The warden was watching the disassembly process. Arms crossed over his chest, head slightly cocked in curiosity, he stood in front of the large window in a dark room. Behind the thick glass, the disassembled subject could see him too, there was no need to hide, no need to pretend the chamber was fully isolated. It was made for observation, taking notes, and studying all the ongoing procedures.

The subject was conscious, fully aware of what was happening. The warden watched the limbs getting disconnected, detached from the body. He saw the chest opening like double-doors, revealing all the inner structure, the organs, the modifications, the flesh, the connecting cables, and the chrome, slimy but still showing bright patches here and there. Combined, it all looked like a closet with too much stuff shoved into it, desperately asking to be tidied up.

Before the eyes were pulled out of their sockets, the subject blinked, as though having the last wish to make that human motion, to feel it before they were gone.

The warden kept looking dispassionately, not changing his pose, not making any movement, apart from cocking his head to the other side, like switching from one stage of the process to another.

The main disassembly procedures were completed. Every detachable part of the body was now displayed separately in the chamber, placed in the correct order. From a distance it still looked like a human being, only now all parts of that being had gaps in-between them, as if they were cut and placed slightly apart from one another. Suspensor fields held them all at their proper positions, they were floating in the air like pieces of chopped meat at the butcher’s shop. A grotesque figure from a twisted art museum of body parts.

The subject was still connected, fully conscious, fully aware of the body state, of every part of that body and what it felt exactly. All feelings were amplified to enhance the effect, to burn every detail in memory forever. Though that forever may not last long.

It was both an interrogation and a torture. The goal was to get the information and show an example at once. Practical, as always. No need to focus on just one thing, when you can take care of both right away. The warden’s superiors didn’t like wasting time, resources, and, most importantly, money. If there was a way to optimize anything related to their job, they’d do it without any second thoughts, no matter the consequences. Cutting costs could outweigh any downside, not even mentioning the moral principles.

“Progress?” the warden heard a harsh voice behind him. He shifted his gaze slightly, without turning his head, switching from his thoughts to the question.

“Minor so far,” he slowly replied after a moment, as if feeling no need to talk and explain the obvious.

“How long to turn it into something bigger than that?”

Hearing notes of impatience, the warden turned his head at last. The woman who asked the question stood beside him. Coleana was her name. They worked together on a case by case basis.

“It depends,” the warden said. “Once all is done, do you want the subject dead, severely damaged, or relatively intact?”

“What’s the ratio in terms of the amount of data we can get versus harm to the body?”

“This particular subject’s position and status aren’t very high.” The warden nodded at the body parts behind the glass. “Hence, he doesn’t know much himself, and it is simply not worth trying to get the exact ratio. The results will be too… scarce. If you want more than just his personal knowledge, we need to scrape everything his systems recorded and registered, which would require heavy overload and bringing him to the breaking point.” He made a brief pause, as though giving time to consider what he’d just said, then continued: “If you want even more than that, assuming he is still in a relatively adequate shape after all the previous procedures, we have to analyze the results, feed them back to him, figure out the connections his subconsciousness would make, and then it would all come down to guesses and possibilities. How much of him would be left after that would not be possible to predict. The process is always random.”

“Would it be worth it? Can you give me an estimate?”

“No,” the warden simply said. “I don’t deal with random factors and predictions. I can only point them out. Risk evaluation and decision making is your area of expertise.”

“Easy for you to say,” Coleana muttered. “Your area of expertise is direct capture and torture.”

“I was made for this.”

“Yeah, and I was forced to do this.” She waved it off with a sigh. “Whatever. He’s the only one we’ve got?”

“Yes,” the warden almost sighed himself, feeling no need to answer what she already knew. “The exo-squad has been quite meticulous this time.”

“Who even let them do the op? It should’ve been one of our groups, not these vandals.”

“Based on the exo-squad leader’s system data, it was an unofficial request from a CCI agent named Corly.”

“Cyber crimes are into this?” She raised a brow a touch. “Who’s that agent?”

“She is a special investigator.”

“Any connection?” Coleana pointed at the disassembled body in the chamber. “Why was she involved? SIs usually don’t do low jobs like this.”

“Her reputation is what got her involved,” the warden clarified. “She tends to actually do her job, hence has constant tensions with superiors. They wouldn’t mind getting rid of her, thus she’s the first candidate for being a scapegoat and the one they assign any risk-related task.”

“That’s what you get for being an honest person in the Lower city,” Coleana said in a blank voice, like merely acknowledging the known fact and not because she felt anything particularly bad about it. She tapped her lip pensively, then nodded at the body in the chamber. “What’s his affiliation again?”

“Just one of the so-called flip-freaks, nothing special. They are among the numerous rival parties of the Lower city, don’t have ranks, and are mostly used as a hired brute force. There is no structure or chain of command among them. They operate randomly, gathering in groups when needed, don’t have established bases or superiors that give orders.”

“Great, one more totally chaotic force to deal with,” Coleana shook her head. “Did they get the data? The exo-squad, I mean, not these… freaks,” she waved at the disassembled body.

“They have extracted two subjects,” the warden replied. “CCI chief’s son and the individual who was with him.”

“Damnit,” Coleana frowned. “It means they’ve got it all. One was the data storage, another one – the data carrier. That individual, the one who was with the chief’s son,” she snapped her fingers, as if trying to remember something, “he’s one of these…”

“They call themselves bio-kids,” the warden finished for her. “Own the majority of the black market in the Lower city…”

“Yes-yes,” Coleana interrupted him impatiently. “That bunch of implant lovers. Can we get him out?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Do you see anyone else around?” she raised her voice in irritation. “Yes, I’m asking you, warden.”

“I’m not the one you should be asking,” he said, as though it would explain the reason behind his question. “I take care of the breaches and preserve the data and premises where it is stored. I don’t do field ops. Even this,” he pointed at the disassembled body, “is an exception. I simply need to know how much of our data has been gathered by them, so I could improve the future protection. I prevent risks, don’t create new ones.”

“Knowing what you are capable of, they should really force you to do the field work,” Coleana chuckled. “Wasting your potential, buddy. A shame.” The warden didn’t care to reply or react to these words and she continued, nodding at the body parts in front of them: “I need all you can squeeze out of this one. Do whatever’s needed, dry him out, fry his brain, I don’t care, just get it done. Send me the results asap. If you stumble upon anything project Trespasser related, notify me immediately. By the way,” she tapped her lip, looked the warden in the eye carefully, “that girl you’ve recruited recently…”

“The scriptomancer?”

“Yeah-yeah, whatever weird occupation she has. She’s any good?”

“I let her go,” the warden said, as if that was a sufficient reply, then added: “intact.”

“Meaning she’s good,” Coleana nodded. “Alright. You don’t do field work. She does, correct?”

“I’ve recruited her. If I’m given a direct order, I’ll pass it to her, as I am the primary connection in that case.”

“Always some bureaucracy with you, you smartass loophole crawler. It was a yes or no question.” Once again, the warden ignored the mockery and impatience in Coleana’s voice. “Consider your orders given then. Yes, directly from me,” she added, answering his silent question. “Will also be an opportunity to check if she’s worth dealing with. Contact her, give her both targets locations, order her to scrape them both, then erase everything from their systems.”

“Scriptomancers usually don’t deal with data manipulation, they extract it, not change or delete it.”

“Do I look like I care? We both know she can do whatever she wants. Or whatever we want in this case. She’s your responsibility, warden, make it work.”

He finally turned towards Coleana, facing her. She noticed his eyes squinted ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still it felt as though she finally caught a fraction of his attention.

“I’ll see what can be done,” he said quietly at last.

“Yeah, you do that,” she turned around and headed towards the exit.

“What about this subject’s remains?” the warden asked when she was about to walk away.

“What about them?”

“Once the process is completed, it would be a waste to simply throw them away…”

“Well, use them however you want then. Refill your army of brainless bots with them, upgrade them, study them, whatever. Just make sure to get any valuable info first and send it to me directly. The recycling process afterwards is not of my concern. All clear now?”

“Crystal. I shall proceed then.”

“Proceed away, I’m off. Wasted too much time already. I’ve a conglo to shut down.”

With that, Coleana finally left the warden alone with his interrogation subject.

The subject didn’t know much. Another pawn, fortunate enough to survive the exo-squad infiltration, but not enough to escape in time before Coleana’s people got him. He was with a group that earlier made an attempt to breach the warden’s controlled territory and got eliminated completely. The only reason he managed to survive was that he didn’t go with them and was left outside as a lookout. Same reason he survived the exo-squad handywork. Same reason the warden was now dealing with him.

A peculiar chain of events, the warden thought, examining the data pulled out from every part of the disassembled body. In any other case, he wouldn’t have been involved at all, wardens didn’t do that type of work. But, once the data breach happened, it automatically became part of his job, which was to catch any threat and not let it through. Plus, to prevent further breaches and leaks. And he was free to do whatever he wanted with such threats and however he wanted it. But he had to do it. That was non-negotiable, an unavoidable part of the job.

The last part was the main weak point of his profession, as anyone of a superior position, like Coleana or higher, could exploit the range of the warden’s responsibilities. One day he could be an executioner, another day – a torturer, then – a forceful recruiter. And there were days when he had to play several roles at once. Looked like today was one of those days.

Once he pulled out every bit of direct information that the subject had registered himself, the warden proceeded to penetrate his inner systems, every part that was capable of recording and analyzing data that the consciousness wasn’t aware of or didn’t care about. The bits and pieces used for the modifications, implants and upgrades, to work without the need to pass it directly to the owner. The stuff related to reflexes, reactions, situational awareness, everything to act quickly on a subconscious level, everything that could save your life in tough situations. It was the raw material stored all over, in cached segments, in archived sectors, among the temporary files and folders that hadn’t been deleted yet. All the junk that fills any system the longer it is being used without proper maintenance and correct order of updates.

The subject was filled with such data, like a severely fragmented old drive, which was quite typical for any low-life crawler, not even mentioning the fact he was one of the flip-freaks. The warden himself, despite all of his meticulous treatment of his own body systems, sometimes had trouble to properly manage his personal software. So, with types like the one in front of him, that came as no surprise at all.

The warden read him like a book. Mostly a useless book, to be entirely honest, filled with the whole history of his petty little life, which was neither inspiring nor fascinating. So many times the warden saw many others like that one. Born in the Lower city of Clusterpolis, lived through his miserable life, snatching bits and pieces of existence till he reached a more or less matured age. Then joined the flip-freaks, transformed his body irrevocably, and since then had been doing all the filthy work that life threw at him like pieces of rotten meat to feed one of the countless stray dogs fighting for a bite.

The warden didn’t memorize his name on purpose. Trivial information he would never use and which would only distract him. The only reason he dove into all the past data was to find out if the subject had any prior affiliations with conglomerates and sensitive details. Predictably, he hadn’t. The latest lookout job happened randomly, which was typical for flip-freaks. Some data got leaked, indicating a possible infiltration point, a band had been gathered, and then they proceeded to test their luck with getting past the warden. Then the idiot managed to escape, but, being an idiot, didn’t manage to lay low and almost instantly found another job with another band. Then the exo-squad happened and he managed to flee again. Only to be captured by Coleana’s group.

Seemed like his luck had finally run out, the warden thought, exploring the data further.

He checked the subject’s past contacts, brief connections, even minor pass-by experiences, analyzed, compared, filtered the results, removed the useless information, then ran the whole process once again to filter out more.

The details of the latest job had already been known to the warden. They were fresh and easily extracted. Getting through older data was more difficult. Everything was just mixed, tangled, scattered all over the inner systems, without any logical structure. To get the actual results, the warden needed to put everything in order, reestablish all the connections, recreate the parts that had been deleted or replaced by newer bits and pieces. It felt like cleaning and tidying up someone else’s house without any remuneration or gratitude for doing it. Not even that, the house was about to be demolished right after getting cleaned and tidied up. And the only remaining things would be the blueprints and some obsolete construction files.

Half-lost in his own thoughts, performing all the boring routine checks and analysis, the warden finally reached something that could potentially be useful. The subject had been apprehended by the CCI people in the past. That’s quite unusual, the warden thought. Why would Cyber Crimes Investigations agents be interested in him? Seemed like a complete waste of effort. They were in constant mode of lacking workforce, as far as the warden was aware. Yet they did spend their precious little time dealing with that article. The answer didn’t take long to get. They simply found a valid enough reason to detain the nearest flip-freak at hand only to install their tracking spyware. And then they let him go, as if not having enough evidence to keep him any longer. CCI did that kind of surveillance enforcing sometimes, sewing their net of contacts and connections throughout the Lower city. Like marking birds, to see the migration patterns. It didn’t take much time and effort, the process was straightforward and used countless times.

A useful thing, the warden thought. If not for CCI, then for him at least. The spyware was another starting point for establishing further links with more potential leads. He could even perform a little bit of spying on CCI themselves. Any Lower city organization, regardless of how powerful it was, was completely outranked by any conglomerate. And the warden was an official employee of one of these conglomerates, which provided him with almost unlimited resources and reach.

The Trespasser project. That's what Coleana mentioned. The warden knew, despite her habitual irritated and bored tone, the moment she mentioned it, she meant it was a priority. And she had already known that the current subject could have some data, even minor, unconscious bits could be related, could have some connection to the project.

That was also the reason she was interested in the scriptomancer the warden recruited not long ago. If that latter one hadn’t shoved her curious little nose right into the project’s classified details, he would have just let her go. The conglomerate she infiltrated was about to be shut down anyway and he didn’t care if some of its data got leaked. There was nothing really important in that data. Apart from the Trespasser project. The whole organization had been created as a facade. Standard practice, another conglo to rise and fall to tie up loose ends and make some nasty info disappear in the process. And when the time had come to demolish that facade and move the project to the next stage, the scriptomancer happened to be eager to bite more that she could chew.

And now this flip-freak, a fool that had never known anything about the project, just got the lucky chance to be near the others who were involved.

The warden even felt a distant fleeting echo of pitiness. Despite his occupation and the fact that he was exceptional at his job, he didn’t really like torturing and forcing others to do what he commanded. Not that it mattered though. He’d still do his job, no matter what he felt about it. Had to remain professional after all.

Keeping the flow of his melancholic thoughts running through his mind like a stimulating tune during a workout, the warden continued examining the subject’s subconsciousness. The CCI’s chief son had been chosen by his ever so caring father as a data storage. Apparently, the chief was well aware of his kid’s rebellious behavior and constant desire to deal with Lower city’s worst elements. The son’s sudden friendship with bio-kids wasn’t coincidental. The loving father organized everything so that they could use the young one to upload all the data directly into his unaware brain. And then the chief was about to get it with no public reference, no traces of how it got to him directly. That’s how the exo-squad came in. To make it look like an unofficial extraction, just in case some bits and pieces slip by and be revealed to the public. In that latter case it would simply look like a family issue: a parent taking care of his troublesome offspring.

CCI’s chief who all of a sudden got interested in the Trespasser project, the warden thought. Had he already known what that was or simply stumbled upon a potential piece of info to grab, hoping there’d be a future use for it? That wasn’t possible to figure out. Not with the current subject. That one had finally been drained. Any potentially worthy bit had been pulled out. Not much was left in his system. Now, it was just another dummy, an empty shell, to either throw away, or to…

The warden noticed something. One of the eyes suspended in the air in the chamber in front of him, the one that had been pulled out of the skull minutes ago, twitched.

Did he just try to blink without eyelids? Was he still keeping some remnants of his personality after all the data scraping? That kind of mental drilling rarely left subjects sane, let alone capable of controlling their body parts.

Peculiar little detail, the warden thought, giving the subject one more examination. It looked like he was still aware of himself, of his current state. To an extent, at least. Far away from being fully conscious, but still possessing some echo of comprehension. A peculiar little detail.

The warden took a step towards the giant window, then, without any hurry, watched the suspended eyes in front of him, waiting for any possible reaction. In a few seconds, one of the pupils dilated slightly. Streaks of red appeared on the white, spreading like a thin little net.

He just stared back at me, the warden thought, he’s making an effort, very well then. The subject managed to draw his attention at last, to peak his interest.

The warden touched his wrist with his thumb and in the next moment the window slid down, opening the chamber with a slight hissing sound of decompression. He approached the eyes and raised his arm. It was already transforming, changing, revealing the metal parts hidden beneath the skin, all the complex upgrades that cost small fortunes. Hooks and needles replaced his fingers, and he extended them towards one of the eyes, took it gently and moved it back to the head that was floating behind it. He placed the eye into the socket, gave it a tiny nudge, just a little bit of pressure, like screwing a delicate part of machinery back into its proper section.

Once that was done, the two needles from the transformed fingers went right into the eye, piercing through it, fixating it, and resting there while the warden himself froze and waited.

Next, his vision changed as he got connected to his high-perception mental state, transferred to his virtual environment. The brain activity had been amplified, which let him feel as though the time had sped up. Now he could perform so many tasks in an instant. Here he could do so much, while outside of that state it would only take a second, if not less.

He checked his tools, his regular work place organized exactly how he liked it. Everything was in order, just as he had left it the last time. Fast boot did its job, the warden noticed with satisfaction. He was in his neat little office with a mountain view behind the giant windows. There was his comfy chair in front of the wooden desk and the couch for the subjects to interact with. The ones he considered worth bringing there. Nothing extra, minimum distractions.

He looked at his clothes, his beige shorts and bright T-shirt with letter K on the chest. He nodded to himself, approving the choice of attire that was random every time. He touched his glasses in their enormous frame, adjusting them slightly. All that was a brief preparation he liked to do before the next part of the job. Then he took the chair, turned towards the couch and snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the subject appeared there, fell on the soft surface of the cushions, as though he was floating in the air a moment ago. The warden liked adding small animations to various state changes in his virtual environment. It wasn’t necessary, the subject could have just been transferred there right away, like a frame change, but then it would lack personality. And the warden really valued his virtual personality. Because he didn’t have one in the real world.

The subject’s panicking eyes bulged as he began observing his surroundings, not able to focus on anything else in particular. His gaze kept shifting all over the place from one object to another. He looked normal now, a human being in one piece, and not just because all his body parts were properly attached to each other. He also looked the way he had been before joining the flip-freaks and installing countless upgrades and modifications. Just a typical human being, with all his augments stripped away. The warden recreated him after digging through his past and finding the details of his appearance.

“W-w-w-w,” the subject began stammering, as though talking was something unnatural to him. Something he’d never done before in practice, but had some phantom theoretical knowledge of. “W-w-wh-wha…” his eyes kept circling around, not noticing the warden yet. “Wha… w-w-what?” the word finally came out, the first one he managed to produce. “What?” he repeated. It was hard to tell if he was asking something or was just tasting the word, getting used to the sound of his own voice. “What…” he stumbled, like searching for another word, then touched his lips, stared at his fingers, genuinely surprised to see and feel them.

“What happened?” the warden suggested.

“What happened?” again, the subject didn’t really ask that as a question, he seemed to be in shock of being able to talk at all. “Yes!” he exclaimed with relief, as though, after managing to combine two words and make a sentence, the ability to speak returned to him. “Wait.” He finally noticed the warden who was patiently waiting nearby. “You,” the subject’s eyes grew bigger, both in horror and surprise. “You!” he pointed a trembling finger at the warden. “YOU!” he shouted.

“I’m Koibie,” the warden calmly said.

“You!” It was getting annoying, but then the subject finally managed to continue: “Y-y-you… you’ve… you’ve done… t-t-t-to m-m-me… You’ve done to me…”

“I’ve disassembled you,” the warden gave him another hint.

“Disassembled?” he stared back, looking puzzled, almost insulted by such a dry term. “You’ve… ripped me apart… inside out! I…” he shifted his gaze, watched his fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously. “Wait,” he raised one hand, looked at it closely. “That’s not me.”

“Not the current you,” the warden corrected. “That’s how you looked way back.”

“That’s not real.”

Once the subject said that, the warden looked at him curiously. Kept more of his sanity than was expected, he thought. It was getting more and more interesting.

“You’ve shoved me into the Wonder World,” the subject said, half-terrified, half-amazed.

“The Wonder World?”

“That’s how they call it,” the subject replied. “Bio-kids. They said rich folk had access to some crazy soft. Lets them get unplugged from real. Lets them do all kinds of stuff in a sec.”

“A bit of a stretch for an explanation, but you’re somewhat close.”

“It means…” the subject kept talking as if the warden wasn’t there, as though he was just a part of the interior, not a living being. “I’m still there… in real. I’m still,” he glanced at his hands again, “ripped apart!”

“Still disassembled, yes,” the warden said without any traces of emotion in his voice. “Want to take a look?”

The subject began swearing. Heavily, intricately, and quite creatively at first, but, as it always comes to any long swearing session, he ended up repeating the same mundane profanities at last. The flow of explicit content kept pouring out of him, but, without any new figures of speech and peculiar expressions to remember, it was starting to annoy the warden. He let out a quiet sigh, then raised his hand.

“Stop.”

The swearing continued.

“Stop, I said.”

When the second calm request didn’t produce the desired effect, the warden snapped his fingers.

The subject instantly got silent, as if a switch had been flipped, turning him off. Then he started to scream, louder and louder. In the end, he bellowed in agony, grabbed his head, curled on the couch, then began twitching in some wild spasm, producing incomprehensible sounds of suffering.

The warden simply showed him the real image of his body. Plus, to make a slightly stronger effect, he activated the sensory systems, adjusted them to fifty percent, so the subject could feel it all, feel his every limb, every organ being torn apart, but still functioning through waves of pain and suffering. The warden didn’t like doing it, but it was effective, he knew that after years of practice. It forced any subject to comply instantly, to understand what was really happening and who was in charge.

It only lasted a moment, less than a second, but it was enough. The warden deactivated the sensory systems, turned off the real projection of the subject’s body.

“Now let’s talk.”

The subject froze. He was still lying on the couch, covering his face with his hands. He peered at the warden through a tiny crack between his fingers.

“You stop swearing and shouting, I stop torturing you,” the warden said slowly, like talking to a child, explaining something obvious. “Sit back.”

The subject obeyed. He moved slowly, carefully watching the warden’s reaction, as if any wrong motion could lead to a bad outcome.

“What’s your name?” the warden asked.

“My name?” one of his brows went up, as though he never really thought about his name and was now getting confused, not quite remembering what he should be called.

“Yes. What is your name?”

“M-m-m…” he began stammering again. “Moist.”

“Your name is Moist?” the warden cocked his head a little in slight amusement.

“That’s how they called me.”

“They?”

“Peeps I did gigs with, you know… Others like me.”

“Flip-freaks?”

“We don’t like when we’re called that.”

“Don’t you? What do you call yourselves then?”

“Flipz.”

“Alright,” the warden nodded. “So, other flipz called you Moist?”

“Yes!” the subject said impatiently, then instantly got calmer, watching the warden with apprehension. “I… I sweat a lot when got my first gig,” he explained in a weak voice, like making an excuse. “Got all twitchy and glitchy. Sweat did something to my new mods, they didn’t work as they should. Were too cheap, didn’t do well with liquids. It made others laugh. Made me look like a fool. Since then they’ve been calling me Moist.”

“Fascinating,” the warden said in a blank voice, hardly fascinated at all, then asked his next question: “What’s your real name?”

“Moist, I said it already! Oh…” he was about to get angry again, but then suddenly became quiet, as if he never thought about his real name and treated Moist as the only one he ever had. “You mean like… the other one? My real name…” he added pensively at the end, then stopped talking for a long moment, as though the reflection on the subject caused his system to hang and crash after using too much of the processing power.

When he saw that the subject wasn’t going to recall his former name, the warden let out another quiet sigh. That was too much to ask, he thought; the damage caused by the disassembly process, combined with the flip-freaks way of life, affected his brain capacities. Still, there were some chances of finding a certain use case for him. The warden shifted in his chair slightly, let a few more moments pass.

“Lirak,” he then said and let it hang a little.

“Eh?” the subject stared at him, not quite getting the meaning of the word.

“Your real name is Lirak,” the warden clarified. “Rings any bells?”

“Lirak,” he slowly pronounced it, almost syllable by syllable, probing it and figuring out if that could be something that belonged to him. “I… I think it does. Yes, I was called that before.”

“Good,” the warden nodded. “You’ll be called that again from now on. Forget Moist,” that last part sounded like a command to execute right away. “What’s your name?”

“M-mo—” he instantly stopped and corrected himself: “Lirak, name’s Lirak.”

“Good. And what’s my name?”

“Your name?”

“Yes. Stop repeating my questions. Answer them.” Despite the calmness, the warden’s tone gave a clear hint of possible consequences of disobeying him.

“Koi… Koi something,” frowning, Lirak squeezed the words out.

“Try again. I know you remember it.” That was true. The warden could literally analyze the subject’s brain activity as they spoke.

“Koibie.”

“Correct. Do you want to ask me something?” the question sounded like a reward for Lirak’s efforts.

“You let me live,” Lirak said quietly. For the first time he sounded rather confident, mostly stating the fact he already knew.

“That’s not a question,” the warden noticed, although he was quite satisfied with such a reaction. Logical thinking is getting back to normal, he thought, good.

“Why?” Lirak asked. “Why let me live?”

“I don’t like wasting resources and efforts as much as I don’t like torture and killing.”

“You’ve become a warden though,” Lirak waved his hand around the room. “Kinda part of your job, no?”

“You know my occupation?”

“Course I do,” Lirak shrugged, getting a bit relaxed now that the conversation seemed to resume its normal flow. “Who else would capture me and do…” he waved again, indicating some unknown direction, as if knowing where his real body was, “do all that.”

“It does not mean I enjoy it. I was made that way. It’s not like they asked for my opinion.”

“They? Conglo folk? The ones above you?”

“Something like that.”

“Wish someone didn’t ask me that.” Lirak chuckled. “I’d rather be a warden than join the flipz.”

“At least you had a choice.”

“What choice? Die or become a scumbag?” He waved it off. “The second one is just a death delayed anyway, so…”

He’s got quite some rationale, critical thinking, is even capable of making logical connections, the warden thought. The decision to examine the subject further had been fully justified now. The warden was curious if there could be some external factors that helped him keep his sanity relatively intact, or if Lirak was just smarter than a typical flip-freak. A bit of both perhaps?

“Listen, man,” Lirak’s voice brought the warden back to the conversation. “What are my chances?”

“Your chances?”

“Yes, chances,” he said again, slightly irritated, then muttered quietly: “I’m not allowed to repeat the question, but you keep doing it yourself.” Realizing the last part was said out loud, he glanced at the warden sheepishly. “Sorry?” he asked, like fearing that wouldn’t help.

“It’s fine. And you’re right, I did repeat it,” the corner of the warden’s mouth twitched in some distant smile. “Apologies. You mean your chances to live through this… experience. Correct?”

“Yeah. I mean, you surely have something in mind, it’s not just because you hate wasting resources and all that garbage. So, you want something from me, I get it. And I want to keep on living after you get this something outta me, you know. So, what are my chances?”

“I’d say, you’ve been increasing them so far. I’d suggest basing your further answers on that assumption.”

“Alright. What do you want to know then?”

“Nothing really.”

“What?” Lirak stared back at the warden.

“I’ve already got all I could out of you. Now I’m just interested in your… let’s call it personality.”

“Ain’t much to be interested in,” Lirak shrugged, looking a touch disappointed. “Take any other flip, chances are that’ll be someone same as me. Cheap augments, cheap life, quick and painful death in the end.” He shivered a little at the last words, probably thinking about his real body and its current state. “Don’t want to undersell, but I’m kinda a mediocre fellow.”

“Did you have anything unordinary installed recently?” the warden asked, ignoring Lirak’s confession. “Anything you didn’t plan to have perhaps?”

“Well, actually,” Lirak gave it a momentary thought. “Kinda, yeah. Bio-kids, you know… They give you discounts if you let them shove some untested stuff into you. I was short on liquid, needed an eye augment urgently. They agreed to do it in exchange for installing some brain analyzing thingie. Some overclock upgrade or whatever. Said, I won’t notice any changes. They just needed a guinea pig to test it. So, I got my augment dirt cheap, they got their test volunteer.”

“I see,” the warden said. Now it’s getting clearer, he thought. Apparently bio-kids testing activity was successful. That’s what prevented the lethal outcome of the recent procedures. That’s what let him keep his sanity. Sometimes tests end up being a success, for all parties involved. A rare case indeed.

“I was supposed to go flat, aye?” Lirak asked, seeing the warden being lost in his thoughts again. “Wasn’t supposed to have this lil’ convo with you.”

“Yes,” the warden simply confirmed. “Lethal outcomes are quite typical for this kind of procedure. Best case, it would leave a brainwashed shell of you, no longer capable of thinking on its own.”

“Huh, then I guess it was my lucky day when I agreed to that bio-kids offer. Knew there was something new in me afterwards.” He scratched his head, then tapped it with a knuckle. “Felt something was different, like I got, dunno, not smarter, but less stupid maybe.”

He’s saying that on purpose, the warden thought, he always was smarter than a typical flip-freak. That’s why he noticed the new experimental features in his system, even if it was unconscious. Now he’s just trying to play for time, pretending he’s dumb. Dumber than he looks.

“You won’t get out of this, Lirak,” the warden got to the point, showing that he saw right through the subject’s intentions. “But you have a chance to keep your life and sanity. Mind that, it is already a very generous offer. A rare chance.”

“If I ain’t going back,” Lirak said, “it means I stay here? Like with you, I mean? You want me… to work for you?”

Work was a rather optimistic way of describing what the warden had in mind. Serve would be a proper term. But he left it without any comments.

“You’ll be assisting me in various activities. My area of responsibility tends to expand and the number of tasks I have to do keeps growing, thus I would benefit from some extra help.”

“You need my help?” Lirak pointed at his chest with his thumb, looking as surprised as he could ever be. “Me… assisting you? Is this some crazy prank or have I just won some random lottery?”

“You do realize that we aren’t talking about anything fancy, right?” It wasn’t a negotiation, but the warden always preferred to properly manage expectations, even when he left others no choice. Having less misunderstanding always helped in the long term. “When I say extra help, I mean quite low-level work. Rather primitive, in fact. The kind of work—”

“The kind of work your brainless bots do?” Lirak interrupted. “The kind that you have no intention to do yourself? Cleaning up all the dirt before you start or once you’ve finished?”

“A bit vague for a proper explanation, but that is the right direction, so yes, that kind of work.” The warden didn’t clarify that Lirak would do that anyway, the only decision that needed to be made was either let him keep his sanity or strip him of it.

I wouldn’t mind a company though, the warden thought. All his daily tasks made him feel a bit lonely. He never thought that could be a problem, but apparently years of solitude had made a certain effect on his life views.

“Where do I sign up, dude?” Lirak leaned slightly forward, not even trying to hide his excitement. “I can be your janitor, laundry man, delivery boy, whatever you want.”

“You won’t even ask what are your future tasks exactly?”

“I mean,” Lirak spread his arms with a chuckle, “first, you probably won’t tell me all the details anyway. Second, if you didn’t have it all planned before we start this lil’ chat, I’d be, best case, flat already, or, worse, yelling and begging you to stop ripping me apart further out there, in real. Right?” Not waiting for a reply, he answered his own question: “Right. And lastly,” he leaned back with a satisfied grin of someone who just solved a moderately complex puzzle, “the choice of being a flip or wiping off dirt after the warden, is no choice at all.”

Hard to argue with that, the warden thought, still, he doesn’t fully realize what he’s agreeing too. But that didn’t matter in any case. Overall, he was satisfied with the outcome. Avoiding violence and talking instead was always a pleasant distraction.

“Very well then,” the warden nodded. “Consider yourself accepted.”

“I’m in?”

“You are.”

“Grand!” Lirak slapped his knees, ready to get up. “When do we start?”

“When your real body is reassembled. Want to get back to it right away?”

Lirak froze in his half-standing posture.

“N-n-no,” he mumbled. “Any chance I could get back once all’s done?”

“Alright. It won’t take long.” In fact, it could take just a few moments, the warden simply needed to clarify a couple of more things. “To make it all work and keep our relationship strictly professional, some adjustments are required. Adjustments to your internal systems, to be precise.”

“Good ones, I hope?” Lirak tried to produce a weak and already hopeless smile.

“Necessary,” after this word the smile died right away. “As generous as I am, I can’t allow myself to trust you,” the warden continued. “Hence, your systems are now being modified. Just one small adjustment. You won’t really notice it. Everything will function as before, if not better.”

“That’s on condition that I obey and do everything right I guess?”

“Correct,” the warden nodded once more. “But in case you do not, well, to put it simply, your every inner system will stop functioning, you will be torn to pieces, and have a similar experience you just had a few moments ago.”

“You’ve installed some kind of killswitch to turn me off?”

“If you need the truth, it has already been installed long ago. Any body modification, any augment has this type of fail-safe. You agree to this the moment you make any changes to your body. There is no rejection option, apart from going full natural and never having upgrades. That fail-safe part is just deactivated usually, or rather in sleep mode. All I needed to do was turn this functionality on.”

“Knew I shouldn’t have trusted these damn bio-kids. They said they took care of it. Said there ain’t no remote strings anymore…”

“Even if they hadn’t lied, they would have never been able to intervene in such complex systems work. They are designed to be impenetrable. It all comes from… higher levels. Nobody in the Lower city is capable of performing this kind of procedure.”

“That means you also have your own killsw—”

“Think before you finish that question,” the warden interrupted.

“Right,” Lirak pursed his lips, shook his head a little, having his answer. “All clear then.”

“Good. In a few moments, you’ll get your body back. You will stay in the current area for now. Further instructions will be given soon.”

The warden then snapped his fingers and Lirak unconsciously blinked, then saw a small object floating in front of him.

“Have a cookie,” the warden said. “It’ll help you get back to normal faster.”

Lirak cautiously took a triangular-shaped pack, unwrapped the little piece hidden inside.

“A fortune one?” he asked, taking a closer look at the cookie, then produced a weak attempt at laughter: “Will it tell me of my future?”

“Take a look.”

“Alright, let’s see what it holds for me…”

With a satisfying crunch, Lirak snapped the sweet piece in two, put one half in his mouth, then unrolled the little paper that was trapped inside. It was completely blank, just a white strip covered with crumbs.

“Erm,” he muttered, still chewing. “There’s nothing there…”

“Exactly,” he heard the warden’s distant voice. “And that is your answer.”

Lirak was about to look up at Koibie, but then unconsciously blinked again and in the next moment realized that he was standing in a different room, the one where his body was disassembled a few moments ago. He was alone, finally being in control of his augments, of his limbs and inner systems. As far as the warden allowed it, he noted to himself.

He glanced at his hands, wiggled his fingers, clenched and unclenched them in fists, then carefully touched his face, as if being afraid it wasn’t there or, worse, was replaced by something else.

“Looks like me,” he muttered after some further examination. “Full again and still alive… I guess that’s a win already.”

He glanced around, realized the room had no doors or any visible exit. There was a narrow metal bench nearby, and he sat down on it.

“Well, I’ll wait then. As any happy little servant does,” he sighed. “At least I had a cookie.”

“I’ve explicitly told you to notify me asap if you found any scraps of info related to the Trespasser project.”

The warden walked through one of the server rooms, a couple of maintenance bots followed him like a pair of brainless skeletons recently dug out of the grave.

“You have,” he sent a reply to the message he’d just received.

“Then why haven’t you done so?”

“I have done so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re notified automatically the moment one of your subordinates stumbles upon any details related to that project. When I got it from the current subject, you received a copy of the data right away.”

“Don’t play your smartass games with me, warden. If I say to let me know, you do just that. And by that I mean you personally, you hear me? I know why you ignored my instructions this time. Wanted to show me how well you’re aware of my access rights.”

“Your reprimand is duly noted and will be taken into account for further orders execution.”

The warden exited the server room, entered a long and dim corridor outside. A couple of more spider-looking bots joined his little group, obediently following their master. There were no new messages for some time.

She’s getting her own orders, the warden thought, maybe even receiving her own reprimand. The latter didn’t really bring him any satisfaction, he simply didn’t care, just noted that as a fact while waiting for the new message. It finally appeared in his UI.

“Send this new one to aid your scriptomancer girl.”

“I doubt she needs any help.”

“That’s not of your concern. I want you to send him directly to her. Let them meet. Report back to me with the results.”

It was warden’s turn to delay his response. He sent the new orders to both of his freshly recruited subjects. He didn’t really need any extra time, but sometimes he could not help but let his superiors wait a little longer. Not out of any kind of emotional reaction like anger or irritation, it simply gave him a few moments to consider his actions and their potential consequences and plan a little bit ahead. He always liked having a few possible backup strategies and being able to course correct whenever it was required.

“All is done,” he sent the reply at last.

“Good. Make sure you do as I say this time.”

“I always do.”

He didn’t expect any follow-up to his words. Coleana never finished conversations with formalities and closing phrases, she just cut them off right away once the instructions were given.

Couldn’t talk directly this time, the warden thought, was probably occupied with her conglomerate closure duties.

He walked further through the dim corridor, more bots were joining him on the way. A warning message appeared in his UI. A new threat had been detected. Another intrusion. Another subject to apprehend. One more brainwashed servant to his little army? Or something more interesting? There’s always a chance, however little it could be.

While doing his job, the warden never allowed any false hope to crawl into his thought process. And yet, every time it made him slightly curious.