06-15-2022, 18:41:22 PM
this is half "i wrote a bad original thing" and half "hey how much can i fit in a single tc post"
cw: violence, smoking, talk of suicide
cw: violence, smoking, talk of suicide
immaculate. part 1: sinner
“So, sinner. I'm guessing you don't come around here a lot.”
I-00 stopped right in his tracks. He hadn't expected that young rebel to notice him. He had approached from behind and all, just like in the countless simulations he'd been in before being sent to this nowhere island. But here they were, smoking a cigarette and making the barest of glances to him between the palm leaves. At least, he assumed they were palm leaves. It was the dead of night, and all these tropical plants started to blend together once you were surrounded by enough.
“You make a lot of noise, you know.” He pulled his bandana up, and turned towards I-00, rifle in hand. “I could hear you coming from a fuckin’ mile away. You've never done an ambush before, have you?”
Just like he had practiced, I-00 raised his blaster in return. It felt heavier than usual, but he chalked it up to the fact he had walked a mile in the heat to get to this encampment. Why did it feel so hard? It was supposed to be second nature for him. It was in his blood.
He'd never been this far away from civilization before. Never went beyond the walls. Never this far away from the light before. He'd spent his short life bouncing from laboratories to simulators until he got sent here just his month. Even while he was here, he'd spent most of his time in the city, looking pretty for the populace while they gave him dirty looks. They didn't seem to like the company being here. He never understood why.
“Maybe not,” he responded. “But I can shoot. I will shoot.”
“Do you even know how to shoot a gun?”
“Why would I not.”
The rebel laughed, but there was spite in his voice. “I'll give you this, sinner. You look like an old fighter I've known as a kid. If it weren't for that damn Daylight corporate uniform, I'd mistake you for a future martyr for the homeland like me.”
“My name's not “sinner”, sir.”
“Well, you've never given me a real name, dipshit. So I'll call you what I want.”
“My name's…” He stops himself before he says I-00, like he's done for years. But he remembers the new name they've given him. The name derived from his source material. Just as derivative as the alphanumeric designation, but it at least sounded human. “Immaculate Aqal.”
Immaculate Aqal. Immaculate. Aqal. That was your name now, he repeated to himself. Not I-00. He was Immaculate Aqal, just like someone else was, years ago in this very place.. It was something everyone else had to believe, and they wouldn't if he didn't believe it himself.
The rebel boy sure as hell didn't believe him. “I'm not stupid like you people think this island is. You're not fucking Immaculate Aqal. Don't fuck around with me, mister.. Tell me your real name.”
“That's my name.”
“It's not.” He pushed the barrel of the rifle closer to Immaculate. “I knew Immaculate Aqal, and you're sure as hell not him. So why don't you tell me the truth, sinner.”
Immaculate stood his ground. It's not like he had a choice. All he could hope for was that the backup would arrive at any moment. He was sent ahead just because he had a face that the enemy might trust. The face and voice of their dead hero, repackaged into someone that was meant to have all the skill, but on the winning side. “I tell nothing but the truth. That is the name I was given, just as you were given a name.”
The trees rustled behind him. Backup. A weight lifted off his chest as the rebel put his rifle down.
“Should've known someone like you wouldn't arrive alone.” He backed away, step by step. “You won't be around longer to slander the name of a hero. You may have your army, but so do we.”
And with that, he took a shot. Immaculate dodged just fast enough, falling to the ground as blood ran from the side of his torso.
He watched as his opponent's slow pace quickened, faster and faster until he turned around into a sprint, disappearing into the endless bush.
Immaculate never knew that a person could run so fast. At least, not without the help of hyperboots, and he doubted that guy had those. It would be a stupid question to ask what he was afraid of: he feared the superior firepower that was seconds away. Fear was a natural biological response in all animals. A shabbily-put together solution to the question of death.
Of course that man was afraid. Yet he, and all those others, confronted that question every day.
The people that supervised him had a motto: death, pain, fear, all those were a disease. And progress was the cure. And Immaculate focused on that motto as the world around him fell into a blur, the details of the physical world turning into colors and voices, lifting him up as the world turned dark.
Progress is the cure. So, progress.
It had been a week since the shot heard ‘round the island. A bit of an exaggeration, but it sure as hell felt like it at the time.
The moment the bosses at the Daylight Company found out that the face of their development, their repackaged martyr, had been shot in the dead of night, they immediately jumped to damage control. The official story was that Immaculate had not been shot, but also he had been shot at by the dangerous revolt on the island, fighting against the progress being brought from across the water.
Corporate had to save face. They wanted to maintain their shining city with all its luxuries, protect it from the dying forest that surrounded it, and to do that meant to show no sign of weakness. No more risks like the one they had just taken. Even now, exaggerations were being spread among the locals. The truth was drowned out, replaced by rumors that Immaculate was dead, or that a massacre had occured in the woods.
His superiors and handlers had set up a simulcast for later that day, to put those rumors to rest. Even now, his face was on light-up billboards, advertising the event. He'd say some words about progress, they'd publicly execute some anti-capital rebels as revenge, all of it was planned to the minute. He doubted that it would work. They'd already made one perfect, corporate copy of Immaculate Aqal, grown from bloodshed. What would convince the people otherwise that there weren't more, just waiting to be popped out of a factory every time the company made an error? Immaculate himself wasn't sure if that was the case or not.
It was dawn in Solas City. The sun barely had the energy to rise through the perpetual rainclouds, and the only people awake to watch it struggle to reach the sky were the ghosts that walked these streets.
Immaculate didn't want to wake up so early, but at least he had been gifted the free will to take a walk. He'd been in the medbay for a week or so, and he was dying to be anywhere but there. So, he filled out the paperwork and files needed, and he got himself a designated period, in a specific ward in the city during the early morning, when all the drones living there were under curfew and it was easier to keep track of him.
The streets felt much more familiar than the endless jungle he got shot in. They reminded him of home; the neon lights, the echo of footsteps on concrete, the cameras perched on corners, and the sharp, efficient designs that surrounded his form. Unlike his “home”, though, people actually lived here. He noted the cracks and graffiti that stained the grounds and walls, the occasional group of tents where street people slept, potholes that filled with rainwater, imperfections that proved that this was a place that existed in the real world, no matter how much Daylight tried to make it look perfect.
Immaculate turned the corner, away from the glare of the cameras and drones flying overhead. As he stepped into the dark alley, the weight fell off his chest. Not an actual weight, he noted to himself. He was never one for metaphor. It was more of a metaphorical weight, one that immediately threw itself back on him when he saw what was on the wall.
It was one of those colorful murals dotted across the city. It was large, bright, a stylized representation of reality that was just asking to be painted over once it was discovered. A scene of a young man, his hair tied back in a bun, with a rifle holding a young child painted in living color, surrounded by grey and red flowers and an ever growing list of names. The man looked directly at Immaculate, as if he was ready to face him head on in a fight. Next to him was a drawing of a scroll, with the words “IMMACULATE AQAL” and some foreign words that Immaculate couldn't make out. From the context, he figured it was probably some “rest in power” kind of thing.
A memorial to the villain of this corner of the world. The one he had been taught about by the company that made him, whose name he was meant to redeem in Daylight's version of history. His purpose for existence.
“You know, sinner, I didn't expect you to survive that.” He looked behind him, to find that rebel from the week, with that same bandana over his face.. The same one who shot him before running off into the wild. Immaculate pulled his blaster at the guy as he rambled on. “Unless they just gave another brat plastic surgery and sent ‘em here for revenge.”
“They would not go to all that effort for a man who they have yet to identify.”
The young man laughed, walked right into the barrel of the blaster, and pulled down his mask. He looked like most people did in Solas City. Medium brown skin, narrow jet black eyes, and wavy black hair left loose around his shoulders. The local phenotype, the one that Immaculate himself had despite being nowhere near the description of ‘local boy’. He looked just like any other resident you'd see on the street. Didn't even have an obvious insignia or weapon on him. Immaculate would be hard pressed to find him in a crowd.
“Why don't I do the job for you then, sinner? Joseph Luna. Nice to meet ya.”
“Well, Joseph. I wish you luck on your death wish.”
“I'm not the one wandering the streets-”
“You are. There is no possible method for you to be here, had you not been wandering the streets.
“What are you doing here, anyways? Finally got sick of Daylight's designer bullshit?” The two of them walked in circles in the alleyway, Immaculate keeping his blaster pointed at Joseph.
“I filled out all the proper forms for this walk. For your information.”
Joseph laughed. “Of course I'm wrong. Well, sorry for holding out hope you're not just the faker you've already made yourself out to be.”
“I am no faker. I have told you this before.”
The two of them slowed down, and stopped in their tracks as rain started to fall. Joseph reached into his jacket, presumably for a gun of his own. A stalemate.
Immaculate had the upper hand, though. Superior firepower, against nothing but a cocky grin. He could shoot Joseph right now, couldn't he? End this right here and now. Another victory for the industrial machine spreading across the country.
But he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. It was easier to do it in the simulations, with faceless rebels that you pressed a button to annihilate. Maybe it was the fact that Joseph now had a face and a name. Even if he was the man who shot at him not even a few days ago, Immaculate couldn't bring himself to return the favor.
He was going to need to practice that when his allotted walking session was up.
He couldn't help but look at the mural that towered over them. The figure there looked larger than life. That false savior that the locals called a martyr because, according to what his handlers told him, they were afraid of progress.
That's why Immaculate was here. To ease them into progress.
“I'll give you this, sinner. You're not Immaculate Aqal.” Joseph looked up at the mural. “But you got his face right. You're a dead ringer for the guy. But who are you, really, under that stolen name?”
“I would prefer you stop with the implications that my name is stolen.”
“But it is, sinner. You know just as well that name isn't yours. It belongs to him.” He nodded his head to the mural of Immaculate Aqal. The first Immaculate Aqal, the one that died fighting to stop the spread of the capital that now surrounded them. He looked at that, and not the Immaculate Aqal in front of him, the one with the same face and blood, but with the sigil of Daylight printed on his body.
Joseph stepped back, and pulled his hand out from his jacket. Immaculate bit down, aimed, and fired his blaster.
A loud boom, and a bright flash of plasma flew from his gun. He probably woke the whole ward up with that shot.
Joseph touched his hand to the side of his arm. Blood, instantly dried up from the heat of the shot. A little scrape. A lucky shot. And then, he pulled out what he had in his jacket. A black permanent marker.
“They used to say the pen is mightier than the sword. Never believed it myself, but maybe there's some truth to the statement. Or…maybe you're just a bad shot.”
“And maybe you're wasting my time.”
“Really? I could have sworn I was at least being entertaining. Don't tell me I've wasted all this effort into finding you just for this wound?”
He'd had enough of this. Immaculate kept walking, far, far away from whatever Joseph had planned. “It's not my fault if you make yourself a target looking for me.”
“I just want to know who you really are, sinner. And why you're making a mockery of him.”
The rain was falling in sheets now, and he had to return to the Daylight Company's campus in half an hour. No time to humor this guy.
But he couldn't help but answer the question about a name.
“If it gets you to call me something other than “sinner”. Designation I-00.”
“That's not a name, you know.”
Immaculate didn't know how Joseph got there. It had been a few days after their most recent interaction at the mural. Now, here he was, in the richest area of Solas City, during one of the few points of his day where Immaculate could be left alone with no guards breathing down his neck. It wasn't like the guards weren't there; they were standing right outside the entrance of the cafe he was in, and he wouldn't be surprised if any of the customers were hiding in plain sight, prepared to fire at will if any rebellious citizen decided to get an idea.
Usually, when he walked into an establishment, he either got looks of awe or someone trying to throw a can at his face. He wasn't exactly someone who would blend in most of the time. He'd been advertised across the city as the face of the next phase of the city's development. Cast away the turmoil of the initial revolution against Solas City and Daylight. Rewrite history, repackage it in a younger form, and use it as the model for what would happen next.
He didn't even like coffee, honestly. But he was supposed to endorse the new megacorp business ventures in the city, and these high end cafes were the most peaceful way of keeping up the contract that he involuntarily signed while he was popped out of a lab. At least these cafes were peaceful. No one ever wanted to talk about combat, or worker rebellion, or stocks, or anything like that in a cafe. You could just forget about everything that happened in the rain outside.
At least, you were supposed to. But there Joseph was, standing behind the carbon-steel counters, barely making an attempt to pass as one of the help. He even still had his hair down and his cigarette in his mouth. The circular blue neon signs advertising various new products the Daylight Company made framed his face, as if he was supposed to be blessed.
“What is this about.”
“You can't just leave me with the phrase Designation I-00, and not expect me to ask for clarification. Cause that's not a name.”
“You really do have a death wish.”
“Maybe I do, sinner. But is it really so insane to ask for the truth?”
Immaculate glared at him. “I have told you nothing but the truth. I know you do not belong here. You clearly are not employed at this officially sanctioned cafe.”
“What makes you think I'm not employed?”
“The health code violation hanging from your lip.” He pulled the cigarette out of Joseph's mouth, and put it out on the countertop.
“Awwww, now I'm gonna have to clean that up.”
“I can have you shot at any moment. You are surrounded. All I have to do is say the word.”
“Better them than you. I've seen you shoot.”
“You think you're clever, don't you.”
“Fuck yeah I do.” Joseph leaned over the counter. “Besides, you really think I would be stupid enough to meet you alone in your little golden district? Mr. Whatever your name is.”
“I have told you every name I've been given. And. Every time we have met, you were alone. Excuse me for making the assumption.”
“Not the only one with a damn army behind these words. You should know better than anyone that I'm nowhere near alone in wanting to annihilate you pigs.”
He took out a mug of coffee, and slid it towards Immaculate.
“I do not drink coffee.”
“Yes, you do.”
“First you say my name is not my own, and then you say my taste buds aren't my own.”
“The real Aqal? Loved coffee. Was a coffee addict. If you're not a faker, you'll drink this damn mug.”
“I didn't order this coffee.”
“Then what is your order? Lemme guess, you want it in a bigger mug? Or do your fancy, rich boy need some special beans with an extra dash of exploitation put in?”
“I am not here to drink coffee.”
“You're in a fuckin’ cafe, you're here to drink coffee. No way you come here every day, 1630 sharp, to not do the one thing this place is explicitly made for.”
“Unfortunately for you, that is exactly what I do. It is your problem if you are tracking my every move just to judge my eating habits.”
“All's fair in war, sinner.”
“I have told you to stop calling me that.”
“I'm sure as hell not callin’ you “Designation I-00”. What, do all foreigners have a barcode for a fuckin’ name?”
“Just me. And about 12 others, according to the file.”
Joseph chuckled. “I don't know what that means, but. You, my friend, are fascinating. An absolute motherfucking enigma. It's the only thing keeping you alive.”
“What exactly do you mean.”
“I could kill you right now. Me, or anyone in this bar. In fact, why don't you hand me that spoon over there?”
“No.”
“I really have to do everything myself, don't I? Even in a revolution, I'm still a humble laborer.” He grabbed a metal spoon from behind the counter, and began spinning it in the coffee. “And just like that…”
As Joseph pulled out the spoon from the coffee, Immaculate could see clear as day that the metal had been burnt away. Potent, industrial-grade acid. Straight from the factories on the outskirts of the city.
“You thought you could poison me.”
“And I saved your life, why don't you thank me?”
“I am not thanking you for backing out on your second murder attempt against me.”
“I wouldn't call that incident in the jungle a “murder attempt.” More a heat of the moment thing, a righteous act of judgment against a liar who thinks he's a saint.”
“I am more of a saint than the man you consider the real thing.”
“You're gonna take that back, or I pour this coffee on your face.”
“I know you will not. You have squandered an opportunity to kill me, and I know you cannot change that decision.”
“He was a hero, you know. Died protecting these people from your “company” trying to steal their free will. Someone everyone wants to be.”
“He died standing in the way of progress.”
“I've started to hate that word over my 21 years of life. “Progress”. Fuck your company motto. You know what your “progress” is? It's destroying every life on this damn island and reselling it to us in the hope that we can work our way into buying our souls back. It's building a broken, shiny city over a well established home, and charging us our blood for the right to not die of exposure. It's being killed for not waiting to make a difference. The original Aqal was the one who taught me about that shit, you know. You're acting like a mockery of everything he stood for.”
Immaculate paused. He'd heard the arguments against what Daylight did for Solas City before, but he'd never heard those arguments from someone who sincerely believed them. He'd only heard it in lectures. Strawmen, rebels, unions, designed for simulations and information uploads to show how terrified and unhinged those who fought against the inevitable wave of history were. But Joseph said it with enough conviction and anger in his voice, that Immaculate could almost be persuaded. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be persuaded by such things. He was better than falling for some charismatic voice that the working drones would go head over heels for. He was supposed to be the persuader, not the one persuaded.
He pulled Joseph's collar and slammed him to the counter. “As far as I can remember, in our little pursuit, you are the one who follows me. You pulled the trigger first. Do not try to act like you are the virtuous one here.”
“You and I both know this didn't start with me. Not even with the real Aqal. It's a never ending pursuit.”
“It was not one I asked for.” Immaculate brushed his hands through his bun, and tapped on a marking located on the back of his neck. It was a distress button, a tracker, a control leash, and a branding all in one. A single tap, and the guards that protected the billion dollar investment “Designation I-00” would be all over this place. He whispered across the countertop. “I will say, Joseph. The fascination goes both ways. You are possibly either the most confident or most suicidal person I have ever met. This cafe has a back exit, leading to the lower levels. I have called backup once more. Though it is a coin toss on whether I think you want to live or die.”
“...Thanks for the gesture, but. Running would be a pretty shit way to die, sinner.” Joseph pulled out his gun, and fired at the side of Immaculate's head. As if it were clockwork, people in the cafe got up, moved around in formation, and pulled out their weapons and bombs while guards rushed into the scene.
Immaculate got pulled out by corporate security just as the firefight started. A shame, honestly. He would have liked to be awake to see a real battle.
Give him some experience to prove that he was just as “real” as the predecessor Joseph, and every other rebel and worker in this city, was head over heels for.
“I found you this time. I believe I have gotten better at sneaking.”
The two of them were at the city walls as the rain poured. Immaculate carried his blaster with confidence on one side, aiming through the cracks while Joseph stood on the other side, putting together his own rifle.
“You're still on home turf, though. One moment in the bush, and you'd get caught immediately. Just like when we first encountered each other.”
“I prepared for such a situation.”
“You sure you prepared for it? Or did you prepare for a version of it just as-”
“If you call me fake one more time, Mr. Luna, I will shoot you on the spot right now.”
“Aw, don't worry.” Joseph smiled. “I wasn't going to call you a poser again. I was just gonna call you stupid.”
“My official intelligence scores say otherwise.”
“Actually, this says otherwise.” He finished putting together the rifle, took a shot, and ran into the bush.
Immaculate thought for a second. He was told only to guard the fence. He wasn't allowed to take any risks, not after he had gotten shot. But, wouldn't trailing a rebel that might have been trying to jump the fence count as guarding? Yes. Yes it would, in the obvious continuation of logic. So, just as he had practiced, he jumped through the gaps in the wall, landed in a roll, and began his pursuit.
The forest was disorderly, chaotic, and full of blatant code violations. But he kept on running. He still wasn't 100% sure what the motivation for chasing after Joseph was. Maybe it was something as poetic as the fascination he mentioned the last time they had met, the attempt to understand an enemy with such an obsession with chasing him down. Maybe he just wanted to pay the favor. Maybe he was just trying to be a hero, like he had been conditioned to do. Maybe he wanted to escape that pressure for a little bit. Or maybe, just maybe, he really was as stupid as Joseph just called him.
Immaculate hoped it wasn't that last option.
Keep running. Progress through this forest, as if it was a self-imposed mission he was on. He could see Joseph in the distance. He's been running for longer than he's ever done in real life. The simulators couldn't replicate the real pain in his ankles, the humidity pushing him back as the foliage hit his face. And it especially couldn't replicate the frustration he had as Joseph weaved through the trees, like it was second nature.
Damn running. There was only one way he could get him close.
He aimed, and the bright flash of a plasma beam reverberated across the bush. And from a short distance away, Immaculate heard a faint “fuck.”
“So now you do not want to talk. Every time I've met you, you've been trying to converse with me. With no prior warning, I will add. And now, the moment I talk to you. Pursue you. Now you want to run away?” Immaculate noticed the uncharacteristic raising of his voice. He cursed at himself mentally for doing that. Stupid. He was always supposed to maintain that neutral tone of voice, the same one that he heard over the loudspeakers and newscasts in the city. To lose control of your voice was to lose control of emotion, and to lose control of emotion was to lose control of your plan, which meant lost control of progress. Untamed emotion was for people like…well, Joseph. Aggressors who acted irrationally. Damn, he was a bad influence, wasn't he.
“You can't prove I wasn't trying to mess with your head, sinner. Maybe I was just leading you into a trap. An ambush.”
“There is no evidence of traps. Or ambushes.”
“No shit, there's never evidence of those! If there was, they'd never work.”
“I am absolutely certain there is no trap here.”
“Uh-huh, and what makes you think that, smartass?”
Immaculate emerged from the bushes, and stepped over Joseph's wounded leg. “Because I am right here. And if there was, we'd both be stuck.”
“...You're almost as clever as the guy whose face you stole, you know?”
“I would hope I was.”
“Oh, what's that supposed to mean, Mr. “when the fuck are you going to give me your actual name.””
“You are so persistent about getting the answers you already have-.”
“I don't have any answers! All I know is that seven years after Aqal blew himself up, your dumb ass begins walking around with all of Daylight's streams telling us that oh, actually this random guy with surgery-”
“I do not have any form of cosmetic surgery, for your information.”
“-is the real Immaculate Aqal, and you'll be marked by drones and shit if you even say otherwise! And don't try to give me shit about how you're telling the truth-”
“I am.”
“-because I'm not stupid. You…” Joseph pushed himself up. “Fuck, these plasma blasts hurt harder when you actually manage to hit. Least it didn't hit anything vital.”
“That is the point of shooting someone. To hit them, and hurt them.”
“Shut the fuck up.
“You're very defensive.”
“You're disgracing the guy who raised me, I think I have a right to be defensive! Also, you shot me!”
“You shot me before.”
“Smartass.”
“Thank you.”
Immaculate could just leave him to die. Or at least, for someone to find him. He knew that various fighters lived in these forests, and considering they were still within a few minutes running distance from the city walls, he figured that Joseph could drag himself to safety by nightfall. He did all he was supposed to do. Protect the city, guard the wall, prove a point to the enemy.
It would have been better if he had left him alone. It would have even been better if he had just stood there like a statue on a pedestal, asking to be looked at and praised by no one. That was right, it would have been better for him to do nothing.
But instead, he sat down on the dirt next to Joseph.
“What, you want to deal the killing blow? Do it. Coward.”
“You have spent your whole time pursuing me and asking questions about myself. How about, this time I ask the questions.”
“And what if I don't answer?”
“Then we continue this pursuit. I chase you, you chase me, we keep spiraling deeper and deeper into this game of cat and mouse.”
“Like Tom and Jerry.”
“Who is Tom and who is Jerry.”
Joseph laughed. It felt like one of the first genuine laughs that came from him, instead of the mocking ones that he'd heard a thousand times before in their conversations. “You truly are an enigma. Every answer you give me, it just raises a billion more questions.”
“How about you give me answers, then. Who is Tom and who is Jerry.”
“First thing. There's a little glass bottle in my bag. Can you get it for me?”
Immaculate stared at him for a second, before slowly reaching for Joseph's satchel. As he pulled out the old glass bottle, he stopped for a second. “How do I know this is not poison. Or more acid.”
Joseph took the bottle out of his hands, and took a deep swig. “This is how. Now, you want to try?”
“I would rather not. I'm not very confident in your skills in “wanting to live”. What is the purpose of this, anyway.”
“Painkiller.”
“A pretty inefficient painkiller.”
“Unfortunately, you're right. My fucking leg.”
It was honestly embarrassing watching Joseph squirm on the floor like that. Injuries were always much more brutal when you saw them in person. When it wasn't pixels on a screen, or hard light simulating the form of a charred leg, it was enough to make you nauseous.
This whole experience was a rush of backstabbing emotion that made Immaculate consider just walking back and going back to sleep in that temperature controlled, not full of bugs room guarded by enough security that he wouldn't have to deal with some new rebel with an obsession towards getting clear answers and dying once they got them. But yet, once more, he didn't act towards what was clearly his best interest. Instead, he pulled something out from his own belt. A bright white bottle, filled with pills. “Use these. They are more concentrated painkillers.”
“How do I know you're not giving me your cyanide pill?”
“I don't have a cyanide pill. That's how you know.”
“I'm surprised they want you to live if captured.”
“Actually, I just have a self-destruct mechanism built into my neck. No pill needed.”
“You know what? You being a robot would explain a lot. The stupid names, the fact you barely fucking emote, the fact…”
“The fact what.”
“...I do mean that, you know. What I said a while back. You might be a fake, but you look exactly like he did the day he died.”
“You say that like you saw him die.”
“I did, sinner. Right next to me. I was fifteen, feeling his blood pool by my knees, hiding as they cut his tongue to prove a point.”
Immaculate took a moment to process that. “Oh.” He had no idea what to say in this situation. “...Good for you?”
“You are a fucking robot.”
“You shot me yourself. You know better than anyone else that I bleed.”
“Hey, for all I know, they replaced the guy I shot with some robot they pulled from a sweatshop at the last moment for their simulcast.”
“I'm not a robot.”
“You're as cold-hearted as one. Colder than vice. Look at you, all fake and mechanical-acting.” Joseph took a pill. “Even the way you stand looks like it was dictated by a damn focus group. It's a perfect right angle, pisses me right off.”
Immaculate had never thought about how he sat. He ever so slightly bent his back over.
“Okay, now it looks like purposeful asymmetry. A false sense of vulnerability.”
“That is what I'm doing.”
“Is that so, designation I-00. God Almighty, that's not a real name that real people have. You never answered my question last time we met.”
“You were trying to poison me.”
“Details. Now, “Designation I-00”. So, are you a robot, is Daylight's culture just that impersonal, were your parents drunks-”
“I think you would know if my parent was a drunk, if you knew him so well you could watch him die.”
“Aqal never had kids, smartass. Don't lie to me again.”
“Not in the typical way. Daylight took his tongue.”
“And what, let me guess, you're his kid because you ate his tongue after your corporate bosses told you to. How much did they pay you to say this?”
“They put his tongue on ice. They sent it across the ocean to be extracted. Took the cells, reprogrammed them to an infantile state, and used them as a base to build a perfect replica. His blood, his sweat, his tears, reborn. Reincarnated as a blank slate, to be resold as a hero. Someone to act as the face of their work here, while quelling the flames of martyrdom that the workers of Solas have been fueling for the seven years since his death.”
“Hm. A clone, straight out of the old pulp books. If it weren't for how insane you acted, I would almost not believe you. But I wouldn't put it past Daylight to try such an insane scheme. How old are you?”
“Did you ever get a formal education?”
“Up until twelve, now answer the question.”
“Seven years since death, seven years since birth. Do the math yourself.”
Joseph laughed, and reached for a cigarette in his pocket. “You're younger than you look. Would've guessed you were about…early twenties?”
“The unbelievability of progress.”
Sitting up, Joseph flicked a light, lit his cigarette, and blew a smoke ring into Immaculate's face.
“You have such a dedication to your death wish. It's fascinating.”
“The fight's gonna kill me anyway.”
“I've never met someone so dedicatedly suicidal as you.”
“And I've never met someone so confusing as you, so we're even.”
“I've told you everything.”
“You just give me more questions, don't you know?”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
As the rain fell around them, Immaculate heard a faint rustling noise. It was close. Very close. How had he not noticed it earlier?
An unfamiliar voice yelled from the bush. “We can make this easy. Put your blaster down, and we shoot! Get away from the body!”
“I'm offended by being called a body. I'm fully alive.”
“When we get you back to camp, Joseph, I'm smacking you in the face. You! The one in the Daylight-”
“Is that their fake hero? We lucked out.”
“Shit, they'll be looking for him. Make this quick-FIRE!”
Immaculate jumped into the bush as the bullets fired. Bullets. Such old fashioned things. He managed to land right in front of one of the rebels firing. With ease, he slammed the butt of his gun into their face, and shot at them.
One down. Just like machinery.
He ducked and dodged through the trees, as years of practice had prepared him to do. Another shot. And another soul stolen with a flash of light.
He saw the last of the ambushing rebels begin to drag Joseph's wounded body away. Without hesitation, he clicked his blaster, took a shot, and blew a hole right into the guy's face.
The fight was over in less than a minute. Most of his firefights were like that, according to his simulation stats. The higher-ups wouldn't accept anything less.
“You know, I was having such a fun time talking to you. Almost forgot that you're no different than the other corporate fucks out there.”
“You said it yourself. All's fair in war.”
Joseph finally managed to pick himself up, as he looked down at the body of what was once a comrade, but was now nothing but dead dust. “You're not even a bad shot. Hit everyone else in one.”
“Of course I am not.”
“You just didn't wanna shoot me, did you.”
Immaculate looked back at him. “It is a known effect that once you get to know a face, then it gets harder to kill it off. That's why an image is so powerful.”
“And why you stole his.”
He was tempted to snark back. Point out that it was his birthright, his reason for living, and that he couldn't exactly change what was coded into his DNA. That he didn't exactly have the power to put in a two week's notice for his life.
“...I wish I could know him as well as you supposedly did.”
“So you can improve your slander skills?”
“I don't slander.”
“Whatever you say, sinner.”
“For the last time, my name-”
“You know why he gave himself that name? Immaculate. It means free of taint, free of sin. Something good, something clean. He gave himself that name when he began fighting, because Aqal knew what he was fighting for. A world that could be good, a world that could be just, something not run around by the greed your company and your city's all built on. He never even wanted to be a hero. He just wanted to be someone who fought.”
“Do not interrupt me.”
“You're not worthy of that kind of name. “Immaculate.” You were made from his stolen tongue. His stolen voice, as he bled out to death. And here you are, enforcing the very thing he fought against. You're made of wrath and greed, you're made of nothing but sin.”
All Immaculate could do was glare him down, his gun still warm from the shots. “How many people have you unleashed your wrath upon when you tried to get them your “just” world.”
“How many people have you killed bringing about your mantra of progress?”
“I'm not claiming the moral ground here.”
“Then what's your argument, sinner?”
“Pain is a disease. Progress is the cure.”
“Is your little blaster there considered progress?”
“Yes.”
Joseph leaned on his rifle, stepping away while leaning on his good foot. “Just yet more of how you perplex me. All this chasing and fighting, and yet you've yet to blow the killing shot on me specifically. Is this your idea of fun?”
“Is it your idea of fun, Luna?”
“It fuels the fire in my soul. Maybe you could say I do find our little chase fun.”
“...Then maybe I find it “fun” as well.”
“So then. Catch me if you can, Designation I-00.”
Joseph took a shot, grazing Immaculate's ear, and just like that, he was gone. But Immaculate would figure out where he turned up eventually. Maybe this was a game. Maybe this really was “fun” for the both of them. A moment of levity for two people who would–no, not “would”. Could. The two of them were too far in this fight to back down.
He was never good at assessing how he felt about things, but if he really did find this fun…it would explain a couple of things. Every irrational decision he'd made in his chase of Joseph, every irrational decision that Joseph made while chasing him. The only justification for any of that was the appeal of keeping up this pursuit. If the game was won by either of them, then there would no longer be any game to play.
But even still, the point of every game was to win. And in this game, only the winner could live to see the future of this city unfold. Eventually, Immaculate would have to deal that winning blow one day, and he knew Joseph thought the same thing.
There was one victory today, however. He had gotten Joseph Luna to stop calling him “sinner.”
I-00 stopped right in his tracks. He hadn't expected that young rebel to notice him. He had approached from behind and all, just like in the countless simulations he'd been in before being sent to this nowhere island. But here they were, smoking a cigarette and making the barest of glances to him between the palm leaves. At least, he assumed they were palm leaves. It was the dead of night, and all these tropical plants started to blend together once you were surrounded by enough.
“You make a lot of noise, you know.” He pulled his bandana up, and turned towards I-00, rifle in hand. “I could hear you coming from a fuckin’ mile away. You've never done an ambush before, have you?”
Just like he had practiced, I-00 raised his blaster in return. It felt heavier than usual, but he chalked it up to the fact he had walked a mile in the heat to get to this encampment. Why did it feel so hard? It was supposed to be second nature for him. It was in his blood.
He'd never been this far away from civilization before. Never went beyond the walls. Never this far away from the light before. He'd spent his short life bouncing from laboratories to simulators until he got sent here just his month. Even while he was here, he'd spent most of his time in the city, looking pretty for the populace while they gave him dirty looks. They didn't seem to like the company being here. He never understood why.
“Maybe not,” he responded. “But I can shoot. I will shoot.”
“Do you even know how to shoot a gun?”
“Why would I not.”
The rebel laughed, but there was spite in his voice. “I'll give you this, sinner. You look like an old fighter I've known as a kid. If it weren't for that damn Daylight corporate uniform, I'd mistake you for a future martyr for the homeland like me.”
“My name's not “sinner”, sir.”
“Well, you've never given me a real name, dipshit. So I'll call you what I want.”
“My name's…” He stops himself before he says I-00, like he's done for years. But he remembers the new name they've given him. The name derived from his source material. Just as derivative as the alphanumeric designation, but it at least sounded human. “Immaculate Aqal.”
Immaculate Aqal. Immaculate. Aqal. That was your name now, he repeated to himself. Not I-00. He was Immaculate Aqal, just like someone else was, years ago in this very place.. It was something everyone else had to believe, and they wouldn't if he didn't believe it himself.
The rebel boy sure as hell didn't believe him. “I'm not stupid like you people think this island is. You're not fucking Immaculate Aqal. Don't fuck around with me, mister.. Tell me your real name.”
“That's my name.”
“It's not.” He pushed the barrel of the rifle closer to Immaculate. “I knew Immaculate Aqal, and you're sure as hell not him. So why don't you tell me the truth, sinner.”
Immaculate stood his ground. It's not like he had a choice. All he could hope for was that the backup would arrive at any moment. He was sent ahead just because he had a face that the enemy might trust. The face and voice of their dead hero, repackaged into someone that was meant to have all the skill, but on the winning side. “I tell nothing but the truth. That is the name I was given, just as you were given a name.”
The trees rustled behind him. Backup. A weight lifted off his chest as the rebel put his rifle down.
“Should've known someone like you wouldn't arrive alone.” He backed away, step by step. “You won't be around longer to slander the name of a hero. You may have your army, but so do we.”
And with that, he took a shot. Immaculate dodged just fast enough, falling to the ground as blood ran from the side of his torso.
He watched as his opponent's slow pace quickened, faster and faster until he turned around into a sprint, disappearing into the endless bush.
Immaculate never knew that a person could run so fast. At least, not without the help of hyperboots, and he doubted that guy had those. It would be a stupid question to ask what he was afraid of: he feared the superior firepower that was seconds away. Fear was a natural biological response in all animals. A shabbily-put together solution to the question of death.
Of course that man was afraid. Yet he, and all those others, confronted that question every day.
The people that supervised him had a motto: death, pain, fear, all those were a disease. And progress was the cure. And Immaculate focused on that motto as the world around him fell into a blur, the details of the physical world turning into colors and voices, lifting him up as the world turned dark.
Progress is the cure. So, progress.
It had been a week since the shot heard ‘round the island. A bit of an exaggeration, but it sure as hell felt like it at the time.
The moment the bosses at the Daylight Company found out that the face of their development, their repackaged martyr, had been shot in the dead of night, they immediately jumped to damage control. The official story was that Immaculate had not been shot, but also he had been shot at by the dangerous revolt on the island, fighting against the progress being brought from across the water.
Corporate had to save face. They wanted to maintain their shining city with all its luxuries, protect it from the dying forest that surrounded it, and to do that meant to show no sign of weakness. No more risks like the one they had just taken. Even now, exaggerations were being spread among the locals. The truth was drowned out, replaced by rumors that Immaculate was dead, or that a massacre had occured in the woods.
His superiors and handlers had set up a simulcast for later that day, to put those rumors to rest. Even now, his face was on light-up billboards, advertising the event. He'd say some words about progress, they'd publicly execute some anti-capital rebels as revenge, all of it was planned to the minute. He doubted that it would work. They'd already made one perfect, corporate copy of Immaculate Aqal, grown from bloodshed. What would convince the people otherwise that there weren't more, just waiting to be popped out of a factory every time the company made an error? Immaculate himself wasn't sure if that was the case or not.
It was dawn in Solas City. The sun barely had the energy to rise through the perpetual rainclouds, and the only people awake to watch it struggle to reach the sky were the ghosts that walked these streets.
Immaculate didn't want to wake up so early, but at least he had been gifted the free will to take a walk. He'd been in the medbay for a week or so, and he was dying to be anywhere but there. So, he filled out the paperwork and files needed, and he got himself a designated period, in a specific ward in the city during the early morning, when all the drones living there were under curfew and it was easier to keep track of him.
The streets felt much more familiar than the endless jungle he got shot in. They reminded him of home; the neon lights, the echo of footsteps on concrete, the cameras perched on corners, and the sharp, efficient designs that surrounded his form. Unlike his “home”, though, people actually lived here. He noted the cracks and graffiti that stained the grounds and walls, the occasional group of tents where street people slept, potholes that filled with rainwater, imperfections that proved that this was a place that existed in the real world, no matter how much Daylight tried to make it look perfect.
Immaculate turned the corner, away from the glare of the cameras and drones flying overhead. As he stepped into the dark alley, the weight fell off his chest. Not an actual weight, he noted to himself. He was never one for metaphor. It was more of a metaphorical weight, one that immediately threw itself back on him when he saw what was on the wall.
It was one of those colorful murals dotted across the city. It was large, bright, a stylized representation of reality that was just asking to be painted over once it was discovered. A scene of a young man, his hair tied back in a bun, with a rifle holding a young child painted in living color, surrounded by grey and red flowers and an ever growing list of names. The man looked directly at Immaculate, as if he was ready to face him head on in a fight. Next to him was a drawing of a scroll, with the words “IMMACULATE AQAL” and some foreign words that Immaculate couldn't make out. From the context, he figured it was probably some “rest in power” kind of thing.
A memorial to the villain of this corner of the world. The one he had been taught about by the company that made him, whose name he was meant to redeem in Daylight's version of history. His purpose for existence.
“You know, sinner, I didn't expect you to survive that.” He looked behind him, to find that rebel from the week, with that same bandana over his face.. The same one who shot him before running off into the wild. Immaculate pulled his blaster at the guy as he rambled on. “Unless they just gave another brat plastic surgery and sent ‘em here for revenge.”
“They would not go to all that effort for a man who they have yet to identify.”
The young man laughed, walked right into the barrel of the blaster, and pulled down his mask. He looked like most people did in Solas City. Medium brown skin, narrow jet black eyes, and wavy black hair left loose around his shoulders. The local phenotype, the one that Immaculate himself had despite being nowhere near the description of ‘local boy’. He looked just like any other resident you'd see on the street. Didn't even have an obvious insignia or weapon on him. Immaculate would be hard pressed to find him in a crowd.
“Why don't I do the job for you then, sinner? Joseph Luna. Nice to meet ya.”
“Well, Joseph. I wish you luck on your death wish.”
“I'm not the one wandering the streets-”
“You are. There is no possible method for you to be here, had you not been wandering the streets.
“What are you doing here, anyways? Finally got sick of Daylight's designer bullshit?” The two of them walked in circles in the alleyway, Immaculate keeping his blaster pointed at Joseph.
“I filled out all the proper forms for this walk. For your information.”
Joseph laughed. “Of course I'm wrong. Well, sorry for holding out hope you're not just the faker you've already made yourself out to be.”
“I am no faker. I have told you this before.”
The two of them slowed down, and stopped in their tracks as rain started to fall. Joseph reached into his jacket, presumably for a gun of his own. A stalemate.
Immaculate had the upper hand, though. Superior firepower, against nothing but a cocky grin. He could shoot Joseph right now, couldn't he? End this right here and now. Another victory for the industrial machine spreading across the country.
But he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. It was easier to do it in the simulations, with faceless rebels that you pressed a button to annihilate. Maybe it was the fact that Joseph now had a face and a name. Even if he was the man who shot at him not even a few days ago, Immaculate couldn't bring himself to return the favor.
He was going to need to practice that when his allotted walking session was up.
He couldn't help but look at the mural that towered over them. The figure there looked larger than life. That false savior that the locals called a martyr because, according to what his handlers told him, they were afraid of progress.
That's why Immaculate was here. To ease them into progress.
“I'll give you this, sinner. You're not Immaculate Aqal.” Joseph looked up at the mural. “But you got his face right. You're a dead ringer for the guy. But who are you, really, under that stolen name?”
“I would prefer you stop with the implications that my name is stolen.”
“But it is, sinner. You know just as well that name isn't yours. It belongs to him.” He nodded his head to the mural of Immaculate Aqal. The first Immaculate Aqal, the one that died fighting to stop the spread of the capital that now surrounded them. He looked at that, and not the Immaculate Aqal in front of him, the one with the same face and blood, but with the sigil of Daylight printed on his body.
Joseph stepped back, and pulled his hand out from his jacket. Immaculate bit down, aimed, and fired his blaster.
A loud boom, and a bright flash of plasma flew from his gun. He probably woke the whole ward up with that shot.
Joseph touched his hand to the side of his arm. Blood, instantly dried up from the heat of the shot. A little scrape. A lucky shot. And then, he pulled out what he had in his jacket. A black permanent marker.
“They used to say the pen is mightier than the sword. Never believed it myself, but maybe there's some truth to the statement. Or…maybe you're just a bad shot.”
“And maybe you're wasting my time.”
“Really? I could have sworn I was at least being entertaining. Don't tell me I've wasted all this effort into finding you just for this wound?”
He'd had enough of this. Immaculate kept walking, far, far away from whatever Joseph had planned. “It's not my fault if you make yourself a target looking for me.”
“I just want to know who you really are, sinner. And why you're making a mockery of him.”
The rain was falling in sheets now, and he had to return to the Daylight Company's campus in half an hour. No time to humor this guy.
But he couldn't help but answer the question about a name.
“If it gets you to call me something other than “sinner”. Designation I-00.”
“That's not a name, you know.”
Immaculate didn't know how Joseph got there. It had been a few days after their most recent interaction at the mural. Now, here he was, in the richest area of Solas City, during one of the few points of his day where Immaculate could be left alone with no guards breathing down his neck. It wasn't like the guards weren't there; they were standing right outside the entrance of the cafe he was in, and he wouldn't be surprised if any of the customers were hiding in plain sight, prepared to fire at will if any rebellious citizen decided to get an idea.
Usually, when he walked into an establishment, he either got looks of awe or someone trying to throw a can at his face. He wasn't exactly someone who would blend in most of the time. He'd been advertised across the city as the face of the next phase of the city's development. Cast away the turmoil of the initial revolution against Solas City and Daylight. Rewrite history, repackage it in a younger form, and use it as the model for what would happen next.
He didn't even like coffee, honestly. But he was supposed to endorse the new megacorp business ventures in the city, and these high end cafes were the most peaceful way of keeping up the contract that he involuntarily signed while he was popped out of a lab. At least these cafes were peaceful. No one ever wanted to talk about combat, or worker rebellion, or stocks, or anything like that in a cafe. You could just forget about everything that happened in the rain outside.
At least, you were supposed to. But there Joseph was, standing behind the carbon-steel counters, barely making an attempt to pass as one of the help. He even still had his hair down and his cigarette in his mouth. The circular blue neon signs advertising various new products the Daylight Company made framed his face, as if he was supposed to be blessed.
“What is this about.”
“You can't just leave me with the phrase Designation I-00, and not expect me to ask for clarification. Cause that's not a name.”
“You really do have a death wish.”
“Maybe I do, sinner. But is it really so insane to ask for the truth?”
Immaculate glared at him. “I have told you nothing but the truth. I know you do not belong here. You clearly are not employed at this officially sanctioned cafe.”
“What makes you think I'm not employed?”
“The health code violation hanging from your lip.” He pulled the cigarette out of Joseph's mouth, and put it out on the countertop.
“Awwww, now I'm gonna have to clean that up.”
“I can have you shot at any moment. You are surrounded. All I have to do is say the word.”
“Better them than you. I've seen you shoot.”
“You think you're clever, don't you.”
“Fuck yeah I do.” Joseph leaned over the counter. “Besides, you really think I would be stupid enough to meet you alone in your little golden district? Mr. Whatever your name is.”
“I have told you every name I've been given. And. Every time we have met, you were alone. Excuse me for making the assumption.”
“Not the only one with a damn army behind these words. You should know better than anyone that I'm nowhere near alone in wanting to annihilate you pigs.”
He took out a mug of coffee, and slid it towards Immaculate.
“I do not drink coffee.”
“Yes, you do.”
“First you say my name is not my own, and then you say my taste buds aren't my own.”
“The real Aqal? Loved coffee. Was a coffee addict. If you're not a faker, you'll drink this damn mug.”
“I didn't order this coffee.”
“Then what is your order? Lemme guess, you want it in a bigger mug? Or do your fancy, rich boy need some special beans with an extra dash of exploitation put in?”
“I am not here to drink coffee.”
“You're in a fuckin’ cafe, you're here to drink coffee. No way you come here every day, 1630 sharp, to not do the one thing this place is explicitly made for.”
“Unfortunately for you, that is exactly what I do. It is your problem if you are tracking my every move just to judge my eating habits.”
“All's fair in war, sinner.”
“I have told you to stop calling me that.”
“I'm sure as hell not callin’ you “Designation I-00”. What, do all foreigners have a barcode for a fuckin’ name?”
“Just me. And about 12 others, according to the file.”
Joseph chuckled. “I don't know what that means, but. You, my friend, are fascinating. An absolute motherfucking enigma. It's the only thing keeping you alive.”
“What exactly do you mean.”
“I could kill you right now. Me, or anyone in this bar. In fact, why don't you hand me that spoon over there?”
“No.”
“I really have to do everything myself, don't I? Even in a revolution, I'm still a humble laborer.” He grabbed a metal spoon from behind the counter, and began spinning it in the coffee. “And just like that…”
As Joseph pulled out the spoon from the coffee, Immaculate could see clear as day that the metal had been burnt away. Potent, industrial-grade acid. Straight from the factories on the outskirts of the city.
“You thought you could poison me.”
“And I saved your life, why don't you thank me?”
“I am not thanking you for backing out on your second murder attempt against me.”
“I wouldn't call that incident in the jungle a “murder attempt.” More a heat of the moment thing, a righteous act of judgment against a liar who thinks he's a saint.”
“I am more of a saint than the man you consider the real thing.”
“You're gonna take that back, or I pour this coffee on your face.”
“I know you will not. You have squandered an opportunity to kill me, and I know you cannot change that decision.”
“He was a hero, you know. Died protecting these people from your “company” trying to steal their free will. Someone everyone wants to be.”
“He died standing in the way of progress.”
“I've started to hate that word over my 21 years of life. “Progress”. Fuck your company motto. You know what your “progress” is? It's destroying every life on this damn island and reselling it to us in the hope that we can work our way into buying our souls back. It's building a broken, shiny city over a well established home, and charging us our blood for the right to not die of exposure. It's being killed for not waiting to make a difference. The original Aqal was the one who taught me about that shit, you know. You're acting like a mockery of everything he stood for.”
Immaculate paused. He'd heard the arguments against what Daylight did for Solas City before, but he'd never heard those arguments from someone who sincerely believed them. He'd only heard it in lectures. Strawmen, rebels, unions, designed for simulations and information uploads to show how terrified and unhinged those who fought against the inevitable wave of history were. But Joseph said it with enough conviction and anger in his voice, that Immaculate could almost be persuaded. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be persuaded by such things. He was better than falling for some charismatic voice that the working drones would go head over heels for. He was supposed to be the persuader, not the one persuaded.
He pulled Joseph's collar and slammed him to the counter. “As far as I can remember, in our little pursuit, you are the one who follows me. You pulled the trigger first. Do not try to act like you are the virtuous one here.”
“You and I both know this didn't start with me. Not even with the real Aqal. It's a never ending pursuit.”
“It was not one I asked for.” Immaculate brushed his hands through his bun, and tapped on a marking located on the back of his neck. It was a distress button, a tracker, a control leash, and a branding all in one. A single tap, and the guards that protected the billion dollar investment “Designation I-00” would be all over this place. He whispered across the countertop. “I will say, Joseph. The fascination goes both ways. You are possibly either the most confident or most suicidal person I have ever met. This cafe has a back exit, leading to the lower levels. I have called backup once more. Though it is a coin toss on whether I think you want to live or die.”
“...Thanks for the gesture, but. Running would be a pretty shit way to die, sinner.” Joseph pulled out his gun, and fired at the side of Immaculate's head. As if it were clockwork, people in the cafe got up, moved around in formation, and pulled out their weapons and bombs while guards rushed into the scene.
Immaculate got pulled out by corporate security just as the firefight started. A shame, honestly. He would have liked to be awake to see a real battle.
Give him some experience to prove that he was just as “real” as the predecessor Joseph, and every other rebel and worker in this city, was head over heels for.
“I found you this time. I believe I have gotten better at sneaking.”
The two of them were at the city walls as the rain poured. Immaculate carried his blaster with confidence on one side, aiming through the cracks while Joseph stood on the other side, putting together his own rifle.
“You're still on home turf, though. One moment in the bush, and you'd get caught immediately. Just like when we first encountered each other.”
“I prepared for such a situation.”
“You sure you prepared for it? Or did you prepare for a version of it just as-”
“If you call me fake one more time, Mr. Luna, I will shoot you on the spot right now.”
“Aw, don't worry.” Joseph smiled. “I wasn't going to call you a poser again. I was just gonna call you stupid.”
“My official intelligence scores say otherwise.”
“Actually, this says otherwise.” He finished putting together the rifle, took a shot, and ran into the bush.
Immaculate thought for a second. He was told only to guard the fence. He wasn't allowed to take any risks, not after he had gotten shot. But, wouldn't trailing a rebel that might have been trying to jump the fence count as guarding? Yes. Yes it would, in the obvious continuation of logic. So, just as he had practiced, he jumped through the gaps in the wall, landed in a roll, and began his pursuit.
The forest was disorderly, chaotic, and full of blatant code violations. But he kept on running. He still wasn't 100% sure what the motivation for chasing after Joseph was. Maybe it was something as poetic as the fascination he mentioned the last time they had met, the attempt to understand an enemy with such an obsession with chasing him down. Maybe he just wanted to pay the favor. Maybe he was just trying to be a hero, like he had been conditioned to do. Maybe he wanted to escape that pressure for a little bit. Or maybe, just maybe, he really was as stupid as Joseph just called him.
Immaculate hoped it wasn't that last option.
Keep running. Progress through this forest, as if it was a self-imposed mission he was on. He could see Joseph in the distance. He's been running for longer than he's ever done in real life. The simulators couldn't replicate the real pain in his ankles, the humidity pushing him back as the foliage hit his face. And it especially couldn't replicate the frustration he had as Joseph weaved through the trees, like it was second nature.
Damn running. There was only one way he could get him close.
He aimed, and the bright flash of a plasma beam reverberated across the bush. And from a short distance away, Immaculate heard a faint “fuck.”
“So now you do not want to talk. Every time I've met you, you've been trying to converse with me. With no prior warning, I will add. And now, the moment I talk to you. Pursue you. Now you want to run away?” Immaculate noticed the uncharacteristic raising of his voice. He cursed at himself mentally for doing that. Stupid. He was always supposed to maintain that neutral tone of voice, the same one that he heard over the loudspeakers and newscasts in the city. To lose control of your voice was to lose control of emotion, and to lose control of emotion was to lose control of your plan, which meant lost control of progress. Untamed emotion was for people like…well, Joseph. Aggressors who acted irrationally. Damn, he was a bad influence, wasn't he.
“You can't prove I wasn't trying to mess with your head, sinner. Maybe I was just leading you into a trap. An ambush.”
“There is no evidence of traps. Or ambushes.”
“No shit, there's never evidence of those! If there was, they'd never work.”
“I am absolutely certain there is no trap here.”
“Uh-huh, and what makes you think that, smartass?”
Immaculate emerged from the bushes, and stepped over Joseph's wounded leg. “Because I am right here. And if there was, we'd both be stuck.”
“...You're almost as clever as the guy whose face you stole, you know?”
“I would hope I was.”
“Oh, what's that supposed to mean, Mr. “when the fuck are you going to give me your actual name.””
“You are so persistent about getting the answers you already have-.”
“I don't have any answers! All I know is that seven years after Aqal blew himself up, your dumb ass begins walking around with all of Daylight's streams telling us that oh, actually this random guy with surgery-”
“I do not have any form of cosmetic surgery, for your information.”
“-is the real Immaculate Aqal, and you'll be marked by drones and shit if you even say otherwise! And don't try to give me shit about how you're telling the truth-”
“I am.”
“-because I'm not stupid. You…” Joseph pushed himself up. “Fuck, these plasma blasts hurt harder when you actually manage to hit. Least it didn't hit anything vital.”
“That is the point of shooting someone. To hit them, and hurt them.”
“Shut the fuck up.
“You're very defensive.”
“You're disgracing the guy who raised me, I think I have a right to be defensive! Also, you shot me!”
“You shot me before.”
“Smartass.”
“Thank you.”
Immaculate could just leave him to die. Or at least, for someone to find him. He knew that various fighters lived in these forests, and considering they were still within a few minutes running distance from the city walls, he figured that Joseph could drag himself to safety by nightfall. He did all he was supposed to do. Protect the city, guard the wall, prove a point to the enemy.
It would have been better if he had left him alone. It would have even been better if he had just stood there like a statue on a pedestal, asking to be looked at and praised by no one. That was right, it would have been better for him to do nothing.
But instead, he sat down on the dirt next to Joseph.
“What, you want to deal the killing blow? Do it. Coward.”
“You have spent your whole time pursuing me and asking questions about myself. How about, this time I ask the questions.”
“And what if I don't answer?”
“Then we continue this pursuit. I chase you, you chase me, we keep spiraling deeper and deeper into this game of cat and mouse.”
“Like Tom and Jerry.”
“Who is Tom and who is Jerry.”
Joseph laughed. It felt like one of the first genuine laughs that came from him, instead of the mocking ones that he'd heard a thousand times before in their conversations. “You truly are an enigma. Every answer you give me, it just raises a billion more questions.”
“How about you give me answers, then. Who is Tom and who is Jerry.”
“First thing. There's a little glass bottle in my bag. Can you get it for me?”
Immaculate stared at him for a second, before slowly reaching for Joseph's satchel. As he pulled out the old glass bottle, he stopped for a second. “How do I know this is not poison. Or more acid.”
Joseph took the bottle out of his hands, and took a deep swig. “This is how. Now, you want to try?”
“I would rather not. I'm not very confident in your skills in “wanting to live”. What is the purpose of this, anyway.”
“Painkiller.”
“A pretty inefficient painkiller.”
“Unfortunately, you're right. My fucking leg.”
It was honestly embarrassing watching Joseph squirm on the floor like that. Injuries were always much more brutal when you saw them in person. When it wasn't pixels on a screen, or hard light simulating the form of a charred leg, it was enough to make you nauseous.
This whole experience was a rush of backstabbing emotion that made Immaculate consider just walking back and going back to sleep in that temperature controlled, not full of bugs room guarded by enough security that he wouldn't have to deal with some new rebel with an obsession towards getting clear answers and dying once they got them. But yet, once more, he didn't act towards what was clearly his best interest. Instead, he pulled something out from his own belt. A bright white bottle, filled with pills. “Use these. They are more concentrated painkillers.”
“How do I know you're not giving me your cyanide pill?”
“I don't have a cyanide pill. That's how you know.”
“I'm surprised they want you to live if captured.”
“Actually, I just have a self-destruct mechanism built into my neck. No pill needed.”
“You know what? You being a robot would explain a lot. The stupid names, the fact you barely fucking emote, the fact…”
“The fact what.”
“...I do mean that, you know. What I said a while back. You might be a fake, but you look exactly like he did the day he died.”
“You say that like you saw him die.”
“I did, sinner. Right next to me. I was fifteen, feeling his blood pool by my knees, hiding as they cut his tongue to prove a point.”
Immaculate took a moment to process that. “Oh.” He had no idea what to say in this situation. “...Good for you?”
“You are a fucking robot.”
“You shot me yourself. You know better than anyone else that I bleed.”
“Hey, for all I know, they replaced the guy I shot with some robot they pulled from a sweatshop at the last moment for their simulcast.”
“I'm not a robot.”
“You're as cold-hearted as one. Colder than vice. Look at you, all fake and mechanical-acting.” Joseph took a pill. “Even the way you stand looks like it was dictated by a damn focus group. It's a perfect right angle, pisses me right off.”
Immaculate had never thought about how he sat. He ever so slightly bent his back over.
“Okay, now it looks like purposeful asymmetry. A false sense of vulnerability.”
“That is what I'm doing.”
“Is that so, designation I-00. God Almighty, that's not a real name that real people have. You never answered my question last time we met.”
“You were trying to poison me.”
“Details. Now, “Designation I-00”. So, are you a robot, is Daylight's culture just that impersonal, were your parents drunks-”
“I think you would know if my parent was a drunk, if you knew him so well you could watch him die.”
“Aqal never had kids, smartass. Don't lie to me again.”
“Not in the typical way. Daylight took his tongue.”
“And what, let me guess, you're his kid because you ate his tongue after your corporate bosses told you to. How much did they pay you to say this?”
“They put his tongue on ice. They sent it across the ocean to be extracted. Took the cells, reprogrammed them to an infantile state, and used them as a base to build a perfect replica. His blood, his sweat, his tears, reborn. Reincarnated as a blank slate, to be resold as a hero. Someone to act as the face of their work here, while quelling the flames of martyrdom that the workers of Solas have been fueling for the seven years since his death.”
“Hm. A clone, straight out of the old pulp books. If it weren't for how insane you acted, I would almost not believe you. But I wouldn't put it past Daylight to try such an insane scheme. How old are you?”
“Did you ever get a formal education?”
“Up until twelve, now answer the question.”
“Seven years since death, seven years since birth. Do the math yourself.”
Joseph laughed, and reached for a cigarette in his pocket. “You're younger than you look. Would've guessed you were about…early twenties?”
“The unbelievability of progress.”
Sitting up, Joseph flicked a light, lit his cigarette, and blew a smoke ring into Immaculate's face.
“You have such a dedication to your death wish. It's fascinating.”
“The fight's gonna kill me anyway.”
“I've never met someone so dedicatedly suicidal as you.”
“And I've never met someone so confusing as you, so we're even.”
“I've told you everything.”
“You just give me more questions, don't you know?”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
As the rain fell around them, Immaculate heard a faint rustling noise. It was close. Very close. How had he not noticed it earlier?
An unfamiliar voice yelled from the bush. “We can make this easy. Put your blaster down, and we shoot! Get away from the body!”
“I'm offended by being called a body. I'm fully alive.”
“When we get you back to camp, Joseph, I'm smacking you in the face. You! The one in the Daylight-”
“Is that their fake hero? We lucked out.”
“Shit, they'll be looking for him. Make this quick-FIRE!”
Immaculate jumped into the bush as the bullets fired. Bullets. Such old fashioned things. He managed to land right in front of one of the rebels firing. With ease, he slammed the butt of his gun into their face, and shot at them.
One down. Just like machinery.
He ducked and dodged through the trees, as years of practice had prepared him to do. Another shot. And another soul stolen with a flash of light.
He saw the last of the ambushing rebels begin to drag Joseph's wounded body away. Without hesitation, he clicked his blaster, took a shot, and blew a hole right into the guy's face.
The fight was over in less than a minute. Most of his firefights were like that, according to his simulation stats. The higher-ups wouldn't accept anything less.
“You know, I was having such a fun time talking to you. Almost forgot that you're no different than the other corporate fucks out there.”
“You said it yourself. All's fair in war.”
Joseph finally managed to pick himself up, as he looked down at the body of what was once a comrade, but was now nothing but dead dust. “You're not even a bad shot. Hit everyone else in one.”
“Of course I am not.”
“You just didn't wanna shoot me, did you.”
Immaculate looked back at him. “It is a known effect that once you get to know a face, then it gets harder to kill it off. That's why an image is so powerful.”
“And why you stole his.”
He was tempted to snark back. Point out that it was his birthright, his reason for living, and that he couldn't exactly change what was coded into his DNA. That he didn't exactly have the power to put in a two week's notice for his life.
“...I wish I could know him as well as you supposedly did.”
“So you can improve your slander skills?”
“I don't slander.”
“Whatever you say, sinner.”
“For the last time, my name-”
“You know why he gave himself that name? Immaculate. It means free of taint, free of sin. Something good, something clean. He gave himself that name when he began fighting, because Aqal knew what he was fighting for. A world that could be good, a world that could be just, something not run around by the greed your company and your city's all built on. He never even wanted to be a hero. He just wanted to be someone who fought.”
“Do not interrupt me.”
“You're not worthy of that kind of name. “Immaculate.” You were made from his stolen tongue. His stolen voice, as he bled out to death. And here you are, enforcing the very thing he fought against. You're made of wrath and greed, you're made of nothing but sin.”
All Immaculate could do was glare him down, his gun still warm from the shots. “How many people have you unleashed your wrath upon when you tried to get them your “just” world.”
“How many people have you killed bringing about your mantra of progress?”
“I'm not claiming the moral ground here.”
“Then what's your argument, sinner?”
“Pain is a disease. Progress is the cure.”
“Is your little blaster there considered progress?”
“Yes.”
Joseph leaned on his rifle, stepping away while leaning on his good foot. “Just yet more of how you perplex me. All this chasing and fighting, and yet you've yet to blow the killing shot on me specifically. Is this your idea of fun?”
“Is it your idea of fun, Luna?”
“It fuels the fire in my soul. Maybe you could say I do find our little chase fun.”
“...Then maybe I find it “fun” as well.”
“So then. Catch me if you can, Designation I-00.”
Joseph took a shot, grazing Immaculate's ear, and just like that, he was gone. But Immaculate would figure out where he turned up eventually. Maybe this was a game. Maybe this really was “fun” for the both of them. A moment of levity for two people who would–no, not “would”. Could. The two of them were too far in this fight to back down.
He was never good at assessing how he felt about things, but if he really did find this fun…it would explain a couple of things. Every irrational decision he'd made in his chase of Joseph, every irrational decision that Joseph made while chasing him. The only justification for any of that was the appeal of keeping up this pursuit. If the game was won by either of them, then there would no longer be any game to play.
But even still, the point of every game was to win. And in this game, only the winner could live to see the future of this city unfold. Eventually, Immaculate would have to deal that winning blow one day, and he knew Joseph thought the same thing.
There was one victory today, however. He had gotten Joseph Luna to stop calling him “sinner.”