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Zhenya watched Nils bleed out on the examination table. The engineer’s assistant watched too, seeing the blood and the hydraulic fluid mix and drip into the drain. This was how it was going to be. The boss thought it was too expensive to fix, the weeks of recovery far too long. It was simpler to buy a new soldier. The controller did not want to have to integrate a new soldier into the squad, but Zhenya knew it was only a matter of time before he accepted it. In the end Shard always bent to his employer. Zhenya did not know what the boss had on the controller, but it was effective.
Nils was still breathing in horrible rasps – his body was still trying to get oxygen into the ruined lungs. Zhenya knew he was still conscious enough to feel pain. It radiated into the squad network, processed just enough to leave it clear some of the higher functions were still going. The rest of the squad was too far away to share the pain, but they would have cut themselves off from Nils as soon as they had known it was hopeless. Zhenya thought he had a duty to feel it anyway. They had trained together, worked together, served multiple different commanders, so many different jobs. They had slept together and spent so long in each other’s heads that they were always treated as a set. And now Nils was bleeding to death, because the boss was greedy and cheap.
The wave of hostility Zhenya was feeling was entirely his own. He could sense it annoying the controller, but he did not care because he hated the controller too. Shard should not have sent them at all. Shard should have known what they were going after.
Stop your tantrum.
Of course the order came through the network with full enforcement protocols and a little additional code that clarified exactly what the words meant. Zhenya reined in his presence, until it could no longer disturb Shard. The most frustrating thing was that Shard was a good controller, even if Shard had less compassion than the average kitchen appliance. The orders were always precise. The combat strategies chosen were generally good, allowing them just enough autonomy, taking their feedback into account just enough.
Except this fucking time. Zhenya had known what they were sent after was not right. Shard had overridden his objections, refusing to let him share any misgivings with Nils, and there it was. What the boss had assured them was a solitary structural engineer turned out to be the deadliest combat engineer Zhenya had ever seen. He knew he would have nightmares about how that mind had overridden Shard’s commands, about how it was all smooth and interlocking protocols. Nothing to assault when there were no weak points. He had not even been able to lift his weapon. It had called him good boy and told him to sit and by the time Shard could get back in his head, it was gone, and Nils was dying.
Zhenya felt the irritation and defeat from the controller, and he knew the boss had won. He wondered if they would give Nils something, or just leave him to it. Probably a waste of drugs to terminate when nature would take its course anyway. It seemed unkind. A soldier should die in combat, not like this, slow and miserable, dripping out on a table.
“What are you doing?” the engineer’s assistant asked as Zhenya moved.
Sometimes, there were gaps where there was no command and no restriction. The little holes where the controller had said nothing. No one had ever told him that he could not snap Nils’s neck, or put a knife though Nils’s eye, all the way to the back of the skull, hitting the most important processing implants. He did it too fast for Shard to catch what he was doing and tell him to stop. Nils’s presence in the network went, snuffed out.
The engineer’s assistant swore, but it was far too late. Zhenya was already cleaning the knife and returning to his previous position, standing with his back against the wall, back to being no more than décor. His face was expressionless, but he felt the swift fire of satisfaction. He did not even care if Shard would punish him. He had ended Nils’s suffering. He had also ruined any salvage value of Nils’s neural implants. He was not entirely certain which pleased him more.
Shard’s feedback was a lot like a sigh. Come.
Zhenya did not even try to resist this command. He gave the body one last look – but it was not Nils anymore, it was just meat, and bone, and metal and ceramic – and then joined the controller in the front office.
The engineer’s assistant followed him. “Something is wrong with that soldier.”
“Don’t worry. He was always a weird one,” Shard answered.
“He should be checked.”
Zhenya was utterly indifferent to that opinion. If he was functioning properly, he would still be owned by a military, or at least a decent mercenary company, not by a fucked-up controller working for a mob boss.
“It is none of your business,” Shard said.
And that was that. Shard settled the bill for disposal of biological waste, then they headed back, hailing a taxi. Reflex made Zhenya check it for threats, but no one would touch Shard on the main streets.
We are lucky it didn’t want to kill all of us, Shard thought.
Yes. Zhenya had to agree. He remembered the combat engineer touching him. It would have been nothing to kill him.
I don’t think it wanted to kill Nils either.
Zhenya caught his resentment and shut it down. The boss had killed Nils, by not wanting to pay. What was that?
I don’t know. I hope I never meet it again.
Zhenya did not often get any of Shard’s emotions back, but he got a vague impression of frustration and puzzlement. It had to be intense to bleed through, even a little. He immediately wanted to please and hated himself for it. I think it called itself Beautiful Machine.
How do you know? Controllers often introduced themselves before trying to break each other’s minds. It was not routine to extend the same courtesy to any soldiers. Shard would have certainly not introduced himself while hijacking an enemy soldier’s nervous system.
I don’t know. I just. Here: And Zhenya sent the garbled impression of the attack that had stopped him in his tracks, all the diagnostics, all the data. Two shots that cracked his armour. A blow hard enough to knock him down. Then the elegant network breach that had sent Shard out of his head, and the strange, strange way he had felt like a fragile thing dropped in the gears of a mechanical engine, to be ground to dust. Of course he had bent to it, as naturally as the trajectory of a bullet curving under gravity.
The rest of the ride was silent. Shard was lost in thought, closed off in his own head, and Zhenya began to contemplate the blood on his gloves and the damage to his armour. The techs would not be pleased, but they were never pleased with anything. He raised his hand and pressed his tongue to his fingers, tasting the blood. That was the last he would taste of Nils. Shard ignored him, even though usually Shard would have told him to stop doing disgusting things.
Finally, they pulled up to the back of the building. Zhenya stepped out first, his fingers resting on the gun as he looked up and down the quiet street. It was probably unnecessary, but it made Zhenya feel better to satisfy the security protocols.
Shard stretched, looking tired. The door slid open at his approach and they entered the stairwell. Shard headed to the elevator that would take him to the upstairs apartments.
Take your gear to the armoury, then go back to your room.
The enforcement was not strong on the order, but it was what Zhenya wanted to do anyway. He needed to rest. Will you punish me? He did not want to worry about it. He liked to know in advance.
I need to think about it.
Frustrating. Typical Shard. A fucking sadist that had to make everyone wait. Zhenya headed downstairs. In the armoury, he put his weapons away then stripped down to the undersuit and washed the worst of the blood from the armour. He was glad to be alone. The techs were probably all in bed by now, and the rest of the squad in their quarters. He could slow down as the pain started to catch up with him. There was no more adrenaline to hide it, no Shard to force him to ignore it. His armour had taken the worst of the point-blank shots, but the bruises were going to be impressive. Perhaps his ribs were cracked. It seemed likely from how much it hurt to lift his arm. He left the chestpiece out for the techs to fix, though he suspected they would simply request a replacement.
He would have liked to go see the rest of the squad, but he was not feeling up to pushing against the order. ‘Go back to your room’ did not necessarily mean directly, but the longer it took him to obey, the worse it would feel. He went to his room. It was barely more than a cupboard with a shower cubicle attached, but it was private. He sat down on the bed. Now that there was no mission, no orders to follow, he let his spine bend, breathing out slowly. With Shard several levels above and the network shielding in the walls, he could be alone in his head for a little while. His ribs hurt. His muscles hurt. He stank of sweat and blood. He would shower in a little bit. The ability to decide when he would get up again was the only freedom he was going to have this day.
He was still working himself up to that when one of the nightclub guards opened his door and shoved one of the sex toys in. Zhenya’s nostrils flared as he smelled the fear. This one was male, skinny and bruised up already, completely naked. He stayed on the floor where he had fallen, probably calculating that as the least risky option. Everyone thought pleasure constructs were stupid, but most of them knew when to smile and when to keep their heads down. Even such a useless thing wanted to survive.
“What is this?” Zhenya asked, his throat feeling like gravel. He had not spoken out loud for long enough that it felt unpractised.
“Shard says you deserve a treat. Apparently, so long as he’s alive at the end, it doesn’t matter what you do. You should have fun. Boy’s got a nice little ass.”
“Right. Piss off,” Zhenya said.
The nightclub guard stepped back immediately. He was only human, with some combat training and a few assistive modifications, while Zhenya was a construct with reinforced bones, strengthened muscles, and heightened combat reflexes. And most importantly, Zhenya had never been given the explicit order that he should not maim any of the building staff. They all knew it because Shard liked them all knowing. Shard had always been of the belief that humans should know what to fear. See too many of the pretty decorative little constructs, and someone might forget what the other side of that coin was.
“What did you fuck up?” Zhenya asked, once the door was shut again. Getting one of the upstairs boys did mean that Shard was somehow pleased with his conduct, but he had been here too long not to know this was also a punishment for the other construct. “Well?”
At the prod from Zhenya’s foot, the boy scrambled away until his back met the far corner of the room. He looked up at Zhenya warily, unsure of this situation. “I spilled the drinks.”
Zhenya laughed. A very minor offense. “Which one are you?”
“Em. Emerald.”
Zhenya could tell the boy was confused, not knowing whether to introduce himself like he would have to a fellow construct, or to a client. This one was still new. The previous Emerald had been found dead last month in one of the guest bedrooms and had been thrown out with the trash. “You know who I am?”
“Yeah. You’re one of Shard’s soldiers.” It looked like Shard scared Em more than being in this room did.
“You don’t like Shard?”
Em frowned, silent. He did not know what a safe answer was. He looked young, but who knew how old he actually was. Growth had been inhibited when he looked delicate and willowy, to fit whatever looks his creators thought would sell.
Zhenya studied the pleasure construct in flat silence, his face utterly expressionless. Of course all six – now five – of Shard’s soldiers were the same to this little fuck. Nothing but extensions of Shard’s will. Finally, Zhenya said, “I don’t like him either.”
“Oh,” Em said, very quietly.
“I know Shard likes to hurt you,” Zhenya said. Shard liked pretty boys with pale skin and big eyes. More than once, Zhenya had caught the shadow of it. He had no idea if he also liked pretty boys with big green eyes because Shard did. It bled through too much, after all the years of being Shard’s soldier. It was not worth thinking about. He had no way of keeping his controller out of his head, no way of preventing Shard’s opinions from becoming his own.
Em smiled awkwardly, as if caught doing something embarrassing. He wrapped his arms around his legs, folding in on himself. He looked very small, that way. His forearms were peppered with bruises.
“I am going to take a shower.” Zhenya stood up from his bed and stepped around Em. He stripped off the undersuit and dropped it to the floor, kicking it away into a corner. In the cracked mirror, he examined his own bruises. Gently, he poked at the ribs. By tomorrow it would hurt less already. So long as the fractures were not displaced, he did not require medical attention. A couple of days with no heavy lifting and it would be fine. He was thankful for the tech that made him heal so fast.
Hot water felt good. He started by rubbing the unscented soap through his short hair and then worked his way down, trying to forget that Shard’s favourite whore was in his room. Shard had decided to reward him. A weird sort of approval. He knew what he was meant to do. Fuck Em, rough him up a little, give him back, say thanks. It was Shard’s weird little game. Teach one a lesson, let the other one have fun. If only Zhenya’s preferences aligned so neatly.
When he heard movement behind him, he reached and grabbed Em by the throat. He did not let go when his mind caught up with his arm, instead watching Em struggle. A part of him was curious to see that Em had enough of a survival instinct to claw at his hand, trying to pry it off, desperate for a breath. It got Em exactly nowhere. He squeezed a little tighter, and then let go. Em dropped to the floor, gasping and coughing.
“Did no one tell you not to sneak around?” Zhenya asked, examining the bloody scratches Em had left. The sting felt good. He watched the blood wash away. Em’s coughs sounded ugly. They made him want to kick Em in the ribs for good measure, but he contained the urge.
“I was. Not. Sneaking,” Em answered when he finally had enough breath. He looked up at Zhenya. There was a hint of confusion in his expression. “Tried to get. Your Attention. You were. Out of it.”
“What did you want?”
“I was going. To offer. To wash your back,” Em said. He coughed again, massaging his throat. It was going to bruise. “You can’t. Reach.”
“Really,” Zhenya said, very dry. Em was right – he could not reach with his ribs damaged. It hurt too much. Pain was a useful message. It told him that if he tried to stretch that far, he was likely to injure his ribs more. “What else?” He knew Em was not going to be motivated by charity.
“I wanted to see your dick. I wanted to know. How much it was going to hurt.”
Zhenya threw the washcloth in Em’s face. It hit him right in the nose, and then fell on the floor.
Em picked the washcloth up. As hints went, this one was very clear. He got up and scrubbed Zhenya’s back, slowing a little over the scars. Either horrified or fascinated by the history of injuries. It did not matter much either way.
“Aren’t you meant to always like it?”
“I’m all bruised up on the inside,” Em answered, matter of fact. “Your dick looks… Pretty big. So. I think. It’s going to hurt. I’d probably come. I mean. You’re large enough. It would stimulate me. But I’m not going to like it much.”
“I was not intending to hurt you.”
“Oh, that’s. Good. Thanks. I guess?” Em answered, with the smallest of smiles. He did not believe that he was not going to get hurt, but at least it would not be intentional. “Do you have lube?”
Zhenya blinked. “Yes.” From all the times he and Nils had fucked.
“Could you please use it when you fuck me?” Em asked, without expectations. If Shard’s only request was that he was alive at the end, that was a whole expanse of pain, limited only by Zhenya’s imagination. The only good thing was that soldiers were not generally known for being imaginative.
“Can I shower?” Em asked, when Zhenya made no response to the previous request.
“Whatever,” Zhenya said, stepping out of the shower and picking up the towel. As he dried himself off, he took a better look at Em – noticing all the bruises on his hips, all finger-shaped. He did not usually care about the pets upstairs. Sometimes they got shunted downstairs for punishment, but Zhenya rarely got involved in that. Others were more enthusiastic, but he still wondered what it would be like to hurt Em. What little sounds he would make if Zhenya fucked him?
Zhenya left the damp towel next to the sink and went to pull on some sweatpants. The only place to relax in his room was on the bed, so he lay down on his back. He preferred to sleep on his side, but that was out for at least a few days. Hopefully he would get the full time needed to recover. If he saw combat again soon, he was likely to aggravate the injuries. As he considered how likely Shard was to require him on another job, he listened to Em pick up the towel, then dry that stupid hair, all those brown curls, perfect for yanking. That was what Shard expected, probably.
Em hung up the towel to dry and came out of the bathroom wearing nothing except a wary smile. He looked soft and pretty. Zhenya instantly wanted to kill him. It would be so easy. He did not want one of Shard’s toys. He wanted to disobey, and he could, for once. The guard had told him Shard’s request. There was no order through the network to go with it, no codes that would constrain his behaviour.
“How did you end up here, Em?”
The smile faltered. “My owner had debts.” But then the smile was back. “How do you want me?”
Zhenya laughed. “You performing for me, little whore?”
Em bit his lip. “You don’t like me.”
“I want to snap your neck,” Zhenya said, and watched Em freeze utterly. It was kind of fun to see all the fear come back. No one would help Em here. It would be just another body that ended up in the garbage.
“Please don’t,” Em said softly. “I just thought. If I made you feel good, you wouldn’t hurt me more.”
Zhenya watched him. “Come here.”
And of course Em did it – clamping down on the urge to try to run and getting on the bed. Was that a kind of bravery or a kind of surrender? He summoned the confidence from somewhere and straddled Zhenya’s thighs, looking down. Zhenya’s dick was half hard, the outline visible through the loose material of the trousers. Em slid a hand under the waistband.
Zhenya inhaled sharply, feeling himself get hard under the expert touch. Em knew nothing about him, not even his name, but Em knew how to make his body respond. Zhenya resented it. He pulled Em’s hand away, his grip so tight that Em made a strangled little sound. It hurt.
“Are you. Alright?” Em asked, very quietly.
“No,” Zhenya said, unexpectedly honest.
Em stared at him in silence, with a very small frown.
Zhenya placed a hand on Em’s hip, stroking the skin gently with his thumb. It was as soft as it looked. Not like Nils’s skin. He looked at Em’s hairless crotch, the soft dick, thought about flipping him over and fucking him hard. Would Em cry if it hurt enough? But it was never that satisfying to hurt something so incapable of fighting back. That was Shard’s sort of thing.
“Can I do anything?” Em asked.
“No,” Zhenya said.
“Oh,” Em said softly, visibly steeling himself to pay for that.
Em yelped as Zhenya abruptly dragged him down, tense and afraid, not relaxing into it as training should have taught him. Em should know by now that if he was tense, it would hurt more. He had to be young, after all, to ask such useless questions. Zhenya ran his knuckles along Em’s spine until he felt the pet begin to relax.
“No one ever asks me that,” Zhenya said. He kept on stroking Em’s back, over and over. Who asked soldiers if they were alright?