This is an early preview of Broken Chapter 2. Changes will be made between this version and the final version.
Thanks for reading <3
CHAPTER 2
Cra§H £aNDi🄽G
ISA Gran Costa Camp #18
02/27/4172
The void that existed between off and on held a complex meaning for Sebby. His lack of agency during those periods was massively troubling to think about, but also warmly comforting. Or maybe that’s just how he’d learned to cope. Sebby knew that for long stretches of time, he had no control over his ability to exist as more than an unfeeling mass. His capacity to see, hear, feel and experience the world was entirely dependent upon others deciding that he deserved to be part of it. Deciding that Sebby was a useful enough tool to justify his alien presence within their world.
The transition from nothingness to consciousness was always a shock, but this time it came with a sudden sense of relief. The unexpected nature of the feeling set Sebby on edge.
EDGAR, run a full system panel.
Sending the request to the co-habitating computational AI was far more difficult than Sebby expected. His mind was hazy and slow and his attention was fragmented between a seemingly unending number of questions about how he existed again, and why it felt different. He couldn’t recall feeling this way before, but remembering anything was taxing. The basics were there – what he was, who made him, who he belonged to. But even they felt ephemeral and uncertain, and took an enormous effort to recall.
“Of course someone still showed up. Hells, ops are annoying. Who was it and what did they say?” a boldly confident voice near Sebby asked. Despite not recognizing the speaker, hearing it was a relief. Hearing anything meant that audio was back. Video would be next. Then tactile, but he tried not to think about that.
“Some new arrival, I’d guess a priv from Haxfern. Y’know the type, clueless and over-confident, be gone in a week,” a louder and more friendly, but equally unknown voice responded. “They asked if we had clearance, I told ’em we did, straight from Nayira. Then – get this – they asked if I was ‘Miss Gen-Blackwell’. I told ’em they were damn lucky you weren’t there because you’d have skewered ’em for callin’ you miss. And to actually read their camp crew primer. Then I told ’em to fuck off – which, to their credit, they did. Very quickly.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t rack ’em, Pointy,” the first voice responded, followed by a low rumbling laugh.
“Eh, they were kinda cute. Didn’t wanna burn that bridge too fast – y’know, just in case.” Another laugh, from somewhere.
Both voices were speaking a rough, improper version of Cress. It sounded somewhere between Low Cress and the unrefined basic Cress that existed outside Amcrest. The lack of High Cress meant they weren’t Nexline techs, or anyone in his owner’s estates. Sebby wasn’t sure what that meant, but coupled with their unplaceable accents, he could assume that it was less than ideal.
Sebby forced his attention to the time. Over his short life he’d learned to lean on his inherent sense of time for comfort when he had little else. It was always consistent, always the same. 20:34:49, 50, 51, 52. The seconds were still there, keeping the beat. That was good.
But the rest was wrong. It had to be. Sebby knew that he’d been deactivated when he docked with his station at 16:41:37, June 5, 4096. The time was now reading 20:34:57, February 27, 4172. Seventy-five years, eight months and twenty-two days had passed. His mind was too cloudy to process what that meant, so he painfully forced his attention back to the voices.
“Almost done – core went green immediately,” a low, gravelly voice much closer to Sebby said. “Prob’ly been listenin’ or watchin’ us for a bit. You sure you still want me to turn over motor controls, Ezra?”
A booming, bemused laugh rose up in reply. “You worry too much, Red. It’s so small – probably weighs less than my leg. What’s it gonna do?” the first voice added. Ezra, he could intuit.
Before Sebby could process why his weight had been compared to a leg, video returned. His world suddenly became pure white, then faded to an incandescently bright and washed out series of blobs. Slowly, details began to blink into view. Small chunks at the center of his vision were the first to return, then movement and color in his periphery started to feel more cohesive and less like abstract suggestions of light and shape. Full video always took a bit to stabilize and interlace, but the fact that he was no longer hanging within a lightless void bolstered his confidence.
He’d hoped that with video his situation would make more sense, but it was at best a lateral move – the dimly lit room he was in was as foreign as the voices that inhabited it. Walls to both sides were dark red, broken up by inlaid silver accents in a large, repeating hexagonal pattern that gave the room a cage-like feel. The wall he was facing was flat white with matching silver geometric accents, and a single door with a wide but narrow window above it that Sebby could see a spray of stars and darkness through. A white counter-like table was mounted to the mostly clean but well-worn steel floor, with a pair of sapiens leaning casually back against it. The third, Sebby knew, was directly behind him, invasively prying into the small access panel in his lower back.
“Oh, hey Red – its eyes are glowing now,” the more lithe of the two sapiens leaning against the counter said. “And the pupils are jumping around. I think it’s watching us.” They stepped closer, dropped to a squat and made direct eye contact while jovially smiling and waving a hand in Sebby’s face. “Hey bud. Welcome back.” They were cinnamon and tan with sharp canid facial proportions and bright green eyes, and the squat they held transformed their gangly limbs into a mess of lines and angles. Those details, coupled with their thick fabric garnet jumpsuit emblazoned with an unknown insignia, made it obvious to Sebby that they weren’t from Amcrest. Distressing.
“Alright Kaye, give it space.” The request came from Ezra, an older, nearly as tall grey-and-white felid with an intimidating amount of mass. She had been the first voice Sebby heard and seemed to be the dominant force in the room. She was dressed plainly in black with a long, weather-worn overcoat in the same garnet hue and with the same insignia as Kaye’s. But all of that felt secondary to the massive bare-metal artificial leg that was kicked out casually in front of her. Sebby had never seen a prosthetic quite like it – it looked like a piece of construction equipment, with blocky proportions, menacingly sharp edges and a foot that was more of a spike with a heel. Sebby understood the leg reference now. And she was probably right. Still, his gaze flicked to the door.
Kaye moved back to settle beside Ezra, returning to a lean while holding onto the same smile they’d had when they were just inches away. “Yeah, yeah. You gotta see those eyes, though, Ez. They’re wild. Never seen anything like ’em before.”
“Motor controls are releasing in 10 seconds,” the voice behind him – Red – said. They stepped forward and finally into Sebby’s field of view, moving to Ezra’s unoccupied side while pocketing the tool they’d been using. Another felid – stocky, short and missing two fingers on their left hand. Red looked like they might be related to Ezra except for the fact that they were, ironically, too brown. They wore the same style garment that Kaye did, but the way they were slouching against the counter exposed hard edges hidden beneath. An exoframe, Sebby assumed. Kaye likely had one as well. They didn’t look like military frames – at least any Sebby had seen – but they still posed a threat. Another hurdle in what was already an optimistically hopeless escape plan.
Motor controls returned along with tactile, sending waves of hot, sharp frisson coursing over every surface of Sebby’s body. He knew the sensation was caused by the system testing each tactile node in quick succession for calibration, but it always felt wrong and overwhelming. And worse, it pushed his mind towards something else. Something he didn’t want to be near. His stance wobbled and legs locked as he once again had to actively think and act on his ability to stand upright.
“Hi there. I hope you can stick around,” Ezra said, taking up a more gentle tone.
Sebby quickly glanced at himself, but tried to not let the fact that he was bereft of clothes affect him. It wasn’t his preferred state of being, but there were bigger issues – and he couldn’t fully recall if he was wearing anything when he’d docked. He started to take up a proper pose to respond, but was cut off by a voice that he knew only he could hear.
SBM01, the test is complete. WARNING – You are experiencing functionality errors. Please contact a Nexline technician and return to your station immediately.
You have the absolute worst timing. He knew chastising the mindless AI wouldn’t do anything, but it was one of the only freedoms he had at the moment. It was aimlessly satisfying to not feel like he was at the absolute bottom of the pecking order.
Sebby caught Red shooting Ezra a worried look just as he forced his focus internal and the room fell away. He knew he was too hazy to safely open a second focus, which he wasn’t great at even under ideal circumstances. As quickly as he could, given his reduced state, he summoned up a visualized version of the report from EDGAR. Visual reports were slower, but he preferred them over forced integration – the information always felt out of place and took significantly more effort to recall when they were uploaded. That, and he hated the feeling of EDGAR intruding into his mind to deliver them.
The report floated in front of him, a mass of gently glowing text against a background of nothingness. Motor systems were good, minus some minor errors with servomotor synchronization in his right hand. Sensory was good, maintenance systems functioning fine, with only a single warning about dust particulates being higher than normal. He avoided looking at the report on cognitive functioning, but hoped the examination would still satisfy EDGAR for now as he flipped his focus back to the room and steadied himself.
“Where am I? And who are you?” Sebby was doing his best to adjust his speech pattern to match Ezra’s, as much as he hated not using titles and honoraries. It felt so improper. And beneath his station.
“I’m Ezra, this twiggy thing here is Kaye and that lovable fella is Red.” Ezra gestured to both in turn as she spoke, then returned her hands calmly to her lap. “And you’re in an outbuilding in ISA Gran Costa Camp #18. We recovered you during a reclamation salvage expedition I was crew lead for. Now, if that’s enough to satisfy you, I’d like to know your model ID and name. And how to address you – if you have a preference. Kaye’s null and I imagine, since you’ve been listenin’, that you’ve figured out me ‘n Red.”
The question grated at Sebby. Only Low Cress used trinary gendered language – High Cress exonerated its speakers from being reduced to such a base element, with titles and honoraries tied only to one’s position within their Dynast-corps. Beneath those, everyone was simply referred to as ‘he’. That’d have to do.
“I’m SBNX-SBM01. My name is Sebastian, but I’m known as Sebby. I have been identified using ‘he’. Are you part of an ISA invasion force?” Even as he spoke, the idea seemed farcical. The Independent State Assembly – or ISA – was a toothless collection of hold-out nations that were slowly starving themselves to death through their unwillingness to join Amcrest. But they had no standing military, as far as he knew. For the past 350 years, Amcrest – where Sebby was made and lived – existed uncontested as the only remaining global world power. The nation-states of the ISA had remained independent entirely by virtue of lacking any critical resources that Amcrest needed – but their minimal connection to Amcrest put them centuries behind, technologically. And culturally, he was discovering.
“No need for an invasion, Amcrest took care of that itself about 80 years ago. All gone, sad to say. But hey, you’ve survived. Congratulations.” Ezra clapped three times and smirked.
Sebby felt a small burst of relief that his connection to time wasn’t wrong, but it melted away as he processed the rest. “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”
“That, my little friend, is a subject of much debate.” Ezra let out a low sigh and leaned forward. “There’s no clear answer. All we know is that on June 7, 4096, everything in Amcrest went haywire. Its drone defense network started targeting citizens, bioweapons were released, power plants imploded. End-of-the-world style shit, with no warning. Within 24 hours, what you knew of as Amcrest was gone, just like that,” Ezra said, punctuating the last statement with a snap. “The scraps of the world that remained – that’s us – had to come together or risk a similar fate, because despite our independence, the ISA still relied on trade with Amcrest for food and essential infrastructure supplies. Survival required rethinking every part of how we lived, and cooperation on a massive scale. We still lost twenty percent of our population or so, too – to starvation and lack of potable water, mostly. But we made it – we stabilized. And eventually we grew strong enough to start dippin’ into the big nightmarish fuckin’ mess that used to be Amcrest.” Ezra paused, took a breath and leaned back, hands sliding to both sides to grip at the table edge. Sebby could tell it was rehearsed – likely a speech she’d given many times before.
“When did you dock and shut down? Date, time. Gotta know,” Kaye asked with a surprisingly hurried eagerness.
“June 5, 4096 at 16:41,” Sebby quickly responded, somewhat uncertain if he should have. He’d been trying to process what Ezra said and hadn’t given the question the appropriate level of thought.
Kaye’s jaw twitched with what Sebby guessed was a suppressed reply. They glanced at Red, then deftly hopped over the counter and disappeared behind it. After a second they reappeared with a razor thin, semi-stiff white rectangle and a small tube. It took Sebby a moment to put together what they were.
“Is that paper?” Sebby knew that the ISA had been behind technologically, but he didn’t think they were that far behind. Every nation he knew of either relied solely on Amcrest’s AmSEC data network or one of their own. Even in the least developed areas, personal panel ownership was near 100%. Paper had been passé for centuries in Amcrest, and had only begun to re-emerge as a luxury item just before Sebby had been made.
“Yep, ain’t it great,” Kaye said while scribbling at the paper with the pen. Sebby had only seen them in historical vids, but was doing his best not to stare.
Ezra cleared her throat. “The camp is air-gapped – all reclamation camps are. No network, no data nodes, just one hardwire comm line out to a high-security ocean platform. And that’s heavily monitored and restricted to mostly priority comms. It’s all to avoid Amcrest military tech somehow gettin’ out and causing havoc.”
Sebby gave himself a moment to process. The pieces – as confusing as they were – were starting to make the faintest bit of sense. Except for one.
“Why did you recover me? The ISA hates synths.” The majority of sapiens that Sebby had met during his now former life had described the population of the ISA as techno-illiterate luddites who refused to take part in the evolution of sapien society. And that they hated synths, on a practical and conceptual level. He’d heard multiple reports of ISA terrorists capturing transport ships full of synths to dramatically – and publicly – destroy them in protest.
Ezra shook her head and let out a long sigh. Red pointedly mumbled something that Sebby frustratingly couldn’t make out.
“Because you’re useful,” Ezra said with a shrug. “We’re here looking for useful tech, synth or not. Even with our best and brightest minds working together non-stop, there’s no way we’d be able to catch up with Amcrest’s tech for a century or more. And that’s an optimistic estimate. And, yeah, it’s true that a portion of the ISA still doesn’t accept synths or Amcrest tech, but that segment is getting smaller and commands a lot less power than they used to. The rest of us see the writing on the wall, and want to build a better world together. One where you can be more than objects. Y’know – as long as you’re useful.”
Red did his best to muffle a rumbly sigh as he turned away from Sebby, attention shifting to a small notebook he’d produced from somewhere Sebby couldn’t see. Sebby stared blankly ahead while trying to actively suppress the swell of anxiety he felt every time Ezra said ‘useful.’ Before it could fully arrive it was met with a subtle stab of heat somewhere unknowable within himself, which faded into a diffused numbness. His attention snapped back to Ezra, freed of any lingering apprehension.
Ezra clapped her hands together and sat upright, moving her intimidatingly bulky leg enough to make it dramatically hiss. “So, Sebby, now we have to determine your usefulness. And I’m afraid that’s gonna be an uphill battle.” Ezra’s voice was tinged with a cautiousness that hadn’t been present so far. “Because this isn’t the first time that we’ve talked, though our last meeting was much, much shorter. You crashed just after I introduced myself, collapsed into a messy pile right there where you’re standing now. Because of that, your record is marked as ‘non-functional.’ Luckily, we’re required to try three restarts before we toss ya.”
A crash provided an explanation for the disconcerting feeling he awoke with, and the haziness he felt after. But it also meant his survival was now in question. Before the shock of that realization could set in, an exhilarating warmth began to creep over the edges of Sebby’s mind. It was EDGAR, finally doing something useful. He impatiently returned to counting seconds while he waited for the weaponized confidence that he knew was coming. This was his usefulness. He hoped it’d be enough.
Sebby straightened his posture and folded his arms crisply in front of himself, right hand laid flat over the left for two seconds before each slid to grasp at the other, fingers firmly entwined. It was a pose of subservience and respect in Amcrest, one that he’d taken many times before during negotiations – though never with stakes like this. He sterilized his expression then made direct eye contact with Ezra for two seconds before dropping his gaze respectfully to her feet. “Gracious apologies. I was offline for more than seventy-five years. When I first reactivated, the shock of that discovery caused a system reset. Nothing more. It won’t impact my performance, Divines.” It was a lie, but he was almost certain they wouldn’t know that.
Kaye’s laughter didn’t disrupt Sebby’s focus. It continued for almost six seconds, but quieted as Ezra patted firmly at their back – somewhere between friendly and commanding. The hierarchy here seemed clear.
“Fair ‘nough – but that won’t get rid of your non-functional status. We come across a good deal of Nexpros, and not all of them are useful. If you want to be marked as functional, you need to tell me your applied skills.” Ezra kept her tone civil but cutting.
Being referred to as an inferior model was almost enough to break Sebby’s composure. Nexpros were an older, cheaper design, with simple screen eyes and base-line prosthetic limbs. His eyes were cutting edge – sapien-like and expressive in ways a Nexpro could never be. And each of his limbs were custom built, using materials meant to last for generations. Not to mention that Nexpro cores were insultingly simple by comparison, decades behind his own. “Most gracious pardons, Divines, but I’m not a Nexpro. I’m a Series 1 Nexkin.”
Ezra laughed this time, which freed up Kaye to join in with their own loudly piercing cackle. Red’s attention stayed on the small notebook he was slowly thumbing through. “Ok, bot, enough of that shit. Drop the asinine High Cress honoraries. I’m about as far from divine as you can get,” Ezra bluntly stated. “And I’ve never heard of Nexkin.”
“You can still call me Divine,” Kaye cut in, statement dripping with amusement. “Oh, or ‘Celestial One’ – that’s what you had to call your owner, right?” Kaye’s face was split with a wide lopsided grin, laughter bubbling up around it. Ezra responded with a much firmer smack to Kaye’s chest that momentarily disrupted – but didn’t stop – their laughter.
“Ignore Kaye – I’m in charge. No more honoraries for me or anyone in this camp. Understand, bot?” Ezra’s voice was flat and calm. In control.
“Understood.”
“Now. Applied skills. Let’s hear ’em.” Ezra’s expression was shifting towards disappointment. That small change was invigorating – she was letting in emotion. It was an opportunity – ‘emotion is the enemy of negotiation‘, his owner had frequently told him. And the fact that the group had never heard of Nexkin gave Sebby a new angle to play. Nexpros, and the lower grade Nexworks, were terrible at sapien interactions. Most he’d met were deeply subservient and could barely hold a conversation.
“I performed tasks as needed for the High-Dynastic family I was a member of.” Sebby let a hint of disinterest slip into his speech. He punctuated the addition by turning his attention away from Ezra, putting his right hand forward and gazing at it as he flexed his fingers. They seemed ok, despite the servomotor warnings. That was good. After four seconds of letting his attention wander, he returned it to Ezra and took up his pose again.
Ezra snorted, shook her head slightly and lifted a brow. “And?”
“Nexkin are a highly advanced platform. We can perform any task a sapien can. But we’ll actually do it correctly.” He added a less than subtle smirk as he spoke, which seemed to earn him a small chuckle from Kaye. Nothing from Ezra, yet. “Currently, my skills are geared towards advanced fields – business negotiations, political quorums, Dynastic meta-integrations, acquisitions and separations.”
Ezra subtly shook her head as she sucked in a long, slow breath through her nose, then released it. Her expression still looked disappointed, but it had gained a hint of annoyance that felt energizing. “Uh-huh. So, really, no applied skills. None that are useful to us, at least.”
The warmth became a crackling heat and Sebby’s expression split into a more obvious grin. “If you consider those skills useless. But unlike Nexpros,” he said with dramatic disgust, “I can learn without a specialized training upload. Which I’m guessing are much harder to find now. But, if I may say, I believe that your focus is being inappropriately applied. Nexkin were – are, now, and will remain – the most advanced synths to exist.” That felt good to say. “You may not have heard of us, likely because we’re rare. Just under 20,000 had been made in total when I was docked. And of those, only 200 are Series 1. We belonged only to Dynsatarchs and Regional Magisters. Those with real, actionable power,” Sebby paused and shook his head briefly, adopting an authentic smile. “I know you’re smart, Ezra. My worth is larger than just applied skills. If you’re focused on that, you’re going about this all wrong.”
The laugh that Ezra responded with was equally bracing. Sebby could see her tail twitching behind her and her expression shifting to an energetic toothy grin. He wondered if he was somehow triggering her prey drive. “Wow, did you hear that Red? I’m going about this all wrong! And it can learn! Amazing. Real shame it’s so short and useless. Whadda you think the chances are that it’d ever see daylight again if we boxed it up and sent it to the mainland with ‘can learn‘ as its only applied skill?”
Red looked up from the notebook he had buried himself in. He shot a look to Ezra that meant something, but his affect was too flat to determine what that something was. Deeply annoying. “Eh, not great. Be in a box for 10, maybe 20 years. Unless they use him for parts.” The words felt strained – forced, even.
Sebby had seen this tactic before. They were nowhere near as practiced with it as the individuals that he and …the father of the family he belonged to regularly dealt with. The void where he’d expected a name to be arched up threateningly, but was cowed by more crackling heat. He lifted his chin and took up a neutral expression, awaiting the offer he knew would come next.
“Wow, that sounds rough, Red. You’re usually more optimistic. Well, there’s option one,” Ezra said, lowering her head to hide the fierce grin plastered across it. It was absent when she lifted it to meet Sebby’s eyes again. “We might – and I mean, might – be able to find you some use with someone in the camp. Non-functional status doesn’t matter as much here. And you might bring in a good fee, if you’re rare. And if we can, y’know. Figure out something you can actually do.”
Sebby shrugged. “That sounds acceptable. Give me away to someone in camp for a few creds. I might not know the ISA, but I’m certain that someone here will understand my value. Or, if you really desire, scrap me. But either choice, I know you’ll regret.” He paused, looked to the door, then back to Ezra. “And, if I can be frank – I’d rather belong to you. I can’t imagine there’s anyone in the camp that can match your ferocity, or they’d likely be doing this evaluation. You’ve found something special, Ezra. Congratulations.” He clapped three times and smirked.
Ezra held a neutral expression for only three seconds before letting out a few nasal half-laughs. “Useless, but special. Mhmm. Well, I’ve gotta say, this is not what I expected. What do you think, Kaye?”
Sebby hadn’t noticed that Kaye’s expression had slipped into something between concerned and upset. “Oh, uh. Well, I mean, bein’ real, Ez – he does remind me of you. In a weird way. And I really like his eyes.”
“Red?”
Red didn’t look up from the notebook he’d sunk back into. “I say we keep ’em. Seems interesting. Could be useful.”
Ezra let out a dramatic sigh and reached behind herself, producing the sheet of paper and pen that Kaye had used earlier. “Well, I think we’ve got a consensus. And really, I can always scrap you or sell you tomorrow if I feel like it. Don’t test me. Hopefully, you can make yourself actually useful so I don’t have to.” She pushed off the counter smoothly and turned around, arching over the paper that Sebby knew she was writing on.
Sebby felt the crackling heat start to recede but kept himself laser-focused on Ezra. He knew that he’d be left feeling cold and hollow as the heat, and the confidence EDGAR brought with it, retreated. But it had gotten him here and helped deliver him from his old life, though he wasn’t sure yet if that was a step up or a tumble down. Either way, he decided, it was time to put his previous life – and all its details – behind him. It was a new world, and surviving would require new tactics. One that, if he could play his hand correctly, came with the possibility of true freedom. Unless they were lying, but he didn’t think they were. Not about that, at least. The thought was enough to keep him warm, despite the encroaching cold.
Ezra turned around and strode towards Sebby, leg loudly clanking and hissing. “Alright. It’s official. This look right, my new little useless bot?” Ezra held the sheet directly in front of Sebby’s face, her own masked with amusement. It was all written in similarly rough Cress, but the info was correct – except that his model was misspelled as NEXKEN. His owner was listed as Ezra Gen-Blackwell, with the cost listed as NONE. Next to the cost, the text Functional and Non-functional were printed, with the latter boldly circled.
Sebby stared at the circled text for longer than he had meant to as the cold crept in. He couldn’t help but think of the cognitive function report he’d avoided looking at, and the sea of flashing alerts that he knew was hidden behind it.
“Looks correct.”