RANGER ADAIR

I want you to go in that bag, and find my wallet. Which one is it? It's the one that says Bad Motherfucker.

[ranger-adair]

right in the head

[ranger-braxton-blog]

Columbus listened when the introduction was given, but his mind was already forming its first impressions of the A.I. Jem, they said he’d gone by. The one who was going to be inside of his head from now on was more like it. Well, that was until they one this war and then…

Wait, did they take the implant out when this was all over? For all the briefings that he’d gone through in the past few weeks, he couldn’t recall if they did or didn’t. Because it was one thing to have someone in your head in order to help you fight, it was another entirely to be connected to them for the rest of your life.

It wasn’t until Jem echoed his own thoughts that he looked up, his attention once more on the matter at hand. He was getting himself all worked up over the future, when the present hadn’t even come to pass. Hell, for all he knew, he could die on their first mission.

Now that was something to worry about.

He took a long, cursory glance at his new partner. Modeled after a teenage boy by all appearances, he certainly did not seem formidable. But looks could be deceiving.

The A.I. did not seem to be particularly impressed with him either if his casual tone was anything to go by. And there went the little bit of confidence that the agent had tried to salvage. He hadn’t expected his A.I. to run to his side like a new puppy, to nip at his heels and look for his approval but… But he’d at least like him to look like he wasn’t the most detestable partner he could have received.

He’d like it if the A.I. would talk to him instead of the labcoat beside him. Like he wasn’t smart enough to answer his queries. Like he wasn’t worthy or something.

Goddammit, what had he gotten himself into?

He tried to command some sort of attention from the A.I. by clearing his throat a little. “I’m looking forward to working together, Jem. It’s good to meet you.” He held out his hand for the A.I. to shake. Please God, just let him take it. Columbus didn’t think he could handle any more embarrassment today. “You do go by Jem, right? Not Gemini?”

[ranger-adair]

Jem crinkled eir nose a little, flicking eir gaze back up at the Agent. Human.  Person to whom ey would be connected: brain, to chip, to drive, to gun. Sticking a hand out. The AI glanced down at the hand — it was shaking, just slightly, in movements invisible to only either very attentive or robotic eyes — and broad and strong though it seemed, Jem could easily crush it. Glancing up at Columbus’ face, ey found emself battling a very human urge to sneer. He looked hopeful, somewhat. Friendly-looking, but hesitant. Back down again. Up. Hand, eyes. Ey didn’t want to do it. Ey really didn’t. But reluctantly, ey swiped forward and ostentatiously gripped the Agent’s hand. His body temperature was 36.4°C, 97.52 fahrenheit. 

Ey spent the entire duration of the shake glaring pointedly at the director: the only reason ey had condescended to touching the Agent was resting purely on this authority’s presence.

"Yes," ey responded, eyes still trained with hostile intensity on the man and his coat and his official bloody clipboard. "That’s what they gave me." Jem finally turned eir head to the Agent, and shrugged. Then ey swung eir legs and hopped delicately off the bench, strolled around to the side and drummed impatiently on the cool surface. 

Ey met the disapproving stare of the director with an arched eyebrow. "Well?" ey said. "Might as well get this show on the road." Jem leant, and saw eir reflection blur in the surface. Ey was sick of waiting. "My entire existence so far has led up to this moment, after all," ey murmured, with another rather venomous glare toward the two humans.

[ranger-adair]

right in the head

[ranger-braxton-blog]

When he’d been told that henceforth he would be known as Agent Columbus, he almost laughed. Actually, he did start laughing, right in the middle of the examination room. Really — Agent Columbus? Was this some kind of joke? Well, it had to be. No one who knew his birth name would ever force such a title upon him.

It took him a few minutes to realize he was the only one in the room laughing.

His laughter died out then, replaced with the dull hum of overhead lighting and nothing else. The man standing across from him, the man holding his files in hand, looked none too impressed with his reaction. He wondered if they’d kick him out before he even began. But the man simply wrote something down on his little clipboard — probably something about him being a complete nitwit — and instructed for Columbus to follow.

Along with his new name, he was to be paired with an A.I. as part of this Project. He’d been told they would aid his performance on the battlefield, though they would not follow him into such terrain themselves. It seemed odd that any partner he might have could be of any help if they were not beside him, but he was willing to give it a shot.

Not like he really had a choice in the matter.

The procedure had been explained to him in great detail. A chip would be embedded in the back of his skull, one that would connect his mind to his A.I. Columbus had to admit, the idea of sharing his thoughts with another being unnerved him, but maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe after he met this A.I., he’d feel a little better.

Columbus put his faith in his A.I., for all that he’d never met them. He had to believe that they would not make this as terrible as it sounded. But as he was led down the hallway, led to the A.I. awaiting him, a deep feeling of dread started to settle in his gut.

He was led into a room, one that reminded him of a medical bay but… But it wasn’t quite the same, was it? Sitting atop a bench, looking entirely nonplussed about all the machinery surrounding them, Columbus started to step forward.

"Jem," the man said as Columbus drew nearer. "This is your partner, Agent Columbus. Agent, this is your unit, A.I. Gemini, otherwise known as Jem."

[ranger-adair]

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

Bored, Jem took to inspecting eir nails. The colour of eggshells, mounted on fingertips complete with minute grooves and swirls for fingerprints. No doubt the exact same as every one of eir ‘brothers and sisters’. The other machines, imitations of humanity, made in their image as if it were the best way to be.

As it happened, ey had unknowingly turned emself into a perfect, picturesque image of complete boredom by the time the Agent had walked in. Leaning back on one hand, elbow locked, inspecting eir nails, cool and nonchalant in the cold glaring light of the lab. The doors blipped and slid open, and two sets of softly clicking shoes announced the humans’ arrival. Jem’s eyes — black in the dark, and honey in the light — swivelled up.

Ah, so there he was. At two days, six hours, and forty-eight minutes — late, in the A.I’s book.

Jem folded eir hand into a fist and, gaze still fixed on eir ‘partner’, slowly lowered it, to be flattened calmly by eir side. Your unit. Ey tipped eir head to the back just a tad, scrutinising the Agent for a moment. “This him?” ey said, slipping a glance to the other man. Looked Columbus critically up and down, a look of faint disdain touching eir features. “Huh,” ey said, quite as if ey had been expecting different. The reality was, however, that ey hadn’t been.

Tall, solid build, that much he had going, and it wasn't like he didn't look the part. Maybe a few more battle-scars — visible ones at least — to let em know ey hadn’t gone through all that rubbish to be deemed ‘worthy’ of some wimp. But no. As far as eir fancy new-fangled photoreceptors could make out, Agent Columbus was just some guy. Great, Jem thought. Had to be deemed suitable for Just Some Guy.

Oh well. Chances were, whatever was stored up in his mind there would make up for it. And, if ey was optimistic, ey’d entertain the assumption that someone had to be pretty damn good to get into this project. To ‘get’ Jem, though ey was fairly sure both parties knew there’d be no ‘getting’ about it. But there was still very much a difference ‘pretty damn good’ and ‘interesting’. A gaping chasm, in fact. One that, if it meant somehow spiriting to the other side, Jem would probably not hesitate to push someone into.

Jem leant forward, bringing eir elbows to rest upon eir knees. "So I'll be in this one's head?" ey asked the man, letting a lone finger drift to motion vaguely at the Agent. Sounded like disbelief. Sounded like that morsel of knowledge hadn't been one of the first ones shoved into em. Eir gaze roved over to join those attached to what was apparently eir new lot of baggage, one heaved onto eir shoulders when ey had been alive for not three days. Did that sound fair? Ey didn't think so. Either way, ey flashed eir brows when ey looked to him, and subsequently turned eir attention to the bends and knobs of eir knuckles.

[ranger-adair]

right in the head

A.I Unit Gemini -- lovingly, ey thought, named Jem -- had been conscious for a total of two days, six hours, and forty-five minutes and pushed through tests for a decent chunk of that time. All to ensure that ey was 'ready'.

For what?

For em to meet the person for whom ey had supposedly been created. And then? Oh, and then, ey was to click right into the back of a neck.

One of the first sounds the A.I had made was a scoff, and at that, a box had been ticked. Assigned, the computer said, to Agent Columbus. Assigned? Fancy that, waking into the first moments of existence, and being told that you practically belonged to some human. 

Photoreceptors: responsive. Auditory systems: functioning flawlessly. Motor skills? Oh, bloody beautiful. Language analysis and response. Vocals. Tactile sensors. Range of movement. Internal weaponry. Cannon, needler, machine gun. Oh and best of all, the personality tests. Six different rounds of them, the results stashed away nimbly into some database that thought it understood em. And the only product ey was allowed to see were two nice little adjectives that floated below eir name: apathetic, independent. Oh good, let's condense my personality into twenty letters. All this? Just to make sure ey fit snug into this Agent Columbus guy's head? It was insulting.  And if he was the reason for eir existence, existence was an insult. Ey hoped he hated those twenty letters. 

It is with some aloof interest that Jem submitted to the meeting, though outweighed by resentment eir curiosity was. Ey was seated, still and stiff and rigid, atop the bench onto which ey would soon be lain, powered-down, and woken again into an inferior mind. Any minute now, the Agent would step in. The Agent would step in, and Jem would finally -- after two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes at least -- see what all the fuss was about.

[holeinmy-heart-deactivated20171]

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