We've nearly made it to the drone factory.
The complex structure looms like a giant toddler's lost blocks, with a handful of steely gray cubic and rectangular structures surrounding the giant building proper. As we cross the wide open expanse of the airfield, Ace advances with her scope up to spot our progress. Keeping close to the dilapidated trucks and broken down machinery for cover, she leads us ever closer to the factory itself.
I go last during our mad dashes from cover to cover, with Tune at my heels. I'm just about to dive behind another truck when Ace clears the distance and throws me the rest of the way. She baseball slides in next to me and from somewhere a heavy bullet slams against the truck's rusty chassis, making me scream. Razor tosses her arms around me to shield me as another few massive sounding bullets hit the truck behind us.
Ace loads her rifle. "Snipers of some kind. I saw them. Red eyes shining. Way out there, up on the factory's exterior catwalks. Hundred, one thirty meters or so."
ACE> Snipers???
There's an immediate response in the group chat.
ZENITH> Rivetshooters. Do NOT get hit.
Mom has my head in her lap, stroking my hair. "Well? Get rid of them, shooter. We'll wait."
"Just… Just me? I mean, okay, but Witch can definitely hit them too–"
"I don't want to get shot!"
"Very true." Dad places a hand on my head, giving it a couple pats and messing up my white hair. "Don't you fret, kiddo. Dad will take care of this."
"Th–Thanks…"
Razor says, "Let us watch your visuals while we're safe and relaxing behind cover."
"Yep."
It was a joke at first and I only mentioned it in passing, but Razor and Ace actually took to the idea of me being their daughter. I like it. It feels nice. They take care of me. I'm loved.
I close my eyes and end up in Ace's. Seeing myself is odd, but I look as comfortable as I feel in Razor's arms. Ace activates her L1 Tech, namely Speed Step, then sidles over to the edge of the truck. Without looking, she pushes Taser back into cover.
"Stay put, girl. Stay with them. I don't want you getting shot either. Hey, Tune, how's your armor? Can it take a bullet?"
"Not for you," she answers with her audible smile.
That makes Razor burst out laughing.
Ace emits a sigh, shaking her head. "Fine, fine. Watch out for them, please."
"Affirmative. Monitor and alert."
Checking her rifle one more time, Ace steals another look at us then nods. "Watch this. Dad's got it."
As she sprints to the next truck she hits the snow and slides on her thigh, sweeping her rifle wide to the left. Two times she fires, then slips behind cover as more shots hit the snow behind her. With a laugh she reloads, glancing back over.
Razor observes, "You missed. Both."
"I was checking their positions!"
"Mhm. Sure."
Ace fires two more times through the truck's cabin, then ducks back into cover. The returning fire is thunderous. I can't help wondering what size these bullets are. Or are they actual rivets? After reloading, Ace lets her head fall back on the metal behind her with a soft thud.
"Two headshots," she huffs, adjusting her scope. "They're still standing, but I doubt they can fire on us without optics."
"I trust you, but let's verify that."
"Copy." Ace sprints back over, sliding and shooting again. The inertia brings her to me, so I open my arms and legs to hold her for once. Ever since we got back from the last trip, they've been letting me snuggle with them, but they're always holding me. Dad ejects a spent case and smiles up at me, head on my chest. "Got them, kiddo."
I pat her head this time. "You did it, Dad. Great work."
"Ahh. That feels nice…"
"Look alive, you two," Razor says, pushing us off her. "The noise brought swarmers."
We clamber to our feet and I cower in the shade of the truck's chassis. "Are we–Are we sure the snipers are–"
"Yep." Ace is a few meters out of cover. "Nothing. They're blind up there without their heads. Stay close, you two! Let's try to push for the factory! Razor, you first, then Witch! Tune and I will follow. Let's get a roof over our heads before we really get swarmed!"
Razor nods, hand on her sword hilt. "With me, Witch. Let's go."
"I–I think I need a second!"
"No time. Come on."
Taser zips out in front of us, and I'm heartbroken to see her miss. Poor thing cannot seem to land a hit. The familiar crack of Ace's rifle pings a hit off something overhead, then there's a second hit. I'm not looking, head down as I sprint behind Razor while she leads me across the open expanse of snowy airway. A swarmer swoops into her path and she makes quick debris of it with Logos.
"Kill that thing!" Scribe's voice shouts in my ear. "Finish it off!"
I scream. "I forgot you were there! Which one?"
"Your left, genius! Ace hit it so hard you could sneeze and kill it! Do it before it calls for backup! No, better than that! You have a line of them! Do something!"
He's right–they're aligned. I twist my body sideways as I take my next step, activating my L2 ChromaTech–Prism Spray–and tuning it to green like always. A sickening stream of vitriolic acid takes to the air. It punches clean through the first swarmer and slams the other two like a fire hose. Corrosive bile coats their rusted chassis, jamming up their joints and wings, grounding them in the now green snow.
"Nice! I hit all three! T–T–T–Triple combo!"
As I'm turning I see Tune go to attack one but she slips in the acid, falling into it as well but grappling hold on both swarmers. That doesn't stop them from emitting their piercing shrieks. Or maybe that was me screaming. Two more drop from the skies and divebomb us. Their plasma coated claws click and a sudden cloud of purple electrified gel-congealed fire bursts in our path. Razor pivots and dodges to the side but I can't react in time.
The plasma cuts like knives. It sears through my overshield then sticks to my composite armor and chassis, burning, burning, burning! "Ow, ow, ow, ow! It hurts!"
Taser streaks past me and fires her pins, catching one of them with all three. The swarmer's wings seize and it crashes to the ground. I'm elated until I trip over it, catching a meter of air before I hit the ground too. I land hard on my left shoulder and something pops.
I don't feel anything. Yet. Just burning. But the fall into the snow put out the flames, and my focus on sustaining Fearless somehow holds true. Bullets whip past me but they're not Ace's, because she's right in front of me, dragging me to my points before firing her rifle as Razor cuts more down and races past.
I can't move my left arm. I can hardly feel it, but I know something's very wrong. There's no time to stop and check. Taking off after Razor, I send a triplet of green Prism Bolts back toward Tune, dealing heavy damage to the swarmers she's holding down.
"Tune, let's go! They'll melt on their own!"
After confirming she's coming I turn to keep running. Only when my TFC is suddenly and inexplicably restored do I realize Badeep is on my left bicep. The injection blooms cyan in my venous tubing, numbing a little of my pain.
"What the–When did–"
"Heads down!" Ace shouts. "Go! Fast! Get under that roof!"
I hear gunshots but don't stop to look around for where they land. Ahead of me, Razor dashes into cover inside the factory's huge garage doors which have been blown out by something big. I hurry in after her and slam my back to some shipping crates, the giant metal ones, gasping for air and clutching my injured arm around my middle.
Razor plants a hand on my good shoulder and looks me deep in the eyes. "Keep Badeep. I'm going up there to kill the snipers. Stay put."
I can only nod, watching as she begins to climb. Outside, Ace stops in place to fire twice, and high above I hear something bang and break before it clangs off the wall and hits the factory floor. A skyswarmer's single red optic glows its focused beam at me then slowly goes dim.
Crouching in cover, I shield my head and hyperventilate, my sustain slipping. I'm dead. I'm dying. My arm is broken. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. So deeply I can't stand it. There's a crunching feeling to it, and if I even try to move it my electrodes short out. It needs to be amputated or replaced. I don't have replacement parts! Not for a Spectral! I can't do this! I can't be out here! I'm not made for battle!
Ace shouts, "Get to cover, Tune! Go!"
"Warning: status critical! Damage Index above sixty percent. Ouch! Condition: corrosive. Ouch! I cannot repair myself faster than I am taking acidic damage. Ouch! Ouch!" She comes into sight around the garage door, quicksilver slathered with my biting hydrofluoric acid. Her eyes are red. Does she feel pain? I don't know. "Attempting repairs!"
Ace is between her and the door, wildly waving her hands. "No no no! Get into cover before–"
"I cannot spare another moment before attempting repairs. Repairing. Repairs successful. Damage Index rejuvenated from ninety four percent to sixty five–Ouch!"
She's been shot! A rivet the size of a railway spike clangs against her chest and she staggers.
Ace throws her into the factory like an oversized rag doll. "Get your shiny metal ass inside!"
The poor thing crashes to the hard floor and skids to me. I hurry over and try to activate my L1 Repair CyanTech, words tumbling from my lips. "No no no! You are not permitted to die! Not here, not now, not ever! Hang on, Tune! Here it comes, ready? Here it comes. Look, look, I'm giving you a catalyzed fix! An L1 Repair using an L2 Charge! Here it comes!"
"Thank you–Ouch!" Her eyes flash red then go back to blue as a soothing shine of cyan glows over her body for a moment. "Healing received. I will die regardless if corrosion is not–Ouch! If corrosion is not removed! Ouch!"
"How–How do I–Scribe! Help me!"
"Uagh! Water! Dilute it with water!"
"I don't have any water!"
"This whole planet is water! Moon! Whatever!"
Wait. "Tune, go jump in the snow!"
"Affirmative!"
I rush out with her, watching her dive headfirst into the nearest snowbank. Without so much as a second thought I kick out another L2 Prism Spray tuned to red, and flames spill from my Conduit to melt the ice and snow on top of her. It liquifies and steams as it pours, trickling in a small channel through the mud and dirty snow at my leg points. The water rushes over Tune and she continues laying in the puddle even once the snowbank is gone.
She's staring up at the gray sky. "That was somewhat enjoyable."
"Your first real shower," Razor snickers beside me, and I flinch. She puts a hand on my back. "Sorry."
Ace wanders around the corner, rifle on her shoulder with her head and on a swivel, Taser at her shoulder. "We're clear, for now. Good shit, girls. Everyone intact? Mostly intact?"
"I'm unscathed," Razor says, studying me. "But Witch took a nasty fall."
I can't hide it, can I? The only reason I'm not inconsolable is because Badeep numbed me with that TFI. There's nothing I can say in protest or defiance or deception, so I just bob my head in defeat.
"Let me look at you," Ace says, coming over and magnetizing her rifle to her back. "Let's see it."
"Are… you sure about this?" Razor asks, in her natural position with her left arm hanging and her right hand resting on the sword hilt across her tailbone. "If you hurt our poor daughter worse, I'm going to be pissed."
"I'll be gentle," Ace says, raising her hands in surrender. "Remember, you have your fancy tracking overlay, but Nep-67's hardware came with this first aid software I mentioned earlier. I won't touch anything. Just let me see, Witch. Little bit of field triage. That's all. Just some triage."
I nod, closing my eyes. I don't want to see.
Do I even want to know how bad it is?
She touches me, but it's gentle as promised. There's no sudden relocation of the joint or anything, she's just prodding at some of my hardware between my chestplate chassis and my shoulder. "Mm. Can you move it at all?"
"N–No. It hurts too–too much…"
"You broke your left clavicle. Not just a fracture–it's in splinters."
"Oh. Okay. Okay. I feel sick…"
"Sit down a second. We need to get you sorted before we do anything else. Catch your breath. Razor, we need to talk. Tune, monitor and alert."
"Affirmative."
I go inside and perch on a wooden crate, hyperventilating again, and woozy too. I feel faint, lightheaded, and the fringes of my vision are going dark on their own. I curse my optic nerve, my occipital cortex, and my frail body. This is embarrassing. I can't believe I'm this pathetic. I'm barely hurt according to my TFC, but here I am, practically immobilized.
"This…" Scribe begins, then trails off for a few seconds, finally concluding, "isn't good."
I whimper. "Ohhh… Fuuuck… Let's–Let's hear it. Get all the bad news over with."
"Well, there is good news to it, more of a silver lining than anything, so let's do that first. The good news is you can easily replace it with another. You don't need a whole torso replacement just for the one synth-bone. The bad news is you'll need another Spectral sized clavicle, and surgery either way. It's too… splintered to leave in there, and we'll need to get all the fragments out. Unless you decide to aim for the torso replacement, in which case…"
"I'd need to find one first. And my left arm will be useless until I do."
"Um. Yeah. If it were your shoulder or humerus it would be a much easier fix, but…"
I let my eyes fall shut, weighing the options. There aren't any good ones. Abandon this push, abandon the basin, and return to the Station's immediate area, all to randomly scavenge around in hopes of finding a suitable replacement corpse, for who knows how long? If I ever find one, that is! Or suck it up and deal with it, numb the injury to shit for as long as I can, and hope to find some other alternative?
Ohhh, I never should have left the Station…
Slowing down my breathing so I don't actually faint, gradually recovering some amount of my sustain on Fearless, I wonder aloud, "Any–Ow. Ow. Are there… any Frame parts here? In this factory?"
"Almost certainly not. Your chances of finding a replacement there are–Well, saying suboptimal doesn't do it justice. Your chances are just fucking zero, functionally. You need to turn back."
"I can't. We've come too far."
"You don't have a choice. Unless you want to fashion yourself a sling and be constantly hopped up on TFIs. Of which you only have a handful. And don't forget, however far forward you manage to get with one wing clipped, you then have to make the return trip. Please tell me you did not build me to be the literal most logic-based semi-sapient entity on this rock just to ignore what I have to say, Witch. All of my sage advice debugs down to this, okay? Are you ready? Don't be fucking stupid. You'll only get yourself killed out there like this."
"I'm not ignoring your input, Scribe. I'm just… emotional. I can't believe it's come down to this. All because I fucking tripped and fell…"
"Even Achilles had his heel."
"Damn it. Damn it. Damn it."
"Here come the others. They're going to tell you the same thing. Listen up."
"We need to go back," Ace sighs, arms crossed as she comes to a stop just in front of me. "It's too dangerous to keep pushing with you hurt like this."
"It's the right thing to do," Razor adds, giving me a distant gaze. "You know that. So… Let's get moving. We're going home."
"Hold–Hold on," I mutter, good hand clinging to my bad shoulder. "Wait. A replacement. I broke just one bone, but it's–it's enough, isn't it? Enough to shelf me. But. But. Listen… You're both right. I agree. I don't have any other better ideas."
Neither of them say anything. Ace looks out toward the snow, and Razor's eyes are locked on mine. I think I'm talking nonsense. The pain is impacting my neurological core.
"But–But–But I've scoured those woods already," I remind them all. "I've taken so much of what Nep parts were available and I dedicated it all to rebuilding the two of you. There aren't any other Spectral torso replacements. There really aren't any Nep corpses left to pick from, not unless we stumble across some more underground like when you, Razor, found Nep-67."
"Right. And with their Failsafe signals blocked by the concrete, good luck tracking them down."
"Ex–Exactly. Ow. Ow. Fuck."
Ace turns back to me, asking, "What about the Frame Division in that bunker? Henna and Zenith didn't get the chance to look through it."
"That's…" Razor trails off. "One option. I'd rather not go back there, but I will for this."
"You really don't have a spare clavicle lying around, Witch? Not even one from all those bodies you ended up having to just scrap? What about Louis? He might have some replacements. We have options, Witch."
"No, Ace. No, we don't. I'm–No. Scribe, Scribe, how many Spectral Variant bodies did we see?"
"Besides yours? One. Maybe two, but it was hard to tell with the damage."
"One Spectral corpse," I tell them, somehow managing to regain my sustain on Fearless. "One. I checked the numbers. Of the forty two corpses I found, over seventy percent of those were Martials. The rest were Ethereals. And then–And then one confirmed Spectral. No, I don't have any spare parts, I don't have spare anything for me, and Louis doesn't stock anything my size. This isn't a leg or a hand replacement part where I can get away with wearing an Ethereal piece. This synth-bone has to be the exact dimensions."
Razor slowly nods. "Then what do you think we should do, Witch?"
"I don't–I don't have… I don't have any better ideas. But I do have one much worse idea." I sigh, shaking my head at the mere thought of it. "A lame horse. You don't don't do surgery on a lame horse. What do you do instead? Bang!"
Razor's expression hardens. "No."
Ace winces. "Right, that's kinda… Come on, Witch. We'll find something. Somewhere."
"No, no, no. Think about it. Put a bullet through my heart. My torso is already FUBAR and needs replacing. Keep my head, my arms, my hands. I could take or leave my legs–they're clumsy and spindly and don't add anything of note. So you could–you could kill me, then kill every Nep who shows up until it's another Spectral, then stick my head and arms on her body. Or–No, I could override her easily enough and do the replacement work myself. Either or."
"You're talking about harvesting," Razor emphasizes, tilting forward a bit at the hip. "Not just old bodies, already dead Neps, you're talking about genuinely harvesting new ones for scrap parts."
"Yes. I am."
"That's not right," Ace sighs, not looking at either of us. "We agreed to rebuild each other if we died, but this… This feels like that but taken a step too far. I mean, Witch, you're alive, just injured."
"But… When Razor lost her arm, she took one from Nep-67–"
"Nep-67 was already dead," Razor cuts me off, tone as sharp as her namesake.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't thinking. I was wrong. I'm sorry."
"Yes. You were wrong."
"Hey, I know," Ace says, swooping in like a natural. "We're standing in a drone factory. I'd bet you there's a maintenance wing somewhere around here. Even if it's primarily for DIs and MIs, it's worth it to check if they kept any Frame parts handy. Clavicles are relatively common breaks too, so even more likely. I'd say it's worth a once over before we call it a wipe and go home."
Razor's stare is making me squirm. I really upset her, didn't I? I hate myself. She looks away and it's like being released from impalement. "Worth it to check. Sure. Are you equipped to perform a procedure like this in the field?"
"Am I?" Ace hums, then shrugs. "How hard can it be?"
"Surgery. It's surgery. That's how hard it will be."
"Let's see if we can even find a replacement before we focus on this."
"Fine. I'll follow your lead, like usual. Witch, maybe you should stay put and rest."
"And be left alone here? Absolutely not. I'm coming with you two."
"If you say so." Razor trims a cut a piece off a nearby tarp, half tattered but mostly intact, then comes back over and hands it to Ace. "For a sling."
"Right." Ace comes closer to me, patting my head and gently tying the sling into place. "How's that? Too high?"
"It's fine."
"Just fine isn't good enough for our precious daughter."
"Maybe a bit lower, then…"
Once she ties it off, she checks the rest of me for injuries, finding none. Then she kisses my forehead and smiles. "Okay. You're set. As set as you can be."
Razor observes, "Your Conduit is on your right hand, correct? You can still fight."
I nod. Not that I want to. I'd rather go home and hide under the blankets in bed. The world is a cold hard place and I am far too meek to hack it. And Cipher-3 is worse than most worlds out there.
With my wing clipped but stabilized, I slide off the wooden crate into Ace's waiting arms. She makes sure I'm not about to tip over with an arm around my waist, watching me with an intense, protective ferocity in her eyes. Even Razor looks ready to bend over backwards to take care of me.
It hurts. Really badly. And I don't think I'll ever be able to fix it. What happens if I can't? What happens if I permanently lose my arm? I'd be even more useless. I'd rather die. I'd rather be dead.
They won't allow me to die. I kind of resent them for that.
But I follow them deeper into the drone factory all the same.