his exposed chest cavity with a feather light touch.
Gun Gibson said nothing, the disc cracking further in his hard, trembling grip. The memory of death was seared onto his circuits, and it was going to haunt him for a long, long time.