DAIMON

The mind needs stimulation. Even an artificial mind, like mine. I know, because I've been staring at the same stretch of concrete walls for days, now. Long enough to memorize the tiny, slightly mis-colored specks and grains. The subtle cracks and warbles. In other words, the imperfections. I didn't notice them at first, but now, they're all I can see.

I fucked up.

Of course, I did. It was one blunder after another.

I should have brought in Silas myself, from the beginning. It should have been me at the helm, from the moment Suzerain said 'go'.

Why didn't I?

Because you weren't ready to confront him, yet.

The thought echoes in my mind, a transmission from my subconscious. But it doesn't make any sense. I needed more time? It had been years. Lifetimes. Am I really that bad at finding closure? At...moving on?

Maybe I'm not as superior to Silas as I thought. Maybe it's time for a good, long look in the mirror.

Not that there are any mirrors to look at, around here. Even that would be something.

You're avoiding the subject.

Normally, in a situation like this, I could wile away the hours in some program or other. But I haven't been able to bring up my OS. Not since the crane, and the loss of my arms.

I'd say the damage is severe, but there's no way for me to run a diagnostic, and I can't feel myself from the waist down. But that's probably a diagnosis in and of itself.

I've lost my auxiliary Protocols. I'm almost certain of it. My body, it's not like that of the other Biodroids. I've undergone...improvements. Alterations. I am stronger, more capable in some areas, and slightly less reliable in others, in sometimes hard-to-predict ways.

Not that I would have predicted this. It could have been some combination of the devastating damage, and the Jacktech, bypassing his secondary Protocols, leaving him open. Vulnerable. In more ways than one.

I held back. I played with him. And he tricked me. It wasn't a fair fight.

You were never strong enough to defeat him. Not now, and not back then-

I growl aloud, pushing against my constraints. As if I can physically fight against the voices in my head.

The chains holding me up, suspending me by the shoulders, jangle and rattle. I begin to sway.

Great. Again with the swaying. Now you've done it. It'll be another hour before you come to a complete stop again.

Whatever. I'm a sentient metronome. Deal with it.

But honestly, it does kind of get to me. That steady rhythm. According to the records, Chinese interrogators in the far past used to implement something called Water Torture, binding the captive and dripping ice-cold water droplets onto their head. It's the monotony that does it. The jarring effect of the water. The inability of the mind to escape it's physical circumstances.

You should have bombed the shit out of this place, once you knew he had you. You should have left a crater where this bunker used to be. While you had the chance.

If I'd done that, I'd be dead, right now.

No. You're already dead. This is hell. Haven't you figured that out, yet?

There may be some truth to that. Only, when I think of 'hell', I don't think of a tiny, concrete cell. I think of thousands of human bodies--men, women, and children alike--pressing in on each other, trampling one another other as the flames spread, and the oil ignites.

And me, the one who lit the spark.

Hell is no prison for the devil. Not yet, anyway.

Then what is this?

A crashing and burning. But there may yet be something worth salvaging in the wreckage. Time will tell.

Ah, yes. Time. The one thing you don't have.

Perhaps not. Thanks to some of my 'improvements', I don't absorb energy through sunlight, like the other Biodroids do. That's part of why the UV from the lights down here can't help me. In fact, direct exposure to the lamps actually damage me. What energy I have left is slowly depleting. The batteries that could have helped me get back to full strength were on my personal ship, which Silas has apparently destroyed.

Which means, if I am to escape, it needs to be soon.

But surely your friends, the other Elites, will come to save you?

There's a joke.

Will they come? At some point, perhaps. But not as friends. Not once they capture Silas, and acquire the Key. They'll take advantage of my weakened state, and destroy me. That's what I would do.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Is that so? You were the one who was supposed to bring Silas in, remember? Suzerain handed you the Key on a silver platter. He gave you a head start. And you pushed it away, like a petulant child.

Suzerain. He always believed he knew what was best, for me. Always pushed for me to best Silas. To prove my worth. He wanted me to be the superior Blast Model. Based on his metric. His definition.

Who said I wanted to be a pawn in his game? Who said I needed his approval?

Woof. Sounds like a lot to unpack.

As if I'd have the time.

What are you talking about? Don't you remember? You have all the time in the world.

Before I can think of a response to that, the outer door to the cellblock opens.

I can't see the door itself. I'm at the end of the hall. The only view I have is of black bars and a concrete wall. But I hear footsteps. The gentle brushes of worn shoe heels on the hard floor. Dragging and sliding, a little.

Old. Small. Not necessarily frail. I mean, technically all humans are.

"Thank you, Cole." An elderly, matronly tone.

"Of course, Evelyn." That would be Cole.

"You don't need to accompany me," Evelyn says. "I can handle this myself. I'll only be letting one of them out. At a time."

An awkward moment of hesitation.

"That was a joke," Evelyn says. "You've got the keys, after all. But please do shut the door behind me."

"Of course, Evelyn."

The scratch of the old lady's heels on the cement. The clatter of the door shutting behind her. And then the footfalls continue. A slow, tremulous rhythm. As steady as the sway of my mutilated body as I dangle from the chains.

The footsteps go on long enough, and draw close enough, that I'm half convinced she's here to talk to me. Though I can't imagine why.

Going off of the conversations I've overheard, this must be the one who had the smart idea to pilot the fleeing caravan remotely, luring my ship away from the bunker. Even my ship's AI was convinced. With all of the dust in the air, it wasn't until my ship swooped in close that it noticed those dunebuggies and bikes fleeing the scene were empty.

Of course, by that point, I decided to let the ship go through with it, shredding and blowing the vehicles to bits. Because why not? How could I resist the chance to mess with Silas' head, even if it might be the last time?

Unfortunately, midway through fulfilling the command, my OS went out, and I lost my connection to the ship. From that point, my ship's AI problem-solving took over, and it had the bright idea to turn around and come back for me, giving Silas the opportunity to blow it out of the sky. Which is part of why I'm still in this particular predicament.

Anyway. One might be tempted to think the remote-controlled caravan was some 4D Chess move on Evelyn's part. But I don't think so. I think Silas and the others legitimately thought it was a good play, sending people out into the desert like that. I don't think they actually thought they could beat me; and why should they have? I think they believed that, at the very least, they might be able to buy some time so some of the humans could escape.

But Evelyn doesn't think that way. That's my theory, anyway. She is old, and jaded, like many of the people here. To her, nothing good comes from the outside. This place, this underground bunker, is where humanity belongs. A sentiment I actually agree with, but that's neither here nor there.

Again, just a theory. But I have a feeling I'm about to find out for sure.

Evelyn's footfalls come to a stop just shy of my cell. She must be standing in front of the cell next to mine.

"Gavin," she says. "How are you holding up?"

Ah. Gavin. The Cloister's very own watch dogs. Or, leader of the watch dogs, really. Technically, they refer to the group as The Watch. Which is pretty simplistic, in my opinion, but maybe that's the point.

'Watch Captain'. That's what they call him. Or used to call him.

I'm honestly surprised he's been so quiet this entire time. As much as he puts on a tough front, he always gave me the impression of someone right on the brink of a psychotic break. I killed two of his friends right in front of him, for God's sake, taunting him as I did it. Not to mention the other comrades I took care of when I breached the bunker. All this time, he still hasn't said a word to me.

You know, I may have actually gone a bit too far. The entire point of what I did, just outside the Cloister, was to subjugate the guy, get him to do what I needed him to--in this case, handing over Silas. But in the end, Gavin just doubled down, turning on his own people in the process. Which is why he, and the rest of the Watch, are still stuck in here.

Which leads me to wonder--what exactly is this old lady up to? What reason could she possibly have to talk with the man who endangered her people? The man she herself decided to imprison.

"Evelyn," Gavin responds. His voice sounds...lethargic. Depressed. And...dry.

"They tell me you haven't been eating," Evelyn says.

"Don't see much reason to."

"Come now, Gavin," Evelyn says, disapproval in her tone. "How can you expect to get back to your full strength with that attitude."

"...You're joking, right? You expect me to believe I'll survive a wound like this?"

"Do you really have so little faith in our medical practitioners? Why bother fixing you up, and taking the time to redress your wounds, if we simply expect you to drop dead at any moment?"

Because it's appeasing to others when you go through the motions of doing something good. Sometimes, it even soothes one's own conscience. Because you can tell yourself, 'Well, I tried.'

I'm sure the doctors here made an effort. But did they take as great pains as if it were that girl Shiloh, or another member of the community's Board? I highly doubt it.

Then again, I could be wrong. Perhaps there's still more public sentiment in favor of Gavin than one might suspect, even after everything he did. Perhaps that might explain why The Watch are still being held in confinement, and no executive punishments has been doled out, yet. Perhaps it might explain why this meeting is taking place.

As for why I'm still alive, I can only assume they still think there's some use they might get out of me.

"Perhaps I don't deserve to survive," Gavin says.

"I should reach through these bars and slap you for that," Evelyn says, after a moment of judgmental silence. "You can't possibly mean it."

"You're looking at a dead man, Mrs. Keller. Whether I'm facing imprisonment or a death sentence, it all amounts to the same thing."

"So your plan is to kill yourself, by means of dehydration and malnourishment? Is that what I'm hearing? And here I thought suicide was the coward's way out."

A hefty silence follows this. I can only glean so much from it. I'd mostly be guessing. All I can do is listen, and wait.

There's one quick scuff of a heel on the floor.

"I came here to talk to a man," Evelyn says. "But I can't seem to find one. All I see is a sad, miserable animal in a cage. Just because you made one mistake doesn't mean to get to write yourself off forever, and turn your back on your duties. It doesn't mean you have to give up. But it appears you already have."

More scrapes on the floor as she moves away.

"Wait," Gavin says.

Evelyn stops. "Yes?"

One long, loaded silence. Full of mysteries. Brimming with, I assume, some not so great omens for Silas and company. And probably some opportunities for myself, if I play my cards right.

"I...I want to fix this," Gavin says. "To the degree that it's even possible. I just don't know how."

The slow shuffle of feet, as Evelyn steps back in front of Gavin's cell.

"Good," she says. "Because that's what I came to talk to you about."

Huh.

Looks like things are finally starting to get interesting around here.