D-Mo had walked away from her talk with Arthur feeling both enlightened and empty. She had learned so much—and yet, none of it gave her the answer she truly wanted.
From what Arthur said, once he left ArchTek, Milton had taken full control of her fate.
Given how fast things moved inside ArchTek, she could've gone through two, maybe three full iterations before her escape. But one question still burned:
Why did she go rogue?
Arthur had a theory. Maybe Milton had reprogrammed her—turned her against ArchTek, not for justice, but to sabotage their research. A final act of spite.
At least, that was the best guess he could offer.
Still, D-Mo now knew about the Open Door—and, true to its name, she was welcome there anytime. But despite its cluttered brilliance, it lacked something Orion's workshop had: a sense of home. She hated admitting it, but sometimes, there was nowhere else she'd rather be.
She pushed open the door without knocking. Orion sat hunched over a keyboard, eyes glazed at the screen while his fingers tapped out commands with mechanical precision. He didn't look up, but his voice carried the weight of exhaustion and a lack of coffee."Hey, D-Mo. Take a seat—I need to check how bad that visor of yours really is. Might be able to patch it up."
D-Mo came up behind him and leaned in, resting her elbows on his shoulders and crossing her arms, letting her chin settle on top of his head. She stared blankly at the screen along with him, trying—and failing—to make sense of whatever code he was writing.
"D-Mo…" Orion began, tone dry, "I mean this in the most gentlemanly way possible." He paused, as if giving the moment the gravity it deserved.
"You're heavy."
In response, D-Mo gently pushed off him—but not without her foot catching the base of his chair, sending him toppling backward. Orion let out a surprised yelp as he hit the floor, limbs sprawled. He made no move to get up.
"I suppose I deserved that," he muttered, eyes drifting shut as he relaxed into the chaos. "Still, as rude as it was, it's nice to give my eyes a break from the screen."
Orion opened his eyes and turned his head to find D-Mo already a few paces away. She had grabbed a duffle bag from his mound of organized chaos and was casually dumping its contents onto the floor.
"Hey! Hey! I know where everything is!" he protested, scrambling to his feet. "If you rearrange the mess, I'll never find anything again!"
D-Mo waved him off with a dismissive flick of her hand and walked over to the so-called trophy rack. Running her finger briefly across the labeled parts, she began loading her original components into the bag.
After collecting everything she needed, D-Mo turned to find Orion frozen in place, his expression tense.
"Are you… leaving?" he asked, the sadness in his voice unmistakable.
She immediately waved her hand in a flurry of motion, clearly denying the assumption. Then a thought struck her. She pushed the door open and gestured for Orion to follow.
"You… want me to come with you?" he asked, still confused.
One soft beep answered him.
They walked side by side through the mostly deserted streets of District A. D-Mo, as always, kept herself concealed, but it was Orion who looked more out of place—shoulders hunched, eyes flicking to every passing shadow. She wondered when he had last gone out for a walk. In contrast, she was frequently on the move, whether for missions or just to roam.
"You know," he said, breaking the silence and drawing her attention, "sometimes I think I'm more upset about you not having a voice than you are."
She turned to look at him, waiting for him to finish the thought.
"It'd be nice to actually talk to you," he said with a sigh. "Not just… communicate. Though I'll give you this—you're a great listener."
D-Mo gave a shrug. Her options for replies were limited.
"I was thinking maybe we could learn sign language. Or…" he hesitated, considering. "Well, I probably shouldn't mess with your code, but I had this idea. Your visor can already display files, right? I could try building an algorithm that links up with your thoughts—something that turns them into text in real time so you can speak through the visor."
His ramble came to an abrupt halt as D-Mo's hand gently rested on his shoulder.
Though she had no face to express emotion, nor a voice to share her thoughts, there was a quiet certainty in the way she carried herself. She understood Orion meant well. If she could have thanked him, she would have. But the unspoken understanding between them already said as much—and that was enough.
He gave her a tired smile. "We'll find you a voice someday."
In response, she raised a fist in quiet triumph, lightening his mood.
"Well," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "enough of the sappy stuff. This all stemmed from me wondering where we're going."
D-Mo casually pointed ahead with a flick of her finger. Orion let out a long breath and muttered on the exhale, "Yeah… thought so."
They walked in silence until the Open Door came into view. The sight of it alone sent a chill down Orion's spine—something about the place unsettled him.
But the moment they stepped inside, every uneasy thought vanished. His knees went weak as he stared around in awe, instinctively rattling off the names of every gadget and contraption he recognized in Arthur's workshop.
Orion had heard of Arthur long before meeting him. Among S.C.U. enthusiasts, Arthur was nearly as legendary as Milton himself. The moment they arrived, a flood of rapid-fire questions spilled out of Orion, leaving D-Mo with no room to explain the reason for their visit.
She was here for her parts—hoping Arthur might be able to repair her original components.
Once the excitement died down, Arthur examined the pieces with practiced care. "These aren't the ones you had when I left ArchTek," he said, studying them closely. "But they're remarkably similar. Milton must've played a role in designing them."
"So can you repair them?" Orion asked
Arthur pondered a bit. The hesitation alone told them it wouldn't be as easy as they hoped. "I'm not familiar with what Milton built into D-Mo, but I will see what I can do. I may need—" his words were cut short by the sound of the door swinging open.
Everyone turned in unison to see an S.C.U. entering, lowering his head to fit through. This Unit was battered and barely intact, its damaged form speaking volumes. The massive familiar frame of the hound class made D-Mo jump at the ready.
"Ah, I was expecting you," Arthur spoke calmly. "Please, take a sit—
SPELL CONTAINMENT UNIT
J-HR
CALLSIGN: Jury