D-Mo wandered the streets without direction. Her oversized hoodie concealed most signs that she was, in fact, an S.C.U.
If only it could hide her from herself.
Her enhanced respiratory system released a soft burst of air—something she liked to imagine was a sigh.
People-watching had become a quiet comfort. A way to pass the time, or maybe a way to remember what being human felt like.
As she passed a coffee shop, she paused. She couldn't help but wonder if whoever she used to be liked places like that. Had she enjoyed the smell of coffee? The taste?
Maybe, if they landed a few solid jobs, Orion could get her a sensory module—one that let her taste. But that was wishful thinking. They hadn't even found a compatible voice synthesizer in the six months they'd known each other.
Just as she was thinking of him, her comms flickered to life. Orion.
"Hey D-Mo, got something I wanna run by you. Big payout on this one. Meet me at the warehouse."
She responded with two short beeps—yes—and pivoted sharply, adjusting her course.
It didn't take long to reach the meeting spot. An abandoned warehouse by the port—half-collapsing in places. Orion had lovingly claimed it as home. D-Mo, on the other hand, hated everything about it. The cold metal, the smell of rust and oil—it made her feel like an object even more.
As she stepped inside, Orion waved from the catwalks overhead. He was always moving, always talking—barely seventeen, with wild blonde hair and an energy that never quit. On the rare days when his face wasn't streaked with grease, you could even see the freckles beneath.
He leapt over the railing, catching hold of a hanging chain that lowered him smoothly to the ground.
"Glad you made it, D-Mo! Come on—got something I want you to see."
The room Orion proudly called his workshop was more chaos than craft—an unruly tangle of computers, tools, wires, and a mess of items D-Mo couldn't even begin to identify.
"First, some good news," he said, digging through a pile of scattered components. "Aha!"
He held up a sleek, gleaming cartridge like it was a trophy.
"New model. Enchanter Class. Should go for a nice chunk on the black market. Was sent to us anonymously—a 'thank you' for taking care of Viki." He gave a smug little shrug. "I guess I've got your short fuse to thank for that. This'll cover the cartridges you spent. Maybe even put us ahead of bills."
D-Mo turned the cartridge over in her hands, examining each side. It was beautifully engineered—elegant in design, humming with Arch Energy. She could almost feel it pulse.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," Orion said, his tone shifting as he pointed a warning finger at her. "You are not slotting that in. Emphasis on Enchanter Class. You're Phantom Class—discontinued, remember? That thing could fry your…" He waved his hands vaguely, searching for the word. "...brain?"
He gave a half-shrug and moved on.
"Anyway, that's not the real money-maker I wanted to show you. This next one... might piss you off. But it's worth a shot."
He waved her over to his computer. "There's this encrypted message that's been making rounds on the free network. Naturally, I couldn't resist poking around—and man, am I glad I did. Look at this."
D-Mo leaned in.
The resistance was offering serious money for intel on a leaked ArchTek project. First come, first paid—and the numbers were jaw-dropping.
But stealing from ArchTek? That was suicide.
Orion turned to her, eyes bright with anticipation. D-Mo stared back in silence. Then, with a soft flicker across her visor, a red X appeared. She turned to leave.
"Oh, come on!" Orion called after her. "You pull this off, maybe you even get a lead on Professor Fir."
A soft beep slipped from D-Mo as she froze mid-step.
He was right—she had to find out more.
"Knew that'd get you." Orion grinned, triumphant. "I even prepped a few extra cartridges—just in case. Not that I ever assumed you'd be convinced, of course."
But the smugness faded fast. He took a breath, shoulders tensing.
"Now comes the part you're gonna hate." He swallowed hard. "I need to install a firewall on you before you connect to the Altar Console."
Before he could finish the thought, D-Mo had him by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. Her screen flared a sharp, pulsing red inches from his face.
He didn't flinch. He'd expected this.
"I'm not trying to take control of you!" he said quickly. "It's not that kind of firewall—not like what ArchTek uses. This one's meant to protect you. It blocks the kind of intrusion they'd use to override your systems."
The last truth cartridge ejected from D-Mo's shoulder with a soft hiss as she released her grip on Orion. She still hated the idea—but she knew he meant well.
Orion exhaled sharply, hands on his knees. "Whew. I'll take that cartridge as a step in the trust department. Big hit to the budget, but hey—guess it was bound to happen eventually."
He glanced over at D-Mo. Even without a face, her discomfort was obvious. The way she shifted her weight, the tilt of her shoulders—her body spoke volumes.
"Hey, D-Mo, it's okay." His voice softened. "I'm not turning you into one of them. You won't be one of those blank-slate murder bots." He gave her a gentle jab to the shoulder. "You'll be a mindful killing machine."
He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.
"C'mon. Let's get you kitted out."
Orion connected a tangle of wires into D-Mo's ports as she rested on the old, oil-stained couch. Maintenance runs had become a routine, and she always queued up violin tracks while he worked. She didn't quite understand why they soothed her—but they did. Maybe that was enough.
"Aaaand… done!" Orion chirped, stepping back with a smile.
D-Mo gave no response.
"Right…" He leaned over and gently lifted one side of her headphones. "Looks like we're adding better transducers to the wishlist. Rise and shine, you archaic relic."
A sequence of flashes blinked across her visor:
SOFTWARE UPDATED
D-M0
FIREWALL INSTALLED
DIAGNOSIS…
ALL FUNCTIONS CHECKED