🎶 - A song that gets the mun into the muse’s headspace
It was raining in the city of Midwich.
It was always raining, granted the ozone factories in the center of the city had everything to do with it. Great plumeing stacks of steam and gas rising into the heavens as great grey swirling shield of cloud cover that was set to protect what as left of a ravaged earth. It wasn’t exactly the sunniest of places to live but it was home to many and more than likely more.
The clipclop of a camera lense was drowned by the drizzle and bounce of water off the metal caparse of the robot. A soft shift of gears wheezed a puff of vapor as it swiveled it’s hip frame to continue its surveillance of the south Emerald district. The shutter clacked again as it cleared the bits of caught water debris as it followed an air can drift into the higher districts.
A soft beep signaled an incoming communication. “EM-19. You there? Do you copy EM-19?”
“Frank, I’m literally 30 feet from you.” The reply carried the air of bored annoyance, as the hips began to slowly swivel again.
“Respond accordingly, EM-19. I repeat, do you copy?” The same level of annoyance struck back but more of a lack of professionalism than boredom.
Sighing again, EM-19 signaled the reply. “EM-7. This is EM-19, checking in. All is quiet on the southern front, EM-7.”
“Roger, EM-19. Maintain surveillance and report back in at 1600. I’m clocking out, rendezvous with EM-12 at 1630 for patrol. PIT is active. Copy?” The level of annoyance of EM-7 had dimmed apparently from the weary sound of his voice as the orders were sent.
“Roger, EM-7. Orders confirmed.” EM-19 sighed and reached up to rub at his nose as he listened to his superior sign out before the quiet again. Leaning back into his chair EM-19 or rather Zexx would try to get comfortable in his chair again and let his hands fiddle with the joysticks. The STON rig hummed all about him as the camera view of the drone shot directly into his headgear as he monitor the machine as well as his surroundings. Nothing, Tuesdays were always dull.
“This is such a waste of time,” Zexx muttere to himself as he rubbed at his nose again and tried to ignore the numbing throb of his legs. Or rather what had been his legs, the ghost pains of his loss very apparent today in this position. He needed a break but he’d only started his shift three hours ago and breaking down would be a huge pain in the ass. Ten minutes of unhooking from the rig, ten more of attaching his prosthetics, five minutes of coffee, and then whole damn process again to get hooked back up. Just deal with it and wait till lunch, it was straganoff day.
“EM-19, please repond EM-19. Respond!” A loud ding had brought Zexx back as he sat up hearing the calm out.
“EM-19 here, go ahead.” Zexx replies to the urgency of the call, already tracking the call back to EM-12 as he swiveled the drones head in his direction. “What’s up Ed?”
“Got a situation down here, B’s already in her way, but I think gonna need more than just us.” Ed spoke quickly and with effort, the guy had it tougher than Zexx with just using his brain and what little movements he had in his toes.
Zexx grinned as he fired up his mech from its position, the vapor pistoning as the figure stood up straight up and began to prepare to move out. “Where are you Ed? What’s the issue?”
“Cons. Scanner picked them up coming out of the metro.”
“You think they’re hostile?” A resounding of gunfire and flashing pop ups on Zexx’s hud answered that question.
“It’s not them we’re worried about, it’s the Strippers that came out of the diner.” B now responded, her voice low and calm with her breathing following raspy and slightly pained.
“Your filters off B,” Zexx shifted 19’s hips and kicked in the Kevlar pads on the clawed feet of the drone as it kicked off across the rooftops.
“I thought you liked,” B gulped in another thick dose of oxygen. “My heavy breathing.”
“Depends on our attire.”
“Who says,” a thick gasp broke the banter, as Zexx felt his grin slip hearibg B struggle. “I’m in attire.”
“Dirty.”
Ed’s growl cut the chatter as he called out. “Call for medical, we got some fallout.”
Fun time was over. Another ripple of gunfire would flag across the hud kicking Zexx into harder run as he moved to assist his squad.
Bright, sterile light blinded Zexx's eyes as he desperately tried to blink his gaze clear as he raised a hand to the fluorescent blaring above him. Eight hours in digital darkness made breathing in fresh recycled air feel like being an opened can of SPAM. The senses became overwhelmed by actual reality closing in as the soft hiss of cranial cords releasing and the pressure loosening in his head to cause a loud yawn to follow with the familiar pop of his ears. "Good morning."
"Good morning to you, Mr. Candele," responded the crisp airy voice the pod tech, the former pilot shaking his head as he had meant for his greeting to be more rhetorical than directed at anyone. As the glare cleared his vision, Zexx could begin to focus on the white room around him as he pawed at the handle to ease himself out of his seat. The groan of his aching ass was much more relief than pain. "Can I assist you sir?"
Pride would make most wave off the help, but after the third shift and the steady headache that was building behind his eyes he motioned for a hand to help him down. The tech walked quickly to his side, the glass contacts of his eyes keeping steady to him as he reached up with the unnatural strength afforded to his kind. Conduits weren't welcome a lot of places, but that didn't mean they were unhireable.
The strong cool hands gripped his free arm and eased Zexx down, his one foot gently feeling out for the cold white floor of the pilot's room. It felt amazing to his hot skin as he let out a sigh of weariness. "Thanks, Red."
Red would offer a sad smile in return to the gracious attitude, words meant a lot in this day and age. The Con was a stranger to gracious behavior and relished in it when he was offered it, finding it to be the human thing to do and give in return to receiving. The synthetic tech would gently lift Zexx's weak arm over his shoulder and walked him over to one of the chairs. "Busy night, sir?"
"I broke down a wall," Zexx replied with a laugh and cough, the pounding growing by the second under the lights.
"Sounds very exciting, I wish I had been watching the feed."
Zexx would tilt his head a bit to look at Red with a curious eye. "What were you doing? Napping?"
The Con would laugh now, a mirthless sound but an attempt at being as human as he could be. "I wish. Can you imagine me taking a nap? Or dreaming? What a concept."
The frail man would sink into the plastic chair, his eyes looking up at his caretaker with a half smile in return. "I'd heard there's an upgrade for that."
"Yes, that's exactly what I need. I have seen how you people dream, and I think I'm safer watching feeds," Red smiled back with the same mirthless reflection of the living man before him. Red was dressed as all Pit techs, his clothes the simple scrubs of primary colors and soft silk gloves while a matching bandana wrapped over his head to hold back the synthetic hair that he'd chosen to dye as bright red as he could be allowed. The ruby treatment to work in the Emerald Unit.
Zexx blinked slower and slower as he leaned back into his chair, his body starting to give out faster and faster by being in the open air. The world starting to get fuzzier by the second and feeling his vision starting to tunnel to the tune of the pounding in his head. "Red."
The tech knew instantly what was happened as he lifted pulled out a small flashlight and shined it bright into the eye of his patient. "It's alright, sir. I have you. Just follow the direction of my light and we'll get you started back up here in a moment."
"Start me, yeah you go an star me up," Zexx's speech was getting slurred as the body began to give up. Reborning was the silly joke of ending your shift as one was pulled out of the cocoon of digital normality that they got to experience for a shift. It wasn't necessarily a lie. One could easily compare it to being back in the womb with all the drugs, vitamins, and thankfully water they pumped in to make you as functional as possible. It just so happened your dreams were of being a 7 foot mechanical titan with a gun. Complexes were not uncommon.
Red muttered something about classical music hearing Zexx's slur and pulled over his rack of starters for the man. There was no hesitation in the conduit's movements as he grabbed a strip of cord and quickly tied off his patients thin arm. A few gentle taps brought the veins to bear with a triumphant nod. "Always such a presenter, Mr. Candele."
"Aim ta please," the slurred voice answered as Zexx's neck got weaker and numbness began to rob him of some of his functions.
"Of course," Red chose the first syringe with programmed ease and pressed the needle to the first vein. Stopping for a moment as he looked up to Zexx's face and asked a final query. "Mr. Candele, I am about administer a series of injections that will effectively prolong your life and contract with the STON corporation as was agreed upon at your signing of contract. I require verbal consent for me to administer these injections to you. Do you consent and agree to remain an asset to the company and the contract you have agreed to until such time of your death or choice to terminate your place within the organization?"
There was a long pause. The lolling sitting still as the thin chest rattled out a series of slowing breaths, the darkness closing in around his vision as he stared down at his arm. So many bruises. The thin skin. Protruding bones. Metal. Sharp. Pain.
"Consen."
There was a push, a flush, and rush as the needle bore it's hole. "Thank you for your continued service, Mr. Candele. Rest now. I will han-"
It was dark. Not like the darkness of death or of the empty dreamscape of nightmares but like the darkness of his bunk. Sighing soft, Zexx would blink a few times letting his hands drift up to rub at his eyes and face. The dopamine rush from getting to touch his face pushed away the emptiness at knowing he'd done it again.
"I'm still here," Zexx whispered as he lowered his hands again to his chest and felt the tight skin with rough fingertips. Counting the ribs. Feeling the sternum. Stopping a the familiar stainless gaskets that were embedded into his flesh. He quickly pulled his hands away. He would never get used to the surgical enhancements done as much for his work as it was to keep him alive. It was hard enough to look down and only see one foot let alone the macabre horror that his body was considered.
'How much longer you gonna do this?' The question was in his own voice but thankfully an inner thought more than an outer monologue. Hearing himself say it would make it even harder to keep coming back for it. He wasn't necessarily afraid to die, but it would be stupid to not be afraid of the end. How much easier it would be though to finally just languish and just be done.
No more drugs.
No more work.
"No more pain," Zexx whispered as his inner voice decided it was better to be an outer voice now. All it did was force him to sit up faster, the stubborn streak of being alive goading him to not just rot and die. Not now. And not here.
Groaning from familiar stiffness in his joints as he sat up and looked about his meager room. STON wasn't really all about 'warmth' or 'cozy' digs. This was a job. A very well paying job for those outside of it's many walls. The room had a desk, a chair, a lamp, a monitor, and a bathroom. They were all single dorms for each pilot and there were many. Many in. And many out.
Most pilots had a lifespan here of roughly five years. No one came in here as a healthy horse, just broken down mules. Highly experienced and knowledgeable mules, but definitely not ones to make long-term commitments.
Sparce walls. Cream sheets. Temperate climates. Sterile scenery. No pictures. No contacts. No outside attachments. Prisoners of their own choosing.
'This is a one time offer, Mr. Candele. You sign here your family will be taken care of, but you will effectively no longer be counted in the living census.'
"I'm already dead."
'We all are in time. Question is, what do you want to do with your time remaining? Be with your family? Accrue debt? Say goodbye? Good times and bad times. It is ultimately your choice. I do not begrudge the weight of the choice or if you want to refuse. But we're offering your a chance to leave an impact on those you will be leaving behind.'
"Where do I sign?" Zexx whispered lost in the memory as he flexed his hands to see Mr. Wringer's pen as he signed. "I consent."
Vision cleared again as a heavy sigh passed and his foot swung to press into the cool tile floor. With clearing vision he finally looked up to see the blinking light for a message on his desk. Coughing and clearing his voice he would call out to the AI helper connected to his room. "Joe. Play my messages."
A gruff accented voice would respond in kind with as much kindness as a machine could. "It's a message boss, an not the kind that ya listen to. You want me ta read it to ya?"
"It'd be easier than me guessing what it was," Zexx shot back, unsure if it was friendly banter between them or a lonely man trying to make his life normal. Eyeing around his bunk he spotted the prosthetic that had been cleaned and left for him. Some people liked the newer ones that looked as realistic as they could. Five toes. Matching tones. Pretend muscles. Heels.
Not for him.
His leg was gone and he wasn't interested in carrying around a memory like that. Crude, practical, and efficient were all he needed in the blade that balanced him easily as he clipped it and plugged it into his nerve receiver at the ball that was his former kneecap. He winced hard as the throb of connecting to his system completed, glad for something to see what hurt than the ghost that haunted him. "Read the message already, Joe."
"Alrigh, alrigh. Let's see 'ere. Morning Mr. Candele. Hope you are well. Yadda yadda yadda," Joe read off the message in his teamster tone and voice, the AI following the setting given upon connecting with Zexx who thought it was more funny than annoying how it knew to skip boring parts. "Ah here ya go, looks like Director Son wants to see you this afternoon. Round 1400 from looks of it."
"What time is it?"
"1230."
Zexx would nod as he reached over into this nightstand and fished out his glowpen, twisting it to see it still about halfway packed and charged. "Great, time enough for a smoke and bite."
"The usual?"
"Pancakes," Zexx smiled as he took a slow drag of the THC infused drip he loaded his pen with, letting the smoke drift from between his teeth. "Ain't got much of a figure left to worry about."
"Honestly, I think these last two years have been nothing but disappointment," Zexx would smile slightly as he adjusted himself in the metal chair of the breakroom. "I didn't die, but I'm still technically dead. I'm a prisoner of my own choosing. But I'm still doing my job. I'd like to say I'm just a work horse, but really I think I'm just stupid."
Does your oc take a lot of days off?
"Days off? What the hell would I do with a day off?" The mech pilot would smile sadly as he slipped his e-cigarettes away again. "Speaking of which, time to head to my shift."
Zexx yawned loudly as he pressed the button the coffee machine, watching the black gold drain into his paper cup. His eyes blearily blinking as he reached up to rub at the back of his head, the small lump harder as he winced not so much from the pain but the knowledge of it’s existence.
“Mornin,” muttered one of the other pilots as they entered the commissary, his cane clicking on the tile floor.
“Bert,” Zexx replied as he began to fish in his pockets for his orange bottle of pills.
“How ya feeling?” Bert grumbled as he pressed the button the second coffee maker.
Zexx smiled a bit as his coffee finished and his hand already cradling the pain pills. “I still function.”
Bert grunted at the proper reply as Zexx tucked away his bottle and moved over to take his pills with the fresh cup of coffee.
🍽️ What’s the most satisfying thing that they have done?
🎵 How do they define beauty?
"My parents had a thing for classical music," Zexx smiled slightly as he pulled his pen to his mouth and took a quick pull, the silver smoke flowing quickly in as he let it out. "There's something to be said about the past and how they lived like that. Excess and thrills. Suppose that's what we're all looking for here now a days. Shame it comes with a mega corp breathing down our necks."
🍽️ What’s the most satisfying thing that they have done?
The wounded pilot would only shake his head as he slipped his pen away before rising from the chair with a grimace, his hand slipping back behind his head as he rubbed softly. "It's the same for all of us with those we love outside still. We did this for them. We want them to be safe when we can't do it ourselves."
Zexx shook his head at further question from the person at his table and took up his cane as he limped his way out of the breakroom.
Zexx looked up from the screen, eyebrows arched. "Eh?"
Bea slowly eased into a chair, adjusting her medical pouch gingerly as made sure her shawl was wrapped about her tight. "Musicals. You never struck me as the kind of guy into this stuff."
"I think you mean classics, and this is Bye Bye Birdie." The man smiled and shrugged softly. "My mom loved em, always a bright spot in the depths of the dark city ya know?"
"Plus Anne Margaret is hot," Zexx grinned to his fellow pilot.
A weak laugh was earned as Bea watched the dancers. "Hmm, what channel?"
"19 of course."
Bea rolled her eyes and curled into her chair as she adjusted her retinal receiver to the correct channel.
