He stepped out of the crew quarters, boots echoing as he made his way down into the lower decks of the Ark.
"Not at all. You're the one who flew to a heavily fortified headquarters with zero plan and zero fucks," R/CO replied over the secure line. "You're lucky I even accepted your payment."
"Not accepting money? That's totally unlike you." Tex scoffed. "If I didn’t think that was out of some semblance of concern, I’d be insulted by your lack of faith."
"Faith isn’t in my programming, Tex. I play the odds. And this op?" A pause crackled through the comms. "The odds aren’t good."
"I appreciate the reminder about my odds... but I think you forget—"
"How many times do I have to tell you?" R/CO cut in. "‘Fighting with style’ doesn’t improve your odds of survival." His voice turned sharp. "You’ve made your point. You can still turn around. Walk away with your head held high."
"R/CO... turning around would insult Bandstand’s memory. And that’s the last thing I’m gonna do."
"Bandstand’s memory? That’s gurneyboy talk, man." R/CO replied with a doubtful tone. "And last time I checked your specs, you were 100% circuits. You need a recalibration or something?"
"Far from it. I’ve never felt more sure about something in my life," Tex said with conviction.
"That’s just it. You don’t feel," R/CO snapped. "You process."
Tex’s jaw tensed. "Well... look, man. I don’t have to explain myself to you. All I’m asking is for you to back me up." He took a breath. "So go ahead. Try and dissuade me all you want. I ain’t leaving."
He only heard a sigh of defeat on the other side of the radio, the crackle of the channel seeming to last for a few extra seconds before R/CO replied, "Alright, the choice is yours, man...." He says simply, adding, "Guess all I can do is try my best to make sure you don't die out there... and besides.... it just means more of your credits in my account."
"And here I almost thought you cared." Tex replied before stopping dead in his tracks, seeing nothing but water in the staircase below him. "Now I really wish I picked up those waterproof seals..."
"So... I think the reactor coolant has gotten loose..." He said as he looked down at the water, holding out his hand and hearing his gieger counter going crazy, "Oh yeah, we're not going down there..."
"That would explain why Reactor 5 is offline." R/CO replied, "And from those geiger readings, the coolant loop had a breach before it escaped containment. Recommendation: don't go in there."
"Oh thanks, Fermi, I didn't know that'd be bad for me. I wanted to go for a swim!" Tex sassed back.
"Analyzing your frame... you could probably operate down there— five minutes tops—before your systems start tripping failsafes. I'd get back up that ladder real quick," R/CO warned.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm headed up," Tex relented, making his way back toward the next stairwell. His Geiger counter eased into a faint tick.
"Hmm... they laid lead down on the deck..." he muttered, eyeing the dark metal panels embedded in the floor.
"This must’ve been an issue for a while."
Right… not his problem to solve— but definitely his to get around.
The stakes were higher now. One wrong turn, and he’d walk straight into a hot zone. He exhaled sharply, the sound of his breath echoing in his helmet as he brought up his diagnostics.
Uplink status: offline.
Stolen novel; please report.
He still had long-range radio comms, but his satellite connection was dead. No data. No pings. No maps updating.
“Great,” he muttered. “Flying blind in a leaky microwave.”
If he wanted fresh intel, he’d need height—altitude meant signal.
Time to climb.
He moved upward, floor by floor—D1, then C3, C2, C1.
The air grew thinner. Dust clung to every surface like ash. His servos gave a low, strained whine with each step.
At the stairwell to B3, he stopped.
Something caught his eye—a body, slumped against the wall.
Not a morph. Not a drone.
Human.
The uniform was chewed up, riddled with holes. The jaw hung open slack, eyes glassy and fixed.
The radiation must’ve stalled the rot.
Even in death, he looked caught off guard.
Tex crouched beside him, fingers brushing aside scorched fabric. A rusted sidearm lay in the man’s grip—rough but serviceable. He reached for the dogtags.
As he tugged, the head lolled forward—
—then dropped clean off.
A stump stared back.
Tex winced, muttering, "Well, that’s not ideal."
He turned the tags over in his hand:
James “Sarge” Smith
Black Suns
159423AW
"Rest in peace, James," he said, sliding the pistol into his waistband. He racked the slide, letting the soft click-clack echo into the quiet.
Always good to have a backup.
Just in case.
One deck creaked louder than the rest. A pipe hissed, venting steam across a broken sign.
Then A3, A2—
And finally, A1.
He paused, one hand gripping a bulkhead.
He was as high as he could get without breaking through the hull.
"How’s the signal, little Warbride?" came a familiar voice over the radio.
Tex let out a beleaguered sigh.
"Lemme guess. Satellite blackout?"
He leaned back against the hull, letting himself breathe—just long enough to refocus.
"Ja, mein Frau," Helga teased, smug and sultry through the static.
He rolled his eyes.
"Bitch, I’m surprised your refueler hasn’t fallen off. Don’t pull that mein Frau shit on me. I mean, don't you have an appointment at the old morph's home?"
"Little Warbride," Helga purred. "Mine’s still bigger than yours. You know that damn well. You weren’t complaining when it was tanks-deep in your throat, back under my desk."
Tex’s jaw clenched.
"Yeah. When your CO corners you and makes it clear that saying no isn’t an option? You shut up and service the refueler. Real easy calculus when the alternative’s a bullet."
Silence hung on the line for a moment.
Then, R/CO said quietly, almost like he was scared she might hear him.
"You too, huh?"
Tex paused.
He didn’t respond right away. Just stared down the corridor, eyes catching on a blinking hazard light that pulsed like a failing heartbeat.
"...Yeah."
It was all he said.
And all he needed to.
"Helga," Tex drawled, venom and grit grinding in his throat.
"You ever get those dinky aux tanks of yours checked? ‘Cause last I looked, mine were packing double the payload. And when this is over..."
He let the words hang like smoke.
"...I want your shade smeared across both. Better wear the black—kisses’ll pop better off my tanks."
"Savage," R/CO muttered, the smile practically audible through the static.
Helga let out a low, hollow laugh, voice curling like smoke.
"We’ll see about that, little Warbride... For now, let’s find out how well you fight with your little friend feeding you intel."
A pause. A purr.
"Tell R/CO I said hi—"
Then came the voice.
Over R/CO’s frequency.
"Oh wait..."
The tone was sickly sweet, full of rot.
"...I don’t have to."
Another pause.
"Hi, my little wheel-licker," she purred.
Tex froze.
The dread hit like cold oil through his coolant lines.
His intel was compromised. Every circuit screamed: Abort. Retreat.
But he didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
"Wh—how did she know?" he hissed. "You said this frequency was encrypted!"
A crackle. Then Helga’s voice, smooth as a blade:
"Encryption can be cracked, mein Frau... I can thank Dollface for that."
She let the name linger like a lipstick smear on a bomb casing.
"They're making this so much easier."
Then her tone dipped—mocking and cruel.
"And you know what? I do owe you thanks… for cleaning up Shellmonger."
A pause.
"He was loyal, sure... but slow. Obsolete. He’d far outlived his usefulness."
"You sure you wanna keep trying to piss me off?" Tex growled, voice low and vibrating with tension.
"Because it’s working."
A beat.
Then a wicked grin in his tone:
"And hey—thanks for the tip."
He paused, just long enough to twist the knife.
"I love free intel. Time to make you regret Bandstand ever letting me off the leash."
The commline hissed—soft static at first.
Then, his own voice, warped and whispering:
"Time to make you regret Bandstand ever letting me off the leash."
Tex froze. “...R/CO, that wasn’t you, was it?”
Silence. Then a quiet: “No.”
He shook it off, muttering, "Right... here we go."
New Objective: Destroy Dollface
New Objective: Lift satellite Blackout
New Objective: Reestablish Secure Comms
Tex stared at the blinking HUD, jaw set, eyes glowing like old rage in a busted cathode.
Well... he had a lot on his plate.
But he was a hungry boy.
A very hungry boy.
He chambered a round with a satisfying clack and started moving, adding one final line to his objectives,
P.S. Enjoy it.