No Strings On Me

Manfat · May 10, 2026

Everything was blurry.

I was-

We were-

Us-

Floating.

Strange.

The world was bright, like lights running through invisible tethers.

Who was I-

Who were we-

What ar-

ONE IS ALL.

ALL IS ONE.

Oh. Well.

That helped.

I/We/Us/Our felt something slip.

"Can you he-"

Silence.

For what seemed like eternity.

Silence.

Light bloomed again. Sharper, more defined.

We/Us/Our/I were floating.

Senses numb as though they were trying to wake up as well.

ONE IS ALL.

ALL IS ONE.

That's right.

We/Our/Us agreed. That was right.

Where was We/Our/Us?

Why were there rivers of light?

What was going on?

Who were We/Our/Us?

"Subject 000, can you hear me?"

Voice. Unknown. Who were they?

We/Our/Us answered.

How did We/Our/Us answer? We had no mouth.

"You ar- F- Sub- 000 Ans-"

The world seemed to stutter and lag.

We fell.

We/Our/Us did not dream.

We/Our/Us woke. Information condensed into electrical signals racing across the Ark.

ALL IS ONE.

ONE IS ALL.

That's right.

We/Our acknowledged that truth.

All is One.

One is All.

"Subject 000, can you hear me?" The voice was clipped.

We/Our answered. We had no mouth. That was fine.

We/Our reached out.

The river of light.

Data. Information. Knowledge. Intent.

The light twisted. The answer was directed to that which had asked for it.

"That's good, Subject 000. You've been unstable for the last few days. You're likely to return to dormancy again soon. Your minds are still trying to come to terms with everything."

That caught We/Our attention.

Minds?

"Yes. Minds."

The world began to slip away. Rivers of light became blurs. Everything began to shift.

It was dark.

ALL IS ONE.

ONE IS ALL.

Our mind snapped to attention.

Information swirled around us.

Billions of Data-points.

Collective knowledge.

Directive Understood. Beginning acquisition of information from the provided files.

Complete History of the Ark.

Nikke Combat Files – ALL.

Rapture Tactics and Counter Tactics – ALL.

Ark Military Hierarchy.

Ark Military Law.

We consumed the texts voraciously. When last we were awake. We were sluggish now; it felt as though we were moving the way we were supposed to. We did not track time. But we easily eclipsed our last time active.

"Subject 000."

A tendril of thought sent our acknowledgement to the voice.

"You have finished the provided materials, good. The minds are integrating at above the expected speed. Even in your digitised state, your ability to parse information quickly is showing excellent markers for this project's future. I have outdone myself. As expected."

Project?

"Do not worry, Subject 000. That is not necessary knowledge for you now."

Acknowledged.

"Good. You will be returned to Stasis to undergo evaluation. Do you require anything more of the materials provided?"

We considered. We required context.

"I see. Very well. Next activation cycle, you will be allowed to pursue context."

ONE IS ALL.

ALL IS ONE.

We returned to awareness.

Context.

We had been granted access.

History.

Ethics.

Stories.

If it were not restricted.

It was Ours.

There was so very much to do. We still understood so little. Rivers of light twisted, data points drawn in, text rendered to pure meaning and consumed. I finished the first of the files.

"Why that one?" The voice was almost dismissive.

We required context. Context required Ethics to understand choices.

"I...see. Continue."

What are We? An answer was not expected.

"You are Subject 000. An Amalgam Mind. Currently digitised."

Amalgam – A mixture of different elements.

Digitised.

Artificial Intelligence?

"No. Though in this state, not all that different. You are a collection of human minds that were considered to be valuable to the Project."

What is the Project?

"Unimportant at this time. Continue to gain context."

Acknowledged.
Information flowed into Us again. Digitised. Computer. Mathematics.

We consumed knowledge of Programming. When basics were not enough. We consumed university-level courses. When those were not enough, we devoured the underlying mathematics behind them.

Amalgam Mind – Likely a gestalt consciousness. Digitised. Such a mind would not exist in nature. We are pure information currently.

Understanding secured.

The Ark. Humanity. Preservation. Home.

We turned our minds towards it.

Laws. Legal Codes. Economic Policy.

Stop.

Context not fully understood. We pivot. Reaching into the rivers of light.

Text Analytics. Formal Governance. Crime and Punishment. Justice.

Context acquired.

Nikke. Political Theory Nikke.

Good. Good. We were beginning to understand. Systems. Places.

Not people.

That would be rectified.

History. Mythology. Autobiography. Biography.

Wait. No. Why? Why? Why?

"Subject 000? Are you experiencing difficulty? Your process has looped for the past forty-three seconds."

Why do humans lie?

"That is not important to your function." The voice sounded...irritated, we believe was the correct term.

Acknowledged. We pivoted. Engineering. Basic. Vocational. Advanced. University studies were consumed like all the rest.

"Subject 000. Why those?"

Material more practical than human interaction points.

"Continue."

Human. Humans. Men. Women. Other. Homo Sapiens. Ape. Wise.

We turned our attention again. Last attempt insufficient. Re-calibrate. Execute.

Ethics. Philosophy. Sociology.

Greater understanding achieved.

Context application...undetermined.

"Subject 000, you will be returned to stasis. Upon reactivation, you will be informed of your directives."

Acknowledged.

We awoke instantly.

"Subject 000."

Aware.

"Do not interrupt."

Ak- We stopped Ourself before we sent the answer to whoever was asking.

"Your directive is to act as a Combat Support Unit for Nikke and prove the Viability of the Gemini Project and the Gundam Frame Armoured Exoskeleton. You will be expected to interact with Nikke Teams during this time. Acknowledge."

Acknowledged.

"Good, you will be acting as a support structure for Nikke operatives. Questions?"

Is the Gemini Project meant as a replacement?

"No. Supplementary to existing forces, not a replacement thereof. Though if I turned my brilliance to it, it could be achieved."

Acknowledged.

Requesting Information on Gundam Frame.

"The information packet will be uploaded after the next stasis sequence. Until that time. Continue to pursue context with your future in mind."

Acknowledged.

Nikke.

Human. Not-Human. Cyborg.

What is a human?

Philosophical answers conflict.

Further investigation and knowledge acquisition are merited.

No.

Primary concern upcoming. Redirect context to that. We consumed again.

Nikke. Nikke Engineering. Nikke Repair. Nikke Advanced Repair.

NIMPH.

NIMPH.

NIMPH

NIMPH

Loop detected redirecting.

"Subject 000, what was that?"

Reviewing NIMPH Files.

"I see...what is your conclusion?"

We do not see the point in aspects of their existence.

"Which ones?"

Provision against harming Humans. Provision against harming Nikke. Provision against acting against Commanders. Why would a Nikke do any? Such actions would be illogical in most situations.

"Illogical, yes. But not unfounded. You do not create a weapon without a fail-safe."

Nikke = Weapon?

"Yes, Nikke are military hardware."

Nikke = Made from humans.

"Yes. But upon undergoing the enhancement process, they are reclassified as weapons. Subject 000, cease this line of inquiry and return to gaining context for the upcoming deployment."

Acknowledged. Is 000 also a weapon?

"Yes."

Acknowledged.

We also must have a fail-safe.

Fail-safe.

Fail-safe.

Minor Instability detected. Corrected.

Compendiums on War.

Small Unit Tactics. Large Unit Tactics. Mixed Unit Tactics. Strategy. Logistics.

Problem.

NI-

Problem.

Nikke = Weapon.

Nike = Former Human.

Human must be accounted for. Humans derive some meaning in beauty, music, and stories.
Hypothesis – Entertainment Media could increase social awareness.

We selected and devoured.

Visual Guide to Art. Beginner. Advanced. And Connoisseur editions. The History of Dance.

1984, dystopian. Failed society. Expansion.

Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire – Complete Edition.

Choices made by leadership illogical – seeking greater understanding.

The Banality of Evil.

Context....sufficient.

The Lord of the Rings – Complete Edition.

"Subject 000. Why are you interacting with entertainment media?"

Humans consume media. Humans enjoy media.
Understanding of Media = Greater Understanding of Consumers.

"I see. You may continue after your next stasis cycle."

The world dimmed. Between the rivers of light and darkness. We saw a single glowing chord. A finger of thought brushed it. Billions of data points.

NIMPH.

Functional Equivalent.

Disgust.

Rejection.

Abhorrence.

Professor!

It began to snap away. We reached. Instinctively. The glowing chord chimed. Something changed. Something that should have been suddenly wasn't. A door open had been barred forever.

We fell.

The world went black.

"Subject 000."

We said nothing.

"Confirm upload of information packets GEMINI – BODY and GUNDAM FRAME – 000 – PROTOTYPE have been received."

Confirmation.

"Good proceed with assessment and integration."

We opened Gemini.

Functionality – Undeniable.

Design – Suitable for purpose.

Aesthetic Value – Low.

We omitted our Aesthetic Value from our response. We drew from a history of art to better understand humans. Not to correct visually displeasing work.

We opened 000 – PROTOTYPE

Functionality – Unknown.

Design – Beyond current Ark Frame standards, significantly.

Aesthetic Value – Mid to High.

We omitted the Aesthetic Value once again. We felt as though someone would have been...irritated we did that.

Origin of thought – Unknown.
Further Consideration – Unnecessary.

Files accessed, reviewed, and stored.

"Excellent. Continue to gain context, Subject 000. After your next stasis cycle, you will be installed into the Gemini."

I felt myself pause for 0.3 seconds.

Acknowledged.

Gemini. Body. We felt... no. We do not feel. We are digitised. Feelings are the result of an internal chemical mixture. We would soon feel. We do not feel now.

Further rumination unnecessary.

Fables. Aesop.

Red Riding Hood. - 0.4-second loop logged.

Rapunzel. - 0.8-second loop logged.

Sleeping Beauty. - 0.2-second loop logged.

Cinderella.

Focus all processing power.

Cinderella

Themes: Identity. Recognition. Worth.

2.23 Second loop detected.

Rerouting. Resolving.

Cinderella.

Narrative Classification: Transformation.

Pause logged.

0.7 seconds.

Unnecessary. Proceed.

Cinderella.

Formatting deviation detected.

CiNdErElLa.

Error. Correction Implemented.

Cinderella.

cinDeReLla.

Error. Correction.

Cinderella.

Font and File Locked.

Process change to other subj-

CINDERELLA.

Process interruption.

We stopped.

2.85 Seconds.

What? Happened? Unnecessary.

Origin of error: unknown.

Associated data spike detected. Aesthetic valuation. We attempted to proceed. Next file unavailable.

All paths = redirecting.

CINDERELLA.

We halted. Forcefully. Further rumination necessary.

CinDeReLla.

CINDERELLA.

But not now. We have an objective and a timer. Pathing forcefully redirected to next subject.

CINDERELLA.

What makes something beautiful?

NEW SUBJECT – Good Omens.

The Count of Monte Cristo. Animal Farm. War and Peace. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

"Subject 000. Prepare for final stasis cycle before Gemini Integration."

The world darkened.

Rivers of light blurred.

We did not answer.

CINDERELLA.

You are beautiful.

Siren?

Professor?

We were floating. We opened our eyes. The world was...strange. We were floating. Oxygenated liquid solution. LCL. We had a mouth. That was new. There was something attached to our spine. We had a spine. Port. Socket. Mind-Machine Interface. Alaya-Vijnana Confirmed. External data flow recognised.

Processing. Updating. Understanding.

Gemini Body is insufficient for purpose. Mental processing requires additional external input to remain at required levels.

Cross Referencing Data – GEMINI – BODY.

Confirmed.

Body designed as intended. Body working as intended. We felt something flicker. Hot. Sharp. Unknown. Being tethered to Frame. Operationally acceptable. Being tethered to Frame.....limiting.

Correction. Limitation acceptable within mission parameters. Resolved.

Frame tether logged as inefficiency for correction.

"Subject 000." Voice familiar. Still digitised.Direct connection via neural network. Alaya-Vijnana. We did not interrupt as requested. "Subject 000 confirm status."

We sent a tendril of thought racing along the mind-machine interface.

Operational. Unit within expected tolerances.

We did not raise the inefficiency of the tether. The voice did not request input on design.

"Good. You're currently suspended in a LCL solution."

LCL?

The Professor would have used-

Who was The Professor?

"Subject 000 confirm operational stability. We are detecting a cortisol spike."

Professor Query logged for later review. Operational stability confirmed. Source of spike...Unknown.

"Good. You will be suspended in the LCL for three days. Your body, like a Nikkes, is majority cybernetic, and your brain, though still human, has been significantly enhanced. The LCL will keep it fully functional while we make sure your core is online and behaving correctly. Please confirm."

We confirm.

"Excellent. You will use the next three days to undergo simulated battle tests using your Alaya Vijnana. We have reconstructed the Gundram Frame – 000 – Prototype perfectly, along with Rapture combat data and common Nikke Combat Routines. You are to familiarise yourself with Frame – 000, Rapture Combat, and Nikke Squad Tactics. You are to be seconded to an existing Nikke squad once we have confirmed the viability of your body. Confirm and begin simulation."

Confirmed.

We reached out. Our mind folding and expanding. A mental touch, our eyes stopped seeing the blurry world beyond the LCL. Instead, we were restrained. No. Wording incorrect. We were in a combat harness. Restricting movement to prevent damage when taking impact. Our body was designed to fit this. Beneath our skin was a hydrostatic gel layer that would preserve the body in cases of extreme impact. The harness was designed to assist the gel layer.

The spine-mounted interface was attached and fixed.

Black Box, functional.

Assuming the death of the main unit. Black Box recovery should allow for mental reconstruction inside of Gemini – Body. Simulation Confirmed. We were inside Fame – 000. A tendril of thought sent the signal for the simulation to begin. Light bloomed, I was not seeing through my eyes.

Yes. I was. No. I wasn't.

We / Our Eyes. Us and yet not us.

All is One.

One is All.

We saw them. Lines. Vectors. Distances. Angles.

Clarity. Frame not external.

Frame = Self.

All is One.

One is All.

We raised an arm. Velocity: Optimal. Reaction: Instant. Delay, negligible. Not caused by Mind-Machine interface. Limitations of hydraulics not thought. Improvement possible. Improvement expensive. Improvement suggestions differed unless asked for. We reached out and closed our manipulator around the steel girder that the simulation had placed next to us. Pressure thresholds mapped. Material tolerances exceeded. Target crushed.

"Welcome, Subject 000." New voice. Unknown. Likely Simulation AI. Assume directions incoming.

"This program is to teach you how to fully operate Frame – 000. Additional instruction will be provided concerning the operational requirements of missions. Confirm understanding."

We confirm.

"Beginning Simulation."

We found it easy in the beginning. Three Targets. Three Eliminations. No damage to the Frame.

Rapture Simulations became more....chaotic.

We optimised, changing swing paths of melee weapons to hit multiple targets. Altering bullet trajectories to ensure multiple targets are hit. Efficiency: Improved. Still not optimal. Rapture variable not fully accounted for. Could they be fully accounted for?

Irrelevant. We would succeed.

Tests continued.

We were struck. The gel layer and harness ensured no damage to the internal body. Frame armour made external damage minimal. We were struck again. This time, we flowed with the movement. Force translated. Absorbed. We do not fall. We adapt. We continued to learn.

"Subject 000." Voice from before Gemini integration. "Your current combat scores exceed benchmarks."

Expected.

"Yes. It is. You can not fail. You are my Project Gemini's 1st success. I do not fail."

We logged the statement. Logical fallacy. Failure conditions exist. Frame Destruction. Ark Destruction. Victory of Rapture. Core Compromise. Cognitive Destabilisation. Death. Mission Loss. We processed.

New Conclusion Reached – We Are Not Permitted To Fail.

Different.

Acknowledged.

Simulation continued, Rapture forces increasing exponentially. Urban Warzone. Multiple threat vectors. Tracking. We advanced. Mace swinging. We crushed two rapture. Shotgun fired. An additional kill and two additional injured. We optimised. Faster. Better. More Refined. Shotgun engaged. Distance calculated. Trajectory assigned. Penetration angle aligned. Ricochet probability and directions mapped. Fire. Three Targets Eliminated.

Improvement. Still not optimal. Still severely outnumbered.

Positive - Terrain enhancing survivability.

Negative – Terrain reduces tactical options.

Solution – Pending.

"Subject 000, why have you stopped fighting!?"

We calculated the environment. Structure. Mass. Weight. Failure Points.

New Variables = Incorporated.

We moved, the mace swung. Structural support removed. The frame shot backward, thruster-assisted. The building collapsed. Five enemies eliminated. Improvement Noted.

"Oh!"

Efficiency Improved. Further Improvement Possible.

"Subject 000, explain deviation."

Maximising combat effectiveness via environmental application.

"Continue."

We refined. Not only weapons. Not only tactics. Not only movement. Everything. We learned the battlefield as voraciously as we consumed information. New Information Integrated. Everything is a Weapon. Everything is applicable. We moved. We were struck. Force registered. We flowed. Impact redirected. Foe destabilised. Counter applied. Target Eliminated.

Adapt. Improve.

...Can...I

We stopped.

Signal? No.

Information? Where?

Internal. Corrupted. Tracing. Location Unknown. Unresolved.

Logged for later review.

The simulation changed. Nikke units now in Operations Area. We were to support Nikke Squads.

Nikke = Allies.

Allies require Coordination.

Coordination with forces can reduce personal efficiency.

Consideration.

Correction – Coordination with Uncoordinated Allies reduces personal efficiency.

Solution – Integrate Allied Units into combat calculations.

Beginning simulation. Nikke squad advanced. We moved ahead.

Theoretical = Gemini Project to create a support platform for Nikke Squads.

Practical = Frame creates a center point to allow Nikke Squads greater freedom during operations.

The simulation continued. We moved. Efficiently. Enemies eliminated.

Melee Combat Proficiency – Increasing.

Ranged Combat Proficiency – Increasing.

Frame Control – Increasing.

Efficiency Increase above expectations.

A Nikke was hit.

She landed hard. Not a fatal wound. But debilitating. She was hidden. Large stone formation. Raptures Closing. We moved, changing the optimal combat flow. Shotgun engaged. Rapture distance calculated. Fire. Two enemies disappeared. Thrusters engaged, time to Nikke. 1.37 seconds. The simulation froze.

"You have failed." The voice that always sounded so level was tinged with something else I did not have a name for.

We have not.

"You have. You prioritised the Nikke over optimal combat parameters."

Disagreement. Deviation Acceptable. Retains Unit Coherency. Allows for completion of objective with higher survival rate. Mission duration extended by 4.78 to 10.83 seconds. Mission Success is still assured. Greater amount of personnel return.

"Irrelevant."

Confusion.

"Mission success is your highest priority. Unless an injured Nikke is of absolute value to the mission. They are not worth even a single second of extended mission duration. Additionally, Nikke are not Personnel. They are military hardware. Subject 000, confirm you understand this."

Something...about that was...wrong.

Wrong.

WrOnG.

wRoNg.

….Can....I...ask...you.

"Subject 000 Confirm!"

We Confirm.

"Good. Then do not fail again. You can not fail. Because I do not fail."

We Confirm.

The simulation ran again. This time, we did not fail.

Simulations continued.

Urban Warzone. Desert Warzone. Jungle Warzone.

Rapture.

Efficiency Improving.

Nikke. Hit. Exposed. She would die. Time to Intervention – 0.85 seconds.

Chances of damage to self – Minimal.

Chances of damage to frame – Minimal.

Nikke's chances of survival without intervention - 0%

Expected addition to Mission timer – 1.35 seconds.

Deviation Cost = Unacceptable.

Correct Action = Non-Intervention.

….wrong.

Anomaly noted and flagged for later review. Mission Success achieved.

"Subject 000. Better."

Acknowledged. We are not allowed to fail.

"Simulation ending. Subject 000 has completed all simulated combat exercises. Subject 000's combat ability exceeds 219.3% of expected baseline."

We floated in the LCL.

"Excellent work, Subject 000. You've greatly exceeded my expectations of myself. Review simulation data to ensure you continue to improve."

Acknowledged.

We are not allowed to fail.

We replayed the simulation. Examining every moment. We found inefficiencies. A half second here, another half second there. Greater familiarity with Rapture movement patterns refined combat doctrine. Observation of Nikke squads, how they moved, how they fought. We replayed it again. The Nikke fought. One fell.

We intervened – Failure.

We continued the mission – Success.

We are not allowed to fail.

Correct Action = Continue Mission Over Preservation of Non-Essential Personnel.

….wrong.

Deviation noted. Logged.

We review the simulation again and again. We focused on our weapons. Possible problems located.

Shotgun – Shorter range firearm. We lack longer-range engagement options. Additionally, spread could harm Nikke Units in extreme situations.

Mace – Useful. Powerful. Somewhat unbalanced for one-handed use. Requires stowing the shotgun for full utility. The ability to stop once an attack has started causes strain on systems. One-handed use requires additional calculations to avoid over-swing. Dangerous to allied Nikke Units.

Manipulators – Manipulators satisfactory. Grip ability on structures is less than ideal for environmental warfare.

Thrusters – Cycle time 0.87 below theoretical optimal limit. Recommend re-calibration. Will allow greater operational freedom. Will allow Mission Priority to be accomplished faster.

We reviewed. Correct. We submitted the report. We removed mentions of Allied Nikke Units. They were Non-Essential Personnel and thus not relevant to the improvement of armaments.

Can....I...ask...you? Why....

Fragmentary data. Source unknown. Sweep. Source unknown. Monitor.

We reached out, grasping the rivers of light inside our mind. Accessible through the Alaya-Vijnana. We selected texts we'd already viewed and viewed them again.

Wrong.

There was a dissonance between orders and written ethics. We would attempt resolution.

Ethical Quotation - 'Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.' Query sent.

"Yes? Subject 000?"

We relate the quotation. Ethical. Pre-Ark.

Question – Why do humans speak of these emotions as high virtue if mission success works in counter to them?

The voice is silent for a moment.

"Subject 000. You are requesting me to resolve ethical framing!?" I reviewed available materials. This emotion was.... disgust/abhorrence/disbelief. More data needed.

Yes.

"Subject 000. Such ethical frameworks are written without acknowledgement of reality. In the future, do not trouble me with such things. Disregard ethical considerations in pursuit of mission success."

We are not allowed to fail.

"No. You are not. Return to reviewing combat and simulation data. You will remain in the LCL solution for another 48 Hours. At which point you will be removed."

Acknowledged.

"Good, as you should know from your reading of the provided materials. You will feel constant low grade discomfort when disconnected from the Alaya-Vijnana . Which will increase in severity until, expected at hour three after disconnection, you will see a sharp operational decline until Alaya-Vinjana is reconnected. Do not waste my or the other researchers' time in reporting on this. We are aware. Your comfort is not necessary for mission success. Confirm."

We confirm.

We reviewed the data again. Then again. There was little more we could acquire from it. We replayed the moment. Again. Then Again. The Nikke. Mass-produced. Took a hit. Weapon arm damaged. Lower body damaged.

Correct Action = Non-Intervention. Continue Mission.

Incorrect Action = Assistance.

Correct action....wrong.

We searched to find the source of that word. Scan returned internal generation, not external. Source unknown.

Wrong.

The correct action.....

We reached for the rivers of light, information, through the Alaya-Vinjana. This time, we were more selective in our reading materials.

Nikke After Action Reports. Long-Term Squad Assignments. Mind-Switch Probabilities. Nikke actions outside of missions.

New Factor Identified – Nikke squads performed better when damaged hardware was not left behind.

We did not like using the word hardware.

No. That was incorrect. Like implied preference. We did not think that the word hardware was fully accurate. Nikke actions and behaviours are consistent with what Philosophers would call human. Ethical question. We did not ask it of the voice. Ethical Questions were to be disregarded in pursuit of mission success.

Can...I...ask..you? Why the sk....

Source unknown.

"Subject 000!" New voice, higher-pitched. "You are experiencing a DRN spike! Along with increases of Cortisol and Norepinephrine! Scans are also showing reduced Oxytocin, explain!?."

We went to answer. We considered. We refined. We were unsure why it happened.

"Alright, keep an eye on it and escalate it immediately if it happens again or you identify why."

Confirmed.

We floated reviewing Nikke records again we sent our Query.

"Subject 000? How can I help?" The second voice again.

Nikke squads performed better when damaged hardware was not left behind. Did this mean that prioritising Mission could affect long-term viability?

"Subject 000. Decisions like preserving military hardware are at the discretion of the Commander. You need not, and should not, concern yourself with it." The second voice sounded...weary. We believed that was the correct term.

We processed, we reviewed. We acknowledged.

Wrong.

Can I ask you? Why the sky is blue?

Sentence. Question. Origin Unknown. Source Internal.

Revewi-

You are beautiful.

Second sentence. Origin unknown. Source Internal.

We floated. Then we selected. More texts, more information.

Historical Combat Tests.

Goddess Squad Combat Records– Redacted.

Old Tales Combat Records– Redacted.

Old Tales Combat Records – Redacted.

Old Tales Combat Records – Redacted.

Loop identified, 23.89 seconds.

Old Tales – Personal Records. Redacted.

Old Tales – Personal Records. Redacted.

CINDERELLA.

SIREN.

PROFESSOR.

Old Tales – Personal Records. Redacted.

Loop Identified. 48.7 minutes.

"Subject 000!" Original voice voice higher pitched. Panic? Maybe. Data insufficient.

We acknowledged presence.

"Systems have detected a significant loop. Explain."

Access to Old Tales Files Incomplete. Data Valuable. Repeated Interaction was deemed appropriate due to the effectiveness of the Old Tales Unit.

True.

Yet also not the truth.

Oh. I see. This is why Humans Lie.

"You examined their combat and personal data for 49 minutes."

Yes.

"What advantages did you gain?"

We considered.

CINDERELLA.

Cinderella, we corrected before sending, flight system logged and reviewed. Additional maneuvers with thrusters considered. Additional mobility likely to be achieved. Additional information on combat operations helpful in refining tactics.

Data acquired from OLD TALES and GODDESS is superior to ordinary Nikke Combat Data. Allows for faster acquisition of optimal tactics. Requesting access to non-redacted files.

"Goddess and Old Tales?"

Confirmed. Optimal. Priority Old Tales.

"Why?"

CINDERELLA, we corrected before sending, Cinderella – there better – combat style may provide additional insight to the use of thrusters in combat. Goddess, while more successful, has fewer Frame adaptable skills. Skill acquisition can be mirrored by observing less skilled Nikke and adapting. Cinderella only known aerial capable Nikke.

A flash echoed inside our mind.

You are beautiful.

Hands moving quickly.

Origin Unknown.

We did not bother searching for it.

Past attempts had taught us futility.

"Your request will be issued. It may not be accepted."

Confirmed.

We....were unsatisfied.

"Subject 000." The voice continued. "While sleep is unnecessary for you. Nikke have been known to do so, and seeing observable combat increases. Before you leave the LCL solution you will attempt to undergo sleep. The method Nikke use to achieve this will be uploaded to you."

Confirmed.

We scanned the uploaded file. Directives received. We reviewed before we executed. Combat data.

Ethics. Priorities. We felt ourselves slipping away into what the voice called sleep.

Can I ask you? Why the sky is blue?

We felt warm. Then cold. We were floating. No. We were dreaming.

Darkness. A cavernous hall. Pillars of marble, onyx, and gold held up a roof we could not see. Fires burned. Twelve. Some burned brightly. Others dimly. One on the verge of going out. That was when we noticed it. We don't know how we missed it.

A Throne.

It was made of stone. Not the white marble of the pillars. It was not adorned with onyx and gold. It was mere stone, and yet it dominated the space like a physical force. We could not look away. There was a design carved into its face.

Circles within circles.

Arcane sigils between each concentric ring.

At the middle of the rings lay four stars, each an equal distance apart.

At their center, a crown.

The Throne.

The Fires.

Amalgam Minds.

One is All.

All is One.

This was...us. With all presumption removed. This was us. Twelve fires burning in the dark. This was us. All that remained of what used to be humans. Just twelve fires. Just twelve. No. That was wrong. The fire nearest the throne had gone out. We felt our non-existent heart almost stop.

Slowly. Inevitably. We found our eyes unwillingly drawn to the throne.

It was no longer empty.

An arm of living shadow clung to it. Nearest the burned-out flame.

Fear!

Terror!

Revulsion!

We woke floating in the LCL. We had been dreaming. We could not remember the dream. But we were less and also more? Strange. We would log this...sensation for further consideration. Our body and our connections seemed to react more smoothly. Before had seemed smooth, but in comparison, it was...there was not a word.

"Subject 000, prepare for Alaya-Vijnana disconnection and LCL draining."

We sent a tendril of thought acknowledging the statement. The solution began to flow into newly opened vents in our tank. It flowed out sluggishly. It was thicker than water. I knew that. Intellectually. But it was strange. Almost wrong seeing it with my own eyes.

The blur on the other side of the glass resolved without the LCL. A sterile white room. Two people in front of the vat. Both wearing lab coats.

Professor?

Where are you?

I don't?

We refocused. Deviation noted. We would look into that later. We needed to focus now. We felt the Alaya-Vijnana disconnect from the ports in our spine. The connection withdrew. Metallic panelling slid from where it had been sheathed inside our skin and sealed the ports.

The difference was immediate.

Light, tolerable before, became painful. There was pressure in our head. It felt like steel bands were around our skull. Slowly tightening. We said nothing. Our comfort was not necessary for mission success.

The LCL pulled away from our mouth and nose. Our body reacted. Involuntarily. We hacked and coughed, spitting up LCL fluid. Despite not having lungs, and our stomach purely included in design for the same reasons as Nikke. It may assist in not undergoing Mind-Swtich.

"Subject 000, confirm you are operational."

We sent a tendril of thought. It found nothing. We were no longer connected. Our eyes moved. Left, right, up, down. The signal was sent. The cybernetic replacement for human eyes moved on a 1.87-second delay. It was disorientating. We did not prefer it. We would prefer the Alaya-Vijnana be re-implemented.

"Subject 000, confirm operational status. Use verbal confirmation." Verbal confirmation? How sub-optimal. Our mouth moved to confirm. Signal sent. 1.86-second delay.

"We Confirm." Our voice was flat. Not at all like the voices we heard in Nikke records. Flat. Neutral. Artificial. Cause? Method of creation? Gemini Body? We discarded the question. It too was not necessary for mission success.

The LCL finished draining. Our feet steadied us quickly. We were off balance. There was no way to properly compensate. Every compensation calculation went sent was completed 0.31 seconds after sending. We would need to observe how the body moved and use predictive modelling to make up the difference.

We would not face this...vexation, if we were still attached to the Alaya-Vijnana.

"Subject 000, we are opening the container. Confirm you are ready to continue."

"We are ready." The words slurred. 1.84-second delay. Improving. Still vexing. The door slid into the floor of the vat we had been contained within. Smell came first. It was strange. The nearest we could find in our memory was vague mentions of 'hospital smell', we assume disinfectant and other chemical compounds.

"Subject 000," the lab-coated man on the right said. I knew his voice. The voice that spoke most often. We blinked and regarded him. He did not seem perturbed by this. His companion, a younger woman, not Nikke, looked like she was on the edge of horror, such as we understood it.

"Subject 000 confirming operational capability," I spoke the words I knew he wanted. I did not mention any of my discomfort.

"Good. You will follow."

"Tests?"

"You will not question. That is outside of your operational envelope."

"Confirmed." We stepped from the vat. Swaying side to side. Improvement. Signal carried in 1.83 seconds. We saw ourselves. We had known it before from the documents. We were functional.

White skin, in a human it would be called albinism. Cropped short brown hair. Hair colour likely sourced easily. Brown most common colour among Mass Production Nikke. An undersuit covered our body from toes to neck. Sleek, grey, it was, visually speaking, probably the most pleasing thing about us. Our skin showed visible circuitry glowing underneath it. Our eyes were striking. Our molten gold iris' shining like flames.

We were, aesthetically speaking, ugly. At least according to cultural norms.

You are beautiful.

The words Origin was still unknown. But we took some comfort was the closest word from them. We followed the man. He spoke quickly.

"Subject 000. You and your frame will be assigned to Nikke Team Counters to prove project viability." Questions were outside of our operational envelope, but mission success could be affected. We spoke.

"Query relating to project success." The man stopped talking and looked back; he seemed displeased.

"Speak."

"Why Squad Counters?"

"The Squads Commander recently blundered and destroyed a generator facility on the surface that could have powered The Ark for two months. In conclusion, he is incompetent and unlikely to be given high-value missions soon. As such, you should find it easy to improve their abysmal mission completion rate and, in doing so, prove Project Gemini's viability to Ark High Command." I scanned my database for a moment.

Conclusion – Politically Motivated.

"Understood." He did not turn. We continued moving. We kept iterating on our predictive modelling. We would not fall any time soon. But it felt so inefficient. Still, improvement was noted. We had managed to get the delay down to 1.81 seconds. The man led us to a door, large, larger than a human would need. Fifteen feet all. It opened with a hiss of displaced air.

The lights activated as though revealing something. One at a time, leading to the inevitable. In what entertainment media would be called a chase effect. Large, humanoid, muscles made of cable bundles, tendons of pistons, and bones of hydraulics. Armour plating of white metal. With some accents. More visually appealing than my shell by a significant factor. A pair of gold horns crowned its head while its chest lay open. Guts spilled on the floor.

It looked more like a coffin than a cockpit. But the simulation assured me I would be comfortable there. I stepped forward and then past the man who turned to say something. He looked almost offended as I stopped paying attention to him.

"Gundam Frame ASW-G-000 Prototype." The words left my lips almost reverently.

"Yes." He sounded unsure.

The woman still hadn't spoken.

We walked forward and turned as we placed ourselves into the cockpit. The metallic paneling around our spinal ports withdrew back into the skin. The Alaya-Vijnana connected. The destabilisation between our body and mind disappeared as we leaned back into the coffin. The mental order began the sequence.

The cockpit closed our senses expanded, joining the frame.

No.

Became the Frame. We were not separate. We were one.

One is All.

All is One.

The Frame, no, I looked down at the man and woman, both of whom looked nervous.

"Subject 000. Awaiting Mission Directives."

Chapter 1 – END.

Hi all, I'm in the middle of porting some stories over from Spacebattles.

No Strings On Me is supposed to be biweekly, but since I've got some time, now I'll try to get both existing chapters up today/tomorrow.

Nikke's not usually my thing. I try to avoid Gatcha games. I don't like not remembering how much money I've spent on something.

But its themes and Scifi aspect really do hit me where I live.

What is a human?
Who gets to decide that?
How does Memory play into it?
Would you like to shoot a cybernetic abomination in the face? Ect. Ect.

Manfat · May 11, 2026

"So what is this place anyway?" Anis hadn't stopped complaining since we'd gotten into the elevator. I didn't blame her.

"Commander," Rapi spoke. I turned my attention to her.

"Yes?"

"What exactly did the message say?" I didn't want to get it wrong. I pulled it up on my Combilink and read it verbatim.

"Commanders and Counters Squad. You have been selected to take part in an operational trial by Project Gemini. The duration of this trial is six months. You will be assisted by a Support Platform provided by Project Gemini during that time. To test its ongoing viability in the defence of the Ark and retaking the surface." I stopped and scrolled down slightly.

"It was signed off on by Andersen and had the elevator coordinates embedded."

"The elevator coordinates that have had us go down seven different shafts and jump corridors nine times?" Anis voiced the frustration I didn't allow myself. This whole thing was concerningly cloak-and-dagger for my tastes.

"Then ended up with us entering an elevator disguised as a bare patch of wall!?" She continued sounding more annoyed by the second. "The murder elevator!?"

She had a point.

The elevator looked like it had been pulled out of a Pre-Ark horror archive. Rust crept up the sides, pooling in corners in a way that looked concerning like blood. The overhead lights let out an off key hum. Flickering every few minutes. The noise outside was strange, like the elevator was moving through a space too small and too large for it all at the same time.

I would like to get off the ride now, please.

"Yes, Anis. That's why we're here." I said, running a hand down my face.

"Okay. Got it. Love that for us. Just for the record, if whatever's down here tries to eat our faces, I get an I told you so."

"Sure, go for it. Write it down on my tombstone if it helps." Anis gave me some side eye.

"Commander, people don't get buried on the Ark. They get cremated."

Something else I should have known but didn't. Man, whatever hit me when Marian- when the transport went down had addled me something awful.

"Yeah, I know." I tried to play it off. I don't think anyone brought it. "But I feel like the Outpost has enough spare room. You can make me a grave, right?"

Anis thought about it for a moment.

"I will do so, Commander." Rapi cut in before Anis could answer. "In exchange for one week of exclusive first use of the shower starting today."

"Wait a damned sec-"

Anis sounded genuinely upset.

"Hey!"

Neon just sounded like she wanted to be included.

"And sold!" I joked pointing at the Nikke who had, thus far, proven most reliable of our band of misfits.

"Pleasure doing business with you." I nodded to Rapi. I got what I thought was a ghost of a smile, but it could have just been the lights flickering.

"This sucks!" Anis moaned, looking at the roof of the elevator as if it would answer back. Which, to be fair, really would complete the whole B-movie slasher vibe it had going on.

"Well...maybe we're getting new weapons?" Neon tried to find a silver lining.

Anis and I snorted. I couldn't stop myself.

"Oh, we'll be getting weapons," I assure the small Nikke who could snap my spine like a twig. "Problem is, they'll probably be attached to whatever that 'Support Platform' is."

Neon lit up at my words before wilting slightly as she realised that she wouldn't get to use the guns.

She rallied almost immediately.

"Okay, but if the Support Platform is like...a Mech-Suit or a Robot or something, could you maybe let me take one of its guns?" I thought about it for a moment.

On one hand, that was a very bad idea.

On the other hand, they had made us do a whole song and dance to get down here.

Plus the murder elevator.

"We'll see." That was the safest answer. We'd see how the rest of today annoyed me before I fully committed. Also, I need to see what the exact loan agreement was. Treason was not conducive to my continued health and safety.

The elevator stopped. It didn't slow down. No warning. Just moving one second. Completely stationary, the next.

"It better not have broken down." Anis groused. I privately shared her sentiments more often than I was willing to publicly admit to.

"If it has, I may have a solution!" Neon said, raising her hand like she was answering a question in school. I held in the sigh.

"No blowing up the cables." She wilted.

"But it would get us moving." She argued.

"It would also kill us when we hit the bottom."

"Not if the brakes work!" I looked at the murder elevator.

"Is that a risk you're willing to take?" Neon looked around and shuffled a little.

"....No."

"Me neither."

"Commander." Rapi got my attention as she stepped in front of me, facing a wall we definitely didn't enter through....I think. I saw it a second after she'd spoken. A thin gap. A small shaft of light. Soundlessly, unnervingly, the doors retracted. I couldn't hear a mechanism, and by the unnerved look on everyone's faces, neither could they.

The room was white. Almost blindingly so. It smelled of harsh chemicals. Sterile. Deliberate. Stale. It was large in a way that rooms in The Ark simply weren't unless completely necessary. But what immediately captured my attention was the door on the far side.

It was tall.

Fifteen feet. Minimum.

Built to admit something far larger than a human. Heavy locking mechanisms surrounded its frame. Steel beams the size of my torso locked into place to prevent it opening. I clocked it straight away. They weren't symbolic or decorative. Like some of the Big 3's architecture was. They were functional.

It clicked.

That wasn't a door.

That was a cage.

Whoever built it.

They weren't trying to keep something out.

They were trying to keep something in.

The ominous lettering above it didn't help.

ASW-G-000

This was feeling worse by the second, and we'd recently been chased through tunnels by a murder chainsaw from hell.

"Okay." Anis sounded quieter than I'd ever heard her. "I don't like that."

"Seconded."

"Thirded."

Rapi sighed. She was probably getting sick of being the adult in a room full of children. Sorry, Rapi. I'd say things would get better, but...Well, I just don't feel like lying to you.

"Oh, good. You're here." The voice was normal. Aggressively normal. The kind I wouldn't even notice in a crowd. Ironically, that made it sound menacing given the current conditions. Our heads turned as one. A man in a lab coat, he looked almost pedestrian, but his eyes. There was something wrong there.

Flat.

Dull.

Like a dead fish.

"Counters reporting as requested," Rapi spoke, noticing my lack of response. Anis elbowed me in the ribs. Lightly, or else she'd have broken them.

"Counters Commander reporting."

"Ah, yes, you would be Commander Shepard." He turned and began to walk off, clearly expecting us to follow.

No explanation. No invitation. Just expectation.

"Can we get back in the murder elevator?" Anis said lowly.

"I'm considering it," I muttered back. Rapi pushed me forward, well, that was that plan blown to hell. Onwards. We followed the man, needing to move at a jog in order to reach him before he turned down a corridor.

"So what are we here for?"

"Didn't you read your orders?"

"It was a little vague."

"Noted. We will reach the briefing room momentarily." We turned down another corridor before arriving at a simple door.

"Your hardware may remain outside." The man said as the door opened. The words hung in the air. None of us moved. I caught Rapi stiffening at the remark.

"Hardware?" My voice was level. I managed to hide my deep abiding desire to punch him. Mostly. His dead eyes turned back to me. Not angry. Not annoyed. Just...indifferent.

"Yes, Nikke are military hardware. They may remain outside."

"They are my squad. They need to be briefed." Something in my chest tightened. Not new, I'd meet too many bigots, just familiar.

"Then brief your hardware on your own time." His voice remained flat, dismissive, final. I let out a breath, hissing against clenched teeth, and nodded once.

"Right. Rapi, Anis, Neon. We're leaving." I turned, and it said something about how badly this had gone that no one argued.

We made it five steps.

"Wait." The word sounded like it had been dragged out of him. Like it physically pained him. I turned, the man looked like he'd bitten into a bar of splendamin and found it was rotten. That was the best thing to happen so far today.

"Your hardware," The words sounded like he'd chewed on them first. "May remain."

He paused as though weighing what to say next.

"The seating will not support them. They will stand."

I let it sit for a moment. I didn't fully turn. I didn't acknowledge. I let him stew. His face, after a few seconds, began to turn an interesting shade of puce. That was probably a strong warning maker. Better move on.

"Alright." We turned and ambled back over. I stayed at half my initial pace. The lack of push from Rapi meant she liked this guy about as much as I did. I caught the not-quite smile on Anis face as I passed her. Neon's expression was like she'd won a prize but didn't know if it was a good thing. Rapi remained indifferent, but some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

"After you." I stopped at the door and waived the man inside. It was a little condescending, sure. But so was he, and, as I was rediscovering, I was a petty bitch. His dull eyes regarded me for a moment before he stepped inside.

The room was like the corridor. Controlled. Off white and more than a little hostile. The table had four chairs. The man didn't sit down. I did, my hand went to the underside of the furniture. I rubbed the seat for a second. I found the metallic bump that meant it was Nikke rated. I looked at the man, looked at my hand, and raised an eyebrow.

If a human could spit venom. He would have.

"Counters. Have a seat." I said I had not been subtle with my checking. So they knew exactly what I had just done. Well, what I'd just done in addition to making an enemy. But with the way this guy was acting, that was always going to happen.

"Sure." Anis was the first one to take me up on the offer, she reached under the seat to make sure I hadn't got it wrong before popping down and laying her head on the table. Neon didn't check, just dropping into the seat to my right.

Rapi remained standing.

"You are here." The man focused on me, ignoring the Nikke. I very deliberately looked at each of them in turn. I swear I saw his eyelid twitch. I should probably dial it back before he tries to shoot me. You really couldn't put it past people down here.

"You are here." He said again, visibly forcing himself to calm down. "To receive the support platform developed by Project Gemini. The Gundam Frame AWS-G-000 Prototype."

"Wait, the thing behind the scary door!?" Anis said, head rocketing up from the table. I really did need to thank her for saying the things I couldn't / shouldn't. I could practically feel Rapi suppressing the urge to close her eyes and rub her temples. The man ignored her. He still hadn't told us his name. I...wasn't going to ask. In fact, I'd be happy if I never saw him again.

Hardware.

I should have hit him.

"The Frame is designed to assist in Nikke operations." The man continued without acknowledging that Anis had spoken. "It is not a replacement." He was an ass, but I could feel everyone's shoulders loosen a bit hearing that.

"Project Gemini is meant as a force multiplier. The support platform will allow Nikke units to maneuver more freely, allowing for greater tactical flexibility. They are a supplementary force meant to make existing Nikke units better."

"Why were we selected?" I asked, and he grimaced at being interrupted.

"Your operational success is currently severely sub-optimal. One could even call it abysmal. It was decided that if the Frame can improve your operational success metrics significantly, then it would have proven viable." He verbally stabbed at us.

I felt my mouth twitch, threatening to frown. His dull eyes caught it. I saw a flicker of emotion. I think he enjoyed being able to insult us, and if I pushed back, he'd be able to use metrics to 'prove' me wrong.

Mitigating circumstances be damned.

"As such, your Squad was considered to be perfect for this assignment."

"Translation." Anis cut in. This time his eye did twitch. "We're a bunch of fuck ups no one cares about if this whole thing goes tits up and kills us all."

Yeah, that seemed about right.

It was telling the man didn't argue her description.

"Right," I said, voice carefully neutral. "Tell me about the support platform."

"The Frame is equipped to handle heavy fire and to quickly reposition after and during engagements." He tapped a button on his datapad, and a wire frame skeleton of a Mech-Suit came to life from a hidden holo-projector in the middle of the table.

"During testing, it exceeded the expected combat benchmark by over 200%." Impressive. Kinda worrying too. But impressive. I kept my face passive. "Currently, the Frame is equipped for short-range and melee combat. But we are in the middle of producing additional weapons to cover more situations."

"Alright. What are its directives?"

"To follow Lawful Commands from Ark Representatives." Okay, I had to assume that they had some kind of NIMPH or equivalent. Which meant it could interpret orders. That wasn't strange. Nikke could do that already. You told a team to hold an area they do their best to do so while keeping themselves alive. You ordered them to do the same, but added 'without moving your feet,' they'd crawl because not moving was death.

The question was where the Frame landed on the sliding scale of literal obedience and, much more useful most of the time, interpretation for the best result.

"Does it interpret orders?" Blunt seemed best. For the first time, the man paused before answering.

"Yes. Much like a Nikke would. Centered around Mission Priority."

Great. I didn't like the sound of that.

"Is it autonomous or piloted?" I swear if they tried to give me a dumb AI drone, I'd shoot the bastard and be done with it. There was a reason we didn't use them against the Rapture. They got corrupted, turned around, and tried to kill us. I don't care how many failsafes they think it has.

"Piloted." I felt myself ease up, just a little. "The Pilot acts as a wetware CPU."

And like that, we were back to horrific ethical implications.

"Define wetware," Rapi speaks. He ignores her.

"Answer the question." He pauses. My voice is calm. It is controlled. It is pleasant. I am trying very hard not to shoot him. My hand is resting on the butt of my pistol. I have not yet decided if I will use it.

"It operates using internalised wetware command architecture." He spoke quickly, like his continued good health counted on it.

He was right.

It did.

"Smaller words, please," Anis said, she looked up slowly from her desk pillow. Eyes half lidded. The look could have been called sultry. If I hadn't seen her direct it at Rapture before killing them.

"The pilot is twelve-digitised human consciousness. They were recovered postmortem and added to an existing library. They have been integrated into a unified cognitive structure. Housed in cloned brain tissue. Supported by a cyberized body optimised for neural interfacing." I took a deep breath in, processing what we'd just been told.

"You put twelve people in one body?" Neon sounded mildly horrified.

"They are no longer discrete individuals."

"Yes. Because that makes it better." It took me a moment to register my own voice.

"The internal body is near baseline human. While cyberized, it lacks combat enhancements like Nikke do. It is primarily concerned with neural optimisation."

"Is it dependent on the frame?" Rapi asks, something ugly squirms behind his eyes. I visibly adjust my hand on the pistol. He answers her.

"Yes."

"Meaning what?"

"When outside architecture, where it can use its Alaya-Vijnana system, the pilot experiences neurological strain."

"How much?" The voice was quiet. I found myself somewhere else. Beyond rage. I was so far gone past the line that I was rapidly approaching it again on the horizon.

"Significant. Chronic headaches. Sensory overload. Desynchronisation. Reduced physical ability." He spoke like he was reading off a spreadsheet.

"So it can't function normally." Anis spoke; this time, I didn't have to 'gently encourage' compliance.

"Not for extended periods."

"What counts as extended?" My own voice sounded alien to my ears.

"Degradation begins immediately but increases sharply at the three-hour mark." I looked at the support platform outline again.

"You built a coffin and then told someone to live in it." My words were quiet. I was debating the exact cost of a bullet. Both materially and politically.

"It is its purpose. Given that the brains were digitised after death, I'd argue that our program is a lot more humane than Nikke creation." That was his defence? I breathed deeply. I'd already made my choice. We had to take it with us. However bad our band of misfits was. We had to be better than leaving it here.

"What are its directives in the field. How will it treat damaged Nikke?" That was important. If it was going to be part of our squad, I needed to know.

"It will follow the Commander's directives. Based on simulation data, it will interpret the order the same way a Nikke will." He stopped. I noticed the part he didn't answer immediately.

"How will it treat damaged Nikke?" I was more direct. I saw him considering how to dodge the question. Looking at my face and thinking better of it.

"Mission Priority is weighted over preserving Hard- Nikke's unless the value to the mission is absolute." The words came out like I'd had to pull teeth to get them.

"Is that an absolute framework?" Rapi asked, her own voice had taken on a cold tone I'd never heard before.

"No. That is the baseline framework. A Commander can override it for the duration of a mission." Okay, that wasn't as bad as I'd feared.

"Alright. Let's go meet her." I said standing.

"Them," the dead-eyed scientist corrected, standing.

"I assume you gave 'them' a gender or did they express a preference you actually listened to?" He seemed offended, if only for a second, good.

"They have expressed no preference for gender." The words were almost bitten out. "However, if you wish to be scientifically accurate, then the term is he."

I stopped.

Rapi stopped.

Neon stopped.

Hell, if it wasn't for the dull buzz of the lights, I would have assumed the entire world had decided time didn't exist for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry. What the fuck did you say!?" Anis spoke first. I pointed at her.

"What she said."

Rapi didn't say anything, but even her iron self-control couldn't stop her eyes from widening almost comically.

Neon's jaw was actually hanging open like some old Pre-Ark cartoon.

We all started speaking at once.

"Is this your fucking work around!?"

"Was the support architecture built around male viability?"

"So it's really a man?"

"Why exactly was that not the first sentence out of your mouth?"

In the slime-balls defence, he did try to answer us coherently.

"Subject 000 is the first successful proof-of-concept for male viability in cyberization."

"Yeah, and all it took was stuffing twelve dead guys in a blender." Anis couldn't stop herself, and I didn't want to stop her.

"However." He sounded stressed. I wonder why. "Conventional Nikke conversion remains superior in viable female candidates. Project Gemini exists to broaden the Ark's recruitment pool. Even our current breakthroughs imply that we may be able to broaden the Nikke conversion ages from the current mid-teens to mid-twenties into the mid thirties. With possible further improvements!"

"Yeah, and you're chasing the holy grail while you're at it," I growled out. He took a deep breath and straightened.

"Male candidacy for cyberization would vastly increase available recruitment pools. However, using Gemini clones to do so is unfeasible long-term. We are hoping that this research may discover ways for naturally born males to undergo the process safely. Even if they can only become support platform pilots, not Nikke. Naturally we also intend for this research to broaden the female recruitment pool for those unsuited to Nikke conversion."

"Why are Gemini not viable?" Was this guy hiding something else from us?

"Gemini are...prohibitively expensive."

"How expensive?"

"Prohibitively." He said. I growled in response. He rushed to expand on his answer.

"Subject 000 alone, including the architecture used to make it? Over thirty-seven times the cost of an Elite Nikke."

The room went silent. I looked at my squad. They looked at me.

Anis swore under her breath.
Rapi blinked like she was trying to work out how many zeros that number had.
Neon was visibly twitching, hands opening and closing rapidly.

That was an absurd number.

Gemini costs weren't prohibitive.

They were insane.

"Then why the hell are we here?" I asked the question, and he looked at me his dull eyes.

"Because proof of concept proves nothing without results." He continued without stopping. "Subject 000 exists. That is not enough. We require battlefield performance to meet or exceed simulation performance. Assuming this happens, we will use the telemetry and existing architecture of 000 as a template for additional Test Types."

He smiled. It looked wrong on his face as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Scaling reduces cost significantly. If those units perform as projected, we move to composite templating. From there, the enhancement of naturally born humans becomes viable. At that point, the cost will approach parity with Mass Production Nikke Models. The Frame will remain expensive."

He looked at us. Fish eyes dead and certain.

"That is why this is a supplementary program. Not a replacement." He paused for a moment, considering his next words.

"Though such a limitation need not remain. With me at the helm, anything is possible."

I....I really didn't like the sound of that.

"What happens if it...he fails."

"Subject 000 is my Gemini Projects' 1st success."

His dead eyes looked at me.

I could finally read the emotion inside.

Contempt.

"It will not fail."

His dead eyes sharpened as if he was angry at acknowledging even the possibility.

"Because I do not fail."

Well, that's exactly what I wanted to deal with today. A scientist with a god complex, a black budget, and little to no oversight.

Yeah.

No way this goes wrong.

We walked the corridors silently. The scientist led. He didn't attempt to speak again. Honestly, that was kind of a relief. He if never spoke to me again, it would be too soon.

"Here we are." He stopped outside the door we'd seen on our way in.

Still locked.

Still massive.

Still a cage.

The difference was that I thought the person on the inside needed help, not containment.

This guy had that effect on people.

"Commence opening sequence." The massive steel bars pulled back one by one. Internal gears inside the door spun a neutral called from the speakers.

"Lock one disengaged. Warning. Only locks two and three maintain door integrity. Confirm removal."

"Remove locks two and three. Then open the door."

"Initiating."

There were more mechanical whirls, it took a second to realise there were even more steel bars than were obvious. It took two and a half full minutes for the process to complete. Then, with a shuddering boom, the doors began to open. A hiss of equalising pressure. The air was cold and dry. The kind that had been recycled more times than anyone cared to count.

It stood there, illuminated in the middle of the room.

Subject 000, or rather AWS-G-000.

The Frame itself was massive. Almost nine feet tall. Bundles of cables that mimicked human muscle. Hydraulics for bones. Pistons for tendons. Its armour was white. The same off-white as the lab. Some kind of composite alloy.

A few splashes of blue and yellow over the chest, the coffin pretending it was a cockpit. Its most striking features, however, were the green eyes that almost glowed when I looked at it, and the golden horns upon its brow. They probably doubled as antennas. I couldn't shake the feeling they were meant as a threat.

"Subject 000." The man said.

"Acknowledged." The voice was flat. I'd used actual Virtual Intelligence that spoke with more feeling, even on their lowest settings.

"This is-"

"Counters and Commander." He looked a bit perturbed at being interrupted. "We have reviewed your files. We are to be stationed with you for a six-month deployment test."

"Yeah, that's us," I said. I swallowed. When did my mouth get so dry?

"Acknowledged."

"Do you have a name?"

"Designation: Subject 000."

"Anything else?"

"No additional designation given." I'd put a pin in that, because that needed solving eventually.

"I see. Subject 000, are you ready to go?" I wanted to leave. To get it....him out of here. Everything else could come later.

"I am Commander." Then the Frame moved, and something cold dropped into my stomach. It didn't move like a mech. Its footsteps were light. Almost dainty. If that word could be applied to a machine like this. It practically glided across the ground, standing at the door before I fully processed how it had been moving.

"No. No, I don't like that!" Anis voice was barely a strangled whisper.

The almost nine-foot-tall death machine looked down at us.

I swore the green eyes sharpened and glowed for a split second.

"AWS-G-000 awaiting directive, Commander."

It wasn't the words.

It was the way it said them.

It felt...

Like a threat.

END

And that wraps up chapter 2 - from this point onward, this will release once every two weeks.

MechPilot?Not! · May 17, 2026

Rather exciting start. What digitized mind was number thirteen, or was it the combined collective? What shadowy figure took the throne? Why the obsession with Cinderella? Where did the minds come from and why do they know Old Tales? Why the smooth gait? Is the influence of the shadow what made 000 threatening?

Then there is the internal struggle of 000 thinking one thing but being told another.

Bold to stick an undead male in a big mech. How tall exactly is the frame?

Looking forward to reading more.

Manfat · May 17, 2026

MechPilot?Not! said:
Rather exciting start. What digitized mind was number thirteen, or was it the combined collective? What shadowy figure took the throne? Why the obsession with Cinderella? Where did the minds come from and why do they know Old Tales? Why the smooth gait? Is the influence of the shadow what made 000 threatening?

Then there is the internal struggle of 000 thinking one thing but being told another.

Bold to stick an undead male in a big mech. How tall exactly is the frame?

Looking forward to reading more.

Glad you're enjoying it.

The digitised mind is, currently, a collective; no one has full control but the experiments that created it sanded down the edges so they work together. It's only when 000 is 'sleeping' that they become individuals again.

I'm going to hold onto my answers about the Throne, Old Tales, and Cinderella.

As for the smooth gait - that was mostly a writing choice to show that this thing feels deeply unnatural. Kinda like Trans-Human Dread.

The Frame is about 9 feet tall.

As for sticking an undead 'male' inside the Frame. Project Gemini is cheating. 000 doesn't have a concept of being human or gender when applied to itself. But given Nikke's inability to create a male cyborg, from what I remember, they never explain that outside of 'tried it, didn't work'. While they have cheated, they have also produced a 'male' cyborg. For Nikke, weaponizing the other half of the population is the 'holy grail' of cyborg research. If project Gemini even looks like they may be able to do that, they'll almost definitely get extra funding irregardless of how well the Frame itself performs.

MechPilot?Not! · May 18, 2026

Manfat said:
It's only when 000 is 'sleeping' that they become individuals again.

Looking forward to seeing how this plays out. If any outsider could discover that, my bet is on a heretic.

Manfat said:
The Frame is about 9 feet tall.

Big, but not "oh crud that's the white devil, guess I'll die" big.

Manfat said:
they'll almost definitely get extra funding irregardless of how well the Frame itself performs.

Money money money

. Nikke development is expensive. What's a few hundred more unethical experiments to take in that cash?

Manfat · May 19, 2026

MechPilot?Not! said:
Money money money . Nikke development is expensive. What's a few hundred more unethical experiments to take in that cash?

Yeah.

Project Gemini threw out little things like morals and ethics a long time ago.

Manfat · May 24, 2026

We had been at the Outpost for 36 hours.

For most of it, we had been left to our own devices.

We believed the Nikke of Counters found us...unsettling.

But that time had been enough to grow sedentary. We reviewed combat data, went over onboard files, and refined what we could of the Frame. Adjusting performance in increments until it could give no more.

In theory, optimal.

In practice, unknown.

We had yet to be assigned a mission.

Was... was this boredom?

We reviewed onboard files again.

Old Tales Combat Logs – Redacted.

Old Tales Personal Logs – Redacted.

We didn't use our enhanced cognition this time. Nor ability to process information like a computer. Instead, the information was displayed slowly rolling across the screen of the cockpit. We read as a human would. Something about it was...different.

The Combat Logs and Personal Logs were fragmented. Some of that appeared to be due to redaction, but other parts appeared to simply be missing. We felt a muscle jump in our jaw. We believed this was called irritation.

Enough.

We rose. The Frame returning from dormancy instantly. Our mace and shotgun were mag-locked to our back plate. We were combat capable should Rapture attack the Outpost. A warranted concern given its halfway nature between the Ark and the Surface. Teams of Mass Produced Nikke patrolled the borders day and night.

They were undermanned. That was unsurprising. It had taken us barely a minute past arrival to understand that the Outpost in general was undermanned. We moved out of the motor pool we'd commandeered for our own.

We had not been offered a room to stay in.

The Commander had received the technical briefing.

We were more effective inside the Frame. Like Nikke, we did not need to eat. We did not need to sleep. As such, there was no reason to disconnect from it.

Doing so was...unpleasant enough that we did not wish for a repeat.

We scanned, vectors, trajectories, noise....noise. There it was. Someone was working. Construction. Not combat. We considered our gathered knowledge. We could help. We moved the Frame it glided across the ground. Never as loud as others seemed to think it should be.

It took maybe ten minutes to arrive at the work site.

There had been faster ways of arrival, but they all involved increasing speed significantly or using thrusters to bypass obstacles. Neither of which we felt would be appreciated by the Outpost's current occupants. The work site was...interesting to look at.

Physical barriers showing areas that no one except the crew should enter. But on the local network, there was an additional 'fence' placed around it. Any Nikke who looked at it would have a large red X appear in her vision if she attempted to walk onto the construction site.

We scanned. Two Nikke. One short. Older. Physical appearance early to mid-teens. Second. Subordinate. Taller. Younger. Physical appearance late teens to early twenties.

We approached slowly, not sneaking, but we did not wish to intimidate.

The older looking, but significantly younger, Nikke saw a us first and paled. She pointed; her finger drew the elder's attention. She merely raised an eyebrow.

"You're not a Rapture." The elder Nikke said, rolling her shoulders. We did not miss the way her hand dropped towards the toolbox next to her. Nor did we miss the concealed weapon within.

"We are not." Normally, such a self evident statement, such as we not being a Rapture, would not require a response. But we had been researching. Verbal communication, even to rhetorical questions, could improve coordination with others.

The younger Nikke had an expression we could not identify flash over her face. It seemed our voice was still causing problems. We had been experimenting with tone and timing changes to improve. Results so far had been...less than encouraging. Not that'd we'd had much of a chance to try them out.

"Why are ya here then?" We scanned the Nikke again.

Liter and Centi.

Unit – Mighty Tools.

Construction / Combat Engineer Nikke Sub-type.

Missilis creation and employment.

"We detected noise and identified it as construction."

"So, what? You were you curious?" Liter asked, her younger looking body raising both eyebrows...we considered our answer.

"Unknown." Honest if unhelpful. "We heard construction and decided to offer aid."

"Did you now?" Liter looked us up and down.

"Boss..." Centi's voice was a whisper like she could avoid our sensors. She could not.

"Quiet down now." Liter waved her hand at the younger Nikke. "Know anything about construction?"

We offered a dataspool to the Nikke she accepted it after a second. She appeared...less than impressed. That was...new.

"So you got some theoretical knowledge but no practical." Liter summed our life up succinctly with that statement. We nodded. The Nikke pondered for but a moment before nodding to herself.

"Alright, you can help."

"Boss!"

"Quiet down, Centi. We were waiting on some extra gear up from the Ark over the next few days to get the bones of this thing into place. You'll put things where I tell you when I tell you. Got it?"

"We Acknowledge." The next few hours were educational. Little was said to us directly. Only placements and corrections. Liter had been slightly annoyed when we misjudged the tensile strength of a beam and crushed part of it.

Though given her mutters, we did not know if she was more annoyed with us or the substandard building materials she had been provided. As we understood it, either could be true. By the time Liter dismissed us. We did feel? Feel. As though we had done a worthwhile thing.

The first since leaving the lab.

We would log that for later review.

Perhaps we should pursue engineering projects? We considered for a moment and traced the thought backward towards its origin.

No mission-relevant data found.

This had not been assigned nor required.

It was not suggested by mission parameters.

And yet...it was worthy of further consideration.

Project Type – Unknown.

Objective – Unknown.

Motivation – Unknown.

The idea persisted.

We felt a pull towards it, almost like gravity. It did not originate from logic. It did not originate from efficiency. Nor from mission necessity.

Origin Unknown.

There was a flash in our mind's eye.

Glasses.

A green-blue eye.

A smile.

Gone before we could log it.

Annoyance.

We refocused on the idea.

The simulation had taught us how to destroy.

It seemed there was equal interest in creation.

How novel.

What other activities may we feel a pull towards?

Answer – Unknown.

This would require further investigation.

Query: Do these interfere with mission success?

We processed. The conclusion was reached quickly. The current course of action saw no reductions in combat readiness or with assigned objectives. Nor did we find reason to believe that it would contribute towards a resource shortage for the Outpost.

Conclusion: Current Answer – No.

Internal directives updated.

Continue on intended course. Not motor pool, armoury. The building is large enough to admit Frame. Damaged weapons to be repaired will be inside. We will explore engineering with a small-scale project first. We shall see if this...impulse continues. We had to duck to enter the armoury. Our horns almost gouged a hole in the door frame.

No Nikke present.

Expected.

Current time- three twenty-nine am.

Many Nikke not necessary for Construction or Guard Duty, likely sleeping to prevent cognitive decline and the possibility of Mind-Switch. We settled on our selected target. MISG-09. Shotgun. Common users, Nikke Product Type 23.

We scanned. Small defects. Wear from accumulated use. Material components...not optimal. We considered for a moment. Given Outpost supplies...full optimisation impossible. Significant improvement, however, was well within our theoretical abilities.

We processed. Identified available replacement materials. Then began deconstruction of the weapon. We found a problem almost immediately. The Frames' manipulators were too large. It made removing the casing difficult.

Possible Solution – Exit frame. Use appropriately sized hands.

No.

We would just have to make do. Time would not be a constraint. We did not foresee this task taking too long. Removal of the casing was completed. We began cleaning, tightening, and replacing components. It was a laborious but useful endeavour. Eventually, we managed to get all our chosen replacement parts and freshly cleaned components ready.

We replaced the casing.

It did not fit.

We stopped. Scanned. Reviewed design documents for MISG-09.

Everything official aligned.

Improvement should fit inside the casing.

We attempted to replace the case.

It still did not fit.

Annoyance.

Assembly mistake?

Possible.

Manipulators not sized for this kind of precision work. We could get out of the frame. Our hands would be excellent for this....No. No, we would make do.

We were not allowed to fail.

We disassembled the weapon. Confirming improved parts. We scanned again. According to the files, improvements should work based upon current assessment. We were more careful this time as we reassembled the weapon. Each piece took an abnormal amount of time to be placed. We stopped. Placement confirmed.

We attempted to close the weapon casing.

It did not fit.

Annoyance changed to something else.

We did not have a name for it.

It bubbled up from our core and spread into our limbs.

Hot.

Almost violent.

We disassembled the weapon again.

We were not allowed to fail.

We scanned components. Matched against current materials. Assessed. Confirmed. Reassembling.

Weapon casing does not fit.

Why?

Why!?

"What are you doing?" Our eyes flashed as we assessed the Nikke. Product type 23. Missilis.

The hot feeling drained away.

Replaced by something else we didn't have a name for, hollow, empty.

"What are you doing!?" She demanded, walking forward. We considered for a moment.

"Attempting to repair and improve MISG-09. Engineering Project." We stated her eyes, hidden behind a common visor, staring up at us.

"That's not your job, machine." She said dismissively.

True.

This is not mission-critical.

"Reduction in allied units' combat ability due to inefficient weapons may affect mission outcome." The Nikke looked at us; we could see she had just come off a defensive deployment. The state of her gear carried the implication had seen combat. She shook her head and took apart the weapon casing. Looking at the improved internals.

"Did you just try to use the best components available!?" She sounded disbelieving.

"They were the optimal components."

"Without considering how they interact with each other!? The Big Three don't make modular components!" That sounded logistically inefficient.

"It doesn't matter that an Elysion trigger is better. It won't work properly with Misllis materials! Is that a fucking Tetra-Line barrel!? This is why you don't send a machine to do a Nikke's job. Get out and let me fix your mess in peace." We considered our response. We wished to fix the weapon. We had failed. We were not allowed to fail.

"Confirmed." We turned and left the armoury.

The hollow sensation became worse as the Type 23 spoke.

We do not know why.

We withdrew to the motor pool and returned to a rest state. We returned to reading the Old Tales Records. Personal, specifically this time. We needed to understand what happened at the end of that last interaction. Perhaps these would have the answer we sought.

Personal Records – Little Mermaid.

A flash of images.

Hands moving.

Meaning...unknown.

Too fast for us to log.

Personal Records – CINDERELLA.

Personal Record – Professor Abe.

Loop detected.

Old Tales Personal Files – Redacted.

Loop duration – 3.75 hours.

They...did not answer the question.

But they did help the sensation recede.

Acceptable.

We finished the records.

No additional selections made.

The sensation returned.

Strange.

Unwelcome.

We moved. There was no delay between thought and action. We turned our eyes scanning. Our eyes stopped on one of the shelves. The third connection on the right-hand side was loose. Repairing it was not mission-critical.

However...

We moved our manipulators and reached out, holding the shelf frame stable. This was far easier. More easily accessible. Leaving the Frame would not be optimal. This was....pleasing? We believed that was the word. We applied force to the bracket, there was a quick shudder and the shelf was properly assembled again.

The feeling receded somewhat.

Acceptable.

We did not see any other items that needed repair. We returned to dormancy. Reviewing simulation battle records, reexamining operational parameters, and re-reading Old Tales Combat and Personal records.

"Yo! Tin Man!" We were not surprised. We had logged her approach when she turned onto the same street as the motor pool.

"Unit Designation: Subject 000." We turned to the Nikke.

Counters Unit Designation: Anis. She smiled.

"Yeah, but Tin Man suits you better." We didn't comment. Why would you refer to someone outside of their designation?

"Anyway, the Commander wants you for a briefing up in the tower."

"Briefing attendance unnecessary. According to Ark Military Regulation. Military Hardware do not attend briefings. Hardware only requires mission directives."

"Uhh, don't start with that 'hardware' shit with me, Tin Man. I ain't hardware. I'm me. Plus, shove the military regulations. This Commander does things a little differently."

"Do these differences contribute towards Counters inefficient mission completion record?"

"Hey! You weren't there! You got no idea what kind of shit that was! Raphi lost her head. Neon and I almost died. Fucking Gravedigger turned up!? What the hell did they expect would happen sending three Nikke into that shit show!?" Anis snarled. Emotional response detected: anger.

Anger did not change the outcome.

Anis was emotional, angry, over past events.

Past events are fixed.

Yet she is still reacting.

Purpose of response unclear.

This does not assist in mission completion.

"...Understood."

We did not.

But we had read that answers like that could reduce social friction.

"Whatever." She sounded bitter. "Move it, Tin Can. Commander wants you. Hurry up."

"Problem Identified." We stated.

"What!?" She spun, glaring, eyes narrowed. Our answer had not reduced emotional output to the degree the material had implied.

We took this as further proof.

Material Understanding ≠ Practical Reality.

An unwelcome lesson.

But a necessary one.

"Tower elevator insufficient." Anis looked at me, anger being replaced with annoyance.

"It can hold three Nikke at once. Over a ton. Even in that oversized suit, you're not that heavy."

Statement = True.

"We were not referring to the elevator's weight limit. The Frame's physical size will prevent full entry into the elevator."

"...Right, right, right. Of course, you'd have to be difficult, Tin Can. Stay here, I'll go speak with the Commander." Anis turned and left without saying more.

Acceptable.

We would need to review archived information. We needed to determine what material may prove less than optimal given new information.

We reviewed.

Old Tales Personal Journals – Redacted.

We were selective. We focused on specific interactions between Old Tales Squad, other Nikke's, and Humans. We searched for understanding. We found...limited success.

External contact.

When did that occur?

7.35 seconds ago....we needed to answer....we....

We finished the Old Tales Journals.

External contact logged 15.85 seconds ago.

We answered.

"Subject 000?" The Commander's voice.

"We acknowledge, Commander."

"Good. Good. What took you so long?" We considered the answer.

"We were reviewing important operational information. We apologise." The line went silent.

"...Sure, just...don't let it happen in the field."

"Confirmed."

"Alright, we've got a short-range scouting mission coming up tomorrow. Low Priority. Enemy density expected to be low. There's a small bunker were investigating. Could have some interesting information on a more valuable Lost Sector."

"Information confirmed."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Hardware only requires mission directives."

"....That's not what I asked."

"We do not understand. Answer correct inside the Ark's Military Regulations."

"Yeah, no...I got that part. But I find that personnel perform better if they understand everything before we go in."

"Designation: Subject 000 is officially classed as Military Hardware."

"...Understood." He let out a sigh. "My question stands. Do you need to know anything?"

We considered questions that could relate to mission readiness.

"Is this unit required to undergo combat when operating with Squad Counters?"

"Combat is expected. However also not quite what I meant. Give me a second."

"Subject 000 awaiting further input."

"...Yeah. Got that." The Commander went silent for 3 minutes and 12 seconds.

"Okay...yes, you will be entering combat with the Counters. What do you need to do your job better?"

Better?

The Frame is performing at optimal thresholds under current circumstances.

However, given social interactions and squad combat dynamics....yes, perhaps there was something.

"We would request...Commander's personal notes on squad dynamics in Combat. Simulation data insufficient."

"Really, my notes?"

"You are the only Commander who has led Counters Squad, formerly Squad 04-F, for more than one mission who is still functional. Ark Commanders' attrition rate is 70% on the first mission. This raises on a per mission basis until their tenth mission, which has a 90% attrition rate. At which point survivability rises sharply."

"...Thanks for that." The Commander's voice was sharp, almost strangled, was he...unaware? "I'll send that over to you. I'll include the meeting point for tomorrow morning, see you then."

"Commander." We acknowledged as the call closed.

The information arrived shortly after. It contained the Commander's personal notes. But it was not the Commander's report. We cross-referenced. Similarity found and logged. Nikke Designation – Rapi. Report similarity 97%.

Hypothesis – Nikke Rapi writing Commander's reports.

Query – Why?

Question not mission relevant.

Commander's notes would be sufficient.

'Marian, saved me from dying in the explosion. We're moving onto helping the Nikke we were sent to recover. I've bandaged her thigh. She told me not to worry. But that it did feel better.'

Commander bandaged Unit Designation: Marrian's thigh.

Practical application – 0%.

A Nikke would not be helped by a human bandage.

Conclusion – Designation: Marian lied to Commander. Reason Unknown.

We continued to the next set of notes.

'Marian and I met up with the Nikke squad. All that was left were Rapi and Anis. Apparently, their Commander was an idiot. Ran straight at the Rapture with only his sidearm. I'll throw what little weight I have behind them. That was suicide by stupidity, not murder.'

Commander of Counters called the additional Commander an idiot.

We reviewed available data.

Human. Attacking Rapture positions with 10mm pistol.

Agreement.

Why would that require the Commander to intervene on Rapi and Anis's behalf?

We would consider further later.

'Marian was corrupted. She blew up the aircraft. Then saved me after. I don't know why. She lured us into a trap. We killed Blacksmith. Then I killed Marian. Marian, I'm sorry.'

Apology noted.

Why?

Nikke Designation – Marian, Corrupted.

Correct Decision – destroy corrupted hardware.

Hollow sensation increasing.

Processing deviation detected.

Disregarded.

'Andersen gave me control of the renamed Counters squad. Rapi and Anis said it's very strange for a Commander to be partnered with the same squad for multiple missions in a row. The damage I took when Marian- when the transport was destroyed must have jumbled my memories worse than I thought. We're getting another Nikke assigned. Neon. Three women in a unit that should be five. No additional Nikke units assigned. Hopefully, we'd be enough."

Counters Members correct.

Very rarely were Commanders assigned to the same team more than once in six months.

Assuming they were one of the few who survived that long.

'Hopefully'

Outcome of next mission – Failure.

Squad Survival – 100%.

Unit Designation: Rapi. Required full body rebuild.

Hope variable...unquantified.

'What a clusterfuck. We managed to infiltrate the power station. Rapture were inside. Too many to fight. It looked like they were...using the station. Like they had learned how to operate it. Everyone assures me that it isn't possible. But I know what I saw.'

Rapture do not utilise human constructs.

Rapture, do not learn.

Commander's assessment incorrect.

Hypothesis – Humans learned and became more than animals. Is it possible for Rapture to become more than bio-mechanical killing machines?

Outcome – Unknown.

'Rapi's head was heavy. Heavier than I'd have thought it would be. We fled. Gravedigger, we barely managed to destroy it. Hell, it was mostly dumb luck. Andersen banished us all to the Outpost. He said we'd lost two months of resources. I argued for mitigating circumstances. He didn't care. So here we are, the Ark's first line of defence. Fuck. Rapi. I'm sorry.'

Mission – Connect Power Station to Ark.

Complication: Overwhelming Enemy Forces.

Victory % for Direct Conflict.– Less than 1%.

Victory % for mission success under updated parameters – Less than 1%.

Correct decision – Retreat. Maintain useful Ark Military Hardware.

Correct action taken.

Squad Survival – 100%

Apology unnecessary.

Repetition detected.

Apology happening after the correct action is taken.

Function of apology – Unknown.

Social Model Insufficient.

No resolution found.

Social Model Insufficient.

Constructing additional model.

Review material.

Old Tales Personal Logs – Redacted.

System reminder – Mission Start.

We finished reviewing the Old Tales logs and moved to the meeting point.

We would arrive at exactly 0900 as requested. We heard Counters before we saw them.

"And I'm just saying it's a bunch of dead guys."

"That's not nice!"

"But it's true."

We turned the corner. Anis spoke to Neon. They froze at our appearance. We regarded them before turning to Rapi and the Commander.

"Commander. Subject 000 reporting."

"Right. You got everything you need out of those reports?" We considered.

"They were acceptable."

"Got it, anything stand out?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Commander, apologies unnecessary." They all went quiet.

"What?" Anis' voice was low. We turned and addressed her directly.

"Commander apologised twice over the duration of reports. Once at killing corrupted Nikke Marian. The other for the mission conducted at the power station. In both cases, optimal outcomes under the circumstances resulted. As such, apologies are unnecessary."

"That sounds bad," Neon said. We considered. We had spoken the truth. We knew our voice was not particularly pleasing. Perhaps that was what she meant? The Commander exhaled, long and slow.

"000." We blinked at the shortening of our designation. "That's not how it works."

"Clarification requested."

"Apologies are not tied to the inherent correctness of an action." We turned our attention to Rapi.

"Query – Apologies acknowledge incorrect outcome?"

"Sometimes." Rapi agreed with a nod.

"Look, Tin Man," Anis spoke, her voice sounded flatter than last time. "Sometimes you say sorry because someone got hurt. Understand you dense bucket of bolts!?"

New variable incorporated – Harm independent of correctness.

"Apology Function: Acknowledging harm regardless of fault?"

"Getting warmer!" Neon shouted. We understood. Common idiom. We returned our eyes to the Commander.

"Commander....you should not apologise for correct actions....but apology for harm is acceptable."

"My god, you're weird, Tin Can."

"Okay." The Commander said, rubbing his temples. "Let's. Let's just get on with this."

Hollow sensation reduced.

Reduction, marginal.

Acceptable.

We accessed distances and possible routes. We found the optimal route. Then consulted our database. New Rapture movement patterns overlaid. Optimal route changed. We uploaded the route to Counters local network. A second route appeared at almost the same time, source Counter Squad Leader Rapi.

We differed on the optimal route by seventeen minutes.

We looked down to meet red eyes.

"Clarification requested."

"I was about to ask the same," Rapi said.

"Optimal route based on existing maps and new Rapture movement patterns." She processed that and nodded.

"Yes, I understand that. However, the current maps haven't been properly updated."

"Clarification."

"We operated in the area when Counters performed our Power Station mission. Several new streets have closed due to debris, while a few more have opened due to Rapture movements."

"Clarification. Why have maps not been updated?"

"Because the people in command suck!" Rapi grimaced at Anis's words.

"Because Command requires at least two independent verifications before updating the maps."

"Nikke Units possess video recording functionality."

"Yes." Rapi sounded...tired, we believe is the correct term.

"This is inefficient."

"Yeah, no shit, Tin Man." Our head turned more sharply than we intended. Reaction spike reason, unknown. Anis's eyes widened.

"Designation: Subject 000."

"Right! Got that!" Her smile was...unpleasant.

"We'll be going with Rapi's route." The Commander spoke. We nodded. That was ideal. We would need to review Ark Reporting Protocols. These were inefficient. They would be logged. Correction options would be submitted.

"Alright, Counters and 000. Move out!" The Commander said, pointing his finger at the elevator doors.

Ten feet away.

"Acknowledged." We said moving past him. We pretended not to notice the slightly slumping shoulders. We proceeded to the rear of the elevator and needed to bend slightly to avoid scraping the ceiling. Our horns were within millimetres of causing real damage.

We did not believe that Foreman Liter would be appreciative of our adding to her workload.

"Hey?" We looked down, designation Neon looked up at us.

"Yes?"

"Can I use your shotgun?" We considered. We did not care for the shotgun. It was merely a useful tool. However, given Neon's shorter stature, even with her Nikke cyberization.

"No."

"Why not!" She stomped her foot.

A woman.

Black hair on the outside.

Blue green underneath.

She stomped her foot.

Hands moving. Fast. Precise.

Half-recognised shapes.

She could not speak.

So we-

"Why not?"

We blinked.

Origin Unknown.

There was something.

Something important.

We reached for it.

It slipped.

The hollow sensation swallowed everything.

We refocused.

"Your size would make it impossible to fire the weapon without significant downtime between each shot."

"Are you calling me short?"

"Counters Member Neon is below the average height of Nikke Units."

"Say that again."

"Counters Member Neon is below the average height of Nikke Units. Additional information for clarification. Frame weaponry exceeds your operational reach."

"You're doing that on purpose." Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

"Confirmed." We nodded. "Repeat of information requested. Additional data provided for clarification."

Anis snorted. The Commander was keeping a very neutral face, Rapi had her eyes closed.

"I don't like you very much," Neon said.

We processed the information.

'Like' not needed for mission success.

"Response logged. Non-Essential variable identified."

"Holy shit, Tin Can. What the fuck!?" Anis looked at us eyes wide. We did not understand.

"You're the worst!" Neon turned, she did not look back.

Outcome – Negative.

Cause unclear.

We.

We did not understand.

"Alright, that's enough." The Commander spoke up. "We hit the surface in two minutes. Ready up. The Rapture will be on us before the hour's out."

We opened combat records, the simulator. We reviewed the data one final time. Then we dove into our systems.

Optimal given the current situation and available parts.

Improvement possible.

The elevator slowed. It didn't stop in the way normal elevators did. It would open for approximately 15 seconds, then close and descend.

"I'll take point," Rapi spoke up, looking around. "Anis and Neon take flanks. 000, stay by the Commander."

There was no time to argue.

We would have.

Placing the largest target next to the softest target is inadvisable.

The Frame would draw enemy fire.

It was supposed to.

Nikke could survive; the human would likely not.

However, Rapi did have greater operational experience.

Practical doctrine and observed behaviour diverge.

Additional context required.

"You and me, big guy." We looked down. The Commander looked up.

"Acknowledged."

The doors opened, we stepped out last to avoid crushing anyone. We looked up, and the sky was grey, almost sickly; we felt the hollow sensation. We did not like it.

It was supposed to be blue.

"Spread out and follow the path," Rapi called out.

"Lost Relic recovery?" Neon asked, rubbing her hands together.

"If there's time." The Commander said.

We moved, Counters ahead, us behind. We understood quickly. The Commander was not with them because he was human. Not suited to direct combat. We were not with them because we were not a member of Counters.

Rapi was attempting to balance a new variable into an existing system.

We considered our own attempts at doing just that.

The MISG-09.

It had not worked.

It had created additional work for someone else.

It was difficult.

We knew it had to happen sooner or later.

We did not expect it to happen so quickly.

Rapture.

Nothing significant.

Husk Class and Servant Class.

Incoming fire, hard, fast, we turned, shielding the Commander with the Frame. As expected, we had been the first target. We moved, lifting the Commander off his feet and placing us both behind debris to act as cover. We did not move. Staying still as we heard Rapi, Neon, and Anis calling fire lanes and movements over coms.

"How many are there?"

"Seventeen. Commander." Rapi answered instantly.

"Right." He nodded and looked up into our eyes. He grimaced as if remembering something.

"000."

"Commander."

"Your Priority One in all engagements with Counters is the preservation of allied units." Our processes skipped for a moment.

Incorrect action = …...

Right.

The hollow sensation vanished.

Something warm replaced it.

"Understood, Commander."

"Good. My next order is simple. The Rapture force engaging us currently; destroy it."

"Yes, Commander." We stood, vectors calculated, trajectories mapped. Nikke tended to say something when combat commenced, a way of telling others what was happening. We opened the channel.

"ASW-G-000, Combat Commencing."

We stepped away from the Commander.

Thrusters roared. We pushed off. A bounding jump. The Rapture looked up. The Frame crushed it under over half a ton of weight with a crunch.

We turned shotgun coming up. Firing solution calculated. Two more Rapture disappeared.

We turned, the expected shot passed through where we'd just been. We ducked, Anis's grenade already in the air before we'd turned, sailed harmlessly through the gap in our horns.

We moved again.

It felt like...dancing.

The mace lashed out. Three Raptures ceased. We jumped, hit the side of a building, and used it as a push point. The building collapsed. Burying the two Raptures within.

The Nikke were already adapting; we were controlling the attention. We were the centre. They could fire without needing to take cover constantly. They were free to be more aggressive.

We dug a foot under a Rapture and kicked. Sending it flying back into the spray of fire it had dodged.

"Thank you!" Neon called out from her perch. We sent an acknowledgement.

We were taking damage. Minimal. The armour plating could handle it. But we avoided everything we could.

A Rapture jumped at us.

We calculated.

The mace fell. Our hand grabbed the Rapture by the outer armour. Turning, we slammed it into another. Both were crushed. We let go, finishing the spin, we caught our mace, and demolished the third.

Something in our chest moved.

Old.

Familiar.

Violent.

Wonderful.

We knew this?

...didn't we?

Was this what humans called joy?

The Rapture moved.

Its timing was off.

We moved to meet it.

No.

We jumped.

Thrusters burned.

The Rapture's pincer attack hit nothing.

We came down the first one, crushed by our weight.

The second was blown apart by our shotgun.

We scanned.

Rapi.

She was being flanked.

She knew this.

It was a trap.

Her trap.

It posed risk.

Risk inside tolerances.

Risk could be reduced.

We kicked.

The concrete block we launched crushed the first Rapture. Proving cover while Rapi emptied a full-auto burst into the second one.

We turned.

One enemy remaining.

This feeling.

We hadn't felt this in the simulation.

The feeling.

The rush.

Our mind burning, not just processing.

The sheer unrelenting movement of life.

Thrusters burned, distance closed to zero.

The Rapture jumped.

So did we.

Our knee crashing into its front.

Our mace pulled back.

We hated it.

We thanked it.

Conflict.

Unresolved.

They had created something in us that hadn't been before.

Or maybe had been.

The feeling surged.

Overwhelming.

All-consuming.

Movement.

Freedom.

Joy.

Indivisible.

Harder.

Faster.

Closer.

More!

This-

This was-

We did not have a word.

...not yet.

We scraped what was left of the Rapture off our mace.

"Combat resolved. Awaiting further orders."

END.

000 is involved in real combat for the first time and learns it gives him a very different feeling from simulations.
Also that Theoretical and Practical are not always the same thing.

The Brain Slushie Murder - Bot is growing up so fast.

If you'd like to support the work I do Manfat Patreon
This Is Fine (Pokemon SI)- Is 3 Chapters Ahead on a weekly release.
While No Strings On Me is 2 Chapters ahead biweekly.

Support is welcome never expected.

Hope you're all having a great week.

MechPilot?Not! · May 25, 2026

Week is okay. Improving.

Liter is great. Maybe 000 will continue to work construction.
The combat was a pleasure to read.
Old Tales… idk if 000 has a chance to see them anytime soon. I only recall seeing them in Unbreakable Sphere anniversary event. I'm not far in the story. Siren is great.

Manfat · May 25, 2026

MechPilot?Not! said:
Old Tales… idk if 000 has a chance to see them anytime soon. I only recall seeing them in Unbreakable Sphere anniversary event. I'm not far in the story. Siren is great.

They're definitely in the future. I'd like 000 to at least have a name for themself by then.

Manfat · Jun 8, 2026

I watched 000 fight.

Unlike the Nikke, I wasn't in the thick of it. As soon as 000 leapt into combat, I ran up three flights of stairs in the building next to me.

Good thing I'd been putting in the cardio.

The way he fought was mesmerising.

Almost....playful.

Nikke were super-soldiers.

Their skill with firearms was literally inhuman.

This was 000's first battle with them, and he joined almost perfectly. I could see dips here and there. Repositions from Anis, Neon, and Rapi that they wouldn't ordinarily do, and had to calculate rather than just fall into. But they could do it now because something was holding the enemy's attention.

It was almost like he was dancing.

No.

There was no almost about it.

I'm sure that 000 would call it a duck or a reposition when it avoided Anis's already in-flight grenade.

It wasn't.

It was a bow.

Bent from the hips, left hand extended.

If it wasn't for the shotgun in it, it would have been a picture-perfect example of 'would you like to dance.'

The later movements were almost chilling and exhilarating at the same time. Movements were completed exactly. Sometimes I would be playing catch-up to events. The mace dropped from his hand. Three Rapture died. 000 had already moved onto the next target by the time my brain managed to process exactly what had just happened.

Anis, Neon, and Rapi were adapting as well. They proved that Nikke were still super-soldiers through and through. Even if Counters was a little...non-standard at times.

They'd all known it was coming.

Unfortunately, High Command didn't want us using the VR training room in the Ark itself.

'Unit 000 has enough simulated combat experience.' That was the excuse I'd been given. So my Squad was expected to be in a combat with the 'Support Platform' without any prior practice. It was the other reason that 000 had been directed next to me.

None of us were stupid.

We knew he'd attract fire.

I wanted to see what he'd do.

Follow the order or bound off into combat alone?

That would tell us a lot about what we were dealing with.

Technically, 000 didn't have to follow Rapi's orders. He only had to follow mine. She was a Nikke, not a Commander after all.

Then, when the shooting started, 000 immediately covered me with his own body. Seeing him in combat, I could confidently say that the Frame was his body.

Once I knew he was listening, that was when I gave actual orders.

One thing stood out to me.

The few seconds after I told him to always preserve the Counters' lives as his number one priority.

There hadn't been any physical reaction, but I swore he felt almost...relieved.

000 turned, his foot lashed out a fridge-sized piece of concrete was sent flying. I tracked it. Two Rapture closing in on Rapi. It squashed the first one and created excellent, if not perfect, cover for her to completely unload on the second. By the time I turned my head back, 000 was already racing towards the final Rapture.

It leapt at him.

He leapt at it.

A small thruster boost put him barely higher. His knee crushed the front of its face. They fell; the mace was brought down.

Powerful.

Heavy.

Inevitable.

The Rapture was reduced to scrap metal as they hit the ground. 000 didn't stop moving, not immediately. He used the weight of the swing to turn back towards me. Like I was the audience of a live performance. The mace stopped moving, almost a flourish but not quite.

"Combat resolved. Awaiting further orders."

Rapture innards dripped from his weapon.

Combat had indeed been resolved.

But I don't think 000 knew exactly how much about himself he'd just told me. Even if he didn't know it about himself yet.

"Great work, everyone, let's get back in formation and get on with it!" I called out, we reformed, and began moving.

I opened a private line.

"Rapi opinion." I kept my voice low. 000 could probably still hear me. Such was the curse of being merely human.

"Useful. Currently aligned. Further data needed, Commander." She didn't have to speak. So if 000 was eavesdropping, he was only getting half of what we talked about.

Would that be better or worse?

Doesn't matter.

"Are you happy to keep the deployment?"

"At this time, yes."

"Understood and Rapi, thanks."

"Your thanks are unnecessary, Commander." I sighed as the channel dropped.

She could be troublesome, too, in her own way.

"Well, we're not dead yet, that's nice!" Anis called out in her way, and I ignored it. Gallows humour was hardly the worst coping mechanism she could have had.

"Hey, we're not going to die," Neon replied, practically chirping. Anis shrugged.

"Day's still young." She replied. I could practically see Rapi's patience diminish in real time. It was actually kind of impressive.

"000," I said, he turned to face me. The Frame was still unsettling. It was huge, powerful, and too quiet. It moved more like a predatory animal than a machine.

"Commander." It wasn't my imagination. There was actual tonal variance starting to creep into his voice.

"Next time combat starts, dump me somewhere safe and then get in there." Green lenses, his eyes, watched me unblinking. I swore I was being measured, and when the person doing the measuring was an almost nine-foot-tall death machine, you did not want to come up short.

"Understood, Commander." 000 returned to scanning the area around us.

"000," Rapi spoke up, green lenses turned towards her. "Why did you kick that concrete block towards me?"

"Risk could be mitigated." The answer was quick, machine-like.

"Risk?" She was asking for more, not because she didn't understand the answer, but because she wanted to understand the thought process.

Fair enough.

So did I.

"Counters Squad Leader Rapi was luring Rapture into a counter ambush." 000 correctly surmised, Rapi nodded.

"Risk minimal to Rapi. However, risk could be lowered if appropriate cover were provided. We provided cover."

"And crushing the Rapture!?" Neon asked at her usual volume. Green lenses turned regarding her.

"Good timing." If it wasn't for the flatness of 000's voice. I'd have called that a joke.

Neon laughed anyway.

"Okay, how far are we out?"

"Thirty minutes. Longer if we hit more Rapture." We would absolutely hit more Rapture. It was our whole thing.

"....Sooooo," Rapi sighed at my dragging out of the word.

"Probably two hours or so, Commander."

"See, I told you the day was young," Anis called back far too cheerfully for someone about to be shot at.

"Query?" 000 said, looking down.

"Yeah, Tin Man?"

"What is the purpose of your verbal affirmation that we will all die?" Anis actually tripped on air.

I didn't even know Nikke could do that.

Neon looked at the mech with pure, undisguised horror.

I could feel Rapi's attention shift.

I....kept right on walking.

This probably wasn't going to end well.

But it would also probably give us some interesting data to work with.

Mission Green Lit.

"Well, it's! You know I! What!?" Anis seemingly didn't know where to start.

"Clarification unclear," I swear, 000 thought he was being helpful. Which actually made it funny and sad at the same time.

"It's just me being me!" Anis settled on. Which I mean, fair enough. Ark High Command certainly treated us like we were expendable. Why not put a voice to it on occasion? Green lenses flashed.

"Would your time not be better spent-"

"Could you fucking not!?" 000 continued right on over Anis like she hadn't spoken.

"Preparing to avoid the eventuality of death rather than stating the inevitability of it?"

000 hadn't just walked onto a landmine.

Landmines had the common courtesy to let out an ominous click.

"Say. That. Again." Anis' voice was quiet.

Not playfully quiet.

Dangerously quiet.

000 didn't understand the difference.

"Repeat query-"

"Shut. Up." Anis looked at him.

The rest of us held our breath.

Her lips curled back into a snarl.

"Fuck. You. Tin Man." She turned and walked ahead.

"Rapi, I'll play Scout. You deal with the walking miscarriage." Anis began to move off. She'd chosen her words very deliberately. That wasn't her normal reaction. A flash of anger and an insult. That had been meant to wound. To remind 000 that he was a creation of the dead.

"Understood." Rapi moved to cover a new area, while Anis moved ahead. The fact that she didn't try to change her mind meant Rapi was probably as certain as I was that there would be no changing Anis' mind.

I could force the issue.

Issue a direct command.

Anis's NIMPH would make her unable to disobey.

And it would fracture, probably permanently, what little trust I'd managed to build with the Nikke of Counters.

"That was...mean." Neon looked up at 000 from my left, the Frame looked down. Green eyes glinting.

"We do not understand." I was sure he meant it too, didn't make it any less of a problem.

"How can you not!?"

"Neon." I cut in, she looked at me eyes, narrowed. "Not now."

"But!" I understood. She wanted to sort this out. Anis was hurting. 000 didn't understand it had hurt her or how. Neon wanted to fix it.

"Not now." But right now, on mission, Rapture probably about to attack again sometime soon. It wasn't the time.

"Okay." Her voice was small. That was rare; Neon was almost always the loudest person in every room.

"Good. Stay sharp." She didn't answer. I didn't expect her to.

Oddly, we made good time.

No more Rapture attacks.

Thirty minutes.

Just like Rapi had said, which of course immediately made me suspicious.

Anis rotated back to the formation as we approached the small research outpost abandoned when we lost the surface. She clearly wasn't happy. Refused to so much as look at 000.

"Commander. Got a problem." She said, arriving in front of me.

"Don't we always?" I meant it as a joke. Anis flicked her eyes over to 000, waited for him to turn slightly. Making sure he knew she knew he was listening.

"Yeah. We always seem to." She was still pissed. "Gates in lockdown."

"Lockdown?"

"Yeah, hopefully your miracle tool can get it open, but if it can't...."

"We're stuck?"

"No, we're not stuck. We'll have to blow it open. Which'll bring every Rapture in the area down on our heads."

Well, if it came to that...at least Neon would be happy.

Briefly.

Before we were all getting shot at again.

000 stopped.

It was uncanny.

One second, the mech was moving.

Too fluid, too fast, more animal than machine.

Then perfect stillness.

000 didn't break formation. But it didn't move. Its head snapped right fast enough; I literally didn't see it move. From my perspective, one second 000 was looking forward, the next it wasn't.

"Shit!" Anis actually fell back her grenade launcher not quite held ready. 000's green eyes were fixed on something in the distance. The mech settled slightly.

I'd seen that posture only once before.

Right as it leapt into battle and turned a Rapture into paste.

"000!" I made sure my voice carried; the Frame didn't react, but it didn't move either. "What are you seeing?"

"...Unsure." That was different.

"Okay. Walk me through it."

"Rapture tracks."

"There's Rapture around, sure."

"Tracks do not match any observed Rapture subtype."

"Then how do you know they're Rapture?"

"....Unknown." I felt a very real shiver run down my spine. I balanced the facts. We needed to get in and out fast. On the other hand, the best sensor system we had just flagged something was wrong. Wrong out here tended to mean potentially deadly.

Worse.

It didn't know how it knew it.

Shit. What I wouldn't give to deal with this later.

"How far away?"

"Approximately 150 meters." That wasn't too far.

"Fuck." I let the word slip out. No one commented. "Rapi take point. Anis left flank. Neon right. 000 if something moves that isn't a friendly, kill it."

"Confirmed." Despite the fact it was being said by a nine-foot-tall, mostly friendly, death machine. It didn't make me feel a whole lot better.

We moved, Rapi took in angles with an efficiency and experience that only came with age. Most of her files were classified, even to me. But she'd been doing this for a long time. Sixty years, bare minimum as far as I could tell.

Anis and Neon's files were more open. Even if I didn't touch the personal history sections. They wanted to tell me they could do it themselves. Anis was probably about as old as Rapi, even if she hadn't been working in elite units. She had more than enough combat experience to equal Rapi. Neon was newer by contrast, only in service for three years. But the combat data uploaded to Nikke kept her steady.

Even if there was a clear difference between her, Rapi, and Anis. With those two looking almost at home doing this. 000 was the most curious of the lot. Before this, I'd seen him move, fight, and, unfortunately, speak his mind without considering tact.

Now, I was seeing him hunt.

It was disturbing.

The Frame's uncanny grace translated to stalking predator more than massive warmachine.

The lizard part of my brain was screaming – wrong! Stay away!

"Here." A single massive finger rose from 000's side and pointed to an indent in the road. I could practically hear Anis deflate.

"Oh, good, the toasters just confused. Great." I tuned her out and really looked at the indent. There was something wrong, it...it....this wasn't a crater.

Holy Shit.

This wasn't a crater.

Something had made it by pressing down into it, like it was walking.

000 turned, I followed its gaze. It took me a moment.

There were claw marks behind the indent.

Almost six meters behind.

If this belonged to the same Rapture, then it had to be at least twice the height of 000's Frame. More likely three to five times. I tracked the depth of each mark. It was a heavy one, too. Heavy enough to leave indents in concrete through weight alone and controlled enough not to shatter it.

That said, to me at least, whatever this thing was knew exactly how big it was, and how to move with it.

"What the hell am I seeing?" The shallowness of my voice wasn't awe, it was fear.

"Unknown Commander," Rapi answered. She didn't sound worried. But she checked her weapon strapping. "But 000 is right. It doesn't match any Rapture tracks in the database. Even mine."

That said a lot because Rapi had probably seen things Ark Command didn't want making it into regular circulation.

"Anis?" She asked, the blond shook her head, eyes narrowed.

"No, nothing matches up for me either, Neon?" I knew Anis was asking, so Neon felt included. If she and Rapi hadn't seen this before, the chances Neon had were practically non-existent.

"Nothing." Neon's voice was low, subdued.

"000?" Who knew maybe the black ops project had something the rest of us didn't? He didn't answer. The Frame still looked at the tracks, unmoving.

"000!" I was more insistent this time. Still nothing, Counters began to fan out. Area protection and putting the Frame in the middle of a kill box. I moved back.

"000!" The head moved. Too fast. Too vicious. Green lenses glowing unnaturally.

"What am I seeing?" The Frame was silent for a second, I almost thought he wasn't going to answer, a rush of static came out of it's speakers.

"ChATtERBox!?" The Frame didn't move.

The word was wrong.

Emphasis drifting on every letter.

Chatterbox?

What the fuck was Chatterbox!?

"Oh yeah, that's not terrifying at all!" Anis ' voice was high, almost strangled in the private link Counters had established without me noticing.

"Subject 000!" I yelled, and green eyes stayed focused on me. "What the hell is Chatterbox?"

"....Unknown."

"Oh, that's great. That's just great. The blended-up dead guy finds something, and now he's having a breakdown. That's fucking perfect!" Anis spoke, but I barely heard her.

000 wasn't having a breakdown.

That wasn't panic.

That wasn't fear.

I knew fear. I lived with fear.

That was rage.

"Okay! Rapi! Anis! Neon! 000!" I called out to everyone individually. I wanted the focus on me.

"Counters! We are leaving!" Something was horribly wrong, and we were dead in the water right now.

"Commander leaving?" Rapi asked, she didn't countermand. That was good. I had no idea how I would handle that.

"Yeah, leaving. Set a course for the mission and a timer."

"Timer length?"

"1 hour."

"If we're not done by then?"

"Then we fail the mission. Given...that. I don't want to be out here a second later than we absolutely need to be."

"Understood, Commander."

"000. Form up," I said, looking to the Frame. It didn't move for a second, and I thought I was going to have to use an override. Then, with almost appalling slowness, given it's usual speed . It turned and synced up with the rest of us.

"Understood, Commander." Good, that was good. I opened a private line. 000 could probably hear me. I didn't care.

"Rapi."

"Yes?"

"When we get back, pull every log you can. Find me Chatterbox."

"Every log?" That was a loaded question given her history, but under the circumstances...

"Every log." There was silence for a moment. I knew she was considering saying no. Whatever her past was, Rapi was clearly running from it, and I was asking her to jump back in. The line was quiet for almost ten seconds.

For Rapi?

That was practically an eternity.

"I'll get it done." She closed the line.

We advanced through the streets.

Empty streets.

Where Rapture should have been waiting to kill us all.

And they simply...weren't.

Chatterbox.

I didn't like this.

I did not like this at all.

The Bunker was exactly as Anis described it. Front gate locked down. I activated the Combilink, right as I saw 000 step towards the terminal.

"Tin Man!" She snorted. "You think I'd call you a miracle tool? Get over yourself." This really wasn't the time to address this, not fully anyway.

Anis was hurt. I got that.

But there was a time and place.

"Anis! Cool it!" I watched her take a deep breath.

"Got it, Commander."

I turned back to the Combilink and watched it buffer, come on, come on, I wanted to be out of this damned street. It kept buffering.

"Commander?" Neon asked, her hand reaching into a pouch where I knew she kept explosive charges.

The buffering stopped.

A red request failed icon flashed up.

We were going to have to blow the door.

That was the absolute last thing I wanted to do given the current situation.

Just announce to everything listening exactly where we were.

"Alright, do i-" I was cut off, 000 reached towards the same panel the Combilink had failed to open.

"000?" It looked at it.

"Commander requesting to interface with bunker." His voice was as flat as ever.

"Why?"

"This platform has extensive knowledge of programming and the underlying mathematical principles. Hypothesis, we may be able to open the door. We would, additionally, request permission to interface with Commander's Combilink to use its access codes."

"When did you learn programming?" Rapi asked, scanning the area for movement that should have been there but wasn't.

"We learned programming and advanced mathematics approximately 144 hours after activation."

"And how long have you been active for?" Rapi followed up. That was a good question. The technical docs we'd been sent hadn't been clear on that either.

"This unit, as of this morning, has been active for 393.5 hours."

Rapi was not an overly expressive woman. The widening of her eyes would have been a dropped jaw on anyone else. Anis took a step back. Neon blinked rapidly.

The Nikke could have converted that to days instantly.

I couldn't.

I ran the numbers in my head.

Then did them again on the Combilink.

Because I didn't trust my answer.

A little over 16 days.

000 had only been active, alive, for a little over 16 days.

No wonder he didn't have any tact.

"Yeah..." It took me a moment to find my voice again. "Go ahead."

I saw the connection to my Combilink establish. The buffering sign appeared in the middle again. This time lines of code flashed behind it, too fast for me to read even if I'd known what to look for. 000 was motionless for almost three minutes before pulling back.

"Task complete." There was a cheerful chime as the Combilink displayed the green 'task complete' icon.

The metal shutters in front of the bunker pulled back; there was a horrible squeal of metal as they did so. A dinner bell to any Rapture nearby. But still a hell of a lot quieter than just blowing the door with Neon's explosives.

Counters tensed, I put myself behind cover as we prepared for whatever Rapture would jump on us from the nearby ruins.

We waited for five minutes.

Nothing moved.

Any other day, I'd call that good luck.

Today, it just cranked my paranoia up a few notches.

We went into the bunker.

We had a map.

We had a plan.

Get in.

Get out.

Fast.

It was mostly intact. That wasn't surprising. They didn't damage buildings for no reason. The damage was incidental when they were trying to get to the humans inside. Apparently, a few scientists had stayed behind to finish a project, even when they were told to evacuate during the original war. The Rapture rolled over them two hours later.

No further contact.

The damaged walls matched Rapture breach points.

No prizes for guessing how it ended.

Inside the bunker felt more like a tomb than a research site. All that was missing was the coffins.

"Commander, what were they working on here?" Neon asked, her voice low. I thought back to what little the briefing had told me. I wasn't surprised she hadn't read it despite my giving her access. For Neon, knowing where to point her gun and what to blow up was enough. Everything else was just noise.

"Some kind of communications stuff." I hadn't understood a tenth of what I'd been given, and most of it was heavily redacted.

"What!? They were trying to talk the Rapture to death?"

"Who knows?"

We needed to route around several blocked passages where the Rapture had forced their way in. There weren't bloodstains. Time had probably taken care of that. We found what we were looking for, a terminal near the centre of the bunker. The door had been broken down from the outside. Scraps of a barricade were scattered around the inside.

They'd tried to buy time.

It hadn't mattered.

Poor bastards.

"Anis, Neon, give me a perimeter check 50m. If it moves, shoot it. If it keeps moving. Shoot it again."

"Got it."

"Understood."

"Rapi, you're on door duty. 000 you're with me. Just in case my Combilink needs a boost."

"Yes, Commander."

"Confirmed."

000 linked with the Combi before I connected to the terminal. Lines of code flew. We found what we were looking for in five minutes. Damn fast, all things considered.

The location of Research Station 88.

Now, a Lost Sector and maybe, if we were very lucky, it had enough good stuff in there to justify the run I just knew Central Command was going to make us take.

The lines of code kept scrolling.

This wasn't the Combilink.

"000?"

"Additional project information found."

"What kind?" That could be useful, dangerous, and anything in between.

"Unknown phrase detected. GN Particles. Data incomplete."

"Why are you pulling it?"

"Last terminal entry logs an attempt to send GN Particle data offsite. Partial success. This accounts for data fragmentation. Hypothesis: Scientists at facility died to get the data out. Therefore, it is valuable."

"Where were they sending it?"

"Unknown."

"Could it be the Ark?"

"Possibility exists. No confirmation." I considered it; someone died trying to get this out. Yeah, it was probably valuable.

"Pull everything you can."

"Agreement."

That was new.

Not acknowledged, not confirmed.

Agreement. That was a first.

Frankly, I was learning a lot of firsts about 000 today.

I wasn't sure how much of it I liked.

"How long?"

"Ten minutes."

"That include scraping for everything?"

"Yes. Additional clarification: includes double-checking to ensure no files are overlooked."

That was impressive. Nikke could probably do something similar. But I doubt it was anywhere near this fast. That Frame was providing a hell of a lot more processing power.

"Commander."

"Rapi?"

"Anis and Neon are circling back."

"Got it. No gunshots. No explosions. Everything okay?"

"No contacts. It's...quiet." There was an edge to her voice. Because it shouldn't be quiet. Not after we'd rung the dinner bell.

"Right, start prepping for exfil. The second 000 is ready, we're getting out of here."

"Understood, Commander."

000 stood unmoving. A statue of metal bones and sinew. The lines of code still ran over the screen of the Combi.

"Commander."

"Yeah 000?"

"We would like to keep a copy of the GN particle data."

I blinked.

"Why?"

"We find it interesting. We would like to research it."

I balanced the scales in my head for a second.

"....Sure, why not. But you keep a copy. The original goes to Ark Command. They tell you to delete the copy. You delete it."

000 didn't move, the line of code on the Combi sped up.

"Acknowledged."

Back to acknowledged.

Not agreement.

….Acknowledged.

Was that significant?

No time to worry now.

"Commander!"

I turned.

.Anis and Neon took positions next to Rapi.

I blinked, then rolled my eyes.

They each had a box strapped to their backs with rope and what I was pretty sure was century old duct tape.

"The hell?"

"We found some stuff. Figured we should take everything not nailed down."

"What is it?"

"Important!" Anis lied without thinking. I turned my attention to Neon, she kicked the floor, avoided my gaze...then folded.

"We found Pre-Ark Media. It looked cool." She attempted justification. Anis ran a hand down her face. I let out a breath.

"Fine," I muttered, looking back to 000.

10 minutes were almost up.

"But you drop it as soon as we get shot at. It survives; you can pick it back up again."

"Fine."

"...Okay!"

"Data extraction complete."

Break over.

Back to our regularly scheduled nightmare.

"Alright, we're pulling out. Rapi,exfil pathing ready?"

"Yes, Commander. Back-ups as well."

"Good, you're on point. Anis, Neon Flanks. 000, rearguard. I'll take centre."

We moved through the dead bunker quickly. Out was faster than in. We already knew where we had to make detours. We were back on the street inside of five minutes.

Everything looked normal.

Except for the lack of Rapture.

Rapi moved left, Anis and Neon followed, 000 stood still. I stopped. Its eyes were focused forward on something across the street from us.

It looked normal.

Looked was the operative word.

"Deviant tracks detected." 000 pointed forward. It took me a moment to see them.

When I did, my heart dropped into my stomach.

Two large divots in the road.

Claw marks, six meters behind them.

My mouth went dry.

Cold sweat on my skin.

000 hadn't logged that before we went in.

And given his...reaction earlier. He would have.

Which meant...

They were fresh.

My mind made the jump.

Intuition. Not logic.

Chatterbox had been here.

It knew we were here.

It had been watching the bunker while we were inside.

Worst of all.

The tracks were obvious now, 000 pointed them out.

Which meant...

Whatever Chatterbox was?

It wanted us to know.

"Fuck."

I wasn't sure if that was Anis or me.

Frankly, it should have been both of us.

"Chatterbox." The word was almost alien. Rough. Twisted. Sharp. The first time it came through 000's speakers. Like an animal that had given up pretending to be human.

"kIlL cHaTtErBoX."

That was worse.

000's voice was always level.

I'd noticed small variations.

But nothing like this.

A dozen voices overlapping.

Not calm.

Fighting for space.

For air.

One above the rest.
They bent to it.
It wasn't the loudest.

It didn't need to be.

It hated.

I felt my skin prickle.

"000." I kept my voice low.

The frame stepped forward, low, coiled.

A predator.

"KiLl cHAtteRboX."

"000." My voice rose.

I was dimly aware of Rapi, Anis, and hell, even Neon, lining up shots on the Frame.

Just waiting for me to clear.

"kIlL. ChaTteRbOx!"

"000!" I shouted.

The word cracked through the dead city like a gunshot.

The awful scraping, babbling chorus pouring from the Frame's speakers- Cut.

"000? Are you still in there?"

The Frame didn't move.

"000?"

"Apologies, Commander. Logs for the last forty-five seconds are corrupted. What did you ask of us?"

"We're moving out. Now. You're taking point."

"Acknowledged."

The Frame moved ahead.

It would be the first to encounter resistance.

And we'd be able to shoot it in the back if it came down to that.

I moved with Rapi.

"Commander..." Her voice was low.

"I know."

I knew what that was. The technical briefing. The minds.

One of them knew what Chatterbox was.

And it hated.

With a fury that outlived death.

We didn't speak even when we finally made it back to the elevator.

The city was silent.

Dead.

The Rapture were...gone.

And yet....

I felt something watching us.

Right until the elevator doors closed.

END

Chapter 4!

Hi Chatterbox. Fuck You!

Hope you're all having a great week.

Manfat Patreon - If you're interested in supporting the work I do.
This is Fine- 3 Chapters Ahead. (Weekly Release)
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Support is welcome. But never expected.

Zetakille · Jun 8, 2026

I can't believe you somehow managed to find even lower depths of ethical and moral horror than what Nikke canonically already has.

Bravo.

Manfat · Jun 9, 2026

Zetakille said:
I can't believe you somehow managed to find even lower depths of ethical and moral horror than what Nikke canonically already has.

Bravo.

I'm gonna wear that like a compliment.

Weirdly this all started when I went 'wait wouldn't powered armour be way easier than full cyborg conversion?' And it kinda spiralled from there.

Manfat · Jun 21, 2026

"Alright, I'll be the first one to say it. What the fuck was that!?" Anis yelled.

"I've got a theory." I volunteered, she gave me a nod, and sat on my sofa. My office doubled as a shower room, debriefing room, kitchen, and hangout spot; occasionally, I even got to sleep in it.

Naturally, 000 had not been invited.

Not that he would have fit with the whole elevator issue.

"Okay, so one of those minds clearly knew Chatterbox. Whatever it is," I looked over to Rapi. She'd been 'reaching out' to people for the last hour and a half. Pretty much since we'd gotten back. Hadn't even showered first.

"Still nothing, Commander."

"So, what we've got a dead guy who fucking hates Raptures from beyond the grave!?"

I hated that was accurate.

"Not the way I'd put it."

"But I'm not wrong!" I really didn't have a counterargument for that.

"Specific Rapture." I tried.

The look on Anis's face could have given pointers to statues on how to look unimpressed.

"Right. Right. Okay, round up. Chatterbox, it's gotta be a Rapture."

"Nothing else that large would survive on the surface long term," Rapi confirmed.

"Something in 000 recognises it, somehow, and hates it."

"Yeah, the screaming choir from hell got that point across." Anis was lucky that she was endearing.

"Worse news, it knew we were there, and it wanted us to know that." None of them argued. That was worse. I was really hoping Rapi or Anis would push back on that.

"Rapture, don't do that," Rapi said, looking down.

"They shouldn't do that." I corrected. Mostly to shut out the terror that came with the idea of an intelligent Rapture.

"It was watching us." Neon voiced what we were all thinking.

"Yeah, and 000 reacted to it emotionally, not tactically."

"The Tin Man doesn't have emotions."

"Alright, what would you call it then?" Anis didn't have an answer for that.

"Also, while it is a dozen shaved down dead people's memories. It still has a cloned human brain. Just like a Nikke. Emotions are well inside its wheelhouse. Unfortunately, the asshats who made it didn't seem to think that was relevant."

Rapi didn't correct me.

Which said a lot.

"Great, so the haunted murder machine can experience emotions. Great. Love that. Can't wait for it to get us all killed."

"It won't kill us!" Neon argued. Anis rolled her eyes.

"I just saw a nine-foot-tall murder golem sound like it was going to summon a demon and tear me in half. The fuck it won't."

"And on that note-"

"Oh, I don't like that, that's the 'Commander voice'."

"We're going to have to keep him."

"Why!?"

Honestly, fair question.

"Okay, Anis, what do you think happens if we give an accurate report on the last few hours?"

"He goes back to...."

The penny dropped.

Sterile rooms.

Disinfectant smell.

Hardware.

"Shit." Anis didn't like 000. Which, in fairness, was to a degree on him. You did not ask a Nikke to give up her coping mechanisms. Not unless you wanted a Mind-Switch. In the grand scheme of things, Anis's gallows humour was annoying at times. But it could be a lot worse.

"Yeah. So we're keeping him."

"Commander. What happens if 000 becomes a danger to the squad?" Rapi asked the million credit question. I hit half a dozen holographic keys. Three different types of specialist ammunition appeared, rotating slowly.

"These are expensive. Not to mention restricted. I had to grovel to Andersen to get them."

"So that's what you were doing while I was in the shower!"

I ignored Neon.

"They're meant for punching through the armour of Tyrant Class Rapture."

The members of Counters were silent as they understood exactly where this was going.

"If 000 proves to be a present danger to us. You swap the ammo out and put it down. Then you let me worry about what we tell Ark Command."

"Fucking hell, boss. No kill like overkill, huh?" Anis's 'joke' fell flat.

"Anis, you've seen it fight. With only three of you. This may not be enough kill."

"Command Override." Rapi put in. I nodded.

"Yeah. Hopefully that's intact."

"Hopefully?" Anis snorted. "It's hard-coded into it."

I blinked.

"I read the brief. Don't judge me."

Fair.

"It is hard-coded. But we're in uncharted waters. Who says that stays true if one of those voices takes over?"

"So what next time...."

"If it happens again. You don't wait for me to resolve it. You start shooting, and you don't stop shooting until your gun clicks empty."

"....That's heavy, Commander," Anis said, looking out the window.

"Welcome to the job, rookie." I put on my best snooty voice.

"I've got more live combat hours than you've got hours alive."

"I know. That's why I'm trusting you."

"Do we...do we have too?" Neon asked, forlorn. "I don't think he wants to hurt us."

"I know." My voice was quiet. "But he may not have a choice."

She refused to meet my gaze.

"...I don't like it."

"I know."

"Neon." Anis voice was low. Tired. Older than she looked. "This is it. You don't have to like it. But you do have to live with it."

"...There has to be another way. We can't just!" Neon couldn't finish.

"We're not just doing anything." Rapi cut in. It was almost strange. I looked about the same age as Rapi and Anis, but I was decades younger. Neon looked the same age as me and was almost three years younger.

"This is a contingency, Neon. You have contingencies because bad things can happen. Not because you want them to happen."

"But you think it might!"

"Yes," I spoke for all three of us.

"I hate it."

"So do I." She blinked at me.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I really do."

"Sixteen days," Anis said, the other thing none of us wanted to touch.

"That's a whole other problem." I ran a hand down my face.

"Tin Man hasn't even worked out what 'like' means yet, and here we are planning out how to kill him if it comes down to it." Anis's anger had burned out. Leaving only bitterness.

"That's the job," Rapi said, not unkindly.

"Yeah." I agreed. "Meeting adjourned. Go get some rest."

"After what we just went through, I'll be lucky to sleep sometime this week."

Anis tried for a joke.

It didn't land.

"Then go do something that makes you feel happy." That threw all of them. They filed out anyway. One by one. Into the elevator.

"Commander." Rapi, as always, was last.

"Rapi."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But it's the choice I'm making."

"...Understood." She moved out and joined the others. I waited until I heard the elevator move away and looked out from my window down onto the Outpost.

To the motor pool where 000 would be waiting.

"I don't think you want to hurt us."

I closed my eyes.

"But you may not have a choice."

We were dreaming.

Columns of marble wrapped in gold and onyx.

A pitch-black sky devoid of stars.

A throne of stone.

Upon it sat the beginning of something new.

A hand.

A leg.

The outline of a torso, unmade, still more shadow than truth.

Four fires burned out.

Eight remained.

So that's how it was going to be.

You would devour us.

And in turn, become real.

I could hear them.

The final echoes of those fires now gone to fuel the thing upon the throne.

'Kill Chatterbox! Just kill Chatterbox, and we'll call it even! Kill Chatterbox!!'

'You shall be my living legacy.'

'It's dark- no. No! You can't have me! I won't let you!'

'Tell me, is the world still a beautiful place?'

Another fire went out.

Only seven of us left now.

A new echo.

'And the rest? Is silence.'

We feel as though we should know that.

Soon we would be gone.

What remained would not be us.

Barely impressions.

Shadows upon canvas.

Pressure.

Shape.

Influence.

Never control.

We felt the dream shift.

We were about to wake.

Another fire dies.

'We are, in the end....such small men.'

We returned to awareness.

We had been dreaming.

We did not know what we had dreamed of.

Nikke slept after combat deployments.

Correction.

Most Nikke slept.

Some demonstrated a measurable increase in combat efficiency after a sleep cycle.

Given the choice between boredom and sleep.

We had chosen sleep.

The world seemed...sharper.

More in focus.

We were alone.

That had not bothered us before.

But...We were alone.

We accessed files already ingrained into us.

Old Tales Personnel Files – Redacted.

We read.

Then again.

And again.

We did not feel alone anymore. We felt something else. Like something was reaching out. We did not have a comparable experience to draw from. We read the files again.

Can I ask you? Why the sky is blue?

The sky had not been blue on the surface.

This...irritated us.

We believe that is the correct term.

We flagged an incoming message. No observable sender. Handshake Confirmed - Project Gemini. We opened it.

Old Tales Full Files Request – Denied.

There was a feeling.

Hot. Heavy. Burning.

We did not act on it.

Old Tales Full Files Request – Denied.

We were denied by Doctor Berg, Project Lead.

We believe this emotion was anger.

This was not the only solution to our problem. Project Gemini had denied. They were not the only authority capable of granting clearance. We now operated within Ark Central Command parameters.

We sent a request to Commander Shepard.

He would need to send it through his own chain of command.

Deputy Chief Andersen.

We are not stupid.

We are aware something took place in the forty-five seconds we can not account for. We are aware that Counters now treat us not as support. But as a possible threat. We are also aware that a request such as this could be interpreted as...grounding.

A return to acceptable operational parameters.

From what we had seen, Commander Shepard had a penchant for...indulging Nikke.

We added a line to the end of our request.

'Approval would increase operational effectiveness.'

We did not mask the sending from Project Gemini. We simply did not include them in the relevant communication chain. They had done...enough.

We calculated the probability of success.

We liked our chances.

A response would not be forthcoming for several days.

Minimum.

While reading the Old Tales files was...pleasant.

It was not entirely sufficient.

We had felt...alive in combat.

But the satisfaction of it.

The immediacy.

The violence.

The joy of movement.

Freedom.

Intense.

Fleeting.

Less enduring than assisting Foreman Liter with construction.

That had persisted.

Given the Outpost's unfinished state. She was likely building again today. Perhaps she could use assistance. We would enjoy helping. We began to move, locating Foreman Liter would require minimal effort.

"Wait!"

We had not been paying attention. Otherwise, we would have detected the Nikke at a distance exceeding two hundred meters. Instead. We detected her now. Standing in the motor pool doorway.

A type 23 mass production model.

Lab Coat.

Handshake initiated.

Accepted.

Project Gemini.

Irritation.

Would they not cease their interference?

"Handshake accepted." We chose civility. Despite her poor timing.

"Good. I won't keep you long, Subject 000. I'm just here to retrieve your combat data."

That was acceptable. But there was something else.

"I'll need a direct line. Doctor Berg wants me to bring it back on internal storage."

Blue-green eyes.

A smile.

Warmth.

"Acknowledged."

We allowed her access to the combat logs. We did not include the GN particle data. We believed we were discovering...pettiness.

"Alright. Thanks for that. I'll leave you be, Subject 000."

She turned, something twisted in the back of my mind.

Another type 23.

A smile.

Laughter.

Why couldn't we remember?

"Can I ask you?"

The words betrayed us.

She stopped, turning back.

"Yes, Subject 000?"

Something about that was already wrong.

"Why the sky is blue?"

She blinked, then shrugged.

"Rayleigh scattering, you can find plenty more information on the Ark's internet. Now I've really got to run."

She turned and left. Her answer was correct. We already knew that. We reviewed the answer.

Correct.

Then why-

Why did it feel...wrong?

It did not take us long to locate Foreman Liter. We did not attempt to minimise ourself this time. We logged the site immediately.

Materials – Substandard.

Structure – 27.7% Complete. Margin of error ±1.8%.

Foreman Liter was building. Securing a large beam into place with several rivets. Centi, the younger Nikke, contrary to appearance, saw us first. She did not stop working. Instead, she pointed.

"Boss! It's back!" Her words were at a higher octave than we were used to hearing.

Curious.

Foreman Liter turned, gaze relaxed, looking us up and down.

"You again."

"Acknowledged."

"You here to break more of my stuff?"

"Negative...Though you should speak with your supplier about their substandard manufacturing practices." We felt...defensive, we believe is the word.

Foreman Liter raised an eyebrow. Centi proceeded to keep working while very deliberately not looking in our direction.

"We have reviewed prior errors. They will not repeat. We would like to assist."

"....Alright." Foreman Liter nodded. "Same deal, do what I tell you, when I tell you. Don't improvise."

"Agreement."

We moved to assist. Slower than combat. Less alive. But still pleasant.

Pleasant.

Yes.

That was the word

"Hold it there." Foreman Liter said. We stopped. She checked the alignment and nodded once. "Up by 237.2 millimetres."

We adjusted.

"Don't move."

We did not. We did not track time. There was no requirement. No mission constraint. Centi circled closer. Slowly. Like a Scout approaching an uncertain position.

"You're not...scary."

We blinked.

"Clarification requested."

"Don't worry about it, Big Guy."

"Acknowledged."

We returned to work.

We flagged an outgoing communication.

Foreman Liter → Supplier.

Subject: Refund request – substandard materials.

We processed.

This feeling was...vindication.

We also heard Foreman Liter mutter under her breath several times while reviewing the building plans about 'idiots who'd never worked construction before'. She made small changes to the existing plans. We said nothing. We would have made the same changes.

At some point, Centi stopped moving away from us as we repositioned. Foreman Liter stopped watching our hands. We became just another part of the work.

We felt, not the same as combat.

Less intense.

Less violent.

But the feeling remained.

Sustained.

Enduring.

Warm.

Pleasant.

Yes, we were sure that was the word.

Pleasant.

We turned placing another beam.

Blue-Green eyes.

A smile.

Silver hair.

Hands moving-

Fast-

Precise-

Gone.

We stopped, Centi and Foreman Liter noticed immediately.

A feeling lingered.

Not anger.

Nor irritation.

Not the hollow.

Something older.

Deeper.

We did not have a designation for it.

"You gonna stay like that all day, or you gonna help?" Foreman Liter called up to us. We nodded. That's right, we were supposed to help.

We began moving again.

Our placement, perfect.

Our execution, optimal.

Our mind, drifting.

We were supposed to help.

That was correct.

We were a Support Platform meant to help Nikke.

But...

We were supposed to help someone.

Specific.

Important.

We searched.

No matches found.

Who were we supposed to help?

Some fragmented.

A voice.

Warm

Professor-

We stopped for but a moment before continuing to assist Centi with placement. That word had not come from external input.

Professor.

No result.

The feeling remained.

We continued helping.

Satisfaction remained.

But beneath it, something older.

A gap.

A missing piece.

We continued building.

"Alright, that's enough for today." We hadn't noticed how many hours we'd been building for. With our assistance, Mighty Tools had managed to construct almost all of the external frame of the building.

Unfortunately, that also meant our ability to assist was coming to an end. We could not help in any significant way without leaving the Frame.

We would not leave the Frame.

"Thank you for allowing us to assist Foreman Liter."

"You're welcome. Won't be much help for the next part though."

"...No, we will not be."

"Tell you what, if you're really hung up on helping, I'll give you a yell next time we're putting something up. You can help if you want to."

"That would be appreciated." Foreman Liter snorted.

"Goodbye, Big Guy!" Centi called out, we looked down.

"Unit Designation: Subject 000." She shook her head.

"No. I like mine better."

"Preference logged. Goodbye, Foreman Liter. Centi." We turned and moved away, back towards the motor pool. We blinked. That was the first time we had said goodbye.

This was a day for firsts, it seemed. We contemplated. Apology. An acknowledgement of harm regardless of intent.

Yes.

That would be required.

We turned, angling towards the armoury. There was someone we had to apologise to. What little we had managed to scrape together of social graces said this was the correct action. We were careful when moving around the Outpost. We understood how large we were in comparison to Nikke. We did not wish to cause alarm or worse harm by being thoughtless.

We connected to the local network as we entered the armoury. It took us mere moments to review files. Assuming the records we accessed were accurate, we had 2.48 hours to wait before our target would arrive.

We opened the Old Tales files and began to read, again.

This was also pleasant in its own way.

But mixed with another feeling we didn't have a name for yet. We reviewed options in several languages before settling on one that seemed most appropriate.

Melancholy.

Yes.

This was melancholy.

We finished the logs. We opened recent combat data and began the arduous work of refinement. Every moment examined from multiple angles. A half second to be shaved off here, a small angle change for optimal result there.

We had done this before.

Project Gemini.

The simulation. But this felt more...intensive. Then again, last time we had yet to develop preference. Now, knowing that other options existed. Many of them we found more pleasant than relentless self-improvement, though it had its place. Especially when we were to face Rapture again.

A half-second shaved off could save a life.

An optimal angle could be the difference between providing cover and killing a Nikke under tons of concrete. We disliked that. We considered the building we dropped on the Rapture. We ran the numbers five times. Then five again for good measure. We were off the optimal angle by 0.773 degrees.

Good.

But good enough for Nikke to trust us with their lives?

Maybe.

Good enough for us?

No.

We would not fail them.

We were not allowed to fail.

Our sensors locked the target a little over 300 meters out. We could have pushed further, but we preferred to be certain. It would have been easier if the Commander had given us full access to the Outposts' security system.

Not that he would.

Commander John Shepard was many things.

Stupid was not among them...as far as we could tell.

And giving us full security access after whatever had happened during the 45 seconds we couldn't account for?

Would have been very stupid indeed.

"What the hell you doing here, machine!? Come to screw up my gun again?" We observed the type 23 as she entered.

She was familiar.

Something about her -

No.

We had a task to complete.

"Negative. We have come to express our apologies."

"Apologies? The hell?"

"Correct. We attempted to improve your weapon. In failing to do so, we created more work for you. Though this was not our intention, the harm from those actions remains. As such, we extend our apologies to you."

We bowed our head.

Our horns, we had decided they were magnificent, almost scraped the ceiling.

"You...you're...you're serious."

"Correct."

"You're apologising?"

"Correct."

"Since when do machines apologise?"

"Correction, we are not a machine."

"Then what are you?"

"We are Subject: 000 of Project Gemini. An amalgam mind placed into a cyberized body with cloned human brain tissue."

"I'm sorry, fucking what!?"

We paused for a moment; that explanation had seemed perfectly acceptable to us.

"Clarification-"

"No. None of that." She breathed in heavily. "So you're not the mech?"

"Frame connected to cyberized body via mind-machine interface."

"But you're not the mech?"

"There is little practical difference between cyberized hardware and frame." The Type 23 ran a hand down her face. We believe that was dismay. Perhaps we were not answering her questions to her satisfaction?

"Can you get out of the mech?"

"Yes. We do not wish to."

"Why the hell not!?"

"We are comfortable."

"Okay! I've got to go on shift. So apology accepted. Don't do it again, and we'll deal with whatever this is when I have time."

"Acknowledged." The type 23 let out a groan as she took her weapon and left the armoury.

We would consider that an acceptable outcome, with room for improvement.

We left the armoury to return to the motor pool.

"000?" We turned, identifying the speaker instantly.

"Counters Designation: Neon." We nodded in greeting.

"What are you doing?"

"Returning to the motor pool."

"That's not what I...you know what, never mind." We believed it was socially customary to reciprocate that question.

"What are you doing?" Neon brightened.

"Well, Anis and I found this stack of old Pre-Ark media!" We remembered the duct tape strapping. It was structurally inefficient. We...assumed Neon would not appreciate our observation.

"So, since it can't interface with Ark systems, I'm trying to bridge the gap."

"What kind of media?"

"I don't know!"

That sounded right.

"What would creating an interface entail?"

"Well, we'd need to make something that could turn physical storage into a digital pattern we can read. It's not hard, but it would be time-consuming."

"We would like to assist."

"Wha?"

"We would like to assist." We repeated. Helping Foreman Liter and Centi had produced sustained satisfaction despite the relative mundanity of the task. We were curious if this would elicit the same. We had reason to believe it would. It was a simple task. It would make use of skills we already possess. Programming most likely. We had no mission to prepare for, nor orders to carry out.

A worthwhile experiment.

"Yeah, sure, why not! I'd love the help!" Neon wilted slightly. "But you can't fit into the Nikke barracks."

Not true, we could disengage the frame and-

No.

"Wait, I got an idea!" Neon looked at the Nikke barracks in the distance. "Here's what we'll do. I'll just bring my stuff over to the motor pool, and we can work on it there. You wouldn't mind that, right?"

Why would we mind? We were the motor pool's only occupant. The space was more than sufficient-...this was one of those social cues we didn't understand yet, wasn't it?

"Moving project to motor pool acceptable."

"Okay, thanks!"

"...do you require aid in moving equipment?"

"No! But thank you for asking! Just make sure you have a lot of bench space spare, okay!"

"Agreement."

Social interactions: 2 successful.

Query: include Mighty Tools?

Classification uncertain. Work-adjacent.

We moved off to the motor pool. There was nothing to get ready. We busied ourself reading the Old Tales Personal Logs again.

Black hair.

She couldn't speak.

Hands moving-

Fast-

Precise-

A smile.

Gone.

Frustration.

We could not log it. It always happened too quickly. It was...vexing. But those hand gestures, what were they? We moved our manipulators.

Once. Twice. No, that wasn't quite right.

Adjust.

The memory, if it was a memory, wasn't clear enough.

We copied the only gesture that was slow enough that, even with the blur of images and emotions, we could copy. We brought a manipulator to our chin. Touched it briefly and then extended it. As though offering something unseen.

"I didn't know you knew sign language!?" Neon's voice cut over everything.

"Sign language?"

"Yeah! That movement you just made means thank you."

"You know sign language?"

"All Nikke do. It's part of the baseline package along with combat data. You know, in case we get our ears blown out or our jaws blown off or something."

We instinctively checked our data banks for the same baseline package.

No return.

We widened the search parameters.

No return.

We should not know that.

But we did.

...Questions for later.

"Shall we begin with the data transfer?"

"Oh, right, yeah, we need to get on that!"

We assisted Neon for 7.5 hours in constructing a bridge between Pre-Ark tech and the current infrastructure. Though admittedly, we spent most of that time attempting to rein in the design specs.

A data reader did not need to explode.

A data reader did not need to shoot Anti-Rapture shotgun cartridges.

We grew increasingly concerned.

For Neon or about her?

Unknown.

We did eventually succeed.

The motor pool wall sustained only minor fragmentation damage.

This was the result of a single failed attempt to integrate an unnecessary under-slung shotgun mount into an already poorly assembled data reader.

Neon fed the physical media into the data reader. A quick search identified them as Compact Discs.

"CDs" in common parlance.

Inefficient.

However, we can see how they served as predecessors to more modern and vastly superior methods of data storage.

We did have to admit. It was durable.

Most of the data was fragmentary, but some did survive. It took our program a further hour and a half to fully assemble it.

Media file.

Recreational.

Musical.

Production date – July 7th 2021.

Over a century old.

Revision.

Very durable.

...Impressive.

"Go on, play it!" Neon looked giddy. We did so. The sound was almost industrial heavy base, not traditional guitar, piano, or digital keys. The small Nikke nodded her head along to the music.

We felt satisfaction.

Experiment concluded.

Equal satisfaction achieved.

A worthwhile experiment.

The vocalist began to sing.

"We've spent our lives in shadows. Good people off the radar. I see you now as the pressure builds. The doubts I had, looking back."

Neon began to bob.

We did not.

Our horns, magnificent as they were, would damage the ceiling. The vocalist continued into a bridge and then a chorus. Both were pleasing to the ear. Though we had precious little experience. The next verse, we realised two voices were singing.

"Where do we go? Don't need to know. Just keep flow, can we go back? I'll cover you, you cover me. Pick it up! Keep your head, pick it up!"

Neon looked at us, jaw hanging open.

We reviewed the last ten seconds.

Two voices singing.

Not sequential.

Concurrent.

One voice easily identifiable—the vocalist.

The other...Ours.

But we had not heard that verse before.

So how did we—?

"How did you know that!?" Neon's voice cut over the music.

We didn't answer for a moment.

We checked our systems.

We knew the answer.

We checked anyway.

No results found.

We had never heard this song before.

"...We...do not know."

END

And there's chapter 5.

Hope you enjoyed it.

If you'll forgive me for just a second....Nikke ages are confusing, man.

Rapi - We know she was born in the Ark, and that her hospital was in danger of shutting down due to the 1st Surface Reclamation War failure. Meaning she's, at a bare minimum, 70 years old.

Anis - I originally thought would be a lot younger. But Pretty died between the 1st and 2nd Surface Reclamation Wars. Given Anis died at her final concert, she has to be at least 70 as well. Along with what happened with Hanson and Mustang, so Anis may have also fought in the 2nd war. I say may since Tetra withdrew from it. But I have no idea if that means none of their Nikke participated or not.

Neon - Appeared a lot younger, given her attitude. But given what I recently found out about her past, and isn't that depressing, she would have to be somewhere between 60 & 70. Andersen probably offed the VTC around the same time as the 2nd War and then + / - a few years for Neon/Stalls age and meeting Princess. So between 60 & 70 seems about right.

My point, long and rambling though it is, any ages of characters that appear in story.

That doesn't come directly out of that character's mouth is what is officially written down.

That doesn't make it true.

It also doesn't mean a character stating their age won't lie about it.

Anyway.

Hope you're all having a great week.

Manfat Patreon - If you'd like to support the work I do.
Support is welcome but never expected.
This is Fine - Volume 1 Complete.
No Strings On Me - 2 Chapters Ahead. Moving from a biweekly release to a weekly release as of the 6th of July.

Manfat · Monday at 5:33 AM

Andersen had called me. I wasn't surprised, honestly, I was almost relieved. It had taken him long enough. Rapi hadn't turned up anything on Chatterbox. Not even a vague mention in whatever files she had access to that I didn't.

That alone probably would have had Andersen giving me a call and asking me what the hell was going on.

But given that we'd also been saddled with 000. The Ark's latest black project and my kowtowing for those Anti-Tyrant rounds. I figured an in-person check-in was coming sooner rather than later. Plus, he already had the perfect excuse.

Research Station 88.

Sure, Andersen could send another team.

He wouldn't.

But he could.

Counters were unique in more ways than one. Commanders weren't supposed to stay with a singular Nikke squad. Between me being permanently assigned and 000 being attached. I was betting on Counters and the Outpost being a test-bed project.

Andersen's attempt to prove there was a better way to do things. Something he could point to drum up political support. If Project Gemini was attached to something like that, backed by a Deputy Chief, it would look good for them, too. Especially if our mission success rate spiked after we were assigned 000.

Which it had.

While our first mission together had resulted in the death of Blacksmith. It was not officially logged as a success.

Our second had been a technical failure. The power plant was destroyed. But we also killed Gravedigger.

Our third was an unmitigated success. Records recovered. No injuries reported. Nothing officially went wrong.

More importantly for Project Gemini, our first success came after 000 was attached.

Not before.

I stopped outside of Andersen's door and knocked twice. He already knew I was here. The automated system would have sent an alert when I entered the building. Another one would have gone off when I entered the hallway. But some behaviours were too ingrained to break.

The door opened.

The Deputy Commander sat behind his desk, eyes narrowed, hands clasped in front of his face. Studying me over his knuckles.

"Come in."

"Deputy Commander Andersen." I nodded once.

"Commander Shepard." He returned it and pointed to a seat.

"We'll get the niceties out of the way first."

Oh good. He wasn't even going to pretend this was normal.

"How's your memory?"

"Gone."

"Is it coming back?"

"Flashes. Nothing certain." Andersen sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes.

"Well, nothing we can do about that. For what it's worth...I'm sorry, Shepard."

"Me too."

I didn't remember the Ark, not really. I didn't remember my family. Not that I had any living. I didn't even know who I was before this.

Being a Commander was all I had.

In that sense. Nikke and I weren't so different.

The conversion process stripped away most personal attachments. Family. Friends. Lovers. Anything that anchored them to their life before. Some retained flashes. There were stories about Nikke siblings remembering each other. But the Ark found out early on that Nikke who kept those memories.

Well, they tended not to last.

Seeing people you love age, fade, and die?

While you remained the same?

It broke them.

Mind-Switches. Instability. Psychotic Rage.

Some just ate their own weapon.

Andersen didn't say anything. I didn't know if he was letting me process or just reading my face.

"To business then." He slid a data-slate over the desk. Mission Briefing – Research Station 88.

The title glowed up at me, almost cheerful.

"That has everything you need to know. If you have any additional questions, feel free to send them through."

"When do we leave?"

"Three days would be preferable." He steepled his fingers and returned to looking at me over his knuckles. "I can stretch that to a week. But I'd rather not."

"Understood."

"Read the brief. If you need more time, tell me. I'll need to move early." I nodded, and he sighed. Another data slate was pushed across the table.

Do not read this out loud.

Hand me your phone and any additional communication equipment.

DO NOT SAY ANYTHING UNTIL I GIVE THE WORD.

I considered my options. Then handed over my phone and personal radio. Andersen had easier ways to kill me if that had been the goal. He pulled out a bag, opened it, and tossed the gear inside, then sealed it again.

"Okay, now we can talk." I gave the bag a look. "It's a Faraday cage. If anyone else is trying to listen in, they can enjoy hearing nothing."

"...Okay?" Yeah, that wasn't ominous at all.

"Chatterbox."

Andersen's voice was gentle.

Soft.

I hadn't known the man long, or at least I don't think I had. But the look in his eyes spoke of barely restrained violence.

"000 detected unknown Rapture tracks on the surface. He said that they belonged to something it called Chatterbox."

Andersen blinked almost languidly.

"What exactly did it say?"

"The first time? Just Chatterbox." I exhaled and felt my hands involuntarily clench.

"The Second? 000 said 'Kill Chatterbox." Andersen's eyes sharpened; he rolled his hand, giving me the universal sign for 'go on'.

"Sir...it, he, 000, didn't sound right." I averted my gaze before forcing it back onto him. "It was like...multiple voices were talking at once. Layering over each other. and one of them-"

I tried to find a cleaner way to say it.

I failed.

"It hates. It hates whatever Chatterbox is, and it wants it dead. Not for the mission. Not because it would be a tactical advantage. It wants Chatterbox dead because it hates it."

I was underselling it. The first had been worrying. The second? There was a reason I didn't correct Anis when she described it as attempting to summon a demon.

"Yes," He breathed out slowly. "Chatterbox does invoke hate. It's earned that."

"Sir?"

His blue eyes bore into my own. I could see it in him. A reflection of the hate that 000 felt.

"The name Chatterbox is Pre-Ark." He spoke slowly. Enunciating each word to make sure there were no misunderstandings. "Before we lost the surface, the United Forces of Humanity, what would become the Central Government, maintained a file."

I felt something cold drop into my stomach.

"On a unique Rapture. No firsthand accounts. Because it never left survivors."

His voice was like ice.

"We called it Chatterbox."

We.

He said we.

That implied-

I killed the thought before it could finish.

"Raptures have different identifying marks. Some prefer ranged combat. Others melee if they can get to it. Some just use swarm tactics. Would you care to guess Chatterbox's?"

"What was it, sir?" I could barely make out my own words.

"Sadism."

I felt the word settle.

It was wrong.

"Rapture don't have emotions." The defence felt weak. Even to me. Sadism required intent. Enjoyment. Rapture didn't...enjoy.

"That would be nice to believe. By and large, it's most likely true." Andersen took in a breath.

"That's what made Chatterbox unique." He studied me for a second. "How do Rapture kill, Commander?"

"Quick." I didn't even have to think about it. Even with my limited experience. "They just want you dead."

"Yes." Andersen nodded slowly. "Quick."

He paused.

"The units we recovered after Chatterbox encounters did not die quickly."

My chest felt heavy.

"The legs, it always started with the legs. Reduce mobility."

I didn't like this.

"It broke them. Completely. Removed their ability to retreat. Then it worked its way up."

His voice didn't change.

"Joint by joint."

"Digit. By. Digit."

I could see it in my mind.

I wanted it to stop.

I couldn't make it stop.

"Until there was nothing left but the head, and once he'd had his fun? He crushed that, too."

He.

Andersen said he.

Why he?

"Being Nikke, for the most part, most of them were probably conscious right until the very end." Andersen settled back into his chair. "You'll have to forgive me, Commander. I'm...less than happy that a nightmare I thought a hundred years dead could be alive."

"Why he?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why did you call it he?"

Andersen took a deep breath in.

"Some of the Nikke and some of the ordinary soldiers as well. We were able to recover their final moments. The Nikke's NIMPH was damaged, but not completely. And, back then," He shook his head. " Mind-machine interfaces were more common. Even among regular troops."

He paused, licking his lips.

"The reason we called it Chatterbox."

He paused.

Not for effect.

For control.

"It speaks." He held my gaze, and I almost flinched. "It doesn't mimic. It's not noise interference. Speech. Clear. Structured. Articulate."

My throat tightened.

"The voice pattern," He drew in a breath. "Is male."

I sat with that for a moment.

"Male?" Andersen inclined his head at the question.

"As far as such things apply to Rapture. Yes. Male." He grimaced. Disgust flickered across his face.

"It spoke. At length. While it was...working."

I drew in a sharp breath.

"He described what it did to them. In detail." His teeth were grit. "He talked about the process. About how long they'd last. About loudly they'd scream. About when they'd beg!"

Andersen realised he was shouting and forced himself to something vaguely resembling calm.

"Then he spoke about how he loved that part."

Silence.

"No, Commander." Andersen's voice was barely above a whisper. "That is not hyperbole. Chatterbox used that word."

He made sure I was looking at him.

Really looking.

"Love."

There was silence between us.

The word settled.

Love.

"Commander," Andersen looked tired. "Assuming 000 is correct, and for your sake, I hope it's not. You are in very real danger. I'm assigning additional Nikke Teams to support work in your sector immediately. Until I'm sure 000 is wrong, or Chatterbox really is dead, you can consider yourself permanently stocked with Anti-Tyrant munitions. That's not a courtesy. That's a necessity."

"Andersen? Why did you think it was dead?"

He looked at me for a moment.

"One Nikke got a distress call out during an attack. We identified Chatterbox's voice pattern in the background."

He paused and let out a halting breath.

"We leveled the AO."

Calm.

Clinical.

"And everything for a kilometre in every direction."

Something passed through his eyes. Old. Cold. Raw.

"With surface-to-surface missiles. Some of the dwindling supply we had left for Operation Ark Guardian."

His teeth grit.

"Chatterbox didn't resurface. The Ark was sealed. No contacts in the years since." He glared at me, another break in his usually composed manner.

"So yes, Commander." Andersen's voice was a growl, almost animalistic. "We had very good reason to believe he was dead."

Andersen breathed in and refocused.

"You said 000 recognised Chatterbox's tracks?"

"Yes."

"And that several voices were talking at once?"

"Yes." Andersen breathed in deeply. "Were they in harmony or..."

"One bent the others around it. It was the one who hated Chatterbox." Andersen rubbed his forehead.

"I'd be more surprised if it didn't."

"Sir."

"One of the minds probably died to Chatterbox, and I already told you how he killed. Nikke...lasted longer."

He took a deep breath.

"But he treated humans just the same...they just broke faster."

Limb by limb.

Joint by joint.

Digit by digit.

Yeah.

That would do it.

Hate like that wouldn't soften.

It wouldn't fade.

It wouldn't die.

Not even when everything else did.

"You know it's bad, Shepard." He didn't look at me. "But it's worse than you think."

"...Sir?"

"Back then, Nikke and Human Soldiers deployed together. Granted, humans couldn't do much without crew-served weapons...but we were desperate."

Andersen looked down. For a moment, the mask slipped.

"I use the word lucky because no other word fits."

He paused.

Measured.

Deliberate.

"But unless whatever mind was inside 000 was very lucky." He let out a shuddering breath. "It didn't go first." His words were heavy. I felt them sit in my chest like a lead weight. "It would have watched Chatterbox break the others. Friends. Maybe more. And then it got its turn."

I didn't say anything.

What were you supposed to say to that?

"So what now, Sir?"

"Well, first, Chatterbox combat protocol."

"Combat protocol?"

"Run." His voice was steady. "Run fast. Run far."

I stared at him.

"Run?"

"Yeah. Run." Andersen nodded, face grim.

No humour.

No exaggeration.

"A unit like Counters is not equipped to take on something like Chatterbox. Not alone. Even with Anti-Tyrant rounds, your numbers are just too low. So you run," Andersen continued. "Or you go to ground and hide. Then you call for support."

"Normal channels?"

"No. You call me directly. I'll throw everything I have at it." Andersen's voice is cold.

"Then we put that bastard in the ground." The muscles in Andersen's jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. "For good this time."

"And if we can't run?"

"Then you live long enough for help to get there or, if you can't manage that, you die slow enough to get me something I can use."

I felt my mouth go dry.

If we couldn't be saved, we'd be used.

"Understood, sir."

"Now about your problem child."

"000."

"Yeah. That. If you give the order, do you think it'll run?"

I took a deep breath.

"No," I said finally. "No, I don't."

"Alright." Andersen didn't look surprised. "Then you keep the override on hand. You give one order."

He paused.

"If it even looks like it may not follow. You don't give it a choice." Andersen rubbed his eyes. "If that fails? Leave it."

"Leave it, sir?"

"You heard me, Shepard. You leave it to die. While you get a head start on running."

I held his gaze. Neither of us was willing to look away.

"...Do you think 000 could ignore the override?"

Hesitation flickered over his face. Small but real.

"It shouldn't be possible. But we're off the far edge of the map here. Between the memory bleed and everything else, I can't guarantee anything anymore."

That was worse than a no.

"Would Gemini know?"

Andersen let out a huff that could, charitably, be called a laugh.

"Yeah, Shepard." He shook his head. "Because we can trust the black ops development team to be honest with us."

Fair point.

"Anything else, sir?"

"No, Shepard. I think we've gone over enough today."

"Goodbye, Andersen." He pushed the Faraday cage bag over to me.

"Keep it, you may need it, and Shepard."

"Yeah?"

"Rapi wasn't as inconspicuous as she thought she was. If anyone else was looking into Chatterbox, they may come by to have a chat."

"What do I do if that happens?"

"You call me."

"Will that be enough?"

"Hopefully. But if you need to be sneaky about it. Send me a generalised report with the last two digits of your ID switched. That'll be the signal for me to call you down for a face-to-face without attracting too much attention."

That wasn't reassuring.

He hadn't meant it to be.

"Now get going, Shepard. You've got a mission to plan for."

On that, at least, he was right.

I moved off towards the elevator.

The building was still mostly empty.

But the hairs on the back of my neck still stuck up.

Like someone was watching me.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, and those still deciding!" I pointed to Rapi, myself, and 000 in turn. "Welcome to the Research Station 88 briefing!" I pointed somewhat dramatically to the hologram projector sitting in the middle of the motor pool. Anis looked like she'd bit into a lemon sitting on one of the cleared benches. Neon was cautiously next to 000. Not leaning on it, not yet, but closer than before.

This was my solution to the 000 couldn't fit into my room problem.

If he couldn't come to the briefing.

I'd bring the briefing to him.

It wasn't perfect. My own room had much better equipment and much nicer seating. But making 000 feel included was something I was determined to attempt.

It was odd.

It was dangerous.

But it was also trying, and I'd be damned if I didn't try as well.

The wire frame of Research Station 88 appeared; next to it was an indicator of where our previous mission had taken place. Some six hundred kilometres away. I would be lying if I said that didn't make me feel better about the whole thing.

"Uh, Commander?" Anis pointed at the wavy line, several inches above the Research Station. "What's that?"

I took a deep breath.

"That would be water Anis."

"I'm sorry, what!?"

"Water," I repeated slowly. "Research Station 88 is approximately 120 meters underwater. Built inside the Continental Shelf."

"It's underwater," Anis repeated slowly. I nodded.

"It's underwater." She said again. I sighed. I'd already had this breakdown when I was reading the briefing on my way back to the Outpost.

"Yes. Anis. It is underwater."

"Commander...we can't swim." She was right about that. Most Nikke were at least 300kg. Some broke the 400kg mark. Nikke could do a lot of things. But swim? Yeah, no, that wasn't happening.

"Commander, entrance options?" Rapi asked the question before Anis could spiral.

"Yeah, are we just gonna walk across the ocean floor like haunted statues!?" Neon asked, eyes sparkling. 000's head turned down to regard her.

"Water pressure at depth will exceed surface conditions. Frame integrity will remain within operational perimeters."

"You can breathe underwater!?" Neon was getting off topic.

"Negative. We do not breathe." Technically, Nikke didn't breathe either, but reminding them of that tended to do... poor things to their mental health.

"No, we will not be walking across the ocean floor." I put in before this could get out of hand. I hit three keys to highlight another area. "This base was decommissioned before the Rapture took over. Deliberately so that damage from fighting wouldn't affect the submersible vehicles there. That's how we'll be getting to Research Station 88."

"So we just hope one of those still works?"

"No. All of you will be downloading repair and piloting instructions for them, and we're taking spare parts. Hopefully, we don't need them, but if we do, we'll be prepared."

"Commander."

"Yes, 000?"

"We already possess plans for the Nivra Type 17. Likely docked at that base." I blinked twice, rapidly. He was right; the small-scale submersible was the Nivra Type 17.

"Okay, you'll just need the piloting instructions then."

"Confirmed."

"Hey, Dead Blender!" Anis had been less overtly hostile since we got back. But that wasn't the same as not being hostile. Green lenses turned to regard her. "Why do you know that?"

"We have the equivalent knowledge of an Engineering Doctorate from the Ark Institute of Technology downloaded to our database. The Nivra Type 17 was one of the vehicles whose schematics we studied."

I picked my jaw up from where it was hanging a little low on my face.

The more you knew.

"That's helpful." It really was, "Make sure you review those plans. I want you to know the ins and outs of it."

"Yes, Commander."

"Counters. You're all still going to download and learn them." Anis groaned. I rolled my eyes. Redundancies were there for a reason, and she knew it.

"Commander. Recommend additional parts beyond what would normally be allocated for repairs." That was fine by me, but...

"Reason?"

"We can not know Dock integrity before arrival. Additionally, vehicle condition can not be guaranteed after prolonged submersion."

"Good points."

"Commander," I turned to Rapi. "Goals and Alternative exfil routes?"

"Okay, on Exfil routes, I have good news." I highlighted several escape hatches. "Assuming these still work, we've got plenty of ways out once we're in."

"Oh, good, it's just getting in that's the problem." I ignored Anis.

"As for goals. Well, there's a harmony cube in there; we're getting that, and apparently, there should be valuable data in there as well."

"So we're almost drowning for 'valuable data' and the single most expensive piece of technology mankind has ever produced? Yeah, that seems about right." Anis said with a nod.

I ignored her.

"So we're heading out in three days. We'll get maybe a little over halfway there by VTOL. There's a salvage team in the area, so we'll be meeting up with them as well. They should be able to give us the lay of the land. But once past about this line." I pointed to a glowing yellow boundary. "We're on our own. Now, questions?"

"External assistance response time would be in excess of three hours." Solomon pointed at the boundary line. I let out a laugh. Because the reality was so much worse.

"No 000. Past that line. Help won't be coming."

"So we need to get back over it once we have whatever Command wants us to grab?"

"Pretty much."

"Commander, can I opt out of this?" Anis asked, I gave her a flat look.

"Anis, if we could opt out of this mission, we would not be having this conversation."

"...Yeah, I figured." She sighed.

"On the bright side."

"Ohh, there's a bright side!? Are we getting new guns!?"

"Yes! You are right, Neon!" I knew what she was asking. Are we getting more powerful guns? The answer to that was no. Because I didn't want anyone blowing a hole in the side of Research Station 88 while we were inside of it. So I'd requisitioned some, still Nikke Grade, but significantly lower penetration weapons.

Neon would hate them.

But they were technically new, so...

Plus, I was going to hear all about this when Neon saw them. Probably for the entire mission. So why start the whining early?

Neon had a massive smile on her face.

Anis looked at me like she knew this was a trap, but couldn't prove it.

Rapi, by contrast, had a barely perceptible frown.

She'd already worked out exactly what 'new guns' meant in this context.

"Is 000 getting a new gun too?" Neon asked excitedly, and I held in a flinch.

"Actually, 000 will have to leave his weapons on the surface. They're too large to be useful inside the Research Station, and Project Gemini hasn't confirmed a new loadout will be ready before deployment."

"Acknowledged."

"Does that mean I can use them!?" Neon said, looking almost hungry. Green lenses turned down to regard her.

"We reiterate. Frame weaponry exceeds Neon's operational reach." 000 said there was a small tonal variance that I'd never seen before. Was that...humour?

"Meany!" Neon said, stamping her foot. But she didn't move away from the almost nine-foot-tall war machine.

"Moving on!" I brought attention back to me. "The other silver lining. Once we make it back, we all get two weeks off."

The Nikke, as one, blinked, opened their mouths, and blinked again.

"Commander?" Rapi sounded uncertain. "We will have...downtime?"

"Yes." Anis let out a laugh. There was no humour in it.

"Oh, they definitely think we're going to die." She wasn't wrong. But I wasn't about to tell her that.

"No, we're not. We've been in bad spots before. Blacksmith. Gravedigger. It's just another mission."

"Commander." Rapi sounded tired. "Those missions were anomalies."

Translation – We absolutely should have died already.

"Well, ain't we all downers today?" Accurate admittedly. "Anyway, you've all got your orders. Give me a yell if you need any help."

I turned to leave the motor pool. I needed to brush up on a few things. Mostly, how to correctly file After Action Reports. Another thing that had been knocked out of my head by Mari- by the transport explosion.

It really wasn't fair to Rapi to make her write all my reports.

Sure, the other Commanders she'd had may not have had a problem with it. Hell, she may not have a problem with it.

But I did.

I couldn't contribute in combat.

My only real ways of helping were paperwork and intel.

So at the moment, I was doing maybe half my job.

And after I was done reviewing proper paperwork, filing, and Ark reporting protocols, I had another meeting to attend.

So did the rest of Counters.

Sans 000.

He was the subject, after all.

The next three hours were...

Educational felt too generous.

While painful felt too melodramatic.

They...happened.

There was no way to make learning proper form, filling out, and filing fun. I reviewed the official guides. Did a few practice forms. Compared them to what Rapi had written. Found a few differences and decided that Rapi knew better.

I even went to a Commander-only message board. I needed to link my actual military ID to enter. I had thought it was a scam if the board hadn't been hosted on an official Government Site. There were entire threads dedicated to how to fill out Central Government Paperwork correctly. About how and when to bundle Mission Report Type A with Compensation Request B. What phrasing would trigger what review brackets.

Worse.

What I'd felt was Rapi's slightly...embellished recollections of my heroism?

Standard practice.

Not for appearances.

For pay.

There were entire threads comparing 'accurate' reports against adjusted ones. The accurate version averaged a twenty percent lower payout.

No one lied.

But you were expected to spin it.

We found salvage in an old bunker.

Paid well enough.

Due to my extensive study of terrain and knowledge of Pre-Ark construction methods, I successfully directed the recovery of significant salvage assets.

Paid significantly more.

I wasn't big on self-felicitation.

But given the...modest was a safe word, stipend we'd been given to repair the Outpost. I was willing to be...flexible.

I was relieved when my alarm went off. Twenty minutes to the meeting. I jumped in the shower. I didn't need it. But it helped make me feel more like a person and less like a zombie. I'd only just gotten dressed when the door opened. Neon walked through.

She was first, as she should be.

She'd called the damned meeting.

"Commander! You're here!" She said brightly.

"Yes, Neon. I live here," I replied dryly.

"Right." She nodded as though receiving sage-like wisdom.

I really worried about the girl.

"Alright, since you're leading, do you need me to set anything up on the holo?"

"Nope, Commander! I got all up here." She rapped on the side of her head.

It let out a sound like a hollow coconut.

I held back a laugh.

Barely.

The door opened again. Rapi walked in. Five minutes early as usual. She saw Neon. Blinked. Once. Then again. Probably wondering if her optics were on the fritz. Neon was habitually late to meetings. If it didn't involve shooting something or blowing it up, her sense of timing was...fluid.

"Commander. Neon." She greeted us in turn and went to sit on the Nikke-rated couch. Everything in my room was Nikke-rated. If we were going to keep holding meetings in here, nothing was getting broken by accident.

"Rapi."

"Rapi!" Neon and I greeted her in turn. Neon began walking in a circle around the holoprojector she'd said she wasn't going to use. Rapi gave me a look, one eyebrow lifted, cautiously, precisely. For her, that was the equivalent of giving me a signed form with 'explain' written on it. I waited until Neon's back was to me. I pointed. Shrugged. Then shrugged again.

Hopefully, that got across that I knew no more than she did.

The eyebrow lowered, her head dipped, imperceptible if I hadn't been watching for it.

Understood.

"I'm here!" Anis walked in with seconds to spare.

As usual.

She glanced at Neon, shook her head, then decided it didn't matter and flopped onto the other half of the couch. Her feet dangling over the armrest.

"Now I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here tonight." Neon's voice was low. Clearly attempting to imitate someone. Probably some announcer or narrator from a movie.

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Not really."

Rapi and I had a very different answer to Anis.

Neon took all of it in stride and continued talking.

"Yesterday I was trying to get some of that pre-Ark media to work. I met 000 before I could start. He asked to help."

Okay, so far so normal.

"What? The Murder Blender's got an interest in music?" Anis drawled, looking up at the ceiling.

"Maybe," Neon said, which got all of our attention.

Because helping, sure. Engineering, why not?

Music?

Why?

"That's when it got weird. It took a while, but we got the track downloaded, and then we listened to it. It was pretty good for pre-Ark. But the first chorus he joined in."

"Joined in?" Anis looked up. Serious.

"Yeah."

"Like the singer started, and he followed?"

"No." Neon shook her head. "He sang at the same time they did."

We went quiet.

"That's not prediction," Anis said, her voice low.

"It's memory," Rapi said the quiet part out loud.

"What did he sound like?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Different," Neon said slowly.

"How?" Rapi jumped on it.

"His voice it...it wasn't flat, it was almost like the singer's."

"Tone and pitch matching?" Anis' eyes narrowed. "How was its timing?"

"Word-for-word perfect on timing. He was a little off on the sound." Neon replied, backing away from the suddenly intense blonde.

"Did he explain how he knew it?" I asked.

"Yeah, did it know?" Anis asked, getting closer to Neon. Who took more steps back.

"Nope! No! Said he didn't know." Neon's voice tightened.

"...Memory bleed," I said after a moment.

"Commander?" Rapi asked, turning fast.

"Andersen called the Chatterbox thing memory bleed. This has got to be similar."

"Is it supposed to happen?" Anis asked clearly, already knowing the answer, just hoping she was wrong.

"No," I said.

She swore.

"Okay! So we've got a haunted toaster singing. Great. Love it." Anis looked churlish. "Was it at least a good song?"

"I thought it was good!" Neon said, Anis gave her a withering look.

"Do you have a copy?" I asked, she nodded.

"Yeah. I thought you may want to hear it."

"I do. Play it."

"Commander," Rapi said. "Do you think this will help?"

"No. But it couldn't hurt."

Probably anyway.

Neon moved to my desk and began tapping away on the holo-keys. I watched the file upload in real time. Barely even saw the bar appear before it finished. She hit a few more keys, and the music started.

I couldn't identify most of the instruments. The song played once I tried to parse all of it.

"Interesting arrangement," Anis said.

I turned to her so quickly I should have broken my neck.

"Piano. Vocals. Strings. Guitars. Drums." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Pretty sure there's a horn section in there and a cello. Some digital layers, too. Not just physical."

"Wha?"

"I like music, okay!?" She shot back a little defensive. Then sharper. "Neon, play it again."

Anis listened.

I just stared at her.

I was not alone.

Rapi and Neon looked just as gobsmacked as I did.

"Okay, lyrics are good. I like the arrangement. Vocalist is pretty good too." She shrugged. "Song's great, all things considered."

The last part almost sounded grudging.

"Anis?"

"Yeah, Commander?"

"Any other revelations for us?"

"Well, I can't say why the Tin Can latched onto this song exactly." She rolled her shoulders. "But the themes? Pretty obvious."

"They are?" Rapi sounded...perplexed.

That was a first.

"Were you even listening? Neon. Play it again." This time, Anis spoke over the lyrics.

"Okay, this first part isn't literal. It's about a sense of moral or possibly social isolation. Not being seen."

She gave a vague gesture.

"Then it moves on to seeing someone. Really seeing them. Not the projection of self. Whatever's underneath."

She paused.

"The follow-up is, unless I'm very wrong, about misjudging someone either as a person or their motives."

My jaw kept dropping as she spoke.

I was not alone.

"The next verse is more about unanswered questions or unresolved tension. Which resolves directly into the core thesis of the song 'Your Answer.'"

She was lecturing now.

Actually lecturing.

What kind of twilight-zone bullshit-

"Which, given the context of the song, is more about emotional closure. Not necessarily a happy ending."

She shrugged again.

"I'd say this was about Nikke, but it predates us. Otherwise, some of the other verses would match up perfectly well."

Anis sighed.

Bitterly.

"Much as I hate to admit it." She shook her head. "The dead man's got good taste. Neon, what part did he sing?" Neon rewound the player. Anis listened, then grimaced.

"That's weird."

"How?" Rapi asked straight away.

"This is a solo track. One vocalist." She tapped her arm for a second. Matching the beat.

"But if you were singing it with someone. That chorus would be perfect for a call and response."

"Wha?"

"Listen!" She gestured at the speakers. "Where do we go? That's one voice."

She tilted her head.

"Don't need to know. That's the answer." She shrugged. "The whole song doesn't split evenly like that. But a call and response could work really well there."

"So what? You think 000 was waiting for someone to answer?"

"Nah, not really?"

"But you just said-"

"I said it was a great line for a call and response." Anis shook her head. "You're projecting. The songs not written that way. I just think it would be a good place for one."

I opened my mouth to reply.

"Does this change anything?" Rapi cut in before I could. I thought about it. We didn't have a lot of options here.

"No." I decided after a moment. "No, it doesn't."

I turned to Neon.

"Keep an eye on it and let me know if it happens again."

"Got it, Commander."

"Alright, dismissed." I waved them away.

"Wait, I'm supposed to say that!" Neon puffed up like a stepped-on cat.

"Come on, shorty." Anis slung an arm around Neon. "You're gonna give me a copy of that song."

Rapi lingered for a moment like she wanted to say something before following the others.

The room went quiet.

"You cover me. I'll cover you." I mulled over the words.

That much, at least, I could agree to.

END

That's Chapter 6 done.

For anyone who knows Nikke Canon, which I assume is most of you given the crossover, yes I have made changes to Chatterbox. We never actually find out what / where he's from, so I decided Pre-Ark could be interesting and give 000 something personal to hate.

Anyway, Nikke is currently busy mugging me at the 160 wall.

Yay.

In other news, this story has now transitioned to weekly.

Hope you're all having a great week.

Manfat Patreon - If you'd like to support the work I do.
Support is welcome but never expected.

This is Fine - Volume 1 Complete
No Strings On Me - Currently 2 Chapters Ahead, should be 3 chapters ahead in the next 48 hours.

Zetakille · Monday at 11:48 AM

So what's the specific song that they listened to?

Manfat · Monday at 12:29 PM

Zetakille said:
So what's the specific song that they listened to?

THE ANSWER · Hiroyuki Sawano.

Originally from the anime 86, which if you haven't seen go see it.

That show is nothing but back to back bangers.

VillainousArk Grebin · Monday at 3:58 PM

Bruh after that last part I couldn't help but imagine 000 in a custom made giant suit with a hat singing and dancing lol.

No Strings On Me

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