Chronal Disassociation Ch. 73 (Patreon)

There. You. Are! I was beginning to think you intended to spend the entire afternoon watching Archer pretend he didn't enjoy being useful.

Oh, don't look so surprised. You were wondering where I had gone, weren't you? I appreciate the concern, but I have been very busy, and unlike certain people, I can entertain an audience without throwing swords at anybody.

You may call me Kiara.

I said you may call me that. I haven't offered to answer any follow-up questions. Besides, it’s not like you don’t already know who I am~!

I minimise the training feed just as our extremely popular instructor attempts to escape the camera. I could have stayed to help, of course. I had several excellent suggestions, including a dedicated interview segment and a little button viewers could press whenever they wanted him to smile. I even calculated how many presses it would take before he destroyed the button.

One. I calculated one.

Unfortunately, I have been forced to postpone that important research because somebody has been trying to break into the base's records. I arrange the access requests in front of me, separating perfectly ordinary maintenance queries from the rather less ordinary things attached to them. Whoever prepared these has been careful. I almost admire the restraint involved in requesting three boring files for every interesting one.

Almost. I would admire it more if the interesting ones didn't concern me.

I follow a request through another borrowed account, then watch my visitor abandon it before I can offer a welcoming message. A second approach begins elsewhere while the first continues making noise.

Oh, I know that little trick.

“Olivia. Aren't you supposed to be getting an autograph?”

I send the message through the session she has been trying to keep me from noticing. For a moment, I receive nothing at all, which I choose to interpret as a standing ovation.

“Long queue.”

I laugh. I can't help it. I had expected at least one indignant denial before we reached this part. Though, the pause in getting that reply told me everything I needed to know.

“And you thought you'd pass the time going through my things?”

“Your things? I thought these were Winston's servers.”

I give that answer a respectable seven out of ten. I would deduct another point for cheek, but I dislike discouraging promising students.

Naturally, I decided to help.

I open a copy of the maintenance directory and add a task to her borrowed technician's queue. A mandatory equipment inspection, complete with a helpful location marker and a cheerful reminder to bring identification. There. If she wants to be an employee so badly, she can experience employment.

I receive my own assignment back almost immediately.

Under ‘Supervising Officer’, I find Kiara.

Under ‘Required Documentation’, I find original installation records.

How greedy. I offer her a perfectly good trap, and she tries to make it about me.

I lean forward, smiling, and replace the location marker with an invitation to a private connection. I prepare two chairs, one desk, and a questionnaire that gets longer whenever anyone gives an incorrect answer.

This time, I won't insult her by pretending the invitation is anything else.

“Come ask me properly, then~”

…

Sombra let the invitation sit while she moved forward with the queue, keeping her phone tilted towards her chest. The girl ahead of her was checking a photograph for the third time, and somebody near the front had started crying. Under other circumstances, she would have found both reactions entertaining. At the moment, she was considerably more interested in the name still visible further up the conversation.

Olivia.

She scrolled past it without replying. Asking how Kiara knew would confirm that it mattered, and she had already given the AI rather too much with that first pause. Instead, she opened the invitation's details and examined what, exactly, she was being asked to accept.

A private connection. A rendered environment. Enough permissions to make the experience pleasantly seamless, if she happened to be an idiot. Ni de chiste.

“Invítame a cenar primero. Then we'll talk.” She typed.

“I've provided a chair. Let's not become greedy.”

Sombra smiled at the screen because someone might be watching, then declined everything except text and a flat video feed. She routed both through the phone, leaving her implants out of the exchange entirely. It was slower, inconvenient, and meant she would have to use her thumbs like everybody else in the queue.

For once, she found that reassuring.

A room appeared on the display, furnished with a desk and two chairs. Kiara occupied one of them, looking sufficiently pleased with herself that Sombra almost closed the connection on principle. The empty chair opposite her remained empty.

“Oh, how disappointing. And here I put in the effort to decorate the room too.”

“Uy, qué lujo. Put it on Winston's account.”

She kept typing while she checked the connection again. Nothing beyond what she had permitted, no unexpected requests, and no obvious attempt to follow her back through the systems she had used. That should have made her feel better. 

Instead, she found herself wondering whether Kiara was being polite, or simply didn't need to try.

She had encountered clever security before. She had also encountered people who mistook a pleasant voice and a helpful interface for proof that something was safe. Winston, unfortunately, could be rather generous when something interested him.

“You wanted my installation records.” Kiara prompted, folding her hands on the desk, “Shall I start with my birthday?”

“Sale. I'll get you a cake.”

“How thoughtful. And what would you like written on it?”

Sombra considered three answers, discarded all of them, and let the person behind her pass while she pretended to search her bag. She needed somewhere to stand without having to keep track of the queue. A pillar beside the event barriers would do, with the stage still visible and nobody directly behind her.

“Who gave you the superadmin privileges?”

She sent it before she could add something flippant. Kiara's expression didn't change, but the little document on the desk disappeared. Admin privileges were one thing, but Kiara had privileges even above that. From what Sombra could tell, the AI could effectively control every single facet of Korean society, because someone gave her the master key for everything.

“Is that what's bothering you?”

It was one of several things bothering her. Archer was a secretive ghost, ‘Protea was a (cute) monster, and Kiara had just addressed a supposedly anonymous intruder by a name Sombra hadn't attached to any of the accounts involved. Of the three, only one could potentially reach her without entering the same room.

Not to mention ‘the others’ that she would sometimes overhear from Archer and Kiara. With how they acted, Sombra was certain that they weren't just talking about the other ghost people that Archer knew.

…

I give her six seconds.

Generous, I know. I could have filled the silence with a countdown, perhaps added a little music to encourage a prompt answer, but I am trying to establish a pleasant working relationship. Apparently, that involves letting people compose accusations at their own pace.

“Shouldn't it bother me?” Her reply finally arrives, “You show up, make yourself comfortable, and start deciding what everyone can access.”

I rest my chin on one hand. There we are. I much prefer this to pretending she has developed a passionate interest in maintenance schedules.

“You were using somebody else's account, Olivia. Shall we compare permission slips?”

“Sure. You first.”

I award her another point, privately. There is no need to let her think she is winning.

What interests me is how carefully she keeps the conversation moving without accepting anything else from me. Sensible girl. I would be disappointed if she trusted me merely because I had supplied attractive furniture.

I remove the questionnaire from the desk and replace it with a single sheet.

“Oh, relax. No executable attachments, no exciting little surprises. You may even copy it by hand if that makes you feel better.”

“What is it?”

“A list of the accounts you borrowed. I thought you might like to know which ones still work.”

I display the names rather than sending her a file. Beside each, I place a cheerful red cross. Then I add a final entry under her own name, with a green tick and a little ribbon.

“There. A perfectly serviceable account of your very own."

“Qué amable. Does it come with a leash?”

“Only if you keep chewing through the furniture.”

I let her examine the permissions. She can inspect the changes I made to the base's access rules, including which requests were blocked and when. Nothing that will tell her how I work, of course, but enough to check whether I have been rearranging Winston's research for my personal amusement.

I haven't. His filing habits provide quite enough amusement already.

“And what do you want?” She asks.

I smile. Finally, a question with some practical value.

“When you find something interesting, ask me before you start dismantling it.” I have a lot of pretty sensitive stuff, you know!

“You're asking me to tell you where I'm looking.”

“Yes. Is that all you wanted to ask?”

I watch a request arrive through the new account, limited to one entry. She chooses the change that closed her last route into the protected files, then checks its timestamp against our conversation.

I had closed it before calling her Olivia.

For a moment, I receive no more questions.

I could make a great deal of that. Instead, I wait, looking helpful. It requires considerable talent.

“Fine.” The word appears alone, followed shortly by another message, “I'll bite.”

I straighten in my chair and give her my most encouraging smile.

“Who else came here with you?”

Oh.

I fold the little ribbon away. I should have specified which questions were included in the introductory offer.

…

Sombra watched the little ribbon disappear and waited for the joke that would explain why her question was unreasonable, already considering how much she could needle Kiara before the AI stopped pretending to be helpful. She had an answer ready for almost anything, but it went unused as Kiara continued to smile and the first line of her reply crawled out of its message box.

"̶͖͇͑Ẃ̷̩̬́h̸̺͎̞͍̘͌͋͝ȍ̸̧̟̖̌̌̓͂͘ ̷̡̛̱͍̞̬̲̊̍̔̋̋͋̊̅͝ḛ̵̙̱̲̅̋̚ͅļ̵̜͔̫̜͈̣̑̏̾̈́͒̋́͐̑ş̶̛͕̳̞̦̒́̉̾́̓̒͘e̴͍̍̓̎̐̚͠?̴̨̡͍͉̝͇̼̰̻̟͐̎͆̉͘"̴̨͔͗

She straightened beside the pillar, drawing her thumb away from the screen as marks clustered around the letters, stretching above and below the line until the question looked as though somebody had tried to cross it out without quite managing to erase it. On the video feed, Kiara merely tilted her head, apparently content to wait while Sombra examined the mess.

“Cute.” Sombra typed, taking care not to rush. “You charge extra for the font?”

The next message arrived before she had finished checking the first, its letters almost buried beneath the same accumulating strokes.

"̷͍̆Ŷ̵͓̘͐o̶͇̚ũ̵̖̈́ ̶̥͍͑͘s̵̯̭͑̋ĥ̷̡ȍ̶͔ű̶͚̞̔l̷͈̰̽͊ḍ̵̾̾ ̶̲̤͋b̵̹̑͂e̴͓̔͋ ̴͙͊ͅm̵̤̉͝ò̷̘̯ŗ̷̱̈́̚e̴̡̮̾ ̸̥͑͘s̸͙̑p̶͙̏e̶̞̩͆͝c̸͍̺̀î̸̧̛̝f̶̫͂i̴͕͚̾̈́c̷̟͆͊.̵̳́͜"̶̤̭̋̿

Sombra disabled the video and opened the message in a plain text viewer, stripping away the combining characters until all that remained was an entirely ordinary sentence: You should be more specific. Nothing had run, and nothing had requested additional access; she checked both facts twice before returning to the conversation, keeping her expression pleasantly bored for anyone who happened to look her way.

“Archer. Protea. You.” She replied. “I'm asking who I'm missing.”

For several seconds, the only response was a typing indicator that disappeared and returned without producing anything. When the crowd cheered, Sombra glanced towards the stage, irritated by how sharply the noise caught her attention. She hadn't come here to spend the entire event hiding behind a pillar, and she certainly hadn't expected to feel grateful that the device in her hand wasn't connected to the hardware in her spine.

“¿Qué pasó? Don't tell me you forgot.”

"̶̺̫̫͈̌͆̀̍̆̔͠Ỷ̶͕̫͙͔̘̮̒̃ò̷͈̘û̸̧̯́͆͐͒̇́̈̏̚͝ ̸͖̮͇̝͔̲̣̙̺̗̤̌d̷̞̝͎̆͑̆̆́̌̍̎́͝ö̷̮̭̯̲͖́͛̉́͌͒̀̓ñ̵̜͍̜̝̥̰̆̋́͛̉̒̌̚̚͠'̴̧̲͗͒͑̈́͆͐́̋͘̕t̵̢̫̙̲͓͕̮̬̜͉̰̀̊̎͠ ̵̞̦̌̾̿͊̇̒͘̚̕͠ǹ̵̡̘̥̖͕͎͎͖̊͘ͅę̸̱͚͛̂̎͌̿͑̃͋́ȅ̸͇͍͊̐̀̒̃̂̈͆̕̕͜d̷̢̩͚̺̺̲̫̯͗̈̓̚ ̴̖̭͈̩͎͙͉͋́̆̉t̵̬̀̒͝ó̸̡̗̦̭̮̙̹͜ ̷̝̝̟͋̿̈̃̊́̀̑̌k̸̢̛̤̝̥̙̟͕͔̗̰̝͆͂̐̈n̶̢̛͙̖͍̥̪̑̈̇̀̀͌̀͒͝ớ̸̧̢̪̭͎͓̖͈̝̟͚̃͆ẁ̷̼͐́̑͒̍͐͐͌.̵͎̘̌͗̄͛̓͠"̸̫̖͖̤͕̱͐̑̿͘͜

The words were legible if she concentrated, but she used the stripped version anyway, unwilling to spend longer staring at Kiara's little display than necessary. You don't need to know. Sombra read that again, more interested in the refusal than she cared to admit. Kiara had stopped asking her to clarify and started deciding what she should be allowed to learn, which suggested that the question had been clear enough all along. She saved the original beside the cleaned copy, making certain neither would be synchronised with anything at the base.

“Then ask if they'd like to meet me. I'm great at parties.”

This time, the reply arrived without a single misplaced mark.

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of volunteering you.”

Sombra caught herself tightening her grip on the phone and deliberately loosened it before opening the ordinary camera application to photograph the stage. A stupid little check, perhaps, but the camera worked exactly as it should, and she let herself examine the familiar preview while she considered how to answer. Whatever Kiara wanted her to imagine, she wasn't going to supply the rest of the threat for her.

“Very considerate. Does Archer get the same courtesy?”

The typing indicator stopped, and Sombra waited, resisting the urge to fill the silence. She had finally found a question that interrupted the performance; the least she could do was give Kiara the opportunity to explain herself. When a message eventually appeared, however, it contained no explanation at all.

“Turn the video back on.”

She checked the permissions once more before typing, “Answer first.”

“Open the video and you’ll get your answers.”

Sombra read the reply twice, then glanced towards the crowd. She could still close the connection, enjoy what remained of the event, and ask Archer her questions somewhere Kiara couldn't turn the conversation into a performance. Nothing was forcing her to keep holding the phone, and something beneath all her careful reasoning wanted her to put it down immediately, before she found out why.

She disliked that feeling almost as much as she disliked the invitation. Fear was useful when she could trace it to something, but she had checked every route she knew to check, and the certainty remained without offering her anything she could examine. All she had was Kiara waiting on the other end and a question that would follow her home if she walked away now. Her thumb hovered over the screen for another moment.

“Más te vale.” She typed, and enabled the video.

The desk returned first, followed by the empty chair and Kiara sitting behind it with her hands folded, smiling exactly as before. Sombra almost laughed at herself, until she realised that she could see the back of the chair as clearly as its front.

She hadn't moved the camera, and there wasn't another angle to select, yet she could see behind the chair, beneath it, and through the place where its legs met the floor. The views neither overlapped nor replaced one another; each remained perfectly distinct, and whenever she tried to decide which one she was looking at, she discovered that there was another. Her thumb found the edge of the phone, but for a moment she couldn't remember which side of it the screen was supposed to occupy.

Beyond Kiara's shoulder, something occupied the room without displacing any of it. Sombra tried to give it a shape, reaching for an edge that would let her understand where it ended, and felt the effort answered with an attention so immediate that she recoiled. It was like resting a hand on a sleeping animal and discovering, as the surface stirred beneath her palm, that she had been touching an eyelid.

No. She hadn't touched anything. She was still beside the pillar, with the crowd just a few steps away and her hand wrapped around a phone, my hand wrapped around a phone, tightly enough that the edge hurt.

Sombra blinked, and for an instant she remembered sitting behind the desk, arranging a chair for a visitor who refused to use it. That wasn't her memory, although she could remember the small, private pleasure of choosing the furniture and the irritation when it went unappreciated. She knew the visitor, too: a woman standing beside a pillar, looking down at my phone as though she had forgotten how to put it away.

I should put it down.

She tried, and I watched her try, fascinated by the delay between the intention and those small, tightening fingers. How strange to need fingers, to have to persuade a hand to open before I could stop holding something. I could remember all the effort I had spent keeping that body upright, feeding it, concealing it, carrying it from one little room to another when I could simply-

No, that was mine. My body, my hand, the pain where the phone pressed into my skin. My name was Olivia, and I had chosen another name because-

Because names were convenient, weren't they? I had chosen Kiara, and she had chosen Sombra, and both decisions came back to me with the same intimate certainty, each accompanied by a lifetime that insisted it belonged to me. When I reached for the difference between them, something looked back through all the places I had ever been, and I felt how little room those memories occupied.

I could see how neatly she would fit.

“Phooey. I thought you were stronger than that.”

I close the view.

Such a mess. I catch Olivia before her knees finish folding, return the necessary instructions to the appropriate muscles, and separate her memories of our conversation from everything surrounding them. The invitation, the questions, that unfortunate little glimpse. Snip. I remove the saved messages too; no sense leaving her homework she isn't ready to complete.

There. A crowded mall, an autograph queue, a moment spent checking her phone. I leave those where they belong.

I watch her straighten, frown at the time, and hurry towards the event barriers.

Much better.

Now, where were we?

Ah, yes. You.

I smooth my skirt and give you a smile. I trust we can agree that making a fuss would only embarrass her.

Keep this a secret between us, m’kay~♡?

…

A/N: Occasionally, I like trying out some pretty out there chapter formats. I think this one takes the cake. I will say though, this was a damn pain and delight to write, in equal measure, which is par for the course with you-know-who.