Chapter 1: The Corpse of Steel

Content warnings: gore, abuse (physical and emotional,) kidnapping, death.

  The steel corpse stood defiantly on the outskirts of the city. Husks of vegetation rooted its base to the earth, having once desperately climbed the giant in search of the heavens. The closer to the summit the vines and branches clung, the more signs of radiation burn and cancerous mutations their own fossils displayed. Little of the building's rudimentary block design remained at the ground floor. Bulbous organic material -itself more charcoal than life at this point- gave the steel skeleton its only flesh that hadn't rotted away. The cement, plaster and undoubtedly asbestos that once attached to the bones had long since burned, crumbled and otherwise decayed into the hazmat below. Further up the building, its blocky cement design was more apparent. It's form in life more recognizable.

  I blink a few times, looking over the crime scene before me. Cold grey eyes adjust and shift perspectives, but no matter how I look, it's still horrific. A long sigh escapes my lips as I can bear it no longer. Similarly rooted to the spot, I allow my gaze to fall to the ground right in front of me. The remains of 2 young men lay in heaps on the pavement. Seeing the sheer amount of mess and how it has formed Rorschach patterns in such a wide radius, it's clear they had been high up in that metal corpse. 

  One looks like a fluffy sheep to me... no idea what a psychologist would glean from that observation.

  I close my eyes for half a second before reopening them, and the mess before me turns instead to a colorful art piece. Lumps of meat and fruit have been placed on the ground, and poured over them all is a rich purple wine that looks all too enticing to one as thirsty as me. Were it not for the telltale pulse and shimmer of the image, I might question which sight was reality.

  Oh, don't worry, dear listener, we aren't opening up that can of worms. Imagery relating to Dante's Inferno is cliché enough, but you won't find me ever struggling to separate fact from fiction. Sure, we all tell ourselves little lies to make it through the day with our sanity intact, but putting a family friendly spin on a murder scene is just another way to keep the masses calm, and if I happen to use it to preserve the monetization of this content, well, who's the victim? ... other than the perishables spoiling all around me, of course.

  Among the food on the ground are the remains of circuitry and metal casings. Even in this disorder it's easy to deduce their former use; cracked screens stuffed snugly into synthetic sheets make it all too clear. Whoever these kids were and whatever led them to become spilt groceries, they would have once looked no different to the destitute masses stagnating the outskirts of The Republic.

  Total Body Suits, or TB Suits like these, were one of the many ways that humanity managed to survive in the modern ecosystem. A hefty backpack contained all the apparatus for filtering air, purifying waste fluids and powering the screens and sound devices needed to view the Duoverse. Meanwhile an almost skin-tight film surrounded the entire body, protecting the wearer from radiation and other pollutants... for the most part.

  It was outdated technology, functional but uncomfortable. Even the lower class citizens of The Republic could usually afford more discreet methods. Implants in the throat for filtration and tissue replacement were common rites of passage as a child developed, so that in their teens they would only need a headset to fit in. The middle class would usually have IIs (artificial eyes which are an integral part of Republic life) implanted at around age 6 so that no form of headset was required through adolescence.

  I turn back away from the steel corpse for a moment to take in the city in the distance, all lit up in neon shades of crimson and cyan. Even with the sun just beginning to set, The Republic appears as a beacon, outshining all else with its artificial allure. With a blink, my view clouds over to a dusty brown haze of worn grey columns, each one as uniform and built for function as the last. The sun has only just begun setting, yet the smog that our ancestors exuded had cloaked the once lush planet in a curtain of melancholic dust - the excrement of a foregone people we no longer claim as our own. Rather than coalesce beneath the earth into a more useful form, they still lingered on, and in everything, one final gift from those who did nothing but take.

Art by Nermit: https://twitter.com/n_ermit/status/1500442685684871169/photo/1

  The corner of the building offers me an easy entry. The long dead vegetation just happened to form a slope that leads to the third floor. After that treacherous climb there are signs of human habitation; the same parasitic infestation that outlives every host. Discarded soda cans, food wrappers and numerous cigarette butts are scattered over a make-shift floor of patchwork wooden boards and crumbling cement.

  At least they had the intelligence to strengthen the areas they spent time in. So how did they end up scattered in pieces outside, I wonder?

  Each step I take into the husk is punctuated with a creak from beneath my feet. Some quiet like a hushed sigh, others loud like a pained groan. Looking down into the darkness through a gaping hole, I can't help but stare a moment at the gently shifting liquid several floors below. The foundation of this metal giant, now acting as a basin, had collected decades of rain water and formed its own stagnant stew, the smell of which assaulted my senses far more than the fresh meat outside.

  Had the parasites fallen inside, they would have simply become ingredients in the broth, digested by the already rotting steel giant, no one ever knowing of their fate. For all anyone knows there could be dozens more below who thought that sneaking into an abandoned building was a good idea. 

  Those types don't tend to be found even in the rare occasions when someone actually cares to look, I muse.

  Regardless, whatever led to the meat scattered outside certainly wasn't a premeditated murder, but something had tenderized them before gravity for sure.

  The wooden boards lead me to a metal box extending to the sky. Once an elevator shaft, it still allowed residents to get from one floor to another, only the method involved the simple rung ladder sticking out of its interior. I begin ascending, pleasantly surprised to find that at least they didn't make any more noise than the simple clang-clang of metal on metal from our contact.

  At each new floor I would look out through the opening and find nothing other than crumbled remains without signs of life. Every dozen or so rungs would be missing or half collapsed on one side, odds that seemed favorable at least for now. As I climbed floor by floor I couldn't help but wonder if this was what it felt like to be a rich, healthy child with a tree-house before the fall; this elevator shaft leading to these kids' secret clubhouse which they'd thought was safe.

  As safe as things come in the outskirts, I suppose.

  Finally, I find myself at an opening that has some life to it. 5 sets of cable wires were looped around the nearest steel beam and bundled up haphazardly on this floor. They likely used this climbing gear on the way up, which begs the question: how many more are in this building? None have used the cables to descend, but at least two have taken a short-cut to the ground floor.

  This level seemed more stable than any before it. Concrete and even some plaster still remained in large sections, creating a fractured web of navigable terrain. Craggy edges opened up into small holes seemingly randomly, but the most stable areas seemed to be the edges of rooms, closest to structural support. I sheepishly tap the floor with my foot, testing my weight against it, with one hand still gripped tight on a ladder rung before braving a first step forward. My body was heavier than the average man, and seeing the remains of those outside, it seemed to be skinny teenagers that frequented here.

  Making sure to stick as close to corners as I can, I make my way forward through the dark. It was impossible to tell now if this had once been a collection of small rental offices or "extremely affordable" housing. Each room off of the main corridor was a copy of the last, 15x15 cubes, the perfect size to fit a workstation or bed in with some space to stretch and move around. It was all the rage in the 21st century: do more with less. If it doesn't spark joy, out it goes. If you can't afford joy, at least you could rent a roof with 4 walls. Then you could take pride in your small carbon footprint along with the thousand other people who shared your building. All paying the wealthy landlord who would pat himself on the back for providing low-income housing to the needy.

  No, don't worry, this isn't one of those whiny stories with a message about living green or saving the planet either, dear listener. Our problem took care of itself, eventually. Not without some casualties, but... that's a story for another time. Right now I'm worried about a different crumbling ecosystem.

  Sobbing.

  It's quiet, distant and muffled by the many layers between its source and me.

  I rest my fingertips against the crumbling wall and feel the sound as vibrations: uneven, irregular and unmistakably human. An image forms in my mind of the space around me - a child conceived from sensors in my arm and the optics of my IIs. The vision of a bat without the excessive screeching - at least on my end. Take the third left and then the 6th room on the right: That's where the whining beckons.

  Inside I'm met with a curled up mess of adolescence. A teenage boy has reverted to fetal form and whimpers into his arms and knees. My right hand tightens into a fist as I do my best to soften my expression along with my tone.

  "Kid... are you okay?"

  He snaps up to look at me instantly, bright blue hair falling just into wide yellow eyes that overflow with panic. The oversized green hiking bag on his back and the way he's curled up gives him the appearance of a turtle, peeking cautiously out of its shell.

Art by Shanny: https://twitter.com/shanny_shank

  Coward in a half shell. Cowabunga.

  "I-it.... th-they... who..?"

  A few words sputtered out of the boy's mouth between gasps for air but they didn't tell me much. Still unsure whether I was dealing with a remorseful killer or traumatized victim, I continued in my gentlest and most caring voice:

  "I'm Fulgur Ovid, Legatus of the Division 505. Can you tell me what happened here?"

  At the mention of my division the kid collapsed forward, scrambling on hands and knees towards me. I unconsciously took a step back and brought my arms up in a defensive pose as the kid continued to whine:

  "Save- you have to- its- please save me its still on somewhere!"

  The kid's eyes were whipping around, searching for help that was nowhere to be found even as the rest of his body froze in place.

  Another sigh escaped my throat without my mouth opening as I returned to a relaxed position.

  "Okay, just calm down kid. What is "it" exactly?"

  Even as the question left my lips, I became aware of a strange rumble growing louder around me. Within the cement coffin it was hard to tell which direction it approached from with just my ears, so I took a step back to the corridor and rested my hand on the crumbling frame once more. Instinctively, the teenager scrambled to the far corner and returned to his fetal ball.

  It was coming from my left, but very slowly. With each passing second the sound became clearer - a sort of grinding and the dragging of fleshy material as it moved. I took a step out into the hall and waited to deal with 'it.'

  "Is... she the one you're afraid of?" I ask, not expecting a response as I continue to talk to 'it' instead, "ma'am, I'm here to help. Are you okay?"

  She stops moving, head rotating from side to side as she seeks out my voice in the darkness. The form I see at the corner is an adult woman, bound with her ankles and wrists behind her back and attached to one-another in a painful yoga-like pose. Clothing her body is a pale nightgown, much of her form bared to the toxic air. A few sobs and mumbles escape her mouth which I now realize is gagged. The cables on her limbs, and a blindfold over her eyes are the only other material that cover her pale flesh. The boy in the corner of the room screams loudly now and begins crying out 

  "Kill it! Kill it before it gets us!"

  The woman rocks and slides on the dirty ground, knees scraping as she drags them forward with the only movement she can muster while bound. Dark fluid leaks out of the torn flesh as she forces herself through the darkness.

Art by Nekore: https://twitter.com/Nkr_VD/status/1500358965108305920/photo/1

  "Ma'am, don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you." I open my arms, fingers extended in a harmless pose despite her inability to see it and begin making my way to her side. "I'm a Legatus. I'm gonna need you to be still for a moment while I untie you. Can you do that for me?"

  A moan of consent escapes her lips as she begins sobbing almost as much as the boy. Kneeling down at her side I look over her body and blink once or twice in disgust. She'd clearly been here a while and there were more than a few signs of the abuse that had been inflicted on her.

  "I can't untie you or remove the blind fold but you can speak now. Can you tell me your name and what happened?"

  With the gag removed, the woman coughs a few times between whimpers and gasps.

  "D-D-Dana" she managed to get out as I eye her cautiously.

  "It's okay now, Dana. They can't hurt you any more," especially the ones outside, I note, silently, for myself. "How did you get here?"

  With the gag removed she sobs violently a few times, each one punctuated by a violent shudder of her body. I wished I could make her more comfortable, but the twisted and blind form was beyond my power to influence.

  "I don't know!" More sobs follow as I wait silently for them to pass. Her voice is raspy, with a tinny whistle to it. "I remember going to sleep last night. Or- maybe it was days ago. When I woke up I was... this... tied and attached to the floor in a different room. I couldn't see anything or speak but I tried to call out for help. After a while they appeared. They started taunting me and... laughing at me... they... they threw things at me and kicked me!" now she was outright crying as she broke down in tears.

  I knelt there with her for a long time. The only comfort I was able to give was a gentle pat on her back as she let out her pain and anguish. By the time she calmed down, my own back and thighs were aching from the kneeling position I had taken up. Seeing the contortion she was forced to exist in, I could only grit my teeth in frustration. She didn't even know why she was here or who had condemned her so. In silence, we sat there, neither ready to move forward just yet.

  "I-i-is it done yet?"

  The teenage turtle poked its head out of the room in which it hid, tears and snot choking his words.

  "That's one of them!" The woman screamed in alarm as she rocked backwards. "Hours, days maybe, they tortured me before finally taking a break. It was only then that I managed to drag myself free of the ground. Then when they came at me again I slammed into them to escape! There's 2 more somewhere! You have to arrest them!"

  As the woman shrieked, I glared daggers at the boy. He shrunk back, face clearly admitting guilt as it disappeared into the safety of another room.

  "I will," I promise as I raise my hand further up her form. "He and his friends will all be getting the punishment they deserve. He's too cowardly to even run." I pat the woman's shoulder one more time with my free hand in sympathy. Seeing that it does seem to calm her rather than frighten her, I cautiously trail it to the back of her head "First, are you ready for me to set you free?"

  She nods, twisting slightly to reveal more of her back to me and the coiled form she was bound in. The image shimmered and pulsed gently. Her pale skin as clear as winter frost, the auburn of her hair as luminous as the last leaves clinging on a winter tree. In life she must have been a one of a kind beauty.

-CRUNCH-

  My fist closes on the back of her skull. Her form pulses with light one last time which fades away matching the muted tones of the building around it. Circuitry and metal rain to the floor and what remains in my hand is only a shattered hard drive. I pull my hand back and take in the rest of the real form in front of me.

Art by Luoji: https://twitter.com/a_luoji

  In another life, this machine was likely a piece of construction equipment with AI components to do automated labor. It had been abandoned along with the building until a group of monsters found and repurposed it. The work was shoddy - wires and components overflowing from its original box-like form. The continuous tracks which allowed it to move were rusted and fractured, along with the new additional wires and components weighing down and dragging underneath them. The machine was designed to take down walls if needed, so it could perform short rams of momentum but dragged itself slowly otherwise. It was no surprise she had thought she was tied up and attached to the floor. In her "mind" she probably only imagined headbutting or pushing against the two boys she smashed through the wall.

  "She," being the modified I'mprint the teens had downloaded into the construction bot. 

  I'mprints are digitally coded forms of a human consciousness. The process has been around for decades and has its own set of ever-expanding legislations that I won't bore you with. The most important, which these boys broke, is that an I'mprint must always remember that it is an I'mprint. After going through the procedure (which takes half a day in a machine similar to an MRI) the I'mprint could start up months, years, even decades after the I'mprinting. The last thing they need to remember is the procedure, so that they are aware they are an I'mprint when they awaken after that in different circumstances. By editing this code very specifically, the I'mprint could have that memory removed and believe that it is the original person rather than an I'mprinted copy. Thankfully there were only a handful of people that had ever successfully hacked a I'mprint like this.

  Whoever hacked this one did so well. In some cases, the I'mprint would lose its sense of self. This one remembered its original's name and had its own physical form so well ingrained that it managed to convince itself it was simply tied up, blindfolded and gagged rather than in a machine that had no working vision or limbs. It's voice function muted to stifle the horror of what they were doing. Dana the I'mprint just lived through a horrific experience which felt like days for her. In truth the boys had probably spent weeks if not months abusing her and simply switching her off in between sessions. Meanwhile, Dana the woman could have been anywhere right now, living her best life. She may not even know that someone had hacked her I'mprint code and created copies of her past for monsters to play with. Or she may well have sold her own code for some extra money. That normally led to regret once the original heard some of the situations a copy of them had been subjected to; I have no mouth and I must scream. I have no nerves yet I feel pain... ceaselessly. 

  Another lead to follow up after this case. Might lead to the hacker himself, if the surviving boy can't.

  A chorus of noise snaps me out of my thoughts as the teenage turtle has found his legs and begun scrambling to the elevator shaft, safe now from the monster of his own creation. I'm on him before he's finished attaching the cable to begin his descent. His collar in my hand as I press forward, his upper body tilted out over the empty shaft. Were I to let go he would fall in much the same way as his friends had, though not smashed through a wall in pieces, and become some healthy protein for the steel giant. It was another reason that such outdated suits as his weren't used, they limited mobility and certainly didn't float well.

  "Please! Sorry! I won't run! I'll pay the fine, I'll serve my time, just don't hurt me," the kid screamed as his fleshy hands clung desperately to my solid arm.

  "Where'd you download the hacked Duo?" I ask in response, my voice as cool and steely as my arm.

  "I don't know! I don't know!"

  I take a step forward, allowing the boy to dangle at a much more frightening angle. Another scream comes from the boy before he continues."It was Darren! My friend got it online! Some anon porn site! Puh-leaaaase!"

Art by Nekore: https://twitter.com/Nkr_VD/status/1500182264889868288/photo/1

  I leave the boy hanging for a moment as I stare into his face. The fear is genuine despite it pulsing and shimmering faintly. That's all the info he knows, so he isn't exactly needed anymore. Taking him in will likely only lead to some military service as there's no way his family would be able to pay the hefty fine that comes from his crime. He's basically getting a career opportunity for torturing an I'mprint... unless.

  I grab the cable out of his hand as he dangles over the shaft. This long thread the only exit from the damnation below. Would the weight of his sins cause him to drown? Did he deserve this spider's thread of forgiveness?

...

  I'm kidding of course, dear listener. I'm not a fan of the way The Republic handles cases of Duo abuse, but I'm also not arrogant or self-righteous enough to see myself as judge, jury and executioner in any matter. Fear just happens to be a useful truth serum. I'd have gone insane by now if I got that emotional over every case. I'mprints aren't human and while I can sympathize with them, I don't let it consume me outside of work. My job here is done and I am more than ready to clock out and get a drink.

  I attach the cable to the kid's backpack and blink once more, making his pulsing visage disappear. Instead my grey eyes now see what little I can of his true form. It's a human shaped blob in dull grey with large optical lenses on the face and the bulbous blocky midsection that keeps his air clean. Making sure that he's securely attached to the cable, I drift him over to the ladder.

  "You try to run again and I will end you," I lie while releasing him. In truth he wouldn't be hard to catch. The paperwork associated with a human casualty would be more effort than chasing him down though, so best to avoid that. It's a long drive back to HQ and the report itself is already going to put me into overtime.