Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[December 21XX]

Thick, smoky air burned at Follow's nostrils as he strolled across the hazy city street, demeanor purposefully casual. Casual as circumstances would allow, at least. Though not on the front lines like his partner, his role was no less important for what would soon (hopefully) be their last mission. Someone had to keep the public calm, had to keep them from interfering with the inevitable high-speed chase.

Who better to fill that role than one of the biggest pop stars in the country?

As he predicted, the moment the amber glow of obnoxious Cumulor Corporation advertisements caught in his glasses and illuminated mutated, white skin, hushed whispers passed like a breeze through jittery, masked civilians. Whispers turned into delighted squeals when Follow offered his admirers a nod and a smile.

May as well give them one last show before hell breaks loose.

“E-excuse me, sir…” one young girl squeaked as she approached Follow, a chipped journal with a cracked screen clasped in trembling, tiny hands. “Y-you're Follow, right?”

“Of course!” He beamed: a genuine smile, though the girl had no way of knowing the true source of his excitement. “How can I help you?”

“My, ah, my mom and I are such big fans of you. S-she even knew you when you were still with the Polos! W-would it be okay if you signed this, please?”

“No worries. Let me see it.”

Despite his platitudes, melancholy settled in his chest like a shipwreck at the reminder of his former colleagues.

The 20 of them had been a marvel, a triumph of both sciences and fine arts. Things felt indestructible back then, like their genetically engineered band could ride the high of their success for the rest of eternity.

Nothing was the same after their creators and precursor passed 10 years ago. A notch born of grief widened into a canyon once the Cumulor Corporation came into their lives, a time of desperation just the opening a predator needed to go for the kill.

The canyon became an abyssal chasm beyond repair after Lead broke what were thought to be unbreakable ranks. In the process, his old identity was shed, going from a beloved, nameless musician to the feared eco-terrorist: Astra Makula.

What a fitting name you picked, starry eyes.

Only Follow remained within the music industry, now just another branch of the Cumulor Corporation. Only Follow dodged controversy after scandal after social upheaval, leaving him to reap the social and monetary capital his creators and bandmates built together.

So he continued to greet his fans with a smile, offering uplifting words and treasured mementos. On such nights where he could greet the public freely, he could almost slip away into the nostalgic atmosphere. Pretend nothing changed in those 10 years, that his bandmates were waiting just off stage for him to return to the facility where they were created.

Reality inevitably seeped through cracks in Follow’s rose-tinted glasses.

A whirling hum perked his ears. He looked up to see the small, hovering machine making its way through the impromptu meet-and-greet, orange lights flashed in each face followed by a deep, mechanical voice.

“CUMULOR DETECTED.”

Follow bit back a sigh when the Regulator made its way to him. He tapped his glasses while the blinding light flashed in his face, as if the motion would make the Regulator leave any faster.

“CUMULOR DETECTED.”

Just as soon as it appeared, the Regulator floated away to harass some other segment of the population. The weight only grew heavier in Follow's chest when he looked back to the teen he spoke with moments ago. Bewildered admiration was suffocated by tenuous apprehension, eyes covered by golden goggles locked on the drifting Regulator.

If only you knew.

Follow let out a theatrical sigh, bringing the young fan's attention back to him. He offered a cocky smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“C’est la vie, eh? Don't worry about them. As long as your name isn't Astra Makula, you have nothing to worry about.”

The teen nodded before scurrying back into the rapidly thinning crowd.

Yet a small militia of robotic triangles couldn't so easily dissuade humans from acting like humans. Another, slightly older fan struck up a conversation with Follow after getting their holovinyl signed.

“It's pretty crazy how long it's been since Makula messed with anything,” they noted. “Makes me a little nervous, to be honest… What if that lunatic is planning something even more drastic?”

“Would it not be better to savor this peace while we have it?” Follow countered. “Besides, you've seen how much more frequently Regulators have been patrolling the streets, no? A little criminal like him would have a tough time making any moves under these circumstances. I wouldn't dwell on it.”

“You might be the only person in this country who’s so fearless about a threat like that… thing.”

A part of Follow almost felt ashamed of how duplicitous his smile was. Another found a kind of thrill in keeping the truth hidden in plain sight.

After all, how could he be afraid of someone he saw every night? How could he be afraid of the cyborg whose chassis he was often elbow-deep in, repairing whatever careless damage he sustained during his battles with Regulators and Enforcers?

How could he be afraid of the man he loved?

“Who the hell is that!?”

Speak of the devil.

The crowd ducked, panicked chatter barely audible over the dull roar of airshuttle engines. The glow of Zemetekile's tailthrusters were visible before the blue blur of the craft itself. Two orange streaks were in tight pursuit, quickly followed by the Regulator just harassing Follow and his fans.

“Oh God, was that-!?”

“Yeah, it looked just like-!”

“Everyone, please remain calm,” Follow instructed, tone even yet stern. “I'm sure the Regulators will handle whoever that was without any problem.” He let out a steady exhale when anxious eyes locked on him, choosing his escape carefully. “At the same time… It may be good to remain cautious, perhaps find a safe place indoors for a while. I intend to do the same.” He half-heartedly laughed. “The last thing I want is some low-life crook delaying my next album release even more, yeah?”

Equally awkward laughter was occasionally heard in the timid whispers of the dispersing crowd. Follow took a deep breath as he turned away, dipping into the nearby alley. His role was that of a spooked, law-abiding citizen after all, not an accomplice.

Only when he reached the darkest corner of the alley, a spot where he knew security cameras were still damaged (as he brought them down himself), did he risk tapping his in-ear.

“Sounds like quite the party you brought along, starry eyes,” Follow softly spoke, eyes cautiously locked on the entrance to the alley, his other hand hovering over his electro-needler.

“Good to know your eyes still work,” Astra's voice echoed, a slight mechanical twang to it. Sharp, shrill, crackling electricity punctuated his words. “Ah, seems they plan on being a little more persistent than usual.”

“Can you handle it?”

Rather than words, Follow was answered by a faint boom echoing somewhere ahead, his ears popping, and the hair on his arms raising.

“Seems a bit early to resort to your EMPs…” Follow observed. “It's going to take a lot to shut that thing down. And if you intend on surviving, I'd say you need every bit of power you have.

“I kept the full charge I left with before the Regulators decided to start playing games,” Astra argued. “There's more than enough to finish this.”

“That's assuming they don't come back.”

“They won't.” Follow only realized he could hear the rumble of Zemetekile's engines adding to the static of Astra's words after they went quiet. “I've already arrived, and I don't see any energy signatures inside. I'm going in alone.”

“I won't distract you, then.” With Follow equally alone in the alley, he indulged in a faint smile. “Good luck, starry eyes.”

“S-see you soon.”

Follow didn't bother with stifling his quiet chuckle. If nothing else, it kept his nerves about the cut communication at bay.

Still getting flustered so easily.

For a few seconds, Follow let his thoughts drift back to the night prior. Rather than bring Astra to the usual “abandoned" mechanic shop for maintenance, Follow treated the cyborg to a night in his penthouse, the two of them sharing a view of the whole city through floor-to-ceiling, LCD-tinted windows. It was a rare moment when Astra was physically affectionate, a tendency only exacerbated by his own lingering apprehension about his enhanced strength. It was even rarer when Astra would indulge in pet names.

With one warm, metallic arm around Follow's shoulders, Astra met his obsidian eyes, the entire night sky reflected in cerulean LEDs.

“May tomorrow finally bring the change this world needs… mon ange.”

Follow told himself his heart was fluttering from the reminiscing, not from silence stretching indefinitely. Seconds would turn into minutes at the rate things were going.

Can't hurt to be cautious.

Follow gulped around his fear, platform boots splashing against puddles that inexplicably always littered the streets. The mechanic shop was their agreed-upon meeting spot just in case Astra needed to retreat. With each step, more and more worst-case scenarios flooded Follow’s mind. So close to the objective, there was no good reason for Astra to be taking so-

BOOM!

With the streets so slippery, Follow was nearly knocked to the ground by the shock wave. He could feel static gathering in his hair and lingering in his fingertips. His head spun from the sudden pressure change. Even so, he barely managed to remain standing, albeit out of breath.

The rest of the crowded street wasn't so lucky. Panicked screams and calls for help and loved ones soon drown out what little of the city's ambience was left. Suddenly, the darkness of a suffocatingly polluted sky was too pervasive to ignore between dead signs… and dead cyborgs.

Follow spared a few seconds of silence for those he saw on the ground. Those with Cumulor cyber-brains in their heads; those who weren't trying to get back up.

It really worked.

Follow chose to remain fully organic despite constant pressure from his bosses and his bosses' bosses for just such an occasion. All he had to do was throw off his glasses, take his contact lenses out, and he was free to begin phase 2 of the plan.

It didn't take him long to reach the charging station where he parked his Vespasien, a far sleeker, speedier, and higher-performance craft than the vintage scrapheap Astra insisted on keeping. Even with his vision much blurrier, Follow knew all the escape routes of the city like the back of his hand. In an instant, he was behind the controls, already lining up for takeoff.

Once traveling along the airway, unimpeded by dormant Regulators, Follow tried his luck.

“Astra, I'm on my way,” he called into his in-ear. Silence met his words; a disappointment, but not an unexpected one. The entire rebellion was well aware of the possibility that the shutdown’s explosive force could leave their leader incapacitated, an outcome all the more ensured by earlier usage of his EMP field.

Please just be unconscious…

With the lack of distractions that came with the shutdown's fallout, Follow was pulling up alongside Zemetekile in half the time it took its owner to reach the structure.

Follow spared a glance at Zemetekile’s cockpit. Nobody inside, a fact cementing the possibility of the shock wave knocking out Astra even more. Follow dashed into the Mountain, bracing himself for whatever state the cyborg might be in.

He mentally prepared himself for a laundry list of possibilities. Astra could be completely intact, a few wires knocked loose around his processor-stem or dented connectors around his core sending him into sleep mode. He could be in pieces scattered around the many levels of walkways, turning a recon mission into a prolonged cleanup.  He might've melted any alarming number of his components from the sheer surge of electricity.

The one possibility Follow didn't account for was the one that greeted him.

Astra wasn't anywhere to be found. No body at the entryway, not on the railing surrounding the blown power source, not anywhere on the walkway that once led to the orange beam, the source of near constant pollution.

It took every ounce of willpower for Follow to keep his breathing steady as he jogged down the walkway, stopping halfway to look down into the levels below. Still no signs of any parts of the rebel leader.

Follow’s skin prickled with nerves and sweat as he slowly turned around. Though there was still no sign of Astra or his body, there were clues.

Tiny chips of anodized titanium dotted the back half of the walkway, clumped closer to the sides than the center. Follow's footsteps echoed as he retraced his steps to the entryway, hardly doing his anxiety any favors. At the end of the walkway, slightly to the right, dots of coolant joined the metal chips. The biggest cluster of all collected around a dent in a wall just right of the entryway. Drops of Astra's internal fluids had become small puddles, scant chips now metal shrapnel. Most telling of all were the faintest traces of scorch marks leading to and in the center of the dent.

“So, this is where you landed,” Follow muttered to himself. “But where did you…?”

His question was answered once he was standing in front of the dent. Scratches were etched into the greenish metal of the walkway, but not those caused by hands. It looked as if a much larger piece of metal was scraped, or dragged against the surface. The trail continued to the right for a little over a meter, before swerving left and off the walkway entirely.

Follow's heart sank like an anchor, anger bubbling in his chest like hydrothermal vents. The picture painted was all too clear: the absolute worst-case scenario they had considered.

He wasn't as alone as he thought.

Two thoughts battled for dominance in Follow's mind. Part of him wanted to hop back into Vespasien and dive-bomb into the lower part of the Mountain, electro-needler at the ready, consequences to his own well-being be damned, so long as he could see Astra again. His rational mind, on the other hand, knew full well the vulnerability he incurred by remaining organic. Much as the thought of Astra getting hurt made Follow’s heart ache, the full-body cyborg could handle far more damage than he could.

He scolded Astra for recklessness more times than he could count on both hands and toes. What a hypocrite he'd be, to engage in that same recklessness when Astra needed him thinking as clearly as possible.

Wait for me, starry eyes.

Follow held to his resolve like a life raft as he bolted back to Vespasien, a plan rapidly taking shape. First, check in with their base and see who was still kicking after the shutdown. Second, regroup at the mechanic shop with as much backup as he could rally, ideally including their other heavy hitters like Bass and Epifle. Third, bring Astra home.

Of course. How hard could that be?

Chapter Text

!WARNING! Temperatures approaching critical failure threshold.

!WARNING! Extremely low charge.

!ERROR! Connection lost with right ocular input.

!WARNING! Severe denting detected in proximity to power core and central processing stem.

!WARNING! Left calf pistons and ankle joint connections unstable.

!WARNING! Vocal processor connectors unstable.

!ERROR! Connection lost with all sensory nodes.

ACTION: Entering sleep mode.

ACTION: Running background troubleshooting process.

Processing…

“Get ready, boys! Lea- ah, Paomeu! You're on in ten!”

He couldn't blame the stage assistant for the mix-up. He, too, occasionally lost track of his aliases. Every time his creators had another album concept in mind, a new one was added to the list.

For the past month, he was known as Paomeu.

A few years ago, the public knew him as Lead. Some Polo fans still used the name for him, casting him as a sort of leader among the Polos.

But to his creators and colleagues, he kept the name provided upon stepping out of the icy vat he was made in, if it could be considered such.

Un. The first successful human clone.

“Got it. I'll be ready.”

He internally cursed his faint reply. Despite what his admirers thought of him, Un was no leader. Being in the public eye was enough of a Sisyphean task as it was. He sighed, leaning against the wall of the green room, watching his colleagues… and precursor.

It was the most logical way for Un and his fellow science projects to categorize Paul. They each climbed out of the vat already adults, capable of walking, talking, reasoning. Beyond learning already written lyrics and certain vocal techniques, there was little “raising" during those early years, years already softening in Un's memory. At the same time, had their skin, eye, and hair colors not mutated during the genetic modification process, and had they not been designed to age slower, they’d all look exactly like him.

Copies of an original. Nothing more.

Un's artificially pale hands twitched, becoming clammy. With a quiet grunt, he stuffed them in the pockets of his hoodie.

If possible, he preferred to fade into the background so close to showtime; a pitiful freeze response to encroaching anxiety. If the audience didn't pay him much mind, maybe they wouldn't notice inevitable mistakes.

Un quickly realized his coping was futile.

First, he was one of the most popular Polos. No amount of stoicism would ward off the audience’s misguided admiration.

Second, not all his bandmates were inclined to leave him be. After a not-so-subtle double take, one such bandmate approached him.

These days, he was called Porticoeur.

A few years ago, he was Hum.

To his creators and fellow science projects, he was still Dix-sept.

“Need something?” Un gruffly asked while Dix-sept leaned on the wall beside him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said with a sly smile. “You have the posture of a porcupine. Seems like something's weighing on your mind.” Un's gaze dropped to the floor.

“Just a little nervous about the show,” Un muttered. “It's our biggest crowd yet, so…”

“And?” Dix-sept cocked his head. Quickly, his hand darted up to keep his trilby from falling off. “We've been rehearsing all day, and you received the fewest critiques out of all of us. You'll knock it out of the park.”

“I know that-”

“Yet you still look like a porcupine.”

As Un looked up, trying to straighten his posture to get Dix-sept off his back, his eyes landed on Paul again. Between his far more casual attire and natural skin tone, he stuck out like a sore thumb among his clones, yet chatted with them so casually…

“Sometimes, it almost feels unfair.” Dix-sept leaned closer, Un's voice barely above a whisper. “He takes to the stage so easily, as do you. Yet I feel like I'm walking into the jaws of a tiger. Why was I given his face and voice, but not his confidence?”

“Ah… You really get in your own head about things like that.” Dix-sept loosened his tie, obsidian eyes identical to Un's drifting to the side in thought. “I'd be lying if I said I never wondered about things like that… Why each of us are so different despite our identical bodies… But don't you think there's a kind of beauty to that?” Un's brows furrowed as his head tilted, meeting Dix-sept's softening gaze. “Maybe that's the reason this band works so well, yeah? Where would the creativity or chemistry be, if we all thought and acted the same in addition to looking the same?”

“You say that as if half the people who discover us don't assume as much,” Un grumbled. Dix-sept chuckled.

“Even the densest crétins figure it out eventually. Is that not why they put us through all those tests when we're not in the studio or onstage? People like us… All copies, yet separated by different personalities and perspectives… Maybe we're the closest thing to proof of a soul.”

“It's an interesting thought experiment,” Un rolled his eyes, “but I don't feel much better about… anything.” Dix-sept sighed.

“I'll put it this way, then.” Un fought back a shudder when Follow gently rubbed his shoulder joint. “If those people out there wanted to see Paul, they would've done so yesterday. They're here for us. The ones that came to see you want to see you.” When did Dix-sept put on gloves? “Not a copy of someone else. The entirety of you. The way you use the voice you were given, your personality, your soul.”

“Astra, you're on in five!”

Astra?

“Dix-sept… Do you ever wonder why we don't have names?”

ACTION: Begin operating system reboot.

“Maybe one day, we'll find our own names. As we get older, more certain in ourselves, differentiated from our precursor.”

Internal temperature… Stable.

Central processing stem… Active.

Power core… Stable.

“I hope I find a name of my own one day. Maybe then the admiration won't feel so empty.”

Current charge… 25%.

Internal cooling system… Stable.

Restarting in… 3

… 2

… 1

!WARNING! Unstable charging connection.

!WARNING! Organic-to-cyber adapter controls currently unavailable.

What happened…?

It took Astra a moment to sort through a flood of alerts left unread after the shutdown.

The shutdown… It must've worked if it did this much damage.

He didn't need his mental OS's notifications for him to feel the emptiness of his right eye socket, or cold air seeping through cracks all over his chassis, or endoskeleton-deep exhaustion signifying a low charge.

It also didn't take him long to realize not all the errors could be explained by the shock wave.

Cracking his remaining eye open didn't reveal the dim, gray, stained steel walls of Follow's hideout, but even more greenish-gray panels lined with tubes formerly glowing with Cumulor energy.

The darkened space wasn’t the shop, but definitely wasn't the Mountain's interior.

Astra found another grim clue upon attempting to survey his surroundings. His neck pistons didn't want to move. Whatever was left of his limbs proved equally immobile. Running out of options, his focus landed on the additional weight on his back, shoulders, and elbows, on the tingling static lingering around said weight.

Stabilizer cables…

He recognized the feel of their connection to his backports and joints, holding him up like a puppet. Follow used the same kind to keep Astra still during more intensive, delicate repairs.

Someone was expecting me.

Regulators were out of the question: they couldn't function without the Cumulor's power. Enforcers were ruled out as well. Koungou was meticulous when scheduling the day of the shutdown, timing it so they would all patrol different, opposing corners of the city, far away from Astra and his destination. Yet a titanium chassis like his, even missing parts, was far too heavy for a regular civilian to lift.

Which only left…

A shadow blocked faint ambient light flooding the space. Astra’s eye could barely lift enough to see the shadow's owner.

Though too tall to see his face, he recognized FouBreak's uniform and discarded air filter hanging limp over his shoulder. A voice echoing from behind revealed at least one of the larger traitor's accomplices.

“See? I told you he'd wake up,” Tromp sneered. “As long as their brains are intact, full-body cyborgs like this can survive almost anything. Like little metal cockroaches.”

“So, what's the plan here?”

Tromp squeaked out a gasp when Astra spoke with his auxiliary speaker, his mouth remaining sealed and immobile.

“Clearly you didn't account for everything, if this bâtard can still talk,” FouBreak scolded. He crouched to meet Astra's eye, the floor creaking under his weight. The cyborg was unfazed by sheer rage boiling in FouBreak’s eyes, one the same black all Polos had, one cloudy and pale, surrounded by thick burn scars. “But I suppose if he feels like chatting, then we can chat in the meantime.”

“Meantime?”

“We've been waiting for this opportunity for a long, long time,” Tromp chuckled. Metal clacked against metal, as if Tromp were rummaging, looking for something.

“So what? Your corporate masters are powerless without the Mountain. You may as well kill me here and get it over with.”

“A quick death is far too kind a fate for a murderer like you,” FouBreak growled, his remaining hand clenching his knee. “You know that’s what you are, right? Do you have any idea how many people you killed for your grudge?” Astra narrowed his eye.

“It's not a grudge-"

“Do you have any idea how many of us you killed!?” FouBreak snapped. “Me, Tromp, Sonar, Houhou – we’re the only ones left! You killed the others! That’s only counting those of us with common sense… Who knows how much of your own team is dead because of you.”

Houhou’s still alive?

The survival of just one Enforcer was worrisome. Follow would certainly attempt a rescue mission, no matter how ill-advised such action would be. Even assuming the best-case scenario – none of his team were impacted by the shutdown – absolutely none of them could handle a transformed Enforcer. Not without Astra.

He needed an escape plan. Before that, he needed time.

 “Is that your goal? Torture me until I tell you where my teammates are?”

“We're not stupid, Makula.” FouBreak stood with a grunt. “Even if you did talk, you wouldn't give us anything reliable. This isn't about your terrorist friends anyway.”

“Then why bother capturing me?”

“Because unlike you, I still care about justice!” FouBreak bellowed. “I can't stand by and let you get away with destroying all those lives! You… you're going to suffer. Just like you made us suffer, you monster!”

“You think I'm the monster? The air was barely breathable because of your precious Cumulor. It would've destroyed the whole planet if I hadn-”

!WARNING! Suspicious ACTION commands detected.

Splitting pain consumed Astra's steel skull. A harsh, metallic screech scraped and stuttered through his speakers. His visual inputs decayed and morphed, blocks of color scrambling, giving him doubled, tripled, quadrupled images in waves. His internal fans’ buzzing was deafening, like swarming hornets. Astra's instincts screamed at him to run, to squirm away from the pain, run and hide and make it stop. His human brain couldn't comprehend his metal body's paralysis.

!WARNING! Auxiliary RAM at maximum capacity.

At the same time, keeping his organic brain had its perks. The attack stopped as suddenly as it started. His own thoughts returned just as quickly; dread sank in, weighed by understanding.

“Looks like you felt that,” Tromp jeered. “It's some code Souffle made just in case we ever got our hands on you… before you killed him. Something based on those ancient cryptojackers, meant to forcibly overclock processor-stems. Not too dissimilar from what it would've felt like when those with Cumulor cyber-brains shorted out. Again, because of you.”

!WARNING! Auxiliary speaker connection unstable.

“None of u-u-us would’ve s̶u̸r̸v̸i̸v̸e̸d̶ if I di-di-didn't do something. I s-s-saved millions, if-if not b̵i̷l̶l̶i̷o̴n̶s̶ of li-li-lives.”

Part of Astra wanted to wince at the harsh static distorting what was left of his voice. Part of him was too incensed at repeating the decade old argument that split the Polos up in the first place.

“…You're even worse than I thought,” FouBreak sneered. “Is that all we ever were to you!? Variables in a trolley problem!?”

“I would-wouldn't have had to do something so d-d-d-d̷r̷a̸s̷t̷i̷c̶ if-if you list-list-listened to me in the f̵i̴r̶s̸t̴ p̶̈́ͅl̸̯͆ã̸̙c̴̛̬-̶̰͝”

Static became blaring, harsh noise, making his ears ring. The scattering of his vision was even worse the second time, a borderline incomprehensible scramble of colors, pixels, numbers. His circuitry was ablaze, his chest uncomfortably feverish. All sense of time was lost. The assault on his senses could've lasted seconds, minutes, hours.

Astra was left dazed after it stopped, almost forgetting where he was and who he was talking to before FouBreak spoke once more.

“I suppose it's no wonder you stabbed us in the back so effortlessly,” he snarled, boots sharply squeaking against the floor, “if you consider everyone who questions your judgement expendable. I wonder…” FouBreak rubbed at his shoulder, and the stump where his prosthetic arm would've been. “Would you have considered our creators just as expendable if they lived long enough to see Cumulor energy's widespread adoption? Or our precursor?”

Sale connard-!

!WARNING! Processor-stem reaching maximum capacity.

!WARNING! Left ocular input unstable.

Shut up!

“I gave s-so-so many more-̵̫̎o̵͙̎r̵̫̉e̴̗̿ people a f̵̧͘ù̴̢-̸̰̚future, one they w-would ha-a-ave stolen! It was worth it. It-it-it ẅ̴̲́á̶͉ś̶͈-ś̶͈-ś̸̤͋ w̶̱͠ò̶̙-w̶̱͠ò̶̙-w̶̱͠ò̶̙r̶̪͝t̴̳͛h̷̭͠-t̴͖̣̊h̶̝͊̈́͐ i̸-ì̷̱-ï̵̦̱͒-t̴̲̓͑͝-t̴̲̓͑͝-t̴̲̓͑͝-!”

!ERROR! Ocular inputs are not responding.

!ERROR! Auditory receptors are not responding.

!ERROR! Auxiliary speaker is not responding.

It was an intense, nearly inconceivable kind of fear that followed such overwhelming pain with no clear injuries. Another lag between human instincts and machine physicality. The only thing a flawed piece of meat like Un's brain could do was retreat. Fall back somewhere between dreams and oblivion. With in the melting, glitching vomit of his vision, a far more coherent, familiar picture emerged. One Astra recalled time after time in the dead of night, when despair threatened to swallow him completely.

“Huh…? That's weird.”

“What is it, Tromp?”

!WARNING! Temperatures approaching critical failure threshold.

!WARNING! Low charge.

“Seems like a mental pictograph is leaking through the stabilizer cables.”

“So what? Don't tell me Makula's dying this easily.”

“Obviously not. But… This image…”

!ERROR! Connection lost with all sensory nodes.

ACTION: Entering sleep mode.

ACTION: Running malicious software detection scans.

ACTION: Running background troubleshooting process.

Astra found himself returning to that space time and time again. He hoped facing the Mountain’s blaze would be the last time he needed to retreat there, hoped one day he'd see it in his waking life.

He stares through wide windows at a clear, blue, sunny sky. Birds chirp, and he knows they're real, not another surveilling, subjugating eye. Murals and living walls cover buildings and alleys instead of holographic advertisements. He breathes with artificial lungs, but even his circuits can detect how crisp and clear the air is. For the first time in years, he has a thriving herb and wildflower garden splayed across the balcony. For the first time in a decade, he watches children play in the park at the end of the block with hope in his chest, rather than sorrow.

Follow gazes in awe at the sight beside him, warm, soft arms locked around his titanium plated waist.

Chapter Text

Silence settled somewhere between apprehension and relief in Follow's chest. Though determining time proved difficult on even the lightest of smog-laden days, he knew the darkening sky wasn't dwindling remnants of foul-smelling smoke leaving the Mountain. He bit back a sigh after looking over the somber city streets, instead turning back to Vespasien's control panel.

He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until Koungou answered his call, his heart finally settling on relief.

“Follow? I'm surprised you’re reaching out instead of-"

“Save the small talk,” Follow interrupted, tone harsher than he intended. “Astra's in danger. I need to know who's available after the shutdown.”

“Available to meet with you, or as in… alive?”

There’s no time for tears.

“For meeting… But, are there casualties I should know about?”

Koungou's heavy, somber sigh became a wave of static through the airshuttle's speakers. Follows heart felt like tungsten.

“Tuctom and Pizzi didn't make it.”

Follow bit his bottom lip to keep from wincing. Tuctom, at least, was somewhat expected. Digitizing his consciousness to better infiltrate Cumulor data servers had long held the possibility of coming back to bite him. The rebellion even held what was diplomatically referred to as a “retirement celebration" a week prior to Astra's final mission. But Pizzi… Follow was never quite sure what was under his helmet. Now, he was almost certain it was a Cumulor cyber-brain.

Though the seconds of silence were brief, they were no less grim.

“…At least it's not the worst we anticipated,” Follow breathed. “That means Bass and Epifle are around, if I'm understanding right?”

“They're alive, yes, but occupied.”

Follow scoffed, a sound Koungou, unfortunately, heard.

“Sounds like that wasn't the answer you were hoping for.”

Follow took a steady breath to keep frustration from leaking into his voice.

“May I at least ask why they're occupied?”

“Though Reach technically survived, in that his brain is showing activity, he passed out the moment the shutdown occurred and has remained unresponsive. I suspect his processor-stem was running on Cumulor energy, and a stale charge is keeping him going. Epifle’s trying to rewire the stem to one of Astra's spare cores as we speak.”

“Sounds like he’s working under a tight deadline…” Follow's gloved fingers dug into the leather of Vespasien's cockpit.

“Yes. Reach has… maybe three hours before his charge runs out. At most.”

“Merde- Fine,” Follow stiffly responded. “What about Bass?”

“Well, I'm not entirely unscathed either.” Follow all but heard Koungou's sheepish smile. “My eyes and hands ceased function. In fact, Bass is next to me right now, keeping the communicator active. Before you called, he was going to reboot my hands so we could start scouting out survivors.”

“I see…” Follow sharply exhaled. “So, the only ones not busy or injured are-”

“Atlanta and Monk.”

“Of course…” Both were just about the worst options for the kind of mission Follow intended to attempt. At the same time, he somewhat expected the inconvenient answer. Atlanta was guaranteed to be unaffected for the same reason as himself. Monk, however, took a much longer route to survival.

Once standing on the wrong side of the line Astra drew after the Polos split, he had no choice but to rely on the rebellion – more pertinently, their non-Cumulor tech expertise – when a virus infected his ocular augments, driving him to the brink of madness and death. Much like Epifle was attempting with Reach after the shutdown, spare parts Follow kept on hand for Astra were used to rewire his processor-stem to a regular, electric power source. At the time, it was considered a fortunate bonus that Monk would be absolved of any effects from the shutdown.

Now, Follow wanted to smack his past self for providing scavenged parts to the procedure.

Atlanta was the absolute worst fighter out of the rebellion's inner circle. While Monk survived the virus, it's impact left him their most unreliable teammate, his speech borderline incomprehensible and his mechanical arms prone to paralysis or sudden, sporadic movement.

However, the situation Koungou described wasn't one Follow could blame them for, or himself. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

“It'll have to do,” Follow sighed. “Tell them to get ready.”

“The same meeting spot as usual?”

“No, too far. We'll meet at the bakery at the corner of Durand Street. It's closer to… ah, what's left of the Mountain.”

“Very well. They should be there in 15 minutes. But before you go… Please be careful, Follow. There's a reason you and Atlanta avoided the front lines until now.”

“I'll be fine.” Follow quickly shut off his in-ear before Koungou could lecture him further. What does he know…

Though Vespasien's engines were far quieter than older models like Zemetekile, the soft hum did little to settle Follow's nerves. Annoying as Koungou's reminder was, he knew full well why the navigator decided to suggest extra caution. Every second ticking by after the shutdown without Astra's location known was another straw piling on the camel's back. He didn't even know what the opposition was doing with the cyborg yet.

The lack of knowledge didn't prevent Follow's imagination from attempting to find answers in a sea of possibilities. Possibilities which only made Follow's hands shake more, which left his eyes misting over.

Luckily, Durand Street was a straight shot from the Mountain. Follow wasn't used to his vision being so blurry from not wearing his glasses as it was.

The bakery came into view not a second too soon. It stuck out like a sore thumb among rows of buildings remodeled to better accommodate the Cumulor Corporation's mandates, having attempted to maintain the stonework common to building within the city once known as Lyon.

Follow let out an unsteady breath as Vespasien landed beside the bakery, already spotting Atlanta and Monk beneath the shade of the awning.

One less thing to wait on.

There was something surreal about seeing the effects of the shutdown on his comrades, his friends. He couldn't remember the last time he saw Atlanta without his air filter covering half his face. Since when did he start growing out his facial hair?

Even more surreal, Monk barely changed at all, save for his third eye glowing blue instead of orange.

“C'est pas vrai! I can't rem-rem-remember-ber the last time you looked s-so serious-s-s, Follow!” Monk noted with a crooked grin. Atlanta apprehensively met Follow’s intense gaze.

“So… what happened?” he timidly asked. “Koungou didn't give us much explanation before we left…”

“Obviously, Astra made it to the Mountain as anticipated,” Follow rushed to explain. “I went to meet with him at the Mountain's entrance, but I couldn't find him anywhere. Only bits of shrapnel, coolant…” Follow inhaled, willing his voice not to shake, “…and scratch marks in the floor, trailing off the walkway. I suspect some of those traitors survived and got to him before I could.”

“Who would’ve been in there?” Atlanta tugged at loose strands of black hair peeking under his hood. “The Enforcers were well out of the way, and with how heavily augmented those imbéciles are, I doubt many of them… survived.”

The atmosphere was palpably heavy at Atlanta's words. It was one thing to be aware of the possibility the clones they once considered friends may not survive. It was another for that possibility to become irrevocable reality.

“Who knows,” Follow replied. “But I'm less concerned with ‘who.’ Playing detective won't bring Astra home. I'm much more interested in ‘where.’ The sooner we figure that out, the better.”

“Shouldn't we at least have some idea of what we're up against before we barge into enemy territory?” Atlanta questioned. “I understand why you want to get this done quickly, given your… ah, history with our leader. But I've seen you put him back together after battles that literally tore him apart. None of us could survive that, but he can, so-”

“I know that!” Follow snapped. “Just because he can survive something doesn't mean he should suffer through it! Not if we can save him!”

“I-I get it!” Atlanta raised his hands, palms open as if in surrender. “Of course I'm worried about Astra too! I'm just saying we need to be cautious. Especially you and me! We have no idea where he is, let alone-”

“Actu-actually,” Monk interrupted, raising a metal, clawed finger. “I thin-ink I might-might know where they too-too-took him.”

“And you waited until now to mention it,” Follow growled.

“How would you know?” Atlanta nervously eyed Follow's scowling expression as he spoke. “We don't have many clues to go off of.”

“I did-didn't realize you already for-forgot I used to be on their side,” Monk chuckled. “I know it's bee-been a few years.”

“Then where do you think they took him?” Follow demanded. Monk's lower eyes glanced apprehensively at Follow, third eye looking over Atlanta, as if to make sure no further fights would break out. Satisfied by the silence, Monk continued as he leaned against the doorway.

“Un-under the Mountain-tain, there's a fac-fac-facil-facility, even larger than-than the ba-ba-base of the structure on t-t-t-top.” Follow resisted the urge to sigh at Monk's ceaseless stammer, yet another waste of time. “There's-s-s even a ne-network of tunnels to bet-bet-bet-better access it throughout the whole ci-city.”

“What’s it for?” Atlanta anxiously asked. A breath caught in Follow’s throat. It had been ages since he last saw Monk look so… afraid. Not since he first came crawling back to them out of desperation to be rid of the virus.

“Handling d-d-dissenters.”

“By ‘handling'…” Follow muttered, “you mean…?”

“Exact-act-actly what you think. Re-education… by f-for-force if nec-necessary.”

“And when did you find this out?” Follow's question hung between an investigation and an accusation.

“I…” Metal seams squeaked against each other as Monk scratched at his face plate, all three eyes drifting to the floor. “I was in-invol-involved in what hap-hap-happened down there, for a while. On b-b-both sides, for what its wo-worth.” Monk nervously laughed. “Thi-this mask is-is-isn't a fashion statement-ment.”

“Then you'd also know what could be happening to Astra…” Atlanta muttered. Follow feared he'd draw blood from how hard his fingers were digging into his crossed arms.

“Th-there is a si-si-si-silver lining!” Monk nervously chirped. “It-it wasn't like there was a poi-poi-point to beating up cy-cyborgs that could just be-be-be put back together again. Their-their-their-their… methods were usually psy-psych-psycho-psychological.” The slight twitch in Monk's eye at the mention of methods didn't escape Follow's notice. “Using mal-mal-malicious executables on cyber-brains, for-forced overclocking, that s-s-s-sort of thing-ing.”

“And why is that a silver lining?” Follow's eyes narrowed.

“It me-me-means we have a lot more ti-ti-time than you think. Right now, I-I-I'd bet the shutdown has do-do-done more damage to Astra than-than whatever Cu-Cu-Cumulor fanboys are still ki-ki-kicking.”

The promise of time was a slight weight off Follow's shoulders, though little more than a pebble removed from a landslide of dread. What difference did it make if the opposition’s attacks on Astra were mental or physical?

They could be hurting Astra. His starry-eyed partner.

“Can you remember the way into this facility?” Follow weakly asked.

“Yes. I as-s-s-sume you want me to directly-y upload them to whatev-ever over-designed nav-nav-navigation system your overpriced, sporty shuttle ha-ha-has?”

“Correct.” Follow was already leading the way back to Vespasien. “There's a USB in the glove box. Atlanta, you brought your pulse-gun, right?”

“Of course!” Atlanta squeaked as he and Monk piled into the storage space behind Follow. “But… Even with that, your needler, and Monk's arms…” His words trailed off, momentarily drowned out by the roar of tailthrusters as the vehicle returned to the airway. “Will that be enough to face whatever’s in there? I mean, I know Koungou did his best to keep the Enforcers away from the Mountain, but… If even one of them is still alive, and made it back…”

“You really-ly know how to motiv-motivate yoursel-sel-self, mon ami,” Monk quipped.

“Just trying to keep things in perspective,” Atlanta sighed, leaning against the dome window.

“…I'll figure something out.” Follows words were just as much a reassurance for himself as his teammates. Though he wanted nothing more than to shove all doubt to the side, he couldn't deny Atlanta had a point. None of them had any idea what lay within the Mountain, or what had become of their leader, and his partner.

But he would figure something out. For Astra, he had to.

Chapter Text

!ERROR! Connection lost with left arm joint.

Astra hadn't anticipated the cost of buying time to be so steep.

!WARNING! Power core has become exposed.

Enter sleep mode? Y/N

>N

But such a cost was unavoidable. He knew how rashly Follow acted when he took severe damage, how his partner's feelings tended to cloud his judgement. Follow and however many of his teammates survived would surely storm the mysterious prison Astra ended up in any minute. He needed a plan before that happened.

!WARNING! Right and left knee joint connections unstable.

!ERROR! Connection lost with left ankle joint.

!WARNING! Connection with pelvic axel unstable.

!WARNING! Pain receptors are becoming overloaded.

Enter sleep mode? Y/N

>N

Though ill-formed and haphazard, a plan did take shape. While the other surviving traitors were disarmingly cold and calculated in their treatment of Astra, FouBreak’s emotions were a torrent no dam could hold, just as unstable as he was in the days leading up to the Polos breaking up. Instability led to rage, rage led to carelessness, and carelessness was the very leverage Astra needed more than ever.

So what if he had to endure FouBreak's verbal and physical wrath in the meantime? So what if his plating was torn off, the tempered glass panel protecting his core was shattered, his legs were twisted and bent, and his arm was ripped off? Astra had already been through pain just as intense, as he ended up torn in half the last time he faced off against FouBreak and Believe.

All he had to do was keep focus, more than what FouBreak was capable of.

The task was made somewhat easier by FouBreak's long-standing hypocrisy. Despite his fanaticism around the Cumulor's potential, his body remained more organic than machine. He needed breaks to catch his breath, a limitation Astra shed when he made the decision to sacrifice his flesh for his cause.

During such breaks, the advantage returned to Astra, granting him precious time to observe his surroundings. Behind FouBreak's hunched, panting form, he saw the other survivors guarding the industrial, triangular door, changing shifts after some indeterminate length of time: Tromp first, practically unrecognizable from how much his hair had grown out beneath his hat. Then Sonar, the gaping hole in his head once filled by navigation equipment somehow just as capable of shooting Astra an icy glare as his remaining eye. Last, and worst of all, was Houhou.

The shutdown, for reasons beyond Astra's understanding, left him in a state of partial transformation. His height was vastly elongated, legs bent and lengthened into a digitigrade stance, and arms overextended with claws stretching from his hands

“There's truly no end to the rot in your soul, if you even have one,” FouBreak growled, jolting Astra from his observations. “This whole time, I thought you were just stubborn. But now… Are you incapable of self-reflection? Honestly, it wouldn't be much of a surprise to find out you’re a narcissist as well as a terrorist.”

“You s-say that like you-y̵o̸u̷'̴r̸e̵ not the one making a glo-glo-global climate cata-a-a-astrophe about your h̷u̴r̶t̷ f̴̲͠ě̴̠e̷̯͠ļ̴̄i̵̲̚n̸̖̐g̵̤̈́s̷̨̀.”

Thick fingers tightly gripped Astra's remaining hair, forcing his head up in spite of the stabilizer cables' attachment. FouBreak’s scarred, warped face may have taken up Astra's entire, glitching field of view, but he was hardly the focus of the broken cyborg's attention.

Rather, Astra noticed a faint rumbling overhead once more, a sure sign he was somewhere underground, likely not far from the Mountain based on the timing of his mental OS's alerts. If he could get the stabilizer cables off and make a break for the hallway past Houhou – no, there were footsteps, someone was taking over his shift – then half the battle was already won.

As FouBreak's fist connected with Astra's face, his attention fell to said cables. The longer he was attached to them, the more he realized they were far, far worse quality than the ones Follow used. The very fact FouBreak, with only his non-augmented, albeit muscular arm left, could lift Astra and push him around, was evidence enough. And if Astra happened to rile up FouBreak more, make him more aggressive, get a little too rough with his chassis, causing the cables to break-

!WARNING! Synthetic skin has been lifted from facial structures. Sensory nodes in this area becoming exposed to air can cause issues.

Enter sleep mode? Y/N

>N

But the cost of Astra's current, sole plan was so steep, growing steeper by the minute. Soon it would become little more than a game of chicken – a race to see if FouBreak would cave first, or himself.

“What a hypocrite you are,” FouBreak snarled. “Preaching about preserving nature and other conneries, yet you’re a walking energy sink. Did you plan on sending yourself to a scrap heap after you ruined everyone else's lives!?”

“My-my core uses a f̶r̵a̵c̵t̴i̸o̷n̸ of the energy y-y-your arm a̶̛̜l̴̼̿o̶̗͂n̶̙͛e̵͙̓ used. Why are you so convi-vi-vi-vinced our lives are wor-worth more than the rest of the wor-wor-w̶o̸r̴l̵d̷?”

“Why are you so convinced the lives of your faction are worth more than those who believe in the Cumulor!?” FouBreak roared. His skin was approaching a natural shade from how red his face became. “If you even have that much compassion! You have no idea if your terrorist cell survived your stunt, and you're acting like they don't exist!” Astra glared up, before glancing at FouBreak's clenched fist. He just had to keep the stale, annoying debate going a little longer…

“It-it-it's st-st-still far from the m̸̩̒i̴̤͐ļ̵͂l̵͋͜i̵͇͝o̷̳͒n̴̘̉s̶͉̽ who wo-would've perished in the climate-ate d̸̤͆i̸͓͊s̶̱̈́ã̴̦s̷͠ͅt̸̯͝ẻ̷͎r̷̜͝ the Cumu-u-u-ulor was creating.”

“You're so sure of this supposedly inevitable apocalypse! How do you know we couldn’t have found a workaround for the added emissions!?” FouBreak shoved his sweat-slicked hair back. “How do you know mass murder was a better idea than waiting a few more years!? Putain, that's your problem, Un! You've never cared about what's best for all of us, only yourself!”

“You were thi-thi-thinking of others when you pressure-ure-ured M̶o̷n̶k̶ to get a neurochip? The o-one with the vi-v̴i̴r̶u̶s̴ that made hi-hi-hi-him ṡ̶̗u̴̟̒i̸͕̒c̸͔̕i̸̯͛d̸͈̋a̸̡̾l̸͍̈́?”

“Ta gueule!” FouBreak snatched Astra's neck pistons. Useless, metal legs clanged against each other from the force. His remaining, cerulean eye narrowed at the larger clone. This time would be it, Astra was sure-

“Fou, are you in the middle of anything urgent?”

If only the clones didn't all sound the same. The voice was fairly organic, so it wasn't Houhou-

“What, Sonar!?”

“We have visitors approaching. Looks like the rest of the terrorists realized their leader is missing.”

If Astra still had his heart, it would've sunk. Time was running out too fast. He had to find a way out. He had to make sure Follow wasn't about to attempt fighting a damn Enforcer on his own-

Despite Astra's stoic exterior, FouBreak’s raised eyebrow and stilled posture gave away his all-too-fast understanding of the incoming rescue attempt’s implications. He stared daggers into Astra as he released his grip on jet, synthetic hair.

“Then let's put him to the side for now,” FouBreak spat. “Besides, our usual methods have just been making him more… impudent. Perhaps making him face the cost of his arrogance directly with the corpses of his comrades will inspire a hint of remorse.”

“I think you're being far too generous with a sociopath like him,” Sonar growled. The sheer venom in his tone caught Astra off-guard. He never heard such aggression in Huit's voice through all the decades they knew each other. “I say we bring the rescue team here alive and make them pay for his crimes. It's only fair we treat his lover as… expendably as he treated mine.”

All Astra's calculations and analyzing shattered. They knew about Follow, essentially confirmed to be the one heading the rescue attempt. Essentially confirming the worst-case scenario.

“Don't worry, Sonar,” FouBreak grimly assured. “We'll avenge Souffle, and the rest of our team. One way or another.”

Perhaps FouBreak was right about at least one of his points. Perhaps, on some deep and dark level, Astra hadn't wanted to survive the shutdown. All his continued existence seemed to do was paint targets on the backs of those he cared for the most. If only the sheer power surge of his EMPs fried his core, if only the heat of the explosion cooked his organic brain, if the force of the shock wave shattered him-

“Regardless, we'll need to keep Makula somewhere more secure than this before we deal with his confidantes,” Sonar solemnly advised. “I say it's time we finally put the chamber the Council constructed after he began his rebellion to use.”

“They finished it before this mess?” FouBreak questioned. Sonar hummed affirmatively. “Sounds like a plan.”

Organic-to-cyber adapter controls have reconnected.

Reset and troubleshoot adapter? Y/N

It was almost too good to be true. With seconds relentlessly ticking by, Astra couldn't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.

>ACTION: Reschedule adapter reset=time:00h05;

Reset will occur in 5 minutes.

He pushed aside all the warnings and errors for so long, he was briefly startled from his new round of planning by FouBreak managing to hold him upright while each cable was plucked from his back and joints. How much of his body was even left? Would it be enough for his escape, let alone enough to deal with Houhou?

!WARNING! Extremely low charge.

So that's why I'm having trouble moving…

Enter sleep mode? Y/N

>N

There went Astra's first plan for escape. From the sore sting burning throughout his entire body, he assumed the removal of his titanium plating was how both FouBreak and Sonar managed to carry him with relative ease. Between his missing components and literal lack of power, a simple break for it down the hall was out of the question.

Sometimes when a door closed, a window opened.

Astra was still conscious. Though distorted to an inconvenient extent, his remaining eye maintained functionality, watching where the traitors were taking him.

“You know, since I missed out on the creation of this place…” FouBreak started, his voice trailing off with a muted grunt.

“Yes?” Sonar encouraged.

“Never mind. Makula's somehow awake. Who knows if his freak show of a body is bugged.”

“Whatever information you want to ask about won't do his fellow criminals any good,” Sonar sharply corrected. “We have Houhou. They'll be easily dealt with no matter what he attempts.”

You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?

“Fair point,” FouBreak scoffed. “In that case, I was wondering how this new chamber would do a better job keeping this sac de merde from trying anything than the cables.”

“Those use software to keep cyborgs unresponsive. Where we're going utilizes physics; a much harder method to hack into,” Sonar haughtily explained. “There's a magnetic field to not only disable his anti-Cumulor weaponry, but hamper the power supply of his core. Combine that with tungsten physical restraints and exits, and he’s not getting away until we're done dealing with his team.”

The conditions were far from ideal for an escape, especially with how weakened Astra had become after the shutdown and beatings. Not ideal, but not impossible either. Such heavy restraints couldn't simply be manually put into place, especially with FouBreak lacking his machine arm. Something in the impending chamber would rely on programing, and programs were always fallible.

In addition, Astra was conscious with a functioning eye. An eye that landed on a doorway moments before he was dragged further down the dim corridor. A doorway leading to somewhere much larger, someplace not darkened by the shutdown, but illuminated, only possible by exposure to the sky outside.

His eye still functioned, as did his mind.

>ACTION: Begin recording current ocular input to auxiliary RAM cache.

Ocular inputs will be recorded until stopped by manual ACTION commands.

Chapter Text

The Mountain’s entrance came into focus like an oncoming train: simultaneously too slow and too fast. Follow could practically feel how close he was getting to Astra, to seeing his partner again, to bringing him home. At the same time, the trio drew closer to the domain of their opposition, barely having constructed a suggestion of a whisper of a plan.

“The-the directio-tio-tion's are going to-to-to-to tell you to drift r-r-r-r-ight,” Monk suddenly stated. Follow jolted, grip nearly slipping from the controls. “Don't listen. We should-should go straight d-d-d-d-down.”

“Why's that?” Atlanta asked.

“Keeps us ou-ou-out of sight a li-li-li-little longer,” Monk confidently sputtered. “Drop-dropping right onto the-the cen- the mid- on their doorstep would be pretty-y-y-y stupide.”

With a soft sigh, Follow heeded Monk's scattered instructions. Layer after layer of walkways and support beams drifted by Vespasien, Follow’s skin growing clammier with each agonizingly long second. Glancing down to where he’d soon land, he understood what Monk meant. A structure, most likely once a warehouse, came into view between darkened beams. On one side, rows of pipes formerly used for transporting the Cumulor's power to the rest of the city. On the other, a vast, triangular doorway, accompanied by one of the traitors. An armed traitor.

“Mince…” Atlanta winced after peering out the window as well. “Well, now we know Tromp survived.”

“And he can't have been the one who abducted Astra,” Follow bitterly noted. “Looks like he's mostly organic. No way he could lift someone that heavy on his own. There's… at least two surviving traitors.”

From the way Tromp's rifle remained trained on the space ahead of the entrance, Follow knew they hadn't been spotted yet. There was still time to figure out something concrete, though said time dwindled ever more rapidly. Vespasien stilled to a hover a little over a kilometer above the warehouse.

“Please tell me you've come up with something…” Atlanta’s voice shook, wide eyes fixing on Follow. Unfortunately, he could only respond with a sigh. His mind raced, but not with strategic thoughts. As his heart hammered in his chest, the only mental images Follow could conjure were ones of Astra. Ones of him in pieces, barely conscious, barely alive, an absolute nightmare of a repair job ahead of Follow, if the cyborg could even be repaired-

“I-I-I might have an idea-a-a-a,” Monk proposed with a raised index claw.

“Of course you did…” Follow groaned as he slumped into his seat. “It’s better than nothing, at least. Let's hear it.”

Monk landed on the metal floor with a muffled clang. Tromp’s attention, and his sights, snapped to the cyborg as he approached.

“Salut, Tromp! It-it-it's been a whi-while!” Monk grinned ear to ear, silver arms opened as if to offer a hug. All he was given was an orange laser trained on his chest.

“What are you doing here, traitor!?” Tromp demanded. Monk let out a nervous, bitcrushed chuckle, coming closer to the entrance all the while.

“You s-s-s-sure know how to-o throw a wel-wel-welcoming party,” Monk prodded. “O-o-or are my ol-old friends insi-si-side?”

“What friends?” Tromp spat. “You’ve been dead to us since you went behind our backs. And now we've been massacred because of your friends. How dare you come crawling back to us now!”

“Ah.” Monk gulped, voice shaking. A known risk became an all-too-real outcome. “Ma-makes sense, I s-s-s-suppose.” He shook his head, hands raising to signify pacifism, manic smile unfaltering. “In-in fact, tha-tha-tha-that's the very reason I've come ba-ba-back! Really, I thi-think Makula went way too fa-a-a-ar this time.”

“You decided that just now?” Tromp sneered.

“Bet-t-t-tter late than never, eh?”

If only Follow's vision hadn't been getting blurrier and blurrier with each passing decade. His stomach sank as he and Atlanta listened in on their teammate's distraction from the warehouse's rafters. Doubts about the safety of pestering someone with a gun grew stronger as Tromp's temper reared its head.

Follow spared a glance up at Atlanta. What little color was left in his face from having red blood seemed to drain at Tromp's words. His reaction was understandable on some level. The implied casualties had once been their bandmates, colleagues, even closest friends, before the Cumulor came into their lives like a plague.

Just because Follow could understand Atlanta's sympathy, didn't mean he felt it himself. As far as he was concerned since joining Astra's rebellion, the traitors dug their own graves in their blind loyalty to the destructive oligarchs.

The feeling was only further entrenched after they took Astra from him.

“Besides,” Monk continued, “the rebellion i-is, how they say, c-c-c-cooked? The-there's no way Mak-Makula-a survived the shutd-d-d-down. They're go-go-going to fall apart witho-o-out their precious leader. I s-s-see no reason to rema-ma-main on a sink-sinking ship.”

Monk took another step closer. Though the movement was too slight for Follow to see, a confirming nod from Atlanta told him Monk waved a hand. He was in position; now it was their turn.

At first, after parking Vespasien on top of the pipes, Follow felt awkward about exiting without his shoes. Now, he understood why Monk advised him to take his boots off. Attempting to maintain silent balance along the narrow, ill-maintained beams was hard enough as it was. Doing so in platform heels would've gotten the entire team killed.

Atlanta hardly fared much better ahead of him. He could be jumpy about heights within the safety of an airshuttle; even Follow could see the sheen of sweat over his pallid skin as he made his way along the rafters.

Unfortunately, comfort would have to wait until after Monk secured their entrance.

“Some teammate you are,” Tromp sneered. “And you’re wrong. Makula survived the shutdown. He's ours now.”

Follow’s breath hitched, a desperate bid to keep from losing his balance. It was a relief beyond compare, that simple confirmation of Astra's survival.

The resolution of one worry did little to quell the tsunami left in its wake.

“Ça alors!” Monk chirped, metal hands clasping with a sharp twang. “Those fu-fu-full-body conver-ver-versions are certainly a ma-ma-ma-marvel!” He raised a clawed finger as his eyes closed, as if he were about to give a lecture. “My po-po-point still stand-d-ds, though. Dead o-or alive, the re-re-re-rebel leader is out-t of the pictu-tu-ture. I don't plan on stick-ick-ick-icking around for the fa-fall-fall-fallout.” Slowly, Tromp lowered his gun, head tilting.

As he did so, Follow just barely stopped in time to keep from tripping over Atlanta's hunched back. Both hands gripped the beam tight, fingers twitching and near translucent. Atlanta's back shook, his rasping breaths barely audible.

Follow reasonably assumed Monk's babbling could cover up Atlanta's panic. He wasn't so confident about any attempts at reassurance of his own. The best he could do was slowly, cautiously lean forward to stroke Atlanta's shoulder. A shudder rattled through the clone before his attention snapped to Follow. All Follow could do was offer a solemn nod, hoping his intent came across.

We have to keep going. There's no turning back.

After staring for a moment with wild eyes, realization flashed in obsidian irises. Atlanta hesitantly wiped his sweat off with a forest green sleeve, ever so slowly returning to his shaking feet with Follow's equally unsteady help. With one more rattling, raspy exhale, Atlanta continued ahead, Follow keeping a hand on his back as added assurance.

“You still haven't explained how we can trust you,” Tromp inquired. “Especially with how fragile your loyalties clearly are.”

“I have n-no reason to tr-tr-trust you either, right? If y-y-you were so uncertain, you could ha-have shot me de-de-de-dead the moment we met! And I have n-n-n-not-t atta-a-acked you either! Is that not tru-tru-truce enough?”

Silence met Monk's argument, silence drowned out by Follow's own heartbeat. The top of the entrance was only a few steps away. Monk needed to get them in soon, or at least come up with something-

“…Trop chiant.” Tromps grumbling was so quiet, the duo surely wouldn't have heard it had they not been standing practically over his head. “Don’t make me regret this, Monk.”

Monk grinned ear to ear, arms slowly lowering with a creak.

“Bien! Très bien! I kn-knew we could-d-d come to a-an agreeme-me-me-ment!”

Just before Monk disappeared beneath the gate, his third eye glanced up at his teammates. It took every bit of Follow's focus, enough to make his eyes hurt from the strain, for him to spot Monk nodding.

He sucked in a breath, bracing himself for impact as much as he knew how. He spared one more glance at Atlanta, in much the same position as himself, though still trembling like a wet dog in a snowstorm.

Not a second could be wasted. With a sharp, quick exhale, Follow jumped, praying to stick the landing.

He had only a second to process the impact shooting through his body, the dull thud of metal as his feet hit the floor, the second, sharper thud following his landing.

Another second later, and he was clotheslined by an elastic cable and segmented steel.

Monks arms stretched with a wispy pop, snapping to either side of the entrance before Tromp could utter a word, could even breathe. Trapped steam puffed from his shoulder joints as he retracted the metal links, in the process slamming himself and his teammates through the door into the hallway ahead. Follow and Atlanta were knocked to the ground by the force, but scrambling to their feet quickly as possible.

All three were inside. One step closer to Astra.

“TU BÂTARD!” Tromp’s scream echoed as Monk darted to the doorway again, to the panel beside it. Just as Tromp dropped to the ground, rifle at the ready, Monk slammed his fist on the panel, the door screeching shut so fast sparks flew.

“Sorry, mon ami,” he giggled, before returning to Atlanta to help him to his feet. Though Follow's knees also felt like gelatin, he was already standing, burning need to find Astra overriding any strain on his muscles.

“Where are we going now, Monk?” Follow demanded once Atlanta was standing on shaking legs.

“Dow-down here!” Monk pointed down the hallway, Follow and Atlanta racing to catch up with him. “The-they were build-d-ding a specialty chamber jus-st for Astra bef-fore I lost- I got- when I left. I-i-if they fin-nished it, tha-tha-tha-that's where he-”

Monk's words were cut short by a blaring alarm, the sheer loudness stopping all three in their tracks. Static crackled from unseen speakers after the first ring, followed by Tromp's lightly distorted voice.

“THE REBELS ARE HERE! THEY’RE HEADING TOWARDS THE CONTAINMENT CHAMBERS! FOUBREAK, HOUHOU, CUT THEM OFF AT THE FRONT! I'LL FIND A WAY INSIDE!”

It was as if all oxygen was drained from the hall when Tromp's words fully sank in.

They've got an Enforcer.

“Zut, didn't-t think Houhou would be-be-be the one to surv-vive,” Monk chuckled, though the rattling distortion in his voice gave away his true feelings. Follow swallowed down his nerves, willing his hands not to shake as he reached for his electro-needler.

Atlanta couldn't even try to hide his terror.

“This is bad,” he whimpered, pale hands clutching his shoulders like the edge of a cliff. “Putain, this is bad! This is exactly what I was warning you about! We’re so screwed!” Tears he'd been holding in since traversing the rafters finally fell freely. “Thi-This was a mistake! We should've never come here!”

“Atlanta,” Follow sternly interrupted. “Don't talk like that.” Atlanta's bleary gaze snapped to him as he cautiously approached. “I know you're scared. All of us are. But Astra needs us right now. He's always been there for us, no matter how much danger stood in his way. We owe it to him to at least try.”

“But he's a full-body!” Atlanta whined through hitching breaths. “He can survive things we never could! Especially not you and me!”

“S-so I can just go ki-ki-kick roc-c-cks?” Follow sighed at Monk's interruption. At the same time, he couldn't deny his teammate had a point.

“He's right. We're not complete sitting ducks,” Follow somberly elaborated. “You and I are armed. Monk's not a full-body, but he’s more augmented than even FouBreak. This will be difficult, yes, but not impossible. We have to at least try. It's…” Despite his best efforts, his voice cracked. But tears had to wait. He couldn't afford to borrow unfounded grief from the future. “It's what Astra would want.”

The other two stared with wide eyes at Follow, understanding settling into the tense air like sediment. Follow’s chest was weighed down by the realization of how much shameful truth bled into his words.

I would never forgive myself if I didn't try.

The tension released when Atlanta, after a weak sniffle, drew his pulse-gun.

“Then…” he whimpered. “Then we'll try. Lead the way, Monk.” Monk merely nodded, continuing to lead the team through the blank, twisting corridor.

Just when Follow thought they were making progress, the dire nature of their mission came into sharp focus like an aimed gunshot.

Barely audible over the alarm, a distinct rumble of heavy metal echoed ahead.

“Merde,” Monk hissed, distortion muffling his voice as he stopped. “We-we're close. Sho-sho-sh-should be one m-m-more turn ahead. But…”

All three held their breaths as they listened. Metal groaned, as if being twisted by something either very large or very strong. Footsteps joined the noise, shrill taps of boots against metal.

The boots, at least, weren't too heavy. FouBreak was the one approaching. But the various metal sounds…

Slowly, Follow stepped ahead, creeping around the corner, needler at the ready.

“Fo-Follow, be c-c-c-care-care- watch yourself,” Monk nervously stammered. “C-c-can sense something. Static. S-s-something p-p-p-powerful ah-he-head.”

“Right.” Though Follow didn't have artificial sensors like Monk, even he could tell something strong was approaching. His skin prickled, arm hairs stood upright, ears popping from an unseen pressure change.

Metal creaked and groaned one more time, before a new, much closer set of footsteps approached. Heavy footsteps. Follow's finger twitched beside the trigger.

Please, let me survive long enough to see Astra one more time…

Chapter Text

A shrill crackle stung at Astra's ears when FouBreak tapped on the control panel beside the chamber's exit. 

“Makula's in position, Tromp,” he coldly reported. “Where are you?” 

“Holding things down up front, where Sonar last traced the intruders.” Tromp's static-laden voice reverberated across the room through unseen speakers. “It figures those foolish enough to join Makula would also try storming the Mountain head-on.”  

“Very well,” FouBreak said. “Keep us posted.” 

“D'accord. I doubt this will take long.”  

Sonar plugged some unseen device into the last of Astra's backports, a prickling sting preceding numbers and pixels scrambling his vision within a neon vortex. Though Astra’s sight was lost momentarily, his unaffected audio receptors heard Sonar scoffing behind him. 

“Let's go, Sonar,” FouBreak ordered. “Tromp's right. We have to be ready for the ‘cavalry’ at any minute.” 

“I know.” Astra's vision cleared up just enough for him to catch Sonar walking past, not a moment too soon. He was well aware of how imminent his teammates’ arrival might’ve been. No time could be wasted while routing his escape. 

Knowing this didn't make maintaining his focus any easier. 

Injuries from Astra's attempts at goading FouBreak into inadvertently freeing him were catching up now that the traitors postponed their wrath. His right eye socket crackled with electric signals lacking a destination, as did his left shoulder. A heavy, metal casing trapping his remaining arm left him hunched awkwardly, aggravating every crack in both his chassis and endoskeleton sustained from the shutdown, then FouBreak. Worst of all were his legs, mangled so thoroughly from his impact with the Mountain's walls and FouBreak’s manhandling that Sonar didn't bother with restraining them. 

Yet exhaustion proved hardest to ignore. Whatever devices Sonar plugged into Astra's backports were causing some unknown interference around his core, preventing him from gaining any additional charge from the cable keeping him above automatic sleep mode levels. As if he didn't feel heavy enough from simultaneous physical and mental lack of energy, something weighed down Astra's chest. Something covering his core, likely the system Sonar mentioned to prevent usage of his EMP blasts. 

As if… they'd do me any good like this…  

Even Astra's thoughts felt heavy as they drifted into focus. 

!WARNING! Extremely low battery. Enter sleep mode? Y/N 

Had he not heard Sonar's venomous grumbling before leaving, the urge to close his eye and rest might've been too tempting to resist. 

“We'll be back soon, Makula. Perhaps if you use your time alone to reflect, we'll go easier on Follow.” 

Follow. Have to protect Follow.  

>N 

Astra's pain didn't matter. He was more machine than human; so long as Follow survived, all the damage his body sustained was temporary, immaterial. 

And Follow would survive. 

ACTION: Scheduled adapter reset proceeding in… 3 

… 2 

… 1 

Organic-to-cyber adapter controls enabled. 

Astra grunted, a wisp of static through his speakers, then attempted to tug his arm. As expected, it didn't budge in the slightest. However, though it sent fire across his circuitry, his legs could move. He nudged his twitching left leg out, a distorted screech leaving his speaker with the agonizingly slow movement. May as well check if his foot was still attached or not. 

“Attached" was a strong word for the appendage dragged along by two meager wires keeping it connected to his ankle, but it was enough. A temporary fix could get him back on both feet for the short term. 

!WARNING! Extremely low charge. Enter sleep mode? Y/N 

>N 

With his gaze lowered, Astra saw what weighed down his torso as well. A device resembling an over-engineered manhole cover sealed the opening to his core, kept firmly in place by heavy, industrial cables extending from the walls of his prison. What most caught Astra's eye wasn't their massive size, but the collection of colorful wires twisted into their mass. 

They weren't merely structural, but functional. 

Astra gently lifted his head. The cable plugged into the nape of his neck, providing him with a frustratingly minimal charge, felt significantly flimsier than what was used prior. Another attempt to keep him from gaining enough power to escape. 

Power was hardly what Astra needed to reach Follow. Power could come later. What Astra needed was a loophole, a backdoor left unlocked. The lack of restraints around his legs was a start, but… 

>ACTION: Run scan for available connection permissions. 

Running scan… 

If Astra still had lungs, he would've held his breath. As it was, his cooling fans kicking into overdrive gave his nerves a rare outlet. 

One connection available: AMLOCKPROTOCAL (USB-D 8.0) 

Permissions available: 

>View drives 

>View folders 

>Pair with AMLOCKPROTOCAL (D:) 

>ACTION: Pair with AMLOCKPROTOCAL (D:) 

Pairing… 

Connected. 

>D:\ACTION: View available command prompts. 

What started as a prickling sting at the base of Astra's neck was quickly spiraling into a searing burn, spreading along his spine. While his hydrocooling system seemed intact enough to be somewhat functional, there was no telling how much longer that would remain the case. 

Directory of D:\ 

\coms: foubreak; koukaki; souffle; sonar; arpeg; synth; organ; tromp; houhou; monk (DO NOT CONTACT!!!); believe; 

\view: southcam; nwcam; entercam; 

\debug: armlock1; leglock1-2; empdisable; charge; enter; coms; southcam; nwcam; entercam; 

\stats: makula; 

\disable: armlock1; leglock1-2; empdisable; charge; enter; coms; southcam; nwcam; entercam; 

D:\ACTION:\disable=“armlock1;empdisable;enter;southcam;nwcam;entercam" 

!ERROR! Password required for this command. 

ACTION: Enter password: 

Of course… It wouldn't be that easy…  

Yet another time waster. Yet another barrier between Astra and Follow. All while static continued to build in his neck and upper back. 

D:\ACTION:\enter=“cumulorcorp” 

!ERROR! Incorrect password. 

ACTION: Enter password. 

Who would've set the security systems imprisoning Astra? Sonar? FouBreak? Some faceless, corporate overlord? 

D:\ACTION:\enter=“arp” 

!ERROR! Incorrect password. 

ACTION: Enter password. 

Not a single possibility was narrowed down. A dull, metallic rattle echoed throughout the sterile space from steel jaws clenching. Astra had to focus, had to think.  

Sonar was the last person to handle the variety of locks and keys Astra was under. Out of all possibilities, he would've been most likely to set the security system. Especially since Souffle, the traitors' usual tech expert, was out of the picture. 

Didn't Sonar… mention Souffle…?  

D:\ACTION:\enter=“six” 

Disabling “armlock1”… 

Astra didn't have time to brace himself before the case restraining his arm snapped open. He dropped to the floor like a ragdoll, stammering static blasting from his speakers as electric fire shot through his circuits. 

Disabling “empdisable"… 

With a shaking, but freed arm, Astra rose to his hand and knees just in time for the metal cover over his core to drop off. He flinched at the deafening clang. The floor cratered from the device's sheer weight. 

Disabling “enter"… 

Disabling “southcam"… 

Disabling “nwcam"… 

Disabling “entercam”… 

Astra glanced up, a whooshing sound reverberating ahead. The doors were open, familiar hallways completely vacant. 

!WARNING! Extremely low charge. Enter sleep mode? Y/N 

>N 

Yet he still couldn't make a simple break for it. His mangled legs trembled beneath him, his mind and movements still sluggish to prevent a life-risking loss of energy. He wasn't out of the metaphorical woods yet. 

Need… to think…  

The things in Astra's back were likely the biggest culprit for his lack of energy. His trembling hand reached behind him, aimlessly feeling about until his fingers clacked against nodes protruding from his shoulder plates. 

Fingertips tingled with arcing electricity when the first one was unplugged. 

Astra's vision scrambled after removing the second, though was noticeably quicker to recover. 

Try as he might, Astra's older model of joints, especially damaged as they were, kept him from reaching the last two on his left side. Steel jaws grinded together, his whole body rattling not from pain, not from exhaustion, but frustration. 

Cracking his eye open, his gaze fell to the cover that dropped from his core. The two giant cables once holding it up lay limp and disconnected on either side of the device. They looked heavy. 

They looked perfect.  

Kneeling, somehow, didn't feel quite as horrible on his legs as his earlier hands-and-knees stance did. It was a welcome reprieve; he needed all his strength and focus for his plan. 

Astra's endoskeleton groaned from the weight of the industrial cable settling upon his sole arm. He wasn't sure if the lack of painful strain was due to his vast array of injuries, or another benefit of his cyborg nature. Even so, the limb buckled under the weight as he raised the cable over his head, positioning it behind his back. 

But he didn't need to hold it up for long. One tap confirmed the cable was aimed over the remaining nodes in his back.  

Gravity took care of the rest. 

The sensation when descending weight ripped the devices from their ports was akin to hornet stings. Sharp, intense, near panic-inducing from the shock. 

A snap of electricity echoed when the cable passed over Astra's neck. 

!ERROR! Charging connection unstable. Please check if the cable is connected properly. 

In the corner of Astra's vision, he watched his core percentage jump from 25% to 30%, only to descend once more when the industrial cable hit the floor. 

Would it work? How would it work?  

The questions were discarded as soon as they popped into Astra's mind. Questions were a luxury he didn't have. Only action. Any confusion, apprehension, fear was shoved to the side when Astra pulled the flimsy charging cord from his neck. 

!WARNING! 

>ACTION: Disable Mental OS notifications. 

Notifications are now disabled. 

A much slower hand gripped the industrial cable. Astra swayed from the weight, from a wave of what his human brain processed as dizziness. Just before falling over, he slammed the opening of the cable against the nape of his neck. 

An electrical inferno consumed him. His speakers screeched, ears ringing. Broken metal rattled from uncontrollable twitching. But Astra's determination was resolute. His arm remained firmly in place for as long as he could possibly stand it, then a little longer. Arcing electricity crackled deafeningly around him. 

Determination could only take Astra so far. His flawed, human brain could only stand so much. He didn't need his cyborg body's notifications to tell him he was getting too warm. 

The cable dropped to his side, wisps of smoke smelling of burnt rubber trailing from where it had been connected to Astra. 

The pain was worth it. 20% climbed to 50%. Far from ideal, but at least enough for Astra to think clearly at last, make it out of the chamber, and get two EMP blasts off if he was lucky. 

Legs first. I won't get anywhere on this glorified scrap metal.  

Scrap metal. A tube of the stuff rested behind Astra, once restraining his arm. 

If only he hadn't melted a good chunk of those industrial cables. 

Even after a decade with his metal body, it still unnerved Astra when physical feats that had once been impossible, confined to the realm of comics and cartoons, now felt as natural as lifting a finger. He split the casing in half, then half again, like tearing cardboard, before aligning the four pieces with his calves and outer thighs. 

Knowing what he had to do next didn't make the prospect any less dreadful. 

It must've been a cruel practical joke on the part of the engineers that made his model of body, that his wiring functioned as both power transporters and nerves. But a beggar, one as pushed to the ropes as Astra, couldn't be a chooser. His fans whined in his ears like mosquitoes as he snatched stray wires hanging from both designed and destroyed gaps in his calves. Through jittering, unstable vision, rattling silver fingers tied the makeshift splints in place. 

By the time Astra's legs were fully braced, just enough for him to stand, his mind was a whirlwind of glitching sensors, pain, and dread. 

Unfortunately, a new stimulus cut through the noise. The one he'd been waiting on since hacking into the security systems. 

“THE REBELS ARE HERE! THEY'RE HEADING TOWARDS THE CONTAINMENT CHAMBERS! FOUBREAK, HOUHOU, CUT THEM OFF AT THE FRONT! I'LL FIND A WAY INSIDE!”  

In an instant, Astra’s mind was cleared. His gaze fixed on the hallway, mentally preparing for what he had to do. 

Follow’s here. I have to get to him first.  

>ACTION: Replay recorded ocular input; playback=“reversed;" 

Never had three seconds lasted so long. The moment his vision was overlaid by the reversed recording he took on his way to his prison, Astra took off like a bullet. 

His entire body creaked and whined. The splints barely held broken machinery together, his gait unsteady from the chaotic displacement of weight from missing plates and limbs. 

Alarms began to blare. He could hear footsteps echoing from somewhere further into the building. Mere distractions. Astra's focus remained on his recording, as unwavering as an anchor buried in the depths. 

His attention was finally snatched away by a loud, metallic bang, somewhere close behind. He snapped his head around. The door he ran through seconds ago was now closed. 

A lockdown.  

The door ahead of Astra clicked in preparation. 

Another distraction. Another roadblock. 

Sonar hadn't said anything about the doors in the hallway being made of tungsten. 

Astra lunged forward, hand at the ready to catch the door slamming closed. Metal dented above him, creaking from the strain of attempting to close on an immovable machine. Astra's legs screeched; they barely held up his own body weight, the pressure shoving into him was surely past their limit. 

A new noise piqued Astra's attention. More footsteps, at least three. All much lighter than the heavy boots the Cumulor's forces tended to wear. 

Follow . 

Astra bolted upright. Sparks flew when the door crashed into the slot above, crumpling like paper. He darted forward, moments before the door began frantically closing and opening behind him. The trio of footsteps were getting closer. 

Closer. 

Closer.  

A familiar, then achingly familiar pair of voices joined the mix. 

“S-s-something p-p-p-powerful ah-he-head.” 

“Right.” 

Follow.  

Astra almost wished he had lungs to draw a hitching breath. 

The first thing he noticed was Follow's eyes, slightly reddened from previously shed tears. His irises looked the faintest bit lighter; Follow mentioned concerns that he was relying on his Cumulor glasses too much, that his vision could suffer long-term from the overpowered crutch. Then, the ferocity in his eyes. Astra hadn't seen that expression on him in ages – not since Believe ripped him in half and he had to talk Follow into not taking blind revenge. 

Only when Follow's eyes widened upon recognizing Astra did he notice the electro-needler aimed at him. Only then did he notice Atlanta and Monk , of all rebels, accompanying him on either side, Monk's claws raised and Atlanta's pulse gun drawn. 

“Astra…” Follow's rasping voice shook, eyes shining once again. His trembling gaze trailed over Astra – rather, what was left of him. 

Astra told himself Follow was thinking of how long the impending repairs would take. The alternative was too distracting. 

“Why-why on earth did-d-d you bring t̴h̵o̶s̸e̴ t̶̨̡̞̟̦̗́̐w̵̧̩̮͈̬͛̃̓̿͝o̶̳͔͂͗͑̑? ” Astra was almost impressed his auxiliary speakers still functioned after the borderline electrocution. 

“I…” Follow shook his head. They all knew how much of a luxury time was. “It doesn't matter. We need to find a way out. Tromp's behind us, and-” 

“And we're here.”  

Ces salauds…  

Astra didn't need to turn around to know FouBreak was behind him; Houhou couldn't be far behind. At least Astra was positioned almost directly in front of Follow. They’d have to go through the cyborg first. 

FouBreak still sounded out of breath. Astra didn't breathe. Both were down an arm. 

Something clicked behind Astra. 

“Tromp, open the door,” FouBreak gruffly ordered. “Houhou's going to need all the space we can give him.” 

He can still transform. 

Houhou’s limbs were all present and sustained minimal damage. Enforcers were just shy of full-body cyborgs. 

Astra checked the corner of his vision. 45% 

He had one EMP blast in him, at best. 

But he wasn't fighting alone anymore. 

Chapter Text

Follow was so prepared to come face-to-face with FouBreak – or worse, Houhou – he almost couldn't comprehend the cyborg standing before him, meeting his gaze with a sharp, single, vibrant blue eye. The sight was unreal, surely a mirage built of exhaustion and desperation.

But the man ahead of Follow was no illusion.

Astra was right there. In abysmal shape, but alive.

“Why-why on earth did-d-d you bring t̵h̶o̸s̴e̸ t̷̨͓͑̉̆̌w̸̖͎͈̝̾̋o̷̜͈̓͊̓ͅ?” While fixated on Astra's confirmed survival, and confirmed torture, Follow's two nerve-wracked companions entirely slipped his mind. Reminiscing had to wait until Astra was in Vespasien, on route to either the mechanic shop or Follow's home.

“It doesn't matter. We need to find a way out. Tromp's behind us, and-”

“And we're here.” From the way Astra's eye narrowed at FouBreak's voice echoing down the hall, Follow knew exactly who was responsible for the state the cyborg was in. He thought blisters would break through his skin from how intensely his blood boiled. “Tromp, open the door. Houhou's going to need all the space we can give him.”

The door Follow assumed Monk properly broke swung open, the shrill sound reverberating in his rib cage. He twisted around. Tromp stood in the dead center, a sickeningly cocky grin across his face.

“Let yourselves in, traitors.”

“R-run.”

Follow's first instinct was to go for the one who hurt Astra. His electro-needler was drawn. FouBreak stood only meters away. In his imagination, he would quickly incapacitate their second biggest threat, book it to the doorway with Astra, and be halfway to Vespasien before Houhou caught a whiff of them. But the gap between imagination and reality was massive, especially so clouded by the state Astra was in. The cyborg was the rebellion's leader for a reason, far more capable of thinking under pressure than anyone else.

Follow swallowed his tears and nodded. The race to the warehouse melted into a blur of footsteps, barked orders, and metal walls.

A deafening rumble broke through all else. Rumbling became the screech of heavy metal against metal.

Houhou closed in, violently shaking the ground beneath Follow and knocking him to the floor.

“F-FOL-L-LLOW!” Monk yelped. Follow felt the pinch of Monk's claws against his shoulder before he was dragged across the warehouse. Now on his back, Monk slightly ahead and Atlanta to the side and behind, Follow could see the fully transformed Enforcer.

What a cruel joke, that the over 6-meters-tall mass of shrieking metal and fabric was designed to resemble the reaper. A metal mask had descended to obscure whatever was left of Houhou's face and neck. A hood of stained metal and dark green canvas shrouded the mask. Rather than another clawed hand matching his left, the Enforcer's elongated right arm now ended in the gargantuan blade of a scythe.

Like a parasite, Tromp clambered to perch upon the Enforcer's shoulder, already taking aim while his fellow traitor stood towering and steady.

Follow's heart fluttered when his gaze dropped to Astra. Even so beaten down, nearly in pieces, he remained firmly between the traitors and his fellow rebels. Streaks of wetness cascaded down Follow's cheeks.

There's the man I love. You brave fool.

Then, Follow noticed the traitor directly ahead of Astra. The very one responsible for all the pain his partner was surely in.

Follow gritted his teeth, standing on wobbling legs. His electro-needler crackled to life beside him. How many times had Astra saved him from almost this exact predicament? How much more would the debt increase before Follow could return the favor?

No more. I'm bringing you home, starry eyes.

Though almost too faint to hear, Follow noticed a puff of air ahead of him. Astra wasn't the only one with means of defending the two organic clones.

“AGH- MERDE!” Tromp squealed the moment Monk's claws grasped the barrel of his rifle.  Seconds later, the extended arm reeled Monk up to meet Tromp's furious face.

“Now, now, mon a-a-ami! Don't-t be a wal-wal-wal-wallflower! C-c-come join the-”

Monk’s words were cut short by Houhou’s twisting, attempting to shake off the annoyance still clinging to the sniper. Monk himself narrowly avoided being severed by Houhou’s blade with a leap.

A leap that gave him the leverage needed to pull Tromp to the ground with him.

Unfortunately, electricity illuminated Monk's wrist. His fingers snapped open before he and Tromp reached the floor, flinging Tromp meters away and causing Monk to lose balance. Metal echoed through the warehouse from Monk eating dirt.

“F-Follow! Move!”

A breath caught in Follow's throat. He stumbled back, warmth brushing past from FouBreak's blaster shot, a much higher priority for Follow than Monk and Tromp’s bickering.

“Ah!” FouBreak yelped upon Astra charging ahead, putting himself between the soldier and Follow.

“K-k-keep mo-moving,” Astra ordered, voice growing more distorted with exertion. “Get to y̶o̵u̶r̶ s̵͙̚h̸̼̅u̵͓̕t̵͖̃t̶̩̑l̸̩̅ȩ̸̒. I-I-I'll hold him o-o-off.”

“No.” Follow paused, grip tightening around his electro-needler. Atlanta's footsteps echoed behind him. “Not again! I have to at least try, after all you've done for me! Atlanta, go to the shuttle!” Follow barked. “I'll deal with FouBreak! Let Astra handle Houhou!”

“Wait, Follow! BEHIND YOU!” Atlanta yelled.

The pain struck Follow before he could turn around, stinging across the side of his exposed midriff. Luckily, the shot was little more than a graze, confirmed once Follow looked down to see the shallow, ruby scratch.

Follow wasn't sure how he hadn't spontaneously combusted from rage once he saw who took aim at him and Astra.

Sonar stood between Atlanta and the scaffolding leading up to Vespasien, handblaster raised and remaining eye narrowed.

“Don't you dare,” Sonar growled through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare act like you deserve a happy ending after what that scrapheap put me and Souffle through! You know he'd throw you under the bus just as easily as he did to us! I'm going to prove it, you spoiled little-!”

An orb of light caught Sonar’s eye, cutting his rant short. He ducked before the pulse could hit him, instead burning a hole into the concrete wall behind.

“Mais qui-!?”

Atlanta watched Sonar with wide, shaking eyes, his pulse-gun raised.

“I-I'll stay too, Follow,” he muttered. “J-just focus on FouBreak. I can… I have to try, too.” Follow wished he could've expressed the pride blooming within in words, wished he could hug his timid teammate for stepping up under pressure. He had to settle for a curt nod before turning his attention back to Astra and FouBreak.

Movement drew Follow’s gaze first. Astra rolled to the left, dodging a blind swing from Houhou and spilling his own coolant across the floor in the process. Then, Astra’s eye, glancing to Follow’s right. FouBreak’s attention had been drawn by Monk and Tromp’s scuffle as well. Try as he might, Monk was too nimble for any of FouBreak’s blaster shots to connect. From the way his clenched hand shook around the weapon’s handle, Follow suspected frustration was impacting his aim.

He'd take all the advantages he could get. Especially after FouBreak noticed he was unaccompanied, b-lining towards him with thunderous footsteps.

“Just as I expected,” FouBreak snarled. Follow’s eyes narrowed. “The moment your beloved leader has bigger fish to fry, he leaves you vulnerable.”

“Is that what you think?” FouBreak stilled at Follow’s words. Rage contorted his face, leaving him even more unrecognizable than the burn scars did.

“That’s the question; isn’t it, Dix-sept? Do you have it in you to be as merciless as your boytoy? Will you accept blood on your hands as easily as he did?”

“You think you have any right to call me that?” Follow spat. Their clone names were an oath, a sigil containing fond memories held close to each duplicated heart.

Not something with any right to spill from a backstabbing torturer’s mouth.

“Aw, what?” FouBreak mocked. “Are you upset you’re not creative enough to come up with your own, special little name like Makula did? Or is Follow more fitting, since all you do is follow someone else’s dogma!?”

“You know, I have my own questions about you, Deux.” Follow’s fingers twitched around his electro-needler’s handle. “I have to wonder why you’re so fixated on the casualties of Astra’s cause, when you seem quite comfortable with torturing anyone who questions those you follow.”

“Vas t’emmerder!” FouBreak snapped. He charged at Follow, blaster seemingly forgotten. An armored elbow entered Follow's peripherals fractions of a second before he dodged. The lunge left FouBreak close, vulnerable. A shrill, electric whirl pierced the air along with FouBreak's scream as Follow jammed the electro-needler into FouBreak's stomach.

So focused on landing a blow of his own, Follow missed the scrape of FouBreak's boots against concrete. He only realized his error when a burning kick to the back of his knees sent him tumbling to the ground. Follow righted himself quickly, rolling back onto his feet.

“What is that?” FouBreak grunted, brushing aside hair loosening from its tie. “You really think you can fight me with power tools!? Don’t make me laugh!”

“Watch me,” Follow hissed. With a flick of the switch on the needler's handle, crackling electricity swapped with neon, nail-like ammo. Normally, the two modes were used for restoring old metal structures: one for removing rust, the other for replacing crumbling bolts and nails. Mostly, Follow used the electro-needler as intended.

Now, he took aim at FouBreak, still stumbling as blood spilled over his hand clenching his side.

Unfortunately, FouBreak wasn't as stunned as Follow hoped. He dodged the first two shots easily. Follow only had four left. His only means of recharging the dual tool and weapon was back in Vespasien.

Follow heard FouBreak charge his blaster again. He sprinted towards the back of the warehouse before the first shots were fired, just missing his bare feet. Follow's gaze snapped behind him: not to track FouBreak's aim, but to check on Astra and Houhou.

Neither he nor FouBreak had noticed just how close the battling cyborgs had gotten. Sparks flew as Houhou’s scythe struck the ground, both Astra and FouBreak barely getting away in time.

“Watch where you’re swinging!” FouBreak raised his fist at Houhou. “Stay focused on Makula, con!”

Houhou was so close. His scythe arm was near directly above FouBreak as he stumbled back, stalling while the Enforcer searched for Astra.

With Houhou’s increased size, even at a distance, Follow saw his limbs decently clear. A mental map formed from years working on his fellow rebels’ cybernetic limbs and augments formed, like puzzle pieces falling into place. Often, there was a bolt in the center of cybernetic wrists holding the hand and arm together.

Follow just needed his blurry eyes to focus enough for a clear shot. He just had to push all hesitation to the side.

A spark jumped from Houhou’s wrist, the glowing nail finding its mark. Metal squealed, the scythe plummeting to the ground.

Plummeting to FouBreak.

The traitor had no time to react beyond looking up, long enough for his doom to sink in.

It was one thing for Follow to watch blue coolant splatter across a battlefield while Astra fended off Enforcers. It was another to see deep, crimson blood spill, first from the blade impaling the left side of FouBreak’s chest, then from his mouth.

FouBreak didn’t have enough time to throw another verbal jab at Follow, Astra, or even Houhou. Only his enraged gaze and rattling, final breath left him before he went limp.

Everything was suddenly far too quiet. Follow was far too aware of his own ragged breaths, of his hammering heartbeat. Both felt too much like a blessing.

A shrill clang of metal shattered the quiet. Chattering static punctuated the sudden racket. Follow’s gaze pursued the noise, landing on Astra.

He lay on the ground, propped up by his remaining arm. Deep scratch marks raised the concrete beside him. Houhou thrashed ahead, none too happy about his severed appendage.

Just behind Houhou, Monk and Tromp paused their battle, both staring at Follow with wide eyes in disbelief.

“He… he actually…” Tromp’s voice was just barely audible, given how far he and Monk stood from Follow. “FouBreak… C’est naze! Allez, dégage!” Tromp threw his rifle as if holding the thing burned his fingers. “You win, alright!” He raised shaking, gloved hands. Monk tilted his head. “Putain, it's not worth all this! Just leave me alone!” Monk glanced down at Astra, while his third eye watched Tromp sprint back to the doorway. Astra nodded, inaudible message loud and clear.

Let him go. We're not monsters. Not like them.

Two traitors out of the picture, two still stubbornly fighting for a lost cause.

Somehow, Sonar was the one to start causing trouble, a stray shot from his handblaster nailing Astra in his shattered thigh. Though Follow attempted retaliation, Sonar was a much skinnier target than FouBreak. With how violently Houhou was shaking above them, pulling the same trick twice was out of the question. Follow was down to two shots. He could only hope Atlanta would fair better.

“A-Atlanta,” Astra croaked, rising to his haphazardly repaired knees. “Foll-l-l-low. Run. You're bo-both í̷̥ṅ̴̫j̷̳̄ų̸͑r̷̫̈e̵̤͗d̶̨͝.”

Atlanta? Just as Astra said, there was a growing, dark stain along Atlanta's left sleeve. But Atlanta could “repair" himself, given enough time. Astra lost that luxury years ago.

“And look at the state you're in!” Follow argued. “We can’t leave you behind!”

“Things have c̵͎̋h̴͔͂ā̶̞n̶̹̚g̴̣̒e̵̢͆d̴̩͗. I-I-I can't hold Houhou o-o-off much longer. There's ba-barely enough power for o-o-one EMP b̴̙̋͑̊l̸͚̦̰̕ā̴̞͖̑ś̵̡̠̟̋t̷͓̽̃ͅ.”

“Ah-! Mince!” Atlanta whimpered. The distinct sound of a palm slapping against uncooperative machinery punctuated his dread.

I'm not the only one running out of options. Follow gulped.

Then, Astra's words sank in.

Running out… of power… Running…

“Okay, starlight.” Follow sternly nodded. “Atlanta! Follow me!” He waved a hand as he ran towards the airshuttle. “Monk! Cover for us!

“Wha-what about Astra!?” Atlanta yelped, nevertheless obeying. Meanwhile, Monk hesitantly nodded, clawed hands launching towards Houhou's legs. Only when Atlanta was practically at Follow's side, less than a meter away from the scaffolding, did Follow chance a whisper.

“Of course I'm not leaving Astra. I have a plan. All you have to do is pilot.” Atlanta nodded, though his wide, shaking eyes betrayed his apprehension. As they climbed up to the airshuttle, Follow mustered his focus, fighting to keep his breathing steady. He needed a clear head, needed his hands not to shake too much, needed to keep tears from further blurring his vision. All his senses had to be sharp in order to save Astra.

Atlanta leapt into the cockpit, while Follow climbed into the storage space, laser-focused on the panel just above the ship’s power unit.

“We’ll be in the air in five seconds,” Atlanta stammered. Follow braced himself with a hand against the leather interior as Vespasien jolted upwards. “Will you let me in on this plan anytime soon?”

“There’s a transceiver in the glovebox,” Follow explained as he rummaged through another compartment in the storage area, one which held various spare tools he usually needed for quick repairs. He soon found his screwdriver and began removing the panel. “Turn it on, then hand it to me. After that, turn us around and head towards Astra.” Moments later, Follow felt a nudge against his shoulder, Atlanta handing him the transceiver. The device crackled to life; Follow’s voice echoed throughout the warehouse.

“Monk, get up here now.”

Metal clinked twice: first as Follow flung the unscrewed panel to the side, then as Monk’s claws latched onto Vespasien’s open door. Follow didn’t need to check to know Monk climbed into the storage space with him; Monk’s stuttering voice was confirmation enough.

“S-s-so, how are we-we rescuing-ing-ing-ing Astr-r-ra?”

Monk and Atlanta yelped as Vespasien sped towards the center of the warehouse, towards Astra. Follow remained steady as he located the wires he’d soon need.

“When we get to Astra, grab him and bring him in here,” Follow instructed. Silence proceeded his words, soon broken by Monk’s knowing chuckle.

“Ah! I get it-it-it. Full-full speed-d-d-d ahead, Atla-a-a-anta!”

With his fingers wrapped around the wires, Follow spared a glance at Monk. He wobbled where he crouched from the sheer force of Vespasien’s speed, three eyes scanning the battlefield for their leader. They soon locked on their target, his arms extending with a pop. His teeth clenched, desperately trying to steady himself as he reeled Astra in. His legs shook from the strain. Then, Monk yelped, flung into the back of the cockpit as Astra landed in the storage space with a thud. Coolant from his numerous injuries spilled as he tried to rise to his hand and broken knees, leaving stains all over the leather.

“F-Follow, what are you-you d̴̈ͅo̴̘̾i̵͙͌ṅ̴̲g̴̽ͅ!?”

“What I’m not doing is letting you kill yourself.” Follow looked up, meeting Atlanta’s nervous gaze. “Turn us around, towards Houhou. I’m about to cut the power supply. Just keep us steered in the right direction.”

“You’re about to what!?” Atlanta gasped, though Follow’s stern glare silenced any further questions. Instead, he heeded Follow’s orders, Vespasien creaking as it aimed towards their main threat.

Follow yanked the wires out of their plugs, a snap of electricity sparking from the panel. He scurried to Astra’s side, then twisted the bunch together.

“I s-see… Looks li-li-like you ḵ̶̡̐n̵͉̝͂õ̸̞ẃ̵͚̐ what you-ou’re d-d-doing.” Astra watched Follow use the trigger of his needler as pliers to clamp the wires together.

“You wouldn’t have asked me to join you if I didn’t,” Follow noted with a tired smile. Then, he shoved the bunched wires into the port on the nape of Astra’s neck. The cyborg jolted, his eye flickering. “What percent are you at now?”

“45%”

If he gets an EMP blast off now, he’ll only be at 20% charge… Follow’s teeth dug into his lower lip. But that might be enough to keep him alive if we go back to my place-

“Mecs, we’re losing a lot of altitude,” Atlanta warned with a whimper. “Houhou’s closing in too. Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it fast!”

“It’ll be enough,” Follow assured Astra. “I won’t let you die, starlight.”

“I-I’m f̶i̵n̵i̶s̵h̵i̷n̴g̶ this.” Astra raised his trembling hand, blue glow in his palm intensifying by the nanosecond. “No matt-tter if I li-li-live or d̴̗̜̥̈̅̓ị̸̥̈́̈́̂e̴̛̻͛̆͜.”

Something weighed heavy in Follow’s chest, something he knew wasn’t caused by the gathering electricity in Astra’s core. The worry lingering in the back of his mind from the moment Astra left to shut down the Mountain resurfaced: that perhaps Astra didn’t intend on surviving his mission.

Starry eyes, I wish you could see how wanted you are.

Logically, Follow knew it was inadvisable to hold any part of Astra when so much electricity was coursing through numerous loose wires. His heart couldn’t stand the thought of not holding on to Astra, as if his soul might slip away if Follow didn’t keep him close.

“Merde, we’re gonna stall at this rate!” Atlanta yelped.

“No we’re not.”

Static gathered in Follow’s hair, his arm hairs standing upright where he grasped Astra’s shoulder. It lingered in his fingertips, nearly painful in the hand holding onto his lover. A wave of dizziness hit Follow when the pressure changed around Astra.

BOOM!

Metal screeched what may as well have been miles away. Follow didn’t have to look out the cockpit window to know Houhou’s power source was fried, that the towering Enforcer would soon tumble to the ground. If the racket from the mech collapsing wasn’t confirmation enough, Atlanta sealed the deal.

“Houhou’s down! Follow, please tell me you’re gonna get us back in the air, please-”

Follow held his breath as he ripped the twisted wires from Astra’s neck. His eye flickered again before shutting. It felt as if an elephant were sitting on Follow’s chest as he untwisted the wires, plugging each back into the power unit.

“The-the-there we go!” Monk cheered as Vespasien stilled, the shuttle rumbling from electricity returning to its systems. “S-see? You wor-wor-worry t-t-t-too much, mon ami!”

“You guys are gonna send me to an early grave,” Atlanta groaned. Their banter may as well have been radio static for all it mattered to Follow. Instead, his focus was returned to his haphazard toolbox. Though he found what he was looking for quick, it still took far too long for Follow’s already fraying nerves.

With shaking hands, he placed both clips leading to the diagnostic unit to either end of Astra’s spinal column.

“Oh, merci.” Follow hadn't felt so relieved since Astra regained consciousness after Believe ripped him in half. The indicator light on the small box glowed consistently. There was still enough power in Astra's core to maintain brain activity. He was going to live.

It all crashed into Follow, crumbling the dam he’d built up around his fragile heart. Every fear about Astra’s fate shoved away, every doubt in his ability to fix his lover, every worry for both of their futures.

His body collapsed along with his resolve, his arms closing around Astra’s limp chassis as if he’d vanish without Follow’s touch. Tears trailed from his cheeks onto Astra’s chest vents.

“Follow…” Atlanta timidly mumbled, voice barely audible between his position at Vespasien’s cockpit and Follow’s sobs. “Where are we…?”

“M-my place,” he muttered through trembling breaths. “M-more secure. Repairing all… this, will take time.”

Chapter Text

“So you've finally taken the plunge,” Dix-sept, now called Good, noted while looking over Un's new augments. “How do they feel, Lead?”

Un resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Despite the shell of their label's best efforts, vanishingly few people used the name picked out for him by his precursor before… before. Allegedly, Un was to be called Tuctuc for their latest, Cumulor-funded era. But fans, media, even his bandmates settled on calling him Lead years ago. Un may have felt slightly more comfortable in his de-facto leadership role since he was first given the name, yet it still felt… off. It wasn't his. Without his creators or precursor around to give suggestions, Un doubted he'd ever find a more fitting name than his number.

Instead, he looked down at his blue-tinged silver, metal hands, at the plating over his ribs, protecting his artificial, enhanced lungs. No more carpal tunnel from playing guitar, no more thinking about breath control while singing.

“That good, hm?” Good cocked his head, lowering his flashy sunglasses. “Well, I think they look pretty cool. This was something we thought we'd only ever dream of after watching those anime films, you know? Don't you think it's a little interesting, having an opportunity to experience the real deal?”

“Not all of us are geeks,” Un teasingly sighed. “Of course, I can admit I physically feel good right now. More energetic, healthier… I suppose.”

“But?” Good leaned closer.

“But…” Un's gaze dropped to the glowing triangle in the center of his chest, powering his augments. A Cumulor core. According to the spokespeople who reached out to the Polos, a miracle energy source that could solve multiple global power supply issues. But according to some… the reason for the increasingly erratic weather phenomena over the past couple years. Erratic weather the country only experienced after Cumulor technology was introduced to the consumer market. “I don't know if it's worth it. It's the first law: energy doesn't come out of nowhere. And something this powerful… What cost are we paying for it?”

“Ah… It figures someone as sentimental as you would've seen those reports.” Everyone with a working screen in their home saw the reports: the environmental cost of a technological miracle. “Even so, is any of that something you should feel guilty about?” Un's new, orange eyes glanced at Good with a raised eyebrow. “We needed this deal with Cumulor Corp. Without…” Good let out a shaky exhale, an attempt to cauterize a fresh wound. “Without our creators, this band was going to fall apart. And if the offer would've been on the table no matter what, I see no reason not to take part.”

“I see you've spoken with Deux lately,” Un countered. At the same time, a lump started to form in his still human throat.

Human… Was Un really a human? Biologically, the differences between the clones and Paul were negligible. Practically, Un experienced most things humans did. He breathed, ate, created, fell in love, had his heart broken. Ever since the breakout success of their Little Miss era, the media treated them like any other boyband. The woman who became the album's namesake certainly saw Un as human.

Why did Un still feel like little more than a glorified lab rat? One abruptly released from his cage into the wild, unprepared for a world too large, too threatening?

“First of all, we're supposed to call him Break now,” Good pointed out with a sly smile. “Second… Ah, what’s that word people use for calling out the person and not the argument? Ad hominid?”

“Hominem.”

“Who's the geek now?” Good chuckled. “And third… I know that look you get when you start getting stuck in your own head, Lead. You second-guess yourself far too much. Even if you can't see it, I know you're smart.” Good's eyes softened, his smile gentler, warmer, genuine. “You're smart, and talented, and perhaps too human for your own good. I can see it. Our fans see it, too. Show a little compassion, yeah?”

“Easy for you to say…” Un folded his arms, glowing eyes drifting to the floor. “You’re never worried about anything.”

“…Is that what you think?” Un's gaze snapped to Good – to Dix-sept. Rarely did the other clone sound so… hurt.

Not since their precursor…

“I-I'm sorry,” Un stammered. “I just… You never talk about that stuff, so…” Un gulped, metal fingers anxiously digging into his arms.

“Nobody asks.” Dix-sept somberly shrugged.

“…Is it too late to ask now?” There was that smile Un craved, the kind of warmth that could paradoxically brighten Dix-sept's obsidian eyes.

“Of course not.”

“What's been on your mind, with everything that's happened?”

“I…” Dix-sept pushed his sunglasses up, a shaking hand stroking his upper arm. “That image, of the funeral… I can't stop thinking about it.” His voice, slightly higher and softer in tone than Un's, trembled. “I knew we'd outlive our creators. We all knew that; it was by design. But… I think I had put it out of my mind that we're all still mortal, until then. We’ll likely live a very, very a long time… but death will come for us one day as well.”

“You never know,” Un awkwardly comforted, a coldly metallic hand gently grasping Dix-sept's shoulder. “If what Cumulor technology proposes comes to pass, we could all have much, much longer lives. Maybe even beat death.”

“Yes, if you're willing to give away pieces of yourself,” Follow somberly scoffed. “I wasn't just asking about your augments for the novelty. I… I suppose I'm a little envious. You're brave enough to take on a procedure as risky as that; I'm not.”

“But, you are brave.” Wide, glossy obsidian eyes met Astra's. “You're willing to take on the risks to stay… yourself. To live the life you know is best for you.”

ACTION: Begin operating system reboot.

Follow gloomily laughed, wiping unshed tears with a gloved hand.

“I only feel so brave when I know I have you by my side.”

Internal temperature… Stable.

Central processing stem… Stable.

Power core… Stable.

“Let's make a deal, then. I want you to stay true to yourself, for as long as I live. And… I'll be more compassionate with myself for as long as you live. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Current charge… 100%.

Internal cooling system… Stable.

Restarting in… 3

…2

…1

Follow's face was twisted with concern at first, brows furrowed and lips sealed in a tight grimace. The moment Astra's eyes, two eyes, met his, relief visibly washed over him, bare shoulders slumping and eyes falling closed with a soft smile.

“Finally,” Follow sighed. “Welcome back, Astra.”

>ACTION: Run diagnostic scan on vocal processor.

Scanning…

No issues found with vocal processor or auxiliary speaker.

“How am I alive?” Despite its artificial nature, Astra’s voice somehow sounded rougher than usual. “I barely had any charge left after fighting off Houhou.”

“Ah… That's a name I haven't heard in a while…” Follow muttered. As he backed up, leaning against the worktable behind him, Astra noticed his hair: slightly longer, with strands of silver dotting his fringe. “It was certainly a close call. I managed to bring you back to my place and get you plugged in just in time.”

The weight of stabilizer cables tugged on Astra’s back and shoulders once more. This time, there was no need to search for threats as he glanced around the room. Follow must’ve kept Astra in the workshop hidden behind his walk-in closet since rescuing him. At the same time, the room was in the most chaotic state he ever saw, more so than in the aftermath of his battle with Believe. Scrap metal, cables, and tools were scattered across the table and benches. What looked to be the endoskeleton of a leg was leaning against the backmost wall. Squares of some kind of white material laid atop the most cluttered spots, the texture almost exactly like…

“You've been busy for a while,” Astra observed.

“Indeed,” Follow wistfully chuckled. “I… I knew I could fix you. I knew that as soon as I brought you home. But…” Familiar, rubber-gloved hands brushed through Follow's hair, grey eyes drifting to the side. “It's been a rougher road than I anticipated. You know how it is; simple projects tend to grow far beyond the confines of their initial scope. I thought repairs would be enough… But it ended up a full rebuild. I only got you in a stable enough state to bring you out of sleep mode last night.”

>ACTION: List internal clock.

Current time: 15:35:12 CET

“You could've asked me for the time,” Follow teased. “I thought you’d sense your mental OS’ connection to my benchmarking program.”

“I'd rather not waste time on small talk when there's more pressing matters to discuss.” Astra met Follow's uneasy gaze. “I don't recall you having gray hairs the last time I was awake.”

“…I suppose so,” Follow muttered.

“How long was I out?” Follow’s breath hitched, eyes dropping to the floor as a shaking hand rubbed his shoulder. It felt like a mountain dropped onto his chest.

“…Five years.” Astra couldn't help the way his eyes widened. He knew the damage he'd taken between the shutdown, the torture, and the battle against the traitors was severe, far surpassing what Believe did to him. He had no idea he'd been broken so thoroughly as to push Follow's engineering abilities to their limit.

“I'm sorry,” Astra winced. “I don't mean to come off as accusing. I would never doubt your abilities… ange. It's my fault for letting myself become so broken as to be a burden.”

“Don't say that,” Follow argued with a rasp. “I'm the one who should be sorry. I said the repairs became a rebuild… but they didn't need to.” With a heavy sigh, Follow retrieved his desk chair from just outside of Astra's peripherals, sitting with a soft grunt. “I could've done my usual repairs, maybe brought you back online in six months. But…” The workbench’s overhead lights shined in Follow's eyes. “I… Every time I came in here, and I saw you so, so badly hurt… I froze. Every wire reconnected, every dented panel pushed back into place felt like pulling teeth. I was so… ashamed. That I didn't reach you sooner, didn't save you from what they did to-”

“Don't be,” Astra tried to reassure. “I knew what I was getting myself into. I've known since the day I disconnected. None of it was your fault.”

“I know that now, starry eyes.” Follow weakly smiled, blinking away unshed tears. “That was how I finally made progress with you again. I had to change my mindset. When I say I've been rebuilding you, I don't mean recreating what you had before.” A spark returned to Follow's eyes, the one heralding when his itch to tinker returned. Relief coursed through Astra’s circuits. “I could give you something new. Not that purely functional, durability-before-all-else design, but something human.”

“I'm… not sure I follow,” Astra questioned. Follow cracked a smile.

“Perhaps it would be easier to show you.”

Organic-to-cyber adapter controls have reconnected.

Reset adapter? Y/N

>Y

Adapter resetting in… 3

… 2

… 1

Organic-to-cyber adapter controls enabled.

Even after seeing what was suspected, now confirmed, to be synthetic skin fragments scattered about the workshop, Astra's hands twitched from surprise when he looked down. Both arms were covered with white skin, near identical to his original body save for the faintest seams around his joints. Though the metal was yet to be covered, Astra already knew what Follow planned as he looked down to his chest and legs – rather, a leg and a half. Rather than a mere endoskeleton surrounded by wires and metal plates, thick, braided steal cables twisted through his framework and circuitry, simulating musculature. Even his plating had a more organic shape: his chest vents resembling pectorals, and core covering nestled in a curved sternum. Astra raised a hand, feeling along where FouBreak had left gashes in his face. Cyborg materials must've advanced even more since the shutdown, his fingertips tracing over something soft rather than rubbery. Once the rebuild was complete, Astra would resemble an organic human far more than a machine.

There was no denying how impressive the build was, especially considering Follow was a hobbyist. Yet joy and pride weren't the emotions bubbling in Astra's chest like boiling water.

“It's impressive,” Astra muttered, eyes lowering. “Certainly your best work yet. But…”

“But?” Follow's voice shook.

“I… I don't deserve this, ange.” The mechanical twinge to Astra's voice increased, as if the admission scraped its way through his vocal processor. “My old body, rudimentary as it was, was already such a burden on you, to say nothing of the power it used. I could only justify it because I had a mission to fulfill. I'm useless after the shutdown, so-”

“Astra…” Follow breathed. “I don't think I've ever heard someone be that wrong in so few sentences since I left my record label.” Astra's eyes widened, meeting Follow's teasing smile.

“Then please, enlighten me.”

“First,” Follow raised a finger, “the human augmentation industry hasn't been sitting around twiddling their fingers since Cumulor Corp liquidated. The finer materials I've used for the rebuild didn't come out of nowhere. Advancements in materials, power sources, and sustainability have only been coming out faster.” Follow sheepishly smiled. “I'll admit I'm not much of an expert with these things, but if I were to guess, I'd say this body will be no more of a pollutant than the average, organic human.”

“I see…” Astra pursed his lips. “That doesn't explain why I need… to be here. A reason for my survival with no impending threats.”

“Tu es stupide,” Follow chuckled. “You weren't made to be a weapon. Our creators had no idea any of this chaos would happen. They…” Follow's voice cracked, his breath hitching. “You were made to be a musician. Your purpose is to sing. I know you remember that, because I remember how you'd light up when we'd have karaoke nights. You deserve to find that part of yourself again.” Astra really didn't mean to be dismissive, not when their history was such a precious memory for Follow, yet he couldn't suppress a scoff.

“That was a long time ago. I don't have the voice I did back then, nor can I beatbox without lungs.”

“But you can sing,” Follow corrected. “I've heard you. You don't sound too different from those Vocaloid androids, and you know how popular they are. Even if your voice didn't work, I doubt this rebuild made you forget how to play piano or guitar.”

Astra wanted to find some hole in Follow's argument, something to justify the weight lingering on his conscience. Nothing.

The ensuing silence seemed to stir something in Follow. He leaned further into his chair, hands clasped and gaze distant.

“I'll admit, there was one more reason behind the rebuild.”

Astra hummed, a sound akin to a low note from a keyboard.

“I… I may have been a little selfish,” Follow confessed. “While I worked on you, I'd have these daydreams, imagining a day we could share the stage together like we used to. It’s the one thing I wanted more than anything, more than even the shutdown. It was the only goal I could make progress on without insecurities creeping in. It…” Follow sniffled, and Astra fought the urge to move closer, fearing he may unplug something vital. “It was the only way I could stop having nightmares about what happened under the Mountain. So, if you must think of anyone as being a selfish burden, think of me.”

Metal groaned when Astra gripped the bench. He had to stay put. The last thing he wanted was to give Follow more work to do.

“S-speaking of back then,” Astra stammered. “Um, what happened to the others? I know Atlanta and Monk survived the shutdown, but…”

“Right, I never got the chance to fill you in on everything,” Follow sighed. He stood, retrieving the leg endoskeleton from his scrambled works-in-progress pile.

“I’ve got all the time in the world, now.” He crouched in front of Astra, lining up the leg piece with the end of a half-finished thigh.

“Still, it’s easier to start with the shortest part of the story.” Follow retrieved a screwdriver, causing his words to be punctuated by faint squeaks from the joint securing into place. “Tuctom and Pizzi were lost to the shutdown.”

“Just those two?” Pizzi, admittedly, caught Astra a little off guard. At the same time, only losing two of his friends was a far better scenario than what Astra had expected.

“There were a couple close calls, including you. But yes.”

“Then we faired far better than the opposition.” Astra leaned back as his thoughts drifted back to the Mountain, to FouBreak’s enraged grief.

“Did anyone else survive, other than those…” Follow gulped. “Those two?”

“No.”

“I see…” Follow, usually an open book with his emotions, spoke with a surprisingly unreadable tone. Astra glanced down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You mentioned other close calls. I’ll bet Reach was one of them, right?” Follow nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips. Though the rebellion helped to repair him as well after the accident at the factory, he hadn’t needed a replacement power supply like Monk. By Reach’s own choice, his fate was left down to the wire.

“According to Koungou, Epifle got one of your spare cores installed in them with 15 minutes to spare,” Follow explained.

“Them?” Astra cocked his head.

“As I understand it, the near-death experience put them in a reflective state of mind.” Follow shrugged. “One thing led to another, they had some realizations about their experiments with feminine clothes, and now they’ve settled on new pronouns and a new name.”

“A… new name?”

“They looked up to you a lot, starry eyes.” Follow glanced up, warm nostalgia flickering in his eyes. “So, they followed your example and found a new identity. They’re called Rigel Orion now.”

“Rigel…” Astra took note of how the name felt leaving his mouth, mentally placing it alongside memories of the half-faced cyborg. The person who constantly looked to the sky, joining Astra’s cause in the hopes of showing their little one stars no longer smothered by light pollution and smoke.

Astra, too, smiled to himself.

“It’s a fitting name for them. Have they told Memphis yet?”

“Memphis was the first one they told,” Follow chuckled. “All the little brat asked was whether he should call Rigel ‘papa’ or ‘maman’.”

“The kid certainly catches on fast.”

“Ah! Speaking of kids,” Follow stood once more, sorting through a pile of cables and metal before continuing, “Atlanta’s also got a little family started.”

“Really?” Astra raised an eyebrow. “With that singer he met in Brazil, I’d assume?”

“Correct.” A faint squeak rang out as Follow threaded a length of braided cable through Astra’s calf. “I believe Kevin’s turning 2 at the end of the month.”

“Kevin? That’s the best he could come up with!?”

“Of course,” Follow laughed. “You know Atlanta’s always been a bit… plain. At least it won’t be ammo for the meaner kids when he grows up.”

“If you know all this, I’d assume he’s also staying in ‘Neo Riviera?’”

“You’re right that he stayed in this city, but we’re finally allowed to call it Lyon again.” Astra sighed, halfway between annoyance and relief. Though publicly, all had to abide by the name the Cumulor Corporation thrust on the city, few truly acknowledged the name change in private. He could only hope the other absurd power plays Cumulor Corp once enforced had also fallen away. “Bass and Koungou stayed as well, since Bass could use the enhanced strength from his metal skeleton to help with rebuilding, while Koungou’s helping with city planning.”

“So the others left, then?” Follow nodded, tugging at the braided cable to ensure it was secure.

“Epifle’s up in Paris now, trying to get policies off the ground to make sure whatever’s left of Cumulor Corp can never take over like that again. He apparently settled down as well. Rekindled things with the Caribbean model he met while we were promoting ‘The Love’ and had a kid with her last year.”

“I would hope someone as thoughtful as Epifle picked out something better than Kevin,” Astra quipped.

“I think… he settled on Blaise?” Follow scratched his head, his other hand testing the connectivity of the wires in Astra’s new ankle. “Something like that. I’m getting this third-hand from Monk, and you know how ‘reliable’ his memory is.”

“And where’d Monk wander off to?”

“He’s gone down to Nice with some big dream of opening a resort on the beach,” Follow scoffed.

“It keeps him occupied, at least.” Astra shrugged. Then, the weight resurfaced. There were still two former Polos unaccounted for. “And… Did Tromp and Sonar survive?” Follow’s expression turned grim, faint, rekindled anger sparking in his eyes.

“As far as I know,” he stiffly replied. “I didn’t keep tabs on them after we escaped the Mountain. I suppose they’re laying low, if neither Atlanta, Koungou, or Rigel told me anything.”

“I see…” Thoughts swirled in Astra’s mind, spinning as fast as his cooling fans. “You’re sure Sonar hasn’t been bothering you at all?” Follow met Astra’s concerned gaze, his grudge replaced with confusion.

“…No? I, ah, suppose the public is still too upset about how far the Cumulor takeover went for them to try anything this soon.”

“That’s… That’s good,” Astra uneasily stated.

It must’ve been how long he was in sleep mode, the reason for the tension in Astra’s mind. It seemed too easy, too idealistic, that so many of his former bandmates had gone back to normal life after the shutdown.

Normal life. What would a “normal life” even look like for someone like Astra? Assuming the world would even let Astra have such a luxury after what he had to do for the rebellion.

Assuming he would ever be able to sing again.

“What abou-u-u-u-u-u-”

!ERROR! Vocal processor not found.

With a shrill pop, Astra found himself mute. Rather than concerned, Follow merely looked annoyed as he approached the bench.

“Putain, I thought I finally fixed that!” To Astra’s surprise, Follow perched himself on the workbench beside him. A gentle hand encouraged Astra to lean forward. “Don’t worry, starry eyes. There’s this one stubborn wire that doesn’t want to stay connected to your processor stem. I’ll try replacing it this time; hopefully a larger connecter won’t budge so much.”

“Thank you.” Astra’s auxiliary speaker must’ve either been replaced or repaired, the sound far less distorted than the last time he used it. “Anyway, I wanted to know what you’ve been doing. I would hope you still have a life outside of this workshop.”

“Ah… I have been on quite the journey with my music.” The metal plates encasing Astra’s neck hissed open, barely covering how awkward Follow’s laugh was. “To start, I’m independent now. Of all companies, for some reason my label was the one clinging to what was left of Cumulor Corp the hardest.” Static crept into the edges of Astra’s vision while Follow sorted through his wires. Yet the sensation wasn’t painful; that was something to be grateful for. “That was… I think six months after the shutdown? And then…” Astra practically felt Follow’s heavy exhale on the back of his spinal column. “Honestly, there were a few years where working on you was all I could manage. I dropped a couple singles here and there, mostly to keep streaming checks coming in. But I just… It was like a well had run dry inside me. I’d fish my guitar out, try noodling around for a bit, but nothing sounded right. I couldn’t come up with any lyrics – none that fit with my optimistic image, anyway.”

“You seem to be in a better mood now,” Astra hesitantly noted.

“Right,” Follow breathed. “It was around the same time that I committed to the full rebuild. Once this new body of yours started coming together… Something about knowing you’d have a future, that I’d get to wake you up soon… It was like the floodgates opened.” Astra could just about hear Follow’s smile. His gloved fingers twitched with excitement as they fished out the loose wire. “The studio down the street has basically been my second home for most of the year. I’ve finally got enough songs for a proper album now, so hopefully I can assuage my fan’s concerns over the impromptu hiatus soon.”

“Why haven’t you done so already? You sound eager to return to the stage.”

“I am… But there’s one thing I’ve been stuck on.” Follow hummed, a dull throb blooming in Astra’s neck as he wriggled a new cord into place. “I… I guess I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could get a second opinion.”

“I’ll do my best. What do you need?”

“Remember what I said about Rigel?” Follow scooted back, enough so Astra could see his soft expression. “How they were inspired by you to find their own name like you did? I… Maybe since last year, there’s a name I’ve been thinking about. Something to fit this new indie era of my music. But…” Follow rubbed his neck. “I guess I wanted to tell you first to make sure it doesn’t sound stupid.”

“I doubt that. What’s the name?” Follow sucked in a breath, as if bracing for a rejection that would never come.

“I think I’d like to be called Felix. Maybe Felix Rocker, for a full name.”

“Felix…”

Astra studied Follow’s – Felix’s – apprehensive expression as he let the name linger in his mind.

Felix.

Felix, can you help me with something?

The song sounds great, Felix.

Felix, I couldn’t have done it without you.

You mean so much to me, Felix.

I love you, Felix.

Kiss me, Felix.

“It suits you well, Felix.” Astra hoped the crackle of his auxiliary speaker covered how loud his cooling fans were buzzing. “A lucky name fitting for someone I’m extremely lucky to be with, mon ange.”

Though Felix giggled at the flattery, his reddening cheeks gave away his true feelings. Astra relaxed, knowing he wasn’t the only one flustered anymore.

He relaxed, only for his cooling system to kick into overdrive as Felix moved even closer, now leaning over his chest.

“That settles it, then,” Felix muttered. Astra wished his fans would quiet down. Unfortunately, he had no control over how warm his core grew in response to Felix’s breath ghosting over his cheek. “Felix Rocker will have a new album out by the end of the month.”

Felix nudged Astra closer with a hand on his other cheek. Even knowing how high the melting points of titanium and steel were, Astra felt like he was dissolving into the touch.

His eyes fell closed, already knowing what his partner wanted. A fraction of a second later, warm lips met Astra’s synthetic ones.

It was almost strange, bringing Felix closer with a human-like hand on his upper back rather than metal fingers. Yet the strength behind the touch was the same as ever, the strength that drew Felix to Astra in the first place. While Felix embraced Astra by the waist, he raised his other hand to his own throat, as if to feel vocal cords that had long been replaced by metal and wires.

Could I really… sing again?