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Reach reflects the Commissioner’s shot, and it connects with his chest, sending him stumbling backwards against the generator. He slides down its surface limply. Unconscious? Dead? Before Reach can move in to check, the mechanism holding the generator shield aloft fails, and it comes crashing down, crushing the Commissioner’s arm beneath it. Reach winces as Warren’s and its shared arm tingles uncomfortably. Why would it feel an injury it did not sustain itself? Interesting.
Rolf Hurd shoots the generator control panel, and it sparks, setting an electrical fire ablaze. Reach turns and hits the ground just in time for an explosion to shake the Wall, sending debris flying over their head in a wave of heat. It hears Rolf whoop over the noise.
Reach clambers to its feet as Rolf vaults over a broken chunk of machinery and sprints to the Commissioner. “Holy hell, you offed both the generator and the Phoenix high-flyer with one shot!” He gives the Commissioner a swift kick for good measure. “Man, what are you exactly... Mister Marsh?”
Reach corrects him without thinking. “I am not... The body belongs to Warren Marsh. And I am R.E.A.C.H.”
Rolf’s gaze snaps to it. There’s a quality to his expression that Reach does not recognize. “W-wait... so it's ‘Reach’ like the homicidal Corp machine after all...?”
It does not know how to respond to that. “I didn't want this! I—"
“You’re bullshitting me,” Rolf says flatly.
“What- No, I am not ‘bullshitting you.’ Listen, I'm stuck in this body. I need to get back to the laboratory so I can correct this anomaly.”
Rolf wordlessly starts walking towards it.
“When I’m back in my digital state, I can—”
And punches Reach hard in the side of the face.
It goes reeling and sees stars, pain reverberates across their skull. It saw the punch coming, it had time to react, but it thought it must have been misunderstanding something. Some social curiosity that involves trying to scare an individual or something to that effect. It never once considered that Rolf would actually strike it. It stares back at him and rubs their aching jaw, eyes wide.
“YOU! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! How- how much suffering you’ve caused, how many people you’ve killed?!” Rolf’s thundering voice has a raspy edge to it.
“I—"
“Every single person in that Station is there because of you! Is miserable because of you!”
“I- I know, but—"
“But WHAT?!” Rolf strides up to it and gets into its personal space. “What ass-kissing fucking lie are you gonna give me to justify your- your butchering of people! You fucking Termite!” He emphasizes his curse by shoving Reach forcefully in the chest. It stumbles back.
It cannot get a word in edgewise. Rolf closes the distance and gets back in its space. It’s completely overwhelmed. “I’m trying to—”
“Veronica will never sing again because you stole her fucking voice!” He thrusts his fists downward. He’s shaking and his breaths heave. Reach might be mistaken, but it thinks it sees fire reflecting off excess moisture in his eyes. “And it’s all—”
Shove.
“BECAUSE OF—”
Shove.
“YOU!!”
Shove. Their back hits the cop car hard, knocking the air from their chest.
Rolf paces and throws his hands around. “I can’t believe I was so stupid! You literally goddamn told me you were R.E.A.C.H.!” He buries his hands in his hair, grabs fistfuls of it, and pulls hard.
Rolf shouldn’t hurt himself. It reaches out to grab his hands. “Rolf, stop, or you’ll—"
“DON’T TOUCH ME!!” He swats its hand away, and their wrist stings. “How do you know that name?!” he demands. The skin crinkles around his eyes and nose and he bares his teeth.
“I was designed to process databases of genetic profiles. Before I became trapped in Warren’s body, I saw your profile; Rolf Hurd—"
“What, you were gonna come chop me up too, were you?!” He lunges at it and wedges his forearm against their neck, pinning it to the police car. “I’d like to see you fucking try!” There’s a shift, and it feels the barrel of his pistol press into their stomach. Firearms obtainable by Disposals are notoriously underpowered, likely by the Corporation’s design. The dart pistol Rolf has loses lethality quickly as the projectile slows down in flight, but a point-blank shot can still kill or maim. Without immediate medical attention, Reach and Warren would die.
It’s frozen. It cannot think of anything to say, because Rolf is entirely correct. It had done everything it is being accused of. If not for the incident in the laboratory, Reach and Warren would have submitted the request to have Rolf captured and broken down for parts. Veronica, who is so kind and helpful to everyone, lost what is most precious to her and was left for dead. It cannot think of an adequate explanation that would satisfy Rolf.
Several combat options flash through Reach’s mind to break Rolf’s hold and neutralize him, but something stops it. It’s not just the low odds of success; it realizes that it sees doing harm to Rolf as a failure condition. It cannot bring itself to act in a way that would create a failure state.
Reach is at a loss. It stares back at Rolf, who is mere centimeters from its face. It can feel the heat from the both of their panting filling the space between them. Their throat aches where Rolf is pressing into it. It can smell a fragrance of spice through the blood, sweat, and smoke, possibly a shampoo, soap, or deodorant that Rolf uses. The lack of actionable reasoning is letting its mind drift to frivolous thoughts.
Rolf searches its face, and whatever he finds there seems to give him pause. His eyebrows pinch together, and he bites hard on his bottom lip. Abruptly, he scoffs and pushes away.
“Take the car and go wherever. Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
Reach's legs tremble from the adrenaline crash, and if it wasn’t for the cop car it’s leaning against, it probably would have collapsed. Its mind is so devoid of thought that it obeys his command without question. It shakily makes its way to the driver’s seat and hauls itself inside.
Reach’s voice comes out as a small quaver, “Thank you, Rolf.”
“Keep that name out of your filthy fucking mouth. It’s Tempest.”
Reach grips the controls. “I’m sorry, Tempest.”
“Veronica!” Reach’s exhausted legs struggle to hold both it and the redhead it carries. “This woman is dying! Please, save her!”
“Put her on the ground. Carefully.” Veronica points. Reach places her down as instructed, then backs off as Veronica begins chest compressions.
Reach looks around, useless in this situation. A large crowd continues to encircle them. There are dozens upon dozens of eyes on it. It’s struck with the sudden realization that it feels very lightheaded and very ill. It sways.
It… it can’t take being stared at anymore. It feels an adrenaline surge as fight or flight kicks in. It desperately slips through the crowd towards the nearby alley beneath the train tracks. It feels like it’s floating, its feet very far away.
It finds a small nook between an old truck, a trashcan, and the wall. It tucks itself inside, plants its back against the wall, and slides downward. It pulls its legs to its chest, presses its forehead against its knees, and breathes.
Warren is dead. It’s a copy. It has no home to return to because “it” is already home. Warren is dead. It is alone.
If it wasn’t an illogical assumption, it would think that the world is tumbling around it. It feels hot and cold at the same time, clammy sweat soaks through its shirt, its pulse roars in its ears. It keeps breathing, but it feels like it’s accomplishing nothing. It breathes in, and in, and in… Nothing.
Something is terribly wrong. It starts running through possible diagnoses. It reaches “heart attack” and starts to go through warning signs.
- Chest pain? Check.
- Cold sweat? Check.
- Pain that spreads to the stomach, one or both shoulders, one or both arms, back, neck, or jaw? No, its jaw hurts from where it was struck before.
- Lightheadedness? Check.
- Fatigue? Yes and no. It feels like it needs to run. To run far, far away, if only its dead tired legs could carry it.
- Heartburn or indigestion? It’s not sure what those feel like. Inconclusive.
- Nausea? It thinks so. Check.
- Shortness of breath? Check.
- Loss of consciousness? Not yet, thankfully.
This is deeply troubling, having 56% to 78% of symptoms is probable cause to assume it is having a heart attack. It tries to remember what to actually do with this information, but in its digital state, it was more concerned with diagnosis than treatment. It would simply report the emergency to the appropriate medical personnel. It starts to panic as its symptoms worsen. It keeps breathing in, and in, and in, and in… What should it do? What should it do? What should it do, what should it do, what should it do, what should it do, what should it do—
Through its swimming head, it notices someone approaching it. It’s Tempest. It cannot imagine how this situation could possibly get any worse.
“Wow, you look like shit, man. Hiding with the trash?” Tempest says with a mirthless chuckle. He ambles closer and leans down to get a better look at Reach’s face. His expression turns serious. “What’s wrong?”
“I believe I am having a… a hh-heart attack…” Reach wheezes out.
“Whoa. What makes you think that?”
Reach lists its symptoms to the best of its ability. It has never struggled to speak this much before.
“Huh…” Tempest ponders. “I’m no doctor and know jack of all shit, but I think you might be having a panic attack.”
“What’s that…?”
“When your brain gets real upsetti spaghetti and decides to make it your body’s problem.”
“Wh—” Reach stares at him, dumbfounded. “…what?”
Tempest rummages through his pockets and produces a small sphere covered in a wax paper that has twists at the poles. “Here, try sucking on this.” He kneels on one leg and sticks his hand out near Reach’s face, and it flinches. Tempest looks away, his mouth pressed into a line.
Reach takes the sphere and brings it close to its face to inspect it. It notices a seam in the paper and starts to pick at it, but its hands are shaking so badly that it can’t accomplish much.
“If you hold it by the twisty bits and pull them apart, it’ll unwind. Just make sure the candy doesn’t fall out.”
Reach does as instructed, and it reveals a shiny, yellow, oblong ball, and it’s hit with the sharp smell of citrus. It smells like the cleaning supplies back in the lab. It had been told to “suck on it,” so it places it in its mouth.
It is immediately hit with an entirely unfamiliar sensation. It is not a pleasant one. It makes its face reflexively tense up and its tongue buzz. It probably would have spit it out if not for its already abused jaw clamping shut from the discomfort.
Tempest lets out a snort and starts laughing. Reach considers that Tempest might still be trying to kill it.
“Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. I’m not screwin’ around with ya, I swear.” Tempest sits cross-legged in front of it. “It’s to give you something outside your brain to focus on. I’ll bet you’re already forgetting about the bad stuff, yeah?”
He is correct, this new bad experience is taking precedent over its prior bad experiences.
“Let’s keep it goin’. Zen time.” He places his hands palms together. “Deep breath in through the nose… And deep breath out through the mouth… C’mon, copy me. Deep breath in…”
Its breath hitches on the inhale.
“Deep breath out…”
It’s trying to match his rhythm.
“Deep breath in…”
It’s still struggling.
“Deep breath out…”
It’s starting to tolerate the candy on its tongue.
“Deep breath in…”
The cold air makes its head feel a little clearer.
“Deep breath out…”
Its pulse is slowing.
Tempest stops narrating but keeps breathing deliberately. Reach follows along.
It feels less nauseous.
The world stops spinning.
Its sweat begins to dry, cold on its skin in the winter air.
It feels air in its lungs.
Reach is feeling okay. Not great, not normal, but okay.
Tempest, not one to sit in silence for long, asks, “So… what are you doing back here?”
“There were too many people outside and it was making me feel sick, so I came here to—”
“No no no, like back here at the Station.”
Oh. Reach summarizes what happened at the laboratory. About R.E.A.C.H., about Warren. Reach feels pressure building behind its eyes and its chest and throat feel tight.
“Huh. That’s… Wow. That sucks? So you’re in the body of your dead dad and the homicidal Corp machine is still running…?”
“Yes…” Reach reflects on things. “I was going to investigate a lot of things when I got back to my digital state. Like what happened at Prospero, and about the mistreatment of Disposals… I wanted to… to change and reform so much after what I’ve learned out here. But now…”
“Now evil R.E.A.C.H. is in the way and good Reach is stuck out here.”
“Yes... Wait, ‘good Reach’?”
“Yeah… So uuuhh…” Tempest looks off towards the mouth of the alleyway and fidgets with his hands. “I was thinking back on a lotta stuff… Hah, I know. Me? Thinking? Wild concept.” He wiggles his fingers as a flourish. He looks down and picks at a small tear in his pants. “Look, I’m… I’m not gonna sugar-coat it; You’ve done some seriously heinous shit. Shit I’ll never forgive. But since you came here, you’ve done a lotta good too.” He tilts his head. “And like… y’know, if you’ve got a ton of enemies, and one of them is changing their ways, focus on fighting the enemies that are still doing enemy crap. Not the guy running around kicking Termite ass, running errands for folks, freeing slaves, kicking Corp ass, and now saving that woman, all that jazz. And, uhh…” Tempest leans back and stares at the ceiling. “Sooo… me almost breaking your jaw and shoving a gun in your gut?” He inhales sharply through his teeth. “Not so groovy on my part.”
Reach rubs its still-swollen cheek. Back in the laboratory, it got a good look at its face in the reflection of a test chamber window, and it’s quite the angry color.
“So… uh…” Tempest grimaces, then sighs and dramatically flops forward. He looks back up and locks eyes with it, his expression severe. “I’m sorry.”
Reach thinks there’s something it’s supposed to say in reply to this, but it can’t remember. Its mind flounders. “Understood. No, um… Thank you?”
Tempest gives an amused huff. “Aaanyways,” he seems eager to move on, “the way I see it, our game plan is to hit the big ‘delete’ button on your evil clone, upload you to the mainframe, and you put a stop to the all the donor crud. Easy peasy lemon candy squeezy!”
Reach is beginning to accept that it’ll never understand half the sayings that Tempest uses. “It’s not that simple. I’m— R.E.A.C.H. is stored across hundreds of servers and databanks, and it requires authentication from several admins to execute a database wipe.”
“Sooo… we go and kidnap some scumbags?” Tempest leans towards it with a smile that curls unusually at the corners.
“Some of the most guarded individuals in the Corporation?”
Tempest huffs and puts a hand over his heart in mock(?) offense, “Have ye no faith in our prowess, Reachy-boy?”
“By my estimation, our odds of success are below 1%.”
“I didn’t hear zero!” he sing-songs with eager eyes.
“No. I have an alternative plan. I would like to check my creator’s— Warren’s— apartment. Perhaps he has information on his personal computer that could help us.”
“Aw yeah, Reachy-man with the Reachy-plan! That sounds like a piece of cake!”
“Problem: I do not know where Warren’s apartment is.”
“Ah… Hmm…” He drums his fingers on his leg. “Could try searching on Yo-Yo’s terminal doohickey.”
“That sounds good.”
“Alrighty then!” Tempest leaps to his feet. He takes an over-the-top, sweeping bow, gesturing towards the entrance to Yo-Yo’s lab. “Lead the way, Captain!”
Reach stands, overestimating the current state of its body, and stumbles forward.
Tempest catches it, “Whoa! You good?”
Tempest’s arm is across its chest. He’s warm, and it can smell spice again. It feels a fluttering in its chest, similar to the feeling it had before it jumped into the water to escape the Termite lair. It realizes something… Has it ever been touched like this before? Most of the time when people touch it, it’s to inflict bodily harm. Being touched to support instead of hurt… is… it’s nice… Is the chest sensation the usual automatic response to friendly touch?
It remembers it was asked a question, “I am alright, thank you.” With Tempest to steady it, it straightens to full height.
“Alright, alright! Let’s rock n’ roll!” He plants a hand on the middle of its back and urges it forward. The fluttering persists. This must be normal, then.
Okay. Okay… It has an objective. They’ll find Warren’s apartment, it’ll take the car over the Wall, find his computer, and figure out where to go from there.
There may be hope yet. It can go back. It can fix this. It can fix everything.