>> Glorious Vengeance?

## Integration :: [Stable]

## Pilot Link :: [Established]

My mind merges with the the machine, and my senses expand. Dozens of vScreens rising around me. Filling my world with blackened images of the rain-scoured dark. I see inside too: my meat-body slumped in its chair. Being awkwardly biological, as it does.

And, behind me - lit like a party - is the glowing ovoid of my main crew-cabin. A flat cargo area - strewn with scattered bedding, clothing, crisp-packets, and Badgery nonsense. Plus a large crate at the back, with holes in, that's currently being used as a table (for more nonsense). And, finally, a pinned-up sheet in the corner.

I am everything, in here. A digital god.

I am the walls. I am the ceiling.

Okay, I am definitely not the chemical toilet.

But I am this place. I feel the weight of them walking around. I sense their heat. Their heartbeats. And I can almost fancy I’m like Zipper, in here - if nowhere else.…..

And here….

"Hey. You." I growl over internal speakers, my voice twisted in every direction. Blocky cubes of wireframe light sticking to my digital fingers, as I reach into the workings of the machine…..

"What's that Spook? Need a towel?" Kami snickers as my internal security systems light up. Wafer flat panels unfolding from the ceiling behind her. Building into a twin-barrelled turret....

"Ya went too far." I growl, as the turret twitches.

"Uh huh?" She scoffs. "Come on! What are you gonna do to top that? Huh? Open the door again?"

"Oh, I was thinking more about seein' ya jump out in the rain."

"And why would I do that?" She scoffs as the turret swivels to point itself directly at the wall next to her ass. A dotted line projecting the trajectory. "Face it, Spook. I won the Prank War before it even-"

A heavy, rubberised, anti-riot ball blasts from the hyper-slick barrel. It slams the wall - ow- and bounces directly into her ass with all the fury of a very, very, very petty Spook.

Kami whips upright, and screams absolute bloody mayhem. Staggering hard into one wall, and going totally limp at the knees. “SPOOK! YOU- YOU ABSOLUTE...... DRIBBLING....”

“Serves you right, human fleshthing!!” I cackle from the speakers above. Earning a thrown arm.

“I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP! YOU-” But that’s as far as she gets before I fire again - bouncing a second shot off the back wall. Right into the same bruised spot.

Kami loses her goddamned mind.

“Woah, uh, hey, uh…. maybe don’t….. uh….” I stutter as she unfolds her massive, chunky, rifle. Attaching the barrel extender, and jamming it directly up - into my ceiling-gun.

“You try that again, and we’ll see what the internal armour’s like on your damn precious baby!” She screeches as her internal railgun booster spits sparks and shimmering heat. Filling the cabin with a low ‘pwwwwweeeeEEEEEEE!’ of rising power.

“Uhhh. Kami…. Y'know how I said the towels were too far-?”

“This thing has a Slammer Mode, remember?” She glares through the blocky scope at me. “One. More. Ball. Go on. I’ll take the engines clear off your damn toy!!!! And then we’ll bloody see who-!!”

There’s a nasty, meaty, thonk as a red rubber ball meets tender rump. Kami’s eyes widening in shock, amazement, bafflement, and rage.

She turns slowly.

She looks down.

“Do it.” Badger whispers in absolute glee. Hopping about on his little tosies, and letting off explosive little giggles of excitement.

Kami, presented with an easy target, drops her huge gun and tries to strangle an idiot. Chasing him all around the cabin, off the walls, round the edges, tripping over everything in their way. Including Demon, Tufty, and a loose bundle of duvets that yells “Yah! Hey! Gerroff!”. Spilling furious, blue-haired, emo boy all over the floor.

Freed of sleepy warm cocoon, Zipper rises like the wrath of gamers scorned. Virtual controllers, keyboards, and screens rising like stubby wings behind him as a tiny army of bee-sized drones whirl around his head. Flecking her with itty bitty adorable targeting-lasers.

Okay, that’s new…..

Groaning, Zip pushes back the muss of neon blue falling all over his bare back and face. Blinking at us all in confusion, as if he just woke up. Though I'd bet my last vial he was using the main Ops Screen to play some old Battle Royale game called 'Red Zero: Black' (its apparent primary purpose).

Probably vs himself. And himself. And also himself.

Kami, who was midway to dunking Badger, face first, into the chemical toilet narrows her eyes. “Oh. And look who was all tucked up in here, while we were getting SOAKED!”

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“Mate? What? Like, it was my turn-” He starts, which is when Kami gets right in his face and hisses like a wet stove.

“My armour is ruined because-”

"Right. Yeah. And that's totally my fault! Like, I didn't even get to go out today!" Zip snaps to cut her off, and they both start shoving.

Forgetting me entirely.

Mission of vengeance accomplished, I flip away from the chaos. Letting em kettle away in the back as the storm beats itself against my metal skin. Slithering its droplets down my back.

The world is a mess, outside. A dozen wrecks looming, large, in rain-sheered dark. My Stealth Shield subtly distorting their shapes. Twisting them. Tinting them eerie colours, and echoing them with shadowy twins. As if their souls are tearing free..... The whole image flickering with thunder beneath the neon light of the pirate tower….. and twitching with subtle, half-seen, movements.....

“What do you see?” Cracks a voice in the back of the dark of the void. And I lift my robotic eyes to the infernal storm. Scouring my lenses with its blinding force.

The only beast on scopes tonight is The Kaiju. Fifty-five metrics of leering gunship, built to rob the great Aristo pleasure barges that dare to drop below the belly of The Great Storm. Just the kind of bruiser to turn its nose into the wind, and ignore it all night long. Riding its thumping ionic thrust compactors, and shimmering grav repellers.

Distant. But don’t be fooled.

They got eyes on everything out here. But we’re kids, hiding in holes. And they probably can’t detect us.

Well, I hope….

I lie back, floating in nothingness, and open my hands. Glowing control-systems scribbling into being from blocky wireframe colours. I flip through diagnostics, and see everything is fine. Stealth-systems seamless. Engines optimal…. Oil levels good…..

“Those readouts are manufactured propaganda.”

“I know. It's total bloody lies.” I shake my head. “Stupid tankie tek….. I could literally be on fire, and it’d just tell me the heat was 'toasty'.” I turn to the undulating mess of triangles behind me, and shake my head. “We gotta fix that.”

“Allow me.” It says, and I’m hit by a massive wall red and orange warnings - alarms blaring horribly in the dark. It shuts off after a second, and I shake my head.

“Damn, this thing’s still botched to Hell and back…. Can’t tell if it’s our craft that’s bad, or the bloody sensors….” I hesitate. “It’s both. Isn’t it?”

“You have been over every inch of this vessel.” The unholy voice crackles, dimly, in the dark. Numbers and triangles spiraling around it. “You know precisely how bad things are. You don’t need the sensors.”

“Yeah. Did ya know half our wires ain’t insulated?”

“….I do now.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” I beam, pressing a button. “It’s waaaay worse than it sounds. But we’ll need Hella cash to get it fixed.” I hesitate.

“Or a better vehicle?”

I hiss. “....you take that back, you miserable digital asshole! I’m-” I cough. “The Night Tyrant is perfect. It, uh, just needs a little tweakin’….”

“Which will require money. Which, in turn, will require employment..... Unless you are willing to work with the Moon entity, rather than betray it.”

I wince. “Devil’s advocate? Seriously?”

“The desperate must consider all options.” The Machine Mind states. Clicking, gently, in the cyber-scape above. “Working with Moon would reveal opportunities. Intel. Side jobs.”

“If ya say so.”

The image of a weapon flickers into being before me. The Left Hand, burning with unholy blue. “Power and money are intrinsically linked. One tends to reveal the other.....” It reasons. “Using The Hand to obtain one or the other is feasible."

"Yeah. ....it is." I concede.

"More so than this plan to destroy Moon." Polybius states. "It is unlikely we can kill it without being destroyed.”

“You make a damn good case.” I raise a virtual claw. “One bloody problem: It’s gonna betray us. Not might. Not could, or maybe...... Will.” I shiver. “That gun…. it ain’t a reward. It ain’t a prize….. It’s the damn point. Get the gun. Bring it to Moon, thinkin’ we can use it. Thinkin' we’re gonna kill the monster.... or join it. Don’t matter. It kills us, and takes the gun, either way.”

“You are correct.” It clatters on the edges of oblivion. Numbers shifting with unknowable meaning. “You will need to out-think this twisted creature.”

“Yeah.” I shiver. “Think it’s..... like you?”

“Unknown.” The machine mind states.

I float there, in nothingness. At one with the metal. The gears. The shadow and the pulsing light. Feeling its warmth. It's harmony..... “We need other options. Any bounty jobs we can take? Maybe stuff we can use The Hand for? Or, at least, stuff that'll give us cash and options.....?”

Polybius flickers open the Pirate internet - which is every bit as bad as it sounds. Scouring thousands of mercenary job boards for requests, listings, jobs, and hints.

A million assassinations, kidnappings, vendettas, trades, and smuggling ops blasting past me - too fast to read. Monster hunts, ruin-dives, and merc teams ‘required’ for ventures into the Undercity. Plus all the usual stuff like “send dat berk a warnin frum me”.

The machine mind parses it all, in seconds. Sifting the scum for flecks of stolen, Pirate, gold….

Dimly, I feel the crew door open - but I ignore it.

“There are currently over forty-thousand item bounties. Mostly for mundane tek, originTek, or data. I have organised them by type, difficulty, and reward. There are several I find promising.”

I nod. “Good work. Ping the team.”

“One moment.” Nine requests flick to the front.

“What’s that?”

“Five are buyer requests. They seek weapons of great power.” The remainder are highlighted. “Four are thinly veiled requests for items matching The Left Hand. Though none mention it by name.”

My lips go dry. “The other Omega teams?”

“Unknown.”

My flickering tail coils in space. “Could be a fishing ploy.” They vanish. “But the general ones….”

“Selling the weapon to a powerful player would disrupt Moon, while funding our operation.”

"Or get us killed." I hesitate. "Still….. Could be our play. Sounds like a plan, in fact. Okay. Lets go with that, for now.... se how we-”

“Spook.” Polybius notes. “You’re lying.”

I hesitate. Head tilted. “What?”

“You did not look at the listings.” It says. “You are staring at the gun.”

My eyes don't waver. “So?”

“You intend to kill Moon.” It continues with endless, emotionless, calm. “To seek vengeance for everything it put you through. To tear down the organisation that enslaved you. To free the friends you left behind. And detonate-”

I turn from it, in the void of cyberspace. "Yeah. Maybe.... So what...."

"You know what it will take."

“Yeah.” I swallow. “And you.... ya know step one to gettin' there.....”

“Correct.”

I lick my lips. Staring into the unsettling heart of a dark star, in its blazing corona of eerie blue. "We get it, then. The Left Hand. We play Moon's plan. We use it to build intel on the bastard. Get close to it. Find out how to really kill it.... And why it's so damn cocky about this gun..... And then...." I shiver. "...then we see who double-crosses who first...."

"Parameters Accepted. Mission brief: compiled. Code name?"

My eyes focus in on the gun itself. "Devil's Due."

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