SHIT!!!
Keshi lay limp on the surgical bed.
What the hell just happened—did someone get shot?!
He wanted to ask, but his tongue had become a glob of wet cotton.
The drugs had taken full effect. He thought for sure he must have pissed his jeans, but there was no way to tell. His whole body felt like it was filled with hot sand.
As he lay there, watching a string of spit dribble down towards the plate of curry, he desperately racked his brain for an escape plan.
He could tell the cops he was kidnapped…
If he was reported missing, that just might work.
Except—the clinician. If he was with them this whole time, Keshi was screwed.
No longer aware of the bed beneath him, he felt as though he were levitating above the ground.
He wondered if he couldn't float out of there.
"Hey, you seeing this?!"
Keshi's eyes shot over to the cheese stick on the floor.
"Uhhh, yeah! He's being controlled!"
The Technician seemed to be on a call with someone.
"It's just like Nous said!"
Controlled?
Behind him, Keshi could hear the sound of rustling garbage.
"Hey… wahth goinh ohn? Eughthegehere?"
Only the surgical bot answered.
"Endless possibilities await. Enjoy your new Icho—"
The bed emitted an atonal noise—Keshi heard the arm shut down and recede back to its default position.
"Change of plans kid! Wake up!"
The front of the bed began to rise. For a moment, Keshi thought he was falling off, but the technician had grabbed him from behind and flipped him over. He pulled Keshi by the collar until he was sitting upright on the edge of the bed.
Keshi swayed back and forth, trying to keep balance.
Now that he was vertical, he found that he could move his limbs—he just couldn't feel them. He fumbled blindly for the back of his head, then pulled his hand down in front of his face.
No blood.
On the monitor array, he could see the clinician and three heavily armed police officers making their way down a corridor. But before he had time to react—
"Here, kid!"
The technician shoved something long and pointy into Keshi's arms. A bullet-proof vest was now strapped around his camo t-shirt—a vintage army helmet crookedly atop his head. In his hand, the jankiest sawed-off shotgun Keshi had ever seen.
When Keshi looked down, he saw himself cradling his own abomination—a large, multi-barreled handgun.
His jaw dropped in shock.
Clearly the work of an amateur. It was composed of four metal pipes—held together with zip-ties, hot glue, and electrical tape—fixed to a crude wooden frame. Black and red wires ran from the metal end-caps down into two battery packs on the underbarrel. Like the two controllers, it was stippled with orange cheese dust.
"Whaht?! I canh usth thith!"
The technician leaned over him, a wild look in his eyes.
"Don't worry, I made these myself. You're gonna be fine, but we gotta kill them all."
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
The technician's ID glowed brightly on Atsu's monitor.
"Toshiaki Sando."
Ren stared intently at the display as Atsu swirled a spoon around in his coffee mug.
"Right. Our snacker. Refresh me."
"SDF in training, discharged on 'psychological grounds.'"
To the left of his ID was a group photo of some Japan Special Defense Force recruits. A more plump-looking technician could be seen smiling cheerfully in the back row.
"Search history indicated an interest in crude gun making, but…"
"He's a hobbyist."
"Not our guy. Though there is a chance he knows someth—"
A shrill whine cut through the neural comms line.
[—Akashiii, do I really have to stay like this?]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
The clinician (Emi) followed Guy and Nagasawa down a corridor—hands still tied behind his back.
He let out a dramatic huff.
[You tightened these too tight, Guy.]
[Sorry, kid.]
The clinician (Emi)'s face scrunched up in annoyance.
[Come on! Since when am I not allowed a gun?]
[After the Telos incident, we're taking extra precautions.]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Akashi breathed on the lenses of his glasses and wiped them with a small cloth.
[Maybe pay attention during your briefings.]
As he held them up to check for smudges, a beam of light illuminated a crack on the left lens.
[It's not like I shot those people! I had him under control—until New Girl went and pulled me.]
Yuki made a face like she wanted to die.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
The clinician (Emi) pouted indignantly.
[You're not there to shoot. You're there to get us inside.]
[But what about my right to self-defense?]
Nagasawa turned his head around.
[Why do you think we're here? Hard to do our jobs though, with you yapping in our heads all the time.]
The clinician (Emi) made a face and stuck his tongue out at him.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Akashi stood up and stretched his lower back, tapping Yuki on the shoulder.
"Remember, you're her second pair of eyes."
"Yes, sir—Doctor! Sorry!"
Yuki promptly squeezed her eyes shut, lips pursed, brows pinched in concentration.
"We pull her at the first sign of trouble. Got that?"
Ren stared into Akashi as if to bore a hole through him—a silent reminder that he was partly to blame for Telos. When she gave the command to pull Emi, it was Akashi who insisted she had it under control.
Akashi raised his hands in surrender.
"Of course. On your order."
[Got that, Emi?]
[Ughhh. Whatever.]
Ren held her sights on him for a prolonged second, then sharply turned back around.
[Nori, should something happen, aim for the torso.]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Nori trailed behind, his gun pointed at the clinician (Emi)'s back.
[You are not to damage the head under any circumstances.]
[Yes, Commander!]
The clinician (Emi) turned to squint at Nori.
[NO ONE will be shooting me AT ALL, thank—Oh!]
The clinician (Emi) abruptly walked into Nagasawa's outstretched palm. Guy stood in the adjacent corridor—ADS.
[...Clear! Found the elevator.]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Ren stared at Atsu's screen as he scanned the remaining enemy combatants.
"Hm. None of these match our profile."
"Could he be spoofing his ID?"
"Facial recognition cross-checks against personal records back to childhood. An advanced filter is possible, but to retrofit that across decades of documentation across multiple government agencies…"
Ren, not knowing what to add, simply nodded.
"Keep scanning."
A torrent of text, photos, records, and video poured out from Atsu's display. Ren never made any attempt to follow—the information flashed by too fast. As she stared into the blur of data, she found herself distracted by the unexpected sound of running water.
Akashi leaned against the drink station, yawning as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Ren looked on in disbelief as he slowly brought the mug to his lips, pausing to blow gently on the rim.
"Akashi!"
Startled, he blew the hot liquid out onto his hand.
"Ow!"
Akashi tilted his chin, watching beads of coffee dribble off the hydrophobic material of his lab coat and onto his shoes. He turned to Ren, holding his arms out in frustration.
"I can't do this alone. I need you on Emi."
"I thought we were letting Yuki drive on this one."
Ren continued to shoot daggers at him. Akashi glanced up at Yuki, who peered down at them with one eye—before quickly shutting it again, pretending not to listen.
He sighed.
[Alright Emi, find anything useful from the clinician?]
[Not really. The deeper I go the noisier it gets. Must've modded the hell out of his Ichor.]
Nagasawa chimed in.
[These privacy freaks.]
As did Guy.
[Well, was he wrong?]
[Keep digging through his archive. Names, places, anything.]
[Okay, but it feels like I'm in a hedge maze.]
[Just don't get lost in there.]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Guy slammed open the door to the dark procedure room—ADS.
[...Clear!]
After a moment, he brought his arm up to cover his nose.
[What's that smell?]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Keshi stumbled down a corridor as the technician led him deeper into the bunker, pulling him along by the arm. He could feel his feet hitting the floor but struggled to keep the pace—his legs barely in sync, trying not to trip over the Technician's unlaced combat boots, heart pounding out of his chest.
Three other men suddenly bodied past them as they rushed down the hall in the opposite direction. As they bumped into him, Keshi noticed their guns. They looked like SMGs, but their smooth white shells were like nothing he had ever seen.
"Don't worry, kid. We got a whole armory back here. Ever play Dreadzone? It'll be just like that."
In a flash—they were gone. As the technician pulled him into an adjacent corridor, Keshi frantically scanned for any sign of an exit.
There had to be a way out. Another hidden passage—something.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Guy ran his hand along the wall panels, which were plastered with posters and sloppy blueprints for more homemade firearms—each more deranged than the last.
[There.]
He turned to see the clinician (Emi) nodding at a JSDF recruitment poster featuring three stylized anime girls—each representing the ground, maritime, and air defense forces. A small tear ran along the bottom-left corner.
Guy slipped his fingers into it and ripped it off, revealing a handle-like groove and metallic keypad.
[I don't get it.]
Nori plucked the uninstalled implant off the arm of the surgical bot and inspected it.
[Why do people risk it with these Chinese knockoffs?]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
"It's my own fault."
A surly old man sat at a workbench, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He inserted a long tool into a slit on the side casing of an especially large rifle, tightening a component inside. Like the SMGs, its muzzle was perfectly flat and smooth. Keshi could just barely make out a series of concentric rings where the barrel should be through the opaque outer shell.
"Don't know what I expected, getting involved with a bunch of fucking amateurs."
The man wore a bright-orange wool knit cap and a dirty beige Aran roll-neck sweater. Like the technician, he appeared somewhat malnourished—his skin pallid—dark circles under his eyes.
"But hey, not my show."
Despite his rough appearance, Keshi thought he had a certain dignity to him—like an aristocrat who'd fallen on hard times.
His gray hair winged out behind a pair of large, pronounced ears, on which rested expensive-looking gold frames. A layer of stubble signaled he was overdue for a shave, but his thick, oiled moustache suggested that—unlike the technician—he hadn't completely abandoned personal grooming.
The gun maker grunted as he lifted the freshly assembled rifle over his shoulder and aimed it at the technician's head, who stared back at him with a helpless expression.
"So how'd they find us, huh? You sneak out for more midnight snacks? I told you, didn't I? You'll ping their system."
He lowered the rifle again and reached for a loose modular component on the workbench, inserting it into an empty socket on the underbarrel. As he tapped it into place, a pulse of light shot through a strip on the side of the gun.
The gun maker's bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows grazed his octagonal lenses.
"Who's the kid?"
Keshi took the opening. Maybe this old guy would take pity on him.
"Pleesh! Howdah gedowdahere? Ah canhgoda prizhon!
God-damnit.
The technician slapped Keshi forcefully on the back, sending his limp head swinging out of step with his body.
"Don't worry, he's with us."
As Keshi's head wobbled, he took in the scope of the gun maker's workshop.
An armory was right—the room was packed wall to wall with racks of alien-looking rifles and workbenches cluttered with experimental prototypes in every stage of completion.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"So what do we do now? How do we keep them out of our heads?"
"Your head. I told you, an Ichor's all they need. You sold your soul to play video games. I should shoot you right here."
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Atsu leaned back in his chair.
"No pings, Commander. Our profile holds. He may have moved."
"Show me their visual feeds."
On the main holo-display, the feeds of the field agents floated away as new windows appeared at the center, showing the feeds of the men in the bunker. In one, a fifth individual could be seen holding a large EMP rifle.
"There. Him."
The system automatically ran facial recognition on the gun maker—his ID appeared on Atsu's screen, along with his personal records and digital footprint. Like the technician, he appeared younger, happier, and heavier.
"Former mechanical engineering professor at Waseda…"
Atsu's pupils danced about as he scanned the information.
"…so that's it. No Ichor registered with the MIC."
Atsu turned to Ren.
"He's native."
Ren furrowed her brow, biting down on her cheeks.
It was only a matter of time. The one type of person immune to their weapon.
These days, most without implants were either old or paranoid-types. This guy seemed to be a dangerous mixture of both—a savvy technophobe, with experience.
That gun in his hands was something else. And judging from the racks on the walls behind him, just one of many.
"Good God, look at the size of that thing."
Even Akashi was impressed.
Ren snapped back to Yuki.
"Yuki, prep her for ID Transplant."
"Yes, Commander! But…"
"Not him. This Sando guy. We need to neutralize the gun maker, stat."
"Commander."
Ren turned to see Akashi staring at her with an uncharacteristic look of concern.
"Two transplants might be too much strain on her ego."
Of course. Now he cares. But there was no time to second-guess.
"I have three other agents to think about."
[Emi. We've found you a new alter. Prepare yourself.]
Emi replied sarcastically.
[Hah, right.]
[Ma'am. Set for breach.]
[Execute!]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Nori continued to inspect the implant on the surgical arm.
[Nori. Drop it. I need you on cleanup.]
[Yes, Commander!]
He aimed his PK10 back at the clinician (Emi).
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
The technician gripped his head in a panic.
"Where the hell is Nous, anyway?! Tell him we need serious backup over here!"
The gun maker stood up. His large rifle was now attached to his waist via a harness with a gyroscopic stabilizer.
"It's not a phone call, stupid. I don't choose when he talks to—"
The sudden sound of gunfire cut him off.
Keshi recoiled in terror.
"Leave these assholes to me."
The gun maker walked toward the exit, then turned around.
"If you do plan on fighting, at least use a real gun."
Keshi watched him disappear into the corridor.
So this is it. This is how I die.
He stared down at the makeshift pistol in his hands.
It was more likely to detonate than shoot, he thought. He wondered if there were any more of those SMG-looking guns lying around.
Suddenly, he felt a hand grip his shoulder.
The technician stared down at him, wide-eyed.
"Listen, kid. These people are bad news. I don't know how, but they can possess you. Make you do stuff you wouldn't do. Don't trust them, no matter what they say. They're dressed in police uniforms, but they're not cops. They work for the enemy. The real enemy."
This guy's out of his mind.
Alright. Get it together.
As if he could ever pull the trigger…
No, the best thing he could do was drop the gun and wait there with his hands in the air. Maybe if he turned himself in, they'd let him go. Clearly, they had bigger fish to catch.
"Hey, you listening?"
The technician pointed at his forehead with his gun.
"If they get me too, I want you to point that thing right here and pull the trigger. Gottit?"
"What! No way, I can't do that!"
Keshi touched his mouth. Strange—he could suddenly speak. The feeling was starting to return to his limbs.
For a moment, the Technician's pupils appeared to stare straight ahead.
"Don't worry. You'll be doing me a favor."
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
"Commander Sasaki, IDs linked!"
Yuki stared intently at her holo-display—Emi and the technician's IDs glowed on screen. Akashi, back behind the console, nodded at Ren.
Ren gave a firm nod back.
She pivoted toward the main display, throwing her arm out in a sideways salute before raising two fingers toward the ceiling—as if firing a pistol.
"Signal clear!"
"Yes, Commander!"
A deep groan reverberated through the command station, slowly morphing into an ethereal, undulating tone.
The halo of light above Emi's head pulsed and flared, glowing steadily brighter.
"Initiating ID Transplant!"