A little bit of corruption.

That’s what Tarchon said. Only a little bit.

This is not what I would call a little bit.

Nix stood before the supposed safehouse and could only think how unfitting that term was for what she was looking at.

It was one of the ancient refineries with massive pipes criss-crossing everywhere and machines filling the vast open space. Only, it had been modified. Some of the old age refiners had been cut into parts, only to be replaced with fresh mechanisms that moved and spun with speeds that seemed inappropriate considering the explosive nature of what flowed through the pipes.

Making everything worse, was the thick musk of corruption that lingered. Even as Nix watched, a cloud of darkness slunk in between the cracks of a piston. When it smashed outward, a chorus of screams overlaid the mechanical clinking with their song.

The centrepiece of the former refinery was the control room. Or what had once been the control room. She couldn’t imagine the hundreds of pipes that connected to its every possible surface could have much of a purpose for the small box. In fact, if not for the corruption twisting the place, Nix doubted it would be possible to reach the door with the sheer number of added piping and wires.

Nix held the electronic tag out in front of her in case whatever detected it relied on sight rather than any other method she likely didn’t understand. The last thing she wanted was to get crushed by one of those pistons if they suddenly moved the wrong way.

If it wasn’t so clearly Technocult territory, she would have doubted Tarchon’s directions. How was this the place she was meant to stay?

She walked along the raised metal platform that led straight to the control room. The man had said there was a private bath. Yet, no matter how Nix looked, there was barely enough room to sleep. She really hoped it was just a spatial illusion, and the inside was bigger.

Her eyes trailed down to the machines moving beneath her feet. Between them, she caught sight of a dozen rodent corpses and their associated spawn flitting along wherever there was free space.

The skitter-spawn lost cohesion wherever they touched one another. Two would often run head first into the other, only for their forms to flicker and reappear. One such occurred only for the creature to be crushed by a spinning axle before it’s form fully reappeared. Its lingering flicker meant half its body survived.

Of course, the critter spawn still died, but the presence of the flicker itself was worrying.

Skitter-spawn alone were probably the weakest manifested beast. But they became deadly in swarms. There were some sections of Coral completely quarantined because the sheer number of them meant it was difficult, if not impossible for even the highest creed harbingers to deal with. In the millions, they became a bodiless swarm of teeth that would all bite and chew simultaneously.

She didn’t like seeing so many here.

Thankfully, they were under her platform, and she didn’t have to worry about fighting her way through them. Really, despite all the movement around her, it felt anticlimactic that she reached the control room door without anything happening.

Nix opened the door expecting to find a perfectly mundane house hidden away in this deception of a refinery. She was disappointed.

She’d been right that the inside was larger than it appeared, but there was so much junk lying around that it left her feeling more claustrophobic than if it truly had been how it looked.

The inside was more akin to a workshop than any home. A dozen benches each held piles of metal junk and half-finished projects without any form of order or sorting. There were massive shelves lining the walls for equipment, but they were just as disorganised. She found wrenches and wires together on one shelf. The next had some sort of lubricating oil and… bread?

The more she looked, the more she saw that there were everyday necessities mixed in with all the machine parts. Somebody lived here. And they never separated from their work.

Unless it was food adjusted to perish incredibly slow, but if it was supposed to be a safehouse, then why leave the stuff they need out amongst the other trash?

Tarchon didn’t give me the key to his own house, did he?

Well, regardless if it was or not, Nix didn’t intend to stay for long. Such close proximity to any cult was bound to create issues. She would leave as soon as the ward was cleaned out, or she earned enough to rent her own place. Whichever came first.

Overhead, there were enough pipes interweaving that she couldn’t see the ceiling. A few had connections linked to the workbenches or the creations themselves. It was all modular. If Tarchon — assuming this was Tarchon’s place and not some other Technocultist — needed whatever fluids flowed through those pipes, he could easily bolt on another and open a hinge lever.

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

Nix passed a door, and upon peering in, found a single reclining chair centred in the room. It was surrounded by machines. Unlike the large space behind her, this wasn’t cluttered with loose parts, but the number of contraptions connected to that single chair left almost no room to move.

The recliner itself had dozens of rods and tubes poking out. Even if Nix tried, it would be impossible to find a comfortable position in the altered furnishing.

She moved on, not wanting to touch any of the equipment that probably cost more than the ward’s entire yearly grant.

Beyond the next door, was the guest bed. It was the cleanest and most normal of the building. If you excused the dust. But even here, one of the corners had been blown out to make room for pipes and cables.

The last of the rooms she found was the bathroom. She would have been relieved, if the place didn’t also look like an operating room.

Medical equipment mixed with mechanical machines in an entirely sterilised environment that made Nix question whether this was truly the same building as the mess behind her. As she walked by, a robotic arm flared into motion. She leapt back, startled. Other things had been moving inside this place, but this was the first time something had reacted directly to her.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be a defensive system. It reached out to her, giving her an offering.

A towel and a robe.

Nix didn’t know how Tarchon had prepared this when he hadn’t come himself, but the robe was almost identical to the tattered one she’d been wearing in the sacrificial chamber.

She took them from the arm, and it swung back around into its resting position high above the operation table. Along the ceiling above it, there were countless modular hands the robot could connect, but the ones it wore now were very similar to sewing tools. They weren’t. If she guessed right, they were intended for stitching — the fleshy kind — but apparently it was close enough to recreate a robe.

“Eyeball, can you tell if there’s anyone watching?”

“There is no perception here.”

“What about cameras then? Sensors?”

“Many eyes. But all lack thought.”

Nix hummed in annoyance. It didn’t really matter if Little God meant there was nobody searching through the cameras or just that the sensors themselves lacked any thought. It would take Tarchon suddenly tuning in for all her secrets to be revealed. If he was far, there wouldn’t be a need for concern; corruption and incomprehensible beings would morph the signal into something untrustworthy. Even if he saw her wings, he would assume the feed had been hijacked over them being real.

But there was the possibility that he would look while close enough to trust what he saw.

The other threat was if he stored the recordings. But that wasn’t something Tarchon would be foolish enough to do. The monsters that fed and grew in stored information were some of the most dangerous to allow to fester because of the very nature of their existence. They twisted the data and knowledge beyond what was natural, and used any method to expand.

You really don’t want all your computer systems turning against you.

Scrolls and books were really the only safe way to store knowledge, and even that was with caveats.

Approaching the back half of the room, she found the shower. It had eight nozzles. She had to imagine water only came from one; or maybe two, if he wanted water without the normal cleaning chemicals. But what could he need all the others for?

Along the wall there was a control panel that conveniently had a bunch of labels tagged below eight knobs. The top two had little red warning symbols besides text that read ‘acid’ and ‘darkness decontaminant’.

Why the decontaminant was given the same level of warning as acid when another label called ‘lubricant (toxic)’ hadn’t receive a warning, Nix didn’t know. What she did have, were her two water valves, and a lever labelled ‘barrier’. With high hopes, she pulled it.

A fogged glass and metal mesh wall suddenly rose from the ground. It cut off the shower from the half of the room that would have been better suited in an operating theatre. She was now enclosed on each side, but this is what a private bath should look like. Only… was it even private?

“The eyes have turned away,” Little God said before she even needed to prompt it. “Interesting.” It hummed as its gaze twisted through the surroundings, and looked through walls.

“So there’s absolutely no chance I’ll be seen while I’m in here?”

The eyeball turned to her and tilted its head as if she said something stupid. “The Elders will always watch you.”

The Elders? Nix thought, her mind immediately flashing to the Eidolon Gods. No, I think it’s better to leave that alone.

What was important, was that she finally had the privacy to inspect her changes, then clean herself off before she evolved her name. Nix untied the belt from her oversized robe, only to pause.

Little God was staring.

Little God always stared, and she didn’t know why it had taken so long for her to realise this, but with him being real — not a figment of her imagination — then didn’t that make her undressing awkward?

“Hey, Eyeball, could you turn away?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not supposed to stare when a girl undresses.”

Little God tilts its head, pondering her words. “No. I watch.”

Nix sighed in exasperation. It had done so for as long as she remembered, so it really shouldn’t make a difference now that she knew it was real, especially considering it had never so much as commented on her appearance. But now that she did know, she felt she should put up at least some effort to separating herself for these moments she wanted to be alone.

“You can watch something else,” she said. “Just leave me ten minutes of privacy.”

“I am here to watch you.” The static of his voice suddenly amplified. It stung at her ears and distorted her vision, but there was no missing the way his pupil narrowed. “Do not take my role from me.”

Right. Don’t forget Little God is a god; no matter how cooperative he usually is.

Well, it’s not like having the monstrous eye share a bath with her was the worst thing in the world. She had already long since grown accustomed to it. And the creature was clearly not concerned with her body.

But what is it concerned with? Why does it linger by my side? Is it truly out of curiosity that the being cannot cease its watch over me… or is it something more?