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They were lost, at first. When the orders stopped coming and the sky glowed less and less. They waited too long for orders to come. For something to happen.
He didn't want to die. He never did. But the very concept of having a choice was foreign to him, to all of them.
When the sky didn't glow and orders still didn't come and their armor weighed heavier and heavier, he felt something that might be a choice.
They stood in their ranks. Where they had been left. Inside a ship, ready to launch when needed. Storage for the magitek infantry when it was not needed.
They needed food, still. Water. Their armor held backup supplies for long missions. But it ran out days ago. If they were to be left unattended for this long, they should be put in proper long-term storage.
He turned his head to look at the others not standing in front of him. The creaking of metal sounded too loud in the empty ship.
He could almost feel the confusion from the others. That he'd moved. From the few who had enough of a thought to think it, anyways. Not all of them did.
One of them had already collapsed. Still and unmoving on the floor. Moving without permission was not allowed. So it would stay there until given an order to get itself together, then it would struggle to do so. Because it was weak.
He could see how weak they all were, though. Their feeding tubes were long dry. He felt conflicted.
He didn't want to die. It took him hours to make the decision. To realize he had a choice.
Obey orders, stay still, and die in his spot. Or move and search for food.
It felt like it should have taken more willpower than it did. He felt like he was breaking free of metal bands weighing down on his shoulders, but it still felt nearly effortless.
He took a step out of line.
Multiple heads turned to him. Out of dozens, only a handful moved. He felt that was still significant, though, somehow.
He took another step and it felt almost weightless despite the heaviness of his armor and his tired limbs.
He found the backup supplies of nutrition packs for the magitek soldiers stored in the back of the ship. He installed one immediately, feeling instant relief as the cool food worked its way through the tube in his abdomen.
It didn't even feel like a choice, when he took a crate on a trolley and brought it back to the storage. Not in a bad way. No, it was just something… he had to do.
Heads turned to him when the door opened to the storage bay. He pushed the trolley inside.
Now to figure out how to get them to make the choice. How to… move. Without orders. It was hard, after all, and he didn't feel at all like he could blame them for not doing the same. His heart still pounded. He would most likely be decommissioned for this, now that he let himself think of it.
Wasn't it weird? To think. To let himself think. In a way he hadn't since he was tiny and in training. Before the trainers had burned that out.
He opened his mouth behind his mask. He forgot he had one, sometimes.
“Line up.” He said weakly, hoarsely. Hardly enough to make it past his helmet.
He hadn't spoken since he was very, very little. When they were all stored in rooms to discern who was productive and who was defective during early training. They learned very fast that talking was defective, for a magitek soldier. So they only whispered to each other in secret, sometimes, trying to make the words the trainers made to each other. Curious and bright eyed.
His eyes burned. His throat hurt, like a metal band was clamping it shut.
But he barked out louder, hoarser.
“Line up! Nutrition resupply!” The words used by maintenance, when installing their tubes and nutrition packs. His mouth shaped the words clumsily, but it felt right.
The magitek soldiers all shifted and moved in lines as ordered. One by one they lined up in front of him and the crate. Blank masks stared at him.
He handed the first a nutrition pack. It took it and moved on to go back to its place in storage, installing the pack with efficient, experienced motions. It would be a waste of time for maintenance to have to install each and every one themselves after all.
The line progressed. One by one they accepted a pack and went back to their spot.
Until one paused in front of him. It stared at him. It tilted its head ever so faintly.
He struggled to find the words, so instead he combined words and motions.
“You.” He pointed next to the crate.
The soldier looked at him motionlessly for a minute. Longer than allowed. Someone else making a choice.
It took the nutrition packs from him and began to install it.
He focused on handing out other packs as it did so. Then, when it was done, he stepped back.
“You. Take over.” His voice grew stronger with every word, it felt like.
The soldier stayed still again before, slowly, nodding.
Magitek soldiers did not nod.
It took over the job of handing out nutrition packs.
He took one, then went to the soldier still on the floor. Struggling to rise.
It took a minute to figure out how to crouch down by them, then to order them to stay still. He opened their chest compartment and connected the nutrition pack for them. They stayed still.
“Stand when… when…” He fumbled. Words were hard. “When ready.”
The soldier's mask was empty and blank. But did not move.
He stood back up, looking at the room of soldiers standing still or waiting in line. He could almost feel the relief of shaking limbs and weary shoulders as they finally got fuel to continue.
They had no orders. He had given them orders.
…could he give them more? He almost didn't want to. But he knew even the other, that had made a choice, had still taken the ease of having an order to act.
Orders were… easier. Much, much easier.
He waited until they were all done resupplying and had gained some strength back.
He pointed to the one who had helped hand out nutrition packs. Then ordered them to follow.
He picked several of the others who had turned their heads when he'd stepped out of line. Thinkers. Maybe not choosers, but they thought. They moved.
The rest he padded with the steadier of the soldiers, who hadn't been swaying in line or stumbling over their own feet.
He needed to know what was out there. Where the next orders would come from. If… if there would be any at all.
He felt like stepping outside the ship should have been harder. But with the soldiers behind him it was easier. He was in charge. He was giving orders. They were relying on him to give them orders.
He would do it.
The shipyard was abandoned. He'd found no trace of anyone. Other ships likely had more magitek soldiers on them, but not all of them opened to him. Not all the ones that did still had flesh inside the armor.
The ones that did, he ordered to resupply. A few tilted heads showed that there were thinkers there, too.
He would learn later that it was over a month after Niflheim's fall that they'd crawled out of the ships. That someone had thought they could do something.
He wasn't the only thinker. He wasn't the only one who quickly figured out how to make choices. They worked together, once that was figured out.
It went without saying that they would take care of those who couldn't think or choose, yet. Or maybe ever. He didn't like to think of that. But they didn't deserve to be left behind to die just because they didn't know how to do anything beyond follow orders.
It was a hectic few days of trying to get everyone supplied and organized before one of the other thinkers found him, sans helmet. This one tended to not wear his helmet at all for some reason.
“Yes.” He said, voice smoother than the rest, because he'd been talking a lot more.
“Supply.” The other soldier nodded, bright hair grown a touch too long. Would they need to cut hair soon? It was kept short, usually, for convenience and hygiene. But he didn't know how to cut hair.
“What about supply?” Words were still hard. But they all seemed to understand each other well enough.
A pause, furrowed brow of focus.
“Nutrition packs… low supply.”
He felt… fear. He hadn't felt fear in so long he forgot what it felt like.
“How low?” He asked, and it wasn't as emotionless as it usually was.
“Not low.” The other seemed frustrated. They had only been speaking for a few days. Knowing how to understand commands was one thing. Speaking was another. “Supplies… used. Then low.” He shifted in aggravation. It showed on his face.
He didn't know any of them could even show things like that. It felt foreign, but right.
He understood. The supplies would run out, eventually. And if there were no resupplies…
He didn't know what to do about that.
“We will find food.”
The other nodded with determination, hand on his chest.
“You will?”
A fierce nod.
Well. Hopefully someone would solve that.
A week later and he was blindsided by the helmet-less soldier once more. This time with many papers and documents.
He didn't know what to do with all of them, blinking down at the words. They were all taught basic literacy in their production stages. But this was different.
“I looked. We can't eat normal food.” Helmet-less said, dark circles under his eyes.
“No?” He was worried. They were still flesh and blood, they had eaten “normal” food once. But it made sense if they couldn't anymore.
“Not yet.” Helmet-less looked eager to use all the new words he must have pieced together over the week. “Need to… go slow.” His teeth were bared.
It seemed a happy expression.
There were a lot of them. One of the thinkers had tallied them all up at one point. 21,372 of them to be exact. All from the primary storage and forward operating base of the Niflheim Empire. Who knew how few thinkers and choosers there were among them.
But by the end of the first month, some of them were eating carefully squished and softened food by mouth. The non-thinkers were still on the nutrition packs. But all thinkers and choosers were working to eat ‘normal’ food to save the packs for those who couldn't. The tubes that led to their stomachs were carefully removed one by one by Helmet-less, who had started to read more and more about how magitek soldiers worked and helped when the holes grew hot and inflamed. Only a few of them had gotten sick thanks to his research.
Finding normal food was hard. Expanding their searches beyond the military base was a hard choice to make but had to be made. The supplies in the base for commanders and maintenance would only last so long, with how many thinkers there were.
The city beyond the base was abandoned. They saw signs of life, signs of habitation- but it was overrun by daemons.
Fortunately for them, daemons didn't seem to look too closely at magitek soldiers. Some of them did, and they dealt with some losses and injuries during the resulting combat. But for the most part, they were left alone.
He had somehow become the one everyone came to for orders. Even the thinkers and choosers liked having orders. Even if a few brave ones shakingly said they wouldn't follow them.
That was an interesting day. He'd thought about it for a few minutes and decided that if they wouldn't follow an order, they didn't have to. He found another thinker to lead the patrols.
It was… freeing.
Once they learned they didn't have to follow orders, for some reason that made everyone relax. If they didn't, he didn't punish them like the trainers would have. He saw no point. There were other soldiers to follow them and the ones who refused could do something else. It all worked out fairly well.
They began to use… callsigns. Most of them managed to get away with not referring to each other by anything, but for the most part serial numbers were used when there was no other option. It could make organization meetings very lengthy. But some of them had little things that set them apart.
Helmet, for one. He seemed thrilled to be called by something he refused to ever wear again.
He hadn't settled on a callsign, but they all began to call him Sir. A sign of respect that the commanders used to use for each other.
And, well. It was very short and to the point. Very convenient when someone needed to call out to him specifically.
Sir… decided he didn't mind.
They were in their regular meeting. They should have a name for it. Callsign (named for its tendency to give everything a callsign) had yet to name the meeting, but it probably needed one. They had a lot of meetings to coordinate.
“Report, Sir.” The soldier who led the regular patrols said. Their callsign was Dent, because their mask was incredibly dented after a daemon attack and refused to take it off to repair or replace. Most of the thinkers at least took the masks off, now. If only because it made talking easier.
“Yes.” He nodded, to indicate they should go on.
“Intruders.” Dent paused, head tilted. “Quiet. Stealthy. Not daemons. Killing daemons.”
“Curious.” Sir said, and several others nodded in agreement. “Numbers?”
“Undetermined.” Dent didn't look very happy about it.
Very interesting. And worrying. Were they there to bring them orders? Sir… didn't want anyone else giving them orders.
When Sir gave orders, it was so the others didn't have to think or choose. And they didn't get hurt if they didn't follow them.
Before, not following orders meant being decommissioned.
He didn't want anyone who wasn't a magitek soldier giving them orders anymore. Not when those orders meant pain or death. Not when those orders meant no more thinking, no more choosing.
Sir felt angry.
“Where?” He demanded.
Dent drew back slightly, but answered. He could bring Sir there himself. Or send someone else to investigate more. They had a Stealth squad of their own, of the soldiers who had shed their armor and were very good at dodging and hiding from the aggressive daemons. Sir could send that squad to investigate, Dent suggested.
Sir nodded and agreed. It was a good idea. The others agreed as well.
“Do not hurt them. Unless they try to give orders.” Sir said.
They all looked at him. But slowly, they all nodded. It made sense. They all agreed.
It wasn't fond of the he words. It didn't know why, but none of them knew why they all felt weird things, so when it asked them all if it could continue to be an it rather than anything else, no one had any reason to protest. Plenty of others liked to be hes, or theys, or stick to it like the commanders had always called them.
It didn't have a proper callsign yet; Callsign itself hadn't figured one out. Callsign had been sort of overrun with requests to give others callsigns.
It was one of the Stealth squad though, so they all had probably temporary callsigns accordingly. It went by Stealth 4 in the field. Or, simply, Four.
Four was good at its job. It wasn't good at making choices yet, but the others were happy to take that on until it got better at it. It was working on its thinking. Until then, Stealth Four was a solid member of the Stealth squad. It held the greatest weapons accuracy and was very good at staying very, very still and observing the rest of the squad as they snuck around. It provided support from a distance that way, with Stealth 2 at its back to protect it in case its hiding spot was compromised.
(None of them wanted to be left alone, for some reason.)
Stealth 2 was less good at hiding or staying still. But was stronger and better at close range combat, so Four didn't mind. Anything that crept up on them was usually taken care of.
Except this time. They hadn't found their targets yet, watching as the rest of the squad investigated the ruins they thought the targets were taking shelter in.
Four realized something was wrong when he heard Stealth 2 hit the floor hard. It immediately stilled, then slowly turned to look inch by inch behind it.
Two was being held down by a man, a gun shoved into his back. Four hadn't been spotted, hidden in its nook as it was.
“Who are you?” The man demanded. “What are you doing watching us?”
Stealth 2 wasn't a talker. He was barely a thinker. Definitely not a chooser. He was ordered to protect Stealth 4 while Four protected the rest of the squad. He didn't have any orders that said to stay still if a gun was pointed at him. Only a thinker would think to do that.
Stealth 2 kept fighting. Even with a gun up against his back.
The man cursed and fought back, trying to wrangle him but not as strong as Stealth 2 was.
Four crept out of its hiding spot, sniper rifle ready. He was almost to him when the man whipped around with a second gun in his other hand to point at it.
Stealth 4 already had its gun up and aimed at the man, though.
“Shit.” The man's eyes went wide.
Four froze. It knew that face.
There were differences between all of them. But they were all very small. Like how Three had a weird pattern on his chin of dark skin. Or how Seven had slightly thicker eyebrows than the rest of them.
Commanders always looked very different. This was not a human. This one looked like them. This was another magitek soldier.
“Shit, shit shit-” The soldier's eyes flickered back and forth.
Four was frozen. It couldn't hurt another soldier. It lowered its gun slowly. But he was hurting Two.
Two used the man's distraction to kick the man off and rise back to his feet, about to attack.
“Stop.” Four's mouth almost buzzed with the order, bitten out between its clenched teeth. “No hurting.” Their orders were to not hurt anyone who wasn't giving orders. This soldier was one of them.
“You can talk?” The soldier blurted out. He spoke… almost like the commanders did.
Like he was used to talking.
“Yes.” Four said, barely. It was not used to talking. It wasn't good at it either. Seven said it needed to practice if it ever wanted to get better, but… talking hurt its throat. And its jaw always got sore from clenching shut in fear.
“Wow.” The man breathed out, awed. “I… just wow.”
Four looked to Two, to see if he understood why the soldier was confused. Had he… come from another base? Somewhere else? There were soldiers stationed in a lot of places beyond them, so it would make sense… That was amazing, actually, if it were true.
Before it could force the words between its teeth, the man spoke again.
“An MT who can talk.”
Four's head tilted, the nonverbal way of showing confusion they all used.
“Uh- magitek trooper, sorry.” The man looked… shy? No, that was the wrong word. Like he'd made a mistake. But not afraid. Which was weird.
Four blinked. And abruptly it realized why the soldier looked so weird. Not only was his face covered in lots of little dark spots - plenty of soldiers had a few, but none this many - but the man's eyes weren't glowing.
All of their eyes glowed. The ones still in suits of armor glowed bright red. The thinkers and choosers who stepped outside the armor (or simply didn't recharge them in the designated pods) had less glowing eyes. All of Stealth squad had very dim eyes, compared to the rest. Stealth 2 had dark glasses on to keep the glow from giving their position away. Stealth 4 couldn't because its job required no obscured vision through its rifle scope.
This soldier was looking into Four's eyes when he spoke to it, and hadn't seemed to notice Two's. Both of their faces were covered by their hoods and cloth masks to warm the chilled air before breathing it in. He couldn't see them clearly.
This man's eyes weren't glowing at all.
Was he… not a soldier? But… but what did that mean, if he shared their face?
Four was suddenly afraid that this man might give them orders. It was terrified, more afraid than it had been since the first time it had dared step out of its armor.
It raised its gun immediately, eyes wide and panicked. Two tensed for orders to attack.
The man's hands went up.
“Woah woah! Easy there! I'm not going to hurt you!” He said rapidly, almost faster than Four could grasp. “If you don't mean me any harm, I don't mean you any!”
Four didn't lower its rifle. It stayed steady, but it felt like the barrel should be trembling with its fear.
“No. Orders.” It gritted out, its entire neck hurting with the strain of forcing the words.
“No orders. No one's giving any orders.” The man's voice softened, sounding sad.
Four reached for its comms. It lowered its rifle, but kept it at the ready.
“Stealth 4. Target. Not hostile.” It managed out, stiff and trying not to shake.
“We're returning to you.” Stealth 1 said immediately, crisp and their best communicator. “Steady until then.”
“Mind if I let my friends know I found you guys too? So there's not any accidents?” The man asked gently, carefully. Like Helmet talking to new thinkers who didn't know how to handle it.
Four hesitated. It wasn't supposed to handle choosing. But Two certainly wouldn't. So it nodded jerkily.
“Hey guys, I found some of what we were looking into.” The man said, one hand pressed to a headset. A pause. “Oh yeah. Get this, though. A magitek trooper who can talk and reason. He seems a little skittish, but nice.”
“It.”
“Huh?”
Four's jaw clenched so hard its teeth ached. It eventually pointed to itself, “It,” then to Two. “He.”
“It seems nice. And has preferred pronouns?”
It didn't know what those words meant, so stayed quiet.
“Alright. We'll rendezvous. It's got a team as well. We can all meet up at this location.” The man leaned to the side briefly to look around. “Top of the building with the old café billboard above it.”
Four managed to get a warning of its own to the rest of its squad. But its whole head was starting to hurt from talking.
After, they stood still and quiet. The man seemed much less able to stay still than any soldier. He bounced on his feet as they waited.
Several minutes later, he spoke.
“My name is Prompto. Do you two… have names?”
An actual name. That was incredible.
Four blinked. Then swallowed dryly. One of the downsides to no longer using nutrition packs was you learned what it was like to not have a dry mouth, so having a dry mouth became something you noticed.
“N-iP01256.” It said. “Callsign Stealth 4. N-iP01024, Stealth 2.” It introduced Two as well, since he couldn't talk at all.
Prompto didn't seem very happy about it, for some reason, but nodded with a smile.
“How many of you are out here?” Prompto asked gently.
“21,351.” Four said after a minute struggling with the words.
Prompto’s eyes practically flew wide open.
“Wh- that is… a lot of magitek soldiers.” He said, sounding faint.
“Your eyes.” Four wanted to know. “Different. Face, the same. Why?” It was hard. But it needed to know. Was he one of them? Or not?
Prompto’s shock changed into something soft and warm. And… sad.
“I was… well, I was supposed to be a magitek soldier. But someone took me out when I was a baby, and I was raised in Lucis. As a normal person. Ignoring the barcode, I mean.”
Four lowered its rifle entirely.
Soldiers… could be the same as humans? It was shocked. Helmet liked to talk about what magitek soldiers were. And probably the strangest thing he said was that they were all humans first, like the commanders. But none of them could really wrap their heads around it. Not when there was such a divide between commanders and soldiers.
“Normal person?” Four asked, easier than anything else so far.
“Yeah. I was raised by foster parents, went to school, made friends… I didn't even know I was supposed to be an MT until a few months ago.” Prompto said slowly. “I knew I wasn't normal, but I didn't know everything. None of us knew.”
There were so many new words there, Four couldn't help but just listen and watch. It was curious. Very confused. And its head kind of hurt, from trying to think that a soldier could be… not.
It listened closely as Prompto kept talking in the silence. If it looked, it thought Two might even be listening.
Sir hadn't had a reason to call the main thinkers all together yet. If one of them was missing from the meeting room when needed, usually they could be filled in later. A soldier named Papers liked to write things down and keep everyone informed over doing patrols or anything else.
Stealth squad returning with a group of humans in tow was definitely a reason to gather everyone. It revealed how they didn't really have an easy way to get ahold of specific soldiers in an emergency. Sir brought it up to those currently present. Boot offered to search for a solution.
They rarely argued. But everyone was afraid. None of them really meant any of the anger, but they didn't want to be ordered by anyone ever again.
A breathless soldier arrived at the meeting room.
“N-iP0390, Stealth 1.” The soldier gasped. “Need to report.”
“Report.” Sir ordered, gentle since it seemed very rattled.
“Remaining humans in city noticed us first. Other humans came to investigate magitek soldier presence.” He said immediately. Then looked, oddly, excited. “One is one of us. His name is Prompto. He was raised normal, as a human.”
There was a collective gasp and shocked mutters. Sir stared in awe.
“Bring Prompto and the human squad leader here.” He said, eager. Helmet would love to see him if nothing else. The soldier was already grinning madly with excitement.
The first few meetings with the former MTs went well. Up until Prompto had to leave. He had other responsibilities, after all, and couldn't stay behind to babysit.
Yeah the others on his team weren't at all comfortable with the former MTs. Hells, Prompto wasn't comfortable with them. They all looked at him with wide eyes and like he was the answer to all their problems. They didn't ask him to do anything but it was unnerving. Most of them barely even spoke at all, much less to him.
They were also, very obviously, not okay. They spoke robotically and moved like they were still stuck in their armor, not counting the ones that still were. They didn't emote quite right, either too much or too little, and they didn't know anything about being… people.
Prompto didn't let it bother him. Obviously, they were literally slaves who'd been stuck in robot suits their whole lives and didn't get to be people so being freed now was going to be a whole fucking shebang. He wasn't going to begrudge them some growing pains.
But the other people on his team didn't like the MTs at all, which was awful. At least a few of them tolerated them. And Prompto knew if they attacked the former MTs they'd get their asses whooped but not really hurt.
Sir (funny naming system they had going on) was very serious about that. He didn't care what they did, so long as no one tried giving an order to a former MT ever again.
And he really didn't. Prompto had watched (with horror and disgust) as one of his team literally kicked one of the MTs down and spat on them, and the guy literally just laid on the floor without a reaction until he left him alone. Prompto tore the asshole a new one for that. And then told Sir that they deserved some basic human dignity.
Prompto then had to explain what “basic human dignity” meant to a room full of curious former MTs that all looked like him. Which was… an experience.
Honestly the past few weeks could really be summed up as “an experience”. Prompto was due back in Lestallum to let the leaders of the Resistance know that there wasn't actually an MT uprising in the works. And he couldn't stay to play babysitter for the team he wanted to throttle for not recognizing all of them as people. The former MTs who talked, yeah, some of the normal folks could get behind treating those as people. But they didn't even try with the ones who didn't.
Prompto was going to lose his mind. He was already going crazy just because they were in an apocalypse and the sun was shining less and less every day. They had like, two hours of sunlight in a day at this point. And his best friend was stuck in a magic crystal no one could get him out of and-
The worst part about the former MTs was that the moment Prompto said he should be leaving, Sir asked if he wanted them to come with. As in all twenty thousand of them. Prompto choked on his own tongue trying to explain that no one had the supplies to support that many people all of a sudden. Not with the rising daemon attacks and the slow decline in food. Bless Lestallum, they were just now getting some greenhouses finished and the first crops planted now. It wouldn't support everyone.
The following discussion on how daemons ignored the former MTs for the most part was fascinating. Very interesting. And worrying. But useful. If the former MTs could travel without attracting every daemon in sight…
There was the biggest issue, though. Prompto didn't want to use them.
Sir had just blinked at him and said that Prompto could order them, if he wanted to, because he was one of them. Only they could order each other around apparently. Whether they'd listen was up in the air. But holy shit.
Prompto had to leave and have a mini breakdown in a closet at that. A very nice guy named Helmet of all things had come to talk to him. Apparently panic attacks were pretty normal for former MTs so they had very quickly figured out the best way to handle them. What do you know.
A very frank discussion about personal autonomy followed, along with Prompto doing his best to explain he didn't want to give anyone orders. Especially people who were literally building their own little society over Not Doing That. It was a damn good thing that after learning he was an MT, Prompto had done a lot of soul searching and thinking and talking with Noctis or he wouldn't know how to word half of it.
For some reason that only made Sir more emphatic that they would follow him if he left. Not because he wanted them to, but because they stuck together. Which was. Okay. A little heartwarming.
Just a handful of weeks and Prompto was really getting attached to these guys.
In the end, Prompto agreed to take a few of the more free thinking former MTs with him. The ones with the least glowing eyes possible. If only to communicate with the Resistance, because there weren't a lot of large groups of people left right now and they needed to work together all they could.
The rest of the former MTs would stay behind in Niflheim's ruins, doing their best to stay alive. They were doing pretty well looting the remains of cities and borrowing the airship as long as the fuel stores remained. And Niflheim had a lot of shit stored.
Prompto set out with four people at his side. Two without names, but all four able to talk… even if one of them wasn't very good at it. Prompto started to teach them all a few signs in LSL to help and they learned very eagerly.
By the time he made it back to Lestallum they all had names. Prompto couldn't wait to see everyone's faces when he walked in with former MTs at his side, looking around with wide, eager eyes at ‘real' human civilization.
…there were still some kinks to work out. Like convincing them that they were human. But Prompto didn't mind helping them out.