Work Text:
Kiki floats past the more well-known eateries and busy food stalls in Darkside, and sits down a the busy alleyway, buckling herself into the stool with a time-worn strap. She orders her usual, releasing the chits in a neat stack in the air. She watches as they slowly disperse like a swarm of insects. Kenta swipes them up without a word, before returning to cooking. Kenta's Corner is little more than a modest kitchen and cramped seating in the alley. A bit expensive for street food, but worth it. At least, according to Kiki.
Seeker, she muses, dislikes this place as much as Beth. Those two are kindred spirits, trying to keep distance between themselves and the cacophony of the city, preferring the quiet solace of a workstation or scrapyard. Kiki always goes to the peeling fabric of Kenta's stools to get away for a bit, a sacred slice of the city that's both everyone's and uniquely her's.
Serafin hooks himself to a seat at the rusty booth. He got a message from a salvager he bumped into at Kenta's Corner a few cycles ago, faintly remembering her from somewhere else. The Sleeper loves this place, but unfortunately a time sensitive job pulled him away today. Probably another Utsubo remnant. It's been almost two hundred cycles since Utsubo was dismantled, but their old leaders and underlings are stubbornly clinging to life. Oren in particular is a tenacious cockroach.
"Serafin, right?" Kiki extends her hand, with a courteous smile.
"Yep. You're Kiki." Serafin takes Kiki's hand, firmly shaking it before releasing his own messy clump of chits in the air. He orders the best tempura on Darkside, and he's tried everywhere. So he says, at least.
"Hope the meeting spot isn't too far out of the way. Weren't you going to bring a friend?" Kiki asks, brightly. Maybe she can get the upper hand early in the discussion by becoming fast friends with him.
"They're indisposed at the moment. I'll have to suffice." Serafin's stony voice and fleeting eye contact reveal his own negotiation strategy: keep distance, and let rational thought win the day.
Lively tension dances between them, sizing each other up as they both prepare to bargain. Kiki feels like she's seen him somewhere before, but can't quite place him.
"So, Serafin, there's an abandoned station we were tipped off about." Kiki keeps the tone casual, but enticing. An X-marked treasure map to pull him in.
"Mhmm." He takes a bite, acting disinterested. It's a calculated act, Kiki is certain. The first moves have been made.
Kiki and Serafin go back and forth, flirting with the prospect of salvaging the abandoned station. Offer, counteroffer, vague nod, solidarity, retort. It bounces back and forth, Kiki serving it outward and Serafin's wall returning it, until the terms are agreed upon. Serafin's team will prep the station by stabilizing any damaged sections and clearing debris, then Kiki's team will advance in and search for anything valuable, splitting it 50/50. The muscle first, then the eyes. A second handshake seals the plan into place, with both parties secretly feeling as though they got the better end of the deal.
They share brief small talk after the terms are set, deciding on the estimated timeframe as they finish eating. As they part ways, Serafin suddenly remembers where he saw her before. He hopes the Sleeper doesn't, as Serafin ruminates on how Kiki gouged them on the replacement arm. The Sleeper's memory has been a bit foggy since the reboot, so odds are good he will not have remembered Kiki. Bliss has assured Serafin and Sleeper both a dozen times that their memory will improve with time, as neural pathways reconnect, divide, and find efficiencies. Serafin has noticed an improvement, but it's slow going, small growth over the two hundred cycles since then. It's a difficult thing to wait for, but without the threat Laine on their back, there's plenty of time for them both. Just keep working at it, and eventually, everything will clear up. It's how Serafin's lived his life up until now, and it hasn't killed him yet.
The Sleeper is having an off cycle. It's an innate sense to all sleepers: knowing how much they can put towards tasks during the day. A holdover from the slavery of Essen-Arp, which analyzed the metrics to assign work based on carefully developed risk analysis models. So they've heard, anyway. The one good thing about losing their memories from before the first attempted reboot is not remembering the unique corporatized torture from before they escaped. Sleeper shakes off the feeling of dread. They're on contract, so they can't take the cycle off. They'll take it easy this cycle, and come back refreshed the next. There's no time crunch, a refreshing change of pace from their usual tight deadlines. Still, the coffers don't keep themselves filled, and supplies aren't getting cheaper. Flint for stabilizing, Femi for debris removal, Sleeper on mapping. It's an efficient team, Sleeper thinks.
The station itself is nothing particularly notable on the outside, but does look relatively untouched by time and plundering hands. It is a torus shape, spinning to simulate gravity. At least, it was once a torus. Now, it partially split with age, but still it spins. High reward, moderate risk. A solid tradeoff.
The work drags itself along, the station seemingly fighting the crew for every inch of progress. The group's stress takes an early hold when a faulty engine temporarily ignites itself on the second cycle, causing the station to spin faster and increasing the centrifugal gravity. Femi's getting tired more quickly, and Flint needs to reweld every previously done brace to compensate. It's brutal work, as Serafin takes Bliss to the engine control room to try and correct the rotation, and maybe even tip it back the other way.
By the fourth cycle, Bliss has reduced the gravity to 60%. Enough to keep things in place, but light enough to easily finish the job. It's a relief, Femi was close to cracking from the long hours of exhausting conditions, and Sleeper incurred minor damage that would certainly require repair later. They exit just as the salvagers arrive. Flint wearily observes the other team as they meet on the station's dock to go over the details of the job. Another sleeper? Flint notices a distinct scratch on the salvage team's sleeper through their visor. A familiar scratch, one he soon recognizes, last seen on an old manufactory.
You touch down on the station. It's going to be a productive day. "Fives and sixes" was the slang among Essen-Arp's hunters for an efficiently done task, though you try to push the thought away. A good day for a hunter is a bad day for the universe. You disembark the scrapping vessel with Kiki and Beth alongside, and start to walk towards the prep team. Two other sleepers? Seeing one was rare enough, but two on the same team was noteworthy. One you didn't recognize, and one with a distinctive face, patched over a few times since the last time you saw it, but still recognizable. A long dormant program starts to burn in your mind, an old program haunting your mind like a ghost, as the asset freezes in place. If A, then B. If B, then C. You feel yourself losing control. Starting to drift. No longer you.
Flint and Seeker rush each other on sight, desperately brawling with ferocity Flint didn't know they had left. Immediate confusion shrouds the duel, with Kiki and Beth trying to pry Seeker away, as the other Sleeper starts shouting at Serafin to bring the rig in fast. Femi throws a punch, misjudging the force due to the changed gravity, flying past Seeker and crashing into Beth's helmet, sending her spinning. Kiki lets go of Seeker, directing Femi's attention to keep him off of her wife.
By the time Serafin and the rest of the crew arrive, the crazed struggle is over. Seeker had nearly killed Flint, but The Sleeper threw a chunk of metal that took Seeker out, at least temporarily. Flint is sitting up, literally trying to hold themself together as synthetic muscle lays shredded and bent metal threatens to come loose. Femi is loudly arguing with Kiki about what the hell just happened. Sleeper is trying to help Beth as the blow slammed her nose against the her visor, slowly filling her helmet with blood. With the added backup of Serafin and Yu-Jin, Beth and Kiki surrender both themselves and Seeker. Serafin, after a brief rundown from Sleeper, marches them to his rig.
A empty cargo hold serves as an impromptu brig, closed tight and locked from the outside. Kiki paces it, looking at the still unconscious Seeker whose frame was tossed unceremoniously in. Beth was taken to the medbay, and is very likely to be questioned due to her less than assertive demeanor. What the hell happened with Seeker?
Flint silently fumes in the medbay as Bliss repairs the damage Flint suffered in the melee. "Mostly" cosmetic was their description, which did little to calm their nerves. Flint and Serafin wanted the Hunter dead, but Bliss and Sleeper's cooler heads prevailed, reasoning they couldn't try anything from inside an empty cargo hold. Worst case scenario, Bliss notes, they take off and open the hold.
The Sleeper carefully chooses their words as they treat Beth's broken nose and monitor her for signs of a concussion. They ask questions, trying to come across as compassionate, noting every question. What's your name? Who is the other woman with you? When did the Hunter infiltrate your team? What is a Seeker? Are you an idiot?
Beth, trying her best to explain the situation and avoid further hostility, answers each question. Beth. My wife, Kiki. They didn't infiltrate it, I'm the one who brought Seeker back. That's their name. Yes, but not because of this!
You sit upright, cradling your head. Visual noise impairs your view, though dark gray metal with a grated floor implies a repair bay or cargo hold of some kind. Flashes of what happened overtake you. Kiki's voice trails into your audio processors, dragging you back to the present.
"Are you okay?"
A short shake of the head. You only have limited control still, and are unable to think clearly. Whether it was the blow to the head or the hunting protocol causing the difficulty in thought, you are unsure.
"What the hell happened?"
The Linear Hunting Protocol responds with "Asset retrieval, please do not interfere with official Essen-Arp investigations," using your own mouth to betray you. You cannot speak, but shake your head again, trying desperately to communicate.
Kiki sighs. "Okay. Protocol speaking. Why did this happen now? It's been hundreds of cycles... That other sleeper must have been a target, or at least looked enough like one. Shit, this is going to be difficult to explain."
Sleeper closes their eyes, rubbing vinyl skin against a smooth coin. From Beth's perspective, there's a clear train of logic. Hunters are sleepers. Sleepers are people. People have agency. Agency implies the ability to change. It made sense, until she mentioned some type of secondary system controlling the Hunter's mind and frame. Unlike Sleeper's own temporary headmate Overseer, this asset retrieval protocol cannot be overruled or spoken with. At least Beth is not a threat. They pocket the coin, leaving the medbay. They made up their mind on disposing of the Hunter over two hundred cycles ago, and the Hunter having a possibly fake identity crisis isn't enough to risk Flint's life over. The Sleeper takes a pair of rifles, appropriated from an Utsubo warehouse they recently cleared out. They deliver one to Serafin, and with his wordless acknowledgement, the two of them head to the cargo bay. They hope Beth's wife will stand aside, though they doubt it. This may not end cleanly.
You are trapped inside yourself. You fight against the haze, trying to formulate a way to get out of this. The hunting protocol's ocean of binary decisions dictate your physical actions, but you refuse to disassociate and to play along within a manufactured and wholly inhuman ontology. You are present, and you are here, you remind yourself. You think of ways to rebel against the great sea controlling you in any small capacity. You cannot see the inner workings of the protocol, but have enough experience watching yourself to intuit its decisions. You realize that if the protocol could see your thoughts, then it wouldn't have allowed you to shake your head earlier. A loose plan forms, as you observe Kiki with grainy and distorted vision.
The cargo bay door opens, and a loud voice booms across the cargo bay. Serafin can put on an intimidating performance when he needs to. "Kiki. Step away. You're not to blame here. Hunter, remain where you are or I will kill you." Kiki stands by your frame, currently controlled by the protocol.
"This is a misunderstanding. It's complicated, but Seeker-"
"Has a protocol in place that overrides their actions. Your wife already explained. There is no path forward that doesn't endanger my crew." A certain apologetic cadence leaks through Serafin's harsh tone.
"Seeker is part of my family, not just my team. You're not going to kill them. We'll move to some distant part of the belt, figure out a way to avoid you guys-"
"And risk the protocol activating itself again? We can't take that chance. I'm sorry, I truly am. We're not going to be hunted again." Serafin's voice brims with sincerity and finality in tandem as he raises the previously unused rifle. Sleeper follows suit, unused to the weight of a rifle and hesitant to use it.
Beyond a certain threshold of uncertainty, the Linear Hunting Protocol defers to you. The imminent danger and distorted visual data has tipped the needle just far enough for you to regain full control. You suddenly flop to the ground like a dropped doll, startling both Serafin and Kiki.
The protocol has a terminus, you realize. 'Eliminate the target.' The entire forest of data trees leads inexorably towards it, deciding course of action based on probability. You've been looking at this from the wrong angle. You can't fight against billions of impassable conditions, but you can guide it through the singular end point. Before the protocol can regain control, you hold up your hands, and speak, paring your proposal down to two words. "Fake it."
The death of a sleeper turned out to be relatively simple to falsify. Three simple steps. First, mask signs of biosynthetic activity, which Bliss and Juni did via a mix of an air conditioner unit and rewiring a cable in Flint's neck. Next, have Serafin act as though he killed personally, which he hammed up to a painful degree. The third act was all that was left. Flint lays there motionless, deeply unsettled by the Hunter plugged in to a hidden port on their neck, one that was rewired to feed false information on their frame's current status.
No heat dispersal detected. Clear cause of death identified. No signs of vital activity. The protocol once again goes dormant, mission completed.
You gasp, breathing deeply as control fully returns to you, the protocol disengaging in an instant. As you try and gather yourself, Bliss quickly explains that they can root out the exact source of the protocol via a reactivating it in a more controlled environment and following the impulses in your head to their source. It isn't without risk, but it's the best option you're given. The alternative, Serafin asserts, is the airlock. You agree to the prior one, and instructed to lie face down on a table in the medbay. You give a reassuring smile to Beth and Kiki, as Serafin straps you into place, and Bliss begins the invasive process.
It is painful in a way you've never felt, intimate but ruthless, cathartic but vacuous. Polyps are cut out of your soul, bits and pieces of you that will not be mourned. The most deeply embedded strings of the program were deemed too hazardous to remove, and being only half a gun and without a trigger, pose no risk. Regardless, Bliss advises you not to talk much to Flint, the scraps of the protocol could possibly freeze your frame as it takes in a specific input and recursively looks for the next output. You pass test after test designed to prove the protocol's demise until both Sleeper and Serafin are satisfied, and then a few more until Flint is as well. Without fanfare, you and your family are ushered off the ship, Serafin still eyeing you suspiciously as you take your first step back on to the abandoned dock. You're looking forward to a long, long nap as you take a step towards your salvaging vessel.
"Seeker, hold up." Kiki stops you before you can get moving.
You turn to see her, a bit bruised but alert, a regretful aura around her.
"Beth, Seeker... in order to persuade the other crew to give your plan a chance, I had to... incentivize both of the sleepers on their ship. Show them we were willing to take a risk ourselves." She taps her foot in the reduced gravity. You notice the other rig has yet to depart.
"For Sleeper, giving up our location and contact information was enough. At any time, they can contact me and get a report on how Seeker is doing." She bites her lip, expecting pushback. None comes.
"For Flint..." She nervously shifts from side to side, arms pulled in tightly. "Yeah... the split is 75-25 now. They called it 'hazard pay'."
You're far too exhausted to care. Your mind is an open wound, leaking thoughts and memories long since forgotten. You need rest, to let sleep pull your neural network back together.
Back within your bunk, you drift off in the dark. Your final thoughts before sleep arrives are if the other you, who has sentenced you to being a sleeper while some billions of miles away, has been more fortunate. Maybe they were not being forced into horrific situations, like you are, as a discarded pawn in a game you've never played. You close your eyes, and picture your brainsake being frozen in cryosleep as a punishment for debt. With a smile, you fall asleep to the thought that you, and not the one who put you through hell, are sleeping in a warm bed with loved ones nearby.