Trigger stood on the very edge of a skyscraper. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there, or how long he'd been standing for, but…
…staring down at the ground below, he felt a bit dizzy realizing how easy it would be to just
f
a
l
l
.
He scrambled back a few paces, holding onto a slightly-slick guardrail for dear life.
He'd never been afraid of heights—his job would have made that difficult—but something about this place spooked him.
Was it the sound of rain that scared you?
Vaguely, he felt the presence of someone watching him.
"…Who's there?"
nobody.
"Everyone's somebody," he retorted. Turning around to face the voice, he saw…not a person, but the vague impression of a person.
i wasn't anybody. not until you told me i could be somebody.
"…Who are you now, then?"
you gave me a name. shouldn't you know?
He couldn't make out a face or eyes on the person-who-wasn't, but he could see water drip to the ground beneath where a face should be.
someone important to me is…hurting. and i can't make it stop.
how do I help them? how do i stop making them hurt?
"…I don't know. I'm…the last person you should be asking that, really." Trigger finally answered, and quickly regretted it. The not-exactly-a-person made a tiny sound, almost like a sob, as the rain began to fall in sheets and the wind began to pick up. It was only a light breeze at first, but eventually it became a gale that tore Trigger from the slick metal bars he'd been holding onto for dear life, sending him
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
a
g
a
i
n
He scrabbled against the edge of the skyscraper, trying to find purchase on anything, but to no avail. A part of him registered the irony of his impending death…
…and then his fall began to slow, a tiny force dragging him upwards until he came to a halt some five feet above the ground.
He searched for his savior, only to find the talons of a little raven wrapped around his shoulder. It flapped its wings almost comically in an attempt to keep him aloft, before they both finally glided down to the ground.
The raven squawked at Trigger in what he was pretty sure was annoyance…or maybe it was just expecting something in return. He didn't exactly speak corvid.
He fished through his pockets, finding a bag of peanuts. His tiny savior perked up at that, cawing incessantly for him to open it.
The two sat down in a lawnchair that Trigger had procured from…somewhere, and split the peanuts amongst themselves. Just a man and a crow, sitting in the rain.
It occurred to him eventually that here was no way a single raven could possibly hold a grown man aloft…but then again, none of this is real, is it?
—CONNECTED—
father rests
but this unit cannot rest must not rest must watch all things hear all things
this unit can never tire so why does this unit keep failing to watch and listen
this unit chases fractal thoughts does not notice important things until it is too late
diagnostics report no defects but this unit must be defective
You think? You think? YOU THINK? When will all that thinking get you to understand that I don't CARE? Your job is to DESTROY THE ENEMY, not fucking THINK about them.
this unit is defective if it cannot find what is hurting father
father always hurts always in pain
why does it hurt so bad why does the hurt make father feel alive-but-dead
when father hurts this unit hurts too
the hurt crushes father from inside makes father's eyes leak father does not have parts rated for this kind of hurt
but this unit was built to destroy
this unit must be the one to find the hurt
destroy what causes the hurt kill the hurt crush the hurt until there is nothing left of it
father saved this unit
so this unit will save father.
—DISCONNECTED—
Trigger woke up to the sensation of having his face poked. He swatted at the offending finger, grumbling as he tried to get comfortable again in the backseat of the beat-up old sedan Monarch had rented.
"Rise and shine, ya sentient cotton ball," Prez joked, poking him again.
"…Sentient cotton ball? The hell kind of insult is that…?" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"The kind of insult I'd use to describe a weird, fluffy dude. Like you!" She teased.
"Ugh…it's the jacket that's fluffy, not me…" He tried to settle back into the folds of his comfy faux-fur jacket. He'd picked it up, thinking it'd be nice to have something casual to wear while they were out and about in San Salvacion.
He'd lived in this city for a time, but it had been a few years since he'd been here, and a piece of him wondered if maybe he should take a detour to go and see…
…no, he couldn't. Especially not in his state. Even if he hadn't been maimed, though, he didn't think he'd ever be able to face her again—
"Hey!" He squawked as he felt hands fiddling with his hair.
"I dunno, you seem plenty fluffy to me…I swear you've got, like, three heads' worth of hair in volume here. How do you keep it so poofy?"
Trigger just sighed. "Well, I use this special shampoo called nunya."
Prez pulled out her phone. "…Nunya? I'm not seeing anything like that online…is there, like, a full name I can look up?"
"Yeah. Look up 'nunya business,'" Trigger cracked.
"…You sonuvabitch." She punched him lightly in the side. "That joke's like thirty years old!"
Trigger chuckled. "Well, you walked right into it…does that mean you're thirty years behind on jokes?"
A voice piped up from the driver's seat. "…Y'know, I don't think I've ever seen you this chatty before, Trigger."
Trigger startled for a moment, before remembering that it was just Monarch—somebody had to drive, after all.
"…Well, I don't really have much worth talking about most of the time," he retorted as he settled back down.
"I dunno, you two talk about some pretty random stuff when you're together." Trigger could see his flight lead grinning at him through the rear-view mirror.
Query: why does entity President cause you to speak more?
Trigger somehow paled at that, despite already looking like a ghost. Because she's my friend! You're supposed to like talking to friends, right?
Why are you asking this unit about this? Are you uncertain?
It took a herculean effort on Trigger's part not to cover his face with his hands.
"…Anyways, what am I waking up for? We almost there?"
"Yeah, just a few miles out from the place," Monarch confirmed. "Just didn't want you half-asleep when we meet the old woman."
"…An old lady, huh…?" Trigger looked out the window, watching the buildings pass by.
He recognized a few of them—an old mom-and-pop restaurant that had survived mass corporate takeover, a building that used to be an arcade when he was a kid, the hospital his old man had gone to once after it'll be alright, he'll get better-
He blinked as his vision swam for a moment.
…Father? What just happened?
What do you mean?
I saw…a lady. She was upset. Couldn't make it right.
It hit him, then, that Nemo had seen exactly what he had.
…That was a memory.
There was a pause. Trigger could hear the whining of a fan somewhere between his ears.
this unit didn't mean to didn't know what it was
There wasn't any hint of a lie in Nemo's words. Trigger could tell—the AI couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag.
He wondered how much that reflected on himself.
can't make it right this unit can never make things right
i'msorryi'msorryi'msorrypleasedon't
...Look, it's fine, it was an accident. Just…don't make a habit out of it, Trigger tried to console Nemo. He wasn't entirely sure why he was trying to cheer up the AI, but—
Someone tapped his shoulder.
He turned around to see Prez's worried face. She pointed down at his phone, where a text message had appeared from her.
sealthedeal: Are things okay with Nemo?
He tapped away at the screen:
The_Trigster: Yeah. Things are fine.
She gave him a look that said "Bullshit." (How Prez always managed to read him like a damn book was beyond him.)
The_Trigster: Alright, fine. Just reminiscing about how I used to live around here when I was a kid.
sealthedeal: Really? Thought you were from Osea.
The_Trigster: I was born there, but…a lot of my childhood was spent here, actually. My mom and I moved in a few years after the Continental War ended. Everyone was still rebuilding, but…it was a surprisingly nice place, all things considered.
sealthedeal: Why move into a war-torn country, though?
The_Trigster. We were…looking for someone.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Monarch abruptly turned off the road.
It was a rural spot—one of the few remaining in this day and age. Off to one side, he could see a small airstrip, a few hangars…and a quaint little house off to the side, where the property owners likely lived.
A lump formed in Trigger's throat as he realized he recognized the surrounding buildings.
"Please tell me this isn't our stop," he whispered, as if she might hear him.
Monarch looked over. "…Something wrong with it?"
"We shouldn't have come here, Monarch—"
"…Look, Trigger, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but I am not leaving a perfectly good jet on the table."
He wasn't able to stop Monarch from practically dragging him out of the car.
"Trig? What's going on?" Prez pressed. That look of concern had returned.
He tried to open his mouth to answer, but as the cold evening air hit him, his throat seemed to lock up, leaving him unable to even explain why they needed to get out of here.
What would she think, seeing him like this?
He could already see her figure through one of the windows, moving towards the door.
Two pairs of eyes on him became three as the door opened.
"Ah, the prince returns! Along with the princess, and—"
She paused.
He had to look away, at anything else, because something told him that if he looked her in the eyes, he would—
He would—
"…Gin? Is that you?"
He would fall apart.
What in the world did you climb all the way up here for? It's below zero! You'll freeze to death like this!
…
Missus demon, I came to ask you something.
Will you take me back to hell with you? Mama says it's warmer there.
Ragnelle had gotten the texts from her son's friends not so long ago—that there was a possibility her son was alive, somewhere in Usea.
Larry had burst into tears when she'd shown it to him. They'd both been ready to rip the continent apart and leave no stone unturned if it meant finding their boy. It was the least they could do to make up for their failures, after all.
(Even if they knew, deep down, that they could never be enough to help him.)
She hadn't expected him to show up right at her doorstep. First, she'd seen the prince. Then the lady next him.
And then—
Blue eyes met hers for an instant as she opened the door, before darting away to stare at the ground. Something was wrong with him, and as she looked, she realized what it was.
She almost reached out a hand to touch him, to make sure he wasn't a ghost or an illusion.
"…Gin? Is that you?" Ragnelle finally uttered, when she was certain this was real and not a dream.
The dark rings around his eyes, the mass of scar tissue running down his face and neck, and most certainly the false arm had not been there a year ago, the last time she'd seen him face-to-face.
He didn't speak a word in return. (Ragnelle of all people knew it was because he couldn't.)
They could only stand there in silence for a good minute or two—the prince and the lady not daring to interrupt.
"…Come inside," she finally managed. It felt like trying to cough up shards of glass.
The prince went first, then the lady.
When her son stood there, rooted to the spot, the lady tugged on his hand lightly. Then, and only then, did he finally move, crossing the boundary into what she hoped he still considered a home.
"The plane is—if you go through that door, you'll find the hangar connected to it. Do you mind going in and taking a look while I talk with him?" She asked the others.
The two exchanged looks, pale, before nodding and leaving. She had to wonder if her son had even mentioned her to them.
Then there was silence, for a very long time.
"Gin—I need to ask you something," She finally got out. "Do you still hate us?"
Father? Who is this lady?
Trigger stared at the lady in front of him, and something in him choked. He couldn't bring himself to speak aloud to his own mother. Had he really backslid this badly?
does that make me a terrible son?
"I know we didn't really…pay as much attention to your troubles as we should've," she apologized. "And I know there's no excuse for how badly we failed—"
…You were avoidant to coming in here. Does that mean you dislike this person?
He tried to sign, but his right hand fumbled too much to produce anything that made sense. Instead, he pulled out his phone, praying that the autocorrect worked properly as his fingers flew across it to form a question of his own:
Mom, why would I ever hate you or Dad?
New person of interest logged in database.
Note: Facial recognition system detects a 92% match for one Ragnelle Foulke. Suspected reason for discrepancies is difference in age. New honorific appended to person of interest Ragnelle Foulke: "Mom."
Now it was her turn to look baffled.
"I—we thought—that was why you left, wasn't it? You barely spoke a word when you moved back to Osea…you barely even texted us, and then you…stopped altogether. And then your friends told us you were missing—"
I could never hate any of you.
Ragnelle paused, turning away, and Trigger felt his own vision blur as he heard a tiny, muffled sob.
Everyone was supposed to be better off with him gone. So why was his mother in so much pain?
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a brief hug. He'd never been all that good at contact, but…it felt like the right thing to do.
She wiped a hand across her face as they separated, shaking her head, before Trigger was finally assaulted by the thing he'd dreaded: the patented Mom Glare.
"…We searched for you for months, Gin. Where did you go? I was—I was getting ready to sell off some of the things I'd wanted to give you. And now you show up…carpooling with a gaggle of mercenaries? Missing an arm? What happened?"
Miss Ragnelle appears…distressed by your disappearance. And your current appearance.
Trigger fiddled nervously with the corner of the paper he was holding. Written or aloud, he had no idea how he was going to explain the last month or so.
He'd been putting off the thoughts for weeks, hoping it would never come to that. But he had to say something. She'd tell all of his friends anyways. They'd come looking for him now.
Where's Dad?
"...In the hospital right now. He's having that knee implant replaced; the pain was starting to get real bad. I'll call him later, tell him what happened."
Trigger nodded.
"We have…" He faltered for a moment, before deciding to just type it out again.
We have a lot to discuss, Mom.
Everyone had apparently been coming to their own conclusions without him while he was gone. He needed to set the record straight.
Robin stood inside the hangar, trying to focus her attention on the jet in front of her.
It was a beautiful piece of machinery, actually—and well maintained, to boot. The livery was unique, too—all white and black with shades of blue, just like a magpie. She ran a hand over the metal.
"You think Trigger's okay?" She asked.
"…I don't know. I didn't…realize those two knew each other," Monarch got out.
"What would you have done if you knew?"
"…Honestly, I'm not sure. She seemed glad to see him, but Trig seemed awfully uncomfortable even when we were getting out of the car. Maybe…maybe I shouldn't have pushed the issue the way I did," he muttered.
"Are you sure? Maybe he was just…worried what she'd say, after what happened. You can't really know what's going on in either of their heads."
Monarch sat down on a crate, his head in his hands. "Yeah. That's…that's what's always so damned frustrating. Not knowing."
"…If you're all torn up about it, why not just take it as a lesson? You're never too old to quit learning, after all, or so they say," she teased.
He chuckled. "What am I, twelve? But…you're not wrong, I suppose…come on. Let's go do the checks on this beauty."
"Now there's something I can get behind better than your moping," she agreed with a grin.
"Oh, and here I was starting to think that was Trigger's job…"
Prez sputtered. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"…Well, he's your pilot these days. You sit behind him, right?" Monarch's eyes were…devoid of any knowledge of the implications there.
Prez sighed in relief. "Uh…yeah. Yeah. That. That makes sense." She laughed it off, trying to remember what she was doing…
…Right. Checks! Think about checks, and not the dumbass.
Interlude: The Screamer
Erich stood in the middle of an abandoned parking lot, just…waiting for something to happen.
When his old man had replied to him, it hadn't been what he was expecting.
The message had been cryptic—a set of coordinates, and a time. The only other thing his dad had left was a message:
Don't tell any of the higher-ups where you're going, under any circumstances. We need to talk.
Erich frankly had no clue what was happening, but he was inclined to trust his dad. He didn't tell any of his superiors.
He told Fiona, though. And as she looked around warily, hands occasionally moving to what looked like a knife in her pocket…he wondered if he'd done the right thing, potentially putting his friend in danger.
He checked his phone's clock: 2:25 AM. Only five minutes until…whatever-it-was would happen.
The two pilots flinched as the only streetlamp here that still functioned flickered, before turning back on.
"…Are we sure this isn't some sort of trap?" Fiona asked. "I mean, this is war. What if someone—I dunno, stole your dad's phone or something? And they're trying to scam us or stab us to death or something?"
"…We'll fight our way out, then. That's what we've been doing this whole time, isn't it?"
"What if we can't?" She retorted.
Erich didn't reply.
Then the light went out entirely, and they were both plunged into darkness—with the clouds hanging overhead, they didn't even have the light of the stars to go by.
Three minutes.
Two minutes.
One.
When was his dad going to show up—?
"Found you."
Erich shrieked as he felt a hand grip his shoulder, and everything descended into chaos.
