Morgan Abrams
19 days until arrest
You pull the VR headset off and let yourself fall back onto the mat, breathing hard. Vision swimming from the disorientation while the threat of nausea claws in your throat. Every warning label on these things says to take a 5 minute break for every half hour of use and people like you are the reason why.
Normally you’d go for the parkour course that the big gym in the mall features but that requires a level of willingness to suffer the existence of others that you just don’t have in you today.
The bulky plastic visor sits across your chest, the interior screens black. VR courses don’t exactly have a stellar reputation, especially for something as body-dependent as self defense training but like hell are you subjecting yourself to a room of other human beings while you flail around like an idiot. A visor and a set of kinetic pads will have to do.
You’re trying. You really are.
But getting into shape is hard. You lose energy so quickly. Start getting tired, if not outright fainting (or worse) and then you have to stop for the rest of the day. And yet getting to do something with your body, like actually doing it, is maybe one of the only times it doesn’t feel like the enemy. Like maybe it can be something other than a horrible prison chaining your consciousness down.
You just desperately needed something to do that wasn’t schoolwork or, worse, Imago-related.
Spent the better part of yesterday digging through security footage of Wednesday’s Imago attack. You’ve never been in Gamma tower, never mind the Hydroponics sector, so it took the better part of an hour just to make sense of the labeling system so you could understand and piece together the pile of videos the Superintendent spat out on query.
Not that there were many to work with. It turns out there aren’t nearly as many cameras directly hooked up to Security as there are in the more public parts of the arcology. Mostly wide-ranging shots of entire rooms, half obscured by hanging curtains of greenery.
Still enough to confirm the worst: a second Imago, and in close proximity to the same kind of white box as the first time. The same as the ones in storage at Rivka’s workplace.
That had kept you up late.
Almost didn’t tell the others. Giving Brayden more fuel is the last thing you want, but you couldn’t keep it yourself either. At the very least, it suddenly felt critically important to make sure Riley didn’t get the bright idea to go hunting for any of those boxes on her own.
You sit up, braced for the brief loss of vision, before reaching for your phone. Have to fend off A*’s nagging with a promise that you’re fine, you like laying on the floor with cratering blood sugar and it’s super fun so lay off. A quick check of the group chat reveals no new messages since this morning.
You peel off the VR pads, each velcro strap giving away with a satisfying rip. You’re disgusting, and sweaty, and need a shower.
Which means going home.
Taking one of the exterior elevator trams is a luxury Rivka would angrily disapprove of if she ever found out about it. You’ve made the sin even worse by splurging on a window seat so as to actually be seated while the car lurches from stop to stop, climbing up the arcology tower. Wouldn’t normally bother but if you had to stand for a minute longer, well. You soon wouldn’t be.
The floor to ceiling glass panel gives a full view of the city as it recedes further below. The air is a hazy grey overcast. If you remember right, it’s fire season again out west and the smoke and ash carried over on the wind have yet to be washed out by rain. At least it’s not so bad today that you can’t make out the remains of the old city beyond the sea walls. Ruined buildings and crumbling skyscrapers slumping into the water, slowly being beaten down and reclaimed by the sea, one storm at a time.
Ash in the air or no, the tram is packed with people swapping between morning and evening shifts. Mostly adults in business attire, that being a mix of office casual button-ups and jeans.
Occasionally you spy a sign-of-life among the office drones with a patch of skin-colored cover-up on an exposed arm. Maybe masking a tattoo or a cybernetic, some mark of individuality that the owner hasn’t had removed yet.
A pang in your thigh forces your attention back down to your legs. Reach over to massage the muscle. Stupid legs. You’ve been doing this exercise stuff for… what? Two months? Maybe three now? Okay, yes, it has helped with making you want to die less. But when does all this exercise business stop hurting so much?
***
Semaphore Log
🍏RottenApples.Ltd🍏
B-Max6969: My parents are seriously talking about officially switching me to like Homeschooling for the entirety of senior year. I’m losing my mind sitting in my room all day clicking buttons on a screen and meanwhile fucking bio robot nightmare horrors are running rampant And the company won’t even acknowledge it
B-Max6969: THANKS TERRORISTS
WileyRiley: dude, moumentai
B-Max6969: Morgan, how do you stand this shit
B-Max6969: I’m so fucking bored
WileyRiley: I think Morgan’s busy rn
WileyRiley: Also, they still aren’t letting you go back to school? What the fuck dude
B-Max6969: I know right
B-Max6969: I get they’re fucking terrified after
B-Max6969: you know
B-Max6969: I’m going to see that fucking thing in my nightmares for the rest of my life
B-Max6969: I just know it
WileyRiley: mhm mhm
B-Max6969: But come on
B-Max6969: I’ve got a social life to maintain
WileyRiley: Haha what social life do you still have
B-Max6969: Fuck you
WileyRiley: I still don’t understand
WileyRiley: how you got a fucking gf after Jason’s crew dropped your ass
WileyRiley: Like why do you get the gf and I’m still painfully, painfully single
WileyRiley: where’s the justice
B-Max6969: Morgan’s right there you know
B-Max6969: It’d probably be safer for both of you
B-Max6969: I saw what got written on your locker
WileyRiley: Uhhhhh I’m a lesbian remember?
WileyRiley: It’s kind of my whole personality?
B-Max6969: Funny
WileyRiley: Fuck off with this comphet shit
B-Max6969: WTF is comphet
WileyRiley: Honestly fuck all the way off dude
B-Max6969: you know what nevermind
WileyRiley: Like straight off a bridge
WileyRiley: I’m trying to be friends again
WileyRiley: So lay off
***NEW***
B-Max6969: Fine, fine, whatever
B-Max6969: Just
B-Max6969: What’s the deal with you and Morgan anyway
B-Max6969: If you two aren’t like
B-Max6969: Together or whatever, then what the fuck is going on there?
WileyRiley: Uh hello? Men and women can be friends with each other
WileyRiley: /without/ needing to fuck, grow up
B-Max6969: Uh-huh
B-Max6969: But you two
B-Max6969: Specifically
WileyRiley: Eat my entire dick dude
B-Max6969: Yeeeeah, no thanks. That’s a hard pass for me
Guess it’s your turn to intervene before a murder happens.
Centimorgan: lay off of her, brayden.
B-Max6969: Morgan! Where the fuck have you been
Centimorgan: just because I’m homeschooled now doesn’t mean i spend all day on the chattrnet with nothing better to do
Centimorgan: i even exercise now
B-Max6969: You? Exercise???
WileyRiley: It’s true, he can arm curl an entire 5lb weight now
Centimorgan: thanks. Riley.
Centimorgan: for the back up.
WileyRiley: anytime dude
WileyRiley: I’m peacing out of this convo
B-Max6969: Sure okay whatever but this is great timing
Centimorgan: i really doubt that.
B-Max6969: Look, I know I’m like
B-Max6969: Biologically incapable of not being an asshole
Centimorgan: it’s important to acknowledge that
B-Max6969: Shut up, I’m being series
B-Max6969: *Serious
B-Max6969: I’m just trying to understand, because maybe there’s something in all this I can use
B-Max6969: to, like, make things easier for me and Cass, okay?
B-Max6969: But like, Morgan
Centimorgan: okay. I’m being serious now.
Centimorgan: this is my serious face:
Centimorgan: T_T…
Centimorgan: please don’t make me regret it
B-Max6969: Isn’t your family B-Class?
B-Max6969: Don’t they give you shit for hanging out with a D-tier family like the Parsons?
WileyRiley: Hey!
Centimorgan: not really?
B-Max6969: They don’t???
Centimorgan: i mean
Centimorgan: it’s just me and rivka remember
B-Max6969: So weird you call your mom her first name
Centimorgan: we don’t have any like uh
Centimorgan: extended family
Centimorgan: on speaking terms anyway?
Centimorgan: i don’t know the story
B-Max6969: You don’t have any like grandparents
B-Max6969: Annoying third cousins?
Centimorgan: technically speaking Rivka’s not like
Centimorgan: my ‘mom’ either
WileyRiley: Dude we talked about this
Centimorgan: i knowwwww
WileyRiley: She’s still your mom
WileyRiley: Whether she admits it or not
Centimorgan: weren’t you ‘peacing out’
WileyRiley: I have been known to lie on occasion
B-Max6969: You’re adopted???
Centimorgan: uh not exactly
Centimorgan: it’s complicated
The tram pulls into the station with a sudden stop, and you have to shift your foot to brace against the sharp change in momentum. Thoughts swimming in every direction as you gather the straps of your backpack over your shoulder and follow a group of tired looking office workers off the car.
It feels more than a little unreal. For everyone to be so calmly self-absorbed like this. Like nothing else is going on.
Centimorgan: oops sorry at my stop
Centimorgan: talk later
B-Max6969: What? No you get your ass back here
B-Max6969: Explain wtf that means right now
You shouldn’t have said anything, now he’s going to keep wondering. Riley better keep her mouth shut on the subject. People are weird enough about non-biologically related families, never mind adding ectogenes into the mix.
Your phone keeps buzzing as you mill around the atrium of the transit hub, waiting for the next elevator. People smoothly flow around you like a rock dropped into a stream. Can only spare half an eye to watching the phone screen. More messages pouring in from Brayden demanding explanations until Riley finally tells him to lay off.
Can probably expect Riley to message you any second now and – yup, there she is.
–Chattr Log–
RileyTheMagnificent: You headed home? Are u free?
Centimorgan: I need to shower and then do homework
Centimorgan: sorry
RileyTheMagnificent: Whaaaaat
RileyTheMagnificent: BS u can do that whenever c’mon
Centimorgan: sorry
Centimorgan: did you need backup on something?
RileyTheMagnificent: Nah not today just bored
RileyTheMagnificent: C’mon dance monkey dance
Centimorgan: …am i the monkey?
RileyTheMagnificent: ;-)
Centimorgan: …
RileyTheMagnificent: C’moooon
Centimorgan: ………
RileyTheMagnificent: Don’t u dot at me young man
Centimorgan: ……………
RileyTheMagnificent: :’(
RileyTheMagnificent: I’ll cry
Centimorgan: no
RileyTheMagnificent: I’ll do it man
RileyTheMagnificent: Don’t test me
RileyTheMagnificent: I’ve got nothing to lose
Centimorgan: dignity?
RileyTheMagnificent: ahahahahahaha
RileyTheMagnificent: ‘Dignity’ he says
RileyTheMagnificent: You’re cute
Centimorgan: absolutely not
She needs to stop calling you stuff like that, damnit.
You pause against the wall, trying to think up a cutting enough insult to fire back when you hear someone shouting. Can’t be your name though, must be some other Morgan because who would be calling for you in a crowded tram station and– oof! You stagger under the sudden weight as Riley collides into you. Nearly drop your phone in the panic as you scramble to both keep your balance and your dignity – which you at least value – intact.
Riley rocks back on her feet, laughing wildly. “Fancy running into you here!”
You scowl at her, glaring. “D-d-don’t do that!”
“Sorry!” She’s not sorry at all. “I couldn’t resist.”
You pocket your phone. Initial shock aside, it is nice to see her in person. First time since the Imago attack and she seems the same as ever. Would be lying to yourself to pretend you weren’t worried she’d finally decided she’d had enough of you.
“Now we have to do something,” she says. A plastic bag hangs from her wrist and she plays with the handle while she talks. Has been this whole time you realize. “I just got back from the mall but I saw the arcade has this new game they just got in and–”
“I n-n-need to shower.”
“We can’t all be perfect.”
“I– what?” How is that a response? What does that even mean, Riley?
“Sorry, sorry.” Riley takes a deep breath. “Hi Morgan. How are you? Do you want to hang out today after you shower?”
“Uh– sure?” You hesitate, a thought occurring. A bad idea? Probably. But it’d be an even worse one to do on your own. “Actually uh, d-d-do you want to help me with something?”
“What with?”
“Classified.”
Confusion at first, until sudden clarity hits her about what ‘classified’ could mean. She snaps to attention with a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
The two of you keep the conversation light as you lead the way home. Riley’s brother passed his final training exam apparently. He’s officially a full-fledged member of the Security team now. It’s been years since Jun first moved out of the Parsons apartment, jumping between careers trying to find something that will stick.
Riley just seems glad there’s no chance she’ll have to give back his half of their shared bedroom now. “I already told him, too late dude. No takesies-backsies.”
Without ever really discussing it, instead of parting at the transit station she follows you onto the elevator up to your floor without breaking conversation. When the doors open, the two of you step through only to be stopped by a armor-vested security officer standing behind of a foldable table. He holds out a hand, indicating everyone coming out of the elevator to stop. “Hold a minute please. Security check-in. Sorry for the inconvenience people.”
What the hell?
Since where were there in-person checkpoints at the elevators? How does Security even have the manpower for that right now?
Riley shoots you a look and you shake your head. It’s not worth trying to sneak past. Better to wait your turn. Three people in and your turn finally comes. The guard gestures with a phone in his hand. “Present your phone please.”
You pull yours out, hold it steady while he scans.
Nothing happens.
Uh.
The officer frowns, looking down at your phone. “Turn your phone on.” Irritation and confusion in equal measure. He doesn’t want to be here any more then anyone in line wants him to be.
“S-s-sorry!” You step aside so Riley can present her phone to scan while yours boots up.
“Dude,” Riley elbows you. “Why’s your phone off?”
“Habit.” You mumble.
“Parson?” You hear the officer ask after an exchange of beeps. “You’re D-class kid, you don’t have authorization to be here.”
It takes a second for Riley to react. “Excuse me? What the hell–”
“Language please. Now get back on the elevator and stick to the floors you have clearance for or I’ll have to file a ticket.”
“She-she-she’s with– with me,” you stammer out, thrusting your now powered-on phone between them before things can get any worse. “Sorry. For the um. The t-t-trouble.”
The officer narrows his eyes, looking between the two of you. He taps his phone against yours with a beep and reads his screen. Almost instantly his expression changes. Apology half-heartedly painting over his previous attitude. “I’m so sorry Mr. Abrams. I will remind you however, that you are responsible for your guest–”
“I live here too you know!”
“–while she’s in B-Class sections of the Arcology–”
“This is bullshit.”
“Language miss. I won’t remind you again.”
You pocket your phone and grab Riley by the arm. “C’mon. Let’s g-g-get out of here.”
***
“I can’t believe that asshole seriously pulled the ‘papers please’ bullshit on us,” Riley grumbles once the two of you are safely far away. “What the fuck did he think I was gonna do? Scrape the paint off the walls?”
You mime a punch.
“Seriously! I was really thinking about it.”
She really was.
“Sorry about that,” you sign. “You’d think Security would have better things to do right now.”
“Yeah, you’d think. I can’t believe Jun willingly signed up with these clowns.”
You both come to a stop in front of your apartment door. Tap your phone against the scanner which clicks open with a beep.
“Whatever. I’ll just name a ball of clay after the guy and pulverize it later. I don’t need jerks like that bringing my mood down.” Another addition to her collection.
The two of you pause just inside the door to take off your shoes. Feel self-conscious as you do so. Hyper aware of each movement, trying to get it down to an exact science. Yes, yes, extremely normal behavior, you’re aware.
By the time you finish your shower, Riley’s calmed down. Is eager to forget the whole elevator incident in favor of making you spill the beans on what you want to do.
It doesn’t take much to get her on board with it; you show her the video you’ve managed to piece together from Wednesday’s attack. Frustratingly limited as it is – but it’s still enough. The sudden, pained reaction as a man running inspections neared a pillar with one of those weird air filters posted at the top, followed by his violent transformation and following rampage.
“I want to see if we can find that box.”
Riley raises an eyebrow at you from across your kitchen table. “Didn’t you just beg me not to go looking for any last night?” she signs back. The remains of your shared lunch is still scattered on the table. She had brought take-out rice with her.
“Looking alone,” you stress. “We’ll back each other up. Anything feels weird, we get out immediately.”
“I don’t know dude…”
Any doubt Riley might have over looking into it gets shelved once she’s convinced you’d be trying to do this with or without her. And hey, sneaking into Hydroponics to get an upfront look at where this second Imago attack happened furthers the investigation. It’s not like you’re doing this for fun. Or well, not only for fun.
The tram ride over to Gamma tower is simple enough. A flash of cards at the counter. You offer to pay for Riley’s ticket because that feels like the sort of thing you’re ’supposed’ to do but she refuses. Counters it by paying for your ticket before you can protest.
Gives a weird feeling you don’t want to interrogate too hard.
Once in Gamma it only takes a quick consultation with the map on your phone to figure out the right general path through the outer ring of residential housing and you’re off, letting Riley lead the way.
“Are they gonna let us just walk right in?” Riley asks, turning around as she walks to look at you.
“No,” you admit, “b-b-but that won’t stop us.”
Riley raises an eyebrow at you when you don’t elaborate further. “Mysterious.”
“Y-you’ll see.”
Another minute of walking and the turn down the corridor brings you to a set of double doors with frosted glass panels to either side. A sign over top in bold lettering reads ‘HYDROPONICS - A46.’ A keycard reader is set into the wall. There’s another placard screwed to the wall declaring the area off-limits to pedestrian traffic.
Riley ignores the reader, pressing her face against the glass. “Can’t see a damn thing. So what’s your mysterious secret plan?”
You pull out Rivka’s spare keycard from your pocket. “Th-this.”
“Woah, what, hello? Is that–”
“Yeah.”
“Where did you get that?”
“From her office.”
“Shit, dude.”
You swipe Rivka’s card through the reader, it chimes in acknowledgement and for a tense second nothing happens. You bite the inside of your cheek, silently willing this to work. Red light.
“Welp. No life of crime for us,” Riley says.
“Just a s-s-second. Another idea,” you mumble, getting out your tablet. This is why everyone should always have a plan B. You run a hand along the wall, looking for an connection outlet. Need a secure line so you can log into your security access and unlock the door.
Hm… is there one on the card reader? Not at first sight. You run a hand over, trying to get a feel for any hidden ports. Touching it feels weird, you realize, can feel the electronics inside it humming, loud and clear, the same as your phone or tablet.
“Tech wiz time?” Riley asks.
“Do you see a, uh, a port? Anywhere?”
You’re going to jump off a bridge if you dragged Riley all this way only to get stopped at the door you knew was going to be there.
“Uh…” Riley scans the wall up and down. “I’m not seeing one. Is this important?”
You’re not going to roll your eyes. You’re not going to snap at her. She’s asking an honest question. “I n-n-need a hard connection to talk to the Super the right way.” You try not to scowl at Riley’s immediate next thought. “Like a wire not– not w-w-whatever you’re thinking of.”
Riley’s face turns into the picture of false innocence. “Why Morgan, I don’t know what you mean.”
Liar.
You stick your tongue out at her. She sticks hers out back.
Finally you find an open port a few feet away as part of a set of outlets an array of window screens are plugged into. The clear blue skies over the cityscape on display look nothing like the hazy ash-filled one you were just looking at an hour ago in the elevator. The plastic cap over the USB port pops off easily. From there it’s a matter of minutes to get into your account and – the light blinks green. From the doors there’s a cha-chunk and a hiss of air as the locks click open.
“Holy shit,” Riley breathes out. She rushes to push the door open. It turns out to roll to the side, into the wall, revealing a small inner chamber with another set of doors just beyond. Like an atrium. Or an air lock.
You double check to make sure your log in the access record gets wiped before unplugging your tablet and folding it away. “T-t-turn your phone off. Masks on too.”
Riley shoots you a look. “Seriously?”
“Just– just in case.”
You’re not so much worried about infection, not like Riley’s thinking. But it’ll help make facial recognition harder if anyone has cause to pull up the cameras before you get back into the system tonight to wipe them.
Once you’re inside the atrium, the outer doors shut and the inner set unlock with a gust of mist. The air inside Hydroponics is warm. Really warm. And humid. Like the inside of the bathroom after you’ve zoned out too long in the shower.
Just as you hoped, there doesn’t seem to be anyone in sight. Any people, that is. Most of the farm is automated. Monorail tracks of robot arms slide along from above between aisles of green-leafed vegetables while dog-shaped robots – yellow jointed baskets with arms, legs, and heads follow underneath, collecting and sorting harvest, trimmings, and whatever other debris the arms collect.
The entire space is painfully bright. Perfectly white walls reflecting the full blast of halogen sun lamps from somewhere out of view, carried through the space by arrays of mirrors.
Riley squints against the glare, shielding her eyes with one hand while waiting for them to adjust. “Ugh, and of course it’s hot as balls in here.”
You make a face. Gross.
There’s a central path through the maze that seems clear enough for human use, but you immediately veer off it. Let’s risk the cameras as little as possible, yeah? There’s barely enough space to walk between the rows and Riley ends up crowding up close against you. A nervous, chittering excitement coming off her.
“I feel like I’m in fucking, robot jungle land,” she whispers as the two of you duck under and around a pair of robots. “There aren’t going to be like, robo-bugs are there? I’m gonna flip if we get attacked by cyber-bees, dude.”
“Easy to-to-to forget how much of the uh, the arcology is automated,” you whisper back, not answering the question. There are in fact, air-borne pollinators you could reasonably call ‘cyber-bees.’ You watched a documentary about them once. They were cute looking.
Luckily, Riley’s too overwhelmed to notice the evasion. “We aren’t like… contaminating the food supply just by being here are we? My mom’s gonna be pissed if we jack up the price of peanuts.”
“I mean– there was already a-a-an Imago in here. Th-think that ship has sailed.”
With careful maneuvering, the pair of you make it through to the inner edge of the floor where the room opens up into a tower-long inner shaft. A reflection of the shopping mall in Epsilon. Next to you, Riley curses under her breath as she clutches the railing for life, sticking her head out to peer up and down the shaft.
The sun lamps on the ceiling are blindingly bright, obscuring the upper levels completely from the glare. You inch up to join her and check down, only to immediately panic and pull back, tugging Riley with you.
“Woah, hey what gives?” she hisses.
You hush her with a finger over you masked face and then, more carefully this time, lean forward to look over the edge. Peering all the way down to the floor, a wheat field is crawling with people. Some in black suits and armor, others in hazmat suits. At the center of the chaos is a limp body, splayed face down on the ground with one arm stretched out past it’s head.
Almost humanoid save for how large it looks compared to the smaller figures around it. Like a fallen giant. Or… what’s that ancient cartoon with the tiny people trying to use string and stakes to tie down some guy? Gulliver? It’s like if Gulliver was real – and made of gleaming silver. Feathered strands of what looks like clusters of golden leaves fan out from it’s head in a facsimile of hair. It’s dead – it has to be, but it doesn’t look it. Doesn’t feel it. There’s a pulsing still visible in the skin under the glare of the sun lamps. A hum detectable in the static.
It’s one thing to piece together the Imago’s appearence from security vids, but seeing it in person, even from this far away is another. Something coldly terrifying. Like any moment it might decide to stop being dead and get back up. No wonder there’s still armed guards down there.
Clean up crew.
“Oh shit,” Riley breathes, eyes wide beside you. Her hand grips your sleeve. “Is it… is it dead?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
You shrug, hands flopping uselessly at your sides.
Riley sucks in air through her teeth. “Holy shit. Do you see that?”
“Hm?” You blink, and it takes Riley pointing it out to draw you attention to the right spot.
They’re far enough away to be little more then blurry blobs but standing apart from the rest is – you strain through the static – a man and woman observing the aftermath. They’re both wearing an old-fashioned black suit and ties. Like something out of a corny vidshow cop drama.
“Who the hell is that? Government dudes?”
“Maybe?”
“What’s the one that handles monster attacks? CIA? NSA?”
“FBI?” you guess.
“Blue hair chick is fucking hot in that suit.”
You have to concentrate a little, squinting as you focus on what Riley’s seeing to make sense of them. The woman is taller than the man – which is saying something – her bright neon-blue hair cut short and slicked back. The two look like they’re discussing something. As they do, the woman stretches out one arm, and a coil of something that looks like liquid metal flows down around her arm, stretching out and cycling through various shapes.
Ferrofluid? Some sort of glitch with magnetic field abilities?
Riley’s staring hard, biting her lip.
You try your best to quash whatever it is you’re feeling even as you shoot her a look. “Try not to give us away with the sound of your drooling,” you sign.
“Soooorry,” she signs back, pulling away with a grin.
“Anything else look out of-of-of uh– out of place?” you ask. If you don’t keep her focused she’ll be horny-brained the rest of the day.
“What are we looking for?”
“Where it came from, maybe? We’re trying to find the box thing, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
There’s no way you’re getting down to see the thing first hand. It doesn’t matter what kind of wizardry you pull off with your security access. But if everyone’s still focused down there, then maybe…
Riley sees it first, one hand over her eyes to shield against the light from above. The other she stretches out to point. Three floors up, the railing is gone, replaced with fluttering yellow caution tape. There’s no orderly lines of green hanging from the ceiling, like something carved a hole in the side of the shaft.
“Somebody must have been hungry,” she jokes.
“Let’s take a look,” you reply, struggling to slow the drumming of your heartbeat. This close again to everything, to Security, to the monster – it makes it all the more obvious what a stupid idea this is. Dragging Riley along with you straight into danger like you’ve learned nothing.
***
The two of you find a set of ladders as you make your way around and over, the metal rungs slippery under your hands from the sweating air. A shortness of breath takes you both by the time you get up to the right floor. Have to haunch over, hands on knees while you wait for it to fade. Do they up the CO2 levels in here? That’s supposed to make plants grow better right? It came up in Super Nova once. In a fight against a very weirdly sexualized vine lady.
…Has there ever been a plant Imago?
You hope not. It’s probably game over if the entire Hydroponics tower suddenly erupts into monsters.
A tense silence settles between the two of you as you make your way through the rows and aisles. The static ever present in the back of your mind with Riley’s swirling thoughts and the hum of the lights and machines. On alert for anyone else, human or not.
Finally, you make it.
An entire grid chunk of the floor has been sectioned off with yellow caution tape and cleared out of plants and planters. The mangled remains of a handful of robot basket dogs have been piled up against a support column. A series of broken pipes are visible running along the ceiling, red pressure valves clamped shut. There are visible gouge marks in the floor, like something with claws the size of your arm came tearing through here.
“A fight,” you decide.
After a quick check to make sure there isn’t anyone else here, you trace the edge of the clearing, following the taped perimeter. Riley follows behind you, hands playing with the tape as she goes. “So like… they hit the Imago here, I guess? And then it fell?”
“I doubt it could have jumped up the thirty stories to be going the other way.”
“Why would it be running at all though? I thought becoming an Imago made you like, a mindless person-eating monster or whatever.”
“The one we saw–”
“Okay, but like, that was a dog, right? Or it was.” She shudders, a grimace falling across her face at the sudden unwanted recall of a week of nightmares. “I don’t want to think about this. You wanted to look for clues or something right?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Squinting at the break in the railing, you turn your head, mentally tracing back the path the Imago must have taken. It was definitely moving away from something. Or toward, you guess. Maybe it wanted to jump, you don’t know. Silently you start walking away from the edge, tracing the edge of the path back. Not sure what you’re looking for really. You can see the edge of the clearing. There’s nothing there either.
“Hey, question,” Riley whispers behind you.
“Hm?”
“Are Imago still, like… people?”
“Uh–”
“I mean, I never really thought about it before, you know? Imago’s like, an outside world problem. Not ours. But like, is this a zombie situation? Where there’s nothing left of the original? Or is the person like… still trapped inside? Or…”
“Or…?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“The– the uh, um, the brain is gone – different?”
“Different?”
Have to slow down to think about how to answer. Hands twisting the air in half-assed sign as you work through it. Aloud, you say, “It all… changes inside. I think. It um, it changes. Melts. Rivka would– would say it’s not the um, the same person.”
“Shit.”
She’s thinking about the dog Imago again. How it behaved, how it moved.
You stop moving and Riley nearly bumps into you. Turning around to face her, you step back for space and try to make sense of her facial expression. “Sorry,” you sign, “should I have… not brought you with me here?”
Without hesitation she shakes her head and wipes the frown off her face. Replaces it with a grin. “No way! You need the supervision.”
“Thanks.”
“Constant supervision,” she adds. “Like a baby.”
You harshen your expression into a glare. “I get it.”
She reaches up and pats you on the head. Or tries, you fend off the attempt and hurry onwards again before she can try again, laughing behind you. At the far end of the cleared area, you stop to look around again. A double-set of metal doors features prominently against the far wall, with a floor directory hung next to it.
There’s the support pillar from the security vid. The one the person who turned into the Imago was underneath when it happened.
“Status report,” Riley says, pulling your attention back to her. “Feel monster-y yet?”
You shake your head. “I’m f-fine. You?”
“The only thing I could go monster on right now is a basket of fries.”
“We just ate.”
“Yeah, like an hour ago. That’s forever.”
You roll your eyes and get back to looking, craning your head up. “It… this is the place. I think.”
“From the vid?”
“Yes,” you answer, feeling more confident the longer you look around. A lot is different, but… the pillar. The angle of the walls. The door. It has to be. Turn to take in the rest of the space. The plain, unadorned wall, the high ceiling. The two of you split up and comb the rest of the area. Nothing. No where.
The air filter box from the video is gone.
“You sure it would even still be here?” Riley says as the two of you reconvene. “Maybe it fell down and got cleaned up with the rest.”
You shake your head. “No. No, I checked,” you sign, curt. Feeling crazy. Like reality is playing tricks on you. “I checked. It should be here. It never fell.”
“Well it’s not here any more…” Riley snaps her fingers, suddenly excited again. “You know what that means?” You stare at her, blank faced. “Dude, it means someone took it. If you can go see on the footage who did then–”
The lights flicker. For a brief moment the entire room is plunged into pitch darkness before the emergency lighting comes back on. Riley’s gone rigid beside you save for a strangled yelp as she jumps. A second later dull red lights flicker on as well.
Echoing off the walls is the distant wail of the alert signals from countless phones below.
“Oh my god.” Riley breathes out, “Can we get a break for one freaking second?”
You grab her by the upper arm, already moving. Heart in your throat. “We-we-we need to go. Now.”
“We need to–”
“Phones later. After– after we’re out.” You’re both already masked. Between the inevitable screaming and the tortured buzzsaw in the static, you’ll know long before you accidentally run into an Imago. But nothing’s going to help you if Security catches either of you out here now. Not during a lockdown.
Despite expecting the worst, the first door proves unlocked, opening the way through a long narrow corridor. The two of you take off, only for the static buzz of incoming people catch your attention.
Shit.
With no time to explain, you pull hard on Riley’s arm, dragging her with you through an open door to the side. Some sort of break room? Empty, thankfully.
“Dude, what gives?” Riley hisses.
You shush her with a finger over your mouth. There isn’t really anywhere in here to hide. The room is tiny, just big enough for a counter with a crumb-encrusted toaster oven and a fridge on one side, a water cooler on the other. In between the two is one of those plastic portable tables with a pair of cheap metal folding chairs.
You leave the door open only a crack so it doesn’t lock you both in here and then gesture Riley to get up against the wall with you. As long as no one actually comes in here, you’ll be fine.
Just as soon as Riley’s moved away from the door, the thumping sound of approaching footsteps becomes audible, growing louder and moving at speed. Multiple people. You hold your breath as they keep going, running back down the way the two of you just came.
After another five seconds of silence, Riley slumps back against the wall. “We’re totally boned aren’t we?” she signs. “What’s the fine for trespassing again?”
“Bright side: we’re not in the middle of a monster attack this time.”
Riley snorts. “Are you trying to jinx us?”