[Open] He says, it's mine to give, but it's yours to choose

[silberfuchs]

Who| Albert and Jet, Albert and Sigma, Albert and YOU
What| After having to shoot his husband out of the sky during the last District mission, Albert's been captured.
Where| Detainment Center. Visiting room, cafeteria, etc.
When| After the D8/D9 liberations
Warnings/Notes| Violence, suicidal topics, past body horror, forced drug abuse, body horror, probably other horrible things.


1. Arriving (Closed; for Jet)

He didn't resist.

Not when Punchy brought him into the enemy camp with a wavering gun and Albert's hands on his head knowing that a bullet of such small caliber, even at that close range, would just glance off of his metal body. Knowing that Punchy wouldn't shoot him, that he wouldn't go through Punchy to get away either, no matter how easy it would be.

Not when the Peacekeepers, an ironic use of the words, put the butts of their rifles to his face and back anyway as soon as they'd moved him to where he could be secured, where they could make sure he wasn't loaded, wasn't a bomb about to go off. He didn't feel it, not matter how he went down.

Not when the powers went off and he felt all those bruises, felt his skin taut on his cheek bones shiny and purple and tender to the touch. He doesn't touch it. He lets it be, a visible statement to how he must look inside.

He doesn't struggle, doesn't run, doesn't fight despite a myriad of opportunities. He barely even reacts until he's been put in his cell, the forcefield a barrier of static between himself and his captors. And even then it's one simple sentence.

"Show me Jet Link."

It's a threat despite its simple delivery, and it still somehow carries weight despite the energy barrier between anything Albert could do and those who wouldn't survive if he did it.


2. Settling

It's surprising how much prison and the military have in common as far as regimentation. There's a schedule for everything, rigid and unyielding. It would almost be a comfort in the irony of how similar it is to Thirteen's overly structured environment if it didn't also bring Albert memories of Black Ghost, of occupied Mocawa, of a lack of every autonomy that makes Thirteen bearable and keeps Albert grounded instead of adrift in memories he's sought for decades to repress.

Get up. Push ups until the force fields go down he couldn't do push ups at first, not when they'd kept his legs and arm for testing. Impossible to do push ups with only one extremity, shower not as cold as on Ghost Island, he thinks. He couldn't feel temperature right in those days, food, forced reeducation violence for its own sake, or for fear's sake. It's easier to detach from than being picked apart piece by piece, to know you died on the table at least twice but that didn't stop them and you're still here, still here with little else to focus on than the agony inside and a voice in the vent.

But there's no voice in the vent. There's no vent, and the voice is...

Gone.

No. He refuses to believe that. Jet's still there, and Albert will find him and bring him back and they'll turn this around just as they did with Black Ghost. Just as they did on Mocawa. Just as Jet was able to reassemble Albert into a functional human being, Albert will do the same for his husband. That's the first step.

And it starts with him playing along. Tired grunts and stiff movements, no complaints as he's taken out and paraded through the day from one meaningless event to the next with as much resistance as a windless sea. But embers burn in the back of his psyche and there's something truly unsettling in the way he complies, the same reaction to a soft word as a barked order, as a shove. It's all the same for now.

It may not be later.

004 doesn't forget voices. Doesn't forget faces.

004 can wait a very.

Very.

Long.

Time.

--

It's only been a week, but Albert's rarely seen in any company when there's down time, either the cafeteria or in the exercise yard. He exudes an aura of nothing. Void, cold and uninviting but a little sad as he does nothing more interesting than eat his food or stand against a wall. He barely says a word, but looks, watches, and sees.

Sometimes, he'll offer a hand with a task, wordless but there at the right time to steady someone before a fall, or catch something as its dropped. Sometimes, he'll stare too long at someone, perhaps deciding if further association is wise, or maybe willing them to come at least partially fill that void that surrounds him for lack of ability to overtly invite. Sometimes this is someone he knows, sometimes it isn't.

As time wears on, he looks at the ground more than people, looks at his shoes more than faces, trying to focus on something known only to himself. Or so he might think. It's obvious how sickness of the heart wears on a person, even one as old and experienced as Albert Heinrich.


3. Tinkering (Closed; for Sigma)
It's not long before they come for Albert too.

There are no drugs involved for him because they're not needed; direct control isn't necessary when they have what they know is dearest to Albert's heart under a proverbial gun, ready to have the trigger pulled the second he misbehaves. So he goes quietly, under guard, to the facility's infirmary.

He's not sure why, he feels fine, but instead of a doctor they bring in someone who's clearly an engineer, small precision tools and a work apron instead of sanitary whites and needles. For Albert, it's just as bad anyway. He's tense the entire time, even if he lets the man at his arms and legs without complaint, poking and prodding with the same manner as one would go at a leaky sink. He's not a person here, even less so than the cog he was in Thirteen. Here he's barely even an appliance.

Albert attempts to distract himself as the man whistles through his teeth thinly and tunelessly, the cyborg's eyes wandering to whoever else may be in this part of the facility. He doesn't recognize most, but one individual catches his eye, someone who before he was taken to Thirteen, Albert would have readily shot on sight given half the chance.

Sigma Klim.

Now, the German's eyes meet the other cyborg's and plead silently and faintly for a moment, an intervention despite Sigma's clear need for repair himself. And maybe that would be a good distraction, a way to get this man to leave Albert alone, repair Sigma, and then leave, letting the two old men if not talk, then at least breathe without a third unknown hanging over their heads so directly.

Comments

[silberfuchs]

"Luna," he says, more in dismay then recognition. For all he was aware she was still in the relative safety of District Thirteen, not to mention the condition of her arm. With it being chilly out, he has a jacket, and immediately removes it in favor of putting it on Luna's shoulders, though he pauses before he does.

"Do you want me to look at that?" Far too forward; if their positions had been switched, Albert would have reeled at someone who's barely an acquaintance offering to see to his cybernetics, but in this case they have few options and Albert is better equipped than most to at least assess damage. He knows his own inside and out, at least, and those principals apply.

Not that he has anything with which to fix the damage to her arm, but it's worth an offer.

[didnothing]

At first Luna's confused as to why Albert looks merely disappointed rather than betrayed or suspicious - that's what she expects of most people who find out what she is, and certainly of someone who holds such firm opinions of robots. Then he offers her the jacket and then an examination of her arm, and she realizes: he hasn't made the jump yet. He probably thinks she's a cyborg like himself or Sigma, rather than a fully mechanical thing, and is treating her accordingly.

She could take this. She could go along with it and maybe Albert will never find out. She could save some heartbreak that way. But Luna's already tired and heartbroken from Sigma's death - feeling the moment his mind's presence faded out, realizing that the last of the family she served was dead - and awaiting his return with a dead arm and nothing to do but feel self-conscious. It's easier to admit the truth than it is to keep dodging around the truth and feeling guilty for it, especially now that she's been returned to her mechanical body.

She shrugs off the offered jacket and steps away, shaking her head. "I'll be fine," she says, not quite able to meet his eyes. "I'm not affected by these temperatures, and the Capitol should be bringing...they should be bringing my creator back any day now." She doesn't mention Sigma's name yet. "He'll be able to see to my repairs once he's returned."

[silberfuchs]

"Your modifications must be extensive." He's not bothered by temperature either, with his normal cybernetics. If it weren't for Doctor Gilmore's specialized synthetic skin, developed specifically for the Zero Zero Cyborg Project, he might not have been able to feel anything, let alone temperature. As it was, it used to be a simply muted sensation, a mental nod to something being 'cold' or 'hot' but more a knowledge and memory of the concept than an actual sensation.

Normally, Albert would realize something was off with Luna's phrasing. That she refers to her 'creator' instead of her doctor or scientist or whatever other title a biomechanical engineer may have earned to achieve his knowledge. But as things stand, Albert's exhausted mentally and physically. He'd been given the once over more than once over due to any number of enemies he'd made of the Capitol (Cyrus Reagan springs to mind...) and his mental exhaustion, while less visible than the bruises, is far more severe. Jet's not in his right mind, and Albert worries near constantly over his ability to help his husband, especially while stuck here. These things in concert make him abnormally obtuse.

"Still, it's dangerous to have the exposed wires. Please, keep the jacket as long as you need it." He settles it lightly around her shoulders, black leather looking immense on her small frame.

[didnothing]

Luna protests, but she doesn't fight the gift of the jacket. It feels strange on her, and the fact that she suspects Albert hasn't understood her admission makes her wary of the generosity. He wouldn't insist if he knew...but he doesn't, not yet. She's not yet sure whether she wants him to or not.

So she gives a weak smile and wraps the jacket around herself, cosmetic as it is. "Thank you," she says carefully, and looks at him again. He still doesn't look very good. "If I may ask, were you...taken here, recently?" There's two questions in there - was he captured or killed, has he been here long - but she's asking after his current state more than anything. "I was returned here several weeks ago, but I don't see many people beyond my workplace. Just one person, really."

She touches at her wrist, where a silvery cuff can be seen - a gift from Sansa and de facto replacement for the pendant left behind in District Thirteen. Injured and useless as she is at the moment, Luna is glad she managed to survive another battle and she likes to think it's her new good-luck charm that kept her from a worse fate.

[silberfuchs]

"Yes, in District 9." He doesn't elaborate, doesn't explain that he hadn't died and been revived like so many, that he hadn't even put up too much of a struggle. He'd put his hands behind his head and come quietly because the alternative had been to hurt someone he cared about and he wasn't about to wound Punchy - a young man who's only real crime is his own ignorance - just to secure his escape. He doesn't tell her that he's thought he could do some good here, on this side. He doesn't tell her just yet because he's not sure he can explain without being found out, or perhaps he's just too tired, too worn from seeing his husband's mind in tatters, used as a playground for whatever experimentation and torture the Capitol is wont to do. He doesn't tell her because it would be the same as airing a mortal wound. He'd rather keep it wrapped tight.

"Where do they have you working? The infirmary?" He will tell her, however, that they'll revolt, that the Capitol can't keep this up forever, especially not if they can gain access to powers. Albert alone could likely take down an entire wing of the Detention Center, though not without casualties. When he can figure out how, he'll try and give her hope. For now, it's just a conversation.

[didnothing]

The answer is less informative than Luna had hoped for, but she supposes that's what she gets for asking indirectly. She hopes for Albert's sake that it was - well, no capture would be amiable, but at least minimally painful. Then again, given his current state "minimally painful" seems to be out of the question. She wonders just briefly why she hasn't seen him in the infirmary before realizing that she hasn't exactly been in the infirmary lately. Or maybe not all the injured held in the Detainment Center are sent there. She wouldn't know, and that thought weighs on her a little.

"Yes, in the infirmary. The work I do here is similar to what I did in District Thirteen, just...more." Luna doesn't sound very broken up about the more. In fact, she's looking forward to going back to work at this point because it's better than wandering around the detainment center day and night with nothing to do. "I prefer it to being told to fight. I'm not much of a fighter, and I guess the Capitol realizes that too." There's a note of hope there: it's her greatest fear that one day she'll be forced to hurt people, but so far so good.

[silberfuchs]

"It's easier, at least." Sort of. Maybe. There are challenges to being a nurse as well, ones Albert isn't sure he could stomach considering he'd seen what his mother did during World War II and had decidedly not gone into medicine. But being made to fight and kill your friends and family because you've been made a prisoner by the wrong side, well... it's disgustingly comfortable sort of worse. He's been made to do it before.

"But if you weren't made to fight, why is your arm damaged?" He straightens up a bit, protectively even, as if on the lookout for whoever hurt her here.

[didnothing]

It's ironic, in a way. Luna's had run-ins with soldiers on the battlefield, multiple run-ins in fact, but this time her injury isn't a result of that. "There was a building on fire, in District Nine, and I volunteered to help rescue the children inside. I was...careless, and got caught by some debris." Her shame is evident. Sigma had died chasing after her and she'd gotten her arm wrecked in the aftermath anyway. "By then my creator had already been killed, and of course he's better equipped to make my repairs than anyone else in the Capitol. So now I'm waiting for him to come back."

It's already been a while, so Sigma really ought to be back soon. That thought helps her smile a little, for Albert's sake. "You don't have to worry about me. I don't think I'll be in such danger next time." Certainly not if Sigma comes on another mission. Luna can do as much good treating injuries as she can running into burning buildings.

[silberfuchs]

Noble of her, to save those children, and he almost comments on it but then she says something else that catches his ire instead. She keeps referring to whoever it is as her 'creator,' as if she didn't have a life before being remodeled as a cyborg. He waves his hand at her telling him not to worry.

"Only if you stop talking about yourself like that. You're a person, even if you're a cyborg. It may take awhile to realize, but we're no lesser for having mechanical parts."

[didnothing]

And there it is. Luna's eyes drop to the ground and she thinks to herself again that if she goes along with it, Albert doesn't have to know and her feelings could be spared. But deception is tiring no matter how practiced she is, and there's no telling if her secret can last for long anymore. Maybe not, if the Capitol has any more ideas on how to use her. She wouldn't be surprised.

So she corrects him, still focusing on a spot on the ground rather than meeting Albert's eyes. "I'm sorry, but you're mistaken. I'm not a cyborg. I'm a robot...a machine. I'm not a person in the same way you are." Pessimistic words from a GAULEM, maybe, but Luna's taken them for truth her entire life. There's no trace of irony to be found in her words, just resignation.

[silberfuchs]

He doesn't gape. It's rare that Albert gapes anymore, but he does look at Luna with his eyes wide, as if he'd just been punched.

He shouldn't be surprised, honestly. He's already run into artificial intelligence advanced enough to simulate self awareness. Chaud's Protoman, Valhalla's ships AI, but that's all it is. A simulation. It's not true free will, it's programming.

Mouth set in a thin line, Albert straightens up, going cold. She'd lied to him, let him believe she was a 'she' and not simply an 'it', a tool for the use of whatever side has control of it. It's a disturbing likeness, enough to come with a warning label.

"I see," is all he says.

[didnothing]

That's...about what Luna expected, really. In a way it's a step up from how Kyle had reacted to finding out she was a machine: Kyle had addressed Sigma rather than talk to her in their first meeting, and after that he'd hadn't talked to Luna for months until after she'd been reassigned. Albert is at least still talking to her.

She knows her part, though, so she acts accordingly. "As I said, my creator should be returning soon enough." Her words are flatter now, an unconscious reminder to herself of her own limits. "He'll be able to repair me, and I'll return to my normal duties in the infirmary. I'll likely be assigned for duty in the next battle as well." She's said as much already, but Luna's much less enthusiastic this time. There's an implied message there, too: If you don't want to see me, now you know where to avoid.

[silberfuchs]

"Perhaps that would be best." He takes solace in that she - it - is not a combat model, not a weapon to be directed as the Capitol sees fit. Or worse, a spy, sent to gather information on Thirteen and funnel it back to the Capitol. Or perhaps that's entirely what she - it - was in the confines of the bunker.

He wants to leave. It's not an uncommon reaction to his running into simulated humanity. It makes him so uncomfortable in seeing those lines of technology and humanity blur that his immediate reaction is to remove himself from the situation. Odd, for a cyborg, he knows. He's struggled with it what feels like his entire life, but the difference is that he started out human. He still has an organic mind, is still himself. Has a soul, if that's something you believe in. The difference is that he has a will all his own. She's just been programmed.

AI's have souls.

Chaud's voice chides him from memory and accompanies a slew of conversations with ProtoMan, concerned for Chaud's safety, thanking Albert for rescuing him.

What's the difference?

"I have to be going." It's better than it was before. Once upon a time Albert wouldn't have even bothered with any social grace for his leave to a robot. He doesn't think about it though. He has far too much to deal with already than to wrestle once again with the differences and disturbing similarities between humans and sufficiently advanced AIs.

He takes a few steps before pausing.

"Keep the jacket, at least until you're repaired."

He's not sure why he does that, but it's another thing he doesn't want to give much thought to.

And then he's gone.

[didnothing]

When Albert says to keep the jacket Luna wants to ask why, but in the end she decides it's better to remain silent. If Albert wants to go, she doesn't want to stop him. It's just her, then, and Luna's feeling like she isn't welcome in the general area anymore so she heads back inside to find somewhere else to linger.

It indeed isn't much longer until Sigma is revived, but the Capitol has its own plans for him and it takes time before he's able to attend to Luna's repairs - and those, in turn, require time and patient work. It's only just before the Valentine's auction that everything is in order, but eventually Albert will get his coat delivered back to him by one of the Detainment Center employees. No message attached, if he chooses to ask.