[System Spark] (Animatronic!SubmasXReader)
Ch 3: Eye Tracking
Hands on was always your preferred working method. You just hope the patient doesn't have an issue with it.
word count: 10,336
Prev
You should be out there. You should be getting up, getting your shit and going in with metaphorical guns blazing.
Nope. Here you are still, almost half an hour later, sitting like a loser in your beat up shitty car.
Wonderful start.
You;d had all the time you needed today. Get some sleep, pick up some lunch, grab a bottle of water too-because you might get thirsty who knows. Organize the screwdriver set you’d borrowed years ago and never gave back (note to self: somehow do that), make some attempts to remember who exactly you borrowed it from, see if you had the contact still. Did not. Contemplate whether or not to ask Jackie if he remembered. Then remembered yourself that no, you hadn’t borrowed it you had bought it some time ago (note to self: remove last note) because you had in fact borrowed one years ago and liked how it worked so you got your own.
Promptly kick yourself in the metaphorical shins for running around in circles mentally instead of getting out of the damn car for the third time in a row.
It’s been long enough that you’re sure at any moment Jackie’s going to call you instead of text you like he did earlier. The damn thing was even open to take the call, lingering on the messages like an open trap. But no, it’s still silent, which only makes you freak out even more.
He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d give you time. Well over a week had passed, no calls, no texts, not even a pidove message in a bottle or whatever. He’d kept you afloat by buying your essentials for you, going so far as shoving several twenties into your trainer bag when you refused to take them by hand since he couldn’t guarantee he’d always be there to fish you out of the mess you get in.
It’s why you were currently able to sit here in that same empty parking lot, tank full of gas and a few extra dry foods stashed inside. You’d even grabbed one of the nicer sandwiches from the gas station as a bonus for work today.
And that’s where you were stalling out.
A call earlier today. Something gone wrong, busted arm or wrist or something. He wasn;t very clear as to what, just that he wanted you to be there. Maybe he wanted you to spot fix it or get some rubbish out of some gears. Nothing big, something you could do in a few minutes.
But you just….couldn’t bring yourself to get up.
For the past week you couldn’t sleep. The sign for the subway would flicker at the edge of your vision, a ghost you couldn’t shake no matter what you did. Turning away from the street when you slept, covering your head with the blanket, taking one of the few sleeping pills you’d gotten from Jackie-none of it worked for long. It was always there, lingering like a persistent Ghastly with a grudge.
Eventually you conceded and parked somewhere else. The mall hadn;t been too happy about your presence, but they didn't say anything either so you didn;t bother to move until you were called. At least you could mooch off the free samples for a while.
Until you got the call to come back. And now you were here, still in your car, still haven't moved.
Pathetic.
A little chirpy beep from your phone finally pulls your gaze away from the windshield. You pick it up out of your bag in a haze, flicking through the password and opening the message.
Purruglie: ?
Well. Time to face the music.
You still linger for a bit longer. The smell of your hard earned sandwich made your stomach grumble, but you couldn't eat it yet. You;d skipped out on breakfast to get it and it needed to last until nearly dinner to make it worth the price. It is warm, though, and probably the best meal you’ll get for a while.
But as much as you want to, you can’t stay here. You’ll get another text, you might miss the time period needed to finish the job. Might as well get it over with.
The parking lot was still the same shithole it was before. Too many clean vehicles, this many closer to buildings-the general sight when arriving at a place where people had the paycheck to waste. As usual you park somewhere close to the crosswalk and far enough away from everyone else in the lot to keep people from looking in through the windows. You still closed the few curtains you’d been able to weasel into the windows and throw up the windshield cover after digging it out from underneath the passenger seat.
The smallest squeak follows the foil rustling into place as you stamp it in. Little legs scuttle across plastic, staticy yellow fuzz and bright blue eyes peeking around a box of tissues you’d left on the dash as little beads of drowsy contempt.
You just blink at it, “Not my fault you chose to sleep there. Next time don’t sleep in the window.” With a gesture of your sandwich at it you hop out onto the asphalt. Your bag is on your shoulder, tools jangling inside as you shut the door.
Nobody bothers you while crossing the road and ducking into the subway, clutching the sandwich in your hands as you couldn’t put it into the bag. As usual it’s busy with crowds gathering around the boarding areas, pokemon running wild here and there among the hoards of trainers. A depot agent is stationed by the ticket booths with radio in hand as his voice speaks over the PA system above the crowd.
“Please keep pokemon above the weight limit in their pokeballs before boarding. All trainers must have permits for battle ready pokemon to board. Permits can be purchased at the ticket booths with proper authentication.”
You hum under your breath. Good thing you don’t fit that category.
You’re just about to turn into another hallway towards the public area when you crash into something. Or someone.
It takes you a second to fully realize what even happened as you went from standing to suddenly being on the ground staring at the cheap lighting in the ceiling. Then your body remembered it was supposed to feel pain and you cringed at the soreness smarting up your spine, forcing yourself to sit up with some effort.
Everything was chaos within a small circle around you. Your bag had failed spectacularly in a mess of tools and other spare parts you’d gathered spilling out every which way. Your sandwich was off to the left barely spared from getting crushed underneath you or anyone else as people dodged both you and the mess surrounding you. The pieces of a makeup set and headphones are mixed into the slowly increasing pile from a simple yellow handbag tipped over at your feet spilling it’s contents in a slow trickle.
As you start cursing under your breath and rubbing the back of your head trying desperately to start up a headache you hear whoever you just crashed into come to her senses, “Oh my dragons, I’m so sorry! I was really into this album and I was not watching where I was going-oh this is such a mess, I made you drop all your stuff..” Hands were shooting out and grabbing things from both your and her bags, quickly trying to sort it out between you.
“Nah…shouldn’t’ve been lookin’ at the conductor. Or whatever that guy is. Ow.” You start gathering things too, starting with your precious lunch which you set between your legs out of harm before separating your stuff from hers. Makeup, old bits of a ranger radio, some kind of stage pass, that one screwdriver you’ll probably need-you were more impressed by the lack of action by everyone around you as the crowd parted where you two sat on the floor.
You take the moment of silence to look up at who you’d run into face first-or who’d run into you at least. She seemed completely average at first glance. Long black hair with a hair clip holding her bangs back while the rest of it was bunched up behind her head in a messy pony tail. An old jacket, half red and half blue split evenly down the middle with little plus and minus emblems on each side, sleeves hung loose around her wrists like it was a few sizes too big. She was somehow also cleaning your shared mess much faster so you picked up the pace.
Eventually there’s two piles between the two of you and you start shoving your stuff back into the bag as she does hers, “I am really sorry. I should have been paying attention.” She again apologizes.
“No it’s fine. I’m kind of used to getting ignored anyways so, it’s not like it’s that unusual.” Shoving the last bit of garbage inside-aside from the sandwich you delicately place on top of said garbage- you get up. It takes you a moment while fiddling the strap over your shoulder to realize she’s still sitting on the floor, headphones in her hands as she inspects them. People are still circling around you both and you feel awkward just standing here staring down at her, but you also feel uncomfortable leaving her there by herself.
It’s not like she meant to run into you. On top of that, she did help you gather your things. It’d be rude to just let her be.
With an internal sigh you hold out a hand, “Here, let me help you up.”
It takes everything in you not to cringe at how basic you sound. You could qualify as an npc in some obscure game with how flat and lifeless that line was, like you were just commenting on the weather. Nothing about it made you seem even remotely polite-of course you should help her up, literally anyone else would. You crashed into her, it’s just basic manners.
Her head still jerks up to look at you wide eyed for a moment before, somehow, smiling rather kindly at you, “Oh, thanks! I kind of thought you were going to leave me here since I ran into you and kinda made a mess but it’s okay I promise.” Before you can respond she’s grabbing your hand and getting to her feet, “Like I said I was really into that album so I wasn’t paying attention.”
You stare at her. There’s nothing you can say to…whatever that was. Part of you, the cynical and paranoid part, wanted to pick at her words and find any kind of loophole. It whispered that maybe she was making it up, that there was a double meaning in there somewhere-but you couldn’t really find it.
And yet the smile on her face reached her eyes so genuinely that you couldn’t help but huff and look away, “No its…it’s fine. I wasn’t watching where I was going either since I was,” You gesture towards the ticket booths-the agent was long gone by this point, but you could see his face in the group behind the glass, “Just paying too much attention to the announcements.” You rummage through your bag and pull out the bottle of water. It’s still kind of cold and wet as you crack it open and take a sip.
“Yeah that’s fair. My name’s Elesa by the way.”
You fucking choke. Water instantly tries to come out your nose but you cover your face as you cough and splutter.
No. No no no no-the Elesa, one of the most powerful trainers of Unova, did not just crash into you and help you pick up your assorted crap then casually mention ‘hey by the way I’m that face you see on every billboard and I guess I just take normal subway trains like the plebians beneath me.’ On top of being dressed like a college dropout with a hoodie that looked like MukMuk itself used it to bathe.
To your great misfortune she doesn’t even seem phased at your internal breakdown, shrugging casually while you’re left picking your dignity off the floor, “Yeah I get that a lot.”
She doesn't even seem bothered by being found out.
Your hands are wet and slimy with spit from nearly hacking everything out of your lungs but you try desperately to make yourself look somewhat presentable by wiping them off onto your jacket and screwing the cap back onto the bottle, “Wow I-uh I didn't-um,“ Hastily stuffing the bottle back inside the bag you start rummaging through it-for what, you weren't sure, but the painfully thin envelope rests in your fingers anyways, “I'm so sorry ma'am I didn't know it was you and I really didn't mean-”
Of all times it’s then her eyes go wide staring up behind your shoulder and suddenly she’s doubling back on herself, “No no I'm serious it's fine you don't need to do anything!“ She claps her hand over yours still in the bag,, “It's fine, nothing's wrong here! No need for panicking!”
The way she looks at you then, wide eyed like a preyed on pokemon, prevents you from making any further apology. She's still staring out away from you in quick glances, as if watching for something. Waiting for it. Meanwhile you’re squinting your eyes at her like she’s grown a second head.
Just then you nearly get shoulder checked by a mass of green. You turn towards it, staring at an ugly green faux fur coat tossed over a woman's shoulder. Her hair is done up in a fancy pin, obnoxiously large dark sunglasses just barely peeking around her cheekbone. Someone of high profile, possibly from the rich part of the city taking the subway for whatever reason. She didn;t even bother to dignify you with an apology.
You glance back at Elesa. She's watching the woman walk away like a scared pidove watches a luxray, waiting for any sudden moves. And it clicks.
She doesn't mind you knowing she's here, but she doesn't want anyone of upper standing knowing. It was about her not losing her status.
The little bit of a good mood you had going with being acknowledged by someone who seemed to actually care faded away. She didn't care about you-you were someone she was comfortable with a secret because you were so beneath her status. An excuse. A reason to be more herself. And she's probably done this a lot if it's a common reaction.
You didn't matter. Idiot.
You slowly pull your hand out of your bag, “Okay, well....” You have to look away, anywhere is better than her pleading face, “I have to go. There's...someplace I need to be.” Her hand falls away as you try to walk around her and back into the crowd.
“Oh, I'll join you! I was just wandering around anyways so it's not like I have anywhere to be.” Just like that her nervousness is gone-in fact she seems excited as she trots up behind you, “I like coming down here to think and listen to my playlist. Do you have an Evepod? I got the Jolteon one and a friend of mine has the Sylveon one. We got them when we were in college together and have kept up with them ever since. I know they're out of date but come on, they still work just fine.”
You glance back at her bewildered, “Uh huh.” Is all you can manage as you try to shove your way through the crowd. People were pouring in through the stairwells with pokemon mingling in between. Some trainers had started putting away the heavier types, others were carrying the smaller ones on shoulders or tucked away in backpacks. You look up at one of the clocks on the wall.
It was nearly noon.
Shit, you hadn;t even looked at the time when Jackie called. Were you supposed to be earlier? Were you late? Was Dillon around?
“Look, um..” Elesa's voice makes you turn around-she'd been quiet for so long that you'd forgotten she was there, “I think I kinda came off on the wrong foot back there. It's not that like, I uh, don't mind people knowing I'm here. Cause like, most of them are fine-like you.” You flinch as she suddenly smiles at you, “You seem nice and well, normal? I mean you did kinda freak out but you've also been really chill about it.”
You're still staring at her, dumbfounded. Was she trying to insult you in a polite way? No, people don't usually try to apologize when they insult someone-most of the time the first thing they say is something related on how its your fault or something like that.
She moves on, either not bothered by your silence or taking it as a polite response to continue, “It's just, well...I mean you know me? You know what I do, my public face?” You nod carefully, “It's just, while I'm not really bothered by people like you knowing who I am, there are some who are...well, lets just say they have the kind of influence to make my life kinda suck more than a Hatterene in a mall. That girl in that ugly green jacket was my manager that I really did not notice until like, just after you started talking to me.” Her smile is nervous and embarrassed as she points over her shoulder.
Again you look back towards where you came. That woman is long since gone and probably got on one of the trains, but the statement leaves you so baffled that you can't keep your mouth shut, “Why did you tell me who you were if she was with you? And if she knows you why didnt she recognize you?”
“I wasn't with her I was just here and I guess she has stuff to do here too. It's a big city, everyone's got something to do. And its not like we're around each other all the time, so she doesn't know my entire closet-especially not this.” She tugs out her jacket towards you with both hands, “She wouldnt want me dead in this.”
Still it baffles you. Why you? Why she was bothered by her manager made sense-her status meant everything. A popular trainer, owner of a gym and everything, wouldn't have the best paparazzi photos if she looked homeless in public. But if that's the case, “Then why tell me? I could post it and probably do the same thing she would.”
Somehow, despite you being more blunt than an Incineroar's right hook, she takes it in stride with a shrug, “Yeah maybe, but.” She looks at you then like she;s studying a strategy, long and calculating, “You don;t really look like the type to cause trouble. More of a keep to yourself and watch tv in pajamas type so, I guess I trust you.”
And its that statement. Those few words said in such a nonchalant manner that pulls you back up. She was right, but also so were you in some way. It only occurred when she put it into words why you wanted to help her up and why her abrupt rebuttal for making up for your mistake.
She wasn't really trying to be mean to you. It just so happened you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The rejection fades, a weight lifting off your chest. You're not entirely sure what replaces it as it's too bright and happy to what you're used to, but it's not like you're about to let it go to waste. Although you're also out of practice with talking to new people, especially with being nice to them so you make do with looking away while biting your lip, “Its...okay. Yeah I uh, kinda get it. Not wanting people who know you to know where you are and all...”
Its not like it's a lie, but it's also very poorly worded. And a quick glance to her tells you she's noticed, “You're not very used to people apologizing to you, are you?”
She's giving you this awkward smile as if she knows you've got no idea what to say to that, but she still laughs a bit when your cheeks heat up and you grumble under your breath, “It's okay. I get what you;re trying to say. It's just uh..” Think think, it's rude to say you thought she was making fun of you, “I'm..here on a job and I'm just trying to figure out where I'm supposed to go.”
“Oh, do you work for the station?”
“....Yeah.” It wasn't wrong, right? You technically were, just not in a public way. So there wasn't anything wrong with telling her, you assumed, “I work on the drones.”
Her eyes go wide, “Those things? You get to see them up close right?“ The words are somewhat frantic but she doesn;t sound concerned. Instead she's almost...excited?
She stuns you further by clasping her hands together with a big smile, leaning into you and forcing you to step back, “Can I get a closer look at them? Please? I've been trying to look at their designs for weeks now and I can't get any closer than a few feet before one of the agents calls me off and it's driving me crazy!” She even stamps a foot slightly with a frustrated pout like a preteen denied a new phone.
Again you're reduced to confusion, which layers nicely on the rollercoaster of emotions you just went through, “M-Maybe? Why?”
“That's a secret. Can't have everything out in the open can I?” Now she's smiling like a Purrloin that stole a lick of cream off a dinner plate. Her tonal shifts were putting you into a tailspin, “But, I'll have to put that on hold. As much as I'd love to pick your brain about them I won't cause you kind of look like you're about to throw up.”
She's right, at least you definitely feel like it. There's a heat to your cheeks and a nauseous churn in your gut as you struggle to comprehend everything going on. On top of you already feeling like garbage due to the week of stress you've had you probably look closer to a pretty corpse. Letting her go on this long is doing....things to you. And you're not really sure if they're good things, “Sorry, I uh. Kinda have been under the weather recently so I'd like to go to work and get home today.” You try to cover your face by turning to your bag and digging out your phone.
No new messages. At least Jackie's not hounding you right now.
“It's alright, I get it. You've got a job and I'm kind of holding you back right now.” She's nice about you basically telling her to fuck off politely, you'll admit, “I've got a few chores to do too so I should go get the train before I miss it.” You're too involved in your phone to see her expression but you do hear the smile in her voice as she walks away, “Hope you Spheal better!”
You make a non committal grunt of acknowledgement, still flipping through your phone. After a second of staring at the same words Jackie sent you not a few minutes ago your head snaps up to stare incredulously in the direction she ran off.
What did she just say to you??
After spending way too long turning your brain on that interaction you finally get back to the topic at hand. You walk around the station turning every hall you can looking for a mop of red hair to pop up but you find nothing. He’s nowhere near the boarding area, the cafe is a bust and you give the historical area a brief glance before deciding against it. You lift up your phone in hopes he’s messaged you again. Jackie would normally give you a call by now since it's been almost a full thirty minutes since his last message. But he hasn't said anything-not even another question mark.
Either he's busy, or something happened. You're sure he's just busy because what could possibly happen in the subway?
The briefest flash of white makes you jump. The Gardevoir you startled almost fires a hyper beam at you. You try your best to calm its trainer so he stops trying to hand you enough money to buy a starter pokemon.
Eventually you grow tired of running around with no plan and no idea where to go so you make the monumental effort to text Jackie first. It's the perfect emulation of your high tier psychology in effect.
'Werhe are you'
Hubris finds you instantly.
'Weher'
You counter.
'You misspelled it get shit on'
'Fuck-'
'Buy me a Popplio slush'
He sends you a gif of a piplup getting blasted by a hyper beam.
'Dammit fine.'
You snigger under your breath. Master planning at it;s finest.
Alright joking over, back to the point.
'Seriously where are you?'
'Maintainence. Where else.'
Your lips quirk in agitation.
'You mean the place you never told me where it was? That maintainence?'
He takes a bit to respond. While you're hoping he feels stupid for asking you find a bench out of traffic and sit down. The lack of breath from just a few minutes of walking really tells of your current state of health.
Then your phone dings.
'Right. Forgot.'
Correct again. As usual.
You don;t get to send anything before he's already typing.
'Where are you? Are you in one of the boarding area?'
You look up to the sign on the wall.
'Kind of. I'm near the ticket booths on the inbound side.'
'Great then you're not that far away. There should be a service tunnel near the main booths. Do you see where the agents are working with passengers and getting their tickets? That;s the main booth and directly to the side behind the rope is the door. I know it says restricted access but right now that's not important. I'll be waiting on the other side'
How he managed to get all of that out within a few seconds while also explaining everything you'd need to know evades you. Olympic level of texting.
If only he was as fast when texting cheat sheets.
Setting that aside for another time you get up, tucking your phone away as you hike the bag up your shoulder. With a quick internal apology to your legs for barely getting a break you get back up and start towards the ticket booths. Nobody seems to notice your approach, any agent currently in the window busy talking to another passenger-there's a few other s meandering about behind her chair but they also seem occupied.
You have to hesitate. Your foot starts tapping as you try to figure out what to do.
You are, after all, about to break the rules.
The door is where he said it was, off to the side just behind the ropes. A line of ticket machines are against the wall with it sectioned off from the booth itself by the ropes-to guide passengers in you supposed. Of course the place was packed with people trying to get a ticket from either method but as usual, none of them seemed to notice you. Too absorbed in their own business to be worried about some random woman having a crisis.
Arceus you were about to break the rules. Not just preunderstood rules but actual rules like the ones they could put you in jail for. Or ban you from the place, which would make everything much harder. You;d have to be smuggled in, Jackie might even have to get you a uniform to blend in just to-
If you stand here and think about it for any longer you're going to lose your nerve and right now you needed to just make a decision. Go or not-and you did not have the option not to go.
You try to at least blend into the crowd meshing with the ticket machines. A few bumped shoulders were the least of your worries as you approached, easing to the outside of the crowd as slow as possible to reach the rope with as little suspicion. The crowd wouldn't care what you did, they'd at most think you a part of the staff returning from break. You weren't worried about them.
It was the booth itself you were terrified of. If they caught you at the exact wrong moment you could get a fine. The thought alone was enough to make your throat close up. It needed to go off perfectly.
No pressure.
Closer and closer you ebbed in. The crowd parted slowly, much too concerned about their own business than to bother with your presence. You stepped behind pokemon and around children following their parents all while keeping close to the edge.
You pass by the booth with the flow of traffic., the agent behind the glass conversing with someone inside.
It's now or never.
Just as you make it to the other side of the booths you reach for the rope. THe blue velvet is worn with time and sticky with something you hope is just food as you quickly unlatch it from the post and swing it open enough to cross over.
You try your best to keep a nonchalant act as if this is just regular for you. You're just doing your job, none of their concern.
Aside from a few curious looks, no one in the crowd bats an eye.
The rope gets reattached without incident. You're turning around, the strap of your bag wrenched tight in your sweat slick hands.
It's not even a few steps away now but you're panicking. The crowd behind you is still chattering away and yet you can't stop hearing your footsteps thundering like a Snorlax with a tantrum. The swing of your bag is too loud, your breath is too loud-everything you do borders on something the agents will notice. That they'll turn at any second and grab you like a scruffed Litten and toss you out like one.
The door is right in front of you before you can decend further into your thoughts. You try to focus on the station around you in the moment of shocked clarity.
Not even a window opening. No one had noticed.
You let out a breath and turn the handle, ready to proceed as the door clunks open.
“Uh-Ma'am?”
The jerk your shoulders make is enough to nearly throw your bag off. Clenching it tighter you whip around.
An Agent leans out of a side door, brows pinched with what you hope is just confusion, “Passengers aren't allowed out here beyond the sectioned off areas. This is staff only.“
Your pulse is throbbing in your ears. The need to flee is right there tugging at your hide-yet you freeze like an idiot instead. It's like the bag in your hand weighs a thousand pounds and roots you to the spot while unseen needles pin your lips together in stitches. You're silent as the dead and just as stiff as one too while you stare wide eyed at her.
She, wisely, starts to fidget as your stare unnerves her, “Um...I-I'm going to have to tell you to back away from that door before I have to call security.“
The word 'security' is ringing in your skull like a death bell. Arceus they'll kick you out and you'll lose the job. YOu'll never be able to get another shot at the station paper to look for more listings and you'll have to try for wifi at one of those shitty cafe's with open wifi and who knows what could happen to your already dangling credit if someone so much as breathed on your social security number and-
Both you and the agent nearly jump out of your skins as the door shoves open with a loud creak, “She's with me, don't worry about it, Aggie.”
Jackie.
You whip around, still in a panic even when you see him leaning out the door over your head. He's breathing harder than you are, as if he'd been running. His cap is absent, red hair sticking to his forehead as sweat runs down his temple. It was you he'd come to bargain for but his eyes aren't looking at you, instead focused onto the other agent-Aggie.
You can hear her stuttering over her words, “I-uh-Agent Jackie are you sure? She doesn't have the visitor's ID so I assumed-”
“It's fine really. I just haven't gotten around to giving her one is all.” A laugh makes his words seem less confident than he's likely trying to be, “She's here for the drones. A mechanic sent by the company-and yeah she's a differnet one. A new hire, pretty good they tell me.” He adds on, “I've already run it by Dillon so she's cleared.”
Now it's you looking at him incredulously. From the sudden click of his teeth snapping shut in a less than pleasant half grimace you can tell he didn't mean to say it, either.
If he wanted to royally fuck you both over he's doing a bang up job.
“Oh, I didn't know she had that kind of clearance. Still, she needs a visitor ID so she doesn't get locked in the maintainence rooms.” Aggie turns to something inside the booth and you nearly jump out of your skin when she puts a phone to her ear, “I'll call the Subway Master up so she can-”
“No no no it's all fine I promise!” Both you and Aggie flinch at the frantic waving Jackie's making in her direction, “I'll-uh-I'm staying with her during her visit. She's new, so she doesn't know where everything is or how to use the stabilizer. She won't be stuck in there because I'll be there to let her out when she's done. Routine checkup is all it is.”
She stares at his wavering smile, then glances at you before slowly putting the phone down again, “Aaaalright. If you're sure, sir.” The slightest cringe in her face when her gaze flicks to the phone tells you enough.
She didn't want to call him either.
“Great, thanks Aggie. Also, don't bother to write this down on the planner I-I'll just get it later.” You jolt a bit when he turns to you, “You ready?”
“Uh-Yeah, sure.” You hastily bark out. The strap nearly slips out of your sweat slick hands from the full body jerk your body follows it with.
“Great, I'll get you set up in the maintainance area. Follow me.” That half strained smile is still on his face as he forces the words out in his best attempt at an 'everything is fine this is a normal coworker talk' voice.
So much for confidence.
He ushers you on through the door, letting it clunk closed behind you both. The hallway is a ghost town compared to the main station outside with the only flares of color being the few posters scattered about the walls and notice boards, the muffled chaos outside slowly fading out as he leads you through the hall.
Compared to the earlier conversation not even a word of concern is passed between you. It lingers like a bad omen in the silence as you're left to stew in what he'd gotten you into and just how much worse it's gotten in less than a few minutes.
Even as your heart continues to thud in your ears you can feel the scowl forming on your face. You'd wanted to hope he saw it, but he was firmly facing ahead trying to ignore you-which only made you even more frustrated.
It was only when you were certain nobody could hear did you snap, “What was that!? Are you crazy or did Alchemy finally get a Hypnosis ability to brainwash you!?” You swat at him but he flinches away.
“Hey I'm sorry, I panicked okay!” Jackie steps out of range with his hands raised placatingly, stopping you both in the hallway, “I was just trying to get you out of that before you said something worse!”
”Before I said something!?” You seethe, “I wasn't expecting to get caught! You didn't tell me if I could just,” You wave erratically before settling on swatting him in the arm again, “Walk in or that you'd do something about the booth!”
“I know I know! I didn't think of that until after I sent it so I decided to check up on you. If I hadn't-”
”They would have banned me or something! Called the cops?! Tow my car?! I can't deal with any of that, Jack! I can't!” Your bag nearly falls of your shoulder when you thrash and stomp your foot.
The room is spinning. Air feels too heavy, light too bright in your eyes. You can;t get enough air in your lungs, the edges of your vision are closing in. Gasping doesn't help, closing your eyes doesn't help-it feels like you're drowning standing up on dry land.
Hands clasp on your shoulders and shake you gently, “(Y/N)? (Y/N) calm down, it's okay! It's okay breathe, (Y/N), breathe!” The shaking stops for a moment as you take a deep breath, “Nothing's going to happen, we've got a cover story and I'll just-” There's a vague sound as he waves a hand, “I'll-I'll figure it out but if anything it's more likely to come down on me than it is you. You're not losing your car, you're not going to get banned. Nothing will happen.”
You know he means it more to comfort you but if you were honest that just makes it worse. This could turn back and bite him-he could be the one out of a job. He'd be on a list, refused from any other train station. Hell, he could be on the street right there with you.
But as much as it makes you want to vomit, it's probably not a good time to do so. At least not in the hall.
So you pull yourself together as best you can, swallow down the scattered thoughts you so desperately want to vomit out instead of your meager breakfast of mall samples and drinking fountain water. Take a deep breath while closing your eyes.
This bag felt heavier a long time ago.
“Okay. Fine.” You nudge his hands away, “Let's just get it over with already.”
If he noticed the less than subtle dejection in your tone he doesn't mention it.
Instead he uses his hand to turn you back to the hall and press on. That hand stays on your lower back as he leads you through the empty back halls, passing doors labelled for janitorial and personal offices. For the moment you let yourself get immersed in what could be going on in these kinds of places while the rest of the station is a Durant hill of chatter. All that you come up with is the vaguest memories of a show you watched back home and suddenly you're plagued by the image of someone putting a stapler in a jello mold on Dillon's desk. You tried not to bark out a laugh at the thought of his outright disgusted face.
You're promply yanked out of it by a much more gentle prod to stop, “We're here.”
The sign isn't lit up like a theatre's showboard but it feels like it is with the cheap flourescent lighting reflecting right into your eyes from its vantage point above the doors. Said doors were sealed shut, but the rounded windows in each give a decent enough view of the various tools scattered around the room inside. Some diagrams hang on the walls, though you can't tell exactly what about.
It's an ordinary room. It's just a room, with your 'patient' hopefully in an agreeable mood inside.
Last week still looms like a Haunter with a grudge in the back of your mind. You cant help the way your eyes flit around desperate to catch even a flicker of white inside-but there's nothing. Whereever it is, the drone is out of immediate sight.
It's almost like he reads your mind, “Yeah I uh, had to push the whole apparatus back so that no one could see some rando workin' on their important stuff. Can't be too careful.”
He's wise not to look at you with the scathing side eye you flash him.
With a steadying breath he gestures to the doors, “You ready?”
No. Absolutely not. Take a rain check. Go to the bathroom with the excuse of needing to pee, then book it to the stairs.
“Yeah.” You force out instead with the firmest grasp on your expression you can manage.
With that-and a bit of convincing for himself, it seems-he pushes open the maintanence doors.
Just like the rest of the place it's got the flourescent lighting you're growing to despise more than be annoyed by. A section of the wall is dedicated to tools and a workbench with scattered remains of mechanical bits. The tiles not being as clean is a bit of a surprise but then again, it's where machines and other things get repaired so the mess is to be expected.
Then you hear it. Gears clicking, metal plates shifting slightly-it's directly to the side of the doorway where the wall is.
Heart thudding in your throat you school your expression the best you can before turning.
Black. The metal is black, not white.
It isn't the battle challenge you're working on.
The sudden breath of relief nearly drops you to your knees. If you still had any tension it washed out so thoroughly it felt like that one time you got to go to the fancy spa up in Sinnoh.
That memory is blocked just as quickly as you bring it up. You don't want to remember that fleeting moment when your life wasn't shit.
“Well. Here he is. Big guy was getting choppy this morning and after a big wave came in from Driftveil he kinda,” Jackie gestures with a grimace, “Made this nasty clanking noise before just stopping? No idea what it is but he's been like this ever since.”
'Like this' referring to the currently awkward pose the drone was in. One of it's arms was upwards in the typical point the Agents did for directions while the other was at it's waist, caught halfway between some other position you couldn't identify. There were no grinding noises or sparking, so you assumed it was currently offline for maintainance.
At least until you looked up at it's face and promptly jumped out of your skin, “Arceus-Jack why is it on!? That could fuck it up more if it-like-responds to me!”
He looks at you as if you're the crazy one, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it in stand-by lock for now.”
Stand-by lock, a standard in drone machines for safe repairs by locking up all mobile pieces except for non-essential components. It couldn’t move anything without breaking something in the process.
At the least it should but, with how the other one reacted you wouldn't be surprised it found some way around that. Still it was of some small-very small-comfort that it wouldn't be flailing around while you were digging around in it's circuits.
But you'd be lying if you said it's grey eyes being locked onto you and you alone didn't make your skin crawl.
You push it aside to give him the side glare, “Still a warning would have been nice at the least.” Your eyes roll at his shrug while dropping the bag off your shoulder onto one of the workbenches. Only once it's not in your death grip do you notice the slight prickles where the woven strap dug into your skin, “Why leave it active at all, anyways? I'm going to be digging around in it.”
“Part of the policy with them. No full shutdowns ever. Not sure why other than maybe to keep their programs running for data or whatever it is they do with them.” You hum as Jackie walks around you to stand next to your patient-you assume at least, as the next sounds come from him tapping metal.
“There are ways to record what codes error in the database so I'm not surprised. What bothers me is that digging around in there might screw something up and make it worse.“ The bag is full of your tools and other knicknacks that have no place in your car. Nonetheless you start sorting out what you might need first-after setting aside your sandwich onto the table.
“It'll be fine, (Y/N). I didn't hire anyone else because I trust you to do it.”
You try not feel the looming guilt in your gut while grabbing one of the screwdrivers out of the set a bit too hard.
Turning back around proved you right in that Jackie was standing next to the machine of the hour. It's eyes were focused on him until you stepped towards it. Then they locked onto you, lenses focusing with a snap.
At your cringe Jackie steps in again, “I promise it's a good patient. Doesn't give the maintainance guy any problems so I doubt it'll give you any.”
“That guy has probably worked on him since he's been here. I'm new, it doesn't know me.” Your little glare doesn't seem to dissuade him as you jab the screwdriver into your chest-immediately regretting it when the sharp end digs into your skin through the hoodie.
“Him?” He gives you a look.
You just roll your eyes, “Him, it, whatever. My point still stands.”
Jackie waves a hand, “I promise it'll be good. I'm not leaving the room and I have the access code to put it into debug if we need it. Haven't needed to yet, so you should be fine.” He goes back to watching the drone as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
It's still looking at you when you glance at it. The lenses flare out, clicking back in as it focuses. Outside of that it's not doing anything else-it can't, according to Jackie.
While you do hesitate still, there's not much reason keeping you from just going for it. At the very least the payment the work is worth makes you a bit more confident.
You approach cautiously, glancing between it's face and the rest of it. This close really puts it's size into perspective-it's not just tall, it's huge compared to you. Your shoulders barely reach it's elbow joint and it's shell is wide enough at the forearm that you could probably wear it like a cannon on your own arm. You're so busy just staring at it's sheer size the flare of it's false coat nearly bangs into your shin-that's also huge enough to be a wall if you got underneath it.
Not like you would. A drone could be unpredictable with the right programs no matter how well the owner knows it. It would probably step back and crush you like a bug.
Best to put that aside for now.
The position it's locked into leaves one arm just low enough for you to investigate. While nothing seems wrong with the forearm-at least not from what you could tell with the shell covering the components-the elbow joint itself seemed jammed in some way. Stand by would lock up the gears as well but when you peeked through the small slits in the shell with bits of gears you could see the way the teeth on the main elbow joint were misalligned told you that wasn't the case.
“It looks like a failure in the gears themselves on this arm. Might have been a misfire in programming or a loose bolt somewhere that caused everything to stop to prevent further damage. I'll have to take off the arm to get at it fully.” You prod at the casing with the screwdriver before tracing the seam along the forearm.
It stays firmly shut no matter what you do. You jab the screwdriver into the seam in case you could pry it open but nothing happens. There's no button, no latch, nothing. You can't find any other way inside it either, so it's not like you're overlooking something. But it's frustrating-how could anyone fix this damn thing without some kind of prybar to get in?
It's then you take a glance up at the drone's face again. Maybe some part of you is still somehow soft, but the way it's gaze lingers makes you pause. You'd done plenty of jobs like this before. The blank, unnerving gaze of a drone in standby was normal by now.
And yet, the shake of the mechanisms in it's eye sockets make it seem like it's trembling even as its firmly locked onto you. Wide eyed with lenses constricted tight as they flick from it's arm to meet your gaze. It could blink if it wanted, to assume the role of something vaguely human to prevent the uncanny valley from raising it's head. But it wasn't, instead choosing to remain with it's stagnant gaze firmly locked on you. It's head wasn't able to move to give it a clearer picture of you, but that didn't seem to faze it either in it's almost desperate need to keep you insight.
It was looking at you like a Deerling caught in a trap and you were the poacher. Frightened out of its mind at whatever horrible fate you'd enact on it.
You're not sure why you'd alike it to a living being. In fact you're pretty sure that white one drove you off the concept of niceties to the things altogether-but that was the other, not this one. This drone hadn't done anything except sit there and take it. And maybe that was enough to make you feel remorseful about it-you were, after all, about to dig around in it;s guts, in a way.
Once again, you feel the need to curse yourself out for doing something stupid.
When Jackie busies himself by checking the hallway you reach up as far as you can. Though your hand doesn't make it any farther than it's collar you still try to smile reassuringly, “It'll be alright, okay?” You whisper, “Just a bit of a look then you're back together. Nothing more.”
The drone's stare burns into your hand on it's chest, just barely over the swell of it's chestplate. Soft clicks punctuate the flicks of it's eyes between the door and where you're still touching it before settling onto your face. At first you simply take it as the drone trying to compute all the stimuli it was going through.
But it still manages to catch you offguard as when a soft 'hiss' depressurizes inside the drone you snatch your hand back while it sags slightly where it stands. It's still in that weird pose, but now it's shoulders had dropped to be considerably more relaxed and the tension in it's semi-closed fingers released.
A soft click comes from it's busted arm as the seam pops open a few millimeters.
You stare at the now open shell, then back at the drone. It was still staring at you but it's stare didn't feel as tense, almost relieved even.
You're not sure yet if you want to know what that was all about.
Instead you start pulling apart the shell and investigating the inner workings of it's forearm. Like everything else mechanical there were circuit boards, wires and pistons mixed in with the basic framework of the drone. The pistons, while locked, didn't look to have any kind of damage. Neither did the wires or the circuit boards.
So if everything in the forearm was fine, then the issue must be further up.
You remain silent while disassembling the least important pieces closest to the elbow joint you could make out from the rest. Most of it wouldn't need to be removed but enough would just so you could see if there was a problem. The drone thankfully proved to be a very quiet patient like Jackie had said, not moving even when you had to unlatch the pistons from the main systems to clear the way. It's gaze never left you every time you glanced up but that seemed to be it's only response while you dug into it's mechanics.
So long as it continues to do that every time, everything will be fine.
Slowly, you lose yourself to the task, it's familiar scratches of metal and faint scent of oil welcoming to your senses. Your hands move without hesitation to each piece pulling them loose from each other and making mental notes of each. Each gear, bolt and wire cluster is set aside in designated piles to be put together easily, the tools for each always within reach. The workings hum with power in a gentle rhythm against your fingertips from a time you'd almost forgotten.
Eventually you pull the joint open enough to see inside the teeth. Just as you thought, there's debris in there wedged into the space between the gears-which seems to be made of a few sizable rocks and a substantial amount of dirt. Oddly enough, their jammed inside in a way you've never really seen outside of the drone being rolled around in mud.
Maybe some kids were being particularly cruel that day.
After grabbing another screwdriver from your bag and borrowing one of the steel wool scrubbers on the bench, you manage to scrub out the majority of the dirt from the gears. The rocks make an impressive pile on the table while you scratch into the crevices to ensure it's completely clean. Some lubricant and retightening a few screws and it's good as new.
“Well, that seems to have fixed it.” You say as you test the gears, finding nothing wrong with them separated, “Just need to put it together and see if I'm right.” Jackie makes an acknoledging hum as you reattach the pistons and wires, closing up the shell at last with a click.
It's still stuck in that halfway up position, almost like it could jerk up at any moment were it not for the standby. You reach up to the shoulder for the latch to disconnect it from the main system and pull it. As expected it immediately depressurizes and begins to drop slowly to be parallel to it;s side and once done you pick it up, nearly dropping it in the process, “Fuckin Hell it's heavy...” You mutter while you fuss with it, moving it's arm up and down.
The joint bends without delay. Not even a squeak.
“There, that should be enough. Doubt it'll have any issues now.” You set the arm back down by it's side and reset the latch. A sharp hiss later and it's repressurizing back into position.
“Wait, that's it? Just the one? Why not the other?” Jackie meanders back to your side to inspect the drone with an arm behind his back.
“It was the only one that was locked up wrong. Drones only lock in predetermined poses so they start moving easier.” From his hum you take it he did not in fact know that. Setting that aside you start putting your stuff away, “If this is all then I doubt I should stay here much longer. Its,” You check your phone, “Almost three right now. If I stay too much longer Dillon might show up wondering where the drone is.”
Even you are surprised by how much time has passed. It didn't feel like it had been even half an hour.
”Huh-Right! Yeah. Forgot about him for a bit.” He turns to face you, “Dillon won't be back for a while due to a meeting that got scheduled late today, so it's not like he'd be bothering you but I do see what you mean.”
You give him a look. It's odd, you think, that every time you've been around Dillon's been somewhere else. There's a moment where you genuinely think Jackie might have something to do with it.
But that's ridiculous. It's not like he has access to that kind of information. You think.
Your stomach rumbling brings you back to the present and you start putting your tools back into the bag, ”Well either way I'd better get going for now. I've got places to be and on top of that,” You hold up your sandwich which, while not as warm anymore still entices you greatly, “I've got dinner to eat before I starve.”
He nods, “Yeah sure. I'll keep it in stand by until I'm sure you're out. After that I'll get it back out on the field so no one should be the wiser about it..”
“Except that receptionist.”
“She's just an agent but yes, also her. Like I said I'll figure it out. Now shoo,” He waves you off, “Go eat something before you starve yourself.”
You throw your head back with a groan, “Okay, okay fine. I'm going.” Shucking the strap over your shoulder you head for the door. Just before you open it you glance back.
Jackie isn't looking at you. He's facing the drone, hand on his chin seemingly lost in thought. The drone itself is still staring at you, but it's gaze is different now. That odd relief is still there, lenses flaring and constricting in it's processing.
Without thinking you raise a hand to wave goodbye before catching yourself. You give yourself a mental smack.
Why would you wave to a drone? It's not like it can answer.
Still confused about what all that was you head out. You've got a sandwich to eat.
———————
The door shutting with a clunk is what pulls him out of his train of thought, “Oh, she left. Good.” Is all he can say as he watches your shadow cross the wall back up the way you came in.
He knows he'll have to make a better excuse for Aggie later on. Hopefully whatever he comes up with will be translatable into the schedule book so that Dillon doesn't think twice about it either.
Just thinking about it makes him grumble under his breath, “Idiot. Why did you say that to her? Just play it cool. That was the plan and you had to fuck it all up.” He slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand as he keeps muttering 'idiot idiot idiot' on repeat.
A soft creak comes from the drone in the middle of his self punishment and he turns around to see it's hand slowly unfurling from it's half-raised state. The fingers spread out as if it were reaching for something, still stuck against it's side.
The strangeness of the action is enough to make him stop, “Oh yeah. Probably should get you back up and running eh?” He approaches as it;s hand is still trying to rise. He pops the back panel open and searches the series of switches there for the standby and flips it, “There we go.”
Just as he does the drone finally clunks loose of it's frozen state. Though it's good arm went down to it's side the repaired one remained half raised, hand still open. He looks between it and where it's reaching, but can't understand what the purpose of that would be.
“Something still wrong?” When it doesn't answer he gives it a look, brow raised, “Hey. 1N0. Respond.”
Even when using the proper designation it remained silent for a moment. The hand was still open, eye lenses flaring while still locked onto the closed door.
Finally it's hand closed with a snap and dropped back to it's side as it turned to face him properly, “Drone 1N0 responding. Good afternoon, Agent Jackson Royals.”
He just rolls his eyes and waves it off, “Yeah, yeah. Enough of that. Just needed to be sure your programming still worked.“ He leans to the side while inspecting it's repaired arm, “As well as that. Hows it working now?”
On command the drone raises it's previously damaged limb and spins the wrist a full circle then flexing each finger, lenses watching the motions before looking at him, “All systems stable. Alerts dismissed accordingly.”
“Good.” Jackie nods before raising his arms over his head in a stretch, “Best I get you out there again. Can't have Dillon getting on my case about you needing another tune up.” He pulls out his phone and turns with a wave for the drone to follow. Heavy steps thunk after him, “Wait one more thing,” The drone stops obediently as he points a finger in it's face, “No telling anyone she was here, okay? Scrub it from your memory if you have to, it-” He thinks for a moment, “...1N0, this is private company information. Do not tell anyone what has happened here today. No matter what, you are not allowed to explain who fixed you.”
The drone continues to stare at him, it's lenses flaring and rotating as it processed what it was told. There's the briefest flare of light in it's eyes as it answers, “Acknowledged. Classified information documented. Engineer status: restricted user knowledge.”
Was it a good idea to lock your identity under classified information? Probably not, but it would keep random Agents from getting anywhere with the drone at the least. Either way he'd deem it good enough for now.
“Good. Now lets get you back on the boarding area before the evening rush.” He nods and waves for it to follow, which it dutifully does with clunking steps.