He looked... different than I thought he would.
When the elevator doors opened, and I saw his face, it didn't quite register. He looked… broken. His figure was tall but scrawny, and his head hung on top of his shoulders as if it didn't belong there. His hair was a little bit messy, and oily, and even sort of fluffy if you looked at it right. One of his eyes was red, and the other was a sad, hollow gray- as if the color had been sucked out of it long ago. He wore no mask. His complexion was a mix of black and silver metal panels that seemed to split his skin with no regard for where the seams lay. Most notably though, his right forearm was completely missing, leaving a boney stub that suck out under his T-shirt. He boarded the elevator next to me, glanced over at the buttons, and the doors closed.
"...Are you-"
"I'm who you think I am," he nodded.
I glanced at him again, before returning my gaze to the doors in front of us.
"How was your travel here?"
He thought for a moment. "Not too long. Traffic is pretty good this early, so it was only 2 hours or so."
The conversation died as my mind scrambled to find something to fill the silence.
"It's getting pretty windy."
"Yeah, it doesn't exactly look like it'll be a pleasant week."
"We're supposed to get snow this weekend."
"...Huh."
The elevator beeps rung in our ears. As fast as they were, they only seemed to continue on endlessly.
"Are you the one who replaced Pixal?"
"Well, I take the calls and get the coffee." I smiled, and he sent a mildly amused grin back.
"How is it working here?"
I thought for a moment. "I like it. Keeps me busy, but it's not too crazy."
"I would stay on your toes though," He smirked. "This place has a bit of a history for being a dangerous work environment."
"Yeah," I smiled. "I guess you never know when everything will just randomly turn evil around here."
"Wouldn't that be a pain in the ass?" he rolled his eyes before we both burst out laughing.
"I'm sorry, that was over the line," I shook my head.
"I don't have any lines anymore," he waved it off. "What was your name?"
"Drew Peterson." I extended a hand.
"Cryptor." He shook it as the doors opened.
I was surprised how much of a pleasant person he was considering who he used to be. He seemed like something of a walking contradiction. As he stepped out of the elevator, I was stuck just staring at him for a moment before bringing myself to follow him. The war general built by darkness who almost conquered all of Ninjago was now cracking jokes at his own expense, clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans going to visit his father. What happened?
"Good morning, Mr. Borg."
"Good morning, Drew." He glanced up from his work as a smile grew on his face. "Cryptor! I didn't know you'd be here this early!" He wheeled himself out from his desk to get closer.
"Good to see you again, Mr. Borg."
"How are you?! Have they treated you well? What happened to your arm?"
Cryptor glanced down at it. "Well… it had a gun built into it."
"Oh, that's right. I suppose they don't let you have those in prison, now do they?" Borg gently held what was left of his arm, examining it carefully.
"Not exactly."
"I might be able to make you a new one, but I have to admit, I got rid of your blueprints years ago. Burned them, actually. Mainly because they were designed by the literal forces of darkness, but also because they were surprisingly pretty sloppy."
"Okay," Cryptor rolled his eyes.
"It's nothing personal, it just didn't exactly stand up to brand integrity."
"You could use Zane's blueprints for the new arm," I suggested. "His were the basis for Cryptor's designs, so the attachment mechanism would probably be the same. Plus… it wouldn't have a gun."
"Good idea! I'll get started right away!" Mr. Borg's face lit up like it only does every once in a while.
"After the whole evil clone army thing, Borg is the only one who can access Zane's Blueprints in the building," I explained to Cryptor.
"Makes sense," He shrugged.
"No offense, but I'm kind of surprised to actually see you… out."
He sighed, wandering towards the seating area. "Well, I'm out on temporary parole on Mr. Borg's request. He wants to try and get me out on a sort of permanent monitoring program." He plopped down on the couch as I followed him, leaning on the back of the chair opposite him. "Basically, I would meet with officers once a week, agree to stay in certain areas, and they'd keep this thing on me."
He pulled up his pant leg to reveal a rather sophisticated ankle monitor sitting underneath.
"Sounds an awful lot like Borg is the one who wants you out and not… you."
A broken smile crept onto his face as he stared down at the floor. "Yeah… it kinda is."
"...any particular reason?" I pried.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I was only built a few weeks before I was arrested, and during that time I wasn't even really in control of myself. I've never really experienced… freedom before. Don't know that I'd ever really get used to it. I'm not exactly... built for it."
I moved to sit in the chair, now directly across from him. "Well, how is it so far?"
"What?" he looked up.
I smiled, finally catching his line of sight. "Freedom?"
He glanced over at Borg, watching him shuffle some papers around on his desk for a moment. "It's… different." His eyes lingered for a moment more, before switching over to me. "What about you? How do you like it?"
"Um…" I chuckled a bit. "How do I like freedom? Well, it's pretty nice. You've just got to find the right people to hang around."
"Note taken," he smiled.
The conversation hit a lull as our eyes began to wander again.
"Didn't you say it wasn't supposed to snow until this weekend?"
I followed Cryptor's glance to the window where very visible and heavy snow was passing by on its way to the ground. "Yeah…" I stood up to get a better look. As I approached the wall of glass it was easy to see the snow that had accumulated on the ground just since we had entered. It looked like we were in the middle of some freak snowstorm.
"Mr. Borg?!" I called across the room. "What time was the renovation crew supposed to come in?"
"About noon," He answered. "Why?" He looked up from his computer to see the wall of snow falling outside as he quickly wheeled over to join me, and now Cryptor at the glass. "This looks bad."
"You might want to postpone," I advised.
"I don't think anyone is going anywhere in this storm," Cryptor commented, his eyes locked on the glass.
"It looks like it's only going to get worse." Borg commented scrolling through the weather forecast on his watch. "Drew, could you activate building shelter protocols? I don't want snow causing any damage."
"Right away Mr. Borg." I started walking towards the control closet as Cryptor followed me.
"Building shelter… protocols? What's that?"
"It's a barrier that covers all entrances and exits and the building up through about the seventh floor." I opened the closet, searching for right switch panel. "Used for protection against storms, or on occasion, the forces of evil." I sent him a quick smile before opening the panel and reaching for my keys.
"But, it'll pretty much trap us in though… right?"
I slid my keys in pausing for a moment at his remarks. "Yeah, I guess so. Just until it's safe to put them down though. We have total control over it." I turned the key as a mechanical rumbling started outside the building but was felt everywhere within it.
"Right…"
"Don't freak out," I smiled, closing the panel. "It's just some bad weather. Nothing to worry about."
