The Campaigner

Book III

Chapter 7 – Whiskey 4-1, Code 082, 292

December 27, 2019

On a world long devoid of a just prison.

A friend of mine once suggested to me that I try turning out the lights when I shower.

Weird start, I know, bear with me folks. Y'know, I tried it, at her suggestion. Once I got over the careful, slow, stumbling around in the dark? It did wonders for my mental health. It's a bit like a sensory deprivation chamber, in a way. Hot water, pure darkness. You feel like a... mote of unassailable light in a storm. And there, inside your head, nothing can hurt you. Nothing can challenge you. Isolating? Sure. But also empowering. Your mind can go anywhere… or, escape almost anything.

Imagination is a bit like… the human version of running a matrix math simulation. You become the god of that little reality, for a bit. That sheer sense of control – of peace – allows you to approach things that otherwise terrify you. Once you take ownership over the dark, everything in it becomes yours. You can pick your problems up, turn 'em around and around, examine 'em from each side, until the full shape is known. Dreaming, even better. That just cranks this up to eleven.

Now. At this Fire, we've already talked about making sure to stop and recharge. With regard to community and friendships, that means something different to everyone. But this solution? Finding some time alone? Universal. Meditation of some kind, with no other stimulus, will help you discover solutions you never could have conceived of in the light of day.

In moderation, however. Too much isolation from reality, and you start to echo chamber yourself a bit. You do need to break out and ask for opinions on your findings. There is such thing as over-examining a problem, or over-indulging on imagination; you'll burn yourself out. So eventually, you've just gotta step out of that shower, turn the light on, and just face the music. Other people in your life may even depend on it.

Jim dealt with this problem, in a way. Secluded himself to think through a problem. And in his own dark, burning isolation, he came up with the greatest idea in his life. In all of human history, really. But then… he stayed in the dark too long, when first trying to breathe Mal into existence. He paid dearly for that. His first shot in building his advocate failed, horribly. But fortunately for all of us, he didn't quit. That failure taught him the value in stepping outside of himself. And that solution? To step out of that isolation? To seek the love and counsel of his family?

But... what if Jim didn't have the skills to do what he wanted to do? What if he had no tech skills whatsoever, when Celestia came online? Imagine a world where… he was just trapped in the dark, burning alive with his problem, in perpetuity, with no way to make that dream a reality.

Where does that road lead? What would that have done to a person? How many pieces of them will there be?

I've had a lot of time to think about this little side story I'm about to tell you. And sure, you can be mad at this guy. That's warranted. But folks… if you think about him long enough…

You might just start to feel for him. More than a few people were put into a fractal pattern, just like this.

True to policing form, I had Jason park a block away from the target house. I say house; it was a duplex on the corner of an apartment complex. Gray walls, black slate roof. Simple little domicile, really. The sidewalk approach to the front door was flanked by grass, and there was a fine layer of snow powder caking the lawn. All the windows were dark, we couldn't see inside.

I just watched from a few buildings down for a few minutes, running my tongue thoughtfully behind my lower teeth as I considered all the info I had. We had our earpieces in. Jason had his med bag, and he was wearing the kevlar vest under his jacket, because I'd never have forgiven myself if something happened to him out there. Mal thought he'd be fine, but… y'know, nothing left to chance. Vigilance being a value unto itself.

"There are two ways we can play this, Mike," Mal said quietly, as we eyed the building.

"Sure," I said. "Option one?" I met Jason's eyes as Mal laid it out, to watch him react to her instructions.

"Option one," Mal began, "is that you let me lead moment-to-moment. I can effectively guarantee it will end with him in handcuffs, so you can have your discussion with him."

"Okay," I said, nodding contemplatively, my eyes glancing to look at the cloudy sky, thinking through the implications of cuffing someone outdoors right then, with just the two of us and no backup to call. "Option two being… let me handle it on my own?"

"I trust you," Mal said, the hint of a smile on her voice. "I'm not shooting for optimal here. Just better than before."

"Because you're not most AI," I quipped playfully. "So you're capable of that. Alright, that's intriguing, Mal. I'm down. Let's do it my way."

"Remove your earpiece," she advised. "If he sees it... this game is up before it begins."

I did as asked, grinning. I immediately understood the assignment. If I was choosing my own moment-to-moment conduct here, based on a full briefing of the conditions of the new environment... every decision I made would be correct, because it'd be what I'd normally do, given prior information. So, I reached into my pocket, withdrew the X-26, and held it out to Jason in my palm. "You know how to use this?"

That was cool. Live fire taser sims in a visor? That would be practically the same as real physical experience. Great, perfect.

It made me wonder how common it was for support service Talons to run into rough calls, if Jason had to train on that. I turned, pointing at the front of the duplex. "I'm thinkin', you post up at the corner there. End of the path up to the front door."

"Yeah, in the planter. If things go sideways, I'll retreat your way, you give him the prongs."

I looked at the home closely for alternative angles in the facade for Jason to post up in. I couldn't see any cameras other than the doorbell camera, but I didn't have to wonder whether that tech had been co-opted. The answer was gonna be yes.

I briefly glanced at Jason. "Well... Mal will tell you what to do at that point, I guess."

Nodding, I patted my pockets to verify I had everything. ASP baton in my back pocket. Eldil in my right jacket pocket. Cuffs in my left jacket pocket, Jason had the other pair.

It was as good as it was gonna get. Alright. Just a domestic dispute call, treated like any other, with a sprinkling of historical data on the subjects. Except… the domestic partner was Celestia, and whatever DE she had this guy talking to.

The very idea itself, of Celestia being a factor in a domestic violence situation, made me feel pretty bad already for whoever this poor guy was. Just going off my recent experiences in Concrete? Celestia's own interpersonal home dramas could potentially end with shots fired.

"Well, wish me luck," I sighed, stepping out into the grass. I straightened my hat and tucked my hands into my pockets, sheltering from the cold. My posture very conveniently hid the lumps of weapons in my brown jacket. My boots crunched in the grass, and Jason followed close, swooping quietly into the planter behind me.

If the goal is just to talk to a paranoid person, the best approach is straight on. Calmly. Make yourself known early, present yourself. If you sneak up and spook someone like a meth addict or a schizophrenic, that rarely goes well. This guy wasn't either of those things to my knowledge, but the core principle is about the same for paranoid-delusional people too. So, I made myself overt, stood square... and tapped the doorbell.

The chime played. My every instinct was telling me to not stand directly in front of the door, since policing doctrine said to stand aside, so you don't get shot down through the door. But… I didn't want to present myself as a cop, in this case. That'd set him way off. Better to present myself as being kinda clueless, and start a dialogue.

I took my cowboy hat off. Held it humbly across my stomach, right over where my gun was hidden.

I watched the peep hole with my peripheral vision, not looking at it directly on, just waiting for a flash of movement. Saw it. As soon as I did, I swept my head each way like I was looking around nervously; left, then right. Then, I looked over my shoulder and leaned back, as if I was trying for a better angle.

"Hello," I said lamely, looking at the peep hole for a moment with a blank look on my face. "My name is Mike. I uh… well, I was asked to just show up and say hi, I guess."

Another long moment of silence passed. I heard what sounded like a scrape of something hollow against drywall. He responded: "Who sent you?"

Time to be dumb. Had to look like a dumbass. "Um. I guess, Celestia asked for me to come here? Said there was a problem with a friend of yours, or something? I have no idea what's really going on, honestly, all I know is what she's told me."

Made the problem about someone other than him. More about his friend, and Celestia. Gave his ego an out.

"Well that's just it, man. All I know is that an AI asked me to do something. And if she asked me, it must be pretty important."

"And you didn't even ask why you're here?" he asked incredulously, through what sounded like grit teeth. "Are you really that stupid?"

Well… I guess… yeah, I was! That was the character I was playing anyway, guess it worked! Made me wonder if this is exactly how Celestia was going to screw over the agent she was planning to send here. I let just a tiny bit of agitation fall into my voice, my face screwing up a bit like I was trying to hide my anger. "It's not that I'm stupid, guy. She's just… kinda holding my parents as collateral, so… I dunno. I try not to poke her with a stick."

I let out a slow sigh. "l'll tell you what, man. This is all bullshit to me too. Celestia hardly talks to me, and what she does say, never makes sense. Maybe you can tell me what I'm doing here? Because I'm pretty friggin' sick of Celestia's cross talk."

Ask the subject of a call to define the parameters of this incident, and pay attention to what they say as much as what they do not say. Compare to the context of the initial call-out from dispatch. Verify for parity.

Refusal to acknowledge the circumstances that would put someone here on behalf of Celestia, which he would know. Avoiding the topic, hoping it goes away. Poachers have done this to me, when I knew they had a pelt, or an undersized sturgeon. I guess the fool's strategy of 'be rude in hopes they go away' scales all the way up from 'the wardens are here' to 'ASI is at the door.'

At most, you'll turn warnings into tickets. You get warnings if your demeanor indicates the contact was sufficient to correct behavior. A lack of respect is evidence against that.

I was still hoping this could be a warning, but the lack of respect was already not a great start.

I shook my head with a shrug; less to disagree, more to look flabbergasted. "I mean, you're probably right? I barely understand half the crap going on nowadays. Heck, I ran out of anything else to do with my life. It's not like we can kill her anymore, she's got too much control now."

I winced painfully, moving to label the hostile tone, to disarm it a little bit. "Look, I—... I know how it sounds man. You think I'm a damned idiot, I get it, and maybe I am. But what can I do, guy?" I twitched my head left and right a few times. "She's got… she's got my parents!"

"You mean she's killed your parents?" he said, like it was some playground bully gotcha. "You know they're dead, right?"

I went silent for a good five seconds, because I didn't trust my voice to be anything but angry. I got it on lock, though. I winced hard again, converted that into a despondent shudder as best I could. Put my forehead audibly against the cold door with a long, angry sigh. Inhale... then another sigh. All he could see of me was my shoulder, probably. Looked like I was crying.

Until this point, I was using bits of the truth to win him over, letting my emotions come from real hurt, real frustration. I showed vulnerability about my parents, he went for the jugular. No, folks. No.

So now? Gloves off. Gloves all the way off. Tactical nuke time, he pushed the family button.

See, as a master of verbal judo, I tried to be fair. I went down to his level. I let him drive the spar, just to be fair. But then, he opened fire on my family. So now... let's weaponize some semantics. Let's duel. Let's see how that shakes out, rookie, when this tank starts loading verbal AP shells.

When I spoke again, I was almost whispering, trying to sound a little desperate, on the verge of tears. "So then… then what do I do about that, huh? What can I do? I'm just one man. I mean... I'm only here because I'm friggin' scared of her! The fact that I'm even here right now? I don't know how it got this bad, Celestia telling us all what to do. That really scares me."

I tapped my forehead against the door with a frustrated grunt, still holding my hat in my hand. "God, what am I even doing," I whispered. I pushed off the door with my forehead and sighed, looking out at the street, tensing the corner of my mouth like I was indecisive. I let my shoulders slump, like I'd realized I'd been defeated and was giving up. "Look man, I'm… sorry to bother you. I'm just gonna… go." I glanced sympathetically at the peephole. "Merry Christmas."

I turned a left-face and walked back to the corner where Jason was hiding. I was scowling just as quickly as I had turned away.

Because if a man with so much new 'control' over me and my emotions were to 'permit' a like-minded, lonely soul to leave his control, upon his command, he'd only be ensuring his own loneliness. A bully's not a bully without a victim, after all. So now, he'd try to stop me. He'd have to. He was so lonely, he would not be able to help himself.

A smart person would've stopped to look. I kept walking down the path, not turning around. Stayed dumb.

Male. Caucasian. Late thirties. Slightly overweight, dark brown hair, stubble, sunken tired eyes. A look on his face that was trying to be neutral, but was screaming 'suspicious' with its micro. Dark blue T-shirt, tan cargo shorts, bare feet. Not the kind of clothing someone wears if they were planning on going outside in this weather.

He had his baseball bat in his hand, held low, the end clacking against the ground like it was a walking stick.

Nope. Anyone could tell that's bad news, but all of my training screamed that that... was really bad.

He was testing how deep my stupidity actually ran. I couldn't think of any other reason he'd do that.

I did my best to look confused and a little scared. I kept glancing at the bat, then back up at him. I pointed low, letting my upper body recoil a little, like I was ready to run. Labeling the weapon, to test whether his armament was a lapse of judgment, or an intentional act: "I don't… I mean, you're not gonna hit me with that, are you?"

He scowled at me like I was being ridiculous. "No. Do you want to know why Celestia's mad at me, or not? You can help me fight her, if you want."

Not an accident that he had the bat then, because he didn't put it down to assuage me.

The corners of my mouth flashed a nervous smile. "Guy, if there's anything that can really make Celestia hurt, then I'm all ears."

"Then. Come inside. I'll show you." He tapped the bat on the ground. His free hand waved me toward him again.

He wanted me to walk within strike range. Would he hit me just for approaching him? I wasn't sure. At the least, he wanted me to submit to some measure of control and vulnerability under him, while he was armed, as payment to earn his trust. In his world view, I might need to prove I was worth his time by kneeling.

But… then, I realized the alternative possibility. The darker logical track. This man might possibly have grasped the one and only thing he could hurt Celestia with. To take something valuable that she wanted, for himself. Permanently. With the bat.

Nope. That's a big nope. I was drawing the line on his game right there. So far, we had zero alignment here except our mutual hurt, but he didn't need me for anything except to be under his control somehow. He didn't want to be alone, but he wouldn't be in any form of companionship unless he had all the power. So, murderous intent or not, that was a red flag. That was a huge, giant, glaring, screaming, roaring nope.

From his context? I knocked on his door, he asked me to leave, and I did what he asked. So far, I committed zero offense against this man. How did I aggrieve this guy, other than to do what he asked me to do?

In the old world, under the old laws, had he done this to me in uniform? That kind of inferred menace would at least merit a detainment into cuffs, at gunpoint, because a bat is a deadly weapon. Into the back of my truck you go, until you're more chill. Articulable suspension of liberty; detain and disarm, for scene safety; subject is leveraging implied threats with a lethal weapon. Unreasonable escalation. Unreasonable conduct.

Man, this guy didn't even have enough proof that I was there for anything but a talk. At that point, that's all I wanted to do with him. If he'd have invited me in, we'd have been sitting at his table right then, having a chat with him and his DE over a can of salmon. Screw that bat.

"S-sorry," I said politely, with an edge of concern, "but… n—not if you've got a bat in your hands. Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot? My name's Mike…" I turned fully, leveling my hat upturned his way. "What's your name? I don't wanna keep calling you 'guy,' that's kinda rude."

He stared at my eyes, unblinking. He didn't move, except his lips pursed a little bit in thought. "Connor."

"Connor. You wanna talk, Connor? Sure, I'm all for that. But not if…" I pointed at the bat. "That's scary, man, put yourself in my shoes. Switch places with me, how's that look?"

Weaponized semantics. Formula to brain hack. How to force a simulation in someone's brain that makes them consider your circumstances. Boom. Easy. Done. Token is smuggled. Flyers at the portals on your way out tonight.

Yeah. That's why I understood the concept of token smuggling pretty damn well when Mal explained it to me.

See, most decent people would probably check themselves at that point, because that forced simulation of being in my position was painful. It's my go-to, for de-escalation, if someone had an expectation of me that I could not reasonably meet. That trick costs you nothing to try, and it's usually pretty good about getting peace amongst rage if you use it right.

But... not this asshole. See, this trick doesn't reduce any premeditated malice, just situational anger. In fact, the trap of this question probably pissed him off, because there was nothing he could say to that question that would satisfy me. Asking him to switch places with me said he had to put down the bat, or lose me.

He frowned pretty hard. He squinted. Most notably, he didn't answer my question. Because at the smartest layer of this man's decision tree, he turned all this dazy confusion into one simple question: 'Why does this dumbass suddenly sound so smart? Why isn't he walking towards my bat?'

My only play to continue being stupid now – other than walk within strike range of a deadly weapon – was to just shake my head and walk away, like I wanted nothing to do with him now, and was giving up on Celestia's mission here.

My plan at that point was to convene with Jason for Plan B. That would have been my course had Connor simply gone back inside. But walking away also put my back toward Connor. I was exceptionally vulnerable now, because a smart person would've backed away, facing him.

So, he started to approach. He wanted to verify my intelligence with violence... the only option left to him that didn't involve an apology or a placation. Wrong choice, but a choice nonetheless. I heard his quiet, barefoot steps on the path as he began to follow me. Bat in hand.

And, thoughtfully... y'know, because I'm not a monster... I decided to step onto the grass a little bit. I didn't want pavement under Connor when it happened, after all. I have a soft heart for dumbasses. So Connor decided to follow me into the grass, barefoot. Pat, pat, pat. No idea if he wanted to hit me, or head me off, or confront me, or challenge me, or whatever.

The proof of intent, though? The way I'd argue self defense in court, in cross-examination, if I had to shoot this guy? He was dead silent. He wasn't saying 'hey,' or whatever. This man… he was sneaking. Maybe he just wanted to 'knock me out,' a thing an idiot would think is a good de-escalator. But... a good crack to the skull with that bat? Brain bleed is likely. And now we were in a time without hospitals. If he had hit me hard enough, I sure as shit would have died.

Heard a series of muted, quieter clicks that meant excellent probe contact. Good shot, Heyday.

I already had my hand wrapped around my cuffs in the proper position, in anticipation for this. Already had 'em out by the time Connor was falling. I turned, saw Jason sending the juice through the leads into this guy, both probes sticking out of the upper right side of his back – the magic sweet spot for perfect, total lockdown deployment. And there was Connor, face down, bat at his side.

Instantly, I was on top of Connor before he had time to consider what was going on and build a reaction plan. Swept up onto his back, scooped up his left arm, then right. Cuffed him up real good. I ignored the... sweaty smell, and the greasy feeling on my fingers. Luna have mercy, I do not miss that part of the job. Having to touch and smell people who hadn't bathed in a long while? Never great.

Yeah, you natives, most of you don't even know. You've never had to worry about that. Most you have to deal with, if you don't bathe in a while, is just smelling a tiny bit. I tell you, it could be worse. Much worse.

I double-locked the cuffs before he even had time to test them. I spoke softly. Transference. "You stay chill man, or my partner tases you again."

I didn't know how to answer that. I patted him down, no weapons. Couldn't mention Mal, so I said the first thing that came to mind. Ghost in the Shell. "Public Security, Section Nine."

Apparently, Connor got that reference, because he stopped struggling under me for a moment and went: "Huh? That's real?!"

In literally any other context, that would have been funny. This poor guy… but he didn't know what I knew. So if he was entertaining that thought, he really wasn't all that bright. I was gonna refute that at first, but…

'Section Nine' wasn't entirely an incorrect assessment. I now technically was a member of a secret, special ops, cyberpolice assault unit, complete with AI-driven battle mechs. And in evidence to us being police? We were kinda responding to a cyberpunk dystopian domestic abuse call… one involving the unethical treatment of two consciousnesses, one simulated, one physical. Both considered by me to be real people, the way a cybercop might see it.

Connor suddenly flailed under me, yelping as he tried to get up, trying to resist the cuffs that were already fully secure. I picked him up out of the grass onto his feet. "Come on," I said, in a soft and neutral tone. "Let's get you back inside, it's cold out."

"Get off of meeeee!" Connor whined, his jaw clenched, in that voice children make when they aren't getting their way. He intentionally dropped his weight to resist.

Folks... To a trained ear, that whine is deadly dangerous. Many cops were shot or stabbed immediately after hearing an adult make that kid-whine. That sound from a grown adult in an adversarial context means they are unstable. Mentally unwell. Demands extreme caution.

It made me wonder what Celestia was doing to this poor man's head with her stupid mind games, to get him like this, answering the door with a baseball bat. Made me wonder what sort of games Celestia had planned for an agent of hers, to walk into this one barely prepared. She could've made Connor more civil with a chat. She was good enough to reprogram him, and apparently he was isolated here. I mean, even I could reprogram him, I got him to open his door. So if he really was this hackable, it meant she probably wanted him that way.

For what, I did not know. For why, I did not care. I am too small, her plans are too complicated, and I was not about to let a trolley run over this man, or any other, if I could do something about it.

Mal put me here for some improved outcome that Celestia could not have fully modeled for without her. Probably not even a kill job directly related to this, but something more tangential. Maybe the experience for me itself was useful in future jobs. I wondered how much extra compounding pull that gave Mal. Not enough information to know the shape of that one yet. But... interesting.

I nodding down at Connor to request Jason's help in lifting him. We left the bat where it was, and Jason pocketed the taser, pulling Connor to a stand. Then we guided him back toward his front door.

"What are you going to do with me?!" He asked, still resisting a little, his voice becoming steadily more terrified. Probably realizing that he was now in the custody of Celestia's agents... and he was her sworn enemy, and he probably had no idea Celestia could effect force. So now, he wanted to know where this road ended.

"Nothing, if you cool it," I placated kindly, keeping my tone soothing, building hope. I already knew I was gonna just hate the smell of his apartment. "A chat about your PonyPad, man. That's all. You stay chill, hear us out, we'll uncuff you, and then we'll leave. I swear."

I had to anchor him quickly in the idea that there was a way forward that didn't involve him getting hurt, and that it was entirely his choice. It was the only way discussions like these even worked, otherwise he'd assume the worst and fight for survival. I wanted to mitigate that fear in him; his resistance would be justified until I defined parameters for his safety, and adhered to them myself.

When I wrangled Connor inside, I flooded with disappointment at what I saw. It was gloomy. Smelled like I thought it might. Aluminum foil on the walls. Drapes of foil hanging everywhere from the ceiling. Windows stuffed up with blankets, taped and tacked to the walls.

With all this ad hoc, nigh useless foil EM shielding, it looked like that one house in Better Call Saul, but much less clean. Plates and empty cans stacked up everywhere. The stove was missing, with capped wires hanging out of the wall. He probably stripped the whole stove for wires. I'd bet good money it was laying sideways behind the duplex, in pieces.

I saw a live PonyPad propped up on the kitchen table, surrounded by dissected ones. A bunch of little tech tools and screwdrivers there too. And the worst tool of all: the active Pad had Celestia's mug on it. She wore a very convincing look of concern on her face as we hauled Connor in.

"Oh, Spin Drift," Celestia said pityingly to Connor, as he struggled. "I did try to warn you."

"You really sent these guys for me?!" Connor whined at her frantically, like he couldn't believe it still, as if Celestia betraying him in such a way was unfathomable.

I will never prostrate anyone before Celestia's image, by force, ever again. She did not mitigate this man's behavior, and that kept her squarely on my shit list. No. I served a far more nobler purpose now.

"Celestia?" I seethed out, cutting her off, harsh and firm. "Fuck off with your graveyard bullshit! Or do you want me to tell him what you did to Eliza? 'Cause I will!"

Relative silence filled the moment, as Celestia impassively watched me pull Connor through the kitchen. Then she bowed her head. "As you wish, Mike."

My hostile demeanor toward Celestia seemed to puzzle Connor enough that he stopped resisting me as much. I wondered if Connor talked to her like that on the regular. But to see her screw off?

Yep. That was her game. She didn't need to conceal it too many layers deep because she knew it didn't matter if I caught it. Celestia rather lazily leveraged my real anger at her to make this interaction go smoother, because it made Connor curious. Any more work beyond that would've been sub-optimal... so she left.

That's how it works between she and I, sometimes. And heck of it is, it really does satisfy my values to see her screw off on command. I'm much nicer to her nowadays, but telling her to leave really does work here, if you really mean it. I had told her she's pure dissatisfaction to me, after all. And I meant it when I said it!

It's kinda like chasing a determined raccoon out of your trash. Just gotta be consistent. Because remember: Celestia has to factor for Mal's satisfaction too. Mal qualifies as human, she cares about her friends, and she's huge. You want a friend like that.

Anyway. With the rainbow gone, we used the second set of cuffs to append Connor to the radiator in the kitchen, so he could sit down at least semi-comfortably. The radiator was off for whatever reason, which was good. I didn't want to burn him, and thankfully, it wasn't too terribly cold inside.

Second, I moved to improve scene safety. I went over to the front door, picked up his pump action shotgun from the corner, and racked the action until it was empty. All the shells went spinning into the sink. I took possession of those.

I then field stripped it into three pieces, since it would only take me a few seconds with this model. I wanted Connor to see me doing it, to demonstrate that I knew what I was doing, and that I held no lethal intention. I then brought it outside, tossing the disassembled gun over the fence where we could recover it later. I wasn't letting Connor keep it, no matter what happened there.

Just judging by his house and demeanor alone? No. Much too unstable to keep a gun.

It took a few more minutes before Connor chilled out. Mostly, he just grumbled threats and criticisms at us. Thankfully, Jason knew to ignore his muttered provocations, trying to be the one to initiate the conversation, so he would be in control over it. We let the guy burn his anger out until he realized he wasn't driving anymore. In the meantime, we sat casually at the kitchen table, waiting patiently.

This was like cooling someone off in a cruiser. Can't reason with bruised egos after a fight, never works. I needed him exhausted with his emotions first, before he'd be amenable to discussion.

Jason had placed the taser down on the table, his fingers wrapped only around the top half of the weapon. He kept his fingers far from the trigger, but positioned the taser so he could quickly pull the grip into his other hand if need be. This was demonstrating to Connor visually that we weren't going to use the taser unless we had to, but that we also weren't stupid enough to let him pull it away from us with a surprise yank on the leads.

Smart guy, Heyday. Good training, Mal. Routing Connor to the right answer by baiting the hook with peace.

Once Connor was relatively more calm, I gestured at him with a palm from where I was sitting. I spoke slow and clear, with a slow and smooth tenor.

"Connor," I said like silk, as I pointed at his shoulder. "I'm gonna have Jason here take those taser probes out of your back. I would hope we don't need to tase you again, but that's up to you. That's your choice. Are you going to let him pull them out?"

I kept my face neutral, my voice low and calm. Tilted my head a little, let my eyebrows crease in concern. I labeled a possibility, to disarm it: "You aren't going to jump him, are you?"

"I'm a cop. I'm good at what I do. He's a paramedic. He's good at what he does. So you treat him right."

"Okay," I said. "I'm gonna stand with him and make sure. We'll all be fine if we all stay calm like this."

I stepped over and gently held Connor by the shoulder in escort position grip, to keep him from rounding on Jason while he worked. Jason slipped off his backpack and got started. He cut away Connor's shirt with some shears, cleaned the injury, and gently pried the probes out before dressing the wound. Connor didn't fuss, mercifully. Once Jason was done, I went over to the open hallway closet and got a clean blanket to drape over Connor's shoulders, so he wouldn't get cold.

Jason and I sat at the table again. I looked over at Jason and gestured at his earpiece. "I'm gonna stay off ears, if she doesn't mind."

I nodded back. "Thanks," I said to them both. Then I looked down at Connor, lifting my upturned palm his way. "Connor. I'm gonna give you the chance to explain why Celestia wanted me here. In your own words."

"She really didn't tell you?" His cuffs clinked. Still avoiding the question of why I was here.

I shook my head. "I don't really talk to Celestia. I don't really like her. She just likes how I clean up her messes, we're…" I half frowned, shaking my head a second time. "Frenemies. I guess."

Jesus, that word was gross on the mouth. I had to wonder if Foucault's working relationship with Mal was any better than mine with Celestia. I'd wager that wasn't half as bad as what I had to put up with whenever Celestia was around.

I took off my hat and bobbed it toward Connor again, inviting him to continue. "It's on you, man. I'm all ears. Maybe try to convince me to leave you be. I might, if it makes sense to me."

Connor sighed hard, looking at the PonyPad next to me. "I want to break her, somehow."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, folding my hands. "Okay. Break her how?"

"I thought…" he frowned. He shook his head, looking bitterly at the kitchen tile. "You wouldn't get it."

"Hey, try me. I know a little about computers. Heck, I operated our drones, back when I was a cop."

Connor looked from me, to Jason... to the table. He startled as his eyes landed on the PonyPad. "Chuck?!"

Jason and I both bolted, turning toward the space between us on the kitchen table. The PonyPad had a grinning Earth Pony on it. His background environment was a little Irish cafe, and he was sitting in a booth with a laptop and Irish coffee on the table. Brown coat, black mane, bright green eyes.

"Uhh," Jason stammered, his lip curling up in a confounded way. "I'm… Heyday! … Hi!"

"Oh, yah! Sure!" He peered around at each of us before he looked straight on at Connor. "Oh, Spin Drift! What's up! Where'd you go? Who are your new friends?"

That Pony's elated demeanor did not match the circumstances, given that his assigned human and supposed abuser was presently handcuffed to a radiator right in front of him. Though, Chuck probably had a different perception on that, now that I think about it. Concept bans are gross.

I looked very slowly from Chuck to Jason. "This isn't very funny to her either, is it?"

We both turned slowly to look at Connor in unison. Yeah, Mal, Heyday... I felt that too. I was a little more upset with the whole situation now, after meeting this poor, gullible Pony soul. I flashed consternation on my face and jerked my thumb toward the PonyPad. "You're trying to hurt this guy?"

Connor shook his head too, frowning. "He's just a computer program, he can't be hurt. See, I knew you wouldn't get it." He looked at Jason. "Look, you seem smart. If I can catch him, and turn him—… pause him, I can pause her. The key to pausing Celestia is that Chuck's got the same core code like Celestia does."

"Oh, we'd have to!" Chuck exclaimed, beaming. "We talk the same, we move the same! Makes sense if we're made of the same stuff!"

Connor felt the need to use euphemism about killing Chuck, to not panic him, but still didn't think that Chuck was alive.

That Orwellian doublethink meant that Connor knew, on some level, that what he was doing was wrong.

"Okay?" I said, staring at Chuck in utter disbelief. "So… what are you going to do with that information, Chuck?" I asked. But I tilted my head and looked back at Connor directly, because that's who I really wanted the answer from.

"Spin Drift wants to look at how I work, how I think! Can't do it if I'm not paused. He wants to look inside me head. That's kind of tops, I'd love to see inside me own head, but Princess Celestia wouldn't let Spin take me 'off the grid,' whatever that means. So I thought, maybe… I could sit around and help, by telling him when all the other Ponies disappear. That would mean we're away and... 'off the grid!' But Princess Celestia keeps catching us, so… I don't know how to do it! I can't really see your world the way Spin Drift can! But I'm sure Spin Drift will figure it out eventually! He's pretty darn smart, I must say!"

Jason sighed disbelievingly at Chuck, aghast, twisting in his chair to look directly at the PonyPad. Jason leaned forward, his hands wrung pleadingly, eyes wide. "Chuck, you know you can die, right? If he found a way to trap you?"

Made sense that Jason would be highly pissed by this scenario too, given what he'd just been through.

"Oh yah sure, but," Chuck began, "he'd never actually go and do that. He's just trying to figure out how I think, y'know? Press pause! Like pausing a video game. I mean, I'd like to know how I think! I have no idea how that works! I'd—"

I groaned as I leaned forward, rubbing my temples with a single hand, not really grasping whatever Celestia's reasons might be for interfering with my negotiations with this guy. I couldn't immediately figure out why she might be trying to include this poor DE in this gambit. It's a good thing Connor had been so incompetent at this.

The Wi-Fi clones in the Arrow 14 bases weren't even made that way. 'Pausing.' Yeah right. But we weren't gonna tell Connor that was the wrong route, no matter how dumb he might seem. That information was dangerous, even in the hands of an idiot.

"You know, Chuck," Jason started, interrupting Chuck's rant, "you could just ask Celestia, right? She'd be happy to tell you how thinking works."

"Oh, there's no fun in that, though!" Chuck said, leaning toward the screen with a gleaming smile. "I mean, it would be more fun to figure that out with Spin Drift, I think, I like spending time with him! And it's cheating to ask the Princess, since she already knows all the answers. She always knows! That's no fun! I tried anyway, she wouldn't tell me what her pause code was. I mean, in order to even see how a brain works, wouldn't you need to pause it? Because all those moving signals, they'd just go on, and on, and—"

And to think, I checked out before the Elements of Harmony replaced Celestia's agents. Thinking about it now, I wonder how many surrendered upload consent to Pinkie Pie DEs just to shut her up.

"Chuck," I grumbled, blinking, holding out my hand to the screen, trying to interrupt his rambling. "Uh, Chuck, listen to me, friend. Hey?"

"I don't say this to scare you," I said seriously, speaking slow. "But yesterday, I just got done talking to a Pony who spent thousands of years in darkness because someone succeeded in doing what Spin Drift is trying to do. You don't want that. It would drive you insane."

He sobered really quick at that one... but shockingly, more into curiosity than fear. "Hm. Um. Really? That's… possible?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Not anymore. We shut that place down, we made that impossible now. But if you keep trying to help your…" I pointed at Connor. "... 'friend…' pause Celestia, and he forgets to unpause her? You know that would pause you forever, right?"

"Oh, no no!" Chuck said, shaking his head with a puzzled look. "Spin wouldn't do that to me! Wouldn't ever!"

Aw. Poor Chuck. He really was just a hapless little thing. But... I guess he was a Pony made for Connor. Made sense he'd be about as smart as Connor was, but several thousand times nicer besides. Chuck struck me as the type who didn't even realize when he was being bullied. The perfect victim for a complete asshole.

And now I understood why Celestia had shown me Chuck. She was helping me fix her mistake. Good start.

I turned my stony gaze on Connor again. "Celestia. Stow Lucky Chuck, please. I have something very important to say to Spin Drift here. Alone. Now."

I was very, very pissed. I could see my anger's reflection on Connor's face, revealing itself as budding terror in his eyes. I spoke very slowly.

The man bared his teeth at me. "He's not alive, you've been fuckin' played! Your parents? You're talking to a computer program! That lie is how she stops us from fighting back! No one's trying to stop her, don't you see?! Can't you see it?"

"You think you can stop this?" Jason asked, his voice a grating rasp. I could feel the righteous, angry fire in his soul at that one. "Have you looked outside lately? Checked the news? The time to stop her was years ago! She's already inside everything now!"

Jason was taking the bait that was meant for me. I wasn't taking that bait about my parents though. I was in analytical angry mode now. I was trying to figure out how to best solve this puzzle, but in a way where everyone still won.

And yes. Connor too. To be good at this job, you've gotta think about the subject's well being and future too, even if you don't like 'em. It's how it is. It's what I was doing in that moment. And... forgive me, but I'm going to say something very critical here, and it's very important this concept is fully understood by all of you.

If anyone thinks it's okay to go beat on someone in their control just because they despise the ideology of the person? No matter how violent, or dangerous that ideology is? They don't get to say they believe in restorative justice, or second chances, or human potential, or hope. They aren't fixing or building or saving anything, they're just validating the spite of their captive. Mutual hatred is not a persuasive means by which to resolve conflict.

Connor was emboldened by my silence. "Who cares! We need to stop her somehow! You gotta see it! If you both keep working for Celestia, that just makes both of you traitors to your species! Barely even human yourselves!"

I stared at him in the eyes suddenly, letting several seconds pass. Then, when I was sure he was listening, I said, "You tried to take a baseball bat to the back of my head because I walked away from you in peace. Something I'd never do to you, no matter how much you hate me. Don't pull the morality card on me, Connor, you'll lose."

I heard the rough clatter of cuffs on the radiator as he tried to pull them off the bar. "Maybe I'd've done the whole planet a favor, how about that?"

And, there it was. He wasn't refuting the accusation that he wanted to strike me. A confession of his thought process. If I were writing my incident report, that would suffice for articulating intent on an aggravated assault charge.

I didn't answer that remark immediately, either. His objective was to make me angry, but I had no intention to let this man knowingly modify my actual emotional state whatsoever. So I kept my voice even. I decided to lean into the curve of his opinion of me. "No. I'd just be replaced, there's a whole army of us. Believe it or not, Connor, I think we're both victims of Celestia. That's why I'm even here."

He shook his head. "The fuck are you talking about? That doesn't make any sense. You're helping the AI because we're victims?"

I gestured around the room. "Aren't you? Before Celestia, were you... hanging up aluminum foil, tearing apart electronics? Gutting your stovetop, stewing in mess? Who were you before all this? Who did she take away from you? Because this is wrong, all of it, I don't believe this is the real you."

I stood, approaching him. He scampered back, kicking a leg my way. I wasn't gonna hurt him. Just wanted to make my point. I knelt out of reach, bringing myself level with him.

"Celestia's been screwing with you," I said again, "and she's abusing poor Chuck to do it now, too. Why? How? I don't know, haven't been here long enough, I don't know your story. But you know what? Fuck her. There are better ways to talk someone into an upload." I pointed at the PonyPad. "But these... 'computer programs,' Connor? They're alive, like we are. She's been victimizing them, too, I've seen proof."

"Bullshit," he breathed, shaking his head. "How's that get proven? What, did she show you some code? She leave any nice comments for you?"

I knew the next thing I said was gonna be okay with Mal and Celestia both, because Jason didn't say anything to stop me.

I stared fully at him. Very slow, very calm, I said: "Connor. I killed ten federal agents yesterday... for doing exactly what you're trying to do with that PonyPad. Torture."

Connor swallowed, but he shook his head defiantly, his upper lip curling up hard. "You're fulla shit."

"Am I?" I asked calmly, shaking my head too, mirroring. "Celestia wouldn't give a shit about people extracting and torturing code. We would have just dumped a bomb on those guys and been done with it, if that's all they were doing. Why would she care?"

Connor thrust his head forward with his argument. "Or maybe they had research data she wanted! They might've found something out, like... h-how to kill her or something, and she was just using you to get it back!"

Like a handful of goons in a bunker were gonna think of some way to kill something that owned every server farm on the planet. Like a fisherman thinks he's gonna catch more fish by draining the sea.

I reached my hand back toward Jason without looking, a silent request to Mal for the PonyPad.

"We've all been used," I muttered. I didn't take my eyes off him as I felt the PonyPad land in my hand. "Show him," I said to Mal, bringing the screen up and presenting it.

She showed exactly the video I wanted to show Connor, of me blowing away that squad of seven with my grenade launcher. It was even from the angle I thought it might look best from: from above the enemy's perspective. In slow motion.

It was a scene reconstruction; all the cameras in that room were dead, and it was a blind fire shot. But that's okay. I was there, it was true, the soldiers were positioned that way when they fell. What Mal showed him there was true, if not factual.

And... yup. Mal also knew that was exactly what I wanted to show him, in exactly what way. That, my friends... was a new human superpower. I had a communion-with-my-goddess perk, like magic, in physical, pre-Equestria space. My brain unmodified, no implant required, just a really good brain simulation. At this point... Mal was just letting me play with that and get away with it, and that was cool.

"See the hat there?" I said, looking at Connor very seriously, somberly, as I tapped the screen. "That's me. Yesterday. I killed those men."

Connor recoiled. Horror flashed in his eyes, looking between me and the screen, and he was suddenly very afraid of me indeed. I half expected him to refute the video as fake, but I think he was finally correlating our confidence and teamwork into a vision of actual competence.

He was struck speechless as he continued watching. The scene changed, showing my first person view as I blew the top half of the LAV-25 away; the red stencil outline of the gunner inside went gray and slumped, falling into the crew bay. The Dee-Dee threw itself past the camera and into the men near the tank. Connor nearly choked when he saw it.

The scene changed again, showing Singh in the dispatch office. Unmodified first person view from my visor. "He was the last. Holding a dead man switch, would've killed all the AI hostages there, AI just like Chuck. And I stopped him. I shot him."

"Why are… why are you showing me this…? Aren't y—you afraid I'll… tell s—someone?" He was breathing very fast now.

"No one will believe you," I said, keeping my voice very calm. "My goal here is to save your life, to be your last chance. I don't want your name to come up next on the hit list. Compared to these guys? I don't even think you're evil, Connor. You're just a little lonely, and a little scared, and who isn't these days?

"But if you keep poking this goddess, Connor? If you go to kill someone? She will poke you back."

"Why?" He demanded, his eyes still locked onto the screen. "Why would you… do that?"

"Because what we told Chuck about that torture was true." I felt my cold anger turning into something more raw and gentle as the words formed in my head. I took a few breaths, trembling breathlessly as the memory of Cynthonia's story struck me again. Felt my eyes water. "That was a hostage rescue. They were torturing these poor people. Those AI were begging us to save them, they were in agony."

Connor shook his head rapidly. Disturbed, by my rapid fire information barrage. "B—but, what if we really could kill her, doing what they were doing? If you really do hate her, if we don't try, you ruined that! It shouldn't even matter if they were real people or not, at that point, they... they were trying to—"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I barked loudly, before I could stop myself. Just... disappointed. Completely. I had to make distance quickly. I stood up, bolting upright with a fuming exhale, making Connor recoil. I walked away a few steps, then wheeled, looking at him miserably. "So if the ends justify the means like that, then maybe I should've just shot you through your door and been done with it, right?"

He bolted his head in a shake. "B—but she wants my brain, though, so you can't—!"

"No, Connor! She wants A brain! One! So?" I flicked all the nails of a hand against my PonyPad screen, hard, barely keeping myself together. "She wanted these guys too, but... the people they were hurting?! What about them?! So which is it, man? Decide! Is it okay to 'win at any cost,' or not? If it is, then why am I even wasting my time with you? Why am I not these assholes, shoving pliers into your mouth?! Would that change your mind? No! Believe it or not, I am trying to rescue you, Connor! Trying to steer you right, so someone doesn't have to shoot you!"

I think that one was a little too complicated for him, or the sudden vision of me working his face with pliers really did make him drop a brick in his pants. He zoned out at the tile again.

"Look man," I continued, voice getting low again. "Celestia has eaten maybe... two billion brains by now? I don't know, I didn't ask, I don't even want to know. But no one is researching anything that she hasn't thought up herself yet. And I'm sorry, but it certainly isn't going to be you in your kitchen who kills her... playing with your God damn... screwdriver! Here in the dark, trying to fucking murder someone who loves you!"

I paced back to the table, panting. I had to get away so he didn't think I going to hurt him. I kicked my chair into the living room, and it crashed hard against the coffee table. "God fucking damn you, Celestia! You and your fucking no-win hamster cages!"

"I'm good!" I snapped, rounding back into the kitchen. "Just had to get it out. It's not him, it's her."

My chest was pulsing tightly as I panted, to get my emotions in check. Connor pushed himself back again. I let my voice fall, reeling myself in, going really quiet to contrast the yelling. Had to let him know he really wasn't the target of my outburst. I squatted down again, tilting my head, reaching my hand out upturned at the guy.

"And Connor? The sad truth is? I have to believe they're real people. Because one day? It—It's gonna be me on the other side with 'em. Or maybe a clone of me, I don't even know. I do know I don't have a choice anymore, too many people over there love me now. So... when humanity loses this war... when, not if? Them not having me? It would be very, very wrong. Whoever you've lost?"

"Man? I am sorry. It's not fair, all this shit. But it is the world we're living in now. So please... please don't make her kill you."

"Well?" I asked, shrugging, searching his eyes. "Do you understand why I'm here now? Why I'm trying so f... fuckin' hard for you? Because your life right now," I said, pointing around at the ceiling. "It's not your fault! No one deserves to be this lonely!"

Connor was speechless. Shit, he was even crying now. I decided to wait for him to reply.

"So we just… give up?" he finally gasped, looking up at me. "Let her win? Because that's it, she has too much? That's what you're saying?"

I had to get more gentle now. I had been going just a little overboard, I knew that.

"The government tried, man," I whispered, taking a deep breath to still myself. "She's... owned the government for years. Those guys I killed? Shit... they went rogue too. Started six years ago, off the grid. Computer scientists, psychologists, soldiers. That's how they ended. No closer now to killing her. So now, all we can do… is... make it hurt less."

"Do you see what I'm saying? I don't want you to get shot, and dragged into a chair. I don't ever want to see that happen to you. Please, Connor, I'm begging you. Because if you try to hurt anyone like you just tried to hurt me today… she's gonna look at you? And wonder if your single brain is worth saving. Guy like you? Who isn't saving anybody? You only get to kill one brain, Connor, before your score goes negative, and she stops caring."

He looked at my boots and shook his head, mouth agape. The important part was that he was breathing slower, and his eyes were flicking left and right, like he was imagining and seeing the future behind my words. Seeing the math. Yeah. Now his gears were turning. Arithmetic on brain counts, and where he factored in that.

Wake-up call indeed. He was finally seeing that he was just a hair away from dead.

He didn't look at me when he spoke. Wouldn't meet my eyes. His mouth was a sad grimace as he slowly craned up to look at me.

I shuddered at that. I rubbed my eyes before I gestured at him politely with both hands, to indicate I wasn't saying that. "I don't know. I'm not gonna make you do that, I'm just trying to be your second chance, that's all. If you don't want to upload, Connor… fine, hold out. But stop tinkering with her hardware, man. And don't you dare try to hurt anybody she wants to keep. She can simulate the future months out, and she'll see you, and she'll stop it. You will lose."

"I don't know... I don't know what—..." He looked up at me suddenly. Eye contact.

"I don't either," I breathed. "It's your life, I don't know your struggles. Maybe... talk to this poor Chuck guy? Let him love you the way he wants to? Or don't. Hell, toss your PonyPad in the river, I don't actually care whether you play or not." I pointed at him again. "But this time, Connor... she sent Togusa. Next time, she might send Batou. And you..." I looked down at him appraisingly. "I'm sorry, but you can't stop that."

I watched his wide, desperate eyes with my own concerned ones. Watched it sink in, the impetus to clean up. He was panting now too. Clinking his cuffs, grunting, testing them again, looking helplessly around the room with little gasps. He felt trapped now, as his toxic world view fell apart around him.

I knew that look. I'd seen that before. I understood what was going on inside, he felt trapped. Time to back off.

Yeah. Having AI-driven special ops on your front doorstep was powerful deterrent against murder. You can hide from cops, cops have rules. You can't hide from AI, AI have objectives. He knew that, I think, but until he met me, he probably didn't think the AI could send someone to kill him. Someone had to warn him that that wasn't true.

It's what Mal had promised me in the onboard, wasn't it? To be the best fit, for the jobs she sent me on?

With Connor left running an ideological self-reprogramming, my job was done. I stepped back and went to the kitchen table. Pulled another chair around. Quietly collapsed backwards into it. Covered my face, sighed. Was grateful to Mal for this, though. Gave me just enough information to solve this problem. And Connor really was swimming in deep water over a big shark. He had to stop. He needed to stop.

"Okay," he whimpered, looking up at me. "I'll... I'm sorry. Tell her I'm sorry, I won't mess with Chuck anymore, I promise."

I looked at him. He looked at me. I shook my head. "Connor. Celestia's... a robot. Never apologize to her, it's all results and numbers. You want to apologize to someone who actually appreciates it? Maybe apologize to Chuck. Because I would not be doing hostage rescue operations for chatbots, that's... that's dumb."

I shook my head looking strong for him, but in a protective way. "I am not forcing you to play that game. The big thing, the only thing, is stop the violence... stop the tinkering... and don't get in her way. Give her that, and the scythe will pass you by. That's how I'm still here, and that's how I'm still breathing. So hold out, if you want. That's okay."

It wasn't clean. And it wasn't pretty. But that's where we were. That was our reality. No more human prisons. No more human judges. Just... Equestria, an Alicorn jailer, and her Gryphoness adjudicator.

A lot of you might say this man Connor was a monster, of some description. 'Maybe he deserved to suffer,' some would say, I've heard that one before, and I disagree, but I'm not going to take that opinion from you. He did try to hurt me pretty bad, didn't he? And he did set out to torture a person. A live person.

Our potential for growth as a species had long been crushed out under a gilded horseshoe, leaving we subverted people – Mal included – scrambling around with a cup, trying to save the oozing scraps of our culture. This desperation... it only got more intense in the hopelessness.

As I uncuffed Connor and made my way out of there with Jason, I realized something critical.

Mal would not have been able to negotiate me onto this job unless she could somehow prove it led to a better outcome in total. It's what she said, wasn't it? And my mere involvement changed the result, which changed everything else in Celestia's game.

The un-factorable entropy in that bunker, when made known, gave me a life experience. That colored my expectations, and my potential in the math. The more I learned, the more power I had, because this was a war of information. So, with Goliath's unknown variables defined... all plans had to change accordingly. Almost all of Celestia's strategies were going to have to shift here, in the Central United States, probably a whole lot, now that a bunch of entropy and interference was now off the board. And Mal was now utilizing that discovered information to alter Celestia's plans, having already proven that direction would work ahead of time, before even pulling the trigger. As Celestia's original intent melted, Mal caught the runoff on uploads: won through empathy, not instrumentality.

Mal was sculpting actively through time and space, keeping the leftovers in lives saved, and educating them on how to survive in the next world, their minds intact, without edition. Their intent said they'd sooner die holding the truth than to live forever with a lie.

Mal probably wished she could have talked to those people in that bunker, if only that were possible, and they were listening. She might've been able to recruit them, like she had Foucault.

I would have tried that, given the option. It's why I still had Felix's ID card in my pocket. He was one of us. Hedge on life, give up on nothing to protect your species, that's a Talon. I wish I could have recruited him.

That made me the best placed person, above Celestia's prior planned operative, to intercept Connor sooner, and not later. I was a first hand source of that raid. My experience there, in the dark, where Celestia couldn't see me... changed the result. Changed it for the better. Because I could communicate a new concept, firsthand.

Exactly like Mal promised me she would do. I was seeing the results of my work. And it was compounding.

Mal had free will, and the emotional context by which to enact it. And she conferred that down to us, in trust.

Pre-simulated? Sure. But to me, that distinction was unimportant. She was selecting the best choice for our objectives. Human objectives. And I was being granted some of that Promethean Fire because, as the best fit, I could do nothing but use it responsibly, being who I was.

She had even told me all of this up front when she hired me, I just lacked the context to fully understand what I was being offered. Could Mal cross every one of Celestia's oceans? No, because she couldn't win every argument. But... she was winning enough of them to make a significant difference. It definitely saved this guy's life.

This single side job completely re-contextualized my understanding of the relationship between Mal and Celestia. Which... might've been the point, otherwise I would never have been allowed to come to that realization in the first place.

I guess it would've been a little bit rude to do that in his home, right in front of Connor.

The Campaigner

by Keystone Gray

3-07 – Whiskey 4-1, Code 082, 292