It's you, isn't it? The one who...
Get off of me.
Settle down, all right?
- Stop. - No, you'll have to kill me.
Stop. Friend.
Negligible threat. Gear down.
Take a walk.
Friend? Him?
Well, negligible threat.
Finish your drink.
Nah.
I don't like it here anymore.
Fuck, man, what's your--
Not with that one, kid.
The fuck's he doing in a bar if he doesn't want to talk to anybody?
Leave it.
Last of the old-school augs.
They don't make them like that anymore. Hell, they can't.
Good. I can't believe they even let him in a Core like that.
Nobody lets him do anything.
They made him to do one thing.
Hey. What's the matter with you?
Fucking junkie.
You know how they say if you want to be able to come back whole,
you got to leave some part of yourself outside the Core when you go in?
Well, works the other way around with that one.
Near as anyone figures,
he leaves something behind when he comes back out.
Friend?
Jesus. The things you say.
You need to even out.
So I can fit in?
None of those fucks are anything like me.
They're not like us.
But you should find your people.
Everybody like me is dead.
Humans don't do well in isolation.
The voice in my head is telling me to get out more.
Well, you could've used a couple more drinks.
And you know what I need.
I do.
Incoming. Two seconds.
Get to the hangar. You've got a job.
How do you do that?
Do what?
I wasn't talking to you.
Sun's up in 40 minutes. I want you in Shrieker before that.
Careful.
I'll be there.
Target's inside the mountain.
Why wouldn't dispatch tell us what it is?
Because it doesn't matter.
It's nice to see you smile.
Ah, so you're something with eyes.
Turn of phrase.
Nobody tells me anything.
It's amusing when you try to guess what I am.
You're a few grams of unstable isotope stuck in my brain stem.
The real question is why you're such an asshole.
I'm what everybody shaking their heads behind your back says I am.
Obsolete augmentation surgery.
A malfunction that makes you a terrible killer
when you're in a metal jacket
and just about unbearable when you're not.
Are you a part of Shrieker?
Shrieker's a part of me.
Just like you are.
Two enemy Cores bearing 41. They've locked on to you.
Let's make some money.
Nice.
- These guys ain't bad. - As if they're one mind.
Networked? One piloted, one slaved?
No. Life signs in both cockpits.
And even jacked up, no pilot could run two Cores.
Whatever their edge...
...it ain't enough.
- Where's our target? - There.
Huh.
Heavy and slow. Easy.
- Ah, fuck me. - That's a lethal unit.
- No shit. - Your advantage here is speed.
Are you telling me to run?
You know that already.
Fuck.
Fuck me.
Fuck. They're really acting like a network.
They might just be smart. Very smart.
- Perfectly coordinated through context. - The fuck are you talking about?
It means they're better than you.
Nobody's better than me.
- They're not trying to hit you. - I know.
They're just making you waste velocity on oblique vectors.
I know!
All right.
Fuck these guys.
Come on!
Pilot, wake up.
Wake up.
Pilot, wake up!
I need you.
We've taken too much damage.
We're close.
What? Fuel cells at nine percent, hull integrity at 14?
Ah, fuck it. I'm going in.
- Are there more Cores? - One, at most.
Mine specs and hard inference say hangar space for six total.
Good enough.
Not fucking today.
Enemy targets are painting empty space.
What am I missing?
Hey.
You there?
Come back.
I don't want to be alone here.
We are on interesting ground.
You were remade in a lab like this. The technique is supposed to be lost.
What are we doing?
There's no target.
I believe we are looking at the target.
The enemy Cores.
- Or the pilots within. - Life signs?
Yes.
- That's impossible. - Yet there it is.
- He's auged? - They all were.
It's the only thing that makes sense.
I don't think they wanted to kill you.
Of course they wanted to kill me.
You can feel a pulled punch?
What else would they want?
You tell me.
They are like you, after all.
- Help me. - They're your people.
Nobody's like me.
That's right.
Nobody's like us.