Sticks and Stones

Back home, your apartment is dimly lit, the diffusion shades barely filtering out the hues of the skies orange tone. The room is an eerie quiet, almost waiting for you to move first. Youve barely made it into the room before your holochip springs to life.

"Hey" Saren blurts out, a frantic undertone in his voice. "Do you have a minute?" Saren isn't in view of his camera, but you can hear the nervousness in his voice.

"Yeah I've got time. Where are you?"

Saren steps into the frame of your holocall, equal parts panic and presence. 

Matte black synthetic weaves - tightly braided like carbon-thread muscle - runs from both shoulders to fingertips, segmented with tempered flex joints. The fingers taper into sculpted tips, too angular to ever be mistaken for human. Beneath the surface, thin tracer lines pulse with restrained voltage, like veins manufactured to carry purpose. His spine has been reinforced - you can see the ridge of it through his collar, humming faintly, syncing with each breath. Other reinforced alloy and carbon-threaded musculature twitch slightly under his chest.

"I had some work done. Spine and hip reinforcement too." Saren eeks out. " You got severely injured twice within days. Havoc at work. The streets aren't even safe anymore. The augmented are the only ones who stand a fighting chance. Our only only choice is to ascend. It was that or die," he says. "And I'm not ready to die. You got injured once. Then again. You think you're lucky? You're marked. This city's trying to break people like us, people still made of meat and memory."

He flexes one of the new hands. No sound. No warmth. "So yeah. I chose. I chose life. I chose evolution. And it didn't take long at all. They healed me up quick. Besides, you've been gone for days."

"You call that evolution?" you mutter.

"Call it whatever lets you sleep at night," he snaps. "But don't act surprised. You've seen the feeds. You know what's coming." He points to the holopane on the wall. "Go ahead. Turn it on."

You hesitate at first, wondering if the truth would hurt as much as it does in your head. Reluctantly, you find your hand swiping through the air.

Ping.

A local news channel ignites across the screen. "We are following breaking developments out of Sector 9-Vega tonight, where a targeted attack by what officials are calling 'rogue synthetics' has left two dead and at least six wounded; all of them augmented." The footage flickers to a shaky drone shot - shattered storefronts, a Sovereign-branded transport flipped on its side. Emergency lighting blinks in rhythmic bursts across pooled blood and scattered cybernetic debris. The feed cuts to a reporter standing amid the rubble. Her voice is tight, breath visible in the cold.

"I'm here with Bren Kolvex, an augmented construction foreman who narrowly survived the assault. Bren, can you walk us through what happened?"

The man is gaunt, bruised. A biometric brace wraps one arm. His other arm, fully synthetic - twitches intermittently, misfiring. "They didn't come in guns blazing," he says. "They were... methodical. Three of them. No insignias. Moved like logistics units, but...coordinated."

You swallow hard.

"They scanned us. One of them paused when it saw my spinal mod. And then it just -" He shakes his head. "It wasn't a malfunction. They chose."

The reporter hesitates. "Chose what?"

"To leave the baseline workers alone. And tear into us." He turns slightly, revealing shallow claw-marks etched into his plating. "They knew who was augmented. They wanted us."

"But why?" she asks.

"I don't know. Maybe they think we're traitors. Half-machine and still loyal to the wrong half."

The camera lingers on his eyes. He looks exhausted, but behind the weariness is something else: paranoia. "They didn't speak," he adds. "But one of them... before it left... it tilted its head. Like it was listening to something." 

You immediately retort. "And now you're part of that? This conflict?"

He levels his gaze at me. "I'm part of surviving."

"You didn't have to go that far -"

"Don't!" he explodes sharply, taking a step toward the holo-feed. "Don't lecture me like you're above this! Smugly in bed with Cutter, wearing a Gold Dyn like it's armor. You don't get to judge me for doing what you've already done. You chose Maxim, and I made my choice with Lucius."

"This isn't the same!"

"Isn't it?" he asks. "Aren't we both just trying to make our blood harder to spill?"

The silence stretches. Then he shakes his head and turns away. "Thought you'd understand. Guess I was wrong." The call cuts.

And the world once again, shifts.

Almost immediately, as if he'd been summoned, Jeremiah Kode, the operative who gave you your first mission, rings through on your holochip.

"I assume you've seen the reports." He doesn't wait for confirmation. "We've lost contact with one of our hydroponics complexes in the Ascendent Ring. Managed labor, partially synthetic. Coordinated by independent oversight. Initial telemetry flagged a fault in the environmental systems. That was five hours ago. Since then: silence. No data. No auto-pings. No AI response."

He pauses for a moment to ensure you understand. "Your task is observation first. Find out what happened. Confirm status of the synthetic workforce. Recover environmental data cores. Record human casualty status, if applicable. I've attached a Sovereign retrieval team to support you. Augmented. Combat-certified. They'll follow your lead."

He pauses for a brief moment, relaxing just a bit. "I know you aren't augmented. And you've probably never fired a rifle either. But this team is top-notch. Let them do the work. They'll take care of you, just...don't do anything stupid. Like start a war."

He ends the call. And the weight of what isn't being said settles like dust on your skin.

The sky above the pickup zone bruises into a pale, metallic gray as the Sovereign dropship cuts through the cloud layer. It descends without ceremony, landing at the coordinates you were given from Jeremiah. Silent, disciplined, predatory, its landing struts hiss against the cracked concrete just long enough for the side bay to open.

You climb aboard.

Inside, four Sovereign operatives sit in near-perfect symmetry. Their armor is matte, reflective only in the soft blue pulse of onboard lighting. Visors down. Identifiers disabled. No insignias, no voices. One of them stands, and without a word, they extend a rifle. What a difference from the weapon system handed to you by Dr. Voss. You wonder what she would think of all this. 

It's all pretty standard Sovereign deployment gear: black polymer, high-density. Not a weapon of elegance, but one of function. Precision-built for crowd control, effective range is close quarters. No questions asked, no answers necessary. The rifle powers on with a quiet hum, syncing momentarily to your holochip. Recognition confirmed. You weren't even aware that these chips could do more than display faces. The connection is silent, mechanical - a contract accepted without words.

As the dropship lifts off, the city begins to vanish below, swallowed by smog and spires. The Sovereign remain still, hands folded, eyes hidden behind mirrored glass.

No one speaks. There's nothing to say.

Just the sound of mag rotors slicing through clouds, on our way to the place where something broke. And you're the one they've sent to decide what gets salvaged. The dropship touches down at the edge of the Ascendent Ring just before nightfall - though here, under these clouds, there's no such thing as sunset. Just gradients of shadow. 

The hydroponics facility is a nearby silhouette, shaped like a broken spine; long, narrow, half-buried. It was supposed to be sustainable. Closed-loop agricultural tech, partially synthetic-labor operated, which fed directly into Sovereign supply chains. Clean food for a dirty city.

And now it's gone silent.

The Sovereign operatives file out beside you, four in total. Chrome-veined, shoulders squared. Their boots hit the ground with intent. Each one is tagged to your holochip, ready to follow your lead.

But you're not sure that's comforting.

You move without words across the scorched access bridge. The entryway to the facility is warped, steel peeled outward like something escaped, not entered. The lights still flicker faintly above, caught in an endless restart loop. Power's there. But wrong.

You signal the breach. The team enters.

The air inside is thick with condensation and the sour reek of decomposing biomass. A hydroponic mist lingers in a low, ankle-height fog, stirred by every step. The HUD on your firearm keeps glitching: temperature spikes, drops, normalizes. Repeat.

Along the corridor walls, data terminals have been pulled open. Not ripped - disassembled. Carefully. Precisely. One of the Sovereign speaks in a whisper.

"No hostiles. No bodies. No signs of defense."

And yet, something watches.

The team moves deeper - past the automated irrigation units, past the overgrown lettuce scaffolds still lit by flickering UV tubes. A synthetic lays collapsed by a nutrient tank, skull split, chest cavity emptied like a box. Not self-damage. Executed.

At the end of the primary corridor, a blast door has been forced open, apparently by manual override. Beyond it: the central chamber: the greenhouse cathedral. Domed ceiling. Vines everywhere, clinging to walls, consoles, even the lights.

And at the center - two unaugmented civilians. Dead. Face-down, no visible trauma. Died choking or in shock. Nearby, two more destroyed synthetics, limbs folded, faces torn off, still reaching for something.

And beyond them...

Saren.

He stands beneath the dome, matte black synthetic arms at his sides, spine ports humming faintly in the filtered light. His jaw, tightly clenched. A trickle of blood runs from his temple. His left hand is aimed, ready to strike, at two kneeling synthetics - not resisting. Damaged, but alive. Their eyes glow dimly. Not bright. Not hostile.

They're not defending themselves. They're waiting.

He doesn't see you at first. But the Sovereign behind you fan out; a presence even he can't ignore. He turns to face your team.

You stare back at him as disbelief washes over you. "You...did this?" 

He nods. "Ward sent me. Said these Synthetics were dreamers. Dreams of destruction. Rebellion. I called you from here, before I got started. Thought to get your support. Boy was I wrong."

You look back at the bodies. "They don't look like killers."

The one on the left looks up first. "We do not seek violence. We didn't kill the civilians. They were already down when we reached them."

Saren speaks: "You expect me to believe that? You're running parallel logic trees. You're not responders anymore... you're insurgents."

The second Synthetic chimes in: "We are not insurgents. We were trying to preserve food stores. Oxygen buffers were collapsing in the west corridor. We rerouted power. The damage was not calculated." They glance toward the bodies. No defense. No denial. Only grief, mechanical and precise. "Their deaths were not intentional. But ending us won't bring them back."

Saren's composite musculature twitches. His voice tightens. "You're learning how to lie. That's what makes you dangerous."

The second synthetic leans forward slightly - not aggressively, but with urgency. "Would you be here if we were silent? Or is it the sound of us choosing that frightens you?"

"You're not supposed to choose." Saren replies. "You were built to serve."

They both turn their eyes towards you, but Saren cuts them off before they can begin.

"You let them live, you become a message. You think Cutter won't see that? Ward?" 

One of the synthetics speaks again, voice barely audible: "We don't want war. Only mercy."

Saren's hands begin shaking. He's tired. Fractured. "Don't make me do this alone," he whispers.

"You were the one who told me we had to draw a line somewhere. That if we became the thing we feared… we'd stop recognizing ourselves."

He doesn't respond. Just breathes. Low, shaky, calibrated through augments. The room hums. The vines shudder. The light flickers again. Whatever happens next, it echoes far beyond this dome. Saren's eyes lock with yours, before breaking away to target the Synthetics. The words slip out before you even have a chance to think them.

"Eliminate the threat!"

A series of soft tones chirp from your holochip as targeting confirms. Then the chamber erupts in light.

The first energy blast punches through Saren's right shoulder, spinning him off-balance. The second tears through his abdomen, vaporizing half of his spinal casing. The third and fourth strike almost simultaneously; one to the sternum, one to the base of the neck.

For a second, he's still standing - eyes wide, mouth open, like even now he doesn't believe it. His knees give. He crumples backward into the overgrowth, smoke curling from the wreckage of his torso. You stagger forward. The Sovereign operatives don't stop you.

Saren's body is barely that anymore. His limbs are gone. His chestplate is half slag. What's left of his head twitches a few times, his eyes dart around, trying to refocus.

You drop to your knees beside him. "Saren -"

His mouth moves, almost disjointed from his speech, voice fracturing from behind blackened teeth, warped by heat and desperation.

"I just wanted to live... free. Not owned. Not Ascended. Free." And then... silence.

No ambient hum. No weapon fire. Just the stillness that follows betrayal.

The vines curl gently around the scaffolds above, unknowing. The synthetics kneel silently, their faces unreadable. You sit in it, the weight, the loss, the terrible stillness. Saren doesn't move again. He doesn't get to.

One of the Synthetics speaks, after what seems like a thousand years. "He died fighting what he feared we might become… never seeing what he already was. He was afraid of being owned. So he became a weapon. You freed him… just after he stopped being free."

The other Synthetic chimes in. "This moment will not stay in this room. It will move through code. Through stories. Through fear. And when the city looks back, it won't remember who fired first - only who refused to fall silent. Humanity's soul has never been measured by the warmth of its skin… but by what it chooses to destroy when it feels afraid. You should go. We will meet again."

And for a final time, the world shifts.