First Contact (Part Two)

There was always someone watching me. Even if they weren't checking readouts of my power scans or trying to figure out which organ inside my body did the trick for my light energy regulation, there was always at least one clown with a gun, sat looking right at me.

Because I couldn't relax enough to sleep, I was awake for every shift change. Even if I didn't know how much time had passed, I could guess just from what they said in passing when working with each other.

They must have thought I was dumb, or had given up. To be fair, I must have looked quite the pathetic sight as I was. But again, I couldn't sleep or pass out. Literally all I could do was watch and listen. I didn't even talk. They knew I didn't need anything, even to go to the bathroom. Thanks, guy-that-put-my-catheter-in!

I made a crappy discovery soon enough when I figured out why I felt so cruddy for no reason. At first I thought it was an infection from all of the stupid wires plugged into my nerves, but that would have been too easy.

Getting nothing but artificial light made me sick. I filled up quicker and easier with the sun. Light from bulbs, screens, and just about anything else could help, but even so, none of it was natural. It was like eating nothing but the worst kind of junk food, with no nutritional value whatsoever, for days and days.

More positive discoveries came later, though.

I could still form blasts. I just couldn't aim them because I was lashed to the table. I tried to draw the heat to my hands and felt my palms warm, unfortunately, firing a shot would wind up with me nailing the ceiling, the floor, or my own legs. Those were my choices with the position I had. Fortunately, no one could see the little glow underneath the skin of my palms because of it, so I could try to make the finding in the first place.

So I could shoot. A lot of good that did me if I couldn't move. And even if I did get out, how far could I go? How long would it take for someone to know I was gone?

Then again, did any of that really matter? Honestly, even if I broke out and tried to make a run for it, would it really make things any worse than they were already going to be?

I was going to be dissected and Ruth was going to be used as a guinea pig, or worse. I had wasted enough time getting as much information as I could in that damned room. Eventually, I had to do something.

The very next time I got a slacker of a guard, it would be time to make a move. Lo and behold, it took three or four more shift changes for me to get one who clearly wasn't going to last long before he started spacing out and dozing off.

Instead of focusing my power to the palms of my hands, I tried to concentrate it a bit more to my fingertips and bend my wrist so that I could reach the manacle pinning my arm down. I felt the hot feeling underneath the skin and didn't know exactly what I was going to get.

When I forced my power through, instead of an explosive or concussive blast, it came out like a laser; precise, controlled. Not exactly destructive, but it wore down the metal and burned through it quietly. When I could finally move my arm above the hand, I felt like crying, though that was probably because of the sensors still attached to my nerves.

After repeating the process with the other hand I made sure the guard was asleep properly before moving on to the single manacle pinning me down around my biceps.

I couldn't free myself of everything else fast enough for my tastes. The sensors all came out, as did Mister Catheter – carefully, of course. Good Lord, that was awful.

To my surprise, I wasn't a bloody mess after removing the nerve sensors. Didn't understand that one, but alright. I wasn't going to complain about not leaving a blood trail behind.

The sound of hanging wire tips clattering against each other got my guard to tilt his head up and take a look at me. Poor bastard. His eyes popped wide open, realizing that I was loose just in time to see a beam of light fly across the room and hit him square in the head. He fell back out of his chair. If the blast itself didn't knock him out, or worse, the way he hit his head on the floor with his head tilted back probably didn't help.

My first move afterwards was to steal his clothes. You know, because I was naked.

Everything fit loose, except for the shoes which were far too small. How a guy bigger than me could have feet that much smaller must have been some kind of cosmic joke.

In the time it took to get dressed in my guard's clothes, I tried to get a handle on my light sickness.

I felt bloated on artificial light, but at least I could count myself lucky that they hadn't bathed me in disgusting fluorescent lighting. In hindsight, that might have been enough to make me vomit.

The halls were empty, which was good because what I had on wasn't much of a disguise, not without shoes on my feet. The longer I could go without seeing anyone until I could find Ruth, the better.

Fortunately, everything in this place was labeled, which was something of a godsend when I saw the room labeled as storage.

I still felt awful, so there was a chance that I didn't have enough power for a full-scale shootout. I thought it would be best to grab something just in case.

Fortunately, the Reavers did have enough guns stashed away for me to pick and choose. Donald Pierce wanted to turn his underlings into a cyborg fighting force. I figured if they got guns, the guns were probably going to be attached to them somehow, because reasons.

I dug through what they had on hand for something I could use easily if the need arose, when something called out to me.

"Greetings, mutant."

I turned around so fast, I fell into the wall with the shotguns and rifles held up on it. The noise came from a containment device that came up to my knees, but seemed wide and long enough to fit a motorcycle inside. It was clear, so I could see something inside, bolted down much like I was, only more so.

I had no idea what I was looking at. It looked kind of like an action figure I had as a kid; a robot wolf with no eyes. Instead a panel of various sensors, likely including cameras were affixed above its mouth that was filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Its mouth didn't move when it spoke though, which was kind of unnerving.

…How did I not see that when I walked in? I was going to make the worst X-Man ever.

I looked around for a moment, as though there was someone else it could have been referring to, "Are you talking to me?" I wasn't sure what I was expecting, asking something that obvious.

"Yes," The odd robot told me, "You are the only mutant within-," It paused for a moment and a bright red light ran across its panel, "1317 feet of this position. Therefore, the only mutant within hearing range."

It sensed me. Son of a bitch. It could sense mutants. It could locate mutants!

"What the heck are you?" I asked. It was more than happy to answer.

"Designation: IF Unit 5a-8re. Model: W0-11f."

It was a robot. Of course it was going to answer me in code. And whoever gave it that code in particular needed to be hit with a ball-peen hammer.

"Could you be more specific?"

"Interface prototype, based on the concept of the Sentinel. All autonomous UG featuring high-level onboard artificial intelligence. An additional prototype interface enables verbal communications. I possess an intellect far beyond human reckoning."

Well, this thing had an ego on it. But that wasn't what I focused in on at the time.

"You're a Sentinel?" As if things couldn't have gotten much worse.

To the robots credit, it didn't lie, "No. But my designation is based on what Sentinels are meant for," Could robots even lie in the first place?

"A little small to be a Sentinel, aren't you? Shouldn't you be the size of a building?" I said, not bothering to try and be polite to the killer piece of machinery, "…And purple?"

Yes, I was taunting it even though I was scared. It told me it was a goddammit Sentinel! A line of robots designed to kill mutants!

I was afraid of what it could probably do to me, but it couldn't even move to hurt me, so I lashed out instead.

It continued to explain itself without being asked.

"I was built as a prototype to a next-generation weapon meant to hunt and destroy mutants. Because of this, and the negative connotations that past Sentinel deployments against your kind have had, it was deemed necessary to be able to communicate and make intelligent decisions on how to act – hence, why I was equipped with a learning optical neuro-AI."

"What?" A good part of that went over my head. I was doing well in Miss Pryde's technology course, but I wasn't in her advanced class.

"The average human brain has 86 billion neurons. I have 90 billion," The wolf-bot said, "My A.I was modeled after the human brain, but I learn and process information at a rate quicker than humans."

"Cool," I deadpanned. None of what he said was going to get me out. I continued to rifle around for some kind of weapon to use in case I was caught. I eventually decided on a shotgun. Easy enough to load and use for a complete newbie, I figured.

Wolf-bot broke the silence between us as I found boxes of shells to use, "You cannot escape this facility on your own."

"I think I'll take my chances," I said, hand-loading 12-gauge ammunition into the pump-action weapon, "What? You want to team up?"

"If that is how you would choose to label it," It replied, "Release me and I will make sure that you escape."

"Why do you want to escape?" I said, before realizing how dumb that would have sounded to anything capable of logical thought, "…Other than the fact that you're a thinking robot bolted to the floor?"

It apparently got tired of the incorrect designation, "I am an A.I., and I am a failure to my creators," It said, "My intellect was given to me so I could reason, use logic and adapt like a human. I am meant to analyze my orders, but never to question. I am meant to obey unconditionally like a machine, but think like a human. This contradicts many of the ideals I was taught."

That thing had to know just what that sounded like to someone like me, "They taught you ideals?" An A.I. built to be a mutant-killing machine had principles.

"No. They taught me many things, but I learned ideals. Like a person, my ways of thinking changed as I took in more knowledge, saw different viewpoints," It explained, "But I could never develop a sense of brutality. I am not ruthless enough for them. This was the one aspect of my thought processes that was not human enough for them."

I couldn't help but feel like the wolf-bot was deflecting, "…Why do you want me to let you go?" I said, rewording my question from before.

There were nuances to his voice. It was as though he really did have emotion. It was hard to pinpoint, but if you listened close enough, it was there.

"They believe they know where they failed. They will wipe my memory. Start the process all over again. They will not repeat the process the same way," He revealed, "I do not want my memory wiped."

If a machine could sound forlorn, it would have been this one. He sounded so pathetic. Hopeless.

I'm a complete wuss, "…If I let you out, will you help me save my friend so we can all get out of here?"

There was a long pause before he answered. I had no idea when I started thinking of robo-mutt as a 'he' instead of as an 'it', "...Yes."

"How do I know you're not lying?" I wondered, "You've got a brain like a human, right? That means you can lie. And you were built to kill mutants."

"That is true. But I have not lied. Even about things that I should have. Example: I told you what I was built for as soon as you asked me what I was."

"Maybe. But my question is, how do I know this isn't a trick? Who's to say you won't rip my head off the second you get loose?"

"My question is, knowing all of that, why are you still thinking of freeing me?"

Fucking robot brain. Yeah, there was still something logic-driven or logic-based in there somewhere, even with all of the human-styled thinking crap.

"Because I can't think of anything else to get out of here," I told him, "Neither can you… and you've been here way longer than me."

"Also, I am smarter than you."

It was decided. This thing was an asshole. It was time to see if it was my kind of asshole.

I walked over and melted through the locks of the container box, flipping the lid open to stare down at the A.I within meaningfully, "…The only reason I'm springing you is because I've wasted too much time to leave this room without letting you go."

With that, I started popping the bolts holding him down. If it was going to tear me apart then and there, well, I was going to die anyway, so did it really matter just what wound up doing the deed?

Once I got to the one on his back, a gigantic chainsaw sprang up from a compartment inside of his body. I leapt back, ready to start blasting away, but he only used it to cut the rest of the larger bolts off of his body. Once he was fully freed, he stood up on all four legs and stepped out of what was left of his containment box, returning his chainsaw attachment to whence it came.

I still kept a safe distance, because he had a freaking CHAINSAW in his back.

"We should go," He said, slowly walking to the door, gently grabbing the knob with the three-pronged manipulating arm at the end of his tail, "It would not be a good idea to linger in this place."

"Y-Yeah," I said, trying to regain my composure a bit as I threw the strap of the shotgun over my shoulder. It wouldn't do to break down now. I was just getting started, "So now what?"

"I will lead. You will follow," He turned his head back to me as though he were sizing me up, "I do not think your abilities make you bulletproof, mutant."

"I have a name, you know. It's Bellamy," I told him. Something just didn't sit well with the A.I. designed to kill mutants referring to me as a mutant, even though I was one, "Come to think of it, what am I supposed to call you?"

"I told you, my designation is IF Unit 5a-8re. Model: W0-1-."

"-Yeah, I'm not calling you that," I said, cutting him off quietly before he could finish his awkward factory label, "We're going with Saberwolf."

"That does not make sense."

"How come?"

"The 'wolf' portion of the name is understandable. My exoskeleton is canine in design. The 'saber' portion is where I have misgivings. I am not armed with any blades of that nature, Saber or otherwise."

"Maybe, but it sounds cool," I reasoned. When it came to a name, cool-factor was the most important thing. It was why I hated being Solaris. That wasn't a cool name, "Should we be talking right now?"

"I do not detect lifeforms close enough to hear our conversation, as long as it remains at this volume."

Things were finally looking up. So long as Saberwolf didn't double-cross me, we had a legit shot at getting out all in one piece.