[Content Warning: This story contains both explicit and implied abuse, harm done to minors, captive situation/dehumanizing behavior and language, violence including medical violence, and implied threats and coercion. If any of these are too disturbing for you I would advise you not to read on.]
Testing Stages, Part 1
He was one of the last handful of the ranks, and as such his attendance to the mountain facility was sporadic and on an entirely need-to-know basis. Though he and those like him knew where to steer the dingy 4x4s off the last trace of muddy trails and up the ravine to the entrance, none of them were privy to even enter unless one of the remnant science officers were with them to enter the passcode.
Even with the passcode, there were many doors which he had never seen the other side of. Thick, metal doors. Cross-hatch type reinforcements bolted into them, and signs that the meters-thick rock walls of the repurposed cavern had been bored into the entire length of stony columns, hot molded steel around titanium bars securing them in place. Most of these doors, arranged in a row along a long, narrow hallway just past the main laboratory space, had a pair of thin opaque slats that could be pulled aside. One up at eye level, and a slightly larger one against the floor. The last door on this hall, in the very dead end, was the exception. It was bare metal but for a fingerprint panel on its center. Only the scientists could open this.
Garum had been a fresh recruit back in May of Age 750, so he had been one among his associates who had adjusted more readily to the secrecy imposed by this underground outpost. For long stretches, sometimes a month or more, he would disperse into the outskirts of Metro North to live a more ordinary life. As a Red Ribbon Army survivor, he was largely unsuited to most occupations; temp work at construction sites, as bodyguards to dubious-natured businessmen who often "disappeared" to either prisons or rivals before his full contract was up, and a week or two at salvage recovery operations—many of which he was certain were covers for chop-shops, full of stolen cars ready to be blowtorched and wrenched to pieces for parts sales—were the bulk of his time. But sometimes, a black pager he kept at his belt would make a sharp beep, display an encoded date and time, and he knew he would have to drop everything, pack the identity-concealing mask and long trench coat around the stun gun, the heavy silencer, and the .50 caliber pistol it attached to and strike out for the sticks.
He hadn't thought about what might happen if, one of these days, he ignored the call to arms. Not until this occasion. Usually, the cold, inscrutable glare of their boss was enough to banish any thoughts of desertion. Garum absorbed the moods of those Red Ribbon officers around him; from this, he knew full well even those who'd served the organization in its heyday did not dare question him—the old man.
It was coming down in a miserable, cold rain when he reached the metal-roofed shed at the end of the backwater road, and he saw already a pair of fellow rank-and-file rolling the crusty, old-model 4x4s out from the door. A third individual, a thin woman with most of her identifying features covered already in a deep red balaclava and black, wide-brimmed hat, stood by strapping a pack of god-knows-what equipment to the rear seat of her own vehicle (a slightly nicer one than those reserved for moving mere soldiers). He did not know her real name, and the only thing he knew of her was that she possessed hard, black eyes underneath the usual covering of rounded, machinist's goggles. She was to be addressed only as Doctor Carmine.
"Hurry it up," her terse voice was mature. Garum often guessed that she had to be a senior member of the technical side of the operation, though she did not sound like she was much older than 40, perhaps 45. The empty gaze of the green-tinted goggle lenses swept over the three of them, and she spoke louder, "Where is Captain Verdigris?"
Garum and the other two froze, looked at each other, and back to the Doctor. A big, husky man whom he knew was named Orvi, codename Umber, shook his head and answered:
"Haven't seen or heard any word," Umber's voice was rough and usually impassive, but this time it had a light shake to it. Doctor Carmine stood fixed for a second. Then, she made a flick of her hand as she turned to mount the 4x4, making a soft noise. Acknowledgement—or amusement? Either way, Garum hastily finished rolling his own vehicle to the back of the convoy. Engines half-choked and revved and the group rolled along over a broad swath of dry creekbed. The bed was slowly filling with slippery puddles, the rocks causing rough, treacherous wet bounces and making their going slow. They were passable as a gang of recreational off-roaders as they crawled and struggled up the two kilometers until arriving at a shallow morass below a matted, slick jam of storm-swept and artificially-felled spruce and pine trees. The steep face of the mountain's treeless zone loomed directly overhead, pocked with many small natural divots, some quite deep implying tunnels ground in from the action of rain, ice, and wind. One cavern was much larger; from below, the massive steel vault door could not be seen, only the broad ledge that stuck out from the rocky face. This ledge continued in a narrow switchback down the cliff, allowing access to the soldiers and scientists only on foot, and single-file. Carmine led them, with the other soldier, codename Azure, ordered to carry her pack of supplies. When the doors ground and hissed open with the machinery buried in the cliff walls churning, she pressed them all inside, watching with stoic intent out the gap until they finally shut and sealed with a clang and a suctioning pop.
Garum stood, stiff at attention. His accomplices as well. The main laboratory space was strewn with large machinery, computational towers, and racks of data storage components—centering around one cylindrical main tower piercing down from the ceiling's hidden power generator. The natural cave's domed roof had been cut out further on the corners, burrowed and lined with a chaotic tangle of piping and cords, I-beams and structural supports especially for a low box assembly dangling over a raised table. Not exactly a normal table. Something hard and metal, with cold enameled surfaces and an abnormal size—halfway between a workbench and an operating table. This was where the old man was standing when they'd entered.
The eyes of this old man scanned over each of them. A shocking, pale blue color rarely seen outside the scattered Northern-tribal populations now either depleted or muddied with Westernese, Central, and Eastern blood. Somehow the vibrance of the color did not counter the hard, frozen expression draining those eyes of a sense of vitality. Nevertheless, they glittered—alert—adding to Garum's longstanding impression of the Doctor having possession of a grim, alien level of intelligence, assisting the features of heavy, constantly-scowling brows, wild shock of stark white hair, high, nearly-bare dome of his forehead, and spindly yet never-quivering limbs.
"Carmine," his voice snapped. His broad sleeves rustled as he tucked his hands behind his back, still as a ramrod save for sharp, shallow huffs of breath. "Make your report."
"I have sourced a new supply of compounds you requested for your molecular chemistry needs. They are here," she indicated the supply pack. "However, it does appear that Captain Verdigris is missing in action."
"Hrm," the old man grunted. Garum wondered to himself what elaborate calculations were going on behind the icy gaze until it rolled up and flashed over him. He flinched; if anyone had told him the infamous Gero could read minds, kill with a glare, or elsewise he would have believed it.
"Apologies for such news, sir." Carmine gave a curt bow, "I know now more than ever you require people present to keep this operation secure."
"Serendipitous," To the soldiers' shock, the old doctor appeared to give a fleeting smile, barely visible beneath the ragged snowy mustache. "Whatever the reason, his desertion provides a much-needed opportunity for testing…"
"You," and he raised a hand right at Garum, crooking the fingers in a stiff beckon. The soldier swallowed against a suddenly-dry throat. He waited for instruction, "Sienna shall accompany you, Carmine. Descend to the lower level, and prepare the prototype android you find waiting in the test chamber there." Dr. Gero turned away on heel and strode to one of the boxy, whirring mainframes with a small, wavering screen, "Androids 13, 14, and 15 are active below. They will assist in the case of any… malfunctions."
Umber and Azure remained with the others until they split off in the long back hallway—the two rank-and-file going to the left towards several rooms including a small communications center. Garum forced his face into an immobile slate of seriousness as he made to follow Doctor Carmine to the right. This was where the corridor stretched further, one side lined with those heavy, sealed doors, with their closed slats. He began to increase his pace to a powerwalk, not to catch up but to avoid having to hear it. Somewhere beyond one of the strange doors was a faint sound; he never didn't hear it, or some variation on it, whenever things were otherwise quiet and he came close enough to this dim, eerie hallway. It only barely matched the low, electrical hums and buzzes of the machinery whenever Garum had to turn right to areas he was freely permitted in, easily dismissible as soughing winds across the orifices of the ventilation tunnels. Now, as he ventured through the left way—it became clearer. Impossible to ignore. This time, a low whine rose up with a haunting echo, over top of a subtler, raspy, hissing and blowing. Each of the doors carried an increase in a different voice of this—some higher pitch, some faster or slower, some sounding like labored gasps, others like muffled cries, punctuating the silence. He began to sweat; Garum'd figured at least some of these smaller chambers were to hold prisoners, but he had not expected so many of them to sound so… young? As he came close to passing the last of the doors he halfway sighed with relief—
THWANG!—something, or someone, smashed heavily against the metal just as he passed by. Even so reinforced, the riveted frame of its steel shuddered from the force. It continued even as Garum jolted forward in panic and collided with Doctor Carmine. A howling series of screams rose up that chilled his blood, even suppressed by the walls and door. At first, he was sure the roars of rage and pain could not be human—but as their force petered out and the subordinate Science officer disentangled him from her with a forceful shove, he recognized the human tone of the voice, and realized it sounded somewhat like… a woman, maybe even a girl. Again, alarmingly young. Garum shivered.
"Calm down, idiot," Carmine hissed, her hand hovering near the fingerprint scanner. "It's only one of the prototypes. It's not strong enough to get out—" Something about the way the doctor quickly cut off led the soldier to believe the sentence should have included a final word—like the word "yet". He swallowed hard at the thought before following Carmine through the vast, blank, forbidden door.
Beyond was a hatch in the floor, nothing else. Puzzled, Garum watched slightly slack-jawed as his superior turned the handle on top, and it opened up with a low squeak of oiled metal to reveal a thick, industrial grade ladder plunging into a cylinder of darkness drilled into the stone. Wordless, the two descended. It was deep—much deeper than Garum would have predicted. Over eight meters down and he began to notice his view brightening again, until he stepped down into a brighter, larger chamber.
Clearly this was the superior, main laboratory. The main tower above had continued down, laced with power conduits and cooling tubes, and expanded into a massive supercomputer. The artificial brain glittered with indicator lights, a warm hum emitting from the glass dome, hinting it was constantly at work managing some process or other. Likely dozens of calculations per second—most of which were focused on the tall glass cylinder filled with a cloudy liquid hooked up to the main levels of the computer at no fewer than ten locations with heavy, metal-coated wires and tubes. There was a wall completely taken over by data repositories and filing for physical rolls of complex blueprints; another was dominated by what looked like a robotics diagnostics slab, and another by a huge series of power conduits and sub-generators, with a readout reporting something called "stasis management".
The final wall had two more doors open in it. They seemed to both lead to the same place, a hall which circled around one more large chamber. Garum could see gigantic, darkened windows set into this hallway facing the center—feet thick, reinforced by equally massive titanium girders. Doctor Carmine held out an arm, stopping his progress at the threshold of the leftmost doorway.
"I was told you were active," she spoke up, her voice bouncing along the jagged corners of this subterranean space. Garum hated how he could, just barely, make out a twitch of uncertainty to it. "Where are you? Come out—it's Carmine."
There was a low scuff—a noise of boots sliding on the rough stone floors, and something like a groggy murmur. At the opposite end of the hallway a short, cackling laugh sounded—its doubled and quadrupled echoes making their way to them around the same time as a steady tump, tump of boots approaching. The steps were somewhat light, but casual, obviously meant to be heard.
Garum could not have prepared himself for either sight or sound of what came around the corner into view:
"Well, good t' see ya, little miss!"
He had a husky voice that drawled somewhat, a distinctive dialectic character the soldier had often encountered in many places considered boondocks and backwoods. Added to the rural twang, he was quite tall, and burly to an extent Garum had only seen so far on the peak martial artists among the officers' old guard though not quite up to the level of the class of hulking bruisers—something he could tell immediately owing to the simple ochre vest he wore flapping open, exposing his barrel-like bare chest. The soldier sucked up some composure; he supposed this didn't matter so much, as this mighty-looking figure presumably was an android and thus not a real person, and Garum craned his neck up to meet this entity's gaze. The eyes made him shudder, reminding him of the old man's in color but much less in shape. They were less sharply slanted, deeper set but more naturally cheerful, but not by much. Long silvery hair hung down to his muscled shoulders, spilling out from a ball cap marked with their organization's insignia. The face's features were elongated and chiseled, with sharp cheekbones and chin made more standout by… middle-age? Yes, bafflingly—this android seemed built to look like a tough customer, a real war-like Northern native, but also one crossing the sixty or maybe even seventy year mark while still going strong. Why? This was, by far, the most bizarre aspect of the thing. Aside from mannerisms, most especially speech.
"Good afternoon, Android 13. Where are the other two?"
"Those two're with th' youngblood," the android smirked, directing a two-fingered point through one of the extra-strong windows. "Can't leave that one unwatched, y'know. He's feisty as ever was!"
"Lead on, 13." Carmine unblocked the soldier's path at last, allowing him to take the first tentative steps towards the artificial man, who turned and gestured towards the corner he had rounded before.
"What's th' doc got in mind for th' youngbloods this time, huh?" The android mused aloud, keeping his stare fixed on the scientist.
"Verdigris had deserted his post," she sniffed, keeping the direction of her goggles straight forward as she made her way at a fast clip to keep up with his stride. "So Dr. Gero is ordering us commence a more life-like application of this one."
"Oho." 13's voice ticked up with intrigue, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. As the trio reached a new reinforced blast door for Garum, he made the soldier jump in place by cracking a full hand's knuckles in a cascade of disjointed snaps and crunches. "Takin' 'im out to play—that oughter be a handful."
"Exactly why you, in particular, must also be active in this exercise."
Garum blinked; Carmine's tone had taken on a hint of flattering tone, though still as severe as ever—and it had an effect he would not have predicted on the mechanical being, who puffed up and took on a smug smile, a hand swiping up and straightening his ballcap further with an attitude like a preening bird. The exchange only served to make the soldier's shakes worse. He had only ever seen such positive attention come from the subordinate doctor when she was actively trying to keep on someone's good side.
The android unlatched several mechanical seals from the door, then pushed it open while staying a pace back. Garum's eyes strained into the inner darkness: He could make out the faint lighting in the hall gleaming on the far girders, and from it noticed the flooring. In a grid pattern were laid thick squares of a dun-colored rubbery yet hard substance, likely as blast-resistant as the metallic parts of the chamber and each a meter squared. When he was nudged forward by the doctor, he glanced down and caught the uneasy sight of a dark substance staining one or two of the gaps between these—whatever substance that had caused this having long since been cleaned.
The center of the chamber was occupied by three amorphous figures, which the nearer they approached the clearer their features became. Their appearance no longer being a mystery was not at all comforting; Garum withheld a horrified gasp upon the first glimpse of the two standing. The larger, taller even than 13, resembled a man of mixed-Karinga descent, muscular to a tank-like extent and garbed only in a traditional green sash robe—the sort that left half of the chest and an entire shoulder exposed. His eyes were fixed in a dull grimace—an unnatural pale gold hue, tints of which seemed to leak into the sclera—and his hair hung in a single long, black braid. But these were not so alarming—Garum's gaze landed and stuck on the bare skin, first the face and then the arms. Given the rest of him, the soldier would have expected a warm, medium brown, but this one's skin was so cold, ghastly pale blue only deepened where muted trails of grey veins neared the surface. The exact hue of an alpine hypothermia victim, left to bleach light in the thin sun and high icy winds. Much like a frozen man, it remained completely unmoving at their approach, attention locked tight to the slumped entity his huge form mostly blocked from view.
The other android made a movement in the corner of his eye and Garum gladly flinched away from the pale man. He immediately regretted his study of this very short, slight form; he fought a weak impulse to retch. The small one was by far the worse. While his cohort was only freezing-victim-blue, he was such a mottled, vibrant purplish that Garum's mind at first jumped to images of a bloated, bludgeoned corpse—that in mind, the small android appeared made of badly-bruised tissue, its thin spots laced with faint pinkish petechiae that implied a violent strangulation. He was so alarmed by this one trait that for a long moment he didn't register its apparel—similarly bizarre. Eyes were covered with dark shades, head adorned with a significantly oversized green tubeteika hat topped with a frazzled red tassel, much of him covered with a similarly over-large mustard-yellow overcoat, with only a hint of the better-fitting button-up shirt shown where the collar was secured tightly about the neck by a red bowtie, helpfully printed with two "R"s in white to brand the entity as theirs.
This small android unslouched and turned to them, cheek twitching but any emotive properties of the eyes hidden as it appraised the group. The head jerked in the soldier's direction:
"What," a low, soft voice—high-pitched as one would expect from someone so tiny—creaked out, "'Sthere a problem?"
"N…N.." Garum was not prepared to be addressed. He was flooded with hot, nervous gratitude as Doctor Carmine bulldozed over the situation, negating all need to respond:
"No, there isn't. Ignore him," she said with a sharp tang, "We have work to do."
"Sure, great, fine—" the little android tucked one of his hideous corpse hands into a deep pocket and riffled about. After a faint clink, he drew out an oval, brown flask; its metal screw-stopper rattled as he held it up and jiggled it with a touch of frown on his lips, "Gonna need a top up first, boss. 'M out."
"You hush," Android 13 now took charge, stepping forward to become a formidable wall between the other android and the doctor. With a deft nod, he carried on in a more easygoing tone, friendly, persuasive: "Slow yer roll. I'm sure the good doctor and th' rest won't mind you takin' a lil detour from our objective t' get yerself a refill. Me 'n' 15'll pick up the slack."
"If you two think you can keep an eye on this prototype," Carmine's stern voice snipped the country android's assurances short. Garum's eyes had wandered, not wanting to take in much more of the two grotesque robots, nor the android with the almost distressing level of personality and ease. His eyes met, instead, the gloved hand of his superior officer hovering reflexively over a belt pouch. This was usually where she kept a stun gun, similar to his own. His gaze flicked over to the gaps between Android 15's pillar-like legs—where he could pick out the meager flashes of the final, slumped-down shape. Carmine continued; the soldier felt a trickle of beaded sweat migrate down behind his ear, unseen below his hat and lower face mask, unable to imagine much worse than the creatures he had already been exposed to.
"Keep in mind this is one of the pair that gives us the most trouble. If 14 breaks away for any reason, you two must be ready to subdue it quickly in the case of erratic behavior. Clear?"
"As crystal, ma'am," 13 purred, a hand propping on his hip. The massive 15 only nodded, never even glancing away from the low form in his shadow.
"Excellent," Carmine gestured with both hands, as if parting tall grass, "Now step aside. Let's have a good look at him before trying anything…"
15 took one giant step to the right, the tiny 14 grunting and shuffling over left. Dim light poured from the doorway over the android prototype, just a few areas still dark from the shadows Carmine and Garum themselves cast. He twisted his face into a mask of confusion; this in no way could be the prototype for an android model, could it? It—or he?—was sat on the centermost square, knees half-raised, arms weakly looped around them, no taller than Garum himself. Certainly leaner—the soldier stared down with numb surprise at a teenager. It had tenebrous hair, hanging just above the shoulders, though naturally sleek and straight there were several locks of it in a rough, frazzled shape; similarly were the simple clothes hanging on its still body: Jeans faded gray-blue, worn at the hems despite them being a style with Velcro on the ends, which tucked up snug around the ankle to block ticks, chiggers and such parasites, a similarly ragged-edged long-sleeved t-shirt which was supposed to be white, though here and there darkened as if with persistent perspiration and with one sleeve's forearm spattered with faint, rusty flecks. An orange bandanna was tied loosely around his neck and draped down over its chest, in far better shape than the rest. More so than even the old man, this creature's eyes were of the shape seen most among the North's oldest peoples—a lighter blue not glacial like Gero's or his 13th android, but a perfect ultramarine that seemed determined to replicate that of a pure-blooded Northern tribal. It did not look at him at all, nor any of the others, occupied entirely with the space between his own knees; if Garum had to gauge an expression on its youthful face, he would have guessed one of boredom, but even that didn't quite fit. And still, the android prototype was immobile, subtle expansion and deflation of its bent-over back implying it was awake, alert, alive maybe, breathing.
"Prototype," Doctor Carmine's voice rang, her volume high as if scolding an inattentive child. She had come somewhat closer to the seated creation, though Garum noted she maintained a roughly three-meter distance from it, "Look at me. Come on, eyes up." The teenager's posture remained despondent, but he did blink, and after a few seconds the laser-level of his pupils flared upwards. With his head still slanted downwards, the raised stare hovered at a menacing angle under his slight brows. The woman was silent, meeting the keen blue gaze; Garum sensed she was frowning.
"Good, you're finally paying attention." She kept her tone flat, civil, but the soldier noticed her fingers twitching against the snap holding her stun gun again. The air between them all felt thick and charged. "Listen here. We are going to be running you through a test now—outside the lab. Because of that latter detail, any disobedience will carry much stronger consequences than usual."
The teenager android's eyes began to widen, head raising a few degrees higher. Something about it struck Garum as calculating—the android's eyes flicked in minute movements, often resting on no place long enough for the soldier to even be sure what it was focusing on. He slid a foot back, leaning and bracing in the event he had to clear away. The eyes flickered over to him, and to his threatened stance, before zeroing in on the reflective glass over Carmine's eyes.
"…You're letting me outside?"
The hairs on the back of Garum's neck prickled, instantly unnerved by the voice the prototype used: As young as he looked, a knife's edge too far from being monotone and low but not truthfully calm. It was also far too knowing—too insinuating, much too sharp-witted to be as young as its looks suggested.
"Don'tchu even think it," 13 sneered, evolving to a deep chuckle as the prototype's head snapped around towards him, brow twitching into soft furrows that transformed the hard stare into twin poisonous needles of defiance. "You're tough, boy, but you ain't half as tough as me. You run off an' I'll be th' one to catch you."
"…If you try," the prototype's lips curled back, baring a few teeth in a slight grin and voice taking on a soft rasp of pure, barely-restrained hate, "Then you'll have to do your worst. Go on," the teenager android's whole form suddenly tensed as his legs started to shift to be underneath him, like he could surge up to his feet at any moment, "Beat me down. Kick my face in. I don't care if you damage me anymore."
The old android's chuckle graduated to a short guffawing laugh, shaking his head.
"Uwahaha—ain't short of sass, are ya, boy?"
"Enough, there's no need for this chatter," Carmine said, annoyance giving her a piercing authority. She extended a pointing gesture with an open palm to the prototype, "Stand up. You must be fitted with a tracking chip before you receive your testing instructions…"
Things happened in a cacophonous blur for poor Garum:
To his surprise, the black-haired android quietly got to his feet in a steady but singular fluid motion, hands dropping to his sides and giving a short, defeated nod. It didn't last long.
The exact millisecond that Carmine's goggles dropped towards her waist to guide her hand in retrieving something from a belt pouch, the teenager lunged forward. Garum saw two pinpricks of white-hot light in the eyes, as if the pupils themselves were internally lit with rage, streaking with the incomprehensible speed. The doctor staggered back—not far enough or a fraction fast enough.
And then, the charge was abruptly halted. Android 14 had clamped a clammy hand around his dominant ankle before ripping the prototype's legs out from underneath it. An angry yowl erupted from it—vibrating off the walls with enough power to nearly damage human hearing—and as it flipped itself onto its back to get at the small android, 15 came down overtop of him like a striking bird of prey, grasping the lanky wrists and bodily pinning the prototype's torso. Garum panted and scurried back, deciding his chances were best if he half-hid from potential attack by staying a bit behind Android 13. Strange as he was, he seemed most personable—and least likely to turn and snap a common soldier's neck.
13's snickers picked up again, watching the flurry of activity. The doctor's head whipped his way, shoulders bunched and irritated, and turning back to the dogpiled prototype she finished extracting a large hypodermic needle with far more substantial braces and plunger components from her pouch.
"Hold it still," she barked. The words renewed a fresh wave of struggle from the pinned android; 15's massive arms quivered like trees in an earthquake with the strength required to keep this prototype's arms checked into position. 14 was temporarily bucked a few feet into the air as the legs kneed upwards; the little android snarled a vulgar word and braced himself more heavily over the thrashing limbs.
"Don't touch me—Don't you touch—mrr!" The teenager android's gnashing jaws and tossing head spewed out guttural growls until 13 crouched down and planted an open palm firmly over his mouth, and the other tightly grabbing a thick mat of coal-black hair. Still the form's muscles—would a mechanical being have muscles? Or "muscles"?—strained and shook with resistance. Satisfied, Doctor Carmine broke the buffer zone she had upheld and knelt low by its shoulder. Her two gloved fingers tugged the collar of the distressed shirt down, exposing a wiry-toned deltoid, and thrust the large needletip against the shuddering skin. She had to reposition herself and press hard, resorting to both hands, in order to puncture the deceptively-tough integument. And as quick as that, she pumped in whatever had been loaded in this syringe and withdrew with all alacrity. Once done Garum expected this prototype to grow more violent. Yet, as the trio of androids overpowering him released the various limbs and parts, he went more or less limp—panting as he lay still sprawled on the floor. A thread-like stream of thick, red fluid plumed downward from the injection site, a few drops plinking against the floor. Some soaked into the shirt's sleeve, adding to its withered state. The creature's eyes were widened—burning with some tier of indignation the soldier hadn't seen in a face in all his short life—shooting all around the room, hooking onto the faces in rapid succession before shifting off into blackened space.
"C'mon now—git up." 13 nudged the prototype with the tip of a boot, "You ain't badly hurt, c'mon." The older android flashed a toothier grin as the prototype's glare twitched to face him, "C'mon now. Behave yourself. Git up."
Slow and unnatural, the prototype reached over and cupped a hand on its own shoulder, then largely still limp levered up into a hunched sitting position. Carmine began issuing orders even before it was finished rising to its feet:
"Garum, follow close behind me," she stepped sharply to the chamber door, so sharp the soldier felt trapped, "14, 15—lead him. And 13—follow him. Insure he does not make any more missteps. We are moving to the Restructuring Chamber."
Rough, rock walls. Flat, riveted beams of steel that arced like the curve of ribs to the ceiling. From three points above were gaps where a tangle of worming coils expelled; those and a sleek, jointed arm held the screens in place. They pointed inwards—aimed at a ghoulish chair.
Such a level of "restraint chair" was unlike any Garum had ever seen, or even believed would exist, including from television and film. What might in an asylum be leather straps were in this specimen braided titanium bands—a ratcheting device with bolts the size of small plums to tighten each one. These bands did not appear to have a limit to how tight they went.
The prototype seemed all-too-familiar with the Restructuring Chamber. On entry, the dark-haired teenager's thin back visibly tightened under the nearly threadbare shirt, and he became as compliant as the trio of finished androids. Taking a seat in the alarming contraption, the prototype slid his limbs into their positions, allowing both 15 on the left and Garum himself on the right to tighten the restraints: Wrists, forearms, elbows, shoulders, thighs, knees, shins, and ankles. Activated by a switch Doctor Carmine threw, a thick bar of treated steel coiled out from its housing and secured itself firmly around his chest. The teenaged android's eyes remained centered on the flooring the whole time.
"Prototype."
Carmine's command reverberated amongst the metallic elements of the chamber. As the echoes faded, the android's head raised; he stared ahead at the blank screen as it descended directly in front of him. The soldier was in a unique position, able to see the contents of the screen, the science officer behind it with the two other android bodyguards flanking her, and the prototype as well. And then the door opened; in near-total silence, the old man himself entered. With his face a glacial mask, he tucked his withered arms behind his back and bid his subordinate proceed with a nod.
"Study the images in front of you," she directed, entering several switch commands into the console by the door. The screens came alive. Squarely central was the front-view face that Garum could not mistake for anyone else: Captain Verdigris. He'd been one of the older members of the organization, and his features showed it. Left and right-side profiles were displayed on either side of this dispassionate mugshot. When the soldier shot a troubled glance over to the prototype's reaction he was struck. These androids of the old man's making were remarkably life-like, but here was a vestige of robotic nature showing through. The prototype did as ordered; the detached stare seemed to tic around the face presented to him, landing on no place longer than a few milliseconds—taking in the receded hairline, the downturned, black eyes, the thin nose long marred by two separate breaks, the stolid mouth and creases down to the broad chin. A few seconds passed, silent save the maddening hum of the screen's power source. Then, Carmine made further orders:
"This is the defector Captain Verdigris. You will commit this face to memory, as well as the following pertinent details."
The prototype did not muster much of a response, but did take a long blink, almost a spasm of slowed-down movement compared to the rapid flicks beforehand. Garum peeked back towards the screen to be visually blitzed by the stream of information pouring down it—a current so swift the soldier could barely even catch distinctive and capitalized words passing by. As it began, it ended—a jarring immediacy that neither noticed nor cared if you fell to your knees from the sudden removal.
Now the prototype had closed its eyes, a thin furrow tinging the strange youth with concentration. Deep motors groaned as the screens raised up and out of the way. Garum noted again the old man—taking a step backwards and giving 13 a fierce look, which must have been a signal, because the old country android took that step forward. He stood in the perfect position to intercept the teenager-like android—but only if it beelined for Gero, and Gero alone.
The soldier wasn't sure if the likely prospect of such narrow targeting comforted or frightened him more.
"You will be tasked today with seeking out and destroying the defector." Carmine continued, "Accompanying you will be 13, 14, and 15, as well as myself, and ensigns Azure and Sienna. We will be monitoring your movements as well as evaluating your ability to track Verdigris to his current location and eliminate him."
When the prototype opened his eyes, the pupils took on an especially inhuman appearance by tightening to needlepoints, gleaming as if internally fiery. They'd locked onto the so-far wordless newcomer to the proceedings, and for a long moment of fraught stillness it was as if the android could see or sense nothing else. But eventually, the prototype blinked and its mouth curved into a ready frown.
"You want me to kill him?" Its voice was low, but tremulous with a definite restrained seethe. Dr. Gero's eyes gave the slightest squint. Carmine's brow arched up.
"Yes. We don't care how. It should not be especially difficult for you at this stage of completion."
The android's glare and voice hardened; pressing forward and straining the bars that bound his shoulders and his chest.
"No."
Garum remained a stoic onlooker—unable to miss the reaction such a refusal caused. 15's face shifted from dull and immobile to incredulous; 14's mouth corners gave their pronounced twitch, and 13, oddly, was keeping what looked like raucous laughter contained behind a deep smirk and shaking shoulders; Dr. Carmine gave a jolt, though any features of shock were thoroughly masked; it was the change that came over the old man that changed the energy of the exchange—perpetual frosty stare transforming in a moment to a terrible sneer. More unnerving that it vanished in another moment, the Doctor returning to his normal cool veneer.
"C'mon now, son," 13 spoke up—though perhaps out of turn, considering how both scientists' glares snapped to him, "Since you hate us Red Ribbon folks so much, what d'you care that today y' get to kill one?"
"I don't care," the prototype broke the death-glare he'd held on the old man only long enough to respond to the other android, "but I'm not killing anyone on his orders."
"Hunh!" 13 scoffed. Before he could offer a retort, Doctor Carmine had something whispered to her by the old man, and she broke in, with an especially callous tone:
"If you refuse, then you will remain here in restraints for twenty-four hours. You'll be given blank Serum, and these screens will remind you of your place for the duration."
"Blank Serum?" This only seemed to strike some sense of the absurd in the defiant android, and he gave a weak chuckle before hardening his composure, "I've had the real thing twice. Nothing you could do to me goes beyond what you've already done. So do your worst."
Dr. Gero's eyes narrowed, a grim glint just visible behind the white bristles of his brow. He leaned towards the older android, who—though somewhat bemused—leaned down to allow to old man to whisper something to him. He nodded to acknowledge the instructions none of the others were privy to, then strode to come up alongside the teenager, taking 15's spot for a moment. The prototype's gaze flicked to 13 and the titanium bands around his arms tightened and grew taut as he flexed against them, the force employed making even this resilient material make a faint pic-pic-pic-ing sound. The elder stooped, and delivered the secret directly to the youth. Garum watched as the message finished and the teenager android's whole visage quivered. The restraint apparatus ceased ticking with strain; the prototype's form slumped, expression still creased in anger and hate, but subdued.
"Fine," it growled. "Fine. I'll do it. Just let me out of this."
The old man vacated the premises, disappearing to a part of the laboratory labyrinth that he did not disclose to any of them. Why he did so was obvious as the subordinate scientist and three loyal androids waited until he was no longer in sight or earshot before giving Garum the go-ahead.
His fingers trembled, yet he worked quickly to loosen the prototype's bonds. It did not look at him. Despite this, Garum's mind could not help infecting itself with the paranoia that it could sense his anxiety—smell his fear so to speak. Or detect electricity in his veins and nerves, or some pulse in the air he generated unknowingly, maybe the 0.001% humidity increase caused by his profuse sweating. When the last band of metal came free, the soldier took a step back with such haste he almost tripped backwards. When he caught himself against the righthand-side screen was when he realized he was the only being left in the room, barring the dark-haired youth.
It extricated itself from the chair; for a second, it finally lifted its head and made eye contact with him. Garum stood rooted in place until it glanced away and began to leave, rejoining the three escorting androids left waiting. Once the prototype was whisked forward, the soldier was nudged by a human cohort. Azure.
"Hang back," the heavyset man indicated the goggled stare of Doctor Carmine rounding back on them. Garum eyeballed a few devices she had tucked in one arm, and while he didn't know exactly what each was, he assumed, rightly, that at least one was the detector unit for tracking the prototype. Doctor Carmine handed one of these to Azure, then to Garum, retaining the third, unknown mechanism for herself.
"Sienna, Azure—your role in this test is to maintain location data for the prototype android. Report it to myself, or to Android number 13, whenever data is requested." She tapped the small radio transmitter clipped to her outer coat's front pocket. "The secure channel is 88.3 kHz. Try to stay within ten kilometers of this android."
He took the boxy machine, which fit in his hand almost like a Gameboy. Already active, the screen read out a slightly-shifting series of numbers—G.P.S. coordinates trained onto the chip embedded in the teenaged android's shoulder. Azure gave a nod on both their behalf's, and Carmine withdrew towards the group of mechanical humanoids.
The pair scuttled down the narrow ledge way outside; the 4x4s would be handy for the next stretch, but only as far as getting to the more durable transportation. Nothing so simple that rattled along on wheels or treads would be sufficient to keep up with the speed and maneuverability of Red Ribbon androids. Around the base of the cliff's north-turning side, Garum plugged in a six-digit code on a dusty keypad, and a sheaf of heavy metal plating camouflaged to look like stone rose up into the dark spaces above. Inside the "garage" of sorts were a full rack of salvaged devices from the brutal paramilitary group's glory days: Roughly the size of a single-person gyrocopter, the egg-shaped vehicles were partly robot due to their tripod of bird-like walker legs, and two stubby arm-like protrusions bearing a small minigun each. A bulletproof glass dome protected the pilot, and a pair of semi-spherical wings on the things' lower back sides would flip outward when activated—jets housed in the curved metal providing a hovering flight not unlike a helicopter crossed with a jetpack.
But these were far less delicate than either helicopter or jetpack. Both Azure and Garum had piloted these literal war machines before, and they wasted no time strapping themselves in and firing them up. The storage bunker shut behind them as they took off in the machines at a wide loop, coming to a droning hover close to the rocky hillside opposite the hidden laboratory.
"H-hey," Azure's voice crackled over the local channel linking the robotic vehicles. "We really got to stay close to that crazy one? For real?"
"Orders're orders," Garum grimaced to himself. He kept his eyes peeled on the lab entrance, anticipating the exodus of four flying streaks—the only likely sign they would get of what direction to follow the android squad towards. "Crazy?"
"You know what I mean," Azure's black eyes shifted to and fro, "The Doc's got a bunch of prototypes for model 17 and model 18. Five correspondin' pairs—and out of all of 'em, this 17 prototype's th' worst to deal with. The 18 one too."
"Worst how, though?" Garum had some idea already, but trained an ear to what his cohort had to say. Azure had been assigned to dealings with these androids-in-development many more times than he.
"That one's ready to snap," Azure grunted. "His programming's not finished. Hell, I don't think a lot of it's taking, if you get me." Garum looked over and found the heavier man shooting him a warning glance, "Watch your back around him. That one is liable to get enemies as he is us. They're killin' machines, and that's no exaggeration."