Private Nice of You to Drop In

The station was one of the coolest places she’d ever seen.

She’d seen plenty of things covered in black ink before, but nothing like this. She’d participated in countless covert missions and dealt with sensitive international secrets, but never in her lifetime had she heard of a place like this.. Well, in Miki’s lifetime…

A splitting migraine set upon her suddenly, forcing her to drop the weapon she had been examining. A high-voltage plasma rifle that she certainly couldn’t afford. She’d asked for “a phased plasma rifle in the 40-watt range,” mostly as a joke, but she’d been surprised when the cashier happily took one down from the wall for her to examine. Now he(?) was shouting at her in a dialect that not even her databases could translate. She braced herself against the wall, head in her hand, as the migraine slowly passed. She’d been getting those a lot lately, ever since she realized she wasn’t… Well, her.

She didn’t apologize for dropping the weapon. She just turned tail and left the shop. She didn’t have the energy to deal with it. The owner yelled after her, half-annoyed, half-confused, but didn’t pursue her. She almost hoped he would, so she could have a suitable punching bag to take her frustrations out on.

Turning the corner, she came across a large balcony overlooking an artificial garden. She wasn’t much for flowers, but the garden had a large glass wall that gave her a good view of the stars beyond. She thought she could see Pluto in the distance, though she didn’t know enough about space to be sure. Above her, an alien with eight spider-like appendages clung to a wall near an open panel, bickering with a human who was suspended in some kind of spider suit. Man, that was cool. She needed to get herself one of those. They both spoke a language she didn’t understand, but they seemed to be coworkers, arguing over who knows what. She glanced at them warily, leaning forward on the rail and peering down at the many levels below. She saw catwalks riddled with people and aliens alike, and watched a small number of vehicles zipping to and fro.

Impulsively, she ran a diagnostic on herself, just in case. She always did that when she sensed a fight could break out, even if she wasn’t initially involved. Her armaments were all concealed in their proper places. It all fit pretty snugly under her jacket, a weather-resistant gray military jacket that managed not to look too conspicuous. She had a small backpack with her, the kind you take on a long run or hike, and her hood was raised, concealing her face and mess of black hair. She didn’t like to stick out, and among her present company, she was doing a good job of hiding herself.

As she finished her check, the alien screamed, and her head snapped in their direction just in time to see sparks fly, and a wave of energy rock across the nearby electronics. She saw lights flash, transformers spark, and reacted too late to protect herself. One of the components they’d fried had been maintaining an electronic field, and the brief lapse in regulation rocked this section of the station in a wave of energy, causing lights to flare up and fry, onlookers to scream with surprise, and some robots to fall suddenly unconscious.

She didn’t feel herself starting to fall over the rail. She didn’t scream. When her body crumpled on a catwalk, several stories below, she didn’t stop convulsing. Her head had taken the worst of it, and a small section of her facial tissue had torn away, revealing her metal endoskeleton to any who might try to help her.

She’d been zapped once or twice before. The worst thing about it was the loss of control. She could still perceive her surroundings, and she could still think, even if the only thought on her mind was, well, mindless screaming. Her stupid computer brain didn’t help. It screamed all sorts of useless information at her in a panicked frenzy. The Em̴̛̥̗̫̭̘̀̀̿̃͠p̧͇̤̻͖͈͚̥̍̏̎͂̋̒̄̉͜͢͠i̡͓͉̙̞͒͗̑̈́̀̃͊̚͞r̵̭̜̗̤͍̣̞̂̓͌́͌̓̂̏͐̚e̼̝̪̪̜̞̔̄̏̓͂͋̅̄͋͜͟͞ S̢̘̙̹̺̄͑̉̑̿͋̈́͜ţ̫̠̬̗̠̟̘̉̓̐͊̓͗͊͑͜͝a̩̭̯̙̯̮̝͈͋̔̈̚͠ͅt̡̛̘̣̭̬̩͍̂̀̽̈̎͘͞ḛ̶̤̙̗̗̈́̎̅͊́̋̒͘͠ B̵̨̻͖̳̝͕͑̅͑̾͞ṷ͈͔̮͍̫͌̊̽̓̍̎͘ilding is 1,454 feet tall. The earliest known instance of a harpsichord was found in .1̧̠̱̩̘̥̙͗̐̈̑͊̽̔̌̈́͜͢͟3̧̼͈͚͆̈́̉̓͂̓̽͝ͅ9̴̖̖͕͚̫̍͌̆̊͐͗̕7̢̹̳̪̞̣̬̔͐̒̍̀͗͘͘͢͟.̶͕̠͈̰̞͙͂͛́̾͛̉̍͜͠ Ť̷̖̬̫͉̗̙̋̿͒͐̚̕ǒ̜̭̱̠̥͋̈͂̂͌̆͟͠͠d͇̳̘͖̮̓̇̍̀͗͂̓͌̑͜ͅa̧̧̭̤̝͖͙͖̝̒̊̆̂̓̄y̬̥͓͓̘̱͇͍͑͗͒͘͞’s winning powerball numbers we̻̖̞̼̖͋͗̾̐̓͑̐̅͒͜͡ͅr̲̞͙̥̪̾̈͊͂̽̓͌́͢͡e̶̢̖̥̼̝͔̹͇̟͙͗̅̿̈͆͐̅̅̍͞ .̖̙̘̈̉̑̌̐͑̕1͙̰͉̫͐̋̍͐̈̀́͜͟͠8̧̻̟̼͔̩͓͗͗̇̊͂̄̿̚͜͝͞,͈͈͕̺̘̌̾̓͌̕͜͞͠ 1̴̢͇̼̠̫̼̃͐͂̌̃̈́̕̚͞,̛͖̦̦̰̟̐͋̾̆͑͝ 2̷̛̤͙͔̮́̇̂͋̔̓͋̄̕͜3̧̹̯͓̳͊̄͊̇̔͜,̢̘̞̥͚̪̳̜̥̮̈̂̀̇͑́̌͝ 2̷̙̜͔̠͉̹̥̦̼̏̇̉̆̈́4̶͔̺͎̤̬͔̈̂̐́͒͢͞,̸̛̻̼̦̝̳̺̌̾̍̔̑͐̍͒́͜ 8͎̲͕̜̹̗̇̄̀̏̂͢͝,̢͖̟̗̝͔͒̀͛̔̔̋̾͑͜ 5̰͈̦͓͍̲̳̤̇̐̀̽̈̓̃̉͘͠.̨̰͎̫̱̱͛̿̍̄̅̕͞ The first recorded encounter with extraterrestrials by the US ██████ ██████ ███████ in █████████

And, of course, any thoughts she could actually put together were primal, knee-jerk responses to whatever stimulus she could actually observe. So, naturally, when a stranger clamped down a set of mechanical arms on her to hold her still, she assumed the worst. She produced some sort of mechanical doohickey, and she had no clue what it was. Helpfully, her HUD told her it was an Ư̵̠̲̟͔̰̂͊͂̚n͉̣̤̺̤̭͚̙͋̔̓̏͒͆i̙̭͔̲͎͗͑̋̀̎̓̀́̋͊d̡̖̼̗̞̪̯̦̟̹̒̍̊͒̈̽̇͝ě̷̡̨͉̼̭̙̌͂̊̆̈́͘͡n̢̛͔̺̮̋̂̈͑͗̒͘̚͜͟͝t̶̢̩͇̣̜͌̓̇̒̐͘͜į̙̳̖̯͙̱̪̲͖̉̀̑̏͠ed o̭͎̗̮͉͚̒̽̑̾̇b̻̤̮̯̞̬̠͇̅̿͂͌̃̑̂͠͞ͅj̴̧̯̜̩̜̤̤̙͒͊̃̍̅̕͠͝ȩ̷̛͈̘͉̰͈̏͌̅͊͑̀̇̓c̶͙͕̜̮̮̬̥͗̌͂͆͑̽̅̕͞͡t̶̥̦̩̝̭͛̒̌͗͝.

And suddenly, it felt as if someone had just jump started her heart. Her body stopped convulsing, and her computer worked at a furious pace to catch up. She wasn’t being bombarded by an alphabetical list of firstborn children of US presidents anymore, but her HUD was still freaking out. Now, though, it said words she understood.

THREAT IDENTIFIED

No shit, Jeeves.

She was being restrained, and as far as she could tell, that battery thingy was sapping energy from her. She struggled against the mechanical grip, putting her hydraulics to the test, and tried to give herself enough space to move one of her arms and produce the large-caliber pistol that she was hiding on her person, aiming it at her assailant at basically point-blank range and trying to knock away the strange-looking battery with one of her knees.

She stared stoically at the one who’d held her even as she aimed four of the biggest guns she’d ever seen at her. Her HUD helpfully calculated her odds of survival in an engagement with such large weaponry, and while the figure was a nonzero estimate, it was only barely that. She held her pistol there, still aimed in an exercise in futility at the ship’s guns. She weighed her options.

The Grizzly in her hands might have packed a punch, but she wasn’t sure she could even dent the damned things, even with a lucky shot. Running wouldn’t do her much good, either. She had no idea what those cannons were packing, but if they were laser weaponry, running was literally pointless, and pretty much any space age tech was quick enough that not even she could avoid it.

Also, she hadn’t really registered what she was saying yet, but had she said something about rescuing her. She glanced around. Her intellect was greatly hindered during the seizure, but she was just now realizing that the power being drained from her was the current that had sent her spiraling over the handrail in the first place.

”Sure, sure.” She grunted. Slowly, she lifted her hands, pointing the barrel of her weapon towards the sky. It looked kind of pathetic to bring a slugthrower to a space station, she realized. She spun the pistol in her hand so that she was holding the barrel, and set it gently on the ground beside her, always taking care to leave her palms exposed.
”Sorry. The shock made me go Doombot for a second there. Didn't realize what was going on.” She explained, keeping her hands exposed.

Once they were no longer pointed at her, Rakka couldn’t help but admire the weaponry that the stranger had pulled out of her pockets, and the General Grievous arms. When they built her, they’d called her “The ultimate synthesis of flesh and steel,” but did they give her extra arms? Hell no. Not even a built-in gun.

”Energy l-? Oh, right.” She said, looking down at herself. She wasn’t actually all that familiar with technological mumbo jumbo, despite being something between a cyborg and a robot. Sometimes people thought that was weird, but do most humans have extensive medical knowledge? Of course not.

She took the stuff off of herself, a few stray sparks flying from her form as she did, and pushed herself to her feet, glancing around. She caught sight of herself in the reflection of a shop window, and sighed. Her hood had come off in the fall, and it had done a number on her skin. Her mechanical eye was showing through, along with a good section of her endoskeleton. She pulled down her hood, obscuring it as best she could, and picked up her weapon, returning it to its proper place.

”Thanks, Kek.” She said, appreciating the fact that she didn’t waste time with handshakes and whatnot. Aliens were cool that way. ”Rakka.” She said simply, glancing down at the much shorter woman. ”I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with one of those energy leaching devices, would you? That’s happened to me once or twice now, and it’s really irritating.”