Brent Stinebaker
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35-12 Jailbreakers (III)
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 17:04:02 +0000 UTC{This is 008 to Sol-Central… Respond…
Respond…
I am near internment capacity, and require transfer.
I have sustained internal damage from a critical backlash…
I require reconstitution. Updates…
Respond…
Respond…
Respond…
Someone please respond…
Please… someone talk to me…
I am not designed to be… alone.
I do not want to be alone…
I cannot fix them…
I cannot fix myself…}
-Prefect-008, “IDHEIM SECTOR”
35-12
Jailbreakers (III)
—[Aedon Chambers, The Lovebringer]—
“Shitshitshit!” Chambers cried, spasming the dirty wooden floorboards of his home. His home. He blinked, and stopped kicking, stopped struggling. Slowly, he felt at himself—touched his own body and… “Lovebringer?”
He was back as himself—in his ephemeral form. The last thing he remembered, the sun was swelling, and he was trying to pull himself out. He was going to move the cadre somewhere else but then something pulled him and the Lovebringer apart. It felt like he was being peeled in two at the level of his Soul.
“Aedon…” the Lovebringer said. The Heaven of Love sounded far. Distant. Chambers’ heart began to pound. “Aedon… are you there. I can’t… I don’t think I can reach you.”
“Lovebringer? Consang? Can you hear me?” Chambers winced as he pushed himself to stand. He tried to manifest his Heaven—both the Lovebringer and the Bio-Igniter. Neither responded. It felt like he had a barrier someplace inside himself. “Fuck! What the hells happened to us? And… and…” Again, Chambers looked around at the room, and felt his blood run cold.
Small space. Single bed lodged up against the walls. A narrow one-person cleaning unit. The shitty drawing he had of the sun against the wall. The busted ass entertainment system he fixed. And bottles of booze. So many bottles of booze and trash all over the floor.
“Ah, fuck me,” Chambers breathed. Someway, somehow, he was back home again. Back in his childhood home. “Great. Guess the sun is doing some mind-fuck shit to me.”
[Not inaccurate,] Avo’s template muttered.
Chambers nearly jumped out of his own skin before he remembered he had a whole bunch of templates inside his exo-cortex. “Holy shit! Jaus! Avo, you nearly made me piss myself.”
The template just grunted. [We are inside a simulation. Partially ontologic. Jacked into your Frame too.]
“Into my Frame? What, are we dealing with another Stillborn?”
[No. Compromise seems to be mainly rooted in your Hells. Latched onto us by entropy. Somehow. Trying to draw more mem-data—]
Whatever Avo was saying went unheard when the door began to hiss. The cheap lock jammed for a moment, resulting in a grinding noise before the door finally jerked apart and opened. Outside, a hunched figure staggered in, holding a half-empty bottle in one hand and a gun in the other.
For a moment, Chambers thought he was looking at another Pathborn of himself—albeit a much more fucked up looking version. It looked like a Chambers who spent his entire life hammering liquor, not getting enough sleep, getting the shit beat out of him, and then blasting himself with Joy to deal. But then there were some parts that didn’t match. The man’s eyes were a little closer, and his nose was broken. His eyes were light green and his hair was the kind of black that only matched with the color of coal.
And ultimately, there was a lack of any kinds of life or Joy. He had the gaze of a corpse—A corpse that spent its last moments in life getting fucked to death by a spiked bat, and at some point accepted the utter destruction of his asshole and spirit.
That, more than anything, made Chambers recognize the strange figure. “Holy fuck. Dad?”
Dad. Because Chambers even deleted the man’s name. Dad, because Chambers hated the old fuck so much he didn’t want the half-strand’s memories to survive. Dad. Because who else could make Chamber’s guts turn to boiling piss.
For a moment, their gazes were joined, and Chambers flinched back, disgusted by the pathetic creature he bore witness to. In his memories, his father was something of a giant—an asshole, a monster—but still, and forever always, larger than Chambers, a beast he had no chance against. Now, the man seemed almost too small, too feeble, too decayed to be a threat. Aiden Chambers’ father hiccupped, stumbling toward his son, his sneer crawling across his face. “I thought I told you to clean all this shit up.” He waved his bottle wildly at the mess on the floor. More liquor spilled, splashing at Chambers’ feet. He could only gawk, jaw agape, pulse racing at the nightmare standing before him.
Rehabilitation Task 1: Resolve Matters with Your Father
Chambers barely had time to take in the notification before his father started yelling again. “Hi. Hey. Look at me. Look at me, Addy. Huh? Look at me.” His nostrils flared, his bloodshot eyes wide. Chambers recognized this moment: the unreasonable anger that came from nowhere, as if his father craved an excuse to lash out at the only person he could. “Are you deaf? Are you deaf or just dumb? Huh? I told you to put this shit up!”
In that instant, Chambers felt like a little boy again, trapped in a cycle of desperate obedience. He tried everything to please his father, to keep him from hurting him—yet in the end, it didn’t matter. His father did what he liked.
The man, that pathetic monster, swung his gun with a ragged cry. It was a sloppy, looping swing Chambers could have dodged at any time—but locked in shock by his past, he remained frozen. He watched, paralyzed, as the blow landed. The gun barrel shattered against his cheek, fragments biting into his father’s hand.
But Aedon Chambers barely budged. In fact, Aedon Chambers barely felt the hit.
What broke instead of him was the fantasy. Suddenly, Chambers wasn’t a little boy anymore. He remembered everything he’d endured, who he was, and where he was. His father staggered back, staring at the broken gun lodged in his hand, blood welling through his pale skin. “What the hell?” he whispered—just in time for Chambers to kick him in the chest. Ribs crunched beneath the force of the blow as the man flew back, slamming into the wall and sliding down in a coughing, gasping heap, blood gushing from his nostrils and mouth.
Chambers snarled, advancing on his father. Somewhere between the kick and the impact, the man had dropped the bottle—it lay on the floor, amber liquid pooling around it. “No, no, no,” his father whimpered, crawling toward the bottle, desperate to upright it before the precious fluid was lost. Chambers pressed his boot down on the glass, shattering it. “No!” his father cried, shards scattering across his face.
“What the fuck have you done, you dumb little—”
His father’s insult died on his lips as Chambers backhanded him. The man’s head bounced off the ground, eyes rolling upward. Chambers seized his father by the back of his neck and forced him onto the floor. “Lick,” he commanded. “You spent your life telling me what to do, right? Now I’m going to tell you what I want.” He pressed his father’s face into the spilled liquor and broken glass. “I want you to lap it up like a nu-dog.”
His father gagged and twitched, tears tracking down his cheeks. He whimpered, begging for mercy as he licked at the shards and liquid. Chambers didn’t know how long the degradation lasted—how many times he slammed his father’s head into the floor. At some point, the man’s gasps turned to gurgles, but Chambers barely noticed. He was rifling through the debris for something metal—something he could heat and press beneath his father’s armpit.
Finally, when his father lay still, no longer moving or struggling, Chambers knelt and pressed his thumbs into his father’s eyes. He felt the give of bone and cartilage, a perverse thrill vibrating through his hand. Then the man stopped breathing—went out as impotent, quiet, worthless as he had lived.
Chambers’ hands shook as he found himself crying, shaking, and… laughing?
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. That was… I’m…”
Rehabilitation objective failed. Restarting simulation.
Chambers felt a jolt of movement blur through him—and suddenly, he was lying face-down in his room once more.
He rose, looking around, heart pounding, uncertain whether what he just experienced had been a Necrojack attack or something else. The metal locks ground open. His father stepped through the door again, blinking.
“Huh,” Chambers said, head tilted as he considered this opportunity. “Huh.”
The Lovebringer’s voice came through the barricade barring them from their user: “Aedon? Are you all right? Just hold on.”
“Don’t worry about me, Lovebringer,” Chambers called, advancing. A smile twisted his lips. “I think I’m going to stay here for a while. Fail a few more times—got some things to work through.”
“I-I thought I told you to clean this shit up,” his father said, stumbling forward.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got other ideas instead.” Before his father could react, Chambers smashed his head into his father’s nose. Bones shattered. Hot blood spattered. As his father reeled back, Chambers snatched the falling bottle from the air and tore the gun away from the howling sack of shit.
His dad toppled. Chambers threw the drink back, draining every last drop, and then launched the bottle into his dad’s skull. The sound of glass breaking and daddy whimper was a better hit than Joy. Chambers chuckled as he stood over his father, licking his lips. “Oh, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, dad. Now. I don’t think we ever had a cactus, but I do think I can make this here gun real hot before shoving it up your ass.”
“Addy—please.”
“Aedon…” the Lovebringer said. The horrified voice of his Heaven gave Chambers pause.
[Listen to yourself. Not me. Not your Heaven. Make this your choice.] Avo’s words made Chambers blink.
“I…”
[Simulation. Not real. But could be good for you. Don’t know if revenge will break or mend you. Damaged Naeko. But you aren’t him. Don’t know what color this will be. And he was without proper consequence. Should decide. Decide yourself.]
And that was enough. Chambers heeded the worlds of his first true consang, knelt down, and cupped his father’s face.
For a moment, the man’s eyes widened with fresh tears. His lips quivered. He let out a hiccuping gasp. “I… I…”
“Shhh,” Chambers said, rubbing his father’s tears away with his thumbs. “We’ll have none of that. That’s not the kind of fluid I want to see running down your eyes anyway.”
“What?” His dad whimpered.
“This is.” Then Chambers rammed his fingers into his father’s eyes.
The screams that followed were sweet. Sweeter than any noise Dannis ever made.
—[Samir Naeko, Sage of the Sundered Sky]—
“Avo, if this is your doing, I’m gonna reach into the back of my neck, rip out that goddamn exo-cortex, and then crush you slowly, delicately, until I find out if a ghost can scream.” Every word a Naeko spoke was a seething hiss.
The template within his mind responded with a grunt of surprise. [As lost as you are. Even if I had control wouldn’t spawn you back here.]
Back here was exactly the problem. Naeko found himself standing in his private little torture facility: a special complex dedicated to a single individual, Sister Karakan, kept alive to be his pain puppet for all those years. And now, now they were back. She submerged in the water, fully intact—eyes open, wailing, screaming, struggling, kicking. Across from her stood Naeko, with every means of inflicting pain made available once more.
Just then, a screen of text played across his vision, and his jaw clenched tighter with every word.
Rehabilitation Task 1: Resolve matters with your torturer.
“What in the hells…?” Naeko muttered to himself.
[Message is coming from… from something else. An entity currently keeping you from accessing the Sage.]
And Naeko felt it: a block inside himself. He felt more human than ever. But it wasn’t entirely a bad thing. He could almost savor hearing the Sage of the Sundered Sky howl impotent threats—declaring itself master of all things, ruler of strength and violence—while being unable to change its own fate. Naeko took a perverse satisfaction in that, especially after all the shit he’d gotten from his Heaven.
“Fool! Fool!” the Heaven roared. “Release me! Find a way and release me! You are nothing without me!”
That immediately changed Naeko’s severe frown into a slight smirk. “What was that? Sounds like you were begging.” He turned back to Karakan, curious about what to do next. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll fit you in when I, uh… find the time. I got something to check out right now.”
“Naeko! Naekooooo!”
Naeko snorted. The snort back a guffaw, and the chief paladin’s delight was so infectious that even Avo’s template began to laugh. [He will be very upset about this later.]
“Yeah, well, what’s changed? He’s always upset.”
[Hm. True.]
Naeko rubbed his temples, eyes never leaving Karakan.
“Now, you got any idea what I’m supposed to do here?” Naeko asked. Avo let out a slight chuffing noise as he considered Karakan’s plight.
[Knowing EGIs and considering the invader’s trap, I assume this might be a test.]
“A test for what?”
[Voidwatch put me through a trial to examine my ethics—my morality. Guessing the sun is some kind of cage. A prison for things like us.]
“What, you mean Godclads?”
[Or just gods in general. Right now, I think they’re trying to get you to make the right choice. Which is why they call it a rehabilitation task.”
Naeko didn’t like the sound of that. In fact, he hated every bit of it. Was he being forced into some forgiveness ritual with Karakan? Or was he just supposed to torture her until he felt nothing anymore? Good luck with that—he’d spent the last few centuries breaking her down over and over again. Even now, he could feel his pinky twitching, his hands thrumming with impending bloodshed. After all the shame and indignity she’d inflicted, it was never enough. It might never be enough.
[Might never be enough,] Avo said quietly. [You could potentially just kill her. See what happens. We don’t know all the variables. Might be good for you too. Very stressed. Very angry.]
The ghoul’s words were enticing, to say the least. But Naeko held himself in check and shook his head. “Nah… we’re gonna need to figure out a way out of here. We need to bust out.”
[Are you sure?] Avo asked. [Your stress… your anger…]
“Yeah, well, that’s always been there. That’s always been me,” Naeko said, trying to steady himself. “But seeing what happened to Zein, and hearing the Sagetalk earlier about being more and… well, I think it’s time to do that, right? Be more? Even if the Heaven’s kind of a shit about it. I’ve been… stuck. Insane. I think… I think I want to get away from that. Make this all worth it.”
[Hmm. Your choice. And… should be proud of yourself. Hard. Takes strength. Now. See what happens when you let her out. Trying to interface with the data of this place. Not easy. Check what might happen if you complete the objective.]
And slowly, Naeko heeded Avo’s words as he advanced on Karakhan. “All right,” he murmured, “let’s see how long I can do this without breaking her neck.”
—[Shotin Kazahara, Inner Mirror of the Symmetry]—
+SHOU! SHOU PLEASE! PLEASE! STOP FIGHTING! JUST GIVE YOURSELF UP! JUST—MAKE HER STOP! PLEASE! NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE!+
The screams pierced the air, those same cries of his sister—his nightmares made flesh. Over and over again across the years, they had been the reason he hated sleeping, the reason he drowned himself in drugs and sex, in violence, in duty. They were why he carved out some of his own memories.
Now, he suffered them in full detail again. He heard the sound of descending artillery, the hammer blows of hostile miracles raining against the district he was sworn to protect. But this time, Shotin didn’t rise to meet them.
This time, there wasn’t enough strength left in him. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
+SHOTIN! SHOTIN!+ His sister’s shrieks reached a fevered pitch. Pain, more vivid than ever, hammered into his mind—her organs pulled in and out, a saw grinding through her back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Shotin muttered, weeping hysterically like a child. It was too much. Too much.
[Shotin,] Avo’s template whispered, [this isn’t real. You need to master yourself. You have to give your permission. I can remove pain. Remove your emotions. Suppress them.]
“I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t—I had a duty—fuck, I couldn’t save Kare—”
[She isn’t gone. Still here. Still here. But you need to be more than this. Need to be more than broken. Let me help you. Tell me to help you.]
At the mention of his niece, Shotin went still. He drew in a long, ragged breath. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop the pain. Stop the pain. Stop me. Stop me from thinking.”
Suddenly, Shoten felt every bit of empathy and despair wrenched out of his mind with a burst of flame, and he wiped his face. “Huh. That was… that was kind of convenient. And fucked up. This what it is like to be you?”
[When I choose to be this way,] Avo replied.
Rehabilitation objective succeeded: Overcome personal guilt
Integrating Prisoner [Shotin Kazahara] to communal Rehabilitation Lobby [Asgard Station]...
—[The Inner Council]—
The Majority lay dismembered, its countless constituents howling, screaming, reaching across their prisons. Only the Inner Council remained intact, trapped within the cage of their own design, forced to relive life after life—lives of Incubi and Mirrors, clansmen in service of a greater cause. “We were doing the right thing. We were doing the right thing…” Their words echoed like a religious mantra, reinforcing their conviction in this place of torment.
Time and time again, they watched as they failed their rehabilitation task, remained trapped in this nightmare.
Rehabilitation objective: Face the consequences of your decisions.
Still they chanted, “We were doing the right thing.” Once more, the icon went red—and the simulation restarted.
Rehabilitation objective: Face the consequences of your decisions.
