“Mental health is extremely important, especially for Samurai. A lot of people seem to forget, but every time we fight off an incursion, we’re walking into an active warzone. Some of the things I’ve seen those overgrown plants do still give me nightmares.

The Protectors must pick us for mental resilience or something though, because it’s rare to find a Samurai that won’t bounce back even after seeing some truly harrowing shit.

If you meet someone who won’t though?

Run.

I may have some flaming tendencies, but those Samurai are the ones you really want to be scared of. You don’t want to hang around to see what happens when they’re not all there anymore.”

--Shadowflame, ten minutes before burning down a tv studio in an argument with their AI.

Stepping into the stairwell lit by cheap fluorescent lights, I strain my ears, hearing a faint scuffing, like boots on concrete, and several dull, metallic thuds further down.

‘That sounds like people.’

Cyon doesn’t respond, so I keep heading down in silence, keeping my guard up as I glance at the walls stained in red and green.

It looks like they were still fighting back when the plants got this far at least…

The stairs curve, and as I round the corner, I spot a man standing just beyond the bottom step with his back to me, swaying slowly from side to side. I resist the urge to call out to him, pausing and watching as he leans too far, stumbling and catching himself with a rush of footfall, his arms swaying limp at his sides.

I gesture for Chip and Spot to wait, activating Sim’s invisibility and fading from sight before approaching the man. I slip out of the stairwell, spotting several more men and a woman in the small, open chamber I step into. They all have their backs to me, and a few of them are hitting a heavy metal bulkhead with their fists, smearing it with blood from their shattered knuckles.

I focus on the man closest to me first, stepping past him unnoticed and finally getting a good look at his face.

Yep, that’s a zombie.

There’re dried trails of blood running down his face from his orifices, and his eyes are glassy and vacant as he stares at the door ahead without a single thought.

These people are infected by Model Sevens. They are beyond saving already.

I nod to myself, because I don’t know if Cyon can even see that while my camo is active, and take a deep breath.

That was a mistake.

Now that I’m thinking about it, the only thing I can smell with my sensitive nose is blood. The thick, cloying scent of iron…

I haven’t killed a person before.

I’ve fought quite a lot, don’t get me wrong, and I’ve even taken my fair share of eyes…

But I’ve never killed.

A warm flood of affection and reassurance pours into the back of my mind, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Wait… could they feel my hesitation?

Weird, but I guess it makes sense that our emotional link works both ways.

My arm flashes out, cleaving the first zombie’s head from its shoulders in a single, clean motion.

I spin on my heels without a thought, launching myself towards the other zombies before they have a chance to react to their comrade’s demise. Four more heads fly, and five corpses drop to the floor, pouring out their crimson elixir of life.

I stare at the dead mounds of flesh for a few moments without saying anything before glancing down at my hands.

They’re shaking ever so slightly, but there isn’t even a single red smear left behind.

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“I… Thought it would feel worse?” I mumble quietly, confused by the odd blend of emotions churning in my gut.

Those people could already be considered dead before you even got here.

“Yeah… But they might have lived if I got here faster…”

And that makes you feel bad?

“Not really?” I let out a frustrated growl and kick one of the corpses…

Whoops?

“I don’t know!” I grumble, pressing my back against the door the zombies were hitting and sliding down to sit in the growing pool of blood below me.

Your profile did suggest a possible lack of empathy towards humans. The areas of your brain that were damaged when you first initialised could be the cause.

“I don’t have empathy? Doesn’t that make me a psycho?”

We won’t get into your worrying lack of understanding for what that actually means right now, but no to both of those. I never said you don’t have empathy, just that your empathy towards humans is lacking. From my observations, you seem to have a heightened sense of empathy and kinship with your siblings.

“Right…”

Now that she mentions it, she’s not wrong. I can’t think of many people I like all that much, but I’ll kill anyone that makes my fluff balls cry.

I send a burst of affection to them through my empathy network, letting them know I’m done at the same time as Cyon continues.

You can likely still form bonds with individual humans to re-establish a solid sense of empathy, but I doubt it will extend to the entire species as a whole again. If you are interested, there are several methods from therapy to brain sti-

She cuts off suddenly as Chip and Spot scurry into the room, locking onto and heading straight towards me.

Do not let them approach!

Cyon’s voice loses all of its usual charm, falling into an emotionless whisper that sends a shiver down my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

{Wait!} I screech, slamming my elbows into the metal behind me and propelling myself up onto my feet.

Both of my brothers dig their claws into the concrete, grinding to a halt and looking at me with confusion, but I don’t meet their eyes, scanning the corpses between us for the cause of Cyon’s sudden switch.

I notice a small, black worm wriggling its way out of one of the decapitated head’s mouths, stretching a small mesh of tendrils out into the blood around it.

That is the body of the Seven. They can and will infect your siblings if they get too close.

I spring forward, approaching the worm in an instant and slamming my heel down on it, crushing the life out of it.

“Can they infect me?” I ask, scanning the other heads and seeing several more worms, one of them already free and on its way towards Chip.

No. Your RABIES will release a low concentration of DogEater into your bloodstream the moment one of them tries to enter your body, and if they try to use your digestive tract, they won’t make it past your stomach acid.

“Good,” I reply, stomping on the last worm. “Is there anything I can do to keep my siblings safe?”

Of course. You can purchase a pack of Model Seven Proofing Pills for one point.

“Do it please!”

¯¯¯¯¯

New Purchase!

Model Seven Proofing Pill – 1 point

Remaining points: #####

_____

A small pack of off-green tablets spawns in front of me, so I snatch it out of the air and walk over to my brothers, kneeling down and popping out a pill for both of them.

“How am I meant to get in there?” I ask Cyon, gesturing back towards the bunker door with my head as I pet Chip and Spot.

You can purchase Class I Basic Cyberwarfare Utilities for one hundred points. If you then manually connect your D.E.N implant to the door, I could unlock it.

“Okay, buy away.”

¯¯¯¯¯

New Purchase!

Class I Basic Cyberwarfare Utilities – 100 points

Remaining points: #####

_____

Chip and Spot both scramble up onto my shoulders as I turn and approach the door.

“How do I connect to it?”

You have a neural input conduit at the base of your skull.

“A what?”

A cable.

Definitely not pouting at her dry tone I reach my hand up to the back of my head, peeling Sim back from my fingers and head to get a good feel for what I’m looking for. My fingers slide into the small, soft depression at the back of my head, just above where my hairline starts, and I feel a small, hard lump.

As I focus on it, my augs act on their own, popping it free of my skull and ejecting the lump along with a long string of what feels like hair.

I pull it around in front of myself and see a small black blob attached to the end of a long, braided cable of what definitely looks like my hair as well.

Please press the conduit into the indicated port.

The control panel at the side of the door lights up in my vision, so I step over to it, watching as the glow shrinks down and sinks into an empty socket underneath the blank screen. I hold out the conduit and press it into the port. It deforms like putty, pressing into the hole until it sits flush with the wall.

For a few seconds nothing happens, then a small video feed pops into my vision, startling me.

“Is this inside the bunker?” I ask the obvious, staring at the grotesque image of a large worm protruding from a metal wall with its mouth hanging wide, surrounded by zombies delivering themselves into it.

Yes. It would appear the Model Sevens made it inside before the bunker was sealed. That’s a Model Eight they’re feeding themselves to, it’s a model designed for transporting biomass to hives.

“Gross… it’s not even chewing its food.”

…

“Don’t judge me, I think I’ll puke if I don’t laugh. Some of them are basically chewing themselves for the worm! Can you show me a different camera or something? I don’t want to look down that thing’s throat.”

Of course.

“Oh god!” I cry as she switches it to a feed showing piled up corpses with their stomachs blown out, leaving gaping cavities of mashed flesh.

A few of them are still whole, but I think that’s worse thanks to the worms writhing beneath their bloated skin.

“Just turn it off!”

The feed disappears and I let out a sigh of relief.

I don’t think I’ll eat for at least thirty minutes thanks to that.

“Right, how should I clean that up?”