SHILOH

It's different this time, using the Jacktech. Less like ringing a doorbell and waiting to be let in, and more like knocking in the door with a rigged explosive. Shiloh isn't yet sure how to account for the difference, whether it's a matter of not using any intermediary equipment this time, or her own newfound confidence and experience with using the technology this way.

Either way, she'll take it.

This time, the 'door' doesn't belong to a school hallway, but some mid-flight Biodroid airship, traveling above the cloudline, with Shiloh directly next to it, clinging to the airborne vessel by penetrating the outer metal shell with her fingers, prying the first hatch open like a can opener to a tin can, and kicking open the next door after that.

Now she clings to each side of the doorway, with chill, harsh winds ripping and pulling at the fabric of her jumpsuit, and a strange, compressed feeling in her ears, like the drums are about to pop.

Before her is the cabin of the ship. Roomy, while still being cozy, with it's low ceiling and, dark flooring, and muted blue lighting. It's certainly a step up from the grey, garish, unfinished look of almost all of the Cloister's living quarters, she's got to give it that. But she's not here to compare human and Biodroid interior design. She's for the Biodroid itself. And not the one curled up on the couch at the far side of the cabin--whoever that's supposed to be. She's here for the one standing directly in front of the door. The one with the earlength sandy-blonde hair. The one who tried to kill her last night. The one that's a severe pain in her butt, right now.

It--he--looks shocked. Confused. But then, wasn't Silas, at first? Shiloh literally just broke into the guy's brain. He might not even realize none of this is real, yet.

Might as well go ahead and rip off that band-aid.

She lets go of the door frame, pushing forward and landing inside the cabin.

'Sandy' seems to steel himself, lashing out at her with a sword. It has a slim blade and a plain-looking crossguard, just two bars of metal jutting out where the hilt ends and the blade begins.

Shiloh reaches out and catches the blade in her hand, instantly shattering it, all the pieces flying past her and through the open hatch, sucked out by the cabin pressure.

Sandy stares at her, eyes wide. His grip on the sword handle loosens, and it too flies past Shiloh, disappearing in the veil of clouds below.

"Get it, yet?" Shiloh says.

Rather than wait for an answer, she bursts forward, faster than Sandy can react, faster than Shiloh herself thought possible.

She rams into him, shoulder first, sending him sprawling to the far wall of the cabin--and through it, making a second hole in the ship and multiplying the rushing roar of the air being pulled out.

Oh, shit. Whoopsie.

She dashes forward, ignoring the female Biodroid just now sitting up on the couch, wide-eyed, eyes glowing purple.

Shhh. Go away.

Shiloh snaps her fingers and the Biodroid girls fizzles out of existence, like a glitch being removed from the system.

Huh. Didn't quite realize I could do that. Good to know.

Now then...

She pivots without breaking stride, and jumps through the hole in the wall. There's an intense blast of air, almost like a giant's gasp in her ears, and she's falling. It is cold and dark, nearly black but for the occasional roll of blue lighting in the cloud cover, near and distant, like whales surfacing briefly on a moonlit sea.

Shiloh falls. Into the clouds. Frigid and wet, a cold mist immersing her entire body. Like being thrown into an ice bath. It's hard to think. Hard to breathe.

For a second, already, she forgets the level of control she wields. The only barrier is her imagination.

In a blink, she teleports, disappearing and reappearing below the clouds.

She's greeted with a view grand enough to take her breath away, if the wind wasn't doing that already. Is it even possible for a person to fall from such a height, with so much land stretched out underneath you like a map? Not that she can make much of it out. The details are murky, obscured by the murky shroud of night.

Still, she can see him. Her quarry. A black speck, falling through the cool darkness of the night sky.

I've got you now.

She blinks again--the act seems to faciliate the imaginative process of the act, like a trigger--and suddenly she's right above to him, a fellow skydiver, almost within arm's reach. He's falling back-first, still appearing to be disoriented from the attack.

Shiloh waves.

"Hey there," she tries to say, but the constant rush of air steals her words away as soon as they've left her lips.

Right.

She makes herself aurodynamic, veering toward him.

Biodroid pivots into a dive, trying to put distance between them. But before he can really pick up some extra speed, Shiloh grabs him by the ankle. She blinks.

Suddenly there's subtle feeling of impact, like tripping and falling onto a soft mattress, and Shiloh goes from skydiving to lying on her back on dry, gravelly ground. Staring up at the aphotic sky, clouds roiling and flashing with angry light.

So terrifying. Nature, in all it's raw power and immutability. You can't stop a storm. You can only wait it out, and pray. And that's exactly what she'd done the night before. There'd been no time to stop and admire. She'd spent the night hiding away in a cave, hoping it would all be over soon.

That is, until 'Ethan' came along. As Silas calls him.

Without Silas' help, she'd be dead. No question about that.

Then again, without Silas, the Biodroids would likely have never come to the Cloister in the first place. Humanity wouldn't be the target it is right now.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

That's what terrifies her. The idea that Silas' arrival might not be the blessing she thinks it is. That maybe Evelyn was right. Maybe some secrets are best left alone. Sometimes the pursuit of lost knowledge isn't worth the risk.

Not that she can do anything about it, now. She's in too deep. They all are. The best she can hope for is that they'll succeed, and that Silas will stay true to his word.

As it stands right now, if Shiloh didn't know better, she'd be worried that Silas was siding was Ethan over her, and everyone else. Siding with the Biodroids. That might not be his intention, not now, but as Silas descends down the rabbit hole of his past, there's no way to know right now where it might lead.

That's why Shiloh needs to do her own digging.

Speaking of...

She sits up on the ground.

The Biodroid is standing a short ways off, facing her, his expression veiled by darkness.

How long has he been there, waiting? Is he finally getting the picture?

Shiloh hops to her feet.

"Shiloh," she says, holding out her hand for a shake. "You tried to kill me last night?"

The Biodroid twitches, as if debating whether to stand his ground or take flight. He's clearly freaked out.

Shiloh would be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying this. Not that she feels bad for inflicting a little bit of terror on the person who tried to slice her open with razors.

"None of this is real," he says. "It's Jacktech. You've wormed your way into my head."

"How does that make you feel?" Shiloh says, without retracting her hand.

"Violated?"

"Fair."

An awkward silence, during which neither of them moves.

"You really gonna leave me hanging?" Shiloh pipes up.

The Biodroid cocks his head, glancing at her outstretched hand. "People don't usually initiate handshakes with their enemies."

"Who said we have to be enemies?" Shiloh says.

Now he looks even more confused. "You're human. I'm a Biodroid."

"That's what you are," Shiloh says. "But what do you want?"

He stiffens. "Are you asking me if I want to live or die?"

"No. Not quite."

This may be harder than Shiloh thought. On paper, it makes sense, in the way that so many things do, before you try to put them into practice. 'Why fight when we can work together?' How well has that worked, historically?

"You're looking for common ground," the Biodroid says. "An arrangement. Quid pro quo, as the human saying goes."

No. That's not quite right, either.

"I'm looking for..." Shiloh pauses, parsing her thoughts. "An alignment. It's not about what we can do for one another. It's about the ways in which we're the same."

"And how are you planning on determining something like that?"

"How do you think? I'm in your head, genius."

"Then go ahead." He crosses his arms. "It seems like you think you have all the power, here. You want my secrets? Go ahead. Mine for them."

"That's not- I want it to be your decision!" Shiloh says, wiggling her outstretched hand. "I want you to let me in."

"You realize how ridiculous that sounds? I'm a clearly a prisoner. What I am supposed to believe is going to happen to me if I don't agree to these terms?"

Ah. That's true, isn't it? The balance of power is a bit of an issue, here. He could give me what I want, but it still wouldn't be his choice. It's paradoxical.

So what, then?

"You can't have it both ways," the Biodroid says, interrupting her thoughts. "Anything I agree to under these circumstances will be a product of coercion. I can't do what you're asking unless we can come to some kind of agreement beforehand."

A cold wind picks up suddenly, causing the Biodroid's hair to writhe about in the breeze. A chill like death seeps in through Shiloh's jumpsuit, clinging to her skin.

She will have to give something to get something. That's just the way of it. Even though the olive branch she extends now could be used to beat her to death later on.

It's possible she's taken things as far as they can go. It was always a big ask to begin with, wasn't it? The idea that she could just forgive this robot masquerading as a person, let alone trust it. I mean, did she, Silas, or Cade actually think any of this through? What were they expecting?

Maybe they weren't expecting anything. Shiloh certainly wasn't. She was exploring, that was all. Open to possibilities. But now it looks like the possibilities are drying up.

"What do you propose?" Shiloh says.

"You have to promise me, on your word as a remaining member of the human race, that no matter what happens after this, you won't terminate me before I wake up."

"You mean, what you tried to do to me?"

The Biodroid winces uncomfortably, just as lightning flashes overhead, briefly illuminating his features. Thunder comes and goes, ringing loudly on the dry plain.

"Killing humans...it's not something I generally aspire to. I find it shameful, actually."

"Because it's murder?"

"No. Because I don't gain any satisfaction in destroying fragile creatures. Humans already live such short lives. You're all so...squishy."

"You you’ll be embarrassed to learn, then," Shiloh says, feeling some heat rising in her face. "That I was the one to get the drop on you.”

The Biodroid shrugs. "There’s a reason I tried to eliminate you. Get rid of any unknown variables, potential threats."

Huh. He saw me as a threat.

When you look at it that way, it's almost like a compliment.

"Anyway," he goes on, "I'd rather die on my feet than be put down while I'm asleep. That's all I ask."

"Done," Shiloh says.

It's a risk, sure, but he could have asked for a lot more. If he'd asked to be let go, she'd have taken longer to consider it.

Besides, in a slightly shocking turn of events, she's starting to actually have a good feeling about this. Though she has no idea why.

"Good," the Biodroid says, stepping forward. "Then I agree. I'll show you what I want."

He takes Shiloh's hand. It's cold to the touch against her skin, like an icy glove, but there's a warmth to the contact as well, a limbic resonance Shiloh wasn't expecting.

Okay. Time to take a look.

A female Biodroid. The one who was in the airship, only moments ago, with the dark hair and the glowing purple eyes. It's like a moving image, a memory transposing itself on top of everything else Shiloh can see. Lightning flashes overhead, illuminating the fine features of the robot girl's face. She's smiling, laughing, embracing the male Biodroid.

Guy's on the hook, looks like. Even male Biodroids aren't immune to feminine wiles, it seems.

Wait, are Biodroids...sexual?

Actually, I don't want to know.

They seek companionship, at least. That much Shiloh can see.

It makes sense. Their behavior is modeled at least somewhat after humans, after all. Perhaps they are drawn to emulate the things actual people do.

They're kissing, now. Shiloh's pretty sure she can see tongue.

Alright. That's enough of that.

It's not like she can do much with this. If anything, this would be a liability, especially if they ever have to go up against Miss Purple Eyes. He's really smitten with this chick.

Thankfully, the memory fades with Shiloh's mental prompting. What replaces it is the doorway to some kind of room. There's a plaque on the sliding door that reads: 'Greenery'.

With a mechanical buzz, the door slides open.

Inside...

Green. So much green. Which should make sense, given the name, but it's still a shock to the senses.

The Cloister has it's own greenhouses for growing certain crops, but nothing compared to this.

So much space, nearly the square footage of the Cargo Bay back at the Cloister. Only instead being cold, and grey, and full of old, rusty crates, it is a warm, vibrant place, packed with lush, living, growing plant-life. Every kind of flora you can imagine--anything that will fit under the low ceiling, anyway--from bushes, to flowers, to saplings. Big, bright UV lamps overhead. Bright colors everywhere, from the petals of flowers and berries on bushes and even fruit hanging from a select few, somewhat cramped-looking trees.

Is this...how the world...used to be?

Shiloh had seen the pictures, of course. But there was something different about this close-up view. To be here, amidst all of it. To breathe in the fragrance. To watch the way the leaves rocked and fluttered in the simulated breezes being fanned in through the vents.

Was this what it was? Was it like...this?

Shiloh breathes. The air is sweet to taste as she inflates her virtual lungs.

It should be like this. Always like this.

Against one wall, a series of holographic monitors hover in the air, scanning the local atmosphere of the room and comparing it side-by-side with labeled readings of a simulated old-world troposphere.

I think I've found it, Shiloh realizes. I think there's something here I can work with.