Godclads

Chapter 3-15 Heart of the Machine

“Everything we offer, for so little in return; the gulfs of our lives last mere seasons, but the succor of your miracles is shorter; mere moments.

Why then, do we breed? Why then, shall we have children? Why then, do we seek Heaven?

The road of spreading futures trails out, like blood seeping through cracks, turned to roots. But be any of the paths ours? Be we ever happy?

Oh, my god, my god above all other gods, what reason am I to stay alive, if I am just another rhyme in this unending hymn? Fated to be forgotten. Fated like all before, all after.

-“Heretic’s Lament,” Historical text detailing the last words of an apostate before their enforced sacrifice to the Seraphic Choirs of Old Kosgan

3-15

Heart of the Machine

The father’s fingers tensed around the controls. With twitching fingers, he turned the haptic icons on the sphere, the beam-emitter of the drone tilting ever so slightly toward the hostage. Pressing himself against a wall, the terrified med-tech assistant’s heart was going off like an artillery line.

Perhaps bringing up the boy wasn’t the best thing to ask.

For a moment, Avo considered whether he wanted to take a step back as he watched a storm of emotions twist through Essus’ face. His thoughtstuff was like a hurricane, flashes and memories spiraling along the edges as the man was trapped at the eye, lost amidst a storm of his past.

Negotiations had always been more of Walton’s forte. Try as he might, empathy was a hard thing to learn for Avo, the nuances of morality too elusive, too fluid in rules and cultures. Ghosts, meanwhile, were far more direct. They revealed all if one could unravel their interwoven memories and divest from it a useable sequence. But that was the partition between a living mind and the remnants of a dead one: will. Ghosts mirrored the willpower of the living, tethering themselves to an organism that could make choices. Without the linkage, all a ghost could do was fragment. Dissolve. Be forgotten.

The instrumentalization of these ghosts was what made a Necrojack artist and engineer both.

Considering the path before him, Avo contemplated how he would proceed if he was using the mined pieces of the father's memories to create a functional ghost.

Pain would likely constitute the mass of such a ghost by this point. It was unavoidable. Emotions were like fuel or energy for a ghost to burn, and with every sequence related to the boy now afire with damage, all he could do was sheer the most erratic branches away; keep the funnel of pain and rage down to a limited set of options and features.

But that didn’t mean fighting the ghost. A Necro never fought a ghost. They merely altered it. Implanting other, symmetrical branches of memory to alter the overall structure, unbinding bits that were more abscess than an asset to the function of the construct.

“Won’t be hard,” Avo said, trying a new approach. Come back to the boy later. Try more present in the current moment. Essus snapped back to alertness as if just remembering Avo was there.

The man swallowed, he looked tired. Confused from trauma both physical and mental. “What won’t be hard.”

“Killing him,” Avo said.

The hostage made a whimpering noise. Avo was quite glad the juv managed to avoid pissing himself so far. The smell would have made this distracting.

Essus turned and stared at his hostage. “I–yes. They killed him. They killed my boy.” His face darkened, warping darkly into a seething rage. “They killed my boy.” He shook, voice choked by a growing tightness, more tears trailing down his face. “They killed my boy.’

Avo grunted in agreement. The sadness was good. Meant that there was more sorrow than rage from what he could tell. Sorrow was useful in making someone give up. Not go on a suicide run. But go too far and you hit despair, and depression was illegal in all the Highflame-ruled Sovereignties.

Been that way ever since the Demi-Sophists corrupted an entire locus by despair-bombing it with specialized depression-based constructions using their Ghostjack phantasmics. Suicides spiked to three million an hour that day; fried all the gamma-quality wards too.

“Killed your boy. Yours. And a thousand others,” Avo said, navigating the waters carefully. Too much, the man would give. Too little, and he’d lose him again. “Told you. You’re new here. Don’t know the heart of the machine.”

“The machine?” asked Essus, blinking erratically. His eyes were flicking between Avo and the other person he murdered earlier, horror-induced paleness staining his face.

“New Vultun,” Avo said. “City’s an engine. Gives life. Eats death. Feeds and is fed upon.”

Essus’ nostrils flared. Anger? Thoughtstuff was boiling around the edges. Definitely anger. Still manageable. “Are you saying my son was a sacrifice?”

“Yes,” Avo said without hesitation. “You. Me. The boy. Draus. Every last jock and enforcer. The Syndicates. The wagers. All of us. Sacrifices.”

“For what!” Essus raged. His thoughtstuff exploded outward. Avo waited, wondering if it would spike again. Essus directed the drone away from aiming at the tech and sent it a beam slashing out with a wild flail of his arm. Avo twisted, the pulsing stream of radiance spilling through the holoveil behind him. Rippling glitches pulsed from the light-made partition from where the piercing laser traced.

Avo considered tearing the surgical drone apart. Breaking it. But doing so might break Essus’ mind utterly. Again and again, the man had his agency deprived. Again and again, he was rendered impotent; he was practically the epitome of being FATELESS.

A thrum of microdrones began to sound from behind. Avo guessed the Syndicate goons were getting impatient. How unfortunate for them. They would need to wait a little while longer, or incur his ire.

He should have gone a bit further with Rantula. Perhaps she did not serve as an example enough for the others.

“They–they told me that New Vultun was a great city,” the father said, a rant building on his breath. “That–that it is protected from the Fallen Aethers?” Avo frowned before he understood. Right. A different term for Heaven. “Protected from the cults and the Ruptures!”

“Yeah,” Avo nodded. “No lie there.”

“No lie?” The father snarled, a loose globule of drool slipped free from the corner of his lip.“No…nolie?

“Better here than a lot of places,” Avo said. “Get up the Tiers. Life is good. Get into the Arks and have your pick over whatever Paradise you want. Countless demiplanes. Countless pleasures. No work. Immortality. Elysiums, they call it.”

Avo had never been to one, of course, but he didn’t doubt it was beyond the Great Eights’ abilities to build something like that. It was also one of the few things that outright disgusted Walton, though he never said why.

A deepness of confusion mingled with pain shrouded Essus' every action. He lowered his controller. The drone bobbed up and down, following the sphere in his hand, trying to anticipate what he was aiming at. He snarled. He sobbed. His heart raced.

“Planned to ask your name at some point,” Avo said. It was a risk, but something told him that it would draw Essus’ attention away from his inner turmoil. “Wanted to do it after we got out. If we got out. Other things interceded.”

“My name,” the father muttered. He sniffled, reeling snot back up his nose. “Only…only now does it matter? Only now, that I haven’t died?” He laughed, incredulous, cupping his face as he folded in on himself.

“Said you were going to die,” Avo said. “Was wrong. Now name worth knowing. Simple as that.”

“Is that all there is? If I prove myself strong, I get to be a person? What about my boy! What about–”

“Not strong,” Avo growled, cleaving the father’s rant low before it could begin. The man wilted back at him, too stunned to even aim his drone at Avo. “Just survive. Strength and survival. Two different things.”

“Oh, gods, oh Jaus,” the hostage prayed. Too bad for them the closest thing he had to a savior was a ghoul. A ghoul that was considering eating them if the opportunity presented itself.

“Nothing to do with strong,” Avo said, watching as the father struggled to cling to his rage, struggling not to break. “Not me either. Not Draus. None of us. Your boy was unlucky. No hope for him. Rest of us…luck. Some skill.”

“Was it mere skill that let you return from death–” the father whispered.

Avo took him by the jaws with a single clawed hand. Essus’ eyes widened. “Never died,” Avo hissed. The man was a fool. Did he want Mirrorhead to know of what actually transpired, to give away one of the few sole advantages they had? Avo was not ready yet to fight another Godclad, and he would not be struck down in the cradle of his power.

He removed his hand from Essus’ face. The father swallowed. “Hallucinated. Trauma does that to you. Agree.” He lowered himself, leaning over the father. The man was shocked. Silent. It would be easy to take the drone’s control module from him now. Avo didn’t. The man deserved a security blanket.

If only to keep them stable.

“Let’s say you kill this one--” Avo said, gesturing to the hostage.

“What?” the assistant squeaked. “No, no wait--"

“--Let’s also say the hostage stays quiet. In case ghoul gets hungry.”

The squeaking stopped. The hostage possessed adequate intelligence. How encouraging for his odds of survival.

“What then?” Avo asked, returning his gaze to Essus. “He doesn’t matter. Mirrorhead will find another. Warrens. Lots of meat out here. Syndicate undamaged. You’ll be dead. Dead with boy. But they’ll get to continue killing others. More men like you. More dead sons."

Essus bit his lip, drawing blood. “I could…I….”

The path ahead, in truth, was simple. So long as they were with the Syndicate, they couldn't be free. So, there couldn't be a Syndicate. Avo thought that the father might come to like the violence his plan entailed.

“Enforcers are coming. Will come for you once they get impatient. Might not if you surrender. And if you let this one go.” Avo flicked a gesture at the hostage. “He’s worthless. Send him out. Let this be done.”

“Kill me,” the father laughed, a bitter sound. “I’m not afraid.”

“Didn’t say kill,” Avo said. He let a hint of menace linger in his voice. “They can take you. Cut your boy from memories. Use you as organ farm.”

The father paled. “What–why–”

Avo gestured around the room, and the locus shining above. “Ghosts. The ones inside your head? Ones everyone in the city has? Ones I use? Made of memories of the dead.”

“Memories of the dead,” the father blinked.

“Metaphysics,” Avo said. “Complicated. Like leftover matter. Parts of the mind get torn off after death. Nether 'remembers' your mind. But mind is bound for death. Nether tries to tug. Struggle tears off sequences. Pieces. Ghosts. Leaves them as threads in the Nether."

The father swallowed. “What does this have to do with–”

“Can use ghosts to shape cognition,” Avo continued. “Pull pieces left of intelligence, emotion, experience, and knowledge. Use them to make instruments. Sequence memories for Metamind; modify senses.”

“I don’t understand–”

“Can also use them to take things out.”

The father looked sick by this point. “Can…can they put my son’s mind back…”

“No,” Avo said. “No for the boy. He’s dead as Jaus. No phylactery for him. Gone now. Nothing left but pieces of memory; echoes of knowledge. The Syndicate. They can do worse to you.”

“Worse,” Essus moaned, “what could be worse?”

Avo shrugged. “Could take his last memories. Chain them to your mind. To a memory trigger? Let you relive his death when you think of him.” Essus grew paler still. “That's why I want to ask your name. Yours. The boy. So I could remember. In case they decided to break you.”

The father looked at him, dread creeping over his features. He opened his mouth, but nothing came. No sounds. No words.

Avo couldn’t tell if his attempt to properly prime the father against the Syndicate was working, or if he was just tormenting the poor fool. Right now, the father going on a suicide run was wasted. The father–made cautious by fear and made focused by hate–could be a wieldable asset. Just a question of how well he can hold against the pressure; how much Avo could shape him.

“They can take him from you too,” Avo said, twisting the proverbial knife ever so slightly. “Tear every memory of him from your mind. His smile. His laugh. The first time you held him. His name. Everything. Everything.”

The father looked at the hostage and Avo. His eyes darted back and forth, the strain of what he was being told consumed his features with agonized stress. He dropped the module. He clutched his head and moaned. “I do not wish this…”

“Doesn’t matter what you want,” Avo said. “Matters what they can inflict. Matters what you can stop.” He motioned for the assistant to flee with a wave, not even looking at him. The juv wasted no time, shooting up and rushing for the exit on pumping legs.

So there were smart people in this Syndicate after all.

Avo picked up the drone’s control module and cast it to the side, letting it clatter against the ground. Before him, Essus was hugging himself, folding inward as he grew wracked with sobs. “Oh…oh Artad. Oh, Artad, I killed my son! I killed my son, my god! I shouldn’t have come–I’ve killed my son.”

Awkwardly, Avo placed a palm on the weeping man’s shoulder, trying to remember how Walton used to do it. Was easier for Walton though, considering his distinct lack of claws. Avo leaned in, considering what to say. He needed something that could instill a sane baseline. Something to keep the man stable, at least until he could be used against the Syndicate. “Sorry. Don’t like seeing you hurt like this.” Wasn’t entirely a lie. The fact the man had been treated so poorly despite his survival offended Avo’s ethics. “Need you to focus and listen now.”

The father kept crying, holding himself as he shook between choking gasps. Avo leaned in closer. “They did kill your boy. They did steal your dreams from you. Keep the hate. Keep the pain. Will need it. Useful for us. Stay sane. Stay sane and I will give true retribution.”

Avo extended his Ghost-Link and, with a single sting of phantasmal matter, injected a thought into the man's mind: a concept of a memetic weapon, instead of a word. Something that Essus could deliver without drawing attention to Avo, thus avoiding the cortex bomb.

“You–you can help me do this?” Essus asked. “You can make my mind a weapon?”

The man was ragged, bloodied, weary, but now also very pliable. And all it took was the potential for revenge.

“Yes,” Avo said, without a hint of doubt. “Just need some time. A night or two for sequencing. Additional items as well. Need to arrange things. Prepare yourself.”

Dulled by exhaustion, concussion, mania, and sadness, the man looked at him and offered a little less than a weary nod. He tried to grip Avo by the arm, but his weak fingers missed and fell down amidst the sheets. “Promise me you will do this.”

So Avo committed to the easiest pledge of his life, beast, and mind in alignment as he spot. “Yes. Mirrorhead will die. The Syndicate will die. Everyone involved will die.”

Then, he pulled away from Essus and stepped back. “Stable. Sane. All I need from you.”

For the first time, Avo saw a flash of steel sliding beneath the man’s features. He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His thoughtstuff still ebbed, but accretion's currents ran slower than before.

Most pleasing.

When Avo emerged from the hab-cell, two teams of faceless enforcers were just standing around, glaring at him through their reflective helmets as he wandered out, ignoring them.

“He surrendered. Hurt him. I hurt you. Like Rantula.”

He kept going, walking past them before any of them did something stupid like talk to him. He had enough of talking for one day. Wanted to go to sleep. Start fixing his Metamind. Preparing his plan to escape.

Ved and the med-techs were nowhere to be seen. He guessed they got cleared out. And still no Mirrorhead for that matter. Very strange.

For a moment, Avo considered where to go. Frankly, sleeping was the most important thing he could do right now. He could perform Necrothurgy anywhere so long as he was unconscious, thanks to his Metamind. Only issue was that he needed to avoid being disturbed; sequencing ghosts was a delicate art. Getting pulled into awareness with one could leave some lasting damage.

As he wandered down the path he came, he studied the cells and considered if any of them could serve his needs. Too close to the enforcers. Wouldn’t work. He needed something more out of the way, something that–

“Didn’t know ghouls could be gentle,” a voice called out from behind. Heavy footsteps thumped closer. Someone in an exo-rig.

Avo slowed and sighed. He didn’t want to talk. “Go away. Annoyed. Hungry. Eat you.”

Still, the enforcer kept coming, chuckling as he got closer. A port opened along the hip of their rig. Something thin extended outward, reeking of smoke and taped in ringed gold.

Avo prepared to fire his Celerostylus.

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