Chapter Text
He couldn’t remember when the last time he’d felt like this was. He limped his way through the corridor, his unadvanced exoskeleton only minimally blocking the seeping of blood. He had just been bested. Sam passed the corpses of cyborgs he had cut down previous, watching with disdain as they were dragged away and replaced by equally indistinguishable, unidentifiable men.
I don’t… I don’t get it… Was it all for nothing? No… It couldn’t be…
His body felt cold and far away, in contrast to his burning face. He spun around. The blade holstered at his hip, he could barely register. It was impossibly light. As if there was no weight to it at all.
“Come with me.”
He looked up. A slightly different cyborg, one with a container embedded on the belt where the high frequency blade normally would’ve been, was facing him.
“W-what?”
The individual then turned, progressing down a corridor he hadn’t previously noticed. Too discouraged and too unwilling to watch his handiwork undone, he bit down on his bloodied lip, following the augmented man. They entered a large, rectangular room, furnished with bizarre metal frames in the shapes of beds.
“Lie down.”
The cyborg indicated to one of the faux mattresses. Hesitantly, he was going to oblige, until he noticed the UG hovering in the corner. A large, formidable Desperado-branded Mastiff stood swaying, seemingly examining him. Sam tensed up, cold sweat dripping down his forehead, his thumb against the trigger on the guard of the Murasama.
“It’s not your enemy.”
The cyborg spoke again, not facing Sam as it prepped something at a station on the other side of the room. As the words registered, he realized that it was, in fact, true. The UG hadn’t become aggressive. It took no action. He half expected it to lumber forward, charging at him like a mechanical gorilla as so many had before on his way through World Marshall. But it didn’t.
So he took his hand off of his blade, instead lying down as he had been instructed. The cyborg moved over to him, using a bizarre, bright tool to pry away the minimal plates of the abdominal section of his armor. Once finished, some sort of antiseptic was sprayed upon where Armstrong had stabbed him. A burning sensation took hold for a moment, before being replaced with numbness.
“So,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “I take it you’re the medic.”
The cyborg seemed to feign a laugh.
“There is no medic. Almost everyone here is replaceable.”
Sam remembered the men he had seen being dragged away before. There was no diagnosis of injury. No assessment of vitals. They hadn’t been brought to the room he had been. They were presumed dead, ripped away from the ground they had fallen upon and taken to… well, he didn’t know where, exactly.
“Then, why am I here?”
“I don’t know, or care. I follow the orders given to me.”
Some sort of liquid polymer was applied to his chest. It seemed to seep in and fill the form of the cavity that was cut, replacing the numbness of the antiseptic with relative normality. Quickly, it hardened, and Sam found it easy to sit up again. He was practically cured.
“What?! This technology…”
“You’ll get used to it. Welcome to World Marshall.”
Without anything further, the cyborg left the room, exiting from the door they had entered. Sam stood up, finding his balance much better. The pain had subsided, but the coldness that ripped through his chest hadn’t. The words sunk in. Welcome to World Marshall. He couldn’t properly explain why he had shook Armstrong’s hand on the helipad. Why he had joined this organization that went against the very core of his being.
Why did I do that? Fear? Was I afraid he was going to kill me? No. I’d die for less. Why did I accept the job? He pondered, wondering if the way he had lost the battle had developed some imprint of respect for Armstrong in his mind. Sure, he was bested, but his opponent was seemingly invincible, abusing a technology he had never seen, let alone ever considered countering. He thought, and thought, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what the reason was.
It was as if the concept was cloaked. Shrouded in cloud. He could feel it there, resting in his consciousness. He knew there was an explanation, but it was if he couldn’t see it. Like an enemy, hidden in darkness, taunting him. He clenched his fist. Suddenly, the near silent rotary of one of the UG servos caught his attention. He turned his attention, quietly stepping over to the Mastiff.
The unmanned gear cocked his head at him.
“What do you think, automaton? Why do you hang out around this freakshow?”
It made no indication it had heard him, instead just staring. Sam smiled, letting out a chuckle.
“Don’t know, huh? Yeah. I’m not so sure, either.”
He turned away, beginning to head back to the main hall of the floor. But he was angry. Upset, even, that he didn’t know the answer. He couldn’t justify his choice to side with his enemy. It was maddening. And so he stopped, grasping his blade only a few meters from the door. The rage and confusion he felt within seemed to flow away, through his hand and into the weapon it held. Until it reached full capacity.
Sam spun, facing the UG and pressing the trigger on the Murasama, sending its red blade accompanied by fiery wind into the metal body. The beast had no time to react, barely moving as sparks were cast from its hull being thrust into. With another blow he severed the mock head, catching it and balancing it on the tip of his katana.
“Next time, I want an answer, you worthless hunk of scrap.”
He flung the metal skull away from him, towards the opposite wall where it collided with a loud thud. With that, he left the room, not at all feeling better about the pit of uncertainty knotting in his stomach. Guess it’s time to figure that out. I know there’s a purpose to being here, somewhere…
--
The video feed ended seconds later, following the Mastiff being irreparably disabled. The pair watched the monitor before them, waiting until the screen resolved to black.
“I just don’t understand what you’re so upset about.”
“Oh, really? Two hundred grand swallowed up by a sword is just fine with you, then?”
“We can afford it.”
“Ah. Of course. Just like we can afford those ludicrous dwarf gekko arms you insist on styling yourself with.”
Mistral focused her eyes, glaring at Monsoon as if she was challenged.
“Quiet, lest I cut out your tongue, homme magnétique. You're not in charge of finance around here.”
“No, I'm not. But it's the principle. My point is, he’s already caused enough damage on his way in. He needs to be instructed. Taught. If he continues to damage our property like this…”
"Were you not the one that tossed your metal gear at him, on his way in? How much did that cost, hm?"
"That was a write-off. We needed to be sure exactly how skilled he was. Now that he's accepted the job, we won't tolerate any more of this. At least not until he gains some merit."
“Fine. I’ll handle it.”
She spoke up, juxtaposing her relaxed position from the seat and standing tall.
“You will?”
“Don’t act surprised, magnet boy. I have a more personal touch, compared to you.”
He snickered, waiting a moment before resuming.
“Have you read his file, Mistral? Do you know anything about him? Or are you planning to waltz in, spit the rules in his face, and leave?”
“The boss can talk to him about règles. For now, look at him. It’s clear to me that he needs a friend, no?”
Monsoon, too, sat up, staring at her through his visor.
“Very well. Proceed. Do not interrupt his induction.”
“Oh, please. Like I ever would’ve. He isn’t a machine, like you. He needs…”
“A different set of interpersonal skills, no doubt.”
She blinked as she was cut off.
“Go on. Make friends with Jetstream Sam. But know I’m watching your every move. And should you do anything to hinder us…”
“I know, I know. You absolutely love to watch.”
He grasped one of his sai upon his waist, throwing it up and catching it in a magnetic ricochet with his hand.
“Enough, good girl. Now, get out, and do your job."
Mistral left, wearing a bitter look on her face for the next hundred steps. That imbécile, always mocking me. Soon he’ll know exactly where he stands. I’m the one who gets to toy with this new meat, after all. So, Sam? Who are you? And, more importantly, what is it that you're looking for?