“Everyone should still remember you are indeed a living person. Even if your modifications make you special, it doesn’t change the fact that you deserve to be treated equally.”
Requiem blinked as his Fighter’s warm breath tickled his skin. And then Damion’s lips were on his own slightly parted ones, firmly pressing against them. Requiem knew there was a meaning to this that wasn’t aggression. The last Fighter he had had before Damion had done the same but violently, forcing Requiem’s mouth open so that the man could thrust his tongue inside, nearly choking him. This was different. This was… nice, and Requiem didn’t feel threatened in the least. He also didn’t know what he was supposed to do or what Damion meant by it.
Damion blinked and pulled away. “Sorry. I—I shouldn’t have done that. We should sleep.”
Requiem tilted his head slightly, momentarily confused. “I… did not mind. But you seem to have.”
“I should not have done that.” Damion rolled his shoulders forward and put his head in his hands.
“Then why did you?” Requiem questioned softly, sounding much like a child, but he didn’t understand. “I am yours to do with as you wish, yet you have never forced me to do anything I did not want to do. I… am grateful for that.” He paused for a moment, licking his lips, intrigued by the momentary difference in taste. “I did not mind what you just did.”
Damion shivered as he turned his head and watched the tip of Requiem’s pink tongue run along his lips. “Because I shouldn’t use you for sex. You should only have sex that is consensual.”
Requiem unconsciously frowned, still very confused. No one had ever asked him if he wanted to have sex. The Fighter usually took it as a benefit, another service that a Core was supposed to provide. It had only happened to Requiem twice, and he knew that if he had protested either time, he would have been disciplined by the Fighter or Creators. He had no aspiration of staying in the Creator Medical Unit for a week for programming modifications or to be beaten needlessly when it was easier to submit. So he had lain there and tried to ignore the pain until the Fighter was done. This idea that he had a choice in the matter of sex confused him, and he could not understand why Damion would not just take.
Damion
“CORES DO not have that liberty. We provide whatever service a Fighter wants, to make his life easier. I do not comprehend how sex is different… how it is a… consensual idea.”
“That’s why I shouldn’t have done that and confused you.” Damion didn’t know what had come over him, but he was determined to not let it happen again. “When you figure out what consensual is, then perhaps you’ll understand.”
“I know what the word means,” Requiem replied, almost snappishly, looking up at Damion through his bangs. “I just do not know how it applies to a Core. Are you saying that a Core has a choice to… have sex… willingly?”
“Yes. That’s it.” Damion nodded quickly.
Requiem was silent for a moment, looking into nothing as he thought. “Why… why would anyone want to?” he finally asked quietly, his head falling back to rest on Damion’s chest. “It… it is painful.”
“It’s not supposed to be.” Damion felt like he was having this talk with a prepubescent, which, in the scope of social experience, at least, Requiem was. Damion had been taken by his older brother to a local bar and hooked up with a woman nearly ten years older than him. There was a lot to the theory an experienced lover was better than an inexperienced one. From there on out he had no problem hitting up his own dates. His father passed on few words of wisdom other than to be respectful. Requiem had no brothers to hook him up or go to with questions. He mentally kicked himself—again—for the actions he had taken to cause Requiem’s confusion.
“Then why has it always been that way? What way is it supposed to be?”
“Because that was rape.” Damion didn’t know what else to call it, and the conversation was awkward enough as it was.
“I understand. But I still do not understand how else it is supposed to be. From my understanding the word rape is used for nonconsensual sex that is painful, correct? What do you call sex that is consensual?”
“Uh… good sex.” Damion pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache brewing behind his eyes. “Some romantics call it making love. There is a goddess and god who are in charge of that shit.”
“Love is an emotion I am not familiar with,” Requiem stated and then sat up slightly. “I am making you uncomfortable with my questions. I apologize. I will stop. I am only trying to understand better about the subject and also attempt to comprehend what you think you did wrong.”
“You don’t have to be apologetic. I just don’t know how the hell to explain a few things. Since we were raised differently and you don’t… you don’t feel your emotions the same, it’s like the square peg, round hole problem.”
“I do not have emotions. At least I and the other Cores are not supposed to. I find lately that….” Requiem eyed him warily before confessing, “I find lately that I am having… feelings that are unfamiliar to me within my chest. I do not understand what they are, but they are there. I appreciate your attempt at trying to help me understand. Maybe it is beyond my abilities to do so.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Right now I think we both need sleep.” Yes, escaping into unconscious bliss and away from the talk of sex when he wanted… well, Damion didn’t quite know what he wanted.
“Affirmative. I am very weary,” Requiem agreed, punctuating it with a yawn. “I do admit to having some reservations about resting outside of my capsule.” He eyed his usual bed with a look of regret. But it didn’t last long, as his previous ordeal finally caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Nine
Requiem
DAMION HAD stayed next to Requiem the last five days, and Requiem was about ready to climb the walls from not being able to plug in. “Are you doing all right?’
“I am acceptable,” Requiem mumbled from where he was sitting on the bed, back against the wall, staring at his capsule like it was a long-lost lover that he couldn’t touch.
Damion had ordered him to stay in bed when he wasn’t in the bathroom, and he had followed those orders to the max. But he was… screamingly bored. And uninformed. He hated not knowing what was going on in the system and around the Zeus.
“Command is going to talk to Arkin, but still won’t do anything to him, even with the attempted rape.” Damion explained as he sat next to Requiem and handed him a small sweet piece of protein bar. “Although he’s under house arrest, I think they’re ready to give him another Core now too.”
Requiem’s hand paused on its way to take the bar. He moved his gaze to Damion’s face, asking him if he was serious. Letting out an inaudible sigh, he took the bar, suddenly lacking an appetite.
“Then another will be terminated,” he finally stated, the bar hanging limp between his fingers.
“Not if we take care of it,” Damion said slowly in a low voice as if afraid someone would hear.
Requiem’s gaze shot up to meet Damion’s dark eyes, an intelligent mind working furiously behind them. “I obey your orders,” Requiem stated just as quietly, a type of maliciousness appearing in him as well. Not out of pure viciousness but protection and revenge for his fellow Cores, and for himself.
“What do you need to do the job from here?” Damion had said he wasn’t sure if Requiem was ready to plug in yet, and it was their best chance to avoid suspicion if he did not plug in for another few days. Neither the Creators nor anyone else would expect him to, therefore they would not be looking for him. The Commander would have a difficult time accusing Requiem this time of murder since he would not be in physical contact with Arkin or in the same room as him. The Creators wanted Requiem to improve the Impulse Barrier. They would be far busier attempting to figure out how he had performed the task than to reprimand him.
“I have everything I require in the capsule,” Requiem replied, finally unwrapping the protein bar and tak
ing a bite. He blinked once, looking at the bar and chewing slowly, cataloging the taste and finding it appealing. He savored it as he looked back up at Damion. Every day his Fighter brought him something new to try, and he had yet to find something he disliked.
“Where does he need to be?” Damion began to pet the back of Requiem’s head slowly, as if he weren’t aware of his actions.
Requiem’s eyes closed as he sighed softly in contentment, swallowing the sweet bite. “It depends on what particular scenario you wish to approach the situation with.”
“Something that leaves no chance for them to track it back to us, but the bastard dies a painful and much-deserved death.”
“I can block any tracking methods, making it impossible for them to see that I jacked in, especially since I am not cleared to do so at this time. That will be easy. Is Arkin still under house arrest?” Requiem took another bite out of the bar, his appetite reappearing as he considered their options.
“As far as I know, until he’s let out for his meeting. I don’t know when that is, though,” Damion admitted. All he knew was what Juni and 108 had found out.
“Then we had better expedite the process.” Requiem finished the rest of the bar, licking the remnants from his fingers as he shuffled out from underneath Damion’s gentle hand and off the bed. He was once again wearing only his boxers and one of Damion’s shirts. The doctor had advised against him wearing his suit, saying that the open areas that surrounded his ports might irritate the damaged jack points on his body. “If we do not act quickly, there is a possibility that after his meeting he will be free from house arrest.” He moved toward his capsule, placing the empty wrapper in the disposal as he walked.
“You’re going to do it now?” Damion asked, sounding surprised, but moved with him off the bed. “How?”
“Jack in, search the system for Arkin’s location, and receive a visual on the possibilities of termination.” Requiem started to step into his capsule and realized that he couldn’t access the jacks in his current attire. Without pausing, he pulled Damion’s shirt over his head and threw it toward the bed. His boxers wouldn’t get in the way, but the shirt would have. He lowered himself into the capsule, his mind working furiously to push away the small pains his body didn’t want him to forget.
“Don’t push yourself. That’s an order,” Damion said in a worried tone.
Requiem paused, still sitting, his hands on both sides of the capsule. “Damion, I am the only Core with the ability to achieve what I am about to do. I reached this point by pushing myself to the limit. If I cannot push myself, then I cannot do what is required of me at this time.”
“You don’t have to make it sound like I’m being unreasonable.” Damion crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Do what you have to do, but still… don’t fuck all your healing out the window.”
“You are not being unreasonable, merely overcautious. You needed to know clearly what I intend to do and how I will achieve it. That is all I was explaining. I will do my best to achieve your orders.”
Requiem lowered himself into the capsule. His fingers flipped open the control panel and he punched in his code to activate the jacks. The plugs slammed into his input ports, and it was the first time he could ever remember it being so painful. He struggled to breathe, his spine bowing as he entered the system. The pain disappeared as his mind expanded, flitting across the circuits and bypassing the energy pulses that flashed past him, lest he get caught up in their attractive power.
He went straight for the observational systems and followed the circuitry to the monitor in Arkin’s room, looking for him.
Fortunately for Requiem, Arkin was sitting on the edge of the Core capsule making preparations to receive his new Core in the near future. The look of malicious glee in the man’s eyes caused Requiem to nearly lose his concentration when he felt his own… heat. Was this anger? It was possible. He would have to investigate the feeling at a later time. But for now, he had to concentrate on the task at hand. Looking closer at the capsule, he discovered something that would have made his blood turn cold if he had concentration to spare.
Arkin sharpened one of the smaller knives he owned. The Alpha obviously knew he would receive a new Core in the next few days.
There was the rust color of dried blood in the bottom of the capsule; next to every hole where a jack would exit was a small blade.
Trying to push it out of his mind, Requiem switched from the observational circuits to the inner workings of the capsule, pulling in power from it. He could feel his body take a deep breath as he prepared to do something he had never done before: manipulate the jacks. Storing energy for a minute or two, he released it all at once so that the jacks used the freed power to spring out of their resting places and wind around Arkin’s form, dragging him into the capsule. The jacks wouldn’t be enough to kill him, but they would cause him quite a bit of constricting pain before Requiem went on to his next action.
Arkin began to scream in both panic and pain, struggling against the electrical cords binding his arms. “What the fuck is this?” He flailed side to side, the arm with the knife trying to hack into the half-centimeter-thick cords.
Requiem’s body took another deep breath inside his capsule as he split his consciousness through the circuits. One part stayed tentatively within his body, the other within the capsule that Arkin was flailing in, and the third to the comm system on the wall of Arkin’s quarters. “Fighter Arkin, I suggest that you cease struggling. Doing so will not help your current situation.”
The bindings around Arkin became more numerous, holding him tightly so that he could not move his arms.
“What the fuck is this, you insane piece of shit!” Arkin didn’t stop fighting; he struggled harder against his restraints. “Let me go! Let me go now!”
The more Arkin fought, the tighter the cords became. The whole event had to seem like a freak accident in case there was an investigation.
“The chances of that happening are highly improbable,” Requiem said over the comm unit. “Nor do I follow your orders or any other Fighter’s but my own. This is what you Fighters would call… justice. I am receiving justice not for myself, but for the five Cores you terminated for no plausible reason and for 108, who suffered at your hands. I’m disposing of an inadequate Fighter as well as preventing you from harming another Core. My… hand is merely carrying out the unofficial sentence.”
“You’re a murdering freak! Puppet bastard!” Arkin was sweating profusely as he realized he couldn’t get free. “I killed five? Who fucking cares? You killed three! You’re scared. Scared that you’re like me!”
“You forget, former Fighter Arkin, I do not feel fear. Nor do I feel guilt. I feel nothing,” Requiem said as he gathered more energy from the circuits. “I am nothing like you, for there is a very distinct difference between us. You have terminated five innocents, Cores that could not defend themselves and were programmed to not go against their Fighter’s orders. You took advantage of that fact. You have killed five innocents, while I have killed three guilty.”
There was a distinct pause, and a hum, increasing in volume, could be heard from the capsule that Arkin was currently trapped in.
“I apologize for my miscalculation. Make that four guilty.”
With those words, Requiem released the energy. An electrical panel beneath Arkin exploded in unseen sparks, conducting power through the metal knives embedded in Arkin’s body with maximum voltage, electrocuting him.
Arkin screamed as bodily functions began to shut down, secrete, and then relax until there was no more movement from his body.
Requiem retreated from the communication systems, covering his tracks by smoothing over the circuits, almost as someone would hide their footprints in the sand. He also left signs of capsule failure. It was rare, but electrical surges and equipment faults had occurred in the past, damaging Cores and—at times—the Fighter in the room. He did this all the way back to his capsule. Once there, he looped the system time
stamp as if he had never jacked in, then pushed his consciousness back into his own body.
Requiem came back to awareness gasping, eyes shooting open as his fingers groped for his control panel. With a shaking hand, he punched in his code again and disengaged the jacks. He nearly screamed as they aborted from his ports, pain ripping up his spine and head from his damaged inputs. Requiem lay there for a moment, catching his breath before reporting, “Mission complete.”
“I knew you could do it, but what damage did you take?”
Damion had not left Requiem’s side, and he leaned down and picked up Requiem, who was shaking uncontrollably, to carry him back to the bed.
Requiem stifled a groan. Blood leaked down his pale skin from three damaged ports in his back. “Minimal. I did what had to be done.” He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and resting his head against Damion’s shoulder. “He had installed knives in the bottom of his Core capsule. One above each port.”
“Sadistic ass.” Damion sat Requiem on the bed and then grabbed a discarded towel to place against his wounded ports. “You’re sure he’s dead?”
Requiem couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped his parted lips. “Positive. Before I retracted I checked all vital signs.” He attempted to sit up. “I will go into the bathroom so I do not bleed on your resting place.”
“It’s fine, just sit.” Damion dabbed gently at the ports. “Should I take you to Medical?”
Requiem turned and gave Damion a look, pinching his lips in pain. “If you take me to Medical, they will know that I jacked in, defeating the whole purpose of covering my trail.”
“I know, but I don’t know how bad these wounds are. Remember, I’m a Fighter, not a medic.” Damion smirked, but it seemed more worried than full of humor. “At least take some analgesics. We have some in the bathroom.”
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