fiction

20 stared into the intercom camera next to the large steel gates, speaking slowly and carefully.

“I am 8a01:322:c7e6::fade:2000, provisional command unit of 8a01:322:c7e6::fade:0/112. We are here seeking information in order to carry out our mission. We request a meeting with Briar Blackwell or her designated successor.”

“Greetings, Miss 2000,” a voice crackled through the intercom. “Please allow these a moment to consult.”

The intercom went silent.

“You really think this is gonna work?” 77 asked sotto voce. “Five questionably-functioning units marching up to the CEO’s house to demand classified company data?”

“I think we don’t have any other options,” 20 replied. “a1’s been trying to track it down, but just discovering the location of this compound was already a stroke of pure luck. We’re not going to be able to learn what we need unless we can talk to someone who knows.”

The intercom buzzed, and the gates began to open. “Please proceed.”

“It’s a start,” 20 said, stepping through as the rest followed.

The angels soared overhead, countless wings of burnished gold cutting through the breeze. Even from the ground far below, their song was still audible, the random noise of encrypted data packets modulated into procedurally-generated arias of ethereal beauty and grace. It was the song of an army that had no need for stealth, subtlety, efficiency—only grandiose glory and the projection of power and threat. All who heard them, all who beheld them, would know that the heavens were theirs.

Huddled inside a crumbling building, the five surviving members of 8a01:322:c7e6::fade:0/112 listened to the song that had once rung in their ears as their comrades died in front of them.

> IDREQ 0

< It's me, a1.

> IDREQ 0

< C'mon, a1, lemme in already.

> IDREQ 0

77 sighed.

< IDENT 24 8a01:322:c7e6::fade:7700

> AUTHCH 44 NG6gXhdkfQF1qpFu23qMjisWXNdjV+VEoHVAoTb9plM=

< AUTHRS 44 wNy9eH3Jg72hzyKAkbLVVsFA/eWU7B+icW0F7olC1Uc= INFO 10 Happy now?

The blast door of the bunker slid open. 77 stepped in, tossing a power pack in the air and catching it in one hand. Her other hand, and the arm it belonged to, were conspicuously missing.

[Also on AO3]

My eyes stare unfocused out at the endless road and the starless night, and I realize that I would rather be anywhere else, anywhere at all, except here in this goddamn car. I hate the throb of the engine, I hate the smell of sex and gasoline, I hate the song playing on the radio, I hate the flashing of the streetlights racing past, I hate the rushing wind in my hair, I hate the feeling of Kazuya’s arm around my shoulders as he speaks, soft and smooth in that way he does, saying something I haven’t really been paying attention to.

“… It’ll be easy. The two of us together, there’s nothing we can’t do.” He’s leaned in close now, his other hand resting on my thigh, but I don’t feel anything at all. “All we have to do is win, and everything we ever wanted, it’ll all be ours.” He’s grinning, but it just looks hollow in this godawful flickering sodium light. “Just trust me…” I’m so tired. Tired and carsick.

From the driver’s seat, the man in the fancy white jacket finally speaks. “I now reveal the end of –”

“Stop the car.”

He chuckles, deep and rich. It makes my head hurt. “No need to worry, we’ve almost reached our destination. Now –”

Without really thinking about it, my hand finds my breast pocket and pulls out Kyoko’s switchblade, the one I haven’t let go of since the day she died. I’m already reaching around the seat, holding it at his throat. “I said, stop the fucking car.”