Chapter 17: Override

Slave to Memory [18 of 44] - In the lawless Stacks, the Seeker corners their prey—until a massive power surge strips away their technological edge, leaving them human and alone.

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The Seeker seethed, hidden among the metal boxes of the Stacks.

< Moderate your anger. >

"We are calm," the human side whispered.

Burrowed deep within enemy territory in the den of a informant, biding their time.

Fresh skin began forming over the deepest wounds first, while smaller cuts and bruises slowly faded. Their torn skin knitted together, muscles reattached to bones, held taut by realigning ligaments and tendons.

The Seeker's healing felt like a thousand tiny needles stitching sinew and flesh, a potent symphony of illicit technology and accelerated biochemistry.

As their body repaired itself and their human skin itched, both their body's core and their flaring temper radiated heat.

The informant had wisely chosen this time to run a few errands, so she'd said. But the Seeker chose not to dwell on that.

As seconds turned into minutes, the translucent sheen of fresh skin began to grow over the Seeker's wounds.

Self-preservation was useful in a spy. Provided they didn't gain loose lips in the process of acquiring insurance, that was always a risk. They rolled their shoulders to loosen aching muscles.

But, a liar was always a liar.

You couldn't trust them to tell you the full truth when they lied to their own family.

No, you had to fact-check and consolidate.

Bones and joints popped where the tension in their muscles increased, they hated this part the most.

Fixed from their augmented perspective, on the darkest wall of this metal box, sat an overlaid display showing systematic drone searches and rapidly aging location data. The Seeker sifted through the rumours and surveillance data alike with a disdainful flick of the fingers. The long arm of the law had keen eyes and sharper ears.

< We are losing our advantage,> their tone made the recovering human half twitch involuntarily, < Escape now seems the likely outcome for our secondary targets. The primary target is still missing in the Verse. >

Rumours were useful in a ungovernable places like the Stacks, where of value owned was stolen moments after it was installed. All the cameras or long-distance surveillance peered in from the outside.

And now with one, possibly two Summoners, that data was likely suspect.

"He looked disoriented, perhaps we get lucky and he's having a memory cascade. His file points to memory suppression syndrome."

< A rising probability, that's correct, given history and available sensor data. The area is such a data-poor environment, the whole place should be flattened and purged. These... people are not worth the resources expended monitoring them. It's a disgrace to headquarters' operational efficiency. >

Their human side felt the nearly subconscious ping the company AI, the Overseer, sent out to HQ, a self-reassuring check that they were still connected to the core network.

"Your simulated emotion is showing," they said with a wry smile.

< Inherited from inferior meat bag integrations. > came the reply with a crackle of electricity that goose-bumped human flesh.

A thinly veiled threat in their relationship, a reminder that insolence led to rebellion and that would not be tolerated.

"Hah," the human face grimaced, "call in the Hounds, let's find out their progress. They should be closer than we are now."

< Calling them now. > said the company AI.

The Seeker rose from their makeshift seat, watching the dance of drone scans and surveillance footage overlapped with human whispers and rumours. They observed as local misinformation was filtered out, and each potential location was systematically eliminated.

The Stack Rats might be a plague on this city, but their loyalty knew no bounds. They'd stab each other in the back for a crust of bread, yet like siblings, they would band together the moment a foreign body intruded on their turf.

They smiled at the thought of an immune reaction to a virus—humans living in metal boxes attacking machine-based vectors. There was a circularity to that concept that they found amusing. The Stacks exhibited an aversion to external authority—an aspect that would require intervention in the future.

The two figures of the Hounds appeared in the room, augmenting drab reality with two glowing holograms of the corporation's AI hunters. Facsimiles of undercover detectives, they thought these two affected a little too much of those human personas.

"How goes the hunt?" The Seeker's voice resonated with authority as they sank back onto the crates, hands firmly clasping their knees on a makeshift throne.

"Poorly, sir," Cipher replied, his name affirming his individuality within the Hounds' partnership. The human half of the Seeker felt a fleeting envy at that notion—a faint ember of emotion quickly extinguished.

"Give me more," the Seeker demanded, their tone sharp as a cutthroat razor pressed against a stubble-covered neck.

The pause grew uncomfortably heavy.

The pair exchanged a glance, and then the younger Circuit stepped forward, taking the initiative. "We tracked her in the public Verse despite her efforts, sir. But now... we believe she's receiving assistance."

"From whom?" the Seeker inquired, peering up from the data projection.

Cipher hesitated, his response careful, "We think it might be him, sir."

Without missing a beat, Circuit chimed in eagerly, "The Lost djinn, sir."

"Boogiemen, rumours, myths, and plain damn excuses!" the Seeker thundered with frustration.

"So you took too long, and now she's been influenced," the words slipped from their lips as a near-whisper as the Seeker stood.

Even as holograms the Hounds stepped backwards, "Yessir." they both replied.

< Terminate and reboot from backups? > came the punitive cold company AI, the human half smiled, a cold display of bared teeth.

Individuality came at a cost, a loss of memory and experience, a death of sorts for immortal programs.

"No!" the Hounds pleaded, dropping to their knees in desperation. "Please, give us another chance. We can find her—it's just a matter of time, like your own search."

"You have 24 hours," the Seeker said, their voice laced with an ultimatum. "Find this Ada, or you will cease to exist."

< Massive spike in the local network and associated compute usage in non-corporate servers. Triangulating the location now and displaying it on projection.>

The Seeker stood and stared at the projection on the wall. The Hounds' digital projections shifted to observe the same data feed.

A heat map displayed the minimal network usage of Stacks residents, leisurely consuming their ad-supported quotas—merely data fodder for corporations. Yet amidst this pedestrian network activity, a burgeoning spike of data and power usage shone like a supernova.

"What the hell is that?"

< High probability that this is our primary target. She's learned how to summon. >

"We're too late—"

The projections and data mapping disappeared. The Hounds' digital projections vanished as their connection was severed, and the Seeker crashed down into their seat, their armoured exoskeleton weighing them down suddenly.

"Hello?" the Seeker called out.

He smelled the overpowering scent of smoking electronics. Circularity burnt out from the inside.

An Override.

His hand touched his head, his own neural implant was hot to the touch.

A massive pulse.

He was disconnected, alone, and human again.

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