True Skin [Spectre and King]

Discussion in 'ONE ON ONES IN CHARACTER' started by Spectre of the Fade, Sep 20, 2016.

  1. MalcolmNormal. The night shift at BioTek, an offbrand manufacturer and purveyor of medical technologies, was best described as mind-numbingly normal. The woman on night watch in the cloning area was boredly scrolling through games on her holopad, hardly paying attention to the occasional activation of the machines that arguably brought people back to life. "Blank slate" clones were taken out of the nutrient baths, reconstructed in an exact copy of the client that died, and taken via conveyor belt to another section where their old mods would be fitted, the client's memories and personality matrix would be implanted, and they would be activated. Good as new. The modern fix for death. The woman was incredibly apathetic about the miracle happening before her.

    Her job, basically, was to make sure everything was working properly. Her job, basically, was handled by the thousands of fault checks and error flags in the software that ran the whole operation. She was only there as a confidence-inspiring measure, something BioTek could declare to the prospective client. "Our facilities are monitored around the clock by trained people!" they say, while she smiles prettily at the entitled asses and waits for them to leave so she can finish her fucking level on AlphaShoc. And, as a confidence-inspiring but unnecessary measure, she did nothing all night but sit and listen for alarms. When they went off, she just called one of the techs on shift and they'd do whatever and it was fixed. It was always memory corruption issues and stuff. Easy things. Nothing more serious ever happened, because the machines did their jobs near perfectly.


    Then a more serious thing happened. An alarm tone, one she'd never heard from the machines before, went off, blaring a loud signal like a fire alarm. She jumped out of her padded chair, her augmented eyes glaring yellow with surprise and alarm. Despite the shock, she pulled up the error reports on the console she worked at.
    Code:
    ERROR: METAL DETECTED.
    That couldn't happen. That wasn't how this worked. The clones were clean, just flesh and bone, and there was no way an enhancement could be replicated. Replication went off biometrics and went off DNA, allowing replication of things such as birthmarks, scars, and tattoos but ensuring parts had to be reattached. Parts can't be replicated.


    The woman took two deep breaths, trying to subdue the sickly green panic that was creeping into her eyes. She closed them. Took two more breaths, tried to relax herself. When she opened her eyes again, another error had popped up.
    Code:
    ERROR: MEMORY FILES CORRUPTED.
    That one. That one she knew how to fix. The tech she summoned could help with figuring out what the fuck to do with the other thing, too.


    "I'm seeing a memory loss error in the cloning area," she announced on the facility wide comm channel, a good enough actress to keep the alarm out of her voice and maintain a no-nonsense tone. She was speaking in Korean, but the channel had translation software built in. Convenient, when one hires engineers and techs from across the globe. "I need a tech. Immediately."

    That done, she set down the holopad and stood up fully, straightening out the company issue uniform before walking towards the sector that had issued the metal error. The pretty golden orange of curiosity tangled with the sick yellow of fear in her augmented eyes as she approached the conveyor belt that bore what had caused it. She was fucking scared. But she wanted - no, needed - to know what happened.

    The conveyor belt had stopped automatically, right in the middle of the area she sarcastically dubbed "quality assurance"; the area where the replicated and fitted clone would be tested and checked for flaws and imperfections. Numerous scans, tests, and other nonsense checked the clone for faults in the replication of the client, checked for gaps or errors in the memory banks and personality matrix, ensured the clone was as perfect as could be before it was activated.

    There was a body on the conveyor, of course. She wasn't exactly expecting an alien. Male. Caucasian. Naked, but that was no surprise. No point in bothering with clothes for clones. What was surprising was that all of his limbs were intact. Where were his augments? Then she saw it. Or, more accurately, them. Collections of lights and metal, on each of his cheeks, covering the entire distance between his eyes and ears. Deactivated and colorless, probably because the cloned body was inert.

    Deactivated or not, those were not supposed to be there. The woman sucked in a harsh breath, trying to think about what this could mean and failing to comprehend it. Was this augment in his DNA or something?
     
    #1 Spectre of the Fade, Sep 20, 2016
    Last edited: Sep 20, 2016
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    Being stuck in a job you hated with people you hated sucked. Angel regretted taking the space in Bangkok instead of Frankfurt so bad. He was a better engineer and deserved better. Plus, people here found him annoying. The role of Technical supervisor wasn't for him. He realized this when somebody had smacked the panic button in his last hour.

    Angel was sitting in the cafeteria, sipping chocolate milk through a straw. His fingers tapped against the metal table as he glared at the pile of metal in his other hand. One of the rookie's had asked him to fix his cat's mod, Angel foolishly agreed. He gave up now, putting it on the table and taking his glasses off. If Eye enhancements were the IPhone 10+, then Angel's glasses were the Iphone 4. He refused to get his eyes done, sticking with his glasses which did the same job. He had a bit of work done to his hands, but that was it. Everyone thought he was Au natural, probably another reason why he wasn't the favourite here.

    The echoing of a woman's voice filled the nearly empty cafeteria. The panic coming through the speakers wasn't reflected by the four people in the room Angel was in. When a tech was requested, the other people looked at Angel with expectant eyes. He looked around for a second, realizing he'd being staying late. Again.

    "Okay fine." He announced to the group, finishing his milk quickly before pocketing the cat's headpiece. He rushed out of the room into long stretches of corridors, dirty flannel catching the wind behind him. He had the place memorized, so it was only a few turns before he got to quality control. He pressed his thumb against the door screen, which unlocked it. "I'm here, you can turn that darn thing off now." Angel rudely used his hands to rush the woman away. She tried to explain what was going on, but Angel shook his head, "Look, I'll fix it. Scoot." She rolled her eyes at him before skipping out of the room. Angel saw the body on the belt as he jogged over.

    "Now what in hell did you bring in?" He said directing his speech as the supposedly inanimate clone. He looked at the face, "Jeez, I wish they gave you some pants." He commented, always commenting on how he disliked the clones wandering their last part of the journey naked. Angel focused his attention to the metal that was attached to the man. That was not supposed to be there, his brows furrowed. He hadn't seen anything like that before. Angel tapped on his glasses, hoping they'd tell him the model.

    "Identity unknown." Popped up on the interface. Angel shook his head, "I'm gonna have to upgrade..." He mumbled. Still, his interface could recognize a mod from the beginning to now, it was constantly updated with new releases. But, Angel admitted, he had no idea what this was.

    He slowly moved his hand down to touch the metal, eager to figure out what he was dealing with here.

     
    #2 King, Sep 21, 2016
    Last edited: Sep 21, 2016
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  3. MalcolmThe transition from the flesh of his face to the metal of the augment was as seamless as could be. There was no visible scarring, no raised edge around the augment itself. The transition between the two was smooth enough to almost seem natural. That, in and of itself, wasn't too weird. With augments such as this being so common in this modern day and age, the surgeons who attached them were always working on new ways to prevent scarring, aid healing, and make the augments look as natural as possible. However, with the fact the mod was replicated with the rest of his body...Who knew if the smooth transition was of any significance.

    As Angel was investigating them, the lights on the augments slowly came to life, soft blue spreading from the edge closer to the ear towards the center of the man's face. Which was wrong. Augments were connected to and powered by the individual's body, and the cloned body had no life or life signs until it was properly activated.

    Then the man's hand snapped up and caught Angel's wrist, grip just shy of painful. His fingers and palm, perfectly replicated, were callused and rough from years of handling guns and wrenches. The man sucked in a deep breath, eyes snapping open, their color gunmetal blue for a few seconds until the lights in them activate and shine a more vibrant shade. His grip on Angel's wrist relaxes as he begins to panic, breath coming faster and faster and eyes darting around like an animal preparing to bolt.

    It's a few seconds before he can speak, and the words that come out are loud and hysterical, his London accent obvious in his emotional distress. "What is this? Where am I?" His eyes focus on Angel for a split second, then snap away while he sits up and looks around the room, trying to figure out the machines and cold sterile colors with a mind addled by fear. "What...How did I get here?" He opens his mouth like he was going to continue, but a barrage of images and memories assault his senses and he covers his face with his hands while he struggles to fucking understand.

    The memories all come at once. Its so hard to struggle through them, to understand their meanings. There's darkness and prison and drugs and anger, so much anger. He remembers his death., Remembers stealing the augment. Remembers the phone call from his father, the monk and the monastery. It's simultaneously too much and not enough; there are gaps, jagged and harsh in this mind, like rubbing his tongue over where a missing tooth used to be. There's... There's nothing, before the fire. Nothing. He can't remember his older sister's name, can't even remember why she, specifically, is important.

    "Oh, God," he mutters, quiet and soft, hands still covering his face.
     
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    The lights slowly started buzzing to life. Angel squeezed his lips together as he hesitantly moved his finger away. This was remarkable. The metal had become apart of this man? Or his identity? Maybe even his DNA? Angel considered the possibilities, understandably confused by what was going on. He was snapped out of it when a hang went to grab him.

    Angel, for lack of better word, screeched when the hand gripped his wrist. The grip was tight enough to prevent Angel from pulling away. Angel panicked as the mans eye's opened, certain he was gonna lunge at him. When the grip became more relaxed, Angel snatched his hand away, gripping it. "Okay asshole-" Angel began to talk, assuming this guy knew who he was. But he soon recognized that this guy had no idea who he was. Memory storage was the one thing this stupid program was supposed to be good at. Angel clicked his glasses a few times to get details on the clone.

    "Name is Malcolm Hayes. 26. Has - Identity unknown." The interface glitched. Angel hissed and pulled the glasses off to sit on his forehead whilst they readjusted. The man began to panic. Angel could recognize his memory was was stressing him out, but he had no training in dealing with it. Hell, no one did. That was the last concern they had here.

    Angel watched the man sit up, in a whirl of emotions. Angel was panicking himself. Once the man had stayed still, Angel put his hands on his bare shoulders. "Okay hello -" Angel waved his hand, "Your name is Malcolm Hayes." Angel said, hoping that it would trigger something? Angel had no idea. He put his glasses back on, seeing the interface had fixed itself. That's when Angel had an idea. Maybe if he erased the files from the clone and restored him with the backup files. Angel decided he had no choice. Lucky he had those hand enhancements. Angel pressed his finger against the metal, "This is gonna suck. Hold on to your seatbelt." Angel clicked his glasses again, pressing the erase button.

    It worked! All the man was left with was his name. Angel licked his lips nervously as he started the re-download, starting backwards. But he only got to last nights events when Malcolm's headpiece locked him out. "Oh you motherfucker." Angel hissed, pulling his hands away, unsure how that was even possible. Angel took a step back, feeling guilty that he left this clone with two nights of memory. Angel gritted his teeth, he may have fucked up.​
     
  5. MalcolmA few shuddering gasps escaped his chest, hands pulling away from his face and gripping onto his knees. His eyes remained closed. Focus was such a hard thing to regain in the midst of all the panic and the memories all struggling for his attention, but he gave it effort anyways. Made progress, maybe. Hard to weigh that when he kept seeing the terrible things he'd done, kept seeing the drugs and the violence. He couldn't puzzle out why for any of it, that only worsening the sick feeling he got from it all. That was him? He'd done all that? He'd-

    Angel's touch on his shoulders seemed to drag Malcolm out of his own head, eyes snapping up to meet Angel's. People didn't touch him, that was clear in the memories he was still struggling with. Not to get his attention. Not to comfort. Not in general. Not at all. "What-" he began, only having begun his protest when Angel touched his augment and the world went white.

    Pain. Searing pain, from inside his head, from inside the augments on his face. A soft grunt left his lips as the pain spread, wiping the memories he'd been struggling with in its wake. It was mere seconds before there was...nothing. Nothing. Then trickles of information, the small set of memories since he woke and the events of the last 36 hours or so filling in slowly enough to not inspire the same level of panic the previous rush had. He had time to go through it, process the theft and the journey and his own fucking death. Then the information stopped, leaving him with more questions and no answers.

    "What did you do? What did you do to me?" Malcolm asked after a few seconds, voice quiet and cold. He wasn't sure if this man had helped or hurt him and the indecision bothered some part of his personality he couldn't explain. Other than that, he felt calmer. Focused. Better, but far more lost. He had personality without knowledge of the sources of the stranger quirks in it, anger and darkness hanging over his thoughts without knowing why.

    He shifted slowly, unfolding himself from the near-fetal position he'd been in, instead sitting on the edge of the conveyor belt. He didn't seem to care about his nudity, if he even realized it. Didn't care about the cold air, despite the goosebumps raising the reddish brown hair on his arms and chest. The spider and web tattoo on his left shoulder and the ace of spades on his right breast were both prominently on display, along with...well, everything else.

    Malcolm's eyes went to Angel's and held there with an unflinchimg seriousness as the man waited for an answer. An explanation.
     

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    As he sat up, angel realized this wasn't the man he should piss off. Angel was a lanky tall man with no way to defend himself from the probable incoming punch. Malcolm on the other hand, looked like he could break spines with his bare hands. Angel looked at him with a worried expression, putting his hands up like he was about to explain. Well, as well as he could.

    "The unidentifiable piece of metal strapped to your head locked me out." He shrugged, knowing he had just as many questions as Malcolm, "I was re-downloading your files when it glitched." Angel was sure it wasn't a glitch, but the machine knew and locked him out on purpose. "Look, I got all your issues on my drive I just gotta get them to you. Along with some pants..." He mumbled the last part, rubbing his hands together nervously. He looked about, seeing the computer in the corner of the room. It was a transparent screen, lit up by it's outline of neon. He lifted a finger to signify he was going to try something.

    Angel gladly hopped away from the naked man, behind the computer. He pressed his thumb against the identification pad. "Alrighty, we'll try the ol' faithful." He muttered, wondering if the clone's memories were in the system. Angel did a bit of tapping and muttering to himself, looking out for Malcolm's name. It took him a minute or two to realize that Malcolm's memories had been distorted. In fact, there was barely anything on the system except his time stamp that even signaled he had even cloned himself. Angel frowned, completely at a loss at what had happened. He couldn't even find the back up files that he had on his own system. Angel, of course, wasn't gonna tell Malcolm that. Angel had no death wish.

    "Okay so..." He started, leaning back up to look at Malcolm form across the white room, "You remember nothing?" He stalled, hoping that he could figure something out before Malcolm got angry. Which he didn't put past the man. He had an intimidating aura. Angel pushed his glasses up on his nose, panic obvious in his face. ​
     
  7. Malcolm"I remember dying," Malcolm remarked smartly, hands raising to scope out the augments on his face, fingers touching the too smooth edges and following the lines of the lights. It felt unnatural, even though he'd had them for as far back as he can remember, which was only two days at best. Which, right. Sarcasm was unhelpful. "I remember yesterday. Some of the day before that. A number of little things, things that aren't memories but stored information." Mentioning the theft outright seemed unwise. Mentioning that he was killed by police bots seemed unwise. Mentioning that the stored bits of information had mainly to do with violence, such as the sound a neck makes when snapped, or making more effective violence, such as the body's pressure points and how to trigger them seemed unwise.

    All that, but the only reason he knows his own name is because Angel gave it to him. He doesn't know who he was, or why he stole the augments on his face. He could have been an assassin, or a soldier. Certainly a man of violence. Why? What sort of puzzle did all of these pieces make?

    Malcolm stood up slowly, flexing and stretching his muscles, testing their capabilities. Did he have any other augments, any other enhancements? It didn't feel like it. The tattoos on his shoulder and chest were interesting; he would call it another puzzle piece. Every scar, every mark were hints to who the fuck he was, and all were new to him. It irked him to even think about it, but Malcolm would not be able to figure this one out on his own. Angel had his memories, first of all, and he needed transportation.

    Dammit.

    "I need answers. I need my memories back," he began, gritting the words out past his pride and trying to keep that out of his voice. "Can you help me?" He walked toward Angel as he spoke, but maintained a decent distance and generally tried to keep behind the desk. Man was wary of him...and clearly uncomfortable with nudity. Malcolm would be respectful, for as long as he needed something from Angel.
     
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    Angel rolled his eyes when Malcolm made a sarky remark. Angel didn't like it when people were as sarcastic as he was. He decided he was going to stay behind the computer desk, just in case. Angel still wasn't past talking back despite the intimidating figure, "Well duh." He muttered. He watched Malcolm stand up, nose wrinkling in awkwardness as he caught a glimpse of the naked man. Angel did not like nudity. Especially strangers.

    "Sure I'll help you find some clothes." Angel grunted, hesitating before he slid from behind the desk. He was glad Malcolm wasn't demanding his identity back. "Right-" Angel hesitated again. How was he supposed to lead the clone out of the block to the final step without raising some questions. He thought about lies he could tell, but Angel wasn't that quite, or that good at acting. Instead, he decided that sneaking about might be easier.

    "Alright, follow me uh, Malcolm." Angel slipped towards the door. He pressed this thumb against the ID pad, opening the door. Angel poked his head out, glad it was late evening. Not a person in sight, thank God. "C'mon then." Angel gestured with his head as he entered the hallway. It was only a few more turns before they reached the exit. "I'll get you to the door, then you can walk out, I want to go home." Angel whined as he walked quietly through the dimmed hallway, only being lit by the neon blue lights on the floor.
     
  9. MalcolmFind some clothes? That was not what Malcolm needed help with. He could have brought it up, asked what that meant, but then was not the time and Angel was already running off, anyways. It took no small amount of blind trust, but Malcolm only spat a couple of curses before following without even a question. His bare footsteps were surprisingly silent as he snuck through the facility after Angel, definitely a scary ability for such an intimidating person. He itched at the junction of his arms every so often and chewed savagely at the left corner of his lips and his hands seemed somewhat shaky; suspicious signs if someone were to notice.

    "And what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?" Malcolm asked after Angel's whining speech, confused and irritated and for once letting the emotions show in his voice. The idea of the only person he'd met since he woke up leaving him stranded like this was both stressful and sad for reasons Malcolm had a hard time explaining. Perhaps...laying the situation out bluntly out would be best for convincing the engineer to be of real use?

    Most likely. It was certainly pitiful enough, especially when said out loud. Dammit.

    "I have no memory of a hotel room or an apartment. I have none of my belongings, no memories of family or even friends, not even fucking clothes. Are you just going to leave me here, then?" he asked, stopping dead so he could stare at Angel's back, face a vaguely bitchy neutral mask that sharply contrasted the emotion in his voice.
     
    #9 Spectre of the Fade, Oct 10, 2016
    Last edited: Oct 10, 2016
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    The hint of sadness in Malcolm's voice was detected by Angel. He pretended it didn't make him feel guilty, instead he rolled his eyes. Angel really didn't want to get wrapped up in somebody's else's business. He had his own life to live and this clone was not gonna make him waste more than a minute of his time. The corridors were long and wide, Angel kept his eye on the occasional office that they passed, hoping nobody was staying late like him.

    He didn't realize Malcolm had stopped moving until Angel turned round to reply. "Geez-" Angel started, rubbing his forehead with stress, "Look, Malcolm, fine." Angel whined. He had to think for a second, "I'll take you to, I don't know..." He thought about the situation. What was Malcolm meant to do? Wander round until he found a new life? Or just desperately search for himself. Angel did feel bad for him. It took him a second, but the morgue was on the way back to his home. The company sends out people to deal with the bodies of those who use their services. With some ID waving, Angel could probably get Malcolm's belongings back. "I'll take you to the morgue, you can get the little box with your name on it. It will have whatever you had on you when you died in it." Angel rambled before he heard a door click open, "Christ, C'mon." Angel rushed Malcolm to get to the corner.

    Angel quickly slipped into the next corridor, he could hear the footsteps of somebody coming out of their office. "C'mon..." Angel pressed his finger against the ID pad, trying to get into the final stage room. It clicked open, the doors slid to show a friendly room. It was like a waiting room for a station. Angel looked around to see some clothes, steam pressed and hung, ready for Malcolm to slip on and leave. "Right, put them on." Angel pointed lazily at the clothes before looking up at the illuminated time on the wall. If he drove quick enough they'd get to the morgue before the last professor left.
     
  11. MalcolmMalcolm moved down the long hallways with every bit as much caution as Angel did, though his was stemming from deep-set paranoia he couldn't explain rather than merely the desire to not be caught. He gave no commentary to Angel agreeing to assist him, merely nodding once in a silent gesture that could be interpreted as thanks and left himself to his own thoughts. The morgue? That would have to do. It was a better start than he would have had, but not by much. Still...Malcolm wouldn't go quite so far as to call it a favor, but it was help that didn't have to be given. It'd be worth gratitude. If and when he got the dead original Malcolm's shit back, that is.

    The sudden sound of a door footsteps put the clone on edge, head snapping up to locate the source of the noise, posture naturally slipping into something like a fighting stance. Then Angel scared the shit out of him by ushering him down the hall and around the corner.

    He found himself confronted by the sight of pressed, cleaned clothes, neatly wrapped in plastic as if waiting for his arrival, before he could even recover from the startling experience of being pushed somewhere. Were...were these the clothes he'd died in? He nearly opened his mouth to ask, not that the engineer would know, but decided he didn't want the answer and ignored the impulse. It wasn't but a couple of minutes before he was fully dressed. "I'm decent," he said, adjusting the jacket that had been provided til it rested comfortably on his broad shoulders. The "you prude" he wanted to add wasn't outright stated, but his tone certainly implied it. "Where is your car?"
     
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    Angel watched Malcolm head to the clothes, Angel turned around like Malcolm needed some privacy. Once he was finished, Malcolm's tone said otherwise. Angel rolled his eyes, "Good, I can finally look at you now without cringing." He said sarcastically. He sighed, hoping he could get some peace after this night was over, "Yeah, this way." He said vaguely, taking Malcolm through the exit door. It wasn't alarmed, but Angel totally forgot about those camera's that filmed everything. He may have been lucky that all his old tech made him untraceable, but it didn't stop him from being a dumbass.

    The trek to his car wasn't long. He darted around the corner, the blue lights lighting the way. Just behind the building was the employee carpark. It wasn't a multistory or anything, since the company building was relatively small. Angel felt more comfortable walking alongside Malcolm now, since he wasn't in the nude. He kept his hands in his pockets, since the night was pretty cold.

    "Here we go." Angel unlocked his old model with his thumb. The car was pretty old, it wasn't sold anymore and probably should of been scrapped years ago. Angel's ability to keep it running was quite a skill. He slipped into the drivers seat, the strap locking him in. He pressed his thumb against the ignition and started up the engine. There was a small splutter before it jumped into life, like it was being forced to keep doing. Angel's old music played quietly through the speakers. Most people found Angel a little strange, but he wasn't ashamed of his lazy, old school style. It wouldn't come as a surprise if Malcolm refused to even enter the car. Unfortunately for him, he had no choice.​
     
  13. MalcolmCringeworthy, was he? Malcolm took note of the comment, narrowing his eyes at Angel's back as he walked toward the exit door. What was that? An honest insult? Some random bit of shittalk? Confirmation that Angel was ridiculously prudish? He contemplated the sentence for a few seconds before kicking himself into gear and following, but the subject didn't leave his mind. The speed at which he did so wasn't alarming; he'd always thought this quickly because he couldn't remember anything before the auaugment.

    Contemplating the phrasing and significant of the offhand comment was pushed to the back burner when they reached the car lot, however. Information on cars and mechanics were apart of the little tidbits of instinctive knowledge he'd retained, and he recognized a few of the car models in the lot. Just the older ones, oddly enough. Including the piece of trash Angel wanted to call a ride. Still, he didn't give Angel the satisfaction of a complaint or protest, figuring he would hear if her guts were as unhealthy as her shell soon enough.

    He did pause for a second as he walked around the car, though. Stopping mid-stride to gently touch the hood of the car, he ran through the stock parts of that make and model that he remembered. The list was fuzzy, like it had been a while since he'd learned, but there was a list. Another clue to who he was.

    Malcolm got into the vehicle just in time for it to start up and the mere sound was enough to make him wince. "I can't imagine the car knows the secret to fixing your life, man, so why do you torture it like this?" he asked, closing the door and visualizing them dying painfully on Bangkok's dangerous streets.
     
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    Angel looked over at Malcolm, a condescending look on his face. "She does the job." He said bluntly. He slowly drove them out of the parking lot, the car jolting with the cold air. Angel's eye's darted about, hoping that there weren't any co-workers seeing his little escape. The streets was dark, only illuminated by the neon lights from the big building. He flicked the switch, turning on the white lights of the car.

    It didn't take them a minute to get onto the busy main road. The company was a bit off the grid, so the main road was a change, lit up with neon lights, advertising all the newest tech. Angel wasn't the least bit interested. He focused on trying to remember the way to the morgue. If he remembered correctly, it just looked like another shop on the road. "The morgue has a little skull light over the top of it, keep an eye out." Angel turned on the advertisements on his glasses. He instantly puffed out his cheeks, finding the constant distractions a pain. Everything from fembots to leg replacements flashed before his eyes. "Ugh." Angel moaned just as the advertisement for the morgue appeared, "Oh-" Angel slowed down his car, noticing the skull.

    A nice convenient spot in front of the building was opened for Angel to park in. He happily turned off the ads on his glasses so he could focus on not bumping any cars.

    "Okay-" Angel turned off the engine, looking at Malcolm with a serious look on his face, "If we see your body, it's gonna be weird, you good with that?" Angel just wanted to make sure, just in case the worst happens and Malcolm freaks out.

     
  15. MalcolmThe look of apprehension and vague disgust didn't leave Malcolm's face until they hit the main streets, then it was replaced by a more active expression of alarm. Dozens of advertisements constructed of bright lights, every one designed to draw attention, assaulted his vision. Malcolm was at a loss on how to deal with them; he ended up squeezing his eyes shut and covering his face with his arms in a childish attempt to block out the noise and light.

    "Why does the morgue need a fucking advertisement?" Malcolm asked in an alarmed fashion when Angel requested his help, grudgingly lowering his arms and opening eyes that were too blue to the advertisements once again. All the flashing shit was going to give him a migraine. Luckily, they arrived at their destination before it got that far. The morgue with the little skull above it. The thought that his body was likely in there popped into his head just before Angel asked the Big Question.

    "I don't know what I look like," Malcolm responded, without answering the question. It was true enough; wanted criminals didn't exactly spend minutes staring into the mirror. At best, he had a vague impression of his own face, but he didn't truly know. He didn't know how he would react to the sight of his own corpse, either, but admitting that felt as out of character as apologizing. "Let's go," he added after a moment, getting out of the car and walking into the morgue.

    "Excuse me," he began in Thai, the foreign words coming out surprisingly easily. He caught the attention of androgynous individual at the desk, all bright colors and fashionable mods, whose eyes widened in horror upon seeing the redhead. "I'm looking for-"

    They cut him off with a stern-but-probably-scared expression, one augmented and sparkling hand raising. "I cannot legally stop you from getting your belongings, but the police have been notified you were here. I suggest you hurry and leave." The English words were punctuated with a wave toward the back. Malcolm's eyes widened in surprise at their words, but he didn't hesitate in following the direction. He didn't know nearly enough about himself to pass up the chance. Regardless of risk.
     

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    It took Angel a second to understand what Malcolm meant. He didn't know what he looked like? Angel frowned, his hands resting in his lap when it occurred to him Malcolm lost his memory. Angel nodded, letting the silence get a little awkward before Malcolm got out the car. "Right." Angel said with a huff, undoing his seatbelt and making his way out of the car. The street was pretty busy. By the look of it, you could think the morgue was another fashion shop.

    Inside looked like a tattoo-parlour waiting room. Sort of empty, just a stylish person at the desk. Angel put his hands in his pockets, looking around the red-lit room. He watched the exchange between the two of them, not fully understanding the receptionists confusion. Angel looked at Malcolm with a confused frown. Even though Malcolm was confused, he still followed. Angel followed too, "Hm? Why are the police needed? It's his body, is it illegal to take your own shit back now?" Angel moaned, but he was still alarmed. He didn't want to exactly get into any sort of crime scene. He followed the two, the receptionist ignoring Angel's whining.

    They were taken down two cold corridor's to a silver metal door. Angel knew this door. He gritted his teeth, in hope no bodies were lying about. The receptionist let them into the sterile room. Angel looked around quickly, no bodies. Thank God. The smell of the room always got to him though. He cringed as he breathed in the medical smell, with a hint of dead people. "Alright, why are the police being called, what am I missing?" He asked as his eyes scanned for the metal draw labeled "Malcolm."​
     
  17. MalcolmThe fact that Malcolm barely even noticed the smell of cleaner and death was probably concerning, but he was too busy looking for his belongings to really think about it.

    "I was shot and killed by police 'bots," he said with a dismissing wave of his hand and a glance in Angel's direction. He didn't have the time or the patience to bullshit the engineer right then, though he might have had the inclination to. Outing himself as a criminal to someone who bothered to help him like Angel had seemed...wrong. It felt like embarrassment, but deeper. "I stole from some medical facility." His brows furrowed down, pausing in his search as he went through the memories. White walls, cold beds. A couple of stray thoughts he remembered from the time gave away that it was the augments on his face that he stole. "Think it was the 'unidentifiable piece of metal strapped to my head'," he added after a few moments, mocking a phrase Angel had used when he first woke up. Then he went back to looking like he hadn't paused to begin with, soon finding the drawer marked with his name on the back wall. Inside were the clothes he had worn, shredded by the tech who'd given him an autopsy, and a plastic case that contained a wallet, a burner phone, and some bills in a couple of currencies. Namely, local baht and American dollars.

    The clothes were useless, so he left those, but took the rest of the items. The phone and the money went in his pocket, but he opened the wallet to poke through it. Business cards, a gift card to some coffee shop, an American social security card, and a drivers license for the state of Massachusetts. The license gave him pause, had him taking it out just to stare at it like it was an unwanted alien organism. The name on it was his. At least, he'd been told it was his. So, the picture and the signature had to be his, too.

    "Do I really look like that?" he asked, quietly because he was mostly talking to himself. Angel had likely already left. He was a criminal, a wanted man, and Angel would be an idiot if he stuck around to help Malcolm further.
     
  18. [​IMG]
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    It took a second for Angel to comprehend what Malcolm had said. He put one hand on his forehead as he huffed. His other hand was on his hip as Malcolm confirmed he was a criminal who had stolen one of the most complex mods he'd ever seen. And the police were after him? Angel shut his eyes and thought for a second. He had just had helped a criminal escape the facility all the way to the morgue. No wonder Angel was intimidated.

    "Okay well, I'm gonna have to draw the line there." He said, feeling less sympathy for the man, if he had any in the first place. "Nope." He shook his head. "Bye." He stormed towards the door just as Malcolm asked himself the question, "Yes you do!" Angel shouted down the corridor as he left. He felt like such an idiot for even staying behind. Angel could hear the quiet sirens getting closer, but he tried to believe that could be for anyone. This city's sound always incorporated sirens.

    "Sir, I-I can't let you leave." The small person said to Angel, standing up from the desk like he was going to confront Angel. Angel threw his head back in exasperation. "He's the guy you want, I haven't done shit." He whined, the siren creeping closer. Angel put his hands on his hips and looked at the front door. He could see his car through the window. The boy didn't say anything more as Angel stormed at the door, getting to his car. The sirens were definitely only a block or two away, so Angel got into his car. He sat there for a second before the bots turned the corner. "ANGEL COVE - UNDER ARREST." Angel squinted as one came towards his car. Angel panicked and stepped on the wheel. The tires squeaked as the car forced itself into the bot, not giving it time to fire.

    By now all the rest had entered the morgue. Angel looked around, knowing the hit bot was already alerting the station for back up. Angel dragged the dying car around the corner. If Malcolm was lucky, he'd be able to get into the car through the back door of the morgue. Angel wasn't going to wait though. ​