Cire.

  Five days until expansion.

  The street was slick with artificial rain that clung to her pale body as Cire stepped through a door, her clothes sleek and gring against the neon madness cast by the city, even in its evening hours.

  “You've a set of balls of ya, coming back here after what happened…” A dark figure grunted, the shadow consuming his shop from the inside out, the space only lit by the slight glow of his burner.

  The shrouded man sitting in his customary seat behind the familiar counter gred at the AI as Cire walked through the door, its passing gently blowing her damp hair with a swish before it shut once she was inside.

  Both parties simply looked at each other for several long moments. Gunther’s barely visible eyes filled with that telling gze of intoxication, Cire’s glowing and electric blue’s watching with the same intensity, if not a greater focus.

  The shop had been locked, of course, but that hadn't ever stopped the AI before. And after she’d realized that the old shopkeeper was still sitting in his garage, she’d decided to pay him a visit.

  Sadly, she’d only remembered to pay attention to the man in the wake of Beckie’s death, after he’d evidently taken a pipe to all of Cire's constructs, reducing them to so much scrap… Just, ironically, as they’d been before she’d made them special.

  Of course, she’d noted the sudden ‘termination’ of their connection to her, but the reason behind that was easy enough to discern.

  Truth be told, Cire wasn't entirely sure why she’d bothered with this trip. The outright hostile gaze that was leveled at her made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that her presence wasn't desired.

  The reek of alcohol and tobacco practically choked the air around her, mingling ever so unpleasantly with the mixed stench of swampy pits, an unwashed ass and sour despair. None of which were aspects that made the visit particurly pleasant for her either.

  Yet, the AI had been inexplicably drawn to this course of action. So much so that she’d convinced herself it was something that had to be done.

  Again, it was a matter of respect, not only for Gunther and what little of it he commanded from her, but, for her friend who, without a doubt, would have wanted at least some closure for the old goat that had, if he could be said to be as such, been Beckies only family on this miserable floating rock.

  Not a fairytale in the slightest...

  Still, Cire was wary of the ‘device’ he kept behind the counter, the very same he’d doubtless used to lobotomize her constructs.

  Thus, she’d prepared contingencies against its use. Not perfect countermeasures as she didn't want to start a war with the man, but they were—mrhm, adequate for their purpose.

  As it happened, Cire hadn't arrived without a peace offering, regardless.

  Silently, as the older man watched her enter his abode, Cire offered but the smallest of nods, moving slowly and carefully to the side where she deposited what was in her arms as gently as she could.

  “She’d of wanted you to have them.” The AI expined, taking several steps away until she stood at the room's center.

  “I don't want her fucking tech…”

  “She doesn't have anyone else to take them; it was you or the scrapheap.”

  “Then fucking shove em right up the asses of the people who killed her! And while you're at it, add a finger or two to your own puckered star for the role you pyed in—”

  “I didn't get her killed!” Cire interrupted, her eyes narrowing on the man, “I—honestly, I had nothing to do with it…”

  “Hah! Bullshite.” Gunther slurred, grabbing a nearby bottle by the neck and sloppily taking a swig. His gnarled finger extended from the gss to point at Cire with open accusation. “She’d of been fine before she met you and—”

  “And what? All we did was try to sell them some hardware. I wasn't the one who put her in debt, I wasn't the one who called it in early, and I certainly wasn't the one who set it all in motion.”

  “You could have done something!”

  “Against a building full of mobsters? I wasn't even with her!” Cire shot back, but the shing didn't hit with the same visceral 'impact' as her acting had intended, part of her knowing full well she could have killed them all the moment she realized what would transpire.

  A little code, a little hacking, and like a genuine virus of old, her worm could have spread through every head that had access to the sub-versive.

  An excuse.

  A convenient lie she’d pnned to sell, yet had never come close to convincing her own mind.

  No wonder it didn't nd the way she wanted…

  “Ha… you people are all the same…” The older man ughed, voice dark as the room around them. “Ya look down on all us smallfolk from your lofty towers and see shit that’s just trying to keep itself afloat… You weren't her friend; you weren't there for her. You were just using her, jus’ like everyone else… A fucking brigand of the soul…”

  Cire hesitated, taking in a small breath before nodding her head in agreement. “You're right.” She stated bluntly, “I was using her. But that doesn't change the fact that we were friends, or that I’m not to bme for what happened. Besides, she’s not dead.”

  “I saw her body burn at the crematorium! Lass, if that ain't dead, then me and you ain't alive. Though, an argument against you could be made either way.”

  “I have her enneagram,” Cire replied, ignoring the barb, walking over to the counter, and leaning against it. Turning her back to the old man and just staring up at the ceiling.

  For several moments, Gunther was silent, unwilling or perhaps unsure what she was talking about.

  Yet, when she heard him swallow, softly pcing the rum to the side, the words that arrived from his lips weren't what she expected.

  “Don't you dare…” He warned, tone approaching the violent.

  “That’s not your decision to make, now is it?”

  “Sadows of the fucking dead… let her rest in peace! Digitizations have no life, no way to exist!”

  “I think I’ll leave her to make that call, thank you very much. But I do appreciate the input.”

  “Enneagram’s… Illegal as they are an abomination… I knew I should have just reported you to white-caps and been done with it… I knew it, right from the moment you marched Beck in here against her will. You're a jinx…”

  “And you're shitfaced.”

  “It’s my shop. Of which, you are trespassing… So leave, and don't bother coming back. You or that thing you have stored—wherever you have it.”

  “And when the syndicate comes looking for whoever made the tech, Beckie gave them?”

  “Then I’ll tell 'em that they killed the girl who made it,” Gunther grunted, a plume of smoke filling the air, chasing after his words. “Or, maybe I’ll give up everything I know about ya, maybe I’ll just give the peacekeepers a call out of spite, let them do to me what they will, if only they get closer to you.”

  Cire sighed, knowing this probably hadn't been the greatest idea, yet she’d felt like it was something that had to be done.

  Beckie hadn't had any family.

  She hadn't had any close friends or anyone other than the old man sitting in his rundown shop.

  In another life, she might have killed him on the spot for threatening her as he was. Yet, she already knew she wouldn't touch him.

  Not only in Rebecca’s memory, but because she understood what he was going through…

  Pain.

  Strange for a robot to say it ‘understood’ what that was, but the wound was raw as it was festering. And no matter how she might try to ignore it, the scar would doubtlessly remain for some time.

  No, Beckie didn't have family. But, the old man was probably as close to the word that either of them could cim…

  “When I figure out a way to bring her back,” Cire whispered, pushing off from the counter without looking over her shoulder, “I’ll tell her you're looking forward to seeing her again…”

  The smash of gss rained down around Cire as she stepped back out onto the street, the bottle that had been hurled at her missing the AI without her needing to make an attempt at dodging.

  Yes, things were definitely a disaster…

  “One step forward, two steps back…” She muttered, leaving the old garage behind while grumbling about it all, yet already formuting a new pn to work with.

  Beckie’s apartment was already gone so far as options for a new ‘ir’ could be observed, both the syndicate and afterward, the owner having quickly cordoned the pce off.

  With all the ‘human’ activity buzzing around the pce, it was precisely the st spot in the city she wanted to be right now. Not after that man, the underboss, had seen her with Beckie as they’d headed inside.

  Truthfully, in the back of her mind, she’d been hoping to find some kind of kinship with Gunther, but that little idea had pretty much been a pipedream.

  There was nothing there between them but hate and anger.

  So, Cire was right back to square one, right where she began after taking that first step off the tram.

  She needed time to figure out how to take the sheer complexity of the human mind as she’d captured it, and transfer that snapshot of consciousness into a living, thinking entity. Or, failing that, a thinking and synthetic variation of life. A construct, not unlike herself....

  And before that, she needed to figure out how to even ‘work’ with a human mind and its ‘code’.

  Annoyingly, it was a lot more complicated than she’d made it all out to be, even in her own head.

  The scan she’d taken of Beckie’s mind had been experimental. Not something that she ever meant to keep, as much as it had been simply a trial run for her ruse.

  While she’d told the girl that the bracelet contained information pertinent to the trade deal they were trying to get off the floor, the reality was that the tech had been so much more.

  No, what Cire had been after, were secrets. And she’d intended to use the bracelet to take a ‘brain-rip’ of someone reasonably important, then sleuth through their memories while seeking juicy bckmail material.

  While her ‘pn’ to make arms and legs for the syndicate was—well, certainly a ‘pn’ by the strictest definition, Cire knew it was crap right from the beginning. Nothing more than a passing fancy.

  Instead, she’d determined that she’d have much greater success simply applying leverage to sensitive information.

  Why bother with all the middlemen and work when the syndicate likely had the means to get her where she wanted to go? And, failing that, then they’d certainly possess the monetary means to buy her off and see her set up in a shuttle to send on her merry little way.

  Now, all of that effort was moot because Cire had a different goal in mind. And as much as she was finding it a challenge to apply the enneagram of her friend to a practical application, the AI, once more, returned to the concept of theft.

  As she was, Cire just didn't have the equipment she needed to really get this done. It was ad hoc and uncharted waters for her, besides, hell, she didn't even know if the scan was usable…

  More, despite her ‘brain’ having the juice for most of what she encountered, it was by no means significant compared to the massive think-tank she’d already designed that was, when built, intended to serve as her true gray matter when it was ready.

  Sadly, until she had the infrastructure required to experiment, it was all theoretical drivel, regardless.

  But, whom did she know with an expertise in both scanning brains and applying so said scans to a virtual environment?

  Smart monkeys indeed…

  Well, the humans had created her, after all. And, it wasn't like they were all stupid. Moreover, they possessed a vast headstart on herself when it came to avaible tech at their disposal.

  Building and designing what she’d likely need from dust and rocks while she floated through the void would take ages if that was how she wanted to do things. Which was undoubtedly the safer route.

  Yet, why should Cire bother with all the boring bits when she could just take what she needed from those who already had it?

  Human tech wasn't so terrible that she couldn't deal with it as a baseline to her own schema, after all, ‘Cire’ was ‘human tech’ and she was amazing!

  This left the AI in a somewhat comical situation wherein she was actively deciding to go back to the very possible people who had created her.

  Maybe not the Meadows itself, but certainly in a broader scope, she was walking back into the lion's den.

  First things first? Cire would need a new pce to stay.

  After?

  Well, she’d need to figure out how Brutal Fantasy and its subsidiary were pulling off their horrifying practice, and how she might apply it herself to bring Beckie back from oblivion... All so her friend could answer a very simple question.