《Terminal Lucidity》 Chapter 1: Cast Even in the throes of death, Caromis knew only to run. This was in spite of having no legs, no hands, no nothing; she could vaguely sense she was suspended in something liquid. She felt both chillingly cold and blazing hot at the same time, like an ice cube being dropped into a pot of boiling water. It was wordlessly agonizing, as she didn¡¯t even have a mouth with which to scream. There was only pain unending that she would have to accept. That was when a hook grasped her, carrying her away. At that moment, an island drifted through a sunless sea. Here, where only odd pinpricks of light broke the monotony of the eternal dark, a grassy chunk of land torn from some world or other happened to be floating along all by its lonesome through the void of its surroundings. An orb mounted to a metal pole cast its warmth and light upon the trees and shrubbery that inhabited the isle, a few scant clouds hovering above so close it felt like you might be able to grab on. The entire thing remained encapsulated within the safety of a nearly invisible barrier that only occasionally flickered to reveal its outline. The hexagonal patterning on its surface kept out the encroaching depths beyond its borders. A single portable camping chair dug into the dirt and loam at the edge of the island. Its legs were firmly embedded into the soil, supporting the weight of someone sitting and fishing in the abyss. Clad in rubber boots and sturdy outdoorsmen gear, the figure could have been mistaken for a mere fisherman, if it wasn¡¯t so freakishly tall. Long, gangly limbs matched equally twig-like legs and a stretched torso. Their head sported a large bucket hat that drooped down over its face, obscuring them as to be almost without exposed skin. Their hunched posture clashed immensely with the comparatively tiny camping chair, which for anyone else would have been rather generous. They watched their rod obsessively, line cast off the limits of the isle into the deep. Patience was key to fishing. The Angler knew that very well, which was why they had not moved from the spot for a while. But then the line wiggled, and they knew they¡¯d caught something. It was with firm and gentle technique that they began to reel in their new catch of the day. They¡¯d grown used to the action, sharpened through practice to the point of unconscious reflex. The Angler knew only to fish. With one final spectacular yank, the rod came up in a flash and brought with it the sight of a ball of human flesh soaring through the air. It bounced across the grass, once, twice, twisting and unfolding. Long before it came to a stop it was already shifting to a new form. Stumps sprouted from the flesh, bone branching out only to be covered by fiber and muscle and sinew. Fresh new hands hooked themselves into the ground, bare feet springing forth from just-formed ankles and joints. Before eyes had even finished forming, it began to gulp down air from a new mouth. Caromis had never been so happy to breathe. Almost immediately she noticed the only other person in her midst and whirled around to confront them. ¡°Don¡¯t attack,¡± the Angler whispered. She could hear it clearly like they¡¯d been right next to her, despite the fact they¡¯d not moved an inch, planted in their seat. Describing how it sounded was even harder; it wouldn¡¯t be inaccurate to say there was no sound at all. It was an androgynous auditory sensation to assuage the ears. She hesitated. In truth, Caromis really had intended to strike, but to be read so cleanly like that before even making a move unsettled her. Even more than that, the fact that they didn¡¯t shift at all rang all sorts of alarms in her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± she said. The Angler whipped their rod around in a little circle, a quick spinning motion, and the faintly glowing fishing line lashed through the air like a viper. Call it mercy or just intuition, but she had the faint realization that this immobile figure was more dangerous than they looked. The rod itself hummed at a frequency she could barely hear, but it was there. Some kind of energy coursing through the material, likely. She raised her hands. ¡°I¡¯m not attacking!¡± ¡°Just making sure,¡± said the Angler. Caromis rubbed at her throat absentmindedly as she took in her surroundings. It was nerve-wracking to remain so close to the edge, so she backed away, preferring to throw her lot in with the nature reserve that was the isle. A return to the abyss wasn¡¯t something she was eager to experience. She glanced down at her body. It was just the way she had last wanted it to be: the limber limbs of a young woman stared back up at her. She sported the tame brunette palette of a hundred compiled averages, and the shape to boot. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Who are you?¡± they said. ¡°Caromis.¡± That was a response borne of repetition, of a question asked so many times that she felt no need to think about what she would say. She knew who she was. The Angler shook their head slightly. ¡°No. WHO are you?¡± Okay, well, the emphasis gave her a bit of a pause. Were they asking for her life story? She opened her mouth to explain, to expound, but there was nothing. She drew a blank trying to conjure her memories of the past. Instead, the vague outline of something missing gnawed at her mind. Or was it closer to the truth to say that there were multiple? Whole chunks of her mental space seemed to be missing, excised from thought entirely. It felt¡­ intensely empty. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted. The Angler rubbed at their chin with one hand, thinking. After a bit of thought, they spoke. ¡°I am the Angler.¡± She personally felt like the name was a bit too on-point for her taste. ¡°But WHO are you?¡± The Angler refused to divulge that information, unfortunately. ¡°Not important.¡± That piqued her curiosity a wee bit, but truth be told, she was far more concerned with finding an escape from this place in the middle of nowhere. Even more worrying, she didn¡¯t remember where she¡¯d been before she was here. There was only the fading feeling of her time spent in the abyss, twin sensations of freezing cold and boiling hot that had been so agonizing. ¡°Where am I?¡± she asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know this place.¡± The Angler cast their rod into the sea once again, pensive. ¡°This is my home. It has been this way for some time.¡± If they wanted to play coy, she wasn¡¯t about to indulge them. Quite frankly, she had better things to be doing. Closing her eyes, she tried harder to remember whatever it was that mattered so much to her. Even if she could not hold onto the truth, she could still catch the faintest of glimpses. She could hear the illusory sounds of people unseen, screaming and crying. Caromis just wasn¡¯t very sure what she was supposed to be thinking about. Yes, it felt like something familiar was calling to her, like she was meant to know, but the specifics slipped from her awareness. ¡°I just want to know what¡¯s going on.¡± They shook their head. ¡°You act like a human, Caromis. Why do you lie?¡± Caromis hated the clever types. They were always much harder to fool, and this Angler seemed far smarter than they let on. ¡°You don¡¯t know me,¡± she said. ¡°No. But I know no one forgets to put on clothes.¡± The gears churned in her head for a bit before the realization set in. Whatever had happened to her, she¡¯d lost all the clothes she¡¯d been in prior to ending up here. She instinctively moved to cover herself, all the while noticing that the Angler hadn¡¯t even twitched. It was really like they were rooted in place, eyes ahead, no room for distractions. Nothing like her; how did she even forget that she lacked any kind of clothing? A vague sense of pride patted her on the back, telling her she was vaguely important to the powers that be. She was supposed to be a professional. Botching an aspect of human life such as dressing yourself would ordinarily paint her as an amateur. This was the kind of rookie mistake that would be inexcusable for anyone, let alone herself. How had she forgotten? Caromis¡¯s eyes flicked left and right, trying to find a solution to her problem. As expected, there was no one else. She would have to swallow her ego for this one. ¡°My bad. Could you¡­ do you have any spares?¡± The Angler jabbed a thumb over their shoulder pointing to a shack in the distance. She thanked them and moved on. Honestly, the fisherman was creepy. She simply could not feel comfortable around them, the incipient concern of being stranded mingling with the information that she would probably be spending lots of time together with them. Ever curious, she tramped through the wildflowers of the plains endemic to the island. The scenery did feel like a welcome change of pace from the harrowing experience she¡¯d been subject to prior to her rescue. The shack the Angler called home was hardly a place most people would live. Rotting wood sagging from years of neglect met its match with the vines that grew over its sides, looking for nutrients. Surprisingly (but probably not), the door was unlocked. Caromis mimed dramatically holding her breath, and then took the plunge. Stepping into the not-so-lovely home, she immediately noted how disrepaired the whole place was. One might even think a poltergeist had come through and scattered everything everywhere, that was how thorough the destruction was. Heaps of refuse, bits and bobs; they sat high on shelves, waiting for a use. It was a headache and a half to dig through the pile, but she did eventually find unused clothing to slip on, like shorts and a tank top. It wasn¡¯t much, but it would have to do. Now that she was lightly clothed, she took a closer look at all of the things left lying around, presumably fished up by the Angler in question. No matter who they were, she could at least tell they were a hoarder. She stepped into a side room only to find some kind of evil maze, built wholly out of rubbish piled high to the ceiling. Among them were rods, tackle boxes, and coiled up fishing line. Fishing really WAS this person¡¯s life, even when they slept. Stepping outside again, Caromis felt blinded by the bright sun in the sky, the sphere mounted to a metal pole. She could easily see the predicament she was in and how the outside battered the isle¡¯s barriers, begging to be let in. If only she could remember who she was, maybe then she¡¯d have some notion of what was going on. She sighed, lying down in the grass to stare up into the ¡®sky¡¯-- which was just the scant few clouds that defied all logic to form a mile or less overhead. The light felt warm on her skin and relaxed for the first time in a long while. She had a lot of questions, of course, but she decided she would have her answers later; for now she¡¯d rest. The Angler merely sat and fished as they always did. They had an idea of what Caromis was up to, but their body continued to remain in place as if filled with lead. Apathy kept them from doing more, saying more. In the end, what was the point of doing anything if not to fish? They were sure that the fish they¡¯d caught would come back to them eventually, anyway. All they needed was to be a little patient. And if there was one virtue you could assign to the Angler, it was patience. Chapter 2: Float She couldn¡¯t explain how exactly she was able to drift off to sleep. It might have been the windless plains, only gently rolling here and there to offer a nice place to lie down. It could have also been the soft warmth of the mounted sun atop the metal pole that rose half a mile, or so she guessed, above the Angler¡¯s lazy excuse of a house. In truth, it was probably the chains of exhaustion that coiled around her sense of self. Now that she was out of imminent danger, all the energy she¡¯d spent snapped back like a rubber band and dragged her eyes shut. Free to rest, free to dream¡­ A hazy memory came to. Her hundred hands reached out, carrying her across ruined streets and up the side of shattered houses that lined the former neighborhood. She paid the rubble no heed even as it scratched her palms and drew blood from cuts drawn across her skin. She was running, because there was nothing else she could do. A black fog settled over the suburbs. It was the day the clouds fell, dark, ominous, and altogether suffocating. Here, she could not see the sun anymore. There was only the low visibility she could produce herself, clutching onto a flashlight. Her lifeline spread the curtain of darkness only partially. Beyond a few meters she struggled to make out anything. Waves of a soundless scream broke on her arms. The intense feeling of panic foamed against her body even as it flowed past her. She didn¡¯t have time to process her compatriot¡¯s death rattle. Caromis could only run for her life, letting her friend¡¯s final spike of fear seep into her mind, where it mixed with the simmering terror deep in her gut. She clawed through the thick haze with an unmatched ferocity that surpassed any bout of anger she¡¯d ever had, the desire to cling to life pushing her to desperation. But it wasn¡¯t enough. Pasty white skin pulled taut over gaunt bone reached out, two giant hands as tall and wide as a house. The fog parted before her to give her just enough time for the recognition to flash across her face, jaw dropping ever so slightly. Then the hands came together, the rush of air being forcefully vacated filling her ears as the palms came together. Both met in a tremendous clap-- and then she was gone. She shot awake with her hands on her face, instinctively making sure she was all there. Caromis stared down at her arms, all four of them. Twenty fingers total. She willed them away with a sigh, letting two limbs shrink until they could retract into her skin as if they had never existed in the first place. As practiced as she was it took only seconds, though she was still embarrassed to let it slip in the first place. Human vessels were imperfect and that would forever be unfixable, so she couldn¡¯t avoid absorbing a bit of those flaws; that was the explanation she told herself for the hiccup. Thankfully no one had seen her for that brief period. The Angler hadn¡¯t shown themselves, still fishing, and there was no one on this island to notice. The nap made her feel a little better. Caromis would¡¯ve much preferred to continue sleeping, but that nightmare dissuaded her otherwise. With nothing else to do, she figured that doing a circuit of her new home (temporarily) would be a better use of her time than doing nothing. If she had to guess, the isle was about a mile in radius. Might have been a bit bigger, but without the proper tools all she had to work with was her eyeballs and educated guesswork. It also seemed to be basically perfectly circular, like something had scooped the island out of the ground with a ginormous ice cream scoop. She¡¯d confirmed it with her own eyes too, awkwardly peering over the edge to check how the side looked. The whole time she kept at least four hands grasping the grass behind her at any given time, fearful of slipping and falling into the abyss again. Even coming face to face with it a few scant meters away frayed her nerves, and she thanked the barrier in her mind for keeping out the dark. That did push her to consider the barrier itself. She didn¡¯t know exactly what was responsible for the glittering wall of light, but the conspicuously bright ball impaled on the metal pole in the center of the isle seemed like a half-decent hypothesis. Breathing in, she let a few more arms sprout from her sides, helping to haul her onto the rickety shack the Angler called home. The pole was impressive, being nearly a meter in diameter, so she lengthened her arms and wrapped them around the metal. At this awkward angle she could sort of shimmy up the side using several pairs of arms. An hour of climbing later, she¡¯d finally reached the top. A mile off the ground, there was only a slight breeze that blew in the same general direction without change. At this distance, the heat emanating from the orb matched the warmth on the ground nearly one-to-one. If it wasn¡¯t obvious enough, she could actively sense the energy flowing through the construct, foreign yet familiar. This was magic, and very high quality at that. The same kind of energy was what she used to grow her extra arms. She placed a hand on the ball¡¯s surface to confirm, feeling both the cool smoothness of its shell and the way that it coursed with¡­ She couldn¡¯t quite remember the word. There WAS a word for the energy that filled the artifact, but it remained frustratingly just out of reach, much like most of her memory. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. The rest of the island had its own share of oddities. First to note was the weather; there were clouds present. While there was water, it didn¡¯t seem nearly enough to create the large, fluffy cotton balls that decorated the ¡®sky¡¯. Stranger than that was the world beyond the dome, which was entirely black save for pinpricks of light that twinkled in defiance of the stark darkness that surrounded each. She blinked-- did one just vanish? She didn¡¯t consider herself a genius by any means, so she shrugged it off and shelved it in her mental cabinet for later. There were plenty of other things to investigate, like the forest. A copse of oaks and maple trees stood clustered by one side of the island, packed into a tighter area than someone might assume. These silent sentinels grew strangely, all of them sporting a slight lean roughly six degrees in one direction. More bafflingly, they all collectively chose to lean towards the great Skyball (Caromis¡¯s working name for the pseudo-sun). Driven by bored curiosity, she ventured into the thicket, scraping against rough bark and stubborn shrubbery on her way in. The minor cuts and bruises were no issue, rapidly sealing before she noticed. After several minutes of this relative drudgery, her foot bumped into a stone solidly planted in the ground, consumed by the overgrowth. Parting the buses for a clearer look, she could just make out the rectangular-ish shape of the rock, which turned out to be a tombstone. Unfortunately, a tree had taken the liberty of wrapping itself around its face like a barnacle, preventing the gravestone¡¯s owner from being identified. Still not in the best shape, she elected to ask the Angler about it later rather than spend energy ripping the tree out of the ground and peeling it off the stoneface. Aside from that, a lone obelisk stood alone on the other end of the island. Wavy lines drew some kind of border on the lower and upper ends of the rectangular prism, both tall and resembling a thick rod (if it was square shaped instead of circular). At the top, a square pyramid topped off the peculiar construction, four stylized suns just below it on each side. This, too, coursed with magic abound, energized just as much as the Skyball. The monument differed from the previous subject of investigation in that the surface of the stonework hummed with a heat she would have expected from a hot faucet. Eventually she swung back to the Angler, hoping for some kind of explanation. As expected, they were still there, occasionally pulling on their rod in hopes of another big catch. A pile of growing refuse a few paces away indicated that it was mostly busts right now. The Angler didn¡¯t turn to greet her, neglecting to acknowledge her presence until she spoke up. ¡°Hey, Angler. I want you to tell me the truth,¡± she said. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to know about where all this,¡± she waved an arm behind her, ¡°came from.¡± They remained silent for a few moments, but acquiesced in the end. ¡°It was a gift.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked. ¡°I had a friend in the past. I always wanted my own place to fish, so he made this place for me.¡± ¡°But what about all this? This darkness outside, surrounding us?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just woke up here one day and everything was as it looks.¡± She chewed at the nail on one thumb, frustrated. ¡°How long ago?¡± ¡°There are no clocks here. I lost track of time.¡± Caromis tried her best not to visibly deflate. Brief hunger pangs prodded her out of her sad stupor. Truthfully, she didn¡¯t really need to eat, but it sucked to go without food for extended periods of time. She definitely felt hunger even if it couldn¡¯t starve her out. ¡°Okay. Well, do you have any food?¡± ¡°There is fish in the icebox if you are hungry in the house.¡± She sighed. ¡°Where is that?¡± Following their directions, she eventually found the device in question partially buried under random objects fished from the depths. Brushing off the riff-raff, she ran a hand over the magically-inclined fridge. It ran cold purely through the nameless energy running along its surface. When she grabbed the handle and pulled up, she was greeted with fish. A lot of fish. There were cod, salmon, trout, and even bass. And those were just the species she remembered, for there were at least several more she couldn¡¯t name. Despite not being cooked, she had no patience to sit around and prepare them, and thus merely scarfed down a couple in quick succession, bones and all. For someone like her, a bit of raw seafood wouldn¡¯t do any meaningful harm. When she closed the icebox, the tip of something pointy caught her eye. Reaching behind the large container, she yanked out a thin rod, resembling something you¡¯d give to a beginner. Somehow it still possessed all its fishing line, reeled up as if prepared for this exact situation. She held it in both hands for a second to study the make, then made up her mind. A bit of rooting around through the discarded junk that littered the pathetic building awarded her with a bobber to attach to her hook. She gave the dusty, furnitureless living room one last glance-over before exiting with a half-empty tackle box in tow. A torn painting fell off its hook with a clatter when she shut the door. The Angler must¡¯ve had a sixth sense. They spoke up while she strolled down from their hut on the barely-a-hill, tools in hand. ¡°You found my old rod.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, ¡°I think I¡¯ll try fishing. Not like there¡¯s much else to do.¡± They whispered in dissent. ¡°You will have to be patient. Very patient.¡± ¡°I want to go home, but I think I¡¯ll have to be patient with that too.¡± She sat down in the grass near them. ¡°Either way, I¡¯ll have to learn patience.¡± ¡°Okay. Good luck.¡± She spent a while like that, casting her rod into the abyss in the hopes of finding something useful. Even though most of her time was spent just watching her line, she wasn¡¯t upset; there was something calming about the act of casting her bobber into the dark and hoping for a tug. Slowly the Skyball dimmed, plunging the isle into an imitation of a moonlit night. In the end, she did not catch anything significant; the big fishes would come later down the line. Chapter 3: Bite ¡°When I was in the forest,¡± said Caromis, ¡°I saw something. A tombstone.¡± The Angler shifted in their seat, watching both their fishing pole and hers. Years and years of practice meant that they could easily react to a tug on the line in an instant. Keeping track of two was hardly a challenge. Keeping a conversation going, however, was far more difficult, as they¡¯d been alone with nothing but their thoughts and their fish for so long. ¡°Yes,¡± they said. ¡°It¡¯s overgrown. I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s taken care of it for a long time.¡± The ensuing silence told Caromis it might be a sensitive topic. She pressed onward anyway. ¡°Did you used to know them?¡± The Angler released what might have been a sigh, but the inhuman nature of their voice concealed not only their gender but their tone as well. ¡°He was the sun.¡± She thought back to the sun-on-a-stick, the Skyball. Then there was the sun symbol inscribed into the obelisk. ¡°The same one that gave you the gift of this island?¡± They sagged in their camper¡¯s chair, the dim night-cycle of the Skyball casting the equivalent of a moon¡¯s soft glow across their bucket hat. ¡°Yes. I do not like to think about it,¡± they said. ¡°If someone killed him, I could help. It is what I¡¯m good at, I think.¡± Her past, while clouded and missing in places, still informed her principles and behaviors. Her subsconscious held a few pieces of who she used to be as well as her conscious memory, and both reminded her of the feeling of taking a life and the rush of getting away with it. No one needed to know those specifics, though. The Angler turned their head away. ¡°I won¡¯t talk about it.¡± ¡°Okay. Well¡­¡± Caromis struggled to think of something to say. ¡°There doesn¡¯t seem to be anything in the way of non-plant life.¡± ¡°There are worms and fish and some insects.¡± ¡°But what about the animals? Squirrels? A couple of birds?¡± ¡°Annoying to take care of and could disturb the fish. I prefer it without.¡± Before she could say anything further, a gentle tug on her line prodded her into reeling in her new catch. The Angler waited expectantly for her to pull her newest acquisition out of the void. Upon closer inspection, It seemed to be a shoulder mounted rocket launcher. The Angler jabbed a gloved thumb over their shoulder. ¡°Toss it in the junk pile.¡± She unceremoniously chucked it into a heap of other random objects, all of them fished up. Anything that wasn''t living was considered mostly useless by the Angler. At that moment, something latched on to the Angler¡¯s hook. Deft hands immediately began to reel in whatever it is that they caught. Eventually, they yanked what appeared to be a cyborg out of the abyss. Actually, on closer inspection, it looked more like a robot than anything shaped like a human being. Its brutally armed and expertly alloyed chassis were topped by something resembling a human head, although a metallic mask around the mouth and wired interfaces galore made it hard to tell. Whatever it was, it landed in the soil with a heavy thud, rolling over with a groan. ¡°Another one?¡± said the Angler. That snapped it out of its trance. It spoke with an undeniably male voice, layered in the vibrato tinny effect of speaking from an artificial machine. ¡°The hell? Who the fuck are you?!¡± he cried. He levelled his arm cannon at the Angler, who didn''t really care all that much. There was nearly no warning as the fishing line coiled around his body and snapped together, immobilizing him. Now that Caromis could take a closer look, she noted the bulky weapons and the chromed finish of the sleek outer chassis that armored him. The Angler tugged at the line wrapped around the robot/cyborg. ¡°Do not attack.¡± The mechanical menace, at over eight feet tall, looked more than a little miffed at being ordered around. Combine that with the terrible burning sensation of floating through the endless dark and he looked just about ready to explode, figuratively and maybe even literally. Only his scalp to his nose still sported flesh, as the rest of him more closely resembled the outline of a modern knight; over six hundred pounds of metal, wires, hydraulics, densely packed and repacked into a humanoid shape. He was a weapon of war¡­ and when you¡¯re a living gun, everything starts to look like a target. ¡°Why the FUCK would I listen to MEAT?¡± His statement was accompanied by the sudden screeching of the line against his body, the clear string glowing with a gentle warmth that belied its tensile strength. The incredibly thin, clear wire began to cut into his plating, the ceramic and foamed metal giving way at the slightest suggestion. The Angler, unconcerned, held one finger against the line, taking care to only apply a teensy amount of pressure. The sound and the shock forced him to reconsider his aggressive positioning, and he begrudgingly let his arm cannon sink beneath the plating again. ¡°You better let me go,¡± he said, ¡°or you¡¯ll regret it.¡± Despite the blatant bluff, the Angler accepted his posturing anyway, and let the cord grow slack, sloughing off his body and swiftly retracting as it was reeled back onto the rod. They then cast the baitless hook back out into the void where it disappeared into the darkness. The cyborg briefly considered trying to blast him in the face, but he had the strange and unsettling feeling that he was still being watched. The Angler wasn¡¯t even turned his way, just casually fishing like nothing had ever happened, but their gaze felt locked squarely on himself. ¡°Just leave them alone. It¡¯s for the best,¡± said Caromis. He turned around to see her, a stunningly average brunette stepping into her early twenties. At least that¡¯s what he wagered, since he¡¯d lost touch with his humanity after abandoning it for the cold certainty of steel. She wore a simple beige bucket hat, even though it was still ¡°night-time¡±, and a simple gray t-shirt and brown cargo shorts she pilfered from one of the Angler¡¯s many junk piles. ¡°And who the hell are you?¡± he said She was glad that, of all things, she at least remembered her name. ¡°I¡¯m Caromis. You?¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. But he didn¡¯t. He wracked his brain¡ªwhat presumably wasn¡¯t already digitized¡ªand came up with precious few memories. Unlike Caromis, he did remember a lot more of the places he¡¯d been and the things he¡¯d done, but with the edges sanded off, the details scrubbed away to leave only the barest, smoothened story of his life. He remembered the vague feeling of being hit by a rocket, and the resulting reconstruction of a new body. He remembered killing hundreds, thousands. He remembered glittering skyscrapers and a futuristic world, a land of neon lights and holographic billboards. He remembered the explosions, the sight of crumpled buildings, and fighting in the central plaza. Then¡­ nothing. ¡°I-- don¡¯t remember,¡± he grunted, suddenly upset with himself. He should have been better than this, stronger than this. What kind of mercenary forgets their own name? ¡°Nothing at all?¡± she asked. Beady red lights glinted in his used-to-be-human eyes, unblinking. ¡°Only some letters. A, M¡­ S. If only I could¡¯ve replaced my brain, too. Can¡¯t ever trust meat.¡± She got up from where she was fishing, leaving the rod behind. ¡°Follow me,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t recall you being my boss,¡± he replied. ¡°Okay. Well, do you want to just stand around here instead?¡± He didn¡¯t. He would rather be far away from that¡­ thing. The Angler wasn¡¯t metal or machine, steel or chrome. Definitely all flesh. But he had a smell for danger, either the kind he loved to put himself in when ripping others apart or the kind that told him to get the fuck out, and this was decidedly the latter. Grumbling, he began to stomp away, still on high alert. Caromis followed close behind, given that she had nothing better to do. The borg tramped across the grass, leaving large heavy footprints where he crossed. He cast his vision across the tranquil isle, past grassy fields and the distant thickets. He saw a pond surrounded by cattails, a glowing ball in the sky, the tiny outline of a stone obelisk, and the shitty shack the Angler called home. ¡°This place sucks ass,¡± he muttered. ¡°Where is this?¡± Caromis shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I was dragged up here only a day ago, roughly, if the day-night cycle of that Skyball thing up there can be trusted.¡± ¡°By that fucking guy?¡± ¡°Yeah. Didn¡¯t know what to do, ¡®cause I don¡¯t really remember anything from before I got here, so I just walked around and then went fishing.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know anything about that thing?¡± ¡°Told me the same thing as you,¡± she said, ¡°and I didn¡¯t attack them. Other than that they just sit around and fish all day. Not much of a conversationalist either. At least I have you to talk to now, uh¡­ whatever your name was.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t know a minute ago and still don¡¯t know now. Don¡¯t ask.¡± ¡°Alright, well, it had an A, an M, and an S¡­ put that all together and you get AMS. That works as a name, right?¡± He grunted. ¡°Sure, whatever. I don¡¯t really care. I¡¯m more interested in going home and ripping whoever ruined my life a new hole. Or maybe three.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s happening.¡± ¡°Says who? A piece of meat?¡± ¡°Says using your EYES. Look around, see any exit?¡± There wasn¡¯t. Only the dark expanse that extended in every direction, with the occasional pinprick of light from far away breaking up the monochromacy. ¡°No shuttle? No helicopters, no vehicles to fly away with? This place really is a dump,¡± he said. ¡°Well what the fuck do you want from me? I remember floating out there and it burned horribly. You step through this¡­ barrier or whatever, and you¡¯re gonna feel that again. No way anyone¡¯s surviving that. Plus there¡¯s no gravity or anything outside, so a helicopter or something wouldn''t even work.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t talk like that to me, cunt. I can see you¡¯re full meat, no metal. Watch your mouth.¡± Caromis wasn¡¯t the kind of slaughterer AMS was, this she was sure of. Yes, she couldn¡¯t remember the past, but her instincts told her to wait and think before a kill, rather than mindlessly murder everyone she came across. However¡­ that expertise in death, the muscle memory of someone who¡¯d killed more than anyone should have the right to, it simmered under her musculature, whispering to her the flow of a fight. Watch his sides, it said, keep low, hands up and ready, body boiling. Above all, she had her pride, and to be a pushover wasn¡¯t something she was eager to slip into. ¡°Says who?¡± she goaded. ¡°Says your blown-out brains!¡± He immediately lifted his arm, cannon unfolding to give her a taste of high-velocity lead, but before his eyes her left arm sprouted like a time-lapsed tree. More than a dozen arms split from the main one, growing into their own full-sized limbs that split into more, swarming towards him akin to a giant, hungering worm. Even if AMS didn¡¯t know what was going on, his many years of combat kicked his ass into gear. On pure reflex, he felt energy shoot through his back, through his spine, and the world around him slowed to a crawl. Bullet time-- functionally, his mind was moving a mile a minute. His robotic body made good use of the momentary overdrive. He easily slipped out of reach of the arms, now moving as fast as a slug, and circled around to her side where he shoved his cannon against her skull, point blank. The smugness he felt the second before pulling the trigger faltered when he noticed her eyes. Right now, in bullet time, he was moving faster than anyone else could, at speeds to outrun human cognition. No one should have been able to keep track of him, but her gaze was tracking him perfectly. It felt kind of like the Angler, though not nearly as overpowering: just disturbing. He leapt back as the implant in his spine shut off, sending him back to normal speed. The flood of arms flew past where he¡¯d been a fraction of a second ago, and she continued to stare at him with a side eye. AMS exercised uncharacteristic caution as she slowly and deliberately let her fresh flesh pack itself away into her arm again, shrinking from a huge glob of skin and bone into nothing. There was no evidence she¡¯d ever been anything other than perfectly human. ¡°What the fuck are you¡­?¡± he muttered. ¡°I could ask you the same question.¡± This wasn¡¯t the kind of meat he was used to crushing in his fists. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn¡¯t know anything about her. Clearly she was more dangerous than she let on, and he wasn¡¯t in the business of leaping headfirst into a suicide mission, even if he was ordinarily a bloodthirsty killer. Unfortunately, that meant he had to back off and lower his weapon for the second time in ten minutes. Caromis didn¡¯t say anything to insult him or denigrate him, electing to turn away and keep walking. This time, he followed her. ¡°So where are you from, meat?¡± he asked. ¡°Why do you keep calling me meat?¡± ¡°You¡¯re meat, aren¡¯t you? Don¡¯t see anything chrome on you.¡± She sighed, rolling her shoulders. ¡°Used to live in the suburbs outside a big city. I think. Had a dream about that place, so I must¡¯ve lived there.¡± ¡°Where I¡¯m from we don¡¯t got suburbs anymore. That¡¯s old shit. It¡¯s all about the big cities now.¡± ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure the cities back home didn¡¯t have any giant murderous cyborgs running around.¡± ¡°And mine didn¡¯t have any monsters.¡± There was an awkward silence. Caromis sat down next to the Angler¡¯s pond, though AMS chose to remain standing. ¡°You¡¯re from Earth, right? The future, maybe?¡± It was her best guess, from what she¡¯d seen of him. ¡°Future? What time was it where you came from?¡± She closed her eyes and tried to recall, but the date of her disappearance eluded her. Numbers like 2000, 2010, and 2020 floated to the top of her mind where she scummed them off the surface. Yes, she vaguely felt connected to those years, as if she lived them, but the exact time was out of her reach. ¡°Like¡­ 2020-something?¡± ¡°Fuck, all the way back then? I mean, I was already borged back then, pretty sure. Didn¡¯t have as good a body as now.¡± She rubbed her chin. ¡°There¡¯s no way we could be from the same place, then. Where I¡¯m from, all this tech, this cyberware or what you call it, isn¡¯t available. Not like this.¡± ¡°What do you have, then?¡± ¡°Replacement limbs and medical implants. That sort of thing.¡± ¡°We had those back in the 2020s, for sure,¡± said AMS. ¡°Different worlds, then. We both speak English so the divergence probably isn¡¯t too big. I guess yours is more futuristic than mine.¡± ¡°Then what world is this?¡± He gestured with a chromed hand to the bubble around them, keeping the isle safe and floating through the sunless sea. She picked up a pebble, tossing it into the pond where it made ripples. The shadowy blob of a fish in the water darted away into the reeds. ¡°Guess we have to find out,¡± she said. ¡°I think we¡¯re gonna be stuck here awhile.¡± ¡°Stuck here with the fisher.¡± ¡°The Angler,¡± she corrected. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it is. It doesn''t sound like a man or a woman. Doesn¡¯t even sound human. All I know is it¡¯s meat.¡± ¡°Yeah. I wouldn¡¯t fight them. I get the feeling I¡¯d die before I could even try.¡± AMS crossed his arms. ¡°What if they change their mind and kill us, eventually? What then?¡± ¡°Hell if I know. I guess we¡¯d have to fight them together.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a babysitter. Not a fan of deadweight.¡± ¡°You sure?¡± she said. She let an arm bloom into a few more limbs for emphasis. ¡°Fine. We work together for now. But I call my own shots, you call yours. Got it?¡± She smiled. Hook, line, and sinker. For all the killing she¡¯d missed out on, she didn¡¯t lack charisma. If her subconscious was anything to go by, the art of acting felt second nature to her. It was a little frustrating to know these tidbits about herself, like her neutrality to killing and the unconscious skill of socializing that she apparently had, but an asset was an asset and she wasn¡¯t gonna NOT use it. She reached out one hand to him. ¡°Of course. We shake on it.¡± He stared at her hand, then her eyes. After a few seconds of uncertain eye contact, she wiggled her arm encouragingly. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna do the hands thing this time,¡± she said. He snorted, the first sign of anything resembling amusement she¡¯d seen out of him, and then took her hand in his, shaking it with a powerful grip. He was surprised to feel not the noodly weakness of a woman who clearly didn¡¯t exercise, but the iron strength to match any cyborg. ¡°So this is why you ain¡¯t got any implants, huh? Don¡¯t need a new body if yours is like this.¡± He couldn¡¯t smirk due to his metallic mouthpiece, but she could hear it in his tone. ¡°Also because I couldn¡¯t buy one if I wanted to, but yes. Pleasure doing business with you.¡± ¡°Starting to sound like a suit already,¡± he said. The Angler was not aware of this as it transpired, though they weren¡¯t the kind of person to find a betrayal or mutiny extraordinary. They¡¯d played the great game of life to its conclusion. There was no need for them to fear a knife in their back or a gun to their head, anymore. So as the two strangers formed an uneasy alliance, the Angler continued to do what they always did. To fish.