|
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
_HRF.jpg)
You wake up in a small room. Everything feels off and muddled as you slowly slip back into consciousness. The room is bathed in harsh white light and reeks of low-grade commercial disinfectant. You are on your back and strapped down to some sort of medical table.
Next thing you notice someone humming a song. You don't recognize the tune, but you can tell it is sung very poorly. Looking around you notice the singing is coming for a short and stocky bouncer. He's male with wild hair and a chinstrap beard both an unnatural shade of orange and with glowing violet eyes.
He sings and moved gracefully around you in the low-g environment as he examines you closely. Prodding here, poking there, shining lights into this, and listening to that. He is clearly performing some sort of medical examination, but it all feels painfully archaic to you. Something about him just feels... off, and eventually it clicks: he's a beta. You aren't quite sure how you know, but the bouncer is definitely a fork. As your senses slowly return, he starts talking to you in a gruff baritone.
Welcome to Penelope, she ain't much to look at, but the old tin can will get you where you need to go. he says with a smile as he unfastens the straps holding you to the bed. Now, I ain't been told too much about what's going on here. Only to patch you up when you wake up and make sure you get where you're going. Clothes and the requisitioned gear are over there on the table, and you can meet the rest of your um... friends? down in the mess hall.
He starts to leave, but stops and spins around, Name's Atticus by the way... well, I'm one of them. We're all that's left to run the crew, so if you need anything, just track one of us down.
You boot up in a dim room propped up in a chair. Everything seems to be fine and functional, and looking over you see a bouncer working with his back to you. His feet rapidly type away on a very outdated terminal while he eats a sandwich with his hands. Noticing you have awoken, he turns around with a look of suspicion and a raised eyebrow. The man is short and stocky with wild hair and a chinstrap beard both an unnatural shade of orange and with glowing violet eyes.
Oh good, looks like yer workin', his gruff baritones notes halfheartedly. He seems to be talking more to himself than to you. Stuff's on that table. Clothes and gear. Grab them and go to the mess hall. You'll meet the others there.
As he turns back to his work, it dawns on you that something is strange about this man. He is a beta. You are not positive about why you know that or where you may have seen him before, but the bouncer is definitely a fork. Additionally you quickly notice how rundown this place is. There is not properly artificial gravity, and the whole ship looks like a mild solar wind would tear it apart.
But you see your clothing and equipment on a nearby table as he said it would be, and the sooner you get to work, the sooner you can be out of this place...
Systems online, diagnostics report no errors. It seems you are, indeed, 'workin', Ahran's muse, Operis, stated as he tested his arms.
"Thanks," the synth responded, somewhat annoyed that they couldn't even be bothered to send a real person to welcome him. Being looked down on for being a synth was normal, but he expected better from Firewall. Most of his gear was internal, though the bag with his ID on it contained his usual assortment of sensors, holoprojectors and a solar recharger.
Seeking Mesh connections, the muse continued in his mind.
If the local mesh is anything like this station... go easy on it, Ahran responded.
Engaging kitty glove protocols.
Guess you had no luck finding a decent humor update? he said with a mental sigh
Can't patch what isn't bugged.
Whatever you say Opris, Ahran paused to inspect a run down wall, put up a standard firewall too, I don't like the look of this place.
|
Malcom woke slowly, embracing the sine-wave of nausea and displacement that hangs on a re-sleeve like a cheap tramp that's caught a fat mark.
"Hey Atticus," Maclom grated out to the guy's retreating feet, trying to will the sandpaper-lining on his vocal chords to go away.
More patience. A few good swallows and that should clear up.
He waited more to see what systems would come online, more than a little pleased to see a good chunk of his own suite seemed to accompany this morph.
And...wait. Was that...yes, it was. A faint tingle in the back of the throat, a little flutter in the belly. The liver singing a sad song about confinement and a youth now forever lost, while the blood sang of free wine and free love; of hot action and more, more, more yet to come.
This body was addicted. Just a little bit.
Not Murder, his preferred poison of choice. Probably the cheaper and less elegant Kick. Well, it'll be good to wrestle with that old monster. We'll see who comes out on top this time, eh old man? Maybe I'll leave you cured just out of good manners.
Or more addicted. Haven't decided yet. Well, that might not be my decision.
But such a base drug meant...ah drek. Always on the cheap, eh F-Dub? Bet it's a fragging Splitter.
Yep. How these humans still hold to the old ways, refusing to embrace the Future-Evolution of Humanity 2-point-oh is quite beyond one's capacity. Was it nostalgia, or money? Probably money. I guess that's understandable. The Old economy still holds sway, but...
...well, balls, nevermind. Just gonna be mad about it, I guess.
Might as well get dressed. I see a pair of Versa Xtralights. Extended clip, by the looks. Sweet. Then I should get something to eat.
Gonna be a good day.
Thud-thump. Thud-thump. Thud-thump. Thud-
Vivien's eyes flicked open and shimmering silver eyes stared up at a harsh white light for what was somewhere between a moment and half a lifetime. It seemed like only an instant ago she was laying in the sense-sling in the back room of the independent morph dealery on Commonwealth Hub, having given the Firewall code-phrase to the owner to ensure her primary morph was kept safe even after she'd "pawned" it to him. It was always possible had an arrangement with the black market on the side, and as ever she would perform a thorough inspection of her body before agreeing to pay full value to reclaim it.
But that was for later. She didn't know why she was here but she'd been told she would be provided with a morph 'up to the standards required by the mission' before being briefed on what near-certain doom they'd been kindly invited to risk for the good of all Transhumanity and its future. She tugged weakly at the straps binding her to the bed, then again as her strength began to trickle back. Only as it came closer did she become aware of the music being hummed in the background - if 'music' isn't too much of a reach. When the huge-jawed bouncer face was thrust suddenly into view she instinctively went to draw back, but her muscle control wasn't up to it yet and she twitched instead.
The bouncer may have been a brute, and apparently a beta fork, but he appeared to know what he was doing. At the muscle-movement he quit jabbing at her with his fingertips and instead looked deep into her eyes; his violet eyes glowing brightly and making her squint painfully as her implants adjusted belatedly. Wait, implants? [Pip?] she asked, sending the thought out into the numbness of her mind. There was no response from her muse, but the bouncer began to speak to her in a low gruff baritone and gave her a brief run-down on her situation and freed her from her recovery bed, leaving before she could speak.
[Pip? Hello?]
Vivien's strength came slowly back, and she struggled to sit upright. Her morph seemed smaller than she was used to, but her fingers moved easily when she tried to and without any kind of oddness or delay. At least she wasn't a synthmorph or some kind of pod; they put on a good show, but she wouldn't put it past her stingy taskmasters. She could exist in this skin, and once she got used to it she was sure it would feel just as natural to her as her birthmorph once had.
-
[Pip?]
A quiet rushing sound against her inner senses, and a whole new dimension opened up for her as her muse came online and started reaching out for the local mesh. [Hi Viv! How are you feeling? Let's see if Firewall has done you right, huh?] She felt her lips draw back in a smile as her digital friend went through her morph, cataloging features and shaking the rust off them where needed.
[You came through it!]
[Don't I always, Vivien? Let's see what we have here... enhanced senses, biomods, enhanced pheromones, emotional dampers, skin pouch and nano-tattoos.] each time her muse named an enhancement, she received a mental impression of its details and how to activate it.
[Okay, won't be the first time Firewall did its shopping at a body shop. But unless we're here to party for transhumanity, we'd do better if they'd build on the basics a bit.]
[Don't speak too soon, Vivi-ki-yi-yay! You're going to have some bioweave armor and chameleon skin and some cute little kitty-claws, not to mention a solid direction sense for anywhere you've been, eidetic memory and enhanced muscles. And did I mention the wings?]
[Wings! They gave me wings?]
[Wa-]
Excitement shot through her, the adrenaline carrying Vivien up and over to the mirror by the door, where with an instinctive flex of her pectorals she spread her lovely black wings to their full extent - and stared.
[-it!]
Pippi fell silent too, but the irrepressible muse would hardly stay silent for long. [Look at it this way, you'll be cheaper to feed.]
"I'm a jävla neotechnic!" Silver eyes stared in disbelief at - herself, almost two feet smaller in height with flat chest and spread ebon wings, but still distinctly a naked female neotechnic. The base mods had hinted at where Firewall had sprung it from, but the nano-tattoos filled in the rest; an abstract rendition of black feathers across some of her back and down across her torso that don't quite remove the mark of Parvarti.
-
The wings were good though. And if they had actually given her the enhanced muscles Pippi was talking about then maybe she would be able to fly even more tricks when the mission allowed. The next hour she spent sitting on the floor in front of the mirror, carefully grooming her plumage and chatting animatedly with her muse. One thing her morph's previous owner had neglected to include was a clean metabolism, and it took some time for her to wipe away any trace of the scent of her transition and smell (and feel) like herself again.
Eventually it was hunger that drove her out of her resleeving room, still adjusting her smart-clothing into a matte charcoal body suit around her. With openings for her wings of course; it took a few tries to get her suit to allow them through, but she got very agitated when she felt them pressed close to her back. Having gathered what Firewall was pleased to call her personal effects, she went town to the Mess Hall with a nod and polite smile for each of the Atticus' she met on the way. What would her team be like? Would there be anyone she knew, and would any of them recognize the black-haired young winged girl for what she was?
Certainly none of them would know her real name, though some might have heard of her codename; Odile.