Chapter Summary:

Trigger comes to a realization, and much is revealed. Meanwhile, Monarch goes out salvaging and gets more out of it than he expected.


Prez looked worriedly over at Trigger as he finally stumbled back onto solid ground. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the AO, and she couldn't shake the feeling that just for a moment there, something had been very wrong.

She'd always been good at reading body language—you could tell a lot about a person from how they moved, how they looked at you, and what they did with their hands. Trigger's body language was especially distinctive.

For one thing, he was always moving, even if it was subtle. Rocking back and forth just slightly while he was thinking, drumming his fingers on a table, or just pacing around in circles…Trigger was never completely still. And yet…for almost a minute, he'd sat stock-still, save for necessary things like breathing and speaking.

The sudden shift had been…unsettling, to say the least. She'd overheard a nurse telling him about the possible aftereffects of the concussion he'd received, and they'd mentioned the possibility of mood swings, but this was something else entirely. If it weren't such a ridiculous notion, she'd have assumed he was being controlled like some kind of puppet.

He'd returned to normal in just a few minutes, but whatever had happened there had clearly terrified him. Even now, as he stumbled over to sit down in the chair next to hers, he was still shaking and gasping for air. She wanted to help him, but had a feeling that touching him right now was only going to make things worse—

"Prez."

She looked over at him. He was clearly straining to speak, but whatever it was, it was clearly important. The look on his face was dead serious.

"I'm…going to go over to medical," he said, in a shaky whisper. "To…to talk to Ymir."

"That shady so-called 'doctor?'" She asked. "Is that a good idea?"

"L…look, it's important. Really important. A-and I need you…to be there. There's…if we're going to work together, you…n-need to know the risks. Wh-what you're dealing with."

"O…kay…?" Prez frowned, following behind him. Trigger walked as quickly as he was able to without tripping over himself, eyes darting around rapidly as if he thought he were being watched. As soon as he reached the door, he ushered her in, before slipping in and slamming it shut.

Ymir, who had until then been hunched over a table filling out paper for Dust-knew-what, jolted upright at the sound before rcomposing himself.

"Ah, my new favorite patient. You're back…let me guess, something in your arm started smoking after our crew chief here hit it too hard with a wrench?"

"…What? No! That's not…" Trigger sighed in frustration. "Listen, Doc. I, uh…I think I figured out what that chip does."


Ymir had expected the man called "Trigger" to return at some point.

He hadn't expected him to return this quickly, though. Or with Sicario's crew chief in tow. He'd asked why she was here, and he'd been brushed off with a "Because she deserves to know what's going on." Frankly, Ymir didn't think it was a good idea to break patient confidentiality any further than was absolutely necessary—hell, he wasn't even planning to tell Kaiser about whatever was going on here—but he supposed he couldn't exactly force him to have her leave.

…Well, okay, maybe he could; he was pretty sure a light breeze would knock the poor man over right now with how badly he was shaking. In general, the man seemed panicked, as if he thought he was somehow running out of time. He stuttered whenever he tried to speak, and continued looking around wildly even when Ymir had assured him there were no cameras in here.

The man's panic was fairly unsurprising, at least—Ymir had been around the block more than a few times when it came to cybernetics, and he'd seen some shady things go down involving them. Naturally, this meant he had a few theories as to what the device that had been so crudely grafted into the man's head was meant for, and none of them were very pleasant.

Still…he really did need to get things moving along. He had things to do.

"Look, can you just tell me what you found?" He finally asked. "I don't know how much time we'll have until somebody comes in here with a stubbed toe or what-have-you."

This finally seemed to jog something in Trigger's head. He finally snapped to attention, but something was…not right.

He suddenly held himself…differently. Sitting straight up, when he usually slouched a bit, and staring forward with a totally blank expression.

And his eyes…what the fuck?

They'd turned a weird…reddish-orange color. Normally, he'd pass it off as a trick of the light—Trigger wasn't far off from full-on albinism, after all—but his eyes were also quite literally glowing.

Prez recoiled as if she'd been struck when she saw the change. "That's not Trigger," she whispered to him with absolute certainty. He'd heard about the crew chief's near-clairvoyance when it came to people, but he didn't think that ability was really needed to tell that whatever was going on was not normal.

"That is correct," Not-Trigger replied in the driest monotone he'd ever heard.

"Who are you?" Prez finally regained the composure to ask before Ymir got the chance. The person who was definitely not Trigger looked over at her.

Not-Trigger paused for a moment, as if in thought. "Beginning introductory sequence…My program's designation is Zone of Endless version 3.5.1. My individual designation is 'Nemo.' It is a pleasure to finally be able to speak with my father's friends."


Interlude: If A Tree Falls In A Forest, And Nobody Hears It...


Monarch trudged through the underbrush, pushing through a few branches as he finally broke through the treeline overlooking a wide river. A camera hung around his neck, and a little fanny-pack holding bug spray and a bottle of water sat on his waist. To anyone else, he might look like an ordinary hiker or sightseer, but he actually had a more important purpose here: salvage.

He knew Kaiser was planning to go headlong into the new war in Usea—the mercenary lord lived for that sort of thing—and he wanted to be prepared in case he ended up taking a few hits out there. Things had been relatively smooth sailing until now, but he knew sooner or later he'd find himself getting a little banged up. Sicario had been living in a small pond for so long that they'd gotten complacent.

He'd looked under the hood of his new abomination, and while it was heavily modified on the outside and had the biggest hackjob of a COFFIN rig he'd ever seen in his life (he could see wires visibly sticking out in places!), the innards were mostly stock Raptor.

Replacement parts didn't come cheap, especially not for something like that. However, he happened to know of a place where plenty of Raptor fragments could be found—the site where they'd found Trigger. He hadn't exactly marked the exact location of it, but he knew what the surroundings were, and that it had been right at the edge of this river, which narrowed his search quite a bit.

The man hadn't exactly been forthcoming about whatever happened to him, but Monarch figured he wouldn't be all that angry if Monarch "liberated" some parts from his crashed plane. It certainly wasn't going to be repaired, not when its parts were strewn for half a mile across, but he figured there might be some bits and bobbles left over that he could use. It'd certainly make Prez's life easier, at least—he still felt kind of bad about giving her the boot, even if she and the new guy had turned out to get along like a house on fire.

He took a cursory look around as he neared what was left of the wreckage. The last time he'd been here, the sand had been soaked in blood and covered in bits of debris, but most of it had been swept away by the rising and falling tides. Still, the larger fragments remained, and that was really what he was here for. Particularly haunting was a fragment of one of the wings—the one they'd found Trigger slumped over. He could still see bloody fingerprints there…

...He wondered if Trigger had any idea how close he'd come to death.

Monarch paused as he noticed something underneath the bloodstain—a bit of the livery, halfway scratched off and obscured by the caked-on blood but still very recognizable as part of Neucom's logo, along with another, less-pronounced one: a simple pair of letters, "IC." He snapped a photo of both—he didn't recognize the second logo, but he could probably look it up later.

He hadn't seen any mention of Trigger working for Neucom…actually, did Neucom even use the Raptor? He didn't think they did…not to mention the fact that this was a pre-COFFIN variant, as far as he could tell.

Something about all this didn't add up—

He shot up as he heard something snap in the distance. Was someone coming? He supposed he could claim he was just looking around, but he'd been around the block enough times to know when he'd poked his nose into something he probably shouldn't have. Quietly, he dashed back towards the treeline, concealing himself as best as he could in the undergrowth. He whipped out his camera and waited.

Eventually, his patience was rewarded with the sound of footsteps coming ever closer. Switching the camera to video mode and hitting the record button, he saw a pair of men walk into view. Their voices were just barely audible over the sounds of wildlife:

"…does the boss really think anyone could've survived that? I mean, I've seen the guy's files, but the thing fuckin' exploded in midair. I don't care how important this 'singularity' guy is, he's dead," The man on the left growled, kicking a piece of the wreckage into the water. As the man turned around, Monarch could spy the Neucom logo on the back.

What the hell were people from Neucom doing in Osea?

He was suddenly glad that he'd chosen to hide—he could handle himself in a fight, but he doubted these people's lips would be anywhere near as loose if he were to make his presence known. And why were they looking for Trigger? The guy wasn't a half-bad pilot, but what did they need him in particular for…?

"…ah, screw it. He said we didn't really need the guy alive anyways as long as the asset was intact, right? So let's just find what the boss is owed, sweep up the scene, and get outta here. This place is kinda creepy…feels like we're being watched…" The man on the right rubbed at his shoulders, shivering a bit. Eventually, the two moved away, the conversation petering out as they began to trawl across the area for Trigger's body.

Monarch, of course, knew there was no body to find. Trigger was about to be long gone once they left for Usea, and had presumably taken whatever "asset" they were looking for with him.

And yet…

…he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was going on, he'd barely scratched the surface—and that he needed to dig deeper. Trigger, according to Prez, seemed to have no recollection of what had happened to him. And if Prez couldn't sniff out a lie from someone, then Monarch was willing to believe they were probably telling the truth.

And if Trigger didn't know Neucom people were looking for him, then…

...Shit.

Thoughts flashed through his head—what if they found out Trigger was alive? What if they tracked him down?

He shuddered at the thought of potentially losing another wingman, even if he didn't know Trigger all that well just yet. Still, he knew he had to keep this to himself for now. He was sure Trigger had already been traumatized plenty by the incident; Monarch strongly doubted he could handle much more at once. Plus, the fewer people who knew, the lower the chance of a leak. And hey, Trigger didn't need to know he was being protected in order for Monarch to protect him.

Yes...for now, he decided as he slunk back into the woods, this mystery would be his burden to carry.