1.2.2 Dignity is overrated (Patreon)

(1.2.2 sometimes things happen in the dead of night. 4000 words, a snippet with few variables and no choices. Trying out voices to see what works.)

----

There is silence, and then there is movement. You're not sure what wakes you first, but going from sleep to adrenaline pumping awareness is a sign of a threat. A rattle. In the corner. The lights are on but dimmed, a small mercy you hate to think you have Ortega to thank for. $!{he} knows too well about your issues with darkness. Right now, the dim light is letting you see the cart resting against the back wall, out of reach. Not that it would help you escape, you can't move your legs, and escaping on a rolling cart from the Rangers' Headquarters is beyond even you.

You see nothing, but you could have sworn you heard something. A pile of towels. Basic hygiene stuff. A bedpan, an indignity you need no reminding of. But... did it just move? You slow your breath, pretending to be asleep, eyes half closed. It's crooked, almost over the edge of the cart now. Upside down, thoroughly disinfected since last use. You remain still, and there! It moves. Inching towards the edge, then over it. It lands with a loud metallic clatter, and you don't bother to pretend to be asleep anymore.

"Who's there?" The shadow is small, you squint, this doesn't make sense and then a pigeon jumps down on the floor. A light clack of claws on hard vinyl. It tilts it's head in an eerily human way, and walks across the floor towards you.

"Coo," it says, a calming sound which has no effect on you.

"Stop," you command, scared because you're helpless here, and this doesn't make sense.

*if tech_savvy

A stab of panic, is this how the Special Directive comes for you? You've never heard of them using pigeons, but how can you be sure?

*else

Wait. No. It does. You know of this pigeon. You know of this woman.

The pigeon reaches the center of the floor and starts to shiver. It's disconcerting to look at, the way the shadows twists and grows, deeply sea-green, uncomfortably like a nightmare as they grow and there's a visceral pop as the bird is gone, and a woman dressed in gray and black crouches in its stead.

*if tech_savvy

She looks up, head moving bird-like and you can see the echo of the pigeon in the way she looks at you. Narrow face. Black, wavy hair pulled back in a messy bun. A body all angles and limbs. The large glasses frames her but you don't make the mistake of seeing them as a fashion accessory. They look as high-tech as Dr. Mortum's, and the skinsuit has the telltale shimmer of adaptive camouflage not currently in use. Expensive. Not Special Directive equipment. Too personal. Quirky.

"Don't worry," she says, voice a hitch deeper than you had been prepared for. "I'm Dove, I'm paid to get you out of here."

*else

Dove. Vera Saleh if you remember your data correctly. A boost who can turn into a pigeon, and if the rumors are right, control them in various ways as well. A mercenary for hire, an assassin whispers some, but from what you've seen, she's more of a thief who likes to nurture a bad reputation.

*if thief

You recognize your own.

*if massacre

She never struck you as someone with a taste for killing.

The question is what she's doing here. You don't get the feeling she's here to kill you.

"Dove. Not someone I imagined running into here."

"Oh." She looks up in surprise, head moving bird-like and you can see the echo of the pigeon in the way she looks at you. Narrow face. Black, wavy hair pulled back in a messy bun. A body all angles and limbs. The large glasses frames her, out of place with the high-tech skinsuit. "You know who I am."

"If you're here to steal something, I'm sure we can work something out as long as that includes me." You try for a smile, this is an opportunity you don't want to miss.

"Actually that's what I'm paid for," she admits, voice a hitch deeper than you had been prepared for. "Getting you out of here."

*set vera true

"Paid by whom?" You know you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but old reflexes die hard. There's a limited amount of people that know you're here, and even fewer that might be interested in your release.

*if verabhired

  "Pelayo." She smiles thinly. "Paid well too. Speaks well of his judgement to bring in an outside operator, they'd be busted if they tried to pull this off themselves."

    "Don't underestimate my crew." You watch carefully as she runs her fingers over her wrist unit. 

  *if tech_savvy

    Getting into the system? She needs to if she's going to have any hope getting you out of here. But how did she get in? Being a pigeon helped, you suppose.

  *else

    You trust she knows what she's doing, otherwise she would not have gotten in.

    "I'm not. But neither am I underestimating this place. Even for me, it's... tricky." She looks up as the lights flash green, her mouth twisting in a small smile. "You can give them a call to arrange a meeting spot later."

    "If you have a secure line, I will." You don't doubt she does, she seems competent. "So how are you planning to get me out of here? I'm not exactly mobile."

  *else

  "Client confidentiality, I'm afraid."

    "I'll meet them anyway once you deliver me to them." You watch carefully as she runs her fingers over her wrist unit. 

  *if tech_savvy

    Getting into the system? She needs to if she's going to have any hope getting you out of here. But how did she get in? Being a pigeon helped, you suppose.

  *else

    You trust she knows what she's doing, otherwise she would not have gotten in.

  "Not delivering you to anybody other than who you choose. Orders came with the job." She looks up as the lights flash green, her mouth twisting in a small smile. "So you'd better have someone you can call once we're out of here."  

  "That can be arranged." Someone not wanting you to know. 

  *if tech_savvy

    That makes you nervous. But as long as she lets you go, you can deal with the unknown later. When you're out of range of the dampeners.

  *else

    That narrows things somewhat. Someone wants this favor to cash in later, probably to brag about it in person. Or hold it over your head.

  "So how are you planning to get me out of here? I'm not exactly mobile."

"Well, it will hurt," she admits. "I can't help that. And I need to get you over to the window in the hallway."

"And then what? You'll turn into a pigeon and fly me away?"

She breaks into a pearling laugh, moving over to the side of your bed. "Nope, can't do that, but I've got a friend on the outside. Would set off every alarm here if they went inside, but once we're out, they'll take over."

*if tech_savvy

"Huh." That makes sense. Most scanners are in the entrance and elevators, she avoided those as a pigeon. Or got in elsewhere, perhaps a window left open though you doubt the Rangers would be that sloppy. The suit she's wearing is probably dampening her signature to a level that can be dealt with by a low-level interference field.

*else

"Huh." You have a vague memory of an associate, another boost who prefers to stay in the background. Someone used to the shadows, letting her take the credit. That might explain the mixed rumors about her.

"I'm going to have to get your legs down. Sorry in advance, I bet it's gonna hurt." Her face twitches in sympathy. Empathy or experience? You wouldn't bet on the former, that's counterproductive in your line of work.

"Don't worry," you say, bracing yourself as she approaches. You want out of here badly enough that you'd crawl through the door yourself if you had any hope getting through security. It's only when she steps close you catch the way her eyes widen, then narrow and feel a cold shiver running down your spine.

You forgot that you're not exactly dressed.

She looks down at your arms. [b]Sees[/b] your tattoos, and you don't need to read her mind to understand that she knows what you are. ${swear}. You had instinctively dived so deeply into ${villain_name}'s persona that you forgot you're not wearing armor.

"Oh, you're one of them." Her face has gone flat and unreadable.

"So?" You don't know what to say, without reading her mind you can't sense her intentions. There's no sign of disgust as she touches you, carefully releasing your legs from the wires. You suppress a hiss of pain, pushes it to the side. It's not relevant.

"I get why you needed extraction fast now. Despite your injuries." She moves over to your IV and the monitors keeping track of your health. She adjusts her glasses as she leans close, pulling out a small round cylinder that she attaches each sensor to as she removes them from your skin. No alarms.

*if tech_savvy

Looks like she's feeding them a baseline signal, eventually people might notice the unnatural evenness of your vital signs, but it doesn't need to last long.

"Don't worry, I'll get you out of here." A quick pat on your shoulder, just two fingers. Tap. Tap.

"I'm a bit bigger than the stuff you usually swipe." You talk because your stomach has grown cold, your shoulder itching with old memories. How. How did she know how to do that? Say that? Is she? Like you? No. She said 'them'. You want to ask, but you want out even more.

"I can carry you for long enough to get to the window. My dad is a fireman, I know how to do this." Her smile is thin, private information offered without hesitation. "The problem will be getting you up on my shoulder."

*if tall

She looks you over. "You're a big one."

"Don't worry about hurting me." You reach up with your arms, you don't want to be here a second longer than you can help. Any moment now, someone can walk in on you. You wouldn't bet on her in a fight with a Ranger. "And I've lost whatever dignity I had at this point."

"Okay." She looks down at her wrist again, taking a deep breath. "Sorry in advance, and please don't scream. Sensors are blocked, can't account for ears."

"Don't worry." You grit your teeth as she bends down, touching your bare skin. With a great heave she gets you up on her shoulder, in an ungraceful approximation of a fireman's carry. It hurts, she grabs hold of one of your casts for balance, and you want to scream.

Instead you release a breath like a hiss, tasting of blood and broken ribs, bracing yourself as she walks over to the door, footsteps heavy and stumbling. She can't do this for long, that much is obvious.

You hope she's right about the fact that she doesn't have to.

Outside, the corridor is unknown and white. You were unconscious when you were brought here, but as you approach one of the windows you see a familiar skyline. It feels good to know you really were in the Rangers' Headquarters, and that this wasn't some elaborate lie and you were back at the Farm. The relief is great enough that you wonder how much of you had believed the worst all along.

She places two round plugs next to the window, punches in a code, and it slides open without alarms going off. It's breathtakingly high, but luckily she turns you away from it as she signals to someone outside.

"A flier?" You can't stop your question, only now realizing that the hospital clothes isn't really conductive to a nighttime flight.

"Not exactly." She gets up on the window ledge, and you hold your breath, because you can feel vertigo clawing at your gut. At least if you fall here, you're dead. Too far up for even a chance at survival. "I'm in position, ready for catching in three, two, one..." and then she pushes away from the window in an awkward jump.

Falling freely.

The fall is long enough for you to remember last time. Still blanketed by the dampeners, the city is mute, unseeing. You wait for the terror and the memories, but all you feel is hollow numbness and anticipation. Same. Different.

A loud bang, more earthquake crack than explosion. You open your eyes to sky and windows, a shadow shoots up from the street, blacker than the night, four arms outstretched as it intercepts.

Impact.

It hurts, but not as much as it should, like hitting the mat in the gym is more merciful than asphalt. Still enough to tear a scream from your throat, your voice sounds weird, like sound carrying under water, and then whoever grabbed you lands, the air rippling from the impact.

You almost faint.

The figure holds on to you, while Dove slithers out of the grasp. Tall, seven feet or more, hunched over, smelling of rubber, mustard and... bread?

"To the truck," Dove says, hands doing half of the talking. The impact of each footstep hurts more than being caught mid-air, which is wrong, but the four carapaced arms hold you gently against the broad chest.

It's not a suit of armor. You fight to keep conscious because the dampeners are fading as they run. Organic metal. Integrated in rubbery flesh. Not scales, more lamellar, like a pillbug. Hard on the outside, softer on the inside where you're pressed against it's chest. A long stride. Claws. Breathing calmly, the mind...

You slide over it like glass, high-grade psychosurgery and training leaving you with little to grasp onto in your state. A thought-void, though you can hear it breathing.

You're being carried by what you can only guess is a terror-beast. One of the Special Directive's living weapons, Re-Genes crafted for war and little else. You panic then, Dove tries to hush your scream but you throw yourself against it's mind and it...

...lets you in.

Calm. No pause in the running. No tightening of the four arms other than to keep you safe. Safe. Safe. That's the feeling forcibly projected at you, rusty like an unused muscle, a door not opened for years. Safe. You. Are. Safe. Protected.

"...inside!" Dove's voice returns and she ushers both of you into a large truck, covered in beer commercials. The door slides shut, and the inside light switches on as it starts rolling. She's driving, you can feel her distant mind focused on making a safe getaway, driving slowly, waiting until she's elsewhere to change the projection on the sides of it.

Tense. She's nervous, but there's no deception there, if she's being used she doesn't know it. She was paid to break you out, but after what she saw it became more personal.

Huh.

You pull back from her mind because the greatest potential threat is still in this room, putting you down on a bed. There is plenty of room in here, and from what you can see at a quick glance it's equipped to be lived in, at least for a time. Not a room, but close enough to mistake for one.

The terror-beast has stepped back, and you can't look away from the shimmering form. The segmented back, the nearly insectoid face. It gestures at you, and you try to remember what it's saying.

It's been so long.

¨Will change.¨ The word change is a line on it's breastbone, not a zipper but the meaning is clear.

Unlike Dove's unearthly transformation, this is disgustingly mundane. The metal segments flare, then inches back under the rubbery skin, which softens and pales into blue-grey. It's... no, their frame shrinks, still a solid six feet, but proportioned like a human even though it could never be mistaken for one.

The skin is blue-gray, unlike yours, but the tattoos you share. They are only wearing skinsuit pants, colored like their skin used to be, so the bright electric blue lines are on full display. The pattern is bold and angular, thick likes towards the center, thinner towards the limbs, like cracks in dry ground. In the center you can see the bar code. Re-Gene.

"Have you taken a name?" you ask, with your voice because your fingers are rusty and filled with bad memories. "One you'd share?"

¨Armadillo,¨ they say, fist curling up in a rolling motion. ¨New name.¨ Ah, that was the sign for name, the little finger wiggle over their chin. You had forgotten.

You didn't want to remember.

"${villain_name}," you say, out loud because you don't know how to sign that in Re-Gene language. "Do you have clothes?"

¨Sure.¨ Armadillo turns and opens one of the suitcases on the floor. In this form, you can see the extra two arms  flattened against their ribs, vestigial and thin, three fingers on each. They pull out a coverall and puts it on, bulky and unflattering, but loose enough to hide their bulk and extra arms. The face is human once more, and if it wasn't for the skin color, they'd look almost normal. It's odd to see a Re-Gene with longer hair than a stubble, it's thick and black, almost reaching their shoulders. ¨Fit?¨ They hold out another coverall for you.

*if tall

"I think so." They're built heavier than you, so your casts should fit.

*else

"They're a little big, but it's fine." Your casts are clumsy, this will make them easier to put on.

"A little help?" It feels odd to ask, but you don't think you could sit up even if you tried. Your body is aching, and all you want to do is faint.

¨Will touch?¨ There are a lot of signs and words you don't understand, but the meaning is clear. They will need to touch you to get it on.

"Yes." You let out a sigh. "You can touch me. But be careful." What are you doing sharing information like this? "My pain-gate is non-functional."

¨Ouch.¨ They grimace as they come close, kneeling next to the bed. This close you can see patterns on the skin, not tattoos, not scars. Is this where the armor comes out? You try to focus on that as they help you into the coveralls. It's painful and undignified.

"Stop looking at me like that," you snap as the zipper is pulled up and your tattoos are hidden from sight. "I'm not as weak as you think I am."

Memories crawling back like ants, cuckoo, bred for other things than war. Small. Weak. Pitied. On the outside looking in. Always alone.

¨Not weak. Out here.¨ There are more words you are not picking up, an eloquent flow of fingers mixing with the terms you know. ¨Escaped.¨

Re-Gene language was never something intended to happen. You were not supposed to speak, only accept orders, and answer them briefly. You were different as a cuckoo, you had to learn how to speak properly to fit in. In some ways that made you a traitor to your own people and their traditions.

Knocks and taps traveling from cell to cell, passing messages from knuckle to ear. Taps and touches at closer range, a language of incidental movements and scratches happening under the noses of the guards. None of them knew. None of them even thought to ask. They all assumed they controlled the terms of your lives.

They had no idea what went on inside your heads.

"How long have you been out here?" You mix the words with what gestures you remember, though you know they understand you far better than you do them.

¨Five years,¨ they say, a dismissive finger gesture speaking of bad memories. ¨Living with the Bird for four.¨

"Bird? Ah, Dove." Yes, no reason for you to be able to grasp specifics there. "She knows, then?"

¨Not all.¨ They look towards the front of the truck, it's traveling fast now, making turns. ¨What. From where. Not how.¨

"Do you trust her?" You brave the pain and cast your mind outwards for a moment, searching for threats and intentions. Sleeping people, unawares, nothing to trigger the feeling that you're being followed or observed. She's a nervous beacon in the front seat, focused on the road. It's a complex mind, not terribly shielded, but oddly tangled like the minds of birds. Like walking into a room blind, not knowing where the furniture is. Unfamiliar and strange.

¨Trust? Yes.¨ There's no hesitation there, a fist on their knee to drive home the point.

"I'm going to need a phone," you mumble, because you need to call

*if boss

Pelayo

*elseif rosie

Rosie

*else

Bo

so you can get a lift back to your base. This is a mystery you can't leave alone, but also one you can't pursue right now. You need painkillers and sleep, and be able to slip out into your puppet body as soon as it's safe.

¨Should stop soon.¨ They point towards the front. ¨Bird's got phone.¨

As they say those words, you pick up the same thoughts from Dove up front. The breath of relief passing into what amounts to a safe area, a part of the city where a different kind of authority rules. The truck stops, and a moment or two later, she steps into the back and closes the door behind her.

"Alrighty," she says, voice cheerful as she claps her hands together, quick gestures echoing those you saw earlier. Overlaying, not with Re-Gene language but with something else. "Another briliant heist courtesy of yours truly."

¨No heist,¨ Armadillo protests, gestures sharp and with Dove's mind seeing them you finally put together the last piece of the puzzle. Sign language. That's why you had such a hard time understanding the nuances, Armadillo mixes Re-Gene signs with ASL. ¨People.¨

"True, true," she quickly backtracks. "Didn't steal a thing, we rescued a person. I suppose I will have to count this as my one good deed of the day then," her fingers echo her voice, making it easier for you to read the gestures. Didn't you learn this a long time ago? You wish you could remember.

"You're still getting paid," you point out, fingers sore.

"If I had known exactly what the cargo was, I would have done it for free." You're not sure that's true, but she likes to believe it.

¨Not cargo,¨ Armadillo says again. ¨You really need to start thinking about your words.¨ The ASL key lets you unlock more nuance in their speech, using Dove's understanding as a dictionary.

"I'm sorry." She lets out a breath and rummages around in another suitcase for a coverall as well, marked with a new logo you're not familiar with. A moving firm? "And could you not cut me down when there's people who understands what you're saying?"

¨Enough of family that they'd be hurt by your words as well.¨ They uses the gender neutral, that's common among Re-Genes. other people call you it.

"Shit." Her mouth creases in a worried smile, and she looks directly at you again. "So I didn't misread the situation then. You're like them." She nods at Armadillo.

"You didn't," you admit, still shaken by the unexpected acceptance by the Re-Gene. "Cuckoo. Infiltration unit." And normally beneath notice for someone like Armadillo.

"You didn't tell me they made those, Arde." She looks over at them, and they shrug.

¨I don't tell you much. That's safer.¨

"They're not wrong." You hold out your hand. "Once I get my call, you can forget you ever met me."

"What?" She acts shocked, her hands as mobile as a Re-Gene's. "Here I am rescuing ${villain_name} and you don't even want to know who hired me?"

--to be continued--