A/N: Helloooooo there. This is my first foray into this fandom so I'm pretty excited. Like the summary says, this is a companion story to my primary one, Wrong Place, Right Time: A Hero's Story. It's an idea I've been bouncing around in my head for a while now and decided, what the heck, let's do it. All properties belong to their respective owners. I don't want to spend long on an author's note for the first chapter so please leave a review if you're so inclined and enjoy!
Chapter 1: A Little Confusion
His head was pounding. No. "Pounding" wasn't the right word. It felt like someone was hammering on the inside of his skull. Every. Single. Beat. Every heartbeat made him think his head was going to explode.
That wasn't the only thing. He tried to breathe but, when he inhaled, his body almost spasmed in pain. His rib cage was in a vice. His lungs were on fire.
But he had to breathe.
So he clenched his teeth and forced a sharp, painful gasp through them.
Then another.
And a third.
What the hell just happened?
Nothing answered the question. His mind was completely blank.
No… that wasn't right. It wasn't blank. It was fuzzy. Things were there but he couldn't do anything with them.
Another agonizing breath.
Whatever it was, I can't stay here. Wherever 'here' is.
The moment he tried to move, though, his head throbbed so hard he almost puked.
Okay. Maybe stay here for a sec. Try to figure out what the hell is going on.
Could he pull anything out of the mess that was his head? There was fighting. A lot of fighting. Who had been fighting? Him and his squad? And a small Insurrectionist cell. The FLP. Why? Why had command sent them instead of a counter-insurgency unit? Why send a team of-
The ground under his back started trembling. It was noticeable enough for him to feel it through his armor. He was lying on something.
He pulled his eyes open. The sky. The only thing above him was the sky. Were they fighting on a base?
It was night but… there was a lot of light pollution. It was all coming from his left.
Craning his neck, he looked over-
A city. A massive one. Glimmering towers, lights and glass washing away the darkness.
But the vibrations under his back pulled his attention away from the cityscape. They were getting stronger. And the light pollution was getting worse. Something was heading toward him.
Now he didn't have a choice. He had to move.
As he forced a hand under him, he noticed the ringing in his ears for the first time. It was like someone had fired a rifle right next to his head without any hearing protection. The only thing he could hear was the sharp ringing.
With the trembling growing quickly, he didn't have time to worry about hearing damage. Or a head that was still pounding so hard, he might rather have it explode.
His first attempt to push himself into a sitting position was met with failure as his arm buckled under him. The second try was more successful and he managed to get himself off the ground.
Ahead was a road. Two lanes, dull yellow lines marking the center. On either side was a railing and, about 200 meters away, the road disappeared, turning left behind a small hill. What the hell was he doing on a road?
Whatever was heading his way wasn't coming from that direction.
The vibrations had grown to a rumble, the pavement under him felt like it was writhing. The light pollution was growing rapidly now, bright enough to illuminate the rocks on the far side of whatever span he was on.
Twisting to look behind-
HOLY SHIT!
Thought took a back seat to action, discomfort and pain forgotten. Less than 50 meters away, and coming fast, were two sets of headlights. He had to throw a hand over his eyes, even with his visor polarizing, to shield them.
There was no time to consider what came next. Between him and the front of whatever was heading his way was a little bit of air and maybe half a second.
As the two sets of lights approached, time slammed to a near stop. He shoved himself to his feet, supported by legs that weren't ready for the exertion. That didn't matter. What mattered was not getting hit by whatever was flying toward him.
With a monumental heave, he threw himself toward the city side of the street. The overpressure from the rapidly approaching vehicles shoved against his armor-
But he just cleared their path as they careened through the spot he'd been sitting.
Without the lights blinding him, he was able to make out a few details. Both cars were low and sleek, the one closest to him had a long hood and aggressive intake and extraction vents down the side. It wasn't any car he was familiar with.
That thought only lasted as long as it took him to fly over the sidewalk and then the railing.
And, suddenly, he was over nothing.
Again, he didn't have time to think. He looked down to see a massive concrete wall sloping down away from him. A hundred meters below, it met with what looked like some kind of landfill.
His sideways momentum was already starting to be overtaken by the downward momentum. He'd hit the wall maybe 20 meters down.
It wouldn't be comfortable, but it was better than nothing.
Twisting, he pointed his legs downward before crossing both them and his arms.
Then he plummeted toward the concrete wall below.
Freefall was something you could get used to. You had to if you were going to operate in zero-gs.
What was difficult to get used to was falling a hundred meters with no way of stopping. No matter how many times you do it, your brain spends the entire time screaming "I'M GONNA DIE!"
When that's true for most of your life, it isn't something you can just put away.
So, as he fell, his hardest struggle was pushing that screaming, terrified voice as far away as he could. While the fall wouldn't kill him, he was already injured. He needed every ounce of concentration to make sure it didn't get worse.
Contact with the wall was jarring. It was hard enough, he bounced away from the concrete before coming down again. The impact threatened to send him into an uncontrolled tumble. He contorted for an instant to regain his balance and remain upright.
A split-second later, he was sliding down toward the trash-filled ground below.
And it was coming fast. Not as fast as those cars had been, but fast.
He gritted his teeth and set his jaw. Even if it wouldn't kill him, and a proper landing would hopefully leave him without any further injuries, it was going to hurt.
30 meters to go.
Scanning the trash below, he couldn't find any good landing spot. All of it was uneven and cluttered.
20 meters.
He chose the best spot he could, a patch about 5 meters away from the base of the wall and just to his right.
10 meters.
With a shove, he propelled himself up and forward, away from the wall. The maneuver threatened to turn his controlled fall into a summersault, but that was fine. He hit the ground and began tumbling. The world turned into a barrage of deep blue sky, a sparkling cityscape, trash, and the wall behind him that all blended in an unintelligible blur.
His right shoulder contacted something hard but the armor took the brunt of the impact. The cartwheeling continued for another second or two before he finally came to a stop. It wasn't gradual. His back slammed into something hard and heavy with a painful crash.
At least his hearing was back…
After all of that, he ended up looking back at the wall he'd just ridden down. His breath was coming in deep heaves, his head was pounding even harder than it had been before, and his chest still felt like it was being crushed by a press.
But he hadn't been run over.
The mass of off-white concrete in front of him seemed to stretch up into the sky, now that he was at its base. That was a maneuver he never had the misfortune of trying before. Hell, he'd only seen someone do it once and that had been an accident.
"Well, Damon", he muttered between gasps. "Guess I can't make fun of you for that anymore."
Something at the top of the bridge caught his attention.
Lights. Lights were coming back from the left side of the bridge, the direction those cars had gone.
Shit.
His body sent argument after argument for staying where he was, mostly pain, but that could wait. Again. He had no idea what was going on or who that had been. The last thing he was going to do was sit there and hope they didn't spot him.
With a groan, he pushed himself away from whatever he'd just crashed into and slipped behind it.
The thing turned out to be a shipping container. Why there was an entire shipping container in a landfill was a question that could wait until never.
He didn't bother peaking around his cover, whoever was up there was shouting loud enough for him to hear.
"-FUCKIN' ROAD!" one voice screamed.
"HOW DID YOU NOT CRASH?!" a second voice.
"NO FUCKIN CLUE! DID YOU SEE HIM?! THAT THING WAS MASSIVE! LOOKED LIKE A DAMN BORG!"
"YOU RECORDED THAT SHIT, RIGHT?"
"WHAT KINDA IDIOT DO YOU THINK I AM? COURSE I'M RECORDING!"
… Great. They recorded me… And what the hell is a "borg"? That slang for "cyborg"?
These weren't Innies. The way they talked, what they were driving- none of it was right.
"LET'S GO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED, THEN", the second voice shouted.
The sound of slamming car doors followed and the two vehicles roared off, leaving him sitting in the massive field of trash.
Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he allowed himself to slump against the shipping container.
He could activate his commlink and try contacting command, or the rest of his squad, or… someone. That would be dumb. If anyone had a rudimentary triangulation apparatus, they'd be able to find him if he sent out an undirected transmission. Without knowing where to send a narrow-beam transmission, that would be his only option.
No, until he figured out what was happening, where he was, and who he'd just narrowly avoided being hit by, he had to play it safe.
First thing's first, he had to get out of the trash heap he was sitting in.
The problem with that plan was as soon as he didn't have something else to focus on he remembered most of his body was one massive ache. Pain came rushing back to the front of his attention and a groan made it past his clenched jaw. Falling 100 meters and slamming into this damn shipping container wouldn't help whatever injuries he had.
With a thought, he pulled his diagnostics up. The armor was largely undamaged. Besides a redundant comm link in his helmet, everything was fine.
What surprised him was he was also fine. Mostly. Other than some pretty good bruising throughout his torso and left arm, he had a clean bill of health. Why did it feel like that was wrong?
That thought can wait. For now, if I'm not injured, I need to get moving.
So that's what he did. After a quick check confirmed he had his M6 on his hip, but no Commando on its sling, he pushed himself away from the shipping container and started crawling toward the city side of the trash pit.
He could see what looked like a dam a kilometer in that direction. Was he between two dams?
A quick look back at the concrete wall he'd fallen down confirmed that was the case.
What the hell was this structure? Two dams a klick apart? And now they're a landfill? Besides the oddity of two dams bracketing such a small span of, what had probably been a river, why had two incredibly expensive pieces of infrastructure been left like this?
That's a question for another time.
Without knowing if there was any surveillance in the area, he tried to keep as small a footprint as possible. Low-crawling through the field of trash wasn't perfect, but there were enough mounds and larger pieces of debris to keep him hidden. At least he hoped.
As he made his way toward the other side, his mind returned to the question: how had two massive pieces of infrastructure been abandoned like this? And, while he wasn't much of a car fan, hard to be when you spend most of your time on starships, those vehicles looked nothing like modern cars. They were too angular and, from the short glimpse he caught of them, they seemed closer to something they would have made a century or two after cars were invented than modern ones.
He paused after half an hour of crawling through the seemingly endless ocean of trash to take another look around. There was a gentle slope up to his right. That was better than trying to climb a dam.
Then there was the city. The outer colonies didn't have the resources to build something like that. Where… had they been fighting the FLP? Had they established a base in the inner colonies? And this close to a major city? There's no way, if that was the case, command would have only assigned his squad to the mission. That would be a major threat to the population. Any FLP cell that warranted his team operating this close to a population center would be a full-scale assault.
Which then begs the questions… Where the hell was that cell? Where was the rest of his squad? How had he ended up on top of a dam? Why were there civilians there participating in what he could only imagine was a street race?
None of it made any sense.
Glancing up at the sky, he tried to make out the stars through the city's light pollution. There wasn't much to work with. Basic astro-navigation is something every soldier had to learn if they were going to planet-hop. That doesn't mean he memorized constellations of the hundreds of planets he'd set his boots down on. Maybe he could get enough to let the suit figure it out?
Whatever he could see through the dull blue of the sky wouldn't be enough for it to work with.
After another 20 minutes of crawling through the landfill, and being generally grateful he had protection to prevent what would have been countless lacerations, he passed between two large rock faces and ended up on a crest just above the level of the dams. That was a good start, it meant he didn't have to worry about climbing them. Hopefully.
But the mass of discarded… everything, it seemed like, kept going until the hill he climbed curved down and out of sight.
Unless someone has satellite coverage here, there's no surveillance. This area is too large and there's no infrastructure besides the dams.
Besides, why would they monitor a landfill? Judging by how a lot of the garbage he'd been crawling through was rusted into unrecognizable heaps, it had been there a while.
Pushing himself to a crouch, he peered over at the city. Without the dam obstructing his view, he could get a much clearer picture.
And it looked nothing like any city he'd ever seen. The towers that seemed to stretch into the sky were there, but their designs were… wrong. Most towers on inner-colony worlds were fairly utilitarian. Some places had recognizable designs but they were usually consistent, at least. This was… not.
The buildings were a mixture of different styles from various cultures on Earth before humanity had taken to inhabiting other planets. He was able to recognize a few: some classical Japanese designs and mid-21st century Chinese with screens taking up entire sides of buildings. A lot of them were just… different. Like someone wired a bunch of LED strips in strange, geometric patterns across a building's face with no regard for whether it fit. Some were tall and thin like someone wanted to turn a spire into a building in the middle of the city. Others had the generic, unstyled look he'd come to associate with many inner-colony structures. Shorter buildings were mixed in with the behemoths too, looking out of place, ready to get crushed by their encroaching neighbors.
It all looked like a bunch of people had designed their own city individually before smashing it together into one big mess.
The only place he could think of that might have the resources and time to build something like this was Earth and… he couldn't think of any city that would be what he was looking at. Beyond the city was the ocean, gleaming with the reflected light of the cobbled-together metropolis.
As he learned more, everything made less sense.
Turning back to look at the dam he'd fallen off of, he didn't see anything that suggested there was an FLP base. Everything beyond that point was dark.
I don't know where I am, how I got here, or where 'here' is. No one has tried to contact me, and there's no evidence of an Insurrectionist base. Am I in a coma? Am I dead? Is this a dream?
The still-present waves of pain radiating from his left arm and chest sure felt real.
Alright, guess it's time to start gathering information… The best source of that information, at this point, is people. He'd have to be careful since he had no idea what was happening. For the time being, recon and observation. If he had to make contact, it would be once he determined the risks of doing so.
X
The walk through the landfill took another 20 minutes. It covered almost two klicks. He couldn't help but try to guess just how much garbage had to have been dumped there. Every guess he had felt… way too low.
And that was another oddity. No UEG world would have something like this, especially near a major urban center. They'd long ago figured out how to use materials as efficiently as possible and what materials gave them the best usability/reusability. Landfills like this were a thing of the distant past.
Between the city and this landfill, he had just enough information to be incredibly confused. He had two dots and it didn't seem possible to connect them.
If those had been the only dots he had to figure out how to connect, it would have been a challenge.
Then the world threw a third one at him.
Instead of finding himself on the outskirts of a modern city, village-like communities, apartments, townhouses, stores, and clean, orderly streets, he found himself looking down at a slum. Slums like inner colonies hadn't seen since the end of the Inner Colony War. Something his grandparents wouldn't have been alive to see. Even during the Covenant War, they had the resources to establish refugee camps with standards an order of magnitude higher than this.
The best analogy he could come up with was the 'tent cities' he remembered studying when he was getting his degree. Swaths of homeless gathering together in a mass of poverty and drug use. It was something humanity, at least the inner colonies, hadn't seen since they were able to move most harmful industries off-world. 150 years ago.
While this wasn't quite that bad, there were plenty of what looked like permanent structures, it was a huge plot of land taken up by shanties and temporary buildings packed so close it would have been difficult to walk between many of them.
My parents would be so proud of me. The four years I spent getting my history degree are finally paying off…
A small smile slipped across his face, despite the circumstances.
Those conversations had always been interesting. But it wasn't the time for reminiscing.
Things only got stranger as he neared.
There were a few streets between him and the edge of the slums. He was extremely careful on approach. He didn't want to have another episode like the last one. Not only did he not need anyone else recording him, he didn't want to have to dive away from a street race again.
While he didn't know what time it was, wherever he was, it seemed late.
Even so, people were bustling around the large slum like it was the middle of the day.
And these people looked… off. He was still a few hundred meters away, looking down toward it from elevation. Even with the magnification his visor provided, it was difficult to make out details. Something about it just didn't seem right.
A lot of the people milling between the buildings had… lights coming off of them in the same, strange, sometimes nonsensical geometric patterns he'd noticed in the city's towers. There were all sorts of different colors, too. Blue, red, green, violet, yellow, pink… whatever.
Beyond the expansive slum was what looked like a real suburb; rows of houses and apartments mixed together in a grid. The streets were, from what he could tell at that distance, clear of anything besides vehicles. There were a few huge towers in that area that looked like they belonged in the city proper but that was the only oddity in the area.
Under normal circumstances, his first move would be to contact law enforcement. This kind of built-up area would have to be on an inner colony and any inner colony law enforcement department would have a line of communication with a UNSC liaison.
He might not know what was happening, but he knew these weren't normal circumstances. Law enforcement might be somewhere he goes later. For now, his gut was telling him the best thing he could do was avoid notice entirely. At least among the more standard populous. So, instead, he started down the hill toward the slums. With this much concentrated poverty, it was unlikely he'd run into any standard law enforcement.
Observation from this distance would only get him so far and, come morning, he didn't know how busy the streets around him would be. He'd have to stay out of sight but, with the number of buildings crammed together, that shouldn't be much of an issue.
As he made his way down the hill, he stopped every hundred meters or so to backtrack. While it had been quiet, and he didn't think there would be anyone watching or following him from the landfill, he didn't make it this long by taking chances.
A thought occurred to him as he slipped under an overpass; it would make sense for the slum to be here, just a klick or so away from the largest landfill he'd ever seen. Plenty of discarded resources for the inhabitants to use. As… morbid as that sounds. It was common throughout most of human history for those living on the fringe of society to survive off of others' scraps.
After 10 minutes of carefully picking his way down the hill, he ended up at the top of a rock shelf looking down into the slum. The dam was behind him and to his left, looming over the collection of run-down buildings and their desperate inhabitants.
Dropping to his stomach and crawling to the edge, he could much more clearly see the people milling around the slums from this vantage point.
And that made him even more confused.
The lights weren't coming from clothes they were wearing. Instead, if someone did have them, they were shining from the people themselves. Most of it was coming from arms and heads ranging from slim strips to outright light shows. People were walking around with what looked like robotic prosthetics.
… How? How would someone living in a slum afford something like that?
In the collidescope of different brightness and color lights illuminating the collection of closely packed 'buildings' below, he could see some even had pieces of their heads replaced with… the best word he could come up with was 'implants'. That was something he'd never seen in UEG space.
Cloning technology to replace missing limbs and organs had been developed centuries ago. Some soldiers would opt for robotic prosthetics if operating in the field. Even they would generally have cloned replacements made once they returned to an installation.
And it was a free service for anyone living in UEG space so these people would have no reason to not do it.
What explains what I'm seeing, then?
Brain trauma?
Funny.
… Maybe this is some group of fringe believers who reject cloning? But then… why would they live in a slum like this? They'd still have access to housing and food far beyond their conditions here. And if they rejected those things too, why would they live so close to a major city?
Everything he was seeing said the same thing: this was a deeply impoverished community that had no help. That's something that, as far as he was aware, didn't exist in the inner colonies. Even on planets with heavy Insurrectionist presence, the UEG tried to do what it could for people.
He wasn't naive enough to think that was out of the goodness of their hearts. If you let people wallow in poverty like this, you drive them into the arms of others who give them any potential alternative. So the UEG learned long ago the best way to prevent Innies from burrowing their way into poor communities on inner colony planets was to make sure there was nothing to burrow into.
He watched as, near the base of the rock face, a group of five kids were kicking a ball back and forth. The term 'ball' applied loosely. Even from 100 meters up, he could see it was something wrapped in tape, probably garbage. They, at least, didn't have any prosthetics or implants. Not that it was much comfort.
People who give them any potential alternative…
An ad hoc police force. There may be some kind of ad hoc police force here. They might be a good source of information. If not direct questioning, then observation.
Pushing himself away from the edge, he scouted the immediate area. There was a path about 200 meters to his right that looked like it led down into the slums, there was the freeway overhead, and the dam to his left. The area he'd been lying in looked untravelled, with no footprints he could find other than his own.
As long as he wasn't spotted from the freeway, which would require someone to get out of their car, walk to the edge, and look into the junction between the overpass, dam, and rock face.
If this was just an urban center, and not under assault, that was about as unlikely as it gets. Considering the situation he was in, he'd take it.
Once he was satisfied with his chosen vantage point, he crawled back to his position and resumed his watch. It was an exercise he'd done countless times, both in training and in the field. There are ways you learn to keep yourself attentive during hours of inactivity. In this case, it was building a mental catalog of the different variations people had with their lights, prosthetics, and implants.
Maybe a third of the people he saw had obvious ones, most older than, he guessed, 18. That didn't include people who might have prosthetics hidden by their ragged, worn clothes. More than a few fights broke out throughout the night, not a surprise in an area like this.
Several of the participants had prosthetics that morphed into weapons. He saw one or two blades, electrified wires, and someone had what looked like a gun built into their forearm.
He caught his first look at, what might have been, their police force when a larger fight between a dozen people or so broke out about 200 meters from his position. He didn't see the start, but a flash caught his attention. Magnifying his HUD to focus on the fight, he watched as someone with an electric whip hit another person who had been charging them. There were already five or six others involved in the brawl.
Before it could grow beyond that, he noticed another group moving toward them. Every one of the six in the group had prosthetics, the one at the front had implants replacing his eyes and orbitals. They moved like a unit, all making straight toward the fight. The crowd that had gathered to watch started making room for them as the group neared the brawl.
As soon as they reached the fringe of the fight, they started subduing its participants. A few were dealt with violently, tackles, strikes, and one was stabbed (good police force…). Once the others noticed them, the fighting came to a stop almost immediately.
There wasn't much uniformity in their attire or equipment. If he didn't watch them enter the fight, he might have assumed they were part of the 'community'.
… But that wasn't quite true. No, they didn't seem to have a standard uniform, but they did look better dressed and in better shape than the others. Instead of ragged, dirt clothes that looked like they'd been worn out a decade ago, their attire fit, was clean, and mostly undamaged. They were healthier too, relatively large and muscular.
A quick scan of the immediate area revealed a few more people who fit that description. Each had their eyes on the now-finished fight.
It wasn't hard to imagine, unless they were part of a group that wouldn't allow its members to be targeted, nice clothes wouldn't stay with their original owners long in an environment like this.
While it wasn't conclusive, this could be this area's ad hoc peacekeeping force. If it was, it looked more like any number of gangs he'd run into on outer colony worlds. He knew from experience, sometimes that's the best people can do…
Then he saw a new group. There were four of them. All massive, stalking through the crowd toward the former fight.
They didn't have prosthetics. Every limb, and most of their torsos, had been replaced. Their heads were more implant than human. They probably shared more with a robot than they did with the people around them.
The group stopped and the man who, he assumed, had been the head of the team that broke up the fight approached them.
While the people around them gave the group a wide berth, no one bothered sparing a second look.
Is that… normal around here?
When those two assholes who almost hit him were yelling, they said he looked like a 'borg'. Was that what he was looking at? Those guys were not wearing armor but… was there enough variety in what their prosthetics looked like for him to pass as one?
Or were those guys not considered 'borgs'?
… Or would they recognize his armor? This is a built-up area in what had to be an inner colony city. There's no way they wouldn't be familiar with it.
Something in the back of his head whispered that wasn't the right answer.
No… that wasn't right. It shouted that wasn't the right answer. Nothing here sat right. Not a single piece of information he had available to him made sense. He had to assume this was a first-contact scenario. If he was wrong, he'd look like an idiot.
It wouldn't be the first time.
His gaze drifted up from the slum to the bright, over-styled city. It would be next to impossible to sneak around a dense urban area without notice. This area would be his best bet to gather information under the radar.
Exposing himself to someone might be a bad idea if there are insurrectionists here. That didn't seem likely. He'd spent a lot of time fighting them. No Innie he'd seen or heard of looked like these guys. Especially not the ones that were now stalking away from the fight.
So he had two options. Stick around here for who knows how long until something makes sense, or go down there and try to sweet talk someone into giving him some information.
Unfortunately, he already knew the answer to that question. If he was going to do this, it needed to be controlled. One person, two at the most. Isolated so they wouldn't be interrupted. Whoever he chose couldn't report him back to the gang or pseudo-police he'd seen. At least, not until he was gone.
That last one would be hard to control.
I could always tie them up and leave them somewhere they'll be found after I'm out.
A potential solution but one he didn't want to explore unless absolutely necessary. These looked like civilians.
With a target, or at least rough criteria for one, he started scanning the slums again, this time looking for anywhere that might be isolated enough to have a private conversation. Getting into the slums without being seen would be difficult. Some of the buildings were close enough together that the walkways between them probably weren't wide enough for him.
So that meant somewhere on the edge. Most convenient would be right below him, where he'd seen kids kicking a 'ball' around earlier.
A kid might be a good place to start. Old enough to have some info, young enough people might think they're making up a story if they say something about me.
He was right above where they'd been playing earlier. It seemed like as good a place as any to start.
Problem was, those kids from earlier were gone. This was the only open space he could see. That meant it was likely used as a play area for them. It was also relatively isolated. Not many people were in sightlines of the 'arena'.
If I'm gonna do this, it's as good a spot as any. Now I need to wait for the opportunity, I guess.
So that's what he did. Time crept by as he watched the slums below writhe with activity. He'd seen bazaars and shanty towns before. There were a few times he'd run security detail in outer colony worlds with hillside slums many of the locals would call favelas. It was a reference to the old favelas, slums over Rio De Janeiro in Brazil during the 20th-22nd centuries. This looked exactly like that. The slums themselves seemed to be alive.
No new information presented itself during his observation. None that was useful, anyway. After that fight had been broken up, this had calmed down. There were a few other incidents where it looked like something was about to get started before everyone went their separate ways.
His guess was no one else wanted to be the one to bring those big bastards out again. Something told him they didn't like having to come break up a fight more than once a night. He knew enough about outer colony justice to understand how that works.
An hour passed. Then a second.
Time ticked by with an excruciating slowness. Not only was he sitting there, more questions forming by the second, but while he was doing this, his team was-
Well, he had no goddamn clue about what his team was doing. He didn't know where they were, what happened, or if they were even alive.
No, that last one was ridiculous. They were alive. He'd been through enough with them to know they'd be just fine without him.
The best thing he could do for them was figure out just what the hell was going on and where he was.
It was still dark, the sky not quite black due to the excessive light pollution pouring off of the city. Not knowing what time it was sucked.
After the third hour came and went without incident, he decided it would be better to take up position down by where he'd try to make contact.
He pushed himself away from the edge and began to his right. Once he was far enough away, he stood and crept down the slope.
Having been stationary for the previous few hours, focused on watching the slums, he forgot about his injuries.
Once he stood, they made sure to remind him he was supposed to be in pain.
That could wait. The pain was from superficial injuries that wouldn't hamper his effectiveness.
Considering he was sneaking into a densely populated area where people were prone to be hypervigilant, he needed to be careful on his approach. The path he was taking wrapped down around the hillside and, while the residents had hung lights to illuminate the play area, they hadn't done the same with the path.
It probably meant people didn't use it in the dark. That was good, but he'd also have to find a spot, out of the light, to wait for a suitable target.
A few minutes later, he reached the base of the hill and hugged the rock face to his left. It was still dark enough anyone looking would have a hard time spotting him, especially through the glare of the lights pouring from the slums. That didn't mean he could relax. Who knows, maybe those implants gave some people night vision.
Ahead of him and to his right sprawled the edge of the shanty town. Most of the buildings were of the 'improvised' variety, made out of hastily assembled sheets of tin and wood. It all looked like a stiff breeze could knock it down.
Straight ahead was the play area and, if he continued hugging the rock face, he'd end up making his way to the dam. Not all of the rock face was illuminated but that wouldn't work as a hiding spot. In order to make contact, he'd have to come out into the light. And he'd be in the middle of the open.
He, again, already had the answer to his question. He'd have to take position somewhere any kids coming out to the field would have to pass by.
There was one candidate that looked good. It was a half-collapsed two-story 'building' on the near side of the path leading here from the slums. The thing looked like it had been made with the same flimsy materials as everything else. Some aspiring engineer decided to get ambitious and try to take advantage of the available vertical space. Hopefully, no one was seriously injured when that aspiring engineer found out they're still in the 'aspiring' phase of engineering.
There was only one problem: getting to it involved crossing into the lighted area. It was maybe 50 meters, he wouldn't be exposed for long. If anyone happened to be looking in his direction when he made the cross though…
All that meant was he needed to take some time and make sure no one was looking.
There were no watch towers, no guards on rotation. All that he was faced with was the edge of the makeshift town. He almost laughed. He was treating this like he was infiltrating an enemy installation.
Then again, just because this wasn't some high-strung innie or covenant position didn't mean he could be careless. He had no idea what the consequences of being discovered would be here. Any random passerby could glance in his direction at the wrong time. That was the problem when not dealing with organized resistance. The more organized and better drilled an army, the more predictable it was.
Skirting along the rock face and sticking to as deep a shadow as he could, he searched for any signs of activity along the edge. From what he could tell, all of it was further in. Whether that was because it was night, or because people didn't tend to come to this side, he didn't know.
What was more important was there was no one he could see who might spot him.
Let's get this over with, then.
He flexed both of his legs and got an 'all green' response. In the next instant, he shot away from the looming overhang and sprinted across the field.
A few heartbeats later, he was in the cover of darkness once again, shaded from the lights by the half-collapsed building.
Its footprint wasn't large, barely any bigger than the other structures, maybe six or seven meters a side. On the side facing the dam, he was in deep shadow. Unless someone knew what to look for, they wouldn't be finding him.
Good. It was a start. His eyes flicked down to the motion tracker in his HUD. Thankfully, that was still functional. There was a lot of movement beyond the building but none heading in his direction.
Now he played the waiting game yet again. This time, he'd have to be much more vigilant about being spotted. He'd made it to the slums, which was good (maybe), but it exposed him to discovery.
Better than sitting on that damn cliff, watching for something. And I don't know what that something is.
Settling into a crouch beside the building, he turned the audio gain on his helmet up until the bustling slums were just beneath deafening and fixed his eyes on his motion tracker. He could hear countless conversations crashing into one another, the crunch of dirt under feet, and a lot of strange whirring that may have been the prosthetics.
Despite the risk he was taking, he was calm. He lived with risk for the last decade, this was no different. He just had to do what he always did: manage the risk.
Time continued creeping by as he waited in the shadow of the engineering project gone wrong. It had been five hours since he'd woken up. Unless he landed just after dusk, morning would be coming soon. He'd have to retreat back to the hillside if he wasn't able to make contact with someone before then.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a half-dozen- no make that eight indicators on his motion tracker detached from the mass and began moving in his direction. There were seven in a tight group, one lagging behind.
Good. That might make for a good target.
He flattened himself against the side of the structure as the group neared. They were talking. Loudly. From the higher pitch and clearer tones, they sounded young.
A few seconds later, the first two passed between the buildings, barely three meters from him.
Kids. Couldn't have been older than 15.
The others came and went until the one lagging behind was the only one who hadn't made their way onto the field.
It sounded like their feet were dragging in the dirt.
He shifted closer to the edge of the building. If he was going to get away clean, he had to do this right. Otherwise, he'd have the entire slum on his ass.
The last kid emerged from between the shanties. Smaller than the rest, younger. His head was down, shaggy hair falling forward over his face. His shoes looked old and worn, and his clothes were several sizes too big.
There wasn't time to worry about the 'why's.
His hands shot out, one grabbed an arm, the other clamped over the lower half of his face.
The kid's eyes went wide and he tried to pull away but, before he could mount any effort, the young boy was hoisted off his feet.
Sorry kid. And with that, he was sprinting back the way he'd come, boy writhing in his arm.
He crossed through the illuminated section of the field just as fast as he had the first time around. A glance back told him the others hadn't noticed their friend going missing. They were kicking their homemade ball around, chasing each other, trying to take it from whoever had it.
Then he was back out of the light, running along the wall, back to the path he'd taken down. He slowed as he put distance between himself and the slums. Yes, he'd just kidnapped the young boy, but he wasn't going to hurt him. And he didn't want to cause any more stress or discomfort than he already had.
Even as he climbed the slope, his temporary prisoner was still writhing, trying to kick or punch him with everything he had.
"Stop that", he whispered. "You're only gonna hurt yourself."
It didn't help. Not that he was surprised it didn't help.
Once he was at the top of the hill, he retreated under the freeway overpass. Only then did he set the kid against one of the freeway's supports, careful to keep his hand clamped over the boy's mouth.
"First thing's first", he said, kneeling in front of the small boy, "no matter what happens, you get to go back down there in 10 minutes. I just want to ask a few questions. Nod if you understand."
The kid's eyes were the size of dinner plates, fixed on his visor.
"My name is James. My friends call me James. I'm gonna take my hand away from your mouth but, if you try to scream, I'll have to cover it again, alright?"
The kid, he couldn't have been any older than 12 or 13, shifted his head in, what he assumed, was the rough approximation of a nod.
"Good", James said in, what he hoped was, a reassuring tone. He slowly pulled his hand away from the boy's mouth and, to his surprise, he didn't scream. "What's your name?"
His hostage's eyes were still wide and his young, narrow face set in a grimace.
But before James could repeat the question, his mouth pulled open.
"Mark", a tiny voice replied.
"Mark", he repeated with a nod. "Sorry about that. It's nice to meet you. I know you're scared and that's fine. Like I said, no matter what, I'll let you go after I ask a few questions."
"W- what are you? Some kinda borg?"
James blinked. So 'borg' was a common term, at least around here. "Are those big guys down in your home borgs?"
He glanced to the right, past James, toward the slums. "Yeah, those guys are some of 6th Street's big guns. That's what Hank tells me. Some old stuff from way back in the military. Are you in the military?"
I guess I can see the family resemblance…
"Sorry, I can't answer that." He jerked his head back toward the city. "What city is that?"
Mark frowned. "What city- it's Night City." The way he said that made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like he couldn't believe someone would be asking that.
Night City? He'd never heard of anywhere called 'Night City'. Judging by that response, asking 'what plant is this' probably wouldn't go over well. Maybe… when this is? I'll know how long I've been out and might give me a good idea of how far I've moved.
"I was-" offline? Would 'out' be considered 'offline' for a borg? "Offline for a while. Trying to get my bearings. What's the date?"
"Well… today was burgers. Helen makes burgers the last Friday of every month so… it's Friday."
Friday? James's eyes wandered back to his mission clock. 24/11/2557. Was it bad he didn't know what day of the week that was?
"What's the month?" he asked.
Mark's brow furrowed. "I don't- uh- October? Maybe?"
What the hell? October? How- OCTOBER?! Had been on ice for almost a year or something? The kid only knew it was Friday because he had burgers for dinner. He could be off a month. If he thinks it's 2557, that's probably what's going on.
"What about the year?"
His face lit up. "Oh, that's easy, 2076."
…
…
…
2076? How- what in the fuck is going on here?
He took a deep breath. "You're sure?"
Mark nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I know that one for sure."
"Okay…" So it was apparently a Friday in October 2076. He was in Night City, wherever the hell that was, and everyone seemed to have cybernetics unlike anything he'd seen before.
Still waiting for the part where this starts making sense.
Something told him that wasn't coming.
"Hey, James, are you some kinda NUSA borg? Hank told me they got lotsa new stuff we ain't seen before."
… Oh good, something else that makes no sense… "NUSA?"
"Yeah. New United States of America." He crossed his arms and puffed his chest out. "Always tryin' to come in and take our city."
What the actual hell is the New United States of America? The more this kid said, the less he understood.
"No, I'm not part of the NUSA." The United States of America stopped being a legal government entity centuries ago. At least, centuries before 2557. Which this wasn't. Somehow.
It did tell him one thing: he was on the American continent on Earth. Judging by the English, accent, and the fact they were talking about the NUSA, North America. A coastal city… he glanced at his atmospherics… 14 degrees on an October night, he was probably on the southern half of the east or west coast for that kind of temperature.
Well… maybe it told him that. For all he knew, he was somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy and someplace here just happened to evolve humans and develop English, freeways, cars, houses, slums, and dams along with a United States of America that would become the New United States of America. And their calendar happened to be about 500 years behind his.
What other questions could he ask that would make this even more confusing?
"Are you alright?" Mark asked, frowning.
Am- am I alright? "I just kidnapped you. Is that what should be on your mind?"
Mark shrugged. "It isn't the first time that's happened. You get used to it."
… WHAT? James was so taken aback he… actually stood and stepped away from the young kid.
"You get used to it?! Why do people kidnap you?"
He shrugged again. "See if I have any money. Sometimes it's to make me do stuff, usually get in somewhere small since I'm-" he looked down at himself. "Since I'm small."
Now immense confusion was joined by guilt. He felt like an absolute asshole. This kid was used to getting kidnapped, and now he'd just added to the list?
Mark's eyes turned back up and he smiled at him. "But this is the first time I been kidnapped by a borg so that's a cool story!"
James's head was spinning so fast he was surprised he could still see straight. Now it wasn't just the utter confusion of his situation. This kid was, apparently, both accustomed to being taken against his will and thought it was cool to be kidnapped by a 'borg'.
Information. I need more information. I doubt this kid will have much more so… where can I find a better source?
"Hey, if you're lost, you can come back down with me."
And now he was asking if James wanted to come back to the slums with him!? What the fuck is going on?
It could be a better source of information.
Yeah, and a great way to expose myself to unknown risks.
"Would people be nervous with another borg down there?" he asked.
Mark shook his head. "We get 'em coming through sometimes. It ain't often but, as long as the guys from the 6th don't have any problems with them, nothing happens."
James's eyes were fixed on the young, small boy's. He was smiling now. It wasn't a suspicious smile. At least, it didn't look suspicious. If anything, his face was open and inviting, like he was excited. Almost like-
"Do you want to show off you met a borg?"
"Uh-" Even in the darkness of the overpass's shade, he saw Mark's face redden as he turned away. "What about it?"
"Are you saying you get borgs passing through just to get me to go down there so you can show me off?"
He shook his head vigorously. "No. No, it's true! We do! The last one was just a few weeks ago. Big guy. Bigger than you. Don't know where he came from or where he went but I saw him! I promise!"
Borgs seemed to be rare. If someone was a 'borg', and they're units the military uses, there are a lot of things they could be doing besides hanging out in a massive slum. And if they were just passing through… it could be because this is a good place to lay low or gather intel. Why else would they come here?
There were so many goddamn unknowns, he wasn't sure what the right answer was.
His eyes wandered back down to Mark. The kid was, once again, staring up at him, hopeful.
I can either try to sneak around the city and gather more information… or I can use a readily available source. If I need to break myself out, if someone threatens me, I'm pretty sure I can handle escaping a slum.
"Alright." He waved down the hill. "Lead the way."