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Location: I.R.I.S. Facility K-12, “Confidante Hall”, Kozpont.

Status: Awaiting Arrival of Pilot Designation G5.1-S017 via. Drop ship dispatched from I.R.I.S.S. Szuras. 

  Lancer was stood atop the large elevator that occasionally composed the hangar’s roof. The center platform of the building, decorated with the standard landing-zone pattern of paint, would soon descend onto the floor of the hangar, dropship delicately whirring on its surface. There wasn’t a real reason Lancer had to be there, more that she wanted to. The I.R.I.S. already had a pretty full roster of ten pilots at this one post. If number eleven, whoever they were, wasn’t top of the line, she wanted to know so you could avoid any ops with them. Space was crowded, and the weak were pushed out. What the I.R.I.S. wanted could only protect the extras so much, for so long. 

  It was midday, and the sun Kozpont orbited was heavily muted by the high-altitude ash-clouds. Red-orange skies weren’t uncommon, enough to the point that they had stopped being unsettling a while back. As Lancer stood in the gentle red glow, Ten Volt spoke up from behind her.

  “I don’t get what you’re hoping for. We’re gonna see ‘em anyways eventually, and we could be keeping busy elsewhere.”

  Lancer rolled her eyes. “You know damn well why I’m up here.” 

  “‘Ohhh look at me! Big scary Lancer! I’m here to intimidate you into leaving because I don’t wanna share the mess hall with anyone else…’” Ten Volt’s impression of her was shockingly accurate.

  “Aww, you think I’m scary?” Lancer looked back at her, mocking in her expression. “Listen, not my fault Tanner can barely keep his food court together…”

  “It actually is your fault, at least in part…”

  “Hey, if he can’t get that half-plastic dogshit out to a building of scientists, rent-a-cops, and a few of us, I feel like I can’t be held accountable for making sure-“

  “You definitely can be held accountable.”

  “I shouldn’t be held accountable, for wanting to make sure I get my portion.” Lancer finally finished. Ten Volt was rolling her eyes, beginning to pace. “Not making you stand up here with me, y’know.”

  “Fuck else am I gonna do? Stand around and look pretty?” Ten Volt shot back, playful sass dripping from each word. She had no problem standing around with Lancer, she just liked to needle her friend.

  “‘Bout all you’re good for anyways.” Lancer shot her a wink, and the two chuckled to themselves. Behind them, a stone’s throw away, the service door to the roof slid open, and Icebreaker stepped through.

  “Waitin’ on the new blood, huh?” His voice was deep and smooth, fitting his features perfectly. Even Lancer could see his physical appeal, through the implants and the fact that she only had eyes for women. He was just well-made. She nodded in response, to which Icebreaker continued. “You planning on making this one have a breakdown too, or something new in mind?”

  “Oh, let me make it a surprise. Let me have some fun with it.” Lancer knew both were joking, which was good. She had her reservations about new pilots encroaching on both space and jobs, but if the new one proved they were worth half a shit, she’d leave them alone. Probably. Which was all assuming that the others wouldn’t cause an issue and drive them away, or just outright get them killed. 

  As she watched the skies, she thought about the last two pilots that the I.R.I.S. had sent planetside. First one had been a psycho the second she’d stepped off the dropship, total stresscase. Neurotic. She hadn’t even been around long enough for Lancer to remember her callsign. Collapsed and died after her first deployment. Even calling it a deployment was strong language. She’d taken three minutes in her suit, blew out her link, and clambered out the back only to flatline on the floor a few feet away. Lancer had seen the security footage, it wasn’t pretty. Second one, a man who’d picked ‘Humpback’, had lasted a while, but ultimately didn’t make the cut either. Couple weeks of being a weirdo, total fuckup on the two jobs he was deployed for, and plenty hassling from the other pilots, he eventually snapped. Lancer had been there for that one. Another fucking mess, that one. She didn’t have any reservations about putting down another pilot, especially when they deserved it, but Humpback was a real strange case. She couldn’t place what it was, but he never seemed like he was all there. All she could do was hope the next one would be different.

  “Hey, face east, high,” Ten Volt nodded her head upwards as Lancer turned to her. Following her gaze, there it was. Just breaking through the cloud cover, a little off target but rapidly adjusting, descending, standard make and model for I.R.I.S. shuttles. 

  “Yup, that's them. Any bets?” Lancer asked, not taking her eyes off the ship as it neared the landing pad.

  “Three weeks. But this one goes out clean, no mess,” Ten Volt suggested.

  Icebreaker added his guess, “I say four, but it’s gonna be another mess. Always is. Lancer?”

  Lancer was quiet for a moment, pausing as the shuttle neared landing. Before it could, she spoke. “I give them three jobs. However long that takes. Dies in the field, takes the hunk of shit in the hangar with them.”

  No sooner had she finished than the shuttle touched down. “Oh, that was close. Almost didn’t make it in time,” Ten Volt teased.

  “You should know better, I don’t make mistakes.” Lancer’s eyes were glued to the shuttle. Their deep, rich brown piercing the hull of the ship with intent to kill. Her shoulders were rigid with tension, but she wasn’t stressed. She just found it hard to physically relax.

  The engine shutters opened up and Lancer felt the air get a bit warmer as they started cooling. The roof had started its own descent into the hangar, dropship and guests included. As they cleared what was now the ceiling, the secondary metal shutters slid themselves closed, keeping most of the airborne debris out of the main room. Her arms were crossed against her chest, her brow furrowed, her attention locked to the side panels of the ship, which would be opening any-

  All at once, there was the characteristic clunk and hiss of the doors, and they raised ninety degrees. Lancer had to admit, she wasn’t wildly impressed with what she saw.

  “Fuckin’ A, she’s got more steel than skin. Can I change my bet?” Ten Volt muttered. 

  “Not a chance,” Icebreaker mumbled back, “Besides, you’d still be closest.”

  She was a tall, lean thing, with fully replaced and exposed arms and legs, from just over the knee down. Not much even in the way of real-feel to mimic skin. She looked like a metal skeleton, if you took her face out of the picture. Her top was stretched taut across her figure, and Lancer could easily make out the distinctive bumps and indents that gave away a handful of abdominal augments. But she also appeared to at least have some synthetic skin to cover most of it. Her chest seemed mostly intact, or at least convincingly disguised, and her shoulders showed enough pale beige that Lancer figured they’d probably left that mostly alone. They would’ve had to, minus the standard changes. Ten Volt had been right, she was barely a person, from the looks of it. Just a bunch of augments stapled together and wrapped, somewhat, in some real-feel. It was almost hard to look at.

  It didn’t help that she looked malnourished. Thin as she was, her overall figure, her stance, betrayed that she used to have a bit more meat on her. Coupled with gaunt cheeks and sunken, dark eyes, it was obvious that augmentation was taking its toll on her. Lancer admitted to herself that her guess had been way off. Yet, there was an appeal to the girl. She had nice features, soft-looking hair, pretty greenish-blue eyes, and a fun, perky chest. Lancer couldn’t help but think to herself,

oh, it’s gonna be a real shame to watch you tear yourself apart

  As the side of the shuttle opened up, and artificial light filled the dim space, 017 had to squint as her eyes adjusted. Luckily, the process was fast, and by the time the panels had finished settling into position, she could see just fine. She stepped out onto the metal floor, her feet echoing hollow clangs against it. Ibarres and Ala trailed her, both uncharacteristically quiet as she took her first steps out. It felt different from the artificial gravity of the Szuras, and while it wasn’t enough to make her wobble, it nearly reached that point. 

  She was being watched. Three, ahead and to the right, off near a corner of the hangar floor. A man, tall, dark skin, strong features, solid build, light visible augmentation. A woman, arms folded, medium height, healthy weight, lots of visible augmentation. Still didn’t come close to 017’s own. Third was another woman, taller than the middle woman but shorter than the man, lean but fit, curly hair pulled back, lots of visible augmentation. They were all watching her, and the tall man and the woman farthest right both had the same look in their eyes. 017 felt she could make out  inquisitiveness, curiosity, maybe… pity? That didn’t seem right, but it’s all she could conjure. The woman in the middle, scornful. Sort of. 017 actually couldn’t really tell, seemed like there was too much going on to single anything out. She thought she was getting scorn, curiosity, disappointment, offense… there were a few others that didn’t make any sense to her. Her stance screamed “I dare you to come near me”. 017 thought about taking that challenge. 

  “This is the hangar of ‘Confidante Hall’, facility K-12 of the Interplanetary Research Institutional Society.” Ibarres spoke with the pride of a man who had reinvented the wheel. Pride, not joy. He spoke the name as if even his own voice didn’t pay it due reverence. “First stop will be to your quarters, Donor, then the full tour of the facility that’s open to you. Then…” he said, his voice toning down, quieter, and his hand lightly fell onto 017’s shoulder, “…we need to see about getting you a proper, permanent DNI, don’t we?” 

  She was on his turf now, it seemed, and his personality was shifting accordingly. The way his hand had moved to her spine and traced one of the sections of her DNI made her sick. She saw an eyebrow raise from the rightmost woman as Ibarres traced along her. She took a step away from him, separating herself. She saw the tall man crack the slightest smile. She hoped that was good. There was some distant, quiet, echo of recognition between herself and them, the three pilots. Something about them was familiar.

  “Dr. Rayburn, if you wouldn’t mind taking Donor, here, to her quarters…” Ibarres spoke her callsign as though it was a poorly-veiled codeword, which 017 supposed it was. “…I have a bit of paperwork to do before we can get her properly fitted, and I’d like that to be done sooner rather than later.”

  “Understood, Dr. Ibarres. Donor, with me, please.” 017 looked over at Ala as she took the lead. As the wiry girl passed by 017, she caught her lips silently delivering a two-word message:

Stay close.

  Fucking ominous, was all 017 could think. However, she did not disobey. Ibarres was already splitting off running ahead, eager as 017 had ever seen him. He had nearly crossed the room entirely by the time 017 and Ala were off the platform, which, by that point, 017 was very much happy to be off of. As she passed the onlookers, none of them stopped staring at her. Not even when she met their stares. There was something in it that made her blood boil. A slow, steadily-rising current of heat and bubbles and frustration. She had already dealt with so much staring onboard the Szuras, she had assumed these people would be like her. She’d assumed that she would blend in. Of course she’d been fucking wrong. Even as she tightened her glare at the girl to the right, the least physically imposing, she started to rage that they all still stared. She made her footfalls louder, approaching stomps, and still they stared. Even as she called her fists and flared her nostrils, stares. Even as she split from Ala, blind to her own movements, and walked right up to her audience. Stares. Fucking stares. 

  “Keep fucking staring and I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out!” 017’s voice echoed through the hangar in a moment of stunned silence. The middle woman gently raised one eyebrow, the tall leftmost man chuckled and looked the rightmost woman. The rightmost woman, the primary target of 017’s outburst, recoiled, raised her eyebrows, and scoffed. 

  “Goddamn spitfire,” the leftmost man muttered. 017 snapped to face him.

  “I’ll eat that fucking tongue, freak,” She spat. 

  They held each other’s stares. 017 had not gotten what she wanted. They were all still staring at her. In fact, now she could feel Ala staring at her, which was an extra set of eyes that hadn’t been trained on her thirty seconds ago. She felt that if she backed down now, though, it would be worse than standing her ground.

  “Donor…” Ala whispered at her. It was loud enough that 017 was sure the others could hear, but clearly Ala was trying to avoid escalation. 017 dug in her heels.

  “Just got here, I don’t need this shit from any of you,” 017 could see in their eyes that not a single one was intimidated by her. They were all still staring. The man was smiling, the woman on the right was still getting over her initial shock, but she wore a prominent smirk. The middle woman’s face had not changed at all. Until she opened her mouth to speak.

  “You’re adorable, Donor.” Her voice was belittling, condescending. Confident and steadfast. The other two stifled chuckles.

  Something washed over 017. Embarrassment? She felt like a fool. And this woman spoke to her like she was a petulant child. Her ears burned, and her cheeks filled with blood hot enough to burn skin. She felt her eyelid twitch as impotent rage bubbled under her skin. She refused to back down, but couldn’t will herself to say anything.

  The woman continued. “Fuck’s sake, Rayburn, third reject in a row. Is he even trying anymore? He didn’t even stick around this time…” Being talked about as if she wasn’t the closest thing to this woman made 017’s circuits sizzle. She wanted to lash out and knock those eyes from her head, all of them. She couldn’t, and that simple fact cut her like a knife. 

  A wall of text popped up in her vision. Literally. It floated in front of everything, seemingly suspended in her physical eyeballs. Like the warnings when she was losing it.

  DROP IT. TURN AROUND. FOLLOW.

  Obviously from Ala. 

  “Oh! Little message there?” The middle woman pointed her voice at 017. 017 pointed her eyes back to the woman, not wasting a second on wondering how she could tell. She wasn’t used to the popup messages, her eyes had shifted away. She was obvious. As she returned her vision, the middle woman still held that cold neutral expression, with cold brown eyes, and…

  “Get outta here, reject. Next time, maybe start by asking a name, hm?” She waved her hand at 017 dismissively, sending her off to Ala. And 017, frustrated but defeated, felt her shoulders slump as her eye twitched and her lips slipped into a pout from her previous snarl. She turned and started her walk towards Ala, hands shaking in balled-up fists at her sides. She felt her whole mood shift in a second as she left. Dejection? Not loneliness, other-ness? Was that an emotion? 

  They had all seemed so calm. They were supposed to be like her, pilots, augmented. She already felt out of place, after spending the first days of her life that she could remember feeling like a walking talking specimen in a heavily-monitored spaceship. She was out of place. Why couldn’t she reign herself in? Why did she have… those? Outbursts? Episodes? She felt something behind her eyes. Stinging. Tingling? Water rolled down one her cheeks. Oh, she was crying. Silently. She didn’t bother looking up at Ala as she reached her, didn’t bother shying away from her hand as it gently pressed against her back, ushering her forward. Her mind swelled as they left the hangar, and she thought to herself, as another droplet rolled off and fell to the floor-

what the fuck is wrong with me?

  Lancer watched Donor leave, back turned, head tilted forward and down, hands clenched into fists. Her compatriots mumbled to each other at her flank.

  “She’s got spirit, that’s for sure. Who knows?” Icebreaker offered. His voice was calm, measured, but betrayed a bit of hope.

  “Spirit? She’s fucking wired,” Ten Volt replied. Her voice was raised, as if Icebreaker had something so stupid it had damaged her own frontal lobe just to hear. “She’ll be great if she doesn’t pop a circ on the way to her room…” 

  “So, do we go tell everyone who gives a shit, or let ‘em find out on their own?” Icebreaker asked. Lancer heard his voice change as his head turned towards her. When Ten Volt stayed silent, she figured it was her turn to speak. 

  Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she said, “Nah, let her be a surprise. Think she’ll learn a few things, if she hasn’t already.”

  In the distance, the door to the hangar airlock slid shut, Rayburn and Donor disappearing behind it, and Lancer couldn’t free herself from the image of watching Donor realize she was outclassed. The way she’d turned into a different person. One much more pliable. She needed structure. 

  Lancer could do structure.

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