Disclaimer: This story contains characters and situations copyright Capcom.

This story will update every week on Monday. Special thanks to Jetfire for the idea/inspiration, and Okamikai for the lovely cover art. Cheers!

As they filed in, they brought their chatter with them. "…look, I try, but it's so hard to be humble…"

A sigh. "'When you're perfect in every way'?"

A grin. "You said it, not me."

"I guess we'll know in a few hours, huh?"

And,

"You reek. Were you out all night?"

"Yeah… and don't talk so loud."

"You're not hungover. You're still drunk."

"Don't worry about it. I had a pot of coffee on my way in today."

"Oh, great, so you're drunk and hyper. Much better."

"Screw you."

"Seriously, you are not doing this drunk."

"I sure ain't doin' it sober."

"If you puke while you're in the lab, you'll be so fired your whole family will be unemployed."

"Then maybe I'll be your remote support. No need to go in the lab."

"Guys," said a more authoritative voice, "you're running behind. Get a move on."

"Like it matters. He's not going anywhere. There's no technical reason to work the timing like this."

"Technical reasons aren't the only ones that matter. You know that."

"Whatever. Let's just get this done."

"That's what I've been saying…"

Knock knock.

Dr. Cain panicked. His hand smacked at the monitor's power button. Only when the schematics had disappeared from the screen did he call, "Come in."

"Good morning," was the chipper greeting from the doorway.

"X!" said Dr. Cain. "I was just thinking to myself how you never call these days."

"Hopefully that doesn't detract from my being here now," X replied.

"I supposed it meant things were exceptionally calm. We're not due for another war, are we?"

X winced. "Too far."

"It's hard to tell sometimes."

"And you know things aren't calm right now. They're never that calm. It's always something."

Cain huffed. "Sorry for not being gracious," he said grudgingly.

"Don't worry about it." X grabbed a chair and sat down opposite Cain.

The human keyed on that immediately. "You don't have to sit," he said. "I know it doesn't make you comfortable."

"I want us to be on the same level," X replied.

Cain smiled. "Very good. A subtle declaration of equality built in to a gesture to become non-threatening. I like it. You're getting better at this."

X sighed. "Do we have to parse everything, even between us?"

"That sort of parsing happens all the time, anyway," Cain pointed out. "The people who think they're not doing it are just doing it subconsciously. We should make an effort to be conscious of it. That lets us understand it, and so control it."

"You know how I feel on this subject," X said wearily. "I don't like the idea of manipulating people."

"It's not manipulation. It's influencing. Much softer."

"I like to think my arguments stand on their own merits," X said. "At least, they should be able to, if there's any truth to them."

"Ah, but that's just it," said Cain. "The people who want bad things—who want things their way—they'll be trying to influence like crazy. If you can't fight back in the same terms, you're at a disadvantage that makes it harder for your argument to hit home."

X waved a hand vaguely in the air. "So you're my sophist, teaching me rhetoric so I can fight the clouds?"

Cain knew not to get suckered into historical-philosophical-whatever conversations with X. "It's like why you started fighting. Righteousness is good and all, but you had to throw your power into the balance for it to stop Sigma."

"Ah," said X, as if understanding him for the first time. "So that's why you helped the government design and build a new combat reploid."

Cain's cheer vanished. "I don't know what you're talking about."

X held Cain's gaze with his own even as his arm moved. The distraction tactic worked well enough that X's hand was on the monitor before Cain realized the danger. "No, don't touch—"

Too late. The screen flickered to life, showing a schematic of a warbot. "What's this?" X asked innocently.

Cain crossed his arms. "Fine, go ahead and look. Indulge yourself."

"Thank you." X hummed gently as he scooted his chair closer. Cain stewed. The really frustrating part of it all, he thought to himself, was how harmless X seemed, how happy he was when talking about children. It was hard to stay angry at him.

"Very high-end," X said. "No expenses spared… I think, anyway. I am lapsed in my certs."

"I can't imagine why," Cain said drily.

X gave a tight smile. "Looks like you used me as the base… but there's some different—ah. Here it looks like you were borrowing design principles from Zero."

"To the extent we understand him."

"What was the charter? Or did they just give you free rein to do whatever you wanted?"

"There is no free rein in my life," Cain said, and it was only afterwards that he realized how bitter he sounded. "Yes, there was a charter. An ar-and-dee charter, mind you, since they don't trust me to actually build anything. 'Develop a design for a high performance combat reploid with leadership responsibilities.' They even gave me a name for the design—Colonel."

"You don't even get to name him. Ouch."

"Says the bot who only sort-of has a name, Mister Variable."

X frowned, though Cain knew it wasn't at their running joke. "This isn't your style," he said, pointing at a part of Colonel's head. "What is this?"

"The Escape," Cain said with a roll of his eyes.

"The what?"

"The Evolved Suffering Circuit. But some people do love their acronyms, so it became ee-ess-see, and then someone looked at a keyboard, and now it's "escape"."

"It's better than Kernel," said X charitably.

"That's not saying much."

X frowned. "I know I'm lapsed in my certs, but I don't know why this is here. Especially why it's so… over-engineered."

"It's because of the Zero-esque design elements. And the way they've built his mind at a software level. I know you can't see that in the schematics, so I'll tell you. They're deviating from the template we created once upon a time. They're hard-coding some of his personality parameters."

X blanched, as Cain knew he would. "How? It makes a difference. I can think of three ways they might have done that. Tell me they didn't choose to…"

"…Replace the personality generator completely? Why, yes, I think they did."

"No," X groaned. "That's the bad way to do it. The personality generator helps regulate a reploid's development. Without it, the factory settings stick too much."

"Well, they're certain that they've got the factory settings right. Or at least, they're certain they've got the factory settings they want. And that makes everything okay!"

X's eyes closed. "Your sarcasm is thicker than usual today."

"Sorry. No I'm not. The point is—I'm with you. It looks like hubris. But that would fit."

"What do you mean? Why are they insisting on this?"

"They think they can inoculate against Maverickism. Or at least against Sigma's brand of it."

X gave a sharp look at that. "How?"

"Pride. Martial pride, in this case. Sigma's at his most effective when he's bringing pride to those who've never had any before. By building pride into this design, they want to make it hard for Sigma to gain any traction."

"Martial pride," X repeated. "Oh. Oh! Not Kernel. Colonel."

"He's not even activated yet and you're wearing out his name."

"Sorry, I misheard… wait." He frowned; when his voice returned, it was much slower. "We don't have Colonels in the Maverick Hunters."

"No, you don't."

"But he's not being built for the Maverick Hunters, is he?"

Cain grinned. "You are so very clever."

The indirectness of it made X sigh. "You're under non-disclosure, aren't you?"

"Yes, but we've come this far already, so screw it. They're calling it Repliforce. This—" he gestured at the schematic—"is their commanding officer. Or will be, once they activate him."

"Why build a new organization when the Hunters already… oh." He looked at the schematic again. "Maverickism. Hunters have gone Maverick. Just months ago was the latest example, when Mack helped Doppler start the Third War. If they think pride is the way to beat Maverickism, they can't compromise that pride with a history of failure."

"And wouldn't you know," Cain said with a malicious twinkle in his eye, "not a single member of Repliforce has ever gone Maverick, ever! Isn't that remarkable?"

"Repliforce doesn't exist yet, of course none of them have gone Maverick."

"Don't bother me with trifles," Cain said with a dismissive hand-sweep. "It's sure not stopping the government. They've scheduled him to activate at 5:55 pm, on May the fifth- that's five fives, in case you were counting- so that they can summarize it with a hand gesture." Cain raised two fingers in a 'v' shape. "This is supposed to be step one in stopping Maverickism for good. That's why the 'v' for victory."

"Didn't someone once say that the hen is the wisest of all animals, because she only clucks after the egg is laid?"

"Lincoln did. This is what happens when people take freshman English but skip sophomore history."

X seemed to gather himself. Cain noticed, and smiled. He couldn't wait to see what was on X's mind. "Maybe I overvalue variability—with my name, maybe I have to, just like you said. But to define a person so narrowly, and clip their growth… even if that were a good idea in isolation, and at first blush it looks like a terrible idea, it's even worse for a leader. A leader has to be flexible. If your personality locks you into a general approach, you're guaranteed to encounter situations you can't deal with. That's acceptable for the rank and file, but not for the one directing the rank and file."

Cain beamed at him. "Bravo, X! That's a brilliant analysis. Of course, I think it's brilliant because I happen to agree with it. But that takes us back to the Escape. Your suffering circuit is what gives you your empathy. You can model the emotions of others and feel their pain as if it were yours. It's hard to be a moral being without that ability.

"In their minds, amping up the suffering circuit gives back some of the lost flexibility. It keeps the pride in check- at least a little bit- by forcing Colonel to consider others more than a typical reploid would. Why, you should feel flattered. They were trying to adopt your model of a strong conscience regulating great power."

X peered at the design. "But my suffering circuit isn't external like that," he objected. "It's integrated at a lower level. In fact…" His concern deepened. "If I read this right, the input is at the conscious level. And it's so…" He waved his hand, trying to come up with the right word. "…loud."

Cain leaned back. "Welcome to my world. I sit here and see the products of everyone else messing up. And I can't do anything about it. 'I have no mouth and I must scream'."

"Ellison," X noted. "Is that why you helped with Colonel? To show them how it's done?"

"I do have pride of my own," Cain said ambiguously. This wasn't fun any more. He suddenly felt exposed. He wanted to be alone, but he could hardly say that to X now.

"Oh… it was my fault, wasn't it?"

"Eh?" said Cain, caught off-guard.

"You were lonely. You wanted other people in your life. Even if it was for someone else, if you could build someone to fill the hole…"

"Stop. Your guilt complex makes me nauseous. It's like you were the sole survivor of a bombing at a Catholic church. Listen, I've been alone my whole life. I've made a lifestyle of being misunderstood. Those things don't really bother me."

"I don't like it when you lie to me," X said reproachfully.

"Hush. The reason I went along with this little project is the same as ever—the same reason I went looking for you, the same reason I built reploids, the…" Cain felt the agitation spilling out of him. "…the same reason that being reduced to a, a glorified mechanic is the most exquisite torture they could have conceived for me."

"Advancing the science of robotics," X said with a wry smile.

"No offense to you, X, but this-" he gestured all around him, "-is not how I'd prefer to spend my time. In-house technical consultant to the Maverick Hunters… ha! I want to be doing—"

"—this," said X, pointing at the schematic. "They gave you carte blanche to make the best reploid you could. So you took the chance to push the limits again. To break all the old patterns one more time. That's why you leaned so heavily on Zero's design elements. You wanted to introduce new and different tech."

"And because he's a gorgeous specimen of a warbot," Cain added, "but yes. Miscegenation would be the term, if you and Zero were human. Which, predictably, scared them."

X nodded with familiarity. "So they had to go back and find ways to limit your advances, bring the design back in a more comfortable direction. And you got to be misunderstood, again, which is your actual comfort zone."

Cain grinned. "I'd almost take offense to that, if there were less truth in it. Yes, those scaredy-cats saw so much Zero that they panicked. Too much Zero, they thought, better add some X back in. Idiots."

X laughed. He raised his hands as if to put Cain's face in a frame. "No wonder they brought you in on this. Who better to build a robot defined by pride?"

"I didn't have anything to do with that," Cain rumbled. "That wasn't my design choice. I learned that lesson."

He didn't elaborate, and he was happy when X decided not to ask. Cain wondered if X knew what he'd meant, or if he was just too polite to pry.

Sigma.

Sigma was the last reploid Cain had been allowed to build personally, before the First Maverick War had caused the government to rescind every last one of Cain's licenses. Sigma—a reploid whose pride was so intense it had taken on a life of its own. So intense the government had felt the need to provide new robots with built-in inoculation.

"Anyway," Cain said, more moderately, "they shoot horses that break their legs. It's an act of mercy. If an animal lives for a thing, then can't do that thing…"

"'Specialization is for insects'," X countered.

"Heinlein," Cain mumbled. "Touché."

X smiled. Then his eyes touched Cain's clock, and the smile fell. "I've got another obligation," he said regretfully. "Talking to you is fun, and you know what they say."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Cain growled. "No, no, that's not it. I've got it. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me."

X winced. "I promise not to let it go so long between visits this time, Mr. Loneliness-doesn't-bother-me."

Cain's brow relaxed. "A watched pot never boils."

"The pleasure's mine, Dr. Cain."

Cain didn't watch X go. He hated departures. He turned to the monitor and started looking again. Not at anything specific, though. Nothing caught his eye.

"You know…" X's voice, coming from the doorway. Cain looked that way. "Signas is coming along quickly. He's been fast-tracked for a command role."

"You say that like I care," Cain said gruffly. "Why would I care about some random reploid? I wouldn't. I don't care."

X's mouth did not move. He seemed to smile with his eyes alone. "I was just making conversation."

"Hey, X," Cain said before X got out the door. "You're not cutting him any slack, are you?"

"Why would I cut him slack?"

"I know you. You can get so sentimental, sometimes."

That eye-smile again. "He's holding his own. When he's commander of the Hunters, I won't mind serving under him."

Cain sniffed. "That's fine, then. So long as you're satisfied."

X smiled fully that time before shutting the door.

Cain managed to restrain himself for a few seconds before his smile blossomed. "That's my boy," he purred. Whistling tunelessly, he turned back to the monitor once more.

Zero grunted as plasma washed over his armor. The reploid who'd shot him panicked when Zero didn't stop. He should have known better. It would have taken much more than that to genuinely harm the Red Demon.

Before his armor had cooled Zero was inside the range of the reploid's buster. A sweep of Zero's saber cleaved the Maverick in twain.

No time to pause, or even check to make sure the Maverick was really dead—Zero was pushing onwards already, pressed for time. Powerful, booster-assisted legs sent him hurtling forward. His peripheral vision blurred as he accelerated down the street.

'Where is he?' Zero thought as he dashed. He had no power to spare to charge a buster shot, but he kept an unlit saber gripped tight in his hand. 'Which side of the street?'

That one.

With a boom and a rumble, a hulking form crashed through a building and into Zero's view. Dust and rubble billowed around the oversized humanoid and its so-distinct head.

Sigma!

Hatred coursed through Zero's body—but he capped it, pushed it back down. Contained it. Harnessed it.

Sigma was still obscured by the dust, but Zero didn't slow down even a little bit. When Sigma swung, wielding some kind of flail, Zero ducked under it. Only sheer velocity kept him from hitting the ground.

As he passed, he ignited the saber and held it out. He didn't swing it so much as he dragged it against his foe's torso in passing. An inconvenient wound, but not a mortal one; he had no time for more.

His next stride put so much force against the pavement that he cracked the concrete. Zero didn't just recover his stride; he pushed up and twisted into a spin, like a figure skater who's about to blow out her knee. A buster shot rang out and pelted the back of Sigma's leg. Zero knew in advance it wouldn't cripple, but if it slowed him a little it'd be good enough.

Zero finished his twist-spin, coming down facing his original direction, and surged back up to full speed.

There!

The target was coming into view. A reploid that looked vaguely like Tunnel Rhino was closing on a group of helpless, cowering humans. The range was extreme but evaporating quickly. Zero slowed just enough to start charging a shot. A little more… a little more… no, too much… perfect.

At 150 meters, Zero planted his feet, leveled his buster, and unleashed a carefully calibrated mid-strength plasma bolt. The shot struck the Maverick's head, penetrated its armor—and did no more. No energy escaped. The Maverick didn't fall down or explode. It just stopped.

Zero didn't have time to savor this. The flail was coming at him again. He dodged as the capacitors in his arms began to whine again. "Die, Zero!" bellowed Sigma as he whipped the flail around.

Zero dodged backwards—one shot, then two burned into Sigma's chest—he spun around the flail—and then a saber-first lunge impaled Sigma with fiery death.

Zero's anger boiled over. "You first," he spat. He tore the saber free.

Sigma collapsed.

It took a moment for Zero to regain his composure. Then he replaced his saber, looked upwards, and called, "Grade!"

"One hundred percent," was the reply.

All around Zero, photons fizzled and dissipated. When matters calmed, Zero was standing in a featureless black room. A door opened, breaking the monotony; Zero took it.

"One hundred percent?!" exclaimed the trainer operator. "It's supposed to be impossible to ace that scenario."

"The fixes they made were lazy ones," Zero replied with contempt. His mind was still roiling with leftover anger. "They cost me a few percent last time by changing the range to Tunnel Rhino. It made it harder to get to him and took me longer to get an accurate shot."

"But you solved that this time," the operator said.

"Yes, by disregarding all else for speed," Zero said. His hand tightened. "I would never act like that outside the simulator. In there, I'm willing to take a hit to save a few seconds, but only because I know what I'm up against. On a Hunt, I never would. This is negative training- worse than useless."

Turning on the spot, Zero stalked away. He was still angry. This was unusual, he was pretty sure. It was hard to tell, admittedly—so hard to recall any non-combat data—but he was fairly certain. Normally, even seeing Sigma didn't keep his angry this long, especially when it was just a simulation.

He stopped when he realized he didn't know where he was going.

Disorientation overtook him. He knew the layout of Hunter Base, that was sure, but for the life of him he didn't know where in Hunter Base he was supposed to go now. Nor did he know what he'd do whenever he got to the place he didn't know to go.

With a shake, Zero realized he had much bigger problems than anger. He wasn't really angry—he'd held on to that because it beat the alternative. Anger was easy to understand and manage. It was a simple negative feedback loop. It was an emotion that spurred him to act to remove the source of the anger. It helped him focus.

No, he wasn't angry. It was much, much worse than that. He was bored.

He didn't know how to deal with that. He couldn't attack the cause because boredom arises from absence. And he couldn't even define it properly, because words like "existential angst" weren't in his dictionary.

X—he needed X. X would know what to do. But… where was X?

A frown on his face, Zero started running.

"Something's wrong. We're not reaching cognition milestones."

"Boot up's still proceeding."

"How? There's a dependency—"

"Getting errors. We're stalling out."

"What errors?"

"I don't know, I don't recognize these codes."

"Look 'em up. Everyone, we're at all stop while we figure this out."

"No we're not."

"Don't you dare try to push forward with this."

"I'm not. I'm saying we're going backwards."

Necks craned toward the speaker. "What do you mean?"

"The personality matrix is destabilizing. We're devolving."

"Stop it!"

"How?"

"Okay, we're backing out of this procedure. Take us back to stage one awareness."

"We never actually got to stage one. Never made it stick. We've been bouncing off of it…"

"Losing control—I'm locked out!"

"I've got a loop… shifting to safe mode to try and get out of it…"

"This isn't supposed to be happening!"

"Alright, everyone, I want to lock down to stage zero. Get me opinions in three minutes as to whether we can do that safely."

Three minutes of silence went by.

"Alright, talk to me."

The four other roboticists looked at the lead with varying flavors of confusion and uncertainty. Finally one managed to say, "Maybe?"

Anxiety was eating Zero up. Where was X? Not in the lab, not in the library, not in the tube, not in the...

Zero smacked himself in the face and changed direction. X didn't go on patrol for its own sake like Zero did; he wasn't so desperate for action that he actively sought out trouble. Usually he was part of the ready reserve to respond to important Hunts on demand. However, there was a requirement for all Hunters to go on patrol from time to time, to maintain proficiency. Was this his night?

Zero barreled onto the Hunter watch floor. As ever, it was in the process of being rebuilt- the Third Maverick War had started with Doppler's puppets blitzing Hunter Base, and the Watch Floor had been a target. Half the consoles were in some state of disassembly, and one of the walls was still all temporary materials.

Only one Operator was on the floor, which, Zero realized belatedly, made sense given the hour. Alia- Zero felt a moment of relief when the name came up readily- was at one of the fully-functional consoles. Her eyes did not leave her screen when Zero came in.

"Alia," he began, "I'm looking for..."

"Hold please," she said tersely, and held a finger to the side of her head. It surprised Zero. Usually he had an Operator's full attention the instant he demanded it. "Alright," she said, clearly not to Zero, "based on that we'll go with route option bee... Roger."

She lowered her finger and looked to Zero. "Yes, sir?"

"Is X on patrol?" The words fairly burst from Zero's mouth.

"Yes," Alia replied, pointing to dots on her screen. "I was working with him, in fact. He's been designing dynamic patrol series. He wants to combine the functions of the patrols so we can get more..."

She kept on speaking, but she sounded to Zero like she was very far away. On one level, the things she was saying were probably interesting; Zero cared alot about patrols and reconnaissance and the like, so much so he'd helped write Hunter doctrine on those topics. Tonight, none of it was as important as the fact that X wasn't where Zero could reach him. (It didn't even occur to Zero to contact X by radio. Distracting X when he was in a potential combat scenario? If the thought had occurred to Zero, he would have abhorred it.)

He wondered for a moment if he should try talking to Alia. No. She wouldn't understand. She was a reploid, just like all the others in the city, and Zero wasn't. Listen to her! She had a place- she belonged- she had links to others. Zero didn't. The job was it, and X. Hunting and his one friend, that was his whole world. That was all he understood.

Alia was still talking. She might as well have been whistling or making birdsong for how much sense it made to Zero. Frustration!

Zero's hands itched.

On an instinctive level, he wanted to... wanted to...

No. Something else. Anything else.

Zero had been dealing with this for years, he wouldn't slip up and disgrace himself now. Nothing must endanger his staying with the Hunters...

What was wrong with him tonight?

He was keeping his usual rigid control of his face and posture, but inside he was a rockslide. He noticed Alia had stopped talking. Wrong-footed, he reached for a response. "Helping X out is always important. Anything you're doing to help him, you should... keep doing."

Alia smiled, though Zero couldn't understand why. "I will."

He tried to think of something else to say. When the seconds extended, he gave up, and turned to leave.

"Hey, sir. If you ever need anything..."

He looked back at her. Alia's mouth was open, but no sound came out. "Yes?" he prompted. Whoops- too harsh.

"Never mind," she said. "It's nothing. Have a nice night."

Disappointment swept through Zero, though he honestly couldn't have said what he'd been hoping for. He gave her a curt nod and exited the command center.

He was supposed to be doing something! He needed a Hunt, needed a war... no, no, no, X wouldn't like that. War was bad, Zero reminded himself half-heartedly. But if not that, what else was there? Maybe Rekir knew something... no, that wouldn't work either. Rekir had had his patrol early in the day, and had spent the rest of normal working hours doing Zero's paperwork. He was in the tube now, and he needed to be or he wouldn't be ready for his patrol the next day.

Well, there was an option. Zero could go to his tube. He didn't need to, exactly, he could go for a while on the power he had. Still... he wouldn't be bored... The tube was like a time machine. He could go into it, and come back into a different world.

But there was a cost. His tube wasn't a restful place for him these days.

Almost without realizing it, his feet had taken him to the squad leader's dorm. A central, high-ceilinged common room was ringed with two floors' worth of doors, each leading to small private rooms. Those were so small that they could hold a tube and a desk and little else- Hunter Base expanded after every war, but there never seemed to be any more room. Still, the fact that they were private meant a lot. Hunter leadership put a premium on the mental health of the squad leaders. Which, ultimately, was futile as long as Zero was a squad leader.

Warily, the warbot went to the first room on the right. A large brass labelplate with engraved numbers "00" was on the door. X's, Zero knew, was on the second floor all the way to the left, and had "17" on its labelplate. Zero fancied he could feel how empty X's room was. It was deflating.

He looked at the tube as if it were a trap, but he clambered in even so. Well, he thought to himself, at least it wouldn't be boring.

The phone rang. Dr. Cain had answered before the first ring had finished. "Yes?"

"Dr. Cain, this is Dr. Noventa. I'm on the Colonel project. We need you to send over all the documentation you have on the Colonel design."

"When do you need it by?"

"As soon as possible."

"It was a trick question," Cain said sharply. "You already have copies of all my data. Right from the start I've had full disclosure. But now I know you're in a hurry." He glanced at a clock while speaking, so the lackey on the other side would have no opening. "It is now seven-twenty-three. That's well after five-fifty-five, which was the designated time for Colonel to activate. From the urgency of your call, and what you asked for, I'm guessing the activation isn't going as planned."

Cain's voice went from sword-sharp to scalpel-sharp—more precise and cutting than ever. "Only one question remains. Am I your Hail Mary solution, or are you looking for a scapegoat for your failure?"

"We… uh… hold on."

Seconds later, a different voice came over the phone. "Dr. Cain," it said gravely.

Cain wanted to reply, Ah, Barnum, how appropriate you're in charge of this clown-show—but he didn't. He restrained himself to a terse, "Yes?"

"We have some questions about your Colonel design."

Cain rolled his eyes. "I just had this discussion with your lackey. Do you want my help or not?"

"That 'lackey' is a highly trained roboticist. He thought calling you was a waste of time. This attitude of yours is why."

That made it clear enough to Dr. Cain. Barnum wouldn't have called Cain just to throw him under the bus—he'd have gone ahead and done it. Instead, he was doing something he found distasteful. Which meant…

Cain softened his words. "For Colonel's sake, I'll help you in any way I can. What's the problem?"

"We can't get to level one awareness. We keep bouncing off. The personality matrix won't coalesce. Without it, higher functions can't even get started."

"He doesn't know who he is," Cain murmured, "which means he doesn't know how to think."

"That shouldn't be true, though. That's what's so frustrating! We removed variability in the initialization process. This should be the easy part."

"Alright," Cain said determinedly. "I'm coming over."

"You're—what?"

"I'm coming to your location," Cain repeated. "I'll have to be at your lab for this. I can't do all of this over the phone, and if we're slinging code on the fly I'll need physical access. No way our nets are connected. I have to come to you."

"…I thought you were under work arrest."

Now, Cain knew, was not the time to get into a discussion of his legal status, or if "work arrest" was an actual thing. "I've pre-arranged for a Hunter escort. I'll be in Hunter custody the whole time. That'll buy us enough benefit of the doubt to save Colonel. They can re-arrest me afterwards if they please. Oh," he added, "if you really want to get ahead of the game, you need to beg, borrow, or steal a reploid body with an internal transmitter. That's essential to what we need to do."

"How—why?"

Cain sighed, and gave himself a short sermon on patience. "I can explain over the phone, thus delaying both of us, or I can call you from a cell phone after I'm on the way."

"I don't know where I can find a body."

Cain grit his teeth. This was one reason he hated working with Barnum. His favorite bureaucratic tactic was willful incompetence. If he disagreed with what other people wanted, suddenly he couldn't do anything.

For Colonel, Cain thought to himself, and once more he checked his preferred response. "I'll be there inside of an hour," he said instead. "I'll call you on the way. If you won't take me on faith, I'll explain it to you then."

"…alright."

Unwilling to entertain more delays, Cain hung up, surged to his feet—and staggered, barely catching himself on his desk. His back immediately complained. "Ow!" he let out, and reached for his cane. "I am getting too old for this kind of game." He chuckled. "Still, compared to what's about to happen, forcing this stubborn, stiff body to comply… that's almost easy."

He took a moment to catch his breath, then started hobbling his way out.

To be continued...