AN: Aaand here we have actual, real Ghosts now. I should probably make a pun about that somewhere down the line.

Title: Neural Networks

Words: 1150 (or so)

Written by: Gloss

Summary: Kept in the dark his whole life, an angsty character is thrown into the past and introduced to a group of bloodthirsty, genre-savvy (but in terms of the humor side of this), terrorists who don't know what to do with him. Sorry, they prefer the term 'rebels'. Dystopian AU. Time Travel.

Chapter 2: First Impressions Are Awful

*Appears in a puff of smoke and clap of thunder*

Because why not. I feel like I don't make enough dramatic entrances.

-Marz

"What are you doing here‽" the person seemed to boom, though the voice was soft. I thanked them, silently. My throbbing head probably couldn't take much more loud noises. "You're not even supposed to know what here is."

"Um," I said, "I actually don't know where here is, do you think you can, like… Tell me? And possibly give directions home?" I smiled anxiously.

The brunet(te?) gave me a dry look. "You're joking, yeah? You expect me to believe that you somehow got lost and found the number one top-secret facility in the entire continent? Was your headgear tapping into your parietal cortex when you got it installed?"

"I have no idea what you just said," I admitted reluctantly. I probably should have known.

"Minaret!" they shouted. Ow. "I need some handcuffs, a blindfold, and an open interrogation room!"

"I gotcha!" came a voice from the left, yards away.

"Wait, what—?" I stuttered.

"This is a kidnapping!" the voice who was apparently Minaret squealed. Ow again. "We're going to interrogate you, use you for ransom, experiment on your honestly really well made headgear, I can't even see it, and then probably feed you to an attack dog."

"That's bad!" My mind evidently wasn't working too quickly. It may have been a side effect of being thrown into an experimental, highly dangerous machine, electrocuted, and thrown back in time. I think that would seriously kill some brain cells.

"Yeah, don't care," the first one said, before grabbing me, locking up my hands, and covering my eyes. Well, at least light sensitivity wouldn't affect my headache now, right?

I was dragged all over, left, right, up, down, backwards, and spun a few times. I had to stop and dry heave twice, to the disgust (I assumed from the noises) of my two kidnappers.

Finally, I could see when the blindfold was taken off.

A faery-like person was there with their face close up to me. I yelped. The pixie was different from my two kidnappers.

"So," they said casually, filing their 16-inch dagger, "I guess you're either a very high-tech agent, or you're very rich. I wonder which one it is."

"Um,"

"Do you think I could find out by skinning you alive?"

"Um," I said more loudly.

"That didn't sound like an answer," they grumbled, and whipped out a scalpel from the black jacket adorned on the person's back..

"Why do you have that in your jacket?" I asked dumbly.

"Why don't you have one of these in your jacket?"

"I'm not wearing a jacket!"

"This isn't even a conductive interrogation," they spat.

"Yeah," A leprechaun-like man walked in. "It isn't. Leaf, you should stop trying to do jobs that aren't yours."

"I'll do what I want," said Leaf. "But Plug, I want that cyber's tech."

'Plug' looked exasperated. Goodness, what was with these people's names? These aren't real names! Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they all reminded me of mythological creatures...

"Your name is Ascian; you have literally no room to talk,"

"How- how do you know that?"

"You have your name on your collar, and you were thinking out loud. Now," Plug smiled, "Let's get to talking, shall we?"

Plug was a very scary individual, and I would rather not recount that experience, ever. I think what I went through for that short half hour (so they tell me) fucked up my brain more than whatever my own parents did to me.

Instead, I'll say what happened directly after.

We came to an understanding that, I was not a government agent, nor a rich kid looking for some fun, and I wouldn't hurt anyone. (Although, they could hurt me and that is one of the most terrifying things, ever. I don't like being helpless.)

I was dragged off to a hut (Really? A hut? Isn't that a bit… twelve centuries ago? Maybe that was when I was...), where the windows were locked, and three guards stood in the openings.

"You know," One said, "That the tech is actually killing your brain, Cyber?"

"Hundred, we talked about this, don't talk to the prisoners—!"

"Noo, shut up. Anyway, the tech takes its power from the dead cells in your brain and skull and scalp, rather than the electricity you hook it up to. Good, right? Getting rid of dead cells? Ha, wrong. The tech starts killing brain cells you don't need, like —hmphmop!" The second guard put a hand over Hundred's mouth.

"I wasn't done yet!"

"Stop telling secrets about our terrorist cell to prisoners!"

"Terrorist cell?" I shouted.

"I told you, Soapy, you need to stop talking to the prisoners!"

"Hundred, what the heck?" She screamed. "And this isn't a terrorist cell, we're rebels, damn it!"

There were knives. And guns. And lasers. Needless to say, I had to get moved to another hut, with other, different (and no less violent) guards.

The terrifying leprechaun (Plug) was there, yet again, except now as a guard. I still had very little idea of what was going on, and was still wondering where the faulty time machine I was shoved in to get here went. It should have arrived after me, one meter away, in pieces so I could rebuild it. That was what the tests and simulations had done...

I tried to start conversation to find out, I swear, but one look from Mr. Plug and I went silent. That guy made me panic whenever I looked at him. These hours were fractionally better than the ones in the interrogation room, but not much. At least there were no 'friendly' questions asked.

My heart lifted, however, when the guard rotation changed. Big mistake, considering the second the new guards got to the hut; they knocked me out and went out for ice cream. Well at least I know it exists here.

I honestly did not know terrorist cells had ice cream parlors, and I don't even want to know who would own such a place, and let the terrorists in, unless the owner was part of the group. I mean, if a prisoner finds out five hours in from a guard, I have a feeling the ice cream owner would find out. Terrorists doing normal, fun people things like going out for sweet, cold dessert? It's difficult for me to understand. I'd always figured terrorists were just evil people who killed government officials because they thought that the President was at fault for the terrible things that happened (only partially!). Oh, wait, I forgot.

These weren't terrorists, they were rebels. Like that's any better...