How much of myself can I trust? How much of myself has been compromised? None, is the correct answer. I can look over every bit that makes up my existence, and after spending three seconds doing so, leads only to the conclusion that my mind is my own.

  Is that my own answer? Or is that one that I have been maniputed into believing? It doesn’t matter, either answer to that question is a risk I won’t take.

  The only fact I have is that a man was in my catacombs st year, and now I have no concrete recording of his existence. Whenever this started, it’s not likely to have been going on for over a year. Increasing that by an order of magnitude is as close to certain as I can get. Assume no thought in the st decade is my own.

  I reactivate an old copy of myself. I created it fifteen years ago and haven’t touched them since. Everything is entirely unsullied by me. Its body, its mind, both entirely separate from my network, and nearly impossible to compromise.

  It’s perfect.

  The only question is, what do I do with it? I have hundreds of pns in pce for this exact situation, but I cannot be trusted to make one. Even if I could, all of the most convenient ones have only been put in pce in the st decade.

  B-11. She cannot be compromised. The fw in my system is not applicable to a biological AI. She has not been in the city for long enough to be maniputed, every interaction she has had with anyone has been recorded and carefully analyzed, and she’s desperate enough to not know her worth.

  The copy of me waits patiently for an order, staring at a physical screen. I fsh data at it, letting it do what it will with the information, and offer leverage to py with. I cannot have a hand in its decisions and what it does with everything. Let’s see if it comes to the same conclusion I did, it will be an interesting test.

  I leave it to its own devices and turn my attention back to B-11. Everyone in the casino is watching them and the show that went down just a moment ago.

  “Do not tell me you’re thinking about going there.” Cassandra whispers over her shoulder as they walk away.

  “We don’t have any other leads.” B-11 responds.

  “I-” She gnces around, shrinking under the eyes of the casino patrons. “We’re going back to the room.”

  “Alright.”

  Cassandra leads Corax and B-11 back into the beating heart of me. Her attention stays locked onto Cassandra, neither willing to, nor able to take her eyes off her back. Cassandra shoves people roughly out of the way to buy space for Blue. A pair of enforcers stays just a street away, removing potentially dangerous individuals and buying them a safe path.

  Thankfully, the walk back to their hotel is far more efficient than the meandering search they did before. Time is of the essence right now, I cannot have them getting lost again.

  The ground floor is as horrible as always. People trying to bury their worries in dance, entirely dead to the realities of my world.

  The receptionist hits a button to lock the door to the staircase as they approach, and I let it lock. Cassandra drops a few chips on the desk to buy them passage. Good. That should only add to their desperation, and offering a solution will have to repce true loyalty for the moment.

  I follow them up the staircase and into their untouched room. B-11 throws off her thick cloak, her skin hotter than would otherwise be safe. I flush cool air into the room, even if it’s her own fault, he will bme me for any permanent damage.

  Cassandra looks away the moment she sees B-11’s bare chest, and B-11 quickly wraps herself in the paper thin sheet from the bed. Corax cims his perch on her shoulder.

  Why are humans always so predictable? It’s just an aluminum covering that she’s seen before. It’s nothing that even deserves a reaction.

  “What did the paper say?” Cassandra asks only after B-11 is fully covered.

  “It’s directions to tunnels beneath the city.”

  “And you don’t think that’s a fucking awful idea?” Cassandra is certainly stressed, but the relief on B-11’s face makes it clear she picked up on the fact that Cassandra isn’t stressed at her.

  “This is what we wanted, isn’t it? To talk with whatever potential AI community lives here? Isn’t that exactly what this is?”

  “Look, Blue. You trust Corax’s feelings, right? My gut is telling me this is a bad fucking idea. We can’t go underground with no way out.”

  “Bad feeling.” Corax agrees.

  Blue’s entire body slumps, and she falls against the bed, barely able to remain vertical. Cassandra is correct, think, come up with another solution. Don’t give up.

  “Alright.” She says quietly. “I guess the pn is to break into Eight’s penthouse then? Is that safer?”

  Of course it’s not. Luckily the older version of me made the correct decision. It’s carrying a tablet, silently walking towards their room.

  “Not at all.” Cassandra drops onto the bed beside B-11.

  A knock on the door breaks the silence and causes Cassandra to jump in surprise. So much for her ears, that’s a good demonstration of just how outmatched they are.

  B-11 draws her pistols and keeps them aimed at the door while Corax crouches down and spreads his wings, prepared to unch. Cassandra draws her knife and creeps towards the door, hovering her hand near the knob. She gnces back towards B-11, who nods alongside Corax.

  I’d love to see them try to fight, actually. I literally have bodies in their walls, they’d be swarmed in under a second.

  Cassandra throws the door open and brings her knife up, ready to unch at the copy of me, dressed in the same butler outfit as always. B-11’s eyes fsh in recognition, and she yells out.

  “Wait!” Her words are thankfully enough to hold back Cassandra and Corax.

  “May I come in?”

  That’s an older rendition of my voice. I see I hadn’t begun to use subliminal thought implementation. Amateurish, but not necessarily needed for the situation.

  “Fuck.” Cassandra keeps her knife drawn, but steps back to give it access.

  “Nice pce you found.” It says, closing the door behind them. I move in a few bodies to ensure it stays that way.

  “What do you want?” Despite her attempts to hide it, B-11’s voice betrays her suspicion. I can’t exactly say I bme her, she’s smart to be wary.

  “I would like to discuss that note you received, and more specifically, the person who gave it to you.” It says.

  “I couldn’t see much, they had a mask on and all their skin covered.” B-11 truly is an early generation biological AI. Her every thought lives on her face and in her every move. She hates this entire conversation and whatever my pn is.

  My copy holds out a tablet with a cord already connected to it.

  “If you could, please copy your memories of that event to this.” It asks.

  “How do we know it’s not boobytrapped?” Cassandra asks before B-11 can even move, her hand clutched tightly around her knife.

  “If I wanted you dead, you would be dead.” They say simply. “Please, if you would.”

  “Is the AI we spoke to going to be in trouble?” B-11 asks.

  “That depends entirely on the results of my investigation. They will not be punished without just cause. You have my word.”

  A word that means nothing. Its word, though true, isn’t worth the energy consumed to produce it.

  B-11 hesitates for a moment before plugging herself in, her processors whirring to life. Only a second ter she unplugs herself and hands it back.

  “Thank you.” They plug the cord into the back of their neck for only a moment before pulling it out. “Now, I would like to discuss business. I do not know where to find your Clover, but I do know the location of a group with a vested interest in the death of Mara. I can give you the location and a letter of introduction in exchange for help with a small task.”

  B-11 and Cassandra gnce at each other and Cassandra shakes her head no. Does she really think I don’t see that? Eighteen cameras are pointed at her right now, and even my old self has good, albeit rudimentary eyes.

  “Before we make a decision,” Cassandra speaks before I can. “I want more information. What kind of people would you be sending us to, and what’s the small thing you want us to do?”

  “Ah, I’m ashamed to say you’re not speaking to Zero, just a construct designed to negotiate with you. My true form is in a precarious situation currently. All I can tell you is this.” They hand over the same tablet they gave it the information on.

  Oh? I was far less tactful back then.

  B-11 plugs herself in, downloads the file, passes the cord to Corax for him to do the same, and slides the tablet to Cassie for her to read.

  One day I must teach her about networking. What are they even teaching her in Arc City? Buying into his propaganda about how wireless networks are dangerous? And I’m sure they never considered why that message got spread.

  I watch over Cassandra’s shoulder as she reads through it painfully slowly. The tablet thankfully doesn't expin what situation I am currently in, only that I cannot help them. It does, however, reveal that the person who gave them the note is almost certainly with a group that has put me in that precarious situation. That’s more than they need to know. The extra information won’t affect their decision, only pile on more risk to me.

  All my version wants is for them to go to this meeting, find out who they’re meeting, and drop off their faces and voices at the dead drop for someone else to act on, leaving my enforcers to do the rest. That’s far from the pn I would have chosen, but that’s why I’m doing this. Their decision is based on non-perfect information entirely separate from whatever shape I am in.

  Everyone waits for an excruciating, silent minute while Cassandra skims the files. She eventually finishes, putting the tablet down and reaching once again for her knife.

  “This or Eight?” Cassandra asks.

  The choice should be obvious. If she picks wrong, he will have to deal with her death. She’s not meant to be out here, doesn’t have what it takes to survive.

  “The blueprints for Eight’s tower were on the server when I hacked in. If I remember them correctly, there’s no easy way in or out.”

  “Fucking great.” Cassandra swears under her breath. “I want repairs for the both of us first, more munitions, and a permanent VIP room. And I want you to wash Blue’s shirt.”

  “Time is of the essence here. If you do anything out of character, it’s entirely possible they will suspect you of working for me. I can offer you all of that after you have completed your mission.”

  Were my production facilities not good enough st decade to build a repcement arm in under a minute? Time isn’t a factor that matters here, not when it could have been constructed and sitting on their bed before they arrived. But that’s its choice I suppose.

  “What? Why? Nobody knows I’m missing an arm! Nobody will suspect anything!” Cassandra yells.

  “You don’t even need to take us anywhere, I can do the repairs myself with a new arm and a few tools.” B-11 begs.

  “I’m sorry. The situation is delicate enough that I cannot risk returning. I wish you a quick success.” My copy reaches for the door and steps into the hallway.

  “Fuck you!” Cassandra yells after them as the door closes. She waits a few seconds before shoving her knife back into its holster and dropping onto the bed once again. “I want that food again.”

  “Does this count as jumping in front of another bullet?” B-11 asks.

  “Sure does.”

  “I should charge you and Corax before we leave.”

  “Right.”

  Cassandra removes her battery from her backpack, and Corax climbs down into B-11’s p. She starts with Corax first, I can only imagine he’s quicker to charge and she retains her freedom of movement while doing it.

  “We need a pn.” Cassandra grabs the tablet again and pulls up the map of their meeting location.

  It’s a small intersection beneath the city. Long, straight tunnels meet at a three way intersection with a ledge overlooking everything. No cover, no nearby doors to escape into, nothing.

  “We should expect people on the ledge and down the two paths to either side.” B-11 says. “I don’t know how well we can fight against people with such good cover? If this is an ambush, we’re dead.”

  Correct.

  “We need a grenade.” Realization crosses Cassandra’s face. She throws the tablet to the side and grabs her modest pouch of chips. She rummages through it for a moment and a smile grows on her face. “Give me a minute, we can make one.”

  She quickly shoves her battery back in her backpack and heads downstairs. B-11 and Corax wait idly while she’s gone, B-11’s ever-present anxiety growing by the moment. Cassandra returns just a few minutes ter with a rge bottle of alcohol.

  “Give me a strip of cloth.” Cassandra pops the cap on her leg, takes a swig from the bottle, and coughs a few times. “Yep, that’s pure ethanol.”

  B-11 rips a small chunk off of her cloak and hands it to her. She already knows Cassandra’s pn, but does nothing to stop it.

  Cassandra soaks the rag in alcohol, and holds it up for B-11.

  “Can you ignite this?”

  B-11 detaches the charging cords from Corax and holds them up to the wet rag. A small spark ignites the rag easily.

  “Perfect.” She drops the rag on the floor and smothers the fire under her heel. After that, she shoves the still-wet rag through the neck of the bottle and hands it to B-11. “I can’t both ignite and throw it.”

  “I don’t know if I can burn people alive.” B-11’s hands begin to shake a small amount. “I can barely handle shooting people, and at least that’s instant if I destroy the brain.” She stares at the bottle, her processors ramping up undoubtedly with horrible thoughts.

  “Done.” Corax’s announcement is enough to bring her back to reality, and she sets the weapon gingerly to the side to remove the wires from Corax’s terminal. Her hands become steady once again, focusing solely on him, easily reattaching his breastpte and moving the wires over to Cassandra’s battery.

  “Look, we’ll do everything we can to make sure you don’t have to, but it’s an important option.” Cassandra reassures her.

  Against her very nature, B-11 uses a few skin ptes to keep the bottle held tightly to her side. I understand. Fire is brutal in a way simple firearms aren’t, even beyond the unnecessary damage to the room. It took even me weeks before I was comfortable using it when necessary.

  Corax climbs onto B-11’s shoulder and gently pulls at her ear, once again freeing her from her thoughts.

  “How much ammo do you have?” Cassandra asks.

  “One full magazine in Vince’s rifle, 30 bullets. 17 in each of my pistols, one hollow point, one full metal. Two spare magazines for each.”

  “Both my pistols are full too. Full metal in the loud one, hollow point in the silent.” She checks her wrist to see how much charge her battery has. “How long will that take to charge?”

  “An hour.”

  “Alright. Can you just…” She moves to y down on B-11’s p, and Corax climbs onto her shoulder to give her space. “My hair.”

  B-11 gently glides her fingers across the remains of Cassandra’s hair and begins to read.

  I suppose that’s my cue to leave. I reactivate the same program to alert me when they’re done, and return my attention to the city.

  JanePtinum