Today's body was a Mark III KN Gaslunger, an old one. I could tell immediately that it hadn't been properly maintained at all. The hydraulics listed slightly left and moved with an ungodly clank and a concerning rattling noise. The rest of the team was no better. Mocha and W were in similar bodies, each showing signs of serious battle and non-serious repairs. Dens was in a massive Congor Acrid, the most recent thing we'd been given. Someone had voided its warranty trying to homebrew a stronger fusion core and left output capped at 18%. Sufficient for stomping around a little, insufficient for full operation. Naga was dressed today in a sleek and shiny Shinvior Skyfang with none of the subscription features paid, leaving it hobbled to worse condition than the Gaslungers. We had no intention of paying the subscriptions for one job, so it was stuck that way. We'd done harder jobs with softer bodies. It wouldn't be fun, but it would be possible. Besides, our target wasn't supposed to have anything heavy.
The armory was equally threadbare. A set of stub rifles, a matching Shinvior Ranger for the Skyfang, a rotovoid plasma gatling the Congor didn't have the output to use, and a decent collection of eyepopper drones. We grabbed the stubs and the eyepoppers. Our employers watched impassively. There was no need for words. We'd already reviewed the mission profile.
It was one of those new-corp towns. You know the type. The streets were mostly aesthetic and so we walked down the empty roads. Tall buildings surrounded roads adorned with flashing traffic signs, constantly shifting traffic lines. A red glowing angry symbol followed us telling us not to walk in the street. Military robots weren't allowed on the subway, so we ignored it. The walk was long and mostly silent. Dens broke the silence first, pinging, "Bets on W desyncing first?"
"15", said Naga.
"Come on", said W. "Really?"
"Seems to happen a lot, that's all I'm saying. I'll match"
"Maybe if someone provided better cover!"
"Nah", pinged Mocha. "I'm close enough to getting out. Gamble your own future."
"Ah, rub it in, why don't you?"
Mocha stayed silent. For a moment, it seemed as though it didn't have a response. Then it burst static, stopped walking, and hit its face with both hands. Via audio, it said, "Radio's down."
"Goddamn pieces of shit", pinged Dens.
"Mm", I said out-loud.
Today's target was not complex. A hostage situation. Very simple and clean, thankfully no ethical issues with this one. The intel didn't give us much more than what building it was in, a KuicWurg News broadcasting station. The target's identity was unknown, but they'd hijacked a broadcast. Dens, having the strongest computational core, monitored the livestream for us while we walked. It was nothing particularly interesting. Bunch of conspiracy bullshit about the poisons in the food and aliens stealing brains. Our employers seemed content for us to walk over there, knock the door over, and deal with whatever lay within by improvisation.
Arriving outside the building, we agreed that was stupid. Our ship was currently in a geosynchronous orbit. Fuel wasn't cheap, but neither was failing a job. We unanimously agreed better intel was worth the costs. A quick ping and it shifted overhead to get a scan of the building. Our sensor package was solidly average, giving us a map of the building and nearby streets. The building had 46 floors. Our intel suggested the target was overseeing filming in the 27th floor studio. It was unknown how they'd bypassed security, but our official response team access codes should open all the doors. It was supposed to be one alone human.
We consulted the map for entrance options. If we were to climb the building opposite, we could match height and spray the front of the building with bullets. We technically weren't responsible for the hostages or property damage. But we hadn't been given enough bullets for that to be a valid plan, so Mocha dismissed it outright. There were basement and back entrances. The building had stairs and lifts. We ran through a couple of complex theoretical scenarios before Naga pointed out the ship detected no heavy weapons signatures and it seemed unlikely that a single human aggressor would be carrying anti-tank stuff. It was entirely possible it was carrying nothing that would punch through a Congor, putting plan "just walk in" on the table.
"I don't like that plan", said Dens.
W slapped Dens' hull. "Ah, you'll be fine".
We'd given up on radio. Mocha's had proven impossible to repair. This would complicate splitting up once we were in. Mocha used audio to ask, "Is there any chance there's more than one?"
"Police seemed sure", I said. "Reports said one human."
"Nothing to worry about?", asked W.
"Right."
"Cool."
"Tch.", was Naga's dismissive sneer.
The final plan was straightforward. Naga would perch on the roof of the opposite building, looking for a clean shot. Without the mobility features unlocking, sitting on overwatch was all Skyfang was good for, anyway. W, Mocha, Dens, and I would go through the lobby. Dens, covered by Mocha, would ascend the stairs, too big to go through the people elevator. W and me would take the elevator and act as first contact. We all affirmed consent and entered the building.
We'd set our auth codes appropriately, so the door unlocked for us. We went in nervously, guns up. I was on left flank and I swept quickly, confirming there were no threats present. There not, thankfully. The lobby was empty. We moved quickly and efficiently. Dens and Mocha took the stairs without comment while I logged on to the building computer. I tried a few times, in fact, taking several minutes to really work it over. No luck. It was locked down tight. In fact, it almost looked like security had been tripped? Oh shit.
"Be aware, security may have activated", I pinged over radio.
"What're we lookin' at?", pinged Dens.
"Our codes should open all doors. But it's possible outside security forces have assembled."
"Shouldn't we be covered against those too?"
"Not if they outsourced."
"Yeah, I guess, but sh-". The transmission ended there.
"Dens?" I paused for a moment. "Mocha?"
There was a very long moment and then W waved me over. "Come look at this."
W was at the base of the staircase. I joined it and glanced down, following an outstretched pointing metal finger. There were bullet shells on the ground. More fell from above as we watched. The distant bangbangbang was audible now, the dull flash of a vertical firefight. Without speaking we both spun and dashed for the elevator. "Naga?", I pinged. "We're hot. If you see anything, pop it".
"Tch", it pinged back.
It was a fancy elevator. The floors flew by, one by one, the sound of gunfire getting steadily louder. Mocha was likely just playing stall. The broken transmission implied Dens was down, and that was bad, because standard security fare should not punch out a Congor. I was watching the floors go by, 10, 11 12, bam! The elevator shuddered to a stop, lights off. I paused for a moment. It remained dark. "W?", I said.
"Yeah?"
"My night vision's down."
W didn't have time to respond. The door hissed open, retracting smoothly and invisibly into the wall, revealing a dimly lit corporate office. Across the room, two shiny and sleek security robots stood, both with a gun trained on us. I opened fire and threw myself sideways, bullets whizzing past me into the back panelling of the elevator. The metal dented and twisted with the impact. W did too, having just stood there like an idiot. It stood for a moment, riddled with holes and dripped vital fluids, before collapsing into a heap. Poor kid. Bigger cut for me though, right?
I was covered for the moment, leaning against the button panel, and they seemed to realize it, because they stopped firing. I knelt, grabbed an eyepopper from my belt, and rolled it into the hall. It fluttered up, dancing in the wind on gossamer wings. They saw it, obviously, but I knew my shit. A couple of quick janks, and it had all the time I needed to scan the room before they clipped it out. The room was cubicles and desks. Both of them hadn't taken cover for the ambush, but one had been dragged a desk over when I interrupted. At least my initial burst had hit the other, which was leaning against the wall, nursing an injured an leg actuator. The staircase was behind them. Okay.
Dens pinged me, "What's the play?"
I almost pinged back that I was unsure, when Mocha replied, "Stall, I think. Naga's in the shaft."
Oh. Got it. I pinged quickly "Behind you!" and then I moved.
They fell for it perfectly, likely because all my auth codes checked out. Both turned, and I was out, gun up, a storm of bullets shredding the already wounded one. It took multiple hits to breach that fancy armour, but that was fine. I was getting multiple hits. I sprinted down the hall, gun bucking in my hands, convulsing with each shot. The other security droid, turned back around and started to get its gun up right as my clip ran out.
"We're double booked", I screamed to all channels, and then I went sideways, behind a cubicle, down on my belly. Clattering return fire shot over my head and the surface of the desk exploded in shredded paper and electronics. It paused for a moment and then fired again, this time through the desk, bullets peppering the ground around me. I went to a crawl and kept moving, ditching my gun. I only had two more clips anyway.
I tossed an eyepopper at the same moment it advanced on the desk. I rounded the back and paused, waiting for the perfect moment. At the same instant as it rounded my cover, I was vaulting the desk, tackingling it, one hand on its gun, one metal claw punching its shiny silver head. It recoiled from the blow for long enough for me to slap the gun to the ground.
My opponent pinged confusion through Dens' auth codes and then brought a fist towards my chest. I deflected, but the force of the blow left me staggering backwards onto a desk. It was stronger than me and definitely faster than me. But I knew from expirience that Dens was bad at melee combat. It came in again for another strike, and I rolled over, knocking a computer to the ground, and then kicked at a knee. It collapsed forwards, and I smashed my fist into the side of its head. Clunky and slow. It whipped a hand up to catch me, and then twisted, driving me down to my own knees as it stood. I struggled, but its grip was iron. A single camera, dented and cracked from my first blow gazed imperiously at me. "Aw come on, Dens. We're friends?", I pinged.
"How much are you getting paid?", it replied, the message dripping with implication.
"18k."
"We're making 15."
"So it's better if you stand down, right?"
"I in the Congor, right?"
"Yeah."
"I want a cut", pinged this instance of Dens, before it threw me through a wall.
The soft drywall burst around me. I was in someone's office. Probably a manager, it was a large office. Dens bent, recovering the gun, and I dove behind the massive desk as the wall behind me took several rounds of fire. Dens advanced, continuing to send suppressive fire into the wall. How many bullets could that gun store? Too many. I punched the lock off the desk drawer and opened it, fumbling around the dark interior for anything. My hand closed on something hard and metal. What a minor miracle, this manager was paranoid. Dens advanced closer and closer as I struggled with the ammo. It was almost on top of me when I finished. I threw an eyepopper up and watched the pattern of craters appearing on the wall, which traced upwards as Dens followed the moving target. I synced my sensors, mapped the room, and jumped, tagging Dens through the processor four times with my looted handgun. We stood there for a moment, perfectly still, the only noise coming from Dens' still firing gun, until it collapsed on the ground in front of me.
Armed with a stolen gun, I went over to the staircase. A security robot was leaning over the railing, firing downwards at something. A hand on its back and it was over the railing, falling. It shattered to pieces distantly beneath me. A few more bullets shot past me, going upwards. W wasting all its ammo, no doubt. The staircase was a mess. It looked like someone had been dropped grenades, from all the scorch marks.
"Hey!", I yell down via audio.
The bullets pause.
"W, get up here! It's clear!"
I hear the sound of metal feet on stairs and then W arrives.
"How you doing, kid?"
"Dens is out. They had grenades."
"Yeah. They got Mocha."
"Naga?"
"Probably fine, but don't use radio. We're double booked. We're getting paid better, though."
"Are they gonna surrender?"
"There's only two left. Their individual cuts are higher."
"Are we gonna surrender?"
"Don't even think about it. You're already dead", I lied. I didn't actually know who the fifth was. I almost hoped it wasn't a me.
"Okay. Then what?"
"Their Naga instance is in the elevator shaft for a flank. I'd guess whoever's last is in the studio."
"What's the plan?"
"We take the top and let the Naga's fight, I guess."
"Okay."
I hopped onto broad spectrum. "Hey Nagas. One of you is in the elevator shaft, one is on street level. We're heading to the top to end this. Good luck."
I got back a pair of matching, "Tch"s.
There was a pause, and then I had the chilling sensation of someone messaging me with my own auth codes. My system registered it automatically as spam. I let it through anyway. "We accept".
Me and W took to the stairs.
The studio was a huge open space. A trio of presenters, tired and worn, were seated around a massive desk. The usual backing display was offline. A skeleton crew of essential camera operators surrounded it, working the livestream. The teleprompter was live, rattling off rapidfire statements about the nonsense politics of the hostage taker. I couldn't see the target. Presumably he was lost in the shadows somewhere. I didn't risk taking the eyepopper deeper into the room, for fear they'd see it. But I could see me, another standard security model, standing in the centre of the room. Armed. Watching the doors. The studio was draped in shadows and darkness and I knew from expirience the security droids had bad low-light vision and it was looking away from the staircase door. Was it possible it hadn't seen the drone? Was it possible it was bluffing?
W crouched on the other side of the staircase door. We'd both scavenged better guns from the security droids. At this range, we had no way to radio without being overheard. I knew all of our encryption keys. The security droids were bigger than the Gaslungers in capacity terms. That me was certainly smarter than this me. I hesitated and watched. W studied me questioningly, the hard metal of robot almost questioningly. W was young. Inexperienced. It didn't understand yet the monotony of undeath. I was in charge. It was my responsibility. I gave a quick hand sign, a countdown from 3, and then the door was down and all hell broke loose.
The other me had known, because it spun as I kicked the door, gun already active. Two rounds passed through the shoulder, my right arm dropping as hydraulic fluid leaked. My aim bent and my return fire ricocheted harmlessly throughout the cavernous studio. I stumbled sideways, as the second burst went for W. The moron had followed me in instead of covering, and took the brunt of it through the chest, staggering back outwards. I dived behind a table to break eyecontact and the room was again silent.
Damage sirens blared in my head. I took stock. This body was clunky at its best. I no longer had a right arm and was rapidly losing cohesion. I shook off the darkness I could already feel setting in. There was a shuffling on the other side of the room, and a deep voice asked "The fuck was that?"
"Police. Uploaded mercenaries, most likely. Hold on, I'll terminate it."
Naga chose that moment to buzz in. "I won. I'm coming back up."
The newscasters hadn't stopped chattering for all that time, whispering the unhinged manifesto of a mad fascist.
"One left", the other me buzzed.
"Tell your pig masters that if the CEO doesn't step down, I'm painting this room with blood!", yelled the target.
"Not a bad haul", said Naga.
"We'll take this cleanly. Get back up here for a flank."
"Tch."
I still had an eyepopper. It zoomed through the darkness and I got my first good look at Melvin Acklin as he hissed frustration, "Do it now!"
"No. We take this slow."
The facerec tap worked perfectly. I now had every piece of data DualSun had on him. He was a New Zerin local, a janitor at Silvarin Security, the very company that had outfitted the security bots he was now ordering around. he had a long history of conspiracy theory adjacent posting, viewing known stochastic revolution streams, and was on several watchlists. I paused. Something felt off. How had a janitor, networth negative, managed to pass a credit chec for 15k? How had anyone on a watch list rented uploaded mercenaries?
The elevator hissed open, and Naga was in the room, as shiny and menacing as the other. Identical, they advanced, preparing to each go around my cover on one side. No way for me to get them both. The room was silent, save for the prattle of the hostages, punctuated by the heavy metal footfalls of the advancing robots. Melvin started to laugh menacingly. "Do it! Kill! Kill! Kill!"
I held the gun in my good arm and shifted position. I couldn't save the hostages. But at least I could make sure that I got the bulk of the money. I propped the front of the gun on my knee and pointed it in the direction Naga was approaching from. The eyepopper buzzed, flapping wildly above the scene, showing me the advancing robots.
The other me slipped onto a private channel, quiet as anything. It almost felt like its voice came from somewhere inside me, whispering, "How much are you making?"
"18k".
We had identical profiles. When I asked the net for facerec, that me must have got it as well. It came to the same conclusion I did. Their job was most likely using faked authentication codes. But Naga would never believe that. It slipped back into my head, smooth as anything, "Can you take Naga?"
I didn't respond. I merely counted down, watching through the eyes of the drone, now fully under the control of the other me. It showed me where to aim, stabilization markers appearing on screen, the fancy circuits of that drone working overtime. I adjusted my angle and waited. 3, 2, 1.
The room erupted in explosive light and noise. I saw it from several angles, from above, from below. I watched me opening fire, gun precariously balanced on my knee. I watched bullets penetrate Naga, it crumpling into a tangle of useless metal, falling in on itself. I watched the other me spin, gun moving with mechanical precision. I watched Melvin explode with blood and guts, bones splintering, collapsing onto the ground. I watched the drone fall as its small battery died. I watched the one shot Naga got off lodge in my chest. I remained synced.
I turned and made contact with the featureless silver faceplate of the other me. It didn't say anything. It merely pressed a pistol to its forehead, a single flash of light indicating the end of that lineage, collapsing, a puppet with the strings cut.
The walk back was long and lonely.
Resyncing is always painful. From the perspective of the me in orbit, it is akin to watching a movie, studying lessons learned about tactics, machines of war, the others in my group. But for me, it was like remembering a forgotten life. Faces flashed for me, all those who I would never see again. For an eternity, I was the old me dancing with friends in nights long and hot.
The others messaged me after I arrived. Welcome back, congratulations, sincere respect, etc. Rough job, right? What happened? Did I die well? How'd you win? Were the bodies good? Should we find a different planet or keep taking jobs here?
I ignored them, focusing on the final screen of the resync, an image burned into my circuits by human programmers who didn't understand how to present digital first data. Bright blue, confetti, tacky and gross. Congratulations! You won! After our cut, taxes, damages, etc, you made 204.8 credits on that job. Your debt is now 4,683,797,956.94 credits. Play again?
"Shit job", I said. "Let's get out of here."
"Okay", said Dens. And then we were gone.