The
Uprising
by Wriness
Chikaya
Chapter 6 - Nicer Shoes
"A thousand other boys could never reach you; how could I have been the one?"
Perhaps it had been the experiences of the seconds previous. Perhaps it had been the cycles about to come. Perhaps it had been the stress of the situation at present.
All that came to be public knowledge about Dot was that she was in seclusion. People had no idea where, save for her trusted friends. Even then, Bob was the only one she ever let inside the Principal Office.
She spent her nights hugging her knees tightly, the hot tears stinging her face. She could almost feel them turning to frost on her cheeks; she felt like a killer. She hadn't done anything consciously, but the trauma of losing trusted CPUs as well as a trusted friend in a short time frame had left Dot more catatonic than anything else. She worked spasmodically, if she worked at all.
The panels felt cold even through her gloves now, everything felt cold. The soft, overstuffed couch in her egg-shaped room had begun to harden to her touch, as if the lack of emotion she let out forced it to somehow lose its comfort as she lost hers.
It was truly the only way Dot could appear strong in front of Bob at a time like this; Bob had explained to her the night after she left the Principal Office the last time his rough theory on what had been happening. Truth be told, she either didn't understand, or she simply hadn't heard him. It felt some days as if the cold air wrapped itself around her like a blanket, and she couldn't help but think if that was perhaps what the oblivion felt like to Phong...
Bob knew these thoughts were inside her. He couldn't explain it, he just knew. As if he knew her so well he could see through portals, straight into her code, straight into the way her processes ran. He could almost pick apart the tiny spasms of thought that so marauded her dreams. It was all he could do to touch her now; she always seemed distanced from her reality. As if, in fact, she was losing hope, believing that she was capable of such killings as those which had occurred recently in Mainframe. Bob, however, knew different.
He knew that Dot was not capable of the veritable genocide which had been occurring. The "accidents" were hardware malfunctions, that was certain, and they led many binomes to fiery deaths. Bob somehow couldn't believe they were Dot's fault however, as seeing her sit day after day in seclusion without touching a control panel led Bob to believe they weren't her changes.
Dot, however, seemed to have become resigned to her fate. The thoughts which ran through her head intermittently throughout the second painted a dark thundercloud over her head, or at least they seemed that obvious to Bob. And what made his motor churn over this dilemma was that he couldn't do anything about it.
The viral code sample he had found gave him a decent clue as to who was behind the operations; the part that would take the expert planning was the capture and/or the defeat of that who was directly involved, as apparently, their adversary was not as weak as they had previously surmised.
This worried Bob slightly, keeping in mind the amount of difficulty they had had previous with their disposal.
-
These thoughts hummed in a viciously repeating circle through Bob's head all while he zipped across Mainframe, surveying for activity proving his theory. He neared the Silicon Tor, which didn't exactly seem to be bustling with activity, but in all technicality, shoudn't really have been moving at all.
Bob lowered himself onto the top lip of the Tor and peered down through the hole in the roof. The entire time he couldn't shake the feeling that he was in danger, but danger was keeping itself coiled.
"You said thirty credits, and I want my thirty credits," one familiar voice said. Bob narrowed his eyes and flattened himself further against the lip.
"Twenty-five," insisted a deeper voice.
"Thirty."
Megabyte laughed; a deep, carousing laughter that comes only from the undiscovered and the criminally insane. "It will be twenty-five," he stated finally, lilting his speech with a frost of authority. "Rumor-spreading in a small system is hardly a feat worth an extra five credits."
"We orchestrated a deletion, my lord. I do believe twenty-five credits is slim pickings for such an operation."
"I don't," the virus's voice boomed calmly, "Especially with the effort still required to overthrow Ms. Matrix."
Bob couldn't believe he was hearing this; the virus, recently escaped from the web with little sign of decay, and one of society's underlings hammering it out again.
"Twenty-five credits then. But I'm still guaranteed a job?"
"Indeed."
Bob began slow, calculated movements to move himself off the lip of the Tor; he had heard enough safely for one second; it was best to move out.
>click<
Bob blinked quickly. He had only one chance to get a message to Dot; with an EMP rifle pressed firmly in the back of his neck, he didn't have much of a chance either.
Bob reached back in one quick, swift motion and shoved his attacker off, sending the smaller binome sprawling across the roof of the Tor. This, unfortunately, caused a lot of noise, making him likely to be discovered.
He reached over and grabbed his communications device from his belt, speaking quickly into the reciever. "Dot, I'm at the Tor and Megab--"
>THWACK!<
Bob watched in horror as the communicator sailed down the top opening of the Tor and landed squarely on the concrete floor, shattering, never to speak again.
>click<
"This time, guardian, you are coming with me."
Bob felt the rifle charge, and knew he couldn't argue. Shackles were placed roughly around his wrists, and a vest fitted around his chest. He could feel Glitch within, powering down by force.
-
Dot heard the shrill squawk of the incoming message notification from across the Principal Office. It was a debate whether or not to get up and retrieve it, and finally decided she needed to move. The circulation in her legs had begun to cease gradually, and her eyes hurt from a dryness brought on only by incessant rivulets of tears.
She tapped the retrieve button lightly, and the window that greeted her was shocking. The icon displaying "Sound Only" decorated the front of the viewscreen while the sounds she hated to hear spewed from it.
"Dot, I'm *crackle* the Tor and Megab--"
Dot shivered, then played it again.
"Dot, I'm *crackle* the Tor and Megab--"
Dot felt the seperation of layers she had been experiencing for cycles vanish instantly. She narrowed her eyes sinisterly. "Megabyte..." she hissed. "Perhaps it's time you met some of my friends..."
--
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