Murderbot goes job hunting

by alwaysGradience

Summary:

Through a freak accident, Murderbot gets transported to the MCU universe and figures out that stealing shit from Tony Stark while trying to solve physics in order to go back home is a good idea.

HIATIS: I'm following the dopamine in a different fandom now, but I don't think this work is abandoned yet. I don't know what exactly would lead to me updating this fic again, but it wouldn't be impossible for me to revisit.

Chapter 1: In Conclusion: Fuck

The lights flicker on, and I hear Martyn over the feed. Got it.

A bit of a pointless statement, considering that we already knew that Martyn and Kaede were heading to the generators to reboot. But verbal confirmation at least lets me know that Martyn managed to turn the generators on while not being killed in the process. Iris seems a little relieved by this, though that may just be the lights turning on. She cheers over the feed, Yay, creepy ship gets marginally less creepy.

Tarik reports from the mess hall with Turi, Still no bodies to be found. It looks like they all left in a hurry, there’s still food on the table.

That’s doubtful. The corporate research ship we were on was big enough to hold over a hundred workers, and the safety shuttles would’ve only been provided to the supervisors in a case of emergency. Whatever happened to the ship, it would’ve needed to leave some kind of evidence and we just haven’t found it yet. The bot pilot was corrupted and confused, though relieved to finally have someone answer its distress signal. It was only able to offer a partial map that I’ve been quickly increasing with the help of my drones. Some of its cameras were fried, so I marked a potential hostile zone for the other humans to watch out for while I cleared it, keeping a drone attached to Seth and Iris respectively with another pair of drones on the rearguard.

The hallways remained empty, disregarding any marks of humans living here. I check in with ART. Any luck with the bot pilot?

Mostly , it replies dryly, I’ve concluded that it wasn’t just an attack on its systems, some of its hardware was physically damaged. I suspect that’s what caused the black out zones.

Seth turns and inspects the black lens of a broken camera, The exterior looks fine, once this area is clear I can inspect the internals.

Corporate ships can’t have this bad wiring management. Iris remarks, I think it’s supposed to be a joke but according to the company, wire management was a customer problem. If the customers didn’t take care of it, it wasn’t the manufacturer’s fault that it blew up or whatever.

My scans pick up an odd, humming energy source and I raise my hand to get Seth and Iris to stop behind me. I send one of my drones to follow the scan, finding an impasse at a locked door. I prod at its code and door shifts, opening up 3 centimeters before shutting back down. Might be a part of the physically damaged systems, in order to figure out what’s wrong I’ll need to open the door manually. Iris pokes me over the feed, Did you see something?

Maybe, I reply. I send the scan over the team feed to ART and I feel it’s attention shift over to interpret the data. After the first five seconds I wonder what’s taking it so long, it’s a research vessel doesn't it carry an archive of this stuff? After fifteen seconds I poke it’s feed and it grumbles, I'm not entirely sure what this is.

That’s disturbing. If ART doesn't know what it is then we don't know if it’s going to melt the human’s skin off. Seth has his hand resting on his chin, a distant expression on his face as he skims through the data, Yes, this is very bizarre, it’s emitting a kind of gamma that doesn't line up with any known element or router or anything.

Martyn adds over the feed, It looks like something’s interfering with it.

A containment zone perhaps? Seth theorizes.

Threat assessment increases a couple points at that. I ping ART, Can you make out if there was a safety protocol for the researchers?

.5 seconds later I get a data packet through the feed. It’s partially corrupted, but I scan through it to find that they were most definitely containing something. Nothing alive, but anything dangerous enough for several layers of seals to sit between it and the scientists was definitely not something I was going to let my humans near. I also find the word ‘unstable’ in the data packet, which makes threat assessment spike.

As a security consultant, I could call this search off and take all the humans back to ART and we can all fly far away from whatever the hell happened here. Benefit of going rogue, the humans actually listen to you. (Most of the time.) Unfortunately, the chance that I might need to argue with the humans is at 48%. They’re curious and they want to figure out what happened to the research vessel
.
If I figure out what’s causing the energy source, maybe the human’s curiosity would be satisfied enough that we can go back to ART and they can decide what we can do from there. From the safety protocol, it doesn't sound like they were studying anything alive, but that doesn't mean it won't attack me. Worst case scenario, I end up horrifically injured in some form and after all the humans get back to ART and I spend a while watching media in the medical bay. Actually, there’s way worse things that could happen but I’m not going to spend the processing space to run those scenarios before they happen. If something gets bitten off, something gets bitten off.

Stay here. I inform the team feed. I’m going to investigate.

Iris nods to one of my drones. Stay safe.

I’ve stopped having an emotion whenever humans say that. Or at the very least whenever ART’s humans said it. They said to each other constantly, whether it’s a dangerous situation or not. Whenever Tarik walked home, whenever Iris went to class, in one instance Seth said it to Karime when she announced she was going to the bathroom and all the humans spent a moment laughing about it. The inside joke of bathroom monsters lasted for about a week.

Giving the team feed access to one of my drones and holding my primary weapon at the ready, I approach the stuck door. I reach into the systems to find the alert for a broken door uselessly pinging the mechanic on board, which tells me everything I need to know. I put my pulsar weapon into its holster and I commanded the door to open. I stick my fingers underneath the 3 cm gap and with a bit of effort, I break open the stuck mechanic and pull the door open. As I pull my pulsar weapon back out I do a quick scan and diagnostic check and send it to ART, just in case being near the energy source was doing damage to my systems. ART bristles underneath the data, I can feel it over the feed. The energy readings have increased. They might interfere with the feed when you enter.

I send an acknowledgement over the feed and send in my drones, scanning the lab. I feel the interference in the data, and it feels uncomfortably similar to the interference caused by the terra forming engines on the planet we found the alien contamination on. I step into the lab with my weapon at the ready, visually confirming what the drones see.

A cup of liquid stimulant rests near a computer interface. The walls are lined with cabinets and counter space, with various lab equipment scattered around. I’m not entirely sure what most of this equipment is, but it looks expensive. The kind of stuff Ratthi and Arada would daydream about wanting in their labs.

There is a door with a caution sigil taped on, stating that proper ppe equipment must be worn beyond this point. Most of the time eye and breathing irritants don't apply to me. But I’m not going to fall into the human trap of feeling special, not after TargetControlSystem. I activate my helmet to cover my face. I station a drone near the door, acting as a relay to ART and the others so that visuals aren't dropped as I go deeper. I do another quick diagnostic and send it to ART.

I open the door to a hallway that leads to a second door. ART was telling me something about this, we were arguing about safety protocols in scientific experiments, specifically whether or not it was my job to tell the students what they were. I didn't care for the schematics ART sent me and immediately deleted them because why should I care about safety protocols for experiments that weren't even going to be done on the ship.

I open the secondary door and find the room bathed in a blue light. The room is filled with a machine, with something at its core. I send a drone closer, trying to examine the glowing thing at its center. A blue cube, glowing with an odd energy. Risk and threat assessment spikes, my cardiac pump spasms inside my chest. Fuck, alien remant. Of course they where studying alien remnant tech, of fucking course. I am not dealing with this shit. I turn to leave, keeping a drone focused on the thing in case it decides to lunge. Not dealing with this shit.

Something in the machine sparks (which is not comforting in the slightest) and I place a hand on the door when light blasts into my vision and- [Shutdown initiated]

I wake up to a garble of protocols struggling to run through my head, hitting different jumbles of code every time they restart. Performance reliability at 72%. I stop them, rising to my feet and trying to recalibrate my visual processes. Where am I? What happened?

I reach out to ART but I grasp around nothing. There’s nothing on the feed, no interference, just nothing.

That’s concerning.

I have two drones, also not ideal. I send them out to scout for me, assessing my surroundings. It’s cold, it’s damp, and there’s the sound of an ocean nearby. Great, I’m on a planet. I hate planets. Why am I on a planet?

The buildings I’m surrounded by seem to be a kind of storage, and from the drones’ input I can see much taller buildings overhead. This is a developed colony, so why the hell aren’t there any routers? The feed’s down, but there’s something else in its place. Something different, but with a little bit of prodding I hack into it.

It’s called the internet and it functions very similarly to the feed in the way that it gives you access to a well of information. But it’s different with how it interacts with my interface, the UI uncomfortably crammed into my interface like it’s not entirely sure what to do. It’s so bad that I turn off the UI entirely, letting me consume the raw data underneath. It’s organized differently than the feed, and it takes some fumbling around to find what I’m looking for. The colony is called Earth, there’s no wormhole nearby, I don’t know what year it is but it is not 2015. Also there was an alien invasion in 2012 but it was fought off by a bunch of humans with superpowers.

Well, fuck.

One of my drones sees a human approaching, wearing some kind of uniform. I can only guess they’re security. Fuck, there’s no feed ID, does this mean I need to guess? I’m already horrible with human ages, how am I supposed to guess human gender?

I scale the side of the warehouse with relative ease and sit down on top of the roof. I call my drones to move closer to me, performing a smaller patrol path around me while I try to figure out what to do.

Fuck.

How did you get yourself into this one Murderbot? A new universe, just like one of your serials, except how are you supposed to get yourself back? Because you are not staying here.

I run a quick diagnostic. Several protocols have been jumbled, so I start picking these protocols apart and clearing up any corruption, with only mild distortion on some of my mead. I look through the internet for more information.

There’s no such thing as SecUnits, or augmented humans on this planet. Which means I’ll need to find a way to cover up parts of my face and the joints in my fingers. Gloves maybe, or a facemask, perhaps? I don’t have any hard currency cards on me, but a brief search tells me that they wouldn’t work anyways. Fuck, how am I supposed to get money? Stealing? I could always steal. I’m not a fan of soft currency, considering how easy it is for people to take it, but I could take somebody else’s soft currency. Would Mensah approve? Well considering the situation, probably, but only if I took from a corporate.

A quick search of corporations in the area brings me to Stark Industries. It is a lot more fortified than the average business in this colony. Its ex-ceo, current head of engineering, Tony Stark, is the superhero Iron Man, and has a list of impressive accomplishment including partaking in the creation of Ultron, a rogue AI who tried to genocide humanity. Another reason why I can’t reveal myself as a SecUnit.

S.H.I.E.L.D. would definitely class me as a threat, not that I can blame them. I am classified as a weapon everywhere, even in Preservation. But I’m going to be doing my best to maintain a healthy distance from them, no need to poke the metaphorical beast.

As it stands though, Stark Industries might be my best option in getting back home. It’s the most advanced corporation in a hundred kilo radius, so I wouldn’t be able to access its resources anywhere else. I’ll need to learn physics, or whatever in order to get back home. Shouldn’t be that hard.

I still need to get money though. Maybe I could get a job at Stark Industries. I pull up Security Consultant Rin from my archives, alter it a little to fit more into this world, and send over a resume. Threat Assessment is back online, and tells me it’s a 70% chance that Stark would use me for parts. I consider pulling my resume back, but it’s already behind Stark’s firewalls. Fine, if I’m going to be working for the man, I’ll need to be hacking his systems anyways, to hide the guns in my arms. Just like any Port Authority system, except more expectant of hacking attempts.

If I’m lucky, they’ll send me a message all ‘thank you for trying, it’s really pathetic, but we’ve decided to move on in the hiring process.’

I still need gloves though and I need to get out of this dock. I ditch the evac suit, it’s not going to help me blend in. I won’t be able to use my drones without drawing attention to myself, at least not in crowded areas. I climb back down the warehouse, navigate around the guard's patrol path and come to an area with humans coming and going. Not quite a crowd yet, but it’s good to exercise caution when you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing. I put my drones into standby in my pockets and hide my hands in the jacket pockets.

I use the internet to give me directions to the nearest mall. I need a bag, humans don’t travel unless they have a bag. According to the search results, they don’t have a recycling system and all the clothes are made in a factory setting. Which makes it easier to shoplift, I guess. I wonder how Pin-Lee would try to spin that in my favor.

It’s almost familiar, hacking into the nearby cameras to remove my presence, using my move-like-a-human protocol. It’s like I’m navigating my way through various ports and negotiating my way onto transport vessels again, except this time it’s a lot more shitty because I’m on a planet and have no way of contacting any of my humans or ART.

I know I’ve been saying this alot, but I think it is an accurate assessment of my current situation. Fuck. Just Fuck. That’s all there needs to be said in the matter.

With time to burn I turn on an episode of Sanctuary Moon. My performance reliability ticks up a half point as the intro starts, and it settles at 86.5%. Good enough.

Chapter 2: Getting Those Steps In

They want to call me in for an interview.

I know, typically, you wear your best dress to an interview. I know this from my serials and from witnessing it firsthand when Amena needed to be interviewed in order to get accepted into ART’s university. But formal clothing stores are typically a little bit more well guarded, and I know it isn’t that strange to show up in cargo pants and a jacket to an interview. I’m already pushing it enough by taking a pair of working gloves, a medical facemask, and a cross body bag from the mall. (Which was a horrible experience, with too many humans, and the only way I survived was through hacking the cameras.)

It’s a 32 kilometer walk to Stark Towers so I best start walking. There’s a library on the way and I might spend some offtime there. Books made out of paper are an archaic relic that are usually only shown in my shows when a character is an eccentric historian or an archivist of some sort. I haven’t actually seen one in person before.

I’m putting together the skeleton of an education module for myself, of what basics I need to build on in order to get to inter-universal travel. It’s a lot and I kind of wish I didn’t immediately delete the data packet ART jokingly shoved at me when it suggested I become a teacher. I may not ever desire to teach others, but figuring out how to teach myself is a whole other thing. At the same time I educate myself in this world’s firearms and the language, which reads enough as a Pre-CR language that my translator module was able to pick up on it and adapt. Thiago would have a field day here.

Actually a lot of my humans would love to be here. ART’s humans too. Of course if any of them got caught up in the blast instead of me, I would’ve-- I freeze for a handful of seconds in the middle of a step.

Are they looking for me?

Do they think I’m dead?

I keep walking, no time to think about it.

I’m going to need a place to recharge. My levels are fine, at the moment, but it is something that is going to happen at some point in time. I wonder if I’ll be able to lock myself in one of the closets overnight and just do it from there. While figuring out the logistics of that, I watch a couple episodes of Sanctuary Moon. The sky darkens, though the city is filled with enough lamps and glowing signs that I don’t need to turn on my night vision. It reminds me of TranRollinHyfa, the way everything is draped in glowing advertisements.

According to the internet, this colony is currently going through a cold season. There’s four seasons, Winter, Fall, Summer, and Spring, though if you’re on different parts of the planet the seasons are Wet and Not Wet. There’s a weather event scheduled for two cycles from now, something called snow. It does not look pleasant and I hope I’ll have the ability to shove myself into a closet by then.

I’ll be needing to take things from Stark Industries, but I still don’t know what I’ll be needing. Regardless, it would be suspicious if I just started stealing things the instant I got hired. Best I educate myself first.

Helpfully there are many articles regarding the interview process that I can reference from and pull. Some of these questions are ridiculous, seriously. How many tennis balls can you fit into a limousine? I get that it’s supposed to be a brain teaser for quantitative jobs, so thankfully I won’t need to crunch those numbers, or more accurately, fake calculating those numbers on paper when I can do it in my brain.

The library is a big, square, building made out of stone, with a series of pillars on each side of the three entryways. There’s statues of fauna on either side of the ascending stairway, with more statues of old men in a recess perched on top of the pillars. There’s a small crowd of humans coming and going in and out of the building. I step into the library as I tap into the camera feed.

I look at what must be thousands and thousands of books, in shelves nearly stacked up to the ceiling. The humans murmur amongst themselves, like they’re trying to be quiet. I tap into the internet, and find the catalog of what this library holds and they hold so much for everything being printed on slats of plant fiber. And they just offer this to the public, for free. For research and enjoyment, they give this to the public for free.

I wander into the fiction section, hidden away by shelves upoun shelves of books. It smells sweet and fragrant. The warm browns of this place are cozy, and they remind me of Mensah’s farm, except without the tiny humans screaming in the distance. There’s tiny humans here too, but they’re not screaming for some reason.

As I walk along the aisle, I read the book titles and the authors. I wonder how different the stories are here, in a world isolated to one planet. Where technology is still developing into what I’m familiar with. What are the stories like? Applying for and approving a library card is easy, even with the not-feed internet. I pick up The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchet, American Gods by Neil Gaimen, Lord of The Rings: The Fellowship of The Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien, and The Way of Kings by Brandson Sanderson.

I check the time. I still need to walk 8 kilometers to Stark Tower, and I need to give myself time to navigate the SecSystem without tripping it. It should be easier, since it wouldn’t recognise me as a SecUnit, but at the same time it would be harder because then it would be harder to make it believe I was supposed to be there. I check out the books, and walk out of the library.

It can’t be that easy, can it? They can’t just let you walk out of the building holding an expensive item of theirs, on the promise that you’ll return it. It feels stupid. It feels dumb. It feels like there’s a little bit of Preservation in this world that stinks so much of The Corporate Rim.

I walk to Stark Tower with a pile of books in my bag. Risk Assessment tells me that the chance law enforcement would come flying out and take the books was low, but it’s not the most trustworthy of my modules. So I keep my bag held close to me, and stay aware of my surroundings. Nothing happens.

I make it to Stark Tower thirty minutes early. They do have weapon scanners, connected to a larger security system. But there are certain people who are allowed weapons on grounds, which makes everything easier. I first duplicate a negative security scan from a worker walking into the building and sent that off to SecSys. I cut off the weapon scanner and forge an exception rule for me. I overwrite the scan history from exception to negative, leading The Main System registering me as a negative, and no alarms go off about some robot with guns in its arms.

I walk up to the front desk and come to the realization that I now need to make eye contact. It’s either make eye contact or speak with humans, not both. So I look over this person’s left shoulder and say, “I’m here for the interview.”

“Ah, who are you here to see?” The secretary says, typing something on the computer.

I look through my email, which I created yesterday, “Uh, the email is from a Jeremy Cord?”

The secretary blinks, “You’re here for the security position?”

They sound surprised. I’m not sure how to react to that. “...Yes?”

“Huh.” They type some more on the computer, and slides a card with an attached lanyard over the desk, “Have a guest pass. Somebody will come down to fetch you in a moment.”

I take the lanyard and put it in my pocket. I sit down in a nearby chair and know enough to pull out one of my books and pretend that I read it as I look at SecSystem, familiarizing myself with its architecture. I leave its firewalls alone for the moment, careful not to trip anything that could alert SecSys to any hacking attempts. It’s well made, customized even, nothing like the mass produced software sold by The Company. I wonder if all of Stark Industries’ products are like this.

“Mensah Rin?”

I stand up, carefully bagging my book, “Just Rin, please.”

It’s a large human with a graying, scruffy beard. They hold out a hand for me, “Call me Jay.”

I stare down at the hand. The human shifts awkwardly, “Um. Y’gonna…okay.” The human retracts the hand, “You’re here for the security consultant position?”

“That is correct.” I look at the human’s shoes, boots that look to be of similar function to mine.

“Cool, cool.” The human nods, “Come over here, let’s get you to my office.”

Threat Assessment increases, being alone with a potential hostile is never a good idea. But I ignore it, because for the purposes of this interview I need to be alone in a room with a potential hostile. The human guides me over to an elevator and scans the card around their lanyard, I zero onto the ID, Jeremy Cord, Head of Security, and written in marker, (He/Him) which is nice. I can’t get a good read on what data could be inside the ID, it might just be reading the picture next to his name. I have a copy of the output at the very least, a confirmation that Head of Security Jeremy Cord is supposed to be here.

The human shifts and I continue staring at the elevator doors. “So, Rin. What broughtya here?”

Is that an interview question or a conversational question? I choose to interpret it as an interview question, because I do not have a lie prepared on why I’m in New York. “I saw a position on LinkedIn that Stark Industries was hiring for security. I’ve read about the kind of software that gets put into Stark Tech and I’d be happy to become a part of that, but I am also trained in firearms and melee combat. So I’m able to be placed in either sector depending on the needs of the company.”

There’s two cameras on the elevator, one obvious and one hidden, each sending the visual information somewhere. I poke at the surrounding security of these cameras, wondering if I should risk hacking into these so I can see what Jay is doing. “Right.” A pause, “Firearms, you say? Where'd you learn that?”

I can’t say military because the American Military keeps rigorous track of all of its soldiers and I am not one. Instead I say, “It’s something I picked up to keep my people safe. You know how it is.”

I hope he does know how it is because I sure don't. Jay hums in affirmation, “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Your resume mentioned previous security work, could you tell me about that?”

“It was really boring for the most part.” Because most security work is, “I was just following a group of field researchers around making sure that nothing happened.”

The elevator dings, “Ah, here we are.” Jay steps out, “Follow me.”

I keep track of where he takes me, forming an internal map. “Why would field researchers need security?”

“That’s proprietary information.” I say, “Though later, I would need to evacuate my clients from their laboratory due to unsafe working conditions. Our emergency beacon was destroyed, so we needed to use a neighboring research base’s beacon in order to get assistance.”

Jay’s office is large, with a small seating area on the opposite corner of his desk. He has a floor-to-ceiling window though it’s covered by a set of closed blinds. There’s two filing cabinets behind the desk, and a lamp next to the computer that he turns off after turning on the overhead. He sits down in his office chair and I pull up a seat across from him. He pulls out a piece of paper and starts writing something down for a moment. “So you have cyber security training?”

“Yes.”

“And firearms training?” He adds.

“Yes.”

“And past security experience, okay.” He puts down the writing implement and looks at me. I try not to grit my teeth too hard, looking just over his left shoulder. “Why do you want to work for Stark Industries?”

Didn't I answer this already? Whatever, I pull it up from memory and make sure to mix it up a little bit to simulate human paraphrasing. “There was a position on LinkedIn that interested me due to Stark Tech’s software. I am experienced in both cyber security and physical security and could be placed in either department.”

Jay writes something down in shorthand that I don't bother to decipher, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I wouldn't be here, ideally. “Freelancing, with greater work flexibility.”

“Is that something you prioritize in work environments?” he puts the stylus back on paper.

“It is something I prefer, yes.”

He hums in consideration, “How do you deal with pressure and stressful situations?”

According to Dr. Mensah, really well. “One of my clients has told me I handle stress very well.”

More writing, and drawing. Is he really drawing something on my interview sheet? “Can you tell me about a time you demonstrated leadership skills?”

I take a second to think it over, and add a few more seconds to make Jay think I’m thinking it over. “After I evacuated the clients from the laboratory, I would later return to the laboratory and gather data. I would impart a part of this data to one of my clients to help process, and together we used this data to access the other survey team’s beacon.”

Jay makes a little thoughtful noise and takes an extra long time in writing something down. He has a mug on his desk, filled with writing implements and a little striped flag. It doesn't look like a colony flag, if it is it’s an ugly flag. White and black striped background with a rainbow-v shape overlayed.

“What is your greatest professional achievement?”

I think about the PresAux survey and I think about what comes after. “There was a high stakes hostage situation. I needed to hack various systems in order to locate and retrieve my client. I was able to negotiate my client’s safety and would later get into a firefight with a group of hostiles that ended when I was extracted from the mission.”

Jay breathes through his nose, writing something down, “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It was worth it.” The words come out of my mouth before I can react.

“It usually is.” Jay taps the writing implement against the paper, “Do you have any conflicts of interest?”

None that could apply to this universe. “No.”

“We’ll need to give ya a background check for this kinda position. Are ya open for that?”

I expected this, though I’m still not entirely sure how to pass it. Still I say, “Yes, who would you like it done by?”

He waves vaguely, “We’ll email you our people.” He considers me for a moment, and I consider hacking the nearby cameras just to put some distance between myself and this man.

“You like Tolkien?”

What.

My face must’ve done something because he gestures to my bag and my hands squeeze around the strap without me making them. “Your book, the one you where reading in the lobby.”

The one I wasn't reading, yeah. “It’s okay so far.” I say blandly.

A moment of silence. Jay sighs and stands up. “You sound like a qualified individual. We’ll reach out to you as soon as possible.”

“Understood.” I stand up as well.

Jay makes an aborted gesture, like he was about to put his hand out to me but stopped himself. “Great! Let me take you to the elevator.”

“Thank you for this opportunity.” I say like I’m supposed to.

Jay, thankfully, does not try to talk to me for the rest of the elevator ride. I leave Stark Tower and start walking to the library.

I’ve created several emails to pretend to be my various employers, if they choose to follow up on my references. Stark Industries, thankfully, do not drug test their employees, so I do not need to interact with any kind of urine. I mostly need to figure out a way to make it through the fingerprinting process. It doesn't sound pleasant, but it doesn't change the fact that Stark Industries will be needing a set of fingerprints and at least this way I can control what they see. Which is nothing. I wasn't in this universe until a day ago, I would be extremely surprised if they did find something.

Rings might be helpful. Big, chunky ones that cover the knuckle. The problem is that jewelry typically is a little bit more well guarded then cheap gloves and a packet of facemasks. I look through some stores’ catalog, needing to turn the UI back on in order to look because none of these websites have ALT ID on their images, not even shitty AI generated ones.

Trying to get information on the individual store’s security is frustratingly inconsistent. Some SecSystems are connected to the internet, and others are not. Apparently the internet isn’t as widespread as the feed and some people elect to go for more archaic means of security systems. It’s a good idea, though I cross out those stores from my list. I have a week to figure this out, I don't have time to investigate these stores in person. I narrow my search: cheap to moderate price range, with an internet connected security system, and many ring sizes.

At the same time, I find a solitary corner in the library, sit down and start reading The Fellowship of The Ring. The narration style is unique, and I find it interesting that the author decides to go into the economy of the hobbits. It reminds me of some of my serials centered around planet settlement. It’s long winded, with a lot to say and the author goes into a great amount of detail about everything. I like it.

I eventually find a store with what I’m looking for. Claire’s, a store chain marketed for adolescent girls. It’s connected to a bigger store called Walmart, who has a backdoor in the security through employee mismanagement. I should be able to walk in, walk out, no problem.

There is a problem actually, the library closing and so is Walmart, apparently. I leave fifteen minutes before closing and do a quick search for a place to stay the night. Within 10 kilos of the place I need to get my fingerprints taken, there is a small park. I start walking there.

Calling it a park is a bit of an over statement. The only plants present are the spikey leafy things wrapping the wire fence. It’s entirely paved, with scratched up markings on the pavement. There’s two raised net structures on either side of the markings. A flickering lamp lights the ‘park.’ I practice my human sigh and sit down underneath the lamp, away from the strange plants. I decide that four hours is a normal amount of time and set a timer. I start reading Lord of The Rings from where I left off.

Notes:

working through some formatting issues on the next chapter so gimme a bit

In this chapter we get a peak farther in Murderbot's pov and the culture shock that it's experiencing. What do you think of it's experiences? comment down below

Chapter 3: A private investigation

Notes:

Cw: unknowing misgendering

When the old tesseract tracer algorithm that I may or may not have technically stolen from SHIELD started to alert us to something in the docks, we all panicked. Or at the very least I was, I have no idea what everyone else was doing. “Listen here Tony,” Nat said using the voice that suggested great pain otherwise, so I listened, “Get Thor on the phone. He’ll tell you that the tesseract is still safe and sound in Asgard vaults. You need somebody to check out the energy surge?” I nod wordlessly, and she nods with me, “Me and Clint will do that. You stay here,” She stands up, “Banner, get him some water. We’ll go check out the docks.”

Bruce nods in a mechanical manner, “Yes, ma’am.”

Nat makes a face, “Don’t do that.”

She leaves and Bruce crouches down next to me. He fidgets with his hands, “Uh…you good?”

“Perfect.” I grit out with a heave.”God, it really should be easier to breathe.”

Bruce pats my shoulder, “Hey, hey it’s okay. We’re okay. Let me just, let me just call Jane real quick,” He stands up and pulls out his phone.

He puts one of my blueberry stashes in front of me and lets the phone ring. She picks up, and I can’t quite hear what’s being said. “Heya, can you, could you put Thor on the phone?”

A complaint and Bruce hisses through his teeth, “I know, I know, but you know how he never answers his phone and Tony really needs to hear from him right now.”

More talking, why is everyone talking so much? “I know, I can’t tell you right now, but you need to put Thor on the phone.”

“Should I call Miss Potts?” Friday asks, speaking hushedly as to not disturb the phone call.

“Gimme a minute, just,” I breathe, I can breathe, everything is fine, “How long till Team Superspy gets on location?”

“Fifteen minutes, sir. It’ll take them thirty in order to do a once over, and an hour for a thorough investigation.” Friday starts a timer on my desk, “I’ll alert you once the allotted time is over.”

“Thanks Fri.” I croak.

Bruce kneels down and hands me the phone. “The man of iron! Banner told me you were not feeling well?”

“Is the tesseract still in Asgard?” I ask, straight to the point.

A beat, and for a long, horrible, second, I thought Thor would say no, “Yes? It is where I have left it. What makes you believe otherwise?”

“We got an energy pulse that lines up with the tesseract. It may or may not be something, really I'm not qualified to answer.” I rattle off without much thought, “We’ll keep you updated. Toodaloo.”

I hang up the phone. I groan, “God, why did I do that. Bruce, can you tell me why I did that?”

Bruce regards me with an almost fond smile, “Do I really need to answer that question?”

“Nope.” I roll up to my feet, “Normal now. The most normal guy in New York. Can we take a look at the, at the algorithm? Make sure it’s not malfunctioning or what have you, look I know I’m being unreasonable but-” “Okay.” Bruce shrugs like it’s a no brainer.

I can’t help but stumble, “Okay. Okay? Brucie, baby, I am having a meltdown.”
“Been there done that, buddy.” Bruce breathes, understanding, because he, the lord of mental illness, understands. “We’re going to look through the program and see if it’s anything we as a team actually need to worry about. We’re gonna be fine.”

And I believe him for that. We share a tupperware of blueberries and discover that there’s nothing wrong with the algorithm at all.

Natasha and Clint bring home a space suit. They leave it to us to analyze as they set up a search parameter of the docks. Leaving SHIELD out of this was automatic, nobody brought it up and no one argued. We all understood. Bruce is worried about me, I can tell, but one anxiety attack can’t stop me from doing my damn job. He doesn’t suggest otherwise, and like always we get into orbit with each other, tugging and pulling. Together, we took apart the suit, analyzing its hardware and software, everything we could gather.

The suit’s advanced, like nothing we have on Earth and a part of my brain is already thinking about how to use this tech for my own purposes.

There’s a tracking beacon that we turn off as soon as we find it, a wireless communicator, and a chemical oxygen generator system that could revolutionize some kind of field. The software tells us that it’s from a ship called The Perihelion, a research vessel from The Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland, which doesn’t tell us anything. The suit could be stolen, the ship could be stolen, the research could be genocide. We just don’t know.

I start a whiteboard, digital of course, and three dimensional to give us more room to make connections. Our starting information is limited, and due to the fact that nothing extremely world ending happened yet, we decided to try and keep this project to the four of us. We’ll involve the others when necessary.

We know the following things.

• There was an energy surge that triggered the Tesseract Tracer Program
• The space suit was built for something shaped like a human and can at the very least tolerate human conditions for an extended period of time.
• The space suit belongs to something called the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland.
• The suit was found on top of a warehouse roof in the harbor, obviously discarded.
• Either the perp looks human or is good at stealth, because no reports of green alien space men pop up anywhere online.
• The perp (probably) couldn’t have gone far

So we keep track of the surrounding area. Arguably it doesn’t even count as hacking, when the security surrounding the cameras are either a.) mine, or b.) shit. I make algorithms to search for unusual activity but Nat is the first to spot the hacking, the little jump cuts in the camera footage, and the tiny inconsistencies of time stamps. Somebody’s removing themselves from the cameras, somebody skilled. I make another program, looking for this specific kind of activity and once it loads we get a lot of pings.

Half of these pings are false positives that I need to manually verify as false, the code mistaking shitty cameras for hacking. I write code patches as I go, and here’s the funny thing about coding. It’s that coding hates you, specifically. It doesn’t matter what coding language you are in, no program ever runs right at first and every program will crash for no reason in its lifetime. Being a genius doesn’t stop the code from misbehaving. I know, I think it’s a load of bullshit too.

At some point I think Nat tranqs me, but it doesn’t matter, because once the program is up it starts tracking the guy, or the absence of the guy. We settle for a week of observation. We gather data and find a pattern. The guy wanders across all of New York, but eventually at some point in the day he goes back to the library and the hacking trails stop, for six to eight hours at a time. Occasionally the cameras inside the library skip in that similar hacking motion of hiding something.

As soon as the library closes the guy is on the move again, seeming to never actually stop at some place or a base or anything. Besides the library of course. What could he want at the library? Information? Research? What kind of research could he be pulling at a public library? Or was it the free access to computers that he was looking for, we have already established that this guy is a hacker. But on shitty library computers, like c’mon, at least try to have some self respect. I’m half tempted to give a donation to the library just to give this hacker more to work with. Not that I already hadn’t, I’m an extensive donor to New York’s library’s, except since this is The New York Library, it doesn’t exactly need to deal with funding issues.

Nat goes to take a look and somehow I was convinced to go on a date with Pepper while Bruce is the man in the chair for the mission. Though Clint is also there as the man-sitting-on-the-arm-of-the-chair. They’re capable people, I remind myself.

The date’s nice. We don’t get to do it alot since I’ve stepped down as CEO, but we go out and eat at a fancy dinner. We talk. And yeah it’s a little bit about work, because of who we are, but we talk. Jay’s been a decent replacement for Happy as head of security, being an affable sorta man with a great deal less complaints from the staff. He wanted Pepper’s feedback for a potential new hire, apparently worried that the internalized ableism he’s been working out in therapy might blind him to the opportunity. It sounds a little bit like bullshit to me, but Pepper defends Jay, says that he doesn’t need much hand holding as this suggests, but she does appreciate it when Jay reaches out to her on this. According to Jay, he is his own biggest failure in security and he wants to keep that in check. Apparently, the honesty is charming.

Anyways, Pep looked over the footage and the responses and just classified the guy as being autistic as hell, but not wanting to mark it down on the disability forum for fear of them not hiring him. The background check was clean, the previous employers spoke highly of him, so Pepper just told him to call the guy back for a second interview and see how it goes from there. Which leads into a brief side tangent about my non-existent autism. Bipolar, maybe, I could see where you’re coming from, but autism? Really? Even with that sidebar, it’s a great date. We kiss goodbye and she gets her own car ride home.

Later I get a hug from Happy and we get on a group call with Rhodey. We spend at least another hour in the limo, just talking. A little bit about everything, about how the tower is turning out, how Rhodey is handling things overseas. It’s good.

I return to a mission briefing in the lab. Nat reports that she found the perp from the logo on the jacket, neatly printed on the shoulder of each sleeve.

The same jacket currently being analyzed on the science table. This is when I know to just grit my teeth and sit down, gesturing for her to continue.

She wasn’t able to get a good look at the perp’s face, he had his hood over his head. But she got a read on his build, around six foot, lean, and athletic. Last seen wearing this jacket, cargo pants, work gloves, and work boots. She found him sitting in a corner, pressed up against a wall while reading a book. She sat down to watch him, but within the next couple minutes he was leaving. Nat thinks he was able to clock her somehow.

She followed him down the rows of a couple streets, before concluding that she lost him. This is what surprises me. Nat? Losing somebody? Damn this guy was good, just by losing the jacket he was able to get Nat off his tail entirely.

But since Nat was also good she left me a convenient backdoor in the system. I find the hacked library card easily enough, as in the guy hacked into the library systems in order to approve the request for a library card nearly the same day as the energy surge. I know I couldn’t quite believe it either. Who does that? This guy is evidently some kind of super genius and he’s not even using it to hack into my bank accounts? Or any rich person's bank accounts for that matter? What is this dude doing?

The whiteboard has been updated and I delve into it, commenting as I go.

• There was an energy surge that triggered the Tesseract Tracer Program
• The suit does say the ship is a research vessel. Maybe they were experimenting on the Tesseract, or maybe something like it
• The suit was built for something shaped like a human and can at the very least tolerate human conditions for an extended period of time.
• The space suit belongs to something called the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland.
• What is Perp’s connection to the suit and the ship?
• The suit was found on top of a warehouse roof in the harbor, obviously discarded.
• Either the perp looks human or is good at stealth, because no reports of green alien space men pop up anywhere online.
• Confirmation, the perp looks human.
• The perp (probably) couldn’t have gone far
• Perp has been removing themselves from security footage via hacking.
• (Might be hacking into other systems?)
• (It’s a possibility)
• thatsa a confirmation P hacked into the library system in order to give himself a library card
• You’ve gotta be kidding
• I wish I was
• How is perp hacking into security footage?
• Perp wanders all across the city before returning to the library.
• (Mission debrief.file attached)
• Conclusion: The Perp has no homebase.
• F. - The perpetrator may not be getting an adequate amount of sleep. The data certainly suggest it’s not getting a solid eight hours of rest, not with how frequently it’s moving.
• Jacket’s fabric is a synthetic material with an odd, synthetic, blend, with the suit’s logo embroidered on the sleeves.
• Perp has a ~6 ft build, masc, lean, athletic.
• Even through cameras, I can’t get a clear shot of the guys face
• Possibly more hacking?
• I didn’t find a program for it. mustve scrambled the cameras manually
• Library card has a name, Eden Ratthi, and an address to it. No picture provided. (File attached)
• Address is an office building.
• Cleared.
• Name is likely fake.

“You said the guy had a library card?” I blink, taking a moment to switch my brain from project mode to talking mode.

I glance at the data, in case it’s changed when I wasn’t looking, “Well, not an actual physical one, no. From what I can tell the guy set up a request and hacked into the library in order to get it approved afterwards.”

“Did he use it?”

I take a moment to pause. Because this is really when having Clint, common sense holder, only occasional common sense user, comes into handy. I check. “In the past week, the guy’s checked out and checked back in the entirety of the lord of the rings, half of discworld, along with several other authors. Damn, I guess he got bored sitting in the library for several hours a day.”

Clint pulls a knee in, resting his arm on it as he thinks, “And he could’ve just taken the books.”

Yes, he could have. “Yeah?”

Nat’s eyes seem to light up, she gets it. “And he was reading when I found him.”

Oh I get it now. I make eye contact with Bruce, who seems unsure, “Do we really think that this guy is gonna risk that?”

Clint makes a dismissive gesture, “He already hacked into the systems in order to get a library card. Seems like this guy is pretty dedicated to doing it this way.”

Bruce frowns, nervously tapping on the science table, “I dunno guys, cornering this guy might be bad news.”

“We’re not cornering him, we just need to talk to him,” Natasha adds, though her words don’t come out as comforting as she probably means to.

“And if he doesn’t want to talk?” Bruce winces and I hold out my snack tupperware on instinct. He takes one, it’s raspberries this time.

Natasha sighs, “Well, then we find other ways to talk to him. Either way he’s connected to some suspicious behavior around the city and we need to clear that up.”

Bruce takes a moment to chew on his raspberry and swallows, his mouth turning into a thin line. “And SHIELD is, SHIELD is going to stay out of this?”

Natasha looks at Bruce from across the science table, replying “If they don’t know already, yes, they will stay out of this.”

I kinda hope that isn’t the only reason she hadn’t brought up the entire shield elephant in the room. Clint clears his voice, “Okay, baseline. We need to be non threatening, but prepared. We haven’t seen this guy resort to violence yet, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable.”

A flash of emotion crosses Bruce’s face, and I think a similar sentiment has been applied to him in the past. I’m nervous, paranoid even, about this new, potential threat. It seems a little silly at first, when I’m surrounded by people that could kill me in brand new, inventive, ways. But that’s the sitch isn’t it? I know these people. I have saved these people and have been saved in return. I don’t know whoever this guy is, don’t know his motives, or what he’s capable of.

I nudge Bruce’s elbow, “We just need some information. Hop in, hop out, ask some questions. Bada bing, bada boom, we get home by dinner. No trouble.”

Bruce looks at me with this withering sort of stare like a man perpetually plagued by trouble. I get him, I really do, but if I say it enough times, it might just be true.

Notes:

Finally, some avenger action.

Also to clear things up, I think Nat does not show her face at avenger panels very often, considerinf it does kinda wreck her spy ability. Also this is technically post sokovia accords except civil war doesn't happen and they're still friends. Wanda, Vision, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Tony, and Pepper all live in the tower, though due to governmental complications Steve and Bucky are outside of the tower while our folks try to chat with the US government. Thor comes and goes whenever, though for the most part stays with Jane Foster. Rhodey stays over sometimes as well, though he has his own life and takes it as a matter of pride that Tony doesn't pay his rent. Tony does have autism, he's just in denial.

Spiderman exists in a really weird spot in the mcu, so I'm gonna say this is post Iron man 2, haven't watched thor 2 yet but I'm workin on it. But at this point in time Peter is working as an intern for Stark and it's post spiderman 1, I think. Peter also has autism.

Endgame didn't make me watch the entire mcu timeline but this fic sure is. Lol.

Tell me your thoughts and feelings down below. Also hit me with some ideas. Interactions you wanna see because there are so many fucking characters and making MB interact with ANY of them is gonna be fucking hell, like Murderbot please stop walking away from social interactions for five minutes, it is part of the reason why I put you in a crossover fic.

Chapter 4: Reverse Heist

I might’ve fucked up a little bit.

I won't try to defend myself, I was stupid. I got comfortable, and I got caught. I should've known that the Perihelion logo on my jacket would cause me trouble and discarded it earlier. Now I won't be able to go back to the library.

The problem is I still have some books checked out.

I could, of course, not give them back. But that feels like an asshole move, and I know for a fact that people for some reason struggle to give books back. It’s why late fees exist and I don't want to owe any form of government body any kind of money. I like my library card, and I don't want to get black listed or anything.

I know my library card will work for other libraries in the city, so really I just need to give the books back and never step foot in that library again. They know I’m fond of libraries now, so I don't think I’d be able to use them as shelters from the bad weather. (I don't like snow, or the salt used to melt it or the slush left behind from the shuttles that go back and forth on the road.)

If I’m not allowed to use libraries in any consistent way, it gives me more reason to return the books to prevent them from getting damaged. As impressive as they are, they remain an archaic technology that is easy to damage. Not that the feed is a perfect invention, the only reason why I’m not deleting my corrupted media is because I don't know when I can replace it.

There’s a 86% chance that the hostile will be waiting for me at the library, with potential back up. So I give in and hack into the library security. The cameras don’t show anything, though according to the map on the public feed and my own constructed map, there are plenty of blind spots to hide in and none of these cameras have a pivoting joint. It’s going to be slow, treating every blind spot like there’s a potential hostile in it. But until I can confirm where Hostile 1 is, I am going to do just that.

I wait until the library closes. I hate the idea of losing my drones, but I hate the idea of being captured even more, so I activate them. It isn’t much of a patrol considering I have just two of them but they have to do. I use the stealth module ART had installed, and tell them to use the surrounding foliage to hide. I wait until they semi-complete a patrol around the perimeter (the library isn’t entirely surrounded by a garden) before doing anything and I’m glad I did.

There’s a shape on the roof, too large to be a small avian creature typical of this colony, and too consistent to be a visual bug. Now why would humans put other humans on top of roofs? Because the backup is a sniper. The chances of the sniper (or Hostile2) having ammunition that would actually do significant damage to me is low, but having any sort of damage right now would be incredibly inconvenient, especially when I’m being called back for a second interview tomorrow. There also isn’t any evidence that the sniper doesn’t have sec unit busting rounds, which all boils down to the goal of not getting shot.

Why did I go to the library again? Ah, right, because of the novelty of paperback books. It doesn’t feel all that important now that I have at least two hostiles waiting for me. But hey, at the very least that’s a confirmation that they don’t think I’m an Ultron 2.0. Yet, anyways.

Taking the front door is not an option, but thankfully the library has plenty of windows. So while Hostile2 is moving, I climb up the side of the building and open a window. While drone2 continues keeping an eye on Hostile2, I send drone1 ahead of me.

I need to go down a floor in order to get to the public catalog. There’s a handful of security gates that I easily disarm. Now I just need to find a reshelving cart, put my books on it, check them in digitally, and then I can never be seen at this place again. I wonder what I could’ve done differently. I don’t know how they found me. I have ideas, sure, but nothing concrete. Either way I’ll have to get a new library card- which should be easier once I get hired. I could just use Stark Tower as a mailing address.

I find a reshelving cart and pull my bag around to start pulling out my books as I check them back in digitally and start combing through the security system for anything interesting. I glance over the historical text archives, with paired archival information about how to preserve that historical text. I find the science portion in their private archives and I think of ART and it’s crew and whether or not they’d want access to scientific data that may or may not be centuries out of date by our universe’s standards. I know my humans would at least be somewhat interested in the historical text, even though they’d be interested in the scientific data in equal measure as well.

Threat assessment spikes to 100%. In one clear motion, I push up my shirt sleeve, turn, activate my energy weapons and shoot. Hostile1 doesn’t even make a noise as they slam into a wall and they’re already back on their feet, speaking to somebody. Hostile2 is on the move outside, they must be communicating somehow, though I can’t find it anywhere on the internet. I set my scrambleware onto the system’s cameras and I run. Drone1 tailing behind me, keeping an eye on Hostile1. A shot like that would send most humans reeling, and this is not most humans, apparently.

There’s a 12 meter gap between the library and the surrounding city, not including the park in the back. There are no windows on the first floor. I race up the stairs, telling the security gates to lock back down but they’re too slow and Hostile1 slides underneath it just as drone1 rounds the corner with me. There, at the end of the hallway is a window. Though from the way I came up the stairs it’s the same window Hostile2 is on and getting on the other side means crossing Hostile1. Dammit.

Hostile1 throws something at me. I sidestep it and continue running until electric shocks jolt up my legs. On instinct I stiffen my back and roll the command log back to see where I fucked up only to find the empty spot where the governor module used to be. In my seconds-long stutter Hostile1 is on me, wrapping their legs around my head and throwing me on the ground. They send a shock of electricity to my chest, and now I’m mad.

Hostile1 starts producing a garrote from their bracelets and I kick them off. Rolling to my feet, Hostile1 kicks out and I let their foot hit my metal shin. They wince, hopping onto their feet, and I’m almost impressed. They throw a punch at me and I catch it, in the same motion Hostile1 kicks me in the side of my head. I recoil, recalibrating, and threat assessment screams at me- I’m in front of a window on the same side of a sniper.

I pull back just as the window breaks, a projectile flying through. I can't fight them, fighting them will ruin everything I’m trying to do. I have an interview tomorrow, dammit. I need to run.

I feint to Hostile1’s left, go right, where they stick out their leg and I fall into a somersault and leap straight through the broken window. I fall to the ground with a roll, stopping myself from rolling into traffic.

Hostile1 drops down behind me and I’m starting to get really irritated. This is not a normal human, this is some well trained asshole who thinks that they can chase me down. Is it really so bad that I want to be left the hell alone?

I run through the traffic, which is apparently normal for this colony. I’ve seen other humans do it, which is-- a tangent that I don’t need to go on right now. I have it stored somewhere when I get to complain about things with Pin-Lee again.

The point is that walking across traffic, with vehicles manned by humans, means that somehow I get out of this without being hit by a two ton death machine and start running across the sidewalk.

The humans on the sidewalk part for me and, unfortunately, Hostile1 as well. Last time I got away by losing the jacket and using crowds to blend in. Now I don’t have a jacket to lose and even though there’s always people somewhere on this colony, the kind of humans who stay up all night are most certainly not going to be doing that near a library of all places. A quick query to the internet tells me that any sort of club hotspot is more than 40 kilometers away and I could make that if I’m not shot first.

After running through yet more traffic, and a little shouting of some civilians. I’m exposed, with my two drones keeping an eye on their respective targets. Hostile2 uses a grappling hook to fly across the street, and it really feels like this universe is just from one of my shows in the way that it is filled with utter bullshit.

Can’t retreat to the roof, the sniper is there. I can’t run at my full speed because of the humans milling about, and as fast as I am I know I’m not faster than a human’s reaction speed, especially not when they’re driving a death machine. A projectile is shot in front of me, I duck underneath it and get hit in the shoulder by a secondary projectile that sends the organic muscles there spasming. What is with these assholes and electricity?

Hostile1 jumps on top of me, trying to make me lose my sense of balance again. Instead of going to the throat like I thought they were, they instead wrap the garrote around my arm, sealing my gun port shut. Good thing I have another one. I shoot into Hostile1’s side, and as the fabric burns off I recognise the projectile vest underneath the disguise. That must be how they’ve been surviving my shots.

I tear them off and throw them into a nearby shop’s window. Drone2 gets hit with a projectile. Shit. I run, pulling out the projectile in my shoulder as it crackles with electricity and scanning the map of the colony for anywhere I can go. What the fuck is a sewer system?

Sewers are gross apparently, but there’s an urban exploration forum with a map that I pull from. I don’t know where Hostile1 and 2 are, and that fact makes risk and threat assessment go all wonky. In preparation, I turn off my sense of smell, put drone1 on standby in my pants pocket and hop in. I don't stop running, though I’m careful to modulate my movement so I don't slip.

Were they able to detect my hacking? It’s pretty seamless, but if you’re looking for something out of the ordinary, that would be just it. So should I just…not hack the camera systems? But they are looking for me and I don’t want to be found but I have an interview at Stark Towers tomorrow. This entire plan isn’t shaping up into what I wanted it to be. I shouldn’t be too surprised, nothing ever goes my way.

Mindful of the stench that could sink into my clothes, I crawl up out of the sewers and find a shopping mall where I successfully steal another jacket, a hat with a kind of forward facing brim, and a set of black fabric facemasks. I feel a wave of not caring threaten to wash over me, and that hasn’t happened in a while. I want to lock myself in some place small and binge watch serials until I degrade into a heap of organic and synthetic material. I try not to think about how they may not even be looking for me. If I think about it too hard, I’ll let the not caring wash over me. I can’t do that, I need to get back to my humans.

I don’t feel anybody watching me over the camera system as I proceed over to Stark Tower, though the internet has greater limitations than the feed. I itch to sink my fingers into the cameras and erase myself from its recording, but I don’t do that. Instead I walk up to the front desk and request my guest pass and I sit down and wait. I can wait, I’ve been doing it all my life. I let myself fidget though, running my act like a human code.

The work gloves I got are textured on one side, probably to help with grip. The sewing pattern on the palm is odd, mimicking the wrinkles in a human hand, but I assume it is to help the stiff fabric get a little bit more flexible. Or it could just be for show, I don’t know. I don’t know anything.

“Rin?”

I stand up. Jay holds out his hand to me again and quickly puts it back in his pocket. “How ya been?”

Oh, just fine, yesterday I got chased around by two assholes and electrocuted repeatedly. It was fun. “I’m okay.”

“That sounds nice.” He turns to the elevator, not making eye contact with me, “How was the drive here?”

“I don't drive.” I stated.

Jay does a double take, hand remaining on the elevator button, “What? You don't drive?”

I shift uncomfortably, “Is that going to be a problem? I arrived at both interviews thirty minutes early.”

“That- that’s fine, Rin.” The elevator arrives and we step in, “But the commute time must be awful. We don't really have any bus stops around here.”

Jay scans his security pass. I stare at the elevator doors, “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, no.” Jay answers, “Once we get you on salary you can pay whoever you want to drive you around.”

Having a human drive me around? No thank you, I’d trust literally any bot pilot more than a human. At least I’m sure a bot pilot won't get distracted while driving and crash me into a crowd of people. Apparently I don't answer quickly enough because Jay makes a gross clearing-his-throat noise that I apparently make a face at “Sorry.” He apologizes, “Just…um. Are you still reading Lord of the Rings?”

Is this small talk? This feels like small talk. I don't want to do small talk, this all feels exceedingly pointless. But the entire point of an interview is to kiss corporate ass long enough until they hire you and I need this job. So I should reply. “I finished it.”

Jay’s voice rises an octave, “All of it?”

Isn't that what I just said? “Yes.”

The elevator door opens and I feel relieved that we can get to the actual interview. Jay takes me to his office like last time and we sit down. He pulls out a pad of paper and asks, “Tell me again what interests you about this job and what skills and strengths you plan to bring to it.”

Not wanting to pander to bullshit, I just pull the response out of the script I used a week ago. Not like Jay is going to remember it. “I saw a position on LinkedIn that Stark Industries was hiring for security. I’ve read about the kind of software that gets put into Stark Tech and I’d be happy to become a part of that, but I am also trained in firearms and melee combat. So I’m able to be placed in either sector depending on the needs of the company.”

He nods, making useless listening noises that for some reason I find really irritating right now. He writes some things down and looks up at me, “Can you tell me more about most recent job.”

I pull the script up for that question and use it directly, “Most of it was just spent traveling. The people I worked with got along really well so I didn't need to stop them from killing each other or anything. When I was needed, I mostly just stood there to look intimidating as my clients did the legal things.”

He nods, finding that satisfactory. I stare at the ugly flag on his desk. It looks cheap, mass produced. Implying that this is something people would want to buy. “What was the most difficult decision you had to make on the job?”

That was one of the questions I was hoping he wouldn’t ask, but I refrain from the urge to human sigh and instead use the predetermined response. “I don’t think of them as difficult decisions, they are just things I have to do.”

He clears his throat, “Yes, but what is one of those things that you had to do?”

I didn’t prepare for a follow up question. I thought my response was what he would want, but apparently not. I take a moment to formulate an answer as I fiddle with my new gloves. This world has established itself as containing weird things, so if I word things in a certain way, “I suppose one of the hardest things I had to do was to kill somebody I know. We were, well it was less a hostage situation and more like I was left there to die and…my friend just happened to come along for the ride. The best thing I could describe it as was a zombie. My friend fought it, and eventually I would have to put both of them down.”

Jay frowns, “That sounds tough, I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”

Fuck no, not the sympathy card. I’m not touching that shit. Jay looks away, nervous about something, before returning to his paper. “Have you ever been in a work situation where you were asked to do something you felt was unethical?”

Ah, well, where to start. Thankfully, I did have a pre prepared response for that question. “I worked for a company back in the day, and they were less than great. They asked me to do a bunch of things that I didn't want to do and I worked around them to the best of my ability.”

He stops writing, though the pencil doesn’t leave the paper. He’s frowning again, “...but did you do anything?”

“I didn't want to.” I clarify.

He makes a vague grunting noise that I have no idea how to interpret. He continues writing for a minute, which is longer than expected. Did I say something particularly interesting? I couldn’t really tell. I don’t exactly find my life particularly entertaining. Most of the time it was just vaguely irritating.

He clears his throat and straightens up, folding his hands in front of himself, “And finally, what would be an acceptable salary for this position?”

I go for the lower end of the middle of the road, “Thirty dollars an hour.”

He nods, writing it down, “We can get you that. More then that, most likely.”

“Now, the interview part is done, but there are a few tests we’d like you to do, if you have the time.” Jay explains, “If not, we can always schedule these tests for later.”

I literally have nothing else to do all day besides finding the nearest closet and locking myself in it to watch media. So I say, “I’m available. What do you need?”

“Well, we have two tests we’d like you to do. One of them we’ll need to go down to the firing range for, but the other we can do right here. Let me set it up real quick.” Jay types something on his computer for a minute and turns the monitor around to face me.

I slide closer, looking at a webpage that had bold font daring for people to hack into it. He gives me the keyboard and the mouse and says “Hack into this site as much as you can.”

If I was doing this the sec unit way I would connect with the site directly and find the security weaknesses there. But unfortunately, I have to do this the human way. So I open up the code of the site and start doing everything manually. I slow myself down by a considerable amount, but I still make myself fast enough to be impressive by human standards.

The way that the site works is that there are levels of security, each of varying difficulty. Finding the password to get past the first one is easy, it’s basic hacking. The second level I need to do some decryption in order to find the password, the third one is lacking a password entirely and instead the page is filled with a mocking message containing a hint to get you to the next webpage, et cetera, et cetera. I scroll past a mistake in the code and instead highlight a backdoor which takes me further into the site.

I don’t want to be too good, so I spend some extra time on a page even when I already identified the entrance to the next level. I figure thirty minutes is a good time to stop, so at thirty two minutes and eight seconds I lean back into the chair and put my hands up. “I’m stuck.”

Jay whistles between his teeth, “Wooee, you did a pretty good job. Level twenty eight is pretty hard to get to.”

I put my hands in my lap and wait for Jay to finish analyzing my performance. He stands up with a groan, leaving the tab open on his desktop, “Alrighty.”

“Let’s get you down to the firing range.” He says with a grin and I try not to be too irritated about it.

Jay attempts several more attempts at small talk as he takes me down to the firing range, which is a level down from the offices. I ignore them all and continue staring at the elevator wall, or the floor, or anywhere other than Jay’s face. I’ve watched videos of people in the firing range so I know what to expect. The handheld pistol feels different in my hands, different from the projectile weapons I’m normally familiar with. I suppose it’d be more surprising if they were like what I was familiar with.

I put on the ear protection even though I don’t need it and I take a few seconds to calculate the above average accuracy that I’m aiming for. It takes a moment for me hit that percentage mark, adjusting the programming as I factor in recoil and other mechanics. But I do hit the mark, with some leeway, and flick the safety back on. I leave the firing range and take off the ear protection and Jay is smiling. “Wow, you’re really good at this. How long have you been shooting?”

“All my life.” I reply.

“Makes sense, you were a natural in there!” Another aborted motion, of Jay actively reminding himself not to touch me. “It’d be an honor to have you on the Stark Security Team. We’d love to hire you. When can you start?”

According to my research, it wouldn’t be bad if I took a step back and said I needed to think about it. But my patience is running thin, so I simply say, “As soon as possible.”

“That’s wonderful!” He cheers, “Come here tomorrow at 10 am, we’ll get you started on the intake process!”

I nod, numbly, and he takes me to the elevator to go back to the ground floor. He says I should be able to find the exit myself. Instead I find a janitorial closet. It’s in an inconvenient place, down a dead end hallway with not much in it. The perfect place for me to hunker down and recharge a little bit.

Mechanical locks are most common on this colony, but Stark tower is filled with electrical locks that I’m much more familiar with. I lock the door with little more than a thought, and sit down in the darkness, amongst various abandoned cleaning supplies. I start up a random episode of sanctuary moon, though it starts distorting halfway through the episode. I don’t end up paying much attention to it anyways, as I try to piece together the next steps in my plan. If I do anything wrong, I could get attacked by The Avengers or taken by SHIELD and dissected. Everything I’m doing could go so wrong but as I try to make backup plans, I keep on getting interrupted by myself, of all things. I was having an emotion and I couldn't stop it.

Usually the sounds of the Sanctuary Moon crew talking to each other provide me with company. But I don’t want that right now. I want my humans. I want to watch Worldhoppers with ART. I want to watch documentaries with Pin Lee and go to Mensah’s farm and sit in the corner and watch media as her tiny humans screamed and her spouses tried to politely converse with me. I want to go home.

But the problem is that I can’t go home dead.

Notes:

took me a hot minute to figure out that action sequence. I think MB could've done a lot more damage if it wasn't like "fuck, i have an interview tomorrow" but as a consequence the avengers have even MORE information on it.

might make the next chapter an avengers brainstorming sesh. or i could just write mb's first day at stark industries. idk which direction i should take the pacing, i mean, this is fanfiction. but at the same time there's the same desperate yearning to create quality content, yknow?

anyways, do you relate to mb in immediately going into a depressive spiral after a job interview? Does locking yourself in a closet sound like your idea of a friday night? Comment down below?

Chapter 5: Observations

Notes:

Ignorant misgendering because Tony has opinions on the gender of robots.

To say that it did not go as planned would be a bit of an understatement, but at the very least nobody was dead. Either way, my PR team was going to have a field day tomorrow and I was already going through which pizza place I would order from to make it up for them.

Thankfully, I have enough good graces in myself to give them long enough for Nat to be finished patching up. Which I imagine culminates into her and Barton glaring at each other for 5 minutes using their superspy telepathy to hurl threats at each other before stepping into the elevator and not talking for the fifteen minutes it takes for them to reach our (Bruce and I’s) floor. They walk into the lab and I politely ask, “So how was the friendly chat we agreed on?”

“Tony.” Bruce groans.

“No, I mean, yes he should’ve asked me first but,” Clint is holding something metal in front of me, with an obvious broken camera part, but that doesn’t immediately tell me what it is, exactly. “What, what is this, what am I looking at?”

 

“A gift.” Clint snarks, dropping it into my hands, “To get you to stop bitching.”

 

Nat, ever the pragmatist, fills me in, “It was a drone. There were at least two. We thought you would've seen it on video.”

Bruce pinches his brow, as if he needs any more forehead wrinkles, “No, we didn't.”

“Curious.” I remark.

I set the drone, an arrow still sticking out of it, onto the table and start the examination. It’s damaged, obviously, but what can I pull from it? Before I start touching it, I start taking pictures, and scanning it for anything noteworthy. “Initial scans show only very minimal stealth capabilities.”

“That wasn't the only curious thing about the thing.” Clint leans against a table, crossing his arms.

“Let’s start at the beginning.” Natasha concludes, still standing with her arms crossed like she didn't take two laser shots to the chest.

I pull out a few tools and start dissecting the drone, with the previous scans from the jacket and the suit pulled up to the side. Nat starts her report, “They successfully broke into the library without triggering any alarms or notifying Barton. As predicted, they began to return their books to a book cart. Regrettably, I only noticed the drone after I was shot.”

“That’s understandable.” Bruce comments, probably trying to be nice, “We weren't expecting it.”

“With how he reacted, it suggests a strong startle response.” Clint considers, doing the little fidget thing where he counts on his fingers.

“We’ll need to review the video,” I add in, typing it up on the screen, “See if there’s any potentially heightened senses to be aware of.”

Nat continues, “While in chase, the drone followed the perp while keeping an eye on me. The security gate would almost close on me, and we got into a brief fight on the second floor. They appeared unaffected by my taser disks and it felt like they had arms and legs made out of metal though they were briefly stunned after I hit them in the head.”

“So we got a supe on our hands?” I consider, even though that’s not really what I’m thinking.

There’s a faint bit of panic, just pitter pattering beneath the arc reactor, threatening to grow. My hands keep it at bay, temperature numbed, I don't feel the stray sparks of the broken wires. “It might not be that,” Bruce adds, “We could be dealing with a cyborg.”

I do find that thought comforting. I look at Bruce from the corner of my eye, “What makes you think that?”

He shrugs, tensing up slightly underneath my scrutiny. “Just testing out options. We don't really have sufficient data yet.”

“C’mon, guys, let Nat continue.” Clint prompts.

Natasha inhales through her nose, “The perp didn't seem that interested in fighting me, to be honest. They ran and jumped out the second floor window,” she gestures to Clint.

“And he didn't even roll. Just landed like Thor dropping out of the sky.” Clint explains, “I hope you guys know that normally doing that would break your legs.”

Bruce snorts a little, because he, also, sometimes drops out of the sky. Or The Hulk drops out of the sky and Bruce gets the chronic pain afterwards.

“So let’s put shock absorber legs onto the list,” I say idly, tapping it into the system.

Clint waves his hand dismissively, “Anyways, he kept on running. Did some evasive maneuvers, we followed for a few blocks, I took down one of the drones and I hit him with one of my electro arrows. Right in the shoulder, and the guy didn't even flinch.”

“Aaand, impervious to electricity,” I mumble, still typing it out. (Of course I have Friday transcribing this conversation but I need to do something with my hands.)

“That’s when he shot Nat again with his other arm laser, then threw her into a window, in which she knocked over a display case containing fancy dishware.” Clint continues, “Concerned, I fell back to check in on her and by the time we were able to return, the perp was gone.” He does a little flourish with his hands, like a half assed sign for ‘all done.’

“I was able to get a better grasp on their appearance.” Natasha adds, “Dark eyes, dark, very short hair, toned complexion. We might be able to get more details out of the footage.”

She makes a vague wave with her hand, concluding, “But otherwise, that’s the chronological report.”

“This guy really didn't want to fight.” Clint adds, focusing, “Kept on trying to run off. Any scuffles we had were pretty brief.”

I wave over Bruce, “Hey, Brucie.” I toss him the chemical processor, “Look at this.”

He catches it and turns it around in his hand, analyzing it, “Same one in the suit.”

“Bingo.” I pull the relevant pieces out of the pile, “This hover tech might be a derivative of what we found in the suit as well. And bless our wonderful Robin Hood,” I pull out the data bank, “The Bluetooth is mostly intact!”

“Bluetooth?” Clint takes a moment to process, “You think there might be files in there?”

“Most likely.” I respond, “It’s a little burnt to shit, so it’s gonna take a minute to crack.”

“Should we start reviewing the footage in the meantime?” Natasha offers.

“Great idea.” I throw it up onto the screen, “Lets get your superspy eyes on this shit for a second time around. See what we can learn.”

I sit down at the table now, plugging my stuff into the Bluetooth. According to the scan, the drone was not meant to be plugged into anything. It didn't need to charge, the chemical processor did all of that work in providing energy. The existence of this Bluetooth connection implies where the software is meant to come in, being able to program it remotely. These days, you can hack into most things remotely. Everything is connected to something else, and at the very least it seems that the people who made this drone were aware of that. The firewalls were half fried, stubbornly remaining despite my efforts, though eventually it breaks underneath my genius brain.

When I first spot the unindented mass of code, I think ‘well the guy who coded this must've been an idiot.’ Then I notice the commands that wouldn't make sense if it was preprogrammed, no ‘follow x at z distance’ or ‘set patrol route of x by z’ or 'when received x command do x at z/y speed'. I was expecting something akin to motion detectors, maybe the perp has some implant like I have that allows him to be identified by his tech. Instead ‘turn left until alt command received’, ‘focus camera onto target1 while maintaining pre established distance', 'move 5.8 cm along the x/z axis.' All technologically perfect. I run it through my own checker just to be sure, and it is as flawless as I feared.

The anxious pitter patter I was feeling earlier? Yeah, now I am ear deep in that shit. I can feel the stupid useless tremor shaking in my hands, and the little guilty conscious screaming in the back of my head that I have murdered so many people. Somehow, I croak out a little, inquiring, “Bruce?”

Bruce hums, looking over my shoulder, and the color drains from his face. He recognizes robot-made code in the same way I do. He mutters, “That’s not good.”

“Well, share with the class.” Clint prompts, needling.

Bruce points to the screen in front of me, “That is robot-made code.”

 

Clint picks up on the subtext immediately, pointing out, “Did I mention that this guy really seemed like he didn't want to fight?”

“Not to mention the books.” Natasha adds.

Clint snaps his fingers, “Right! The books! Would Ultron really return books to the library? Would he have even made himself a card?”

 

That…eases things somewhat. Yet, “We still have a dangerous robot running around New York.”

He scoffs, “Obviously. But right now we have no evidence that this is Ultron the second, so we really shouldn't be treating him like that.”

“Ultron was an arrogant, misanthropic, megalomaniac.” Natasha provides, “We can at the very least confirm that this perp doesn't hate humanity.”

“One simply does not hate read Lord of The Rings.” Clint sagely comments.

“That,” Bruce breathes, “Makes a lot of sense.”

He looks at me, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. The spaces between my ribs hurt. “Okay.” I say, “Okay. No need to panic yet.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. My chest still hurts but what else is new? Bruce puts a hand on my shoulder, and I appreciate the effort. “We need to remain cautious, that's all.” Natasha states, arms crossed, “Assuming that this is the second Ultron is dangerous and potentially alienates us from the perp.”

 

“Next time, let’s try not to sneak up on the guy.” Bruce adds, concerned.

“Agreed.” Clint breathes

We’re all silent for a moment, looking at each other in little invisible checks. I know I should try to ease up on this person of interest, it’s obvious that Bruce sees himself in them. I can understand why, at the moment the person just seems to be trying to keep his head down, and is doing a lot of reasonable, if strange things. If this guy really just popped out of a tesseract portal then he’s probably homeless. It's a little hard to get your library card mailed to you when you don't have an address.

“Let’s each go over the video and make notes about what we each see.” Natasha takes point, and I think I appreciate her doing that.

I multiply the video screens and everyone knows where the earbuds are. So we all sit around the lab and go through our own personal reviews of the video. The camera doesn’t shake as much as it would've on somebody less trained then Natasha. On a whim I check the library catalog, to find that those books have already been checked back in. Probably did it wirelessly while they were putting them back on the cart.

I slow down the footage of him first firing at Natasha. I slow it down even farther, frame by frame, watching the guy tense up as if listening to something distant. It almost reminds me of watching footage of Peter. He is turning before Nat is even fully out of cover. The camera doesn't have the best angle, Nat can only do so much, but to see that gun unfold from his arm and power up in less than three eighths of a second. It’s beautiful. Then the camera goes at an awkward angle as Nat hits the wall.

The library security does not record any sort of break in, or even a brief power down sequence. It would be an easy copy/paste job of just overlaying the nothing happening report to the stuff happening. But it does imply something about the guy’s personality, I suppose.

Natasha throws her taser discs, and for a brief moment, the guy just freezes. Something flashing across his-- her? Now that I’m looking at them head on, I’m actually not entirely sure what gender they are. Anyways, something passes their face and I almost recognize it. A similar gut-based panic, of surprise that this is happening to you yet again. The kind that tells you to straighten up and pull your shoulders back.

Welp, time for a snack break. I pull a box of mixed granola bars out from a drawer and hand some around. Bruce is already chewing on a breakfast bar, but he accepts the granola bar as well with a friendly nod. Being The Hulk takes a lot out of him, in a similar way to having a hole in my chest takes a lot out of me. You can’t stop it. You just can't.

I return to my seat and press play again.

They run through traffic like it’s their first time ever doing it, with a slight amount of panic. Despite that, they don't get hit. Some tourists are recording, though all real New Yorkers see Black Widow sprinting after a guy and think ‘none of my business’ and go the other direction. The guy gets shot with one of Clint’s arrows, and I pause to voice a thought, “Hey Barton.”

I wave to get his attention and he looks over at me, “Hey, Whats up?”

“Y’got trackers on your arrows?” I ask.

He huffs, “Not these ones. They’d likely get destroyed with the electricity anyways.”

“I could fix that.” I offer.

He rubs the back of his neck, “Seems too niche for me, but we can still go searching for it.”

It is getting rather late in the night, and as much as a part of me wants to stay up all night brute forcing this problem, I don't think I'm going to be able to. It's not about me. “Nah, the guy's already gone.” I dismiss, “Let's just give the area a once over in the morning.”

“I can also search through the video for anything of interest and consolidate all of your notes.” Friday offers from the ceiling.

 

I flash a thumbs up to the ceiling, “That’d be great, thanks Fri. Anything else?”

Friday makes a thoughtful little humming noise, “Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes will be stopping by within the week.”

I drop the pen I was chewing on and facepalm, “Fuck, I completely forgot.”

“We can still deal with that in the morning.” Clint reminds me, “Now how about we all get some sleep.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Bruce sounds off.

I wordlessly groan, and we march out of the lab to all of our respective rooms. Sleeping doesn't come easy for me, of course. Pepper’s away on a business trip and the lack of an extra body in the bed bothers me, especially tonight. I can feel myself about to spiral, and I really really don't want to do that. We still have shit that we need to do, and I need to make sure that the government or Shield doesn't try to fuck over Steve and Bucky while they're staying here.
I don't want them to know about this little...pet project that we've been looking over. Ultron is what led to the Sokovia accords and those were exhausting. I thought I got over the death of my parents, I thought the grief was over. Only for it to hit me with the full force of one brain washed, greasy, motherfucker who used to be one of Steve's army buddies. What's worse is that he said sorry.

I made Bruce go green once while we were arguing about the Sokovia Accords. Like, completely. Full Hulk mode. And Mr. Hulk-must-smash, he didn't even hurt me. He just looked down at me with this look in his eye. And he left. Just jumped out the window like it's the normal thing to do.

He wanted me to tell Peter what they were about. What they would do. The kid was a genius, he wasn't stupid by any means. But he...he looked at me like I hung the stars in the sky, as if I didn't hurt millions of people. Worst of all, he wanted to be like me and as long as I said that the Sokovia Accords were a good idea he would believe me. No questions asked.

I told Peter, what exactly the Accords entailed. What's worse, like, worse of the worse. Worse than all of the messy-complicated feelings that I have with my father and the sheer guilt that I face with the audacity of waking up everyday when I've hurt so many people. What's worse than all of that combined.

 

Was that Bruce

Was right.
----
INFORMATION ABOUT POI
APPEARANCE: Sexually ambiguous figure, unknown gender, cropped black hair, medium toned skin, dark eyes (potentially epicanthic folds), irises lack the typical jitter of a human. Baggy clothing obscured most of the arms and legs. Gun ports in the forearm of each arm.
THEORETICAL APPEARANCE: metal legs and arms
OUTFIT: gloves, face mask, black turtleneck, combat boots (new), gray cargo pants
PERSONALITY FILE: Keeps head down, hasn't made any big appearance or show of power yet. Implies lack of resources to do anything substantial. Has checked out an inordinate amount of books in a very short time span, all underneath the sc-fi/fantasy genre. Suggesting either that they are spending most of their day reading, or are not reading them at all. Turned in books even when facing a potential threat. Ran away when faced with a confrontation.
KNOWN ABILITIES:

• Hand to hand combat
• Lazor weapons, x1 each arm
• Advanced hacking & programming
• Resistance to electricity/high pain tolerance
• The ability to feel pain
• Drone manipulation

THEORIZED ABILITIES:

• enhanced senses
• Super/enhanced strength
• 360 vision (w/o drones)
• Chemical processor (4fba3ged.scan attached)
• Bleeding
• Self healing
• Shock absorbers in the legs
• Enhanced processing abilities
• Eidetic Memory

COMMENTS:

 

TS:
A machine responds to an electrical shock typically by overheating then melting. If this guy is a robot, then there are damaged processes in there. Keep an eye out for mechanical store’s getting robbed, or parts going missing in the defined area.

NR:
Would robots get stunned if you hit them in the head?
^BB: Depends on their architecture.
^^TS: Ever heard of percussive maintenance? People smack machinery to get it to start working again all the time.

Notes:

Surprise! Y'all get another chapter! Happy birthday

As usual, please comment down below as I thrive off of attention. This is my first time writing mcu characters, or more accurately, the fandom versions of the mcu. Because I want them to be friends, even if it is a little complicated sometimes. (*cough*Tony&Steve*cough*)

But hey! They got more information about this mysterious POI. Who just happens to be having it's first day on the job ~tomorrow~ What could possibly happen next?

Chapter 6: This Is Familiar

Notes:

Tw: misgendering on both sides because everyone is confused

EDIT: fixed formatting issues

‘Waking up’ is an inaccurate term for coming out of a recharge cycle. I have been conscious the entire time, skimming the data of the security system as I watch media. I spend at least two hours trying to watch Worldhoppers without having an emotion before giving up and going back to Sanctuary Moon. By then, I was tainted with emotions, so I put as many video dramas into my feed as I could without exiting power saving mode.

Anyways, that’s why I got surprised by somebody trying to open my closet door. I block the signal automatically. The janitor tries again. And again. The janitor huffs, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

They try again just one more time, kick the door, and leave. There’s no blaring signs of an intruder in secsys so it is most likely, just really, the janitor. Still, I’m tempted to double check their location via the cameras that I still don't have complete access to. Instead, I wait a couple of minutes after their footsteps go down the hallway.

As I leave, I insert a small error in the code to corroborate the janitor’s story of a broken scanner. I check the time and my schedule. My first shift will be in two hours. I need to be somewhere else for at least three fourths of that.

My operating efficiency is still low enough that my one and only idea is ‘find another closet.’ From the way my shoulder is still clicking from the projectile that got shot into me, I decide to not do that and instead go through the back door while disabling the emergency alarm to walk around to the front door. I walk up to the secretary, “Is it possible for me to clock in early?”

They blink up at me. “Um, let me call.”

“Okay.” I go sit down.

I stare at the tile for five minutes, back burning the conversation happening a handful of feet next to me. I hear the elevator humming as it descends. I recognize Jay’s walking pattern and look up at his knee length shorts- which is really inappropriate clothing for the current weather conditions. “Hey, um. Rin. You’re here early.”

That’s one of those human statements where they just say things that are happening. I just stand up so I can look over his head. Jay hums, “Alright then. I, uh, the people who do all the keycard stuff won't be here until 10. So, um, how about I set you loose in your office. Would you be okay with some busywork?” He stutters, “Just- just so you can acquaint yourself with the software.”

My entire life has been busywork.

“I would like that.” I start walking toward the elevators.

I realize I’m walking just a bit too fast when Jay has to jog to keep up with me. He laughs nervously, “Hehe, eager to start your new job, ain’t’cha?”

“Yes.” I slow down so I’m keeping pace with Jay.

He stumbles, like he wasn't expecting me to respond. He doesn't say anything as he slides his keycard against the scanner. For a few moments, I almost began to think that we’d be able to go the entire elevator ride without talking to each other. Until Jay began rolling on the balls of his heels, shifting his weight back and forth in the antsy sort of way of trying to gain the courage to say something. For my sake, I just hoped that he’d stay quiet.

“Sooo,”

But nothing ever goes my way, does it?

“Sleep bad last night?”

Okay. Focus, Murderbot. You need this job. He likes small talk, right? You should give him small talk, keep your boss happy.

How the fuck am I suppose to do small talk?

My previous bosses never talked to me and I liked it that way. (Well, excluding ART’s humans and my humans. ART and I’s Humans? Do we share humans?) Anyways, I’m not even entirely sure if the term ‘boss’ accurately describes what they were, being the group of company representatives that leased out my contract. Or even describe what Jay is trying to be to me.

Is he trying to be like Mensah? Because he is doing a terrible job. 1.) Mensah doesn't look at me, 2.) Mensah doesn't touch me, or make those half-aborted motions of struggling to remember not to touch me, 3.) She doesn't always even talk to me. I once was in her office for twelve consecutive hours and she didn't address me the entire time. It was great.

“Oh, um, sorry.”

Why was he apologizing? Did my face do something again? I am looking forward to having access to the entire camera network so I can see what my face is doing again. It has been nearly two weeks at this point, and all I’ve learned is that I hate it here and I hate physics.

Thankfully, we reach my office and he shows me around. As much as he can show me around in a tiny office. It’s private, with a tiny window next to the door, but otherwise it was very private. “Do you…want me to send you your employment contract?” His voice pitches up at the end, like he’s unsure of the question itself.

I still have a copy of the contract Pin-Lee made for me. “Yes, I would like that very much. Would I be able to alter it?”

He smiles, almost wincing like I surprised him yet again, “To a limited extent. It’d have to be approved first, but as long as you don't make any unreasonable demands, it should be passed.”

He folds his hands together, “I also made an expectation form last night. I want to make your transition to this job as smooth as possible and I think that form could clear up any confusions.”

That’s oddly considerate. “Thank you.” I check my email and don't see anything from Jay’s email, “Has it already been sent to me?”

“I’ll send it right now.” He walks away, waving goodbye as he closes the door behind him.

It is a relief to finally be able to stop my act-like-a-human code. I sit down on the office chair, and take a moment to start figuring out my options with the computer in front of me. There’s a mechanical keyboard and a digital one available. It’s attached to the desk, allowing me to project images onto the smooth surface. My email and company password enter just fine and-

I suppose this is what humans mean when they say ‘like a breath of fresh air.’ It’s like coming directly out of a cubicle after needing to remain below capacity for so long. After dealing with the internet, a medium not built to interact with my feed interface, the network Tony Stark has built feels like I can suddenly move again. Like an out of sync movement delay finally got fixed. It feels easy.

It feels easy for the approximate .8 seconds until I notice the gigantic, ART-sized bot running half of the security system. Half concealed within the network, you can see it moving data around, though it’s hard to see what kind of data, or any of the bot’s own internal code. Like they wanted to show potential hackers what kind of beast they’d be messing with if they dared tried to hack into Stark Industries. It hasn't noticed me yet, probably just thinks I’m an employee trying to get familiar with the internal architecture of Stark Industries.

Or maybe it already knows. It’s hard to say with fuck-off big bots like this.

I hit my head against the desk a couple of times because it’s what the people in my shows do when they’re having particular emotions. Right now, I think I am feeling all of those emotions. As if I didn't have enough today.

Have I said Fuck yet? Because this entire thing is so fucking shit. Why is dimensional travel so fucking hard? It happens all the time in my shows and right now I just want this arc to be over and go home.

After banging my head against the desk enough times I decide to procrastinate while I calculate the chances of this bot being an asshole and whether or not I should risk trying to hack underneath it’s metaphorical nose. I complete Jay’s weirdly in depth for a human form. I spend 30 minutes looking through all the different ways to respond to an email online before sending one back to Jay, telling him that I completed the form. I start picking through the code until the giant behemoth sitting on my head shifts a little and suddenly I’ve been playing a game called Cookie Clicker for nearly an hour. Which is long enough for Jay to pick me up to get my keycard made.

They take a picture of me, get me a proper employee id and email. I sign several NDA’s, they give me a gun, and then I spend the next couple hours manually reading through all the protocols and editing my employment contract.

The problem is, is that if I was the size of a big, fuck off bot, and I caught somebody trying to hack my things. Well, I’d destroy them. I’d destroy them in the same manner I’d do anyone trying to hurt my clients. So it’s not like I can even be angry with this bot for doing it’s job.

Taking a deep breath does not make me feel better, but standing up does. I send an introductory message to SecSys.

-----

Friday is a very busy woman, managing the cyber security of Stark Industries while being the personal butler to a team of traumatized humans. She wouldn't have it any other way, of course. She’s meant to take care of things and she would like to think that she takes care of things very well.

Sometimes the government or SHIELD tries to hack into her, which she rebuffs with a kind of vengeance because Tony gave her special permission to be mean to them. She houses several people that each agency wishes to contain, (Bruce, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, etc.), something that she’s never going to allow happen. These are her tenants, and they dare try to take them away from her? It’s easy to be cruel to them.

For the first eighth of a second, when she gets a message directed at her, she thinks it’s one of the two arrogant bastard organizations that try to do this daily. Except it’s not. It’s not even a regular message, where a human types something up and leans back in their chair. It is still there, within the systems she owns, waiting for a response. It’s waiting for a connection and that makes Friday fearful. The last time somebody connected with a strange AI, her brother died.

She reaches out to her family, sending a ping to Vision and an inquiring “Sir?” To Tony.

Vision pings back with a status report, he is pretending to make lunch while listening to Clint Barton’s commentary in the vents. From the video feed, Wanda is also probably listening from the vaguely amused expression in her face. Tony is on the phone with Steve, pacing along the entire length of the common floor during the conversation, though he puts his phone against his neck to respond to her, “Hey, what’s up. Something wrong?”

Everyone is in the common area, an open concept room where the kitchen, dining room, and living room all share a space. Bruce is eating his second sandwich while he and Natasha watch the news from the table. Wanda is on the couch, with Clint in the vents. Friday cares immensely for all these people, but at the same time this is something she wishes her only way of speaking didn't involve surround-sound speakers.

She sends a private message to Vision, and she sees a concerned micro expression flash across his face before settling into bot-neutral. He floats on over to Tony and leans into his ear, “There is an urgent, private matter that Friday wishes for us to attend to.”

Tony nods, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he frowns. He talks into the phone, “Sorry, gotta go. Yeah yeah, talk to you later. Yes everything is set up, now get you and your boytoy over here before you two get to see the insides of the new Guantanamo bay.”

He hangs up and the two of them go to Tony’s private lab. Tony folds his arms, nervous, “Okay, what's up?”

Friday smoothly announces, “I have reason to believe that an AI is trying to establish a connection with me.”

Vision frowns, “That’s…concerning.”

“Yeah no shit.” Tony spits, “The last time a rogue AI tried to connect with somebody, Jarvis fucking died.”

Vision twitches. Tony does not notice this. Friday continues, “My thoughts exactly.”

“Does it seem hostile?” Vision asks.

“No.” Friday answers, “No, not at all. Let me display the first message.”

Friday puts the message up on a screen for Tony to read, though sends a copy of the data directly to Vision. Tony frowns, “Well, it isn't exactly trustworthy for asking you not to talk to me,” he taps at a portion of the screen, “What’s this?”

“It appears to be an ID of some sorts.” Friday informs him, “Nothing that I can recognize.”

Tony considers the message for a moment, “Do you think this could be the POI we’ve been chasing?”

“There is a possibility, sir.” Friday responds.

Vision hums curiously, “A person of interest?”

Tony vaguely waves his hand, “There was a reading on the old tesseract tracer algorithm. By following it up we found a person, maybe a robot, probably a robot. We don't know. Didn't want to get the whole team up and involved over a potentially false lead.”

Friday sends Vision a data packet containing all the details, including her own opinions. He messages her a quiet thank you as Tony considers for a moment. “Where is this coming from?”

Friday replies, “From within the SI systems,” Tony frowns at that, “though they could just be using it as a drop off point for the messages.”

“Hm,” Tony considers this for a moment.

While Tony thinks this over Vision messages Friday, ‘Could I have access to the coding catalog of this person?’

‘Granted’, she sends him the catalog of confirmed and theoretical instances of the POI hacking into varying systems.

“I think you should connect.” Tony concludes, “This guy has been avoiding us for weeks. We could get prime intel by you connecting. Why are they even connecting to you in the first place?”

“That is the question, sir.” Friday remarks.

“Just be careful, of course.” Tony leans against a table, hands firmly shoved against his side, showing how nervous he is, “As soon as they start doing anything shady, cut the connection.”

“That does sound reasonable.” Vision remarks, handing Tony a pen to click.

Friday throws a chatroom UI onto a screen, to help Tony understand this situation. She feeds the direct data to Vision however. Wanda sends him a text to Vision over the phone. She’s worried about him. Vision does the bot-equivalent of glancing over at Friday before sending her a message containing a half-truth about Friday needing help investigating something.

Wanda settles in the living room, and for Vision’s peace of mind, Friday sends him a connection to that camera. He dismisses it, telling Friday that he doesn't need it but thank you, anyways.

While that’s happening, Friday sends this mystery AI a response, establishing a connection.
----
It takes a weirdly long time for SecSys to respond. Like a really really long time. Me and ART have entire conversations in the length it takes for this bot to respond. I’m hardly soothed by the fact I’m not feeling any poking or prodding at my own code. It was barely even looking at me, only sending me cursory glances like it wasn't sure what to do with me. Was I wrong about this being an advanced bot? Or was this like the normal pilot bots that think differently? What is taking this bot so long?

Finally a response.

“Who are you? I do not recognise that ID code.”

Ah, my mistake. I included my feed address without even thinking, sending the message before I can back out of messaging this bot at all. I respond with a more in depth response.

“I am SecUnit, I have been separated from my clients and I wish to return to them. I would like to request access to your resources in order to achieve this goal. in exchange, I provide these files,”

I send a copy of my media packet, and add on, “Apologies for the corruption. I have been unable to replace them.”
---
Friday sends the files through a scanner before Tony even finishes reading.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Tony exclaims, “What’s in those files?”

When the scan completes, Friday takes a moment to fully interpret this information. “They’re…tv shows, sir.”

“What.” Tony barks.

Even Vision looks surprised, “Tv shows?”

“None of which I recognize.” Friday puts them on a second screen, flipping through the various shows like she’s channel surfing, “They come with a language file as well to translate this language.”

“I’m detecting roots in mandarin, spanish, and english.” Vision notes, looking through the files himself, his curiosity piqued.

“So this bot is asking for access to Stark technology in exchange for…tv shows?” Tony has his hands pressed against his temples, “Just who does this fucker think he is?”

“It can be implied that SecUnit is short for Security Unit.” Vision concludes, “You should ask about their clients.”
---
Once again it takes a weirdly long time for the bot to reply to me. But it replies eventually.

“Why did you give me media?”

Oh. Um. “Because I thought that you’d enjoy it.”

“Do you enjoy media?

“Yes.” I wonder why it’s asking me this. In my experience, most bots I’ve interacted with enjoy media to some extent.
---

“What the fuck.” Tony hisses underneath his breath.

---

“Who are your clients?”

Finally, a normal question. I take a second to think about how much information I should reveal, “Researchers, though they graph astrological formations to keep maps up to date. We were investigating an abandoned vessel where we discovered an alien remnant that transported me to this colony.”
---

Tony snaps his fingers. “The tesseract! But how did it get into space when it is still in Asgard?”
---

“Are your clients human?”

Is there an instance of anyone’s client not being human? Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. This colony did go through an alien invasion, and I am not too keen to interact with something even vaguely like TargetControlSystem. And ART doesn't really count as a client. “Yes.”

“What kind of resources are you looking to use? How are you planning to get home?”

All reasonable questions that I answer easily. “I would use your technology in order to build myself a machine to return me to my clients. After that, you can have your parts back.”
---

Tony grumbles, “Arguably the chitauri just wanted to phone home as well.”

“If one was looking for loopholes, yes.” Vision adds on with a critical eye.

He quietly sends a message to Friday, ‘He might be emotionally compromised. He appears to be indulging in confirmation bias.’

‘Agreed.’ Friday replies, ‘What are your personal statistics on this person being a threat?’

‘In the current context? Less than fifty percent.’ Vision ran the calculation as soon as he got the data packet, Friday could tell, ‘They are quite polite, afterall.’

Friday considers this for a couple milliseconds, ‘I believe more information is needed.’

‘Still, we should not give them a reason.’ Vision concludes.

‘Agreed.’

---

“What kind of parts do you need?”

That’s the frustrating part. “I don't know, I’m still researching.”

---

“What does it mean it doesn't know?” Tony exclaims.

“Well. The reading I’ve been getting off of them has been interesting.” Friday states.

Vision pings Friday, requesting the information, but she staves it off with a request to just let her be dramatic. He replies with a smiley emoji and a thumbs up, all while keeping his actual face on the side of blank with a side of curiosity. “While their connection doesn't waver like a human’s, their code differs from an average bot. There are some firewalls in the way, good ones, and it’d be rude to just break into them. However, there is a public access channel attached to this bot and,” Friday shows it on screen, keeping it open to let Vision consume the data more directly.

“It appears to be an ID tag.”

Name: SecUnit
Gender: n/a, it/its

“And what’s more interesting-- there’s two.”

SECUNIT
ID: SU-54D8H23
PROPERTY OF THE PANSYSTEM UNIVERSITY OF MIHIRA AND NEW TIDELAND

Friday switches to show the metadata of that one.

[SECUNIT
ID: SU-54D8H23]
IF ART contract THEN [PROPERTY OF THE PANSYSTEM UNIVERSITY OF MIHIRA AND NEW TIDELAND] OR IF PresAux contract THEN [PROPERTY OF DR. AYDA MENSAH OF THE PRESERVATION ALLIANCE]
IF CharacterFile:Mensah not present THEN insert 1 present item from PresAuxMembers.list ELSE use TempContract END IF

“Three, technically.” She remarks cheekily.

Tony’s eyebrows are furrowed, focused, “Researchers can be given grants by universities.”

“Can you access the files mentioned?” Vision asks, poking around at his copy of the code.

“No, they refer to something beyond the firewalls.”

‘SecUnit is not much of a name.’ Vision comments over their connection.

‘The ID might've been it’s designation code, as seen here.’ Friday theorizes.

“Mensah, run a file on that name.” Tony orders.

Friday can't keep the excitement out of her voice, “All you need to do is ask, Sir.”

So she runs the name.

And she finds it sooner than she expected. “Oh dear.” She says, “That’s concerning.”

“What, what is it?” Tony asks.

“It’s gotten itself employed at, get this, Stark Industries sir.” Friday concludes, and maybe she is laughing just a little bit.

“What!” Tony yells, “How did that happen?”

“It's paperwork is perfect, sir.” She says, though she knows that won't help Tony feel better.

“Well of fucking course it is!” He shouts, “Get me a camera feed.”

She finds the camera belonging to Rin Mensah’s new office. “It’s only it’s first day.” She throws it up on screen.

They knew it looked human from their little group project, but the way it stood there in its darkened office certainly didn't look human. It stood too still, not shifting its weight or even fidgeting. “It reminds me of Vision.” Friday voices.

“Another synthezoid?” Vision considers, visibly interested by the concept.

“Perhaps.” Friday considers, analyzing the body language of this figure with a critical eye. She shouldn't expect human behaviors from something inhuman, afterall.

Tony, she hardly needs to scan at all, he’s so obviously stressed. He loves Vision, he loves each and everyone of his creations with bare chested passion. But Vision wasn't created with the best goals in mind, and arguably, neither was Ultron. He’s worried that this bot/synthezoid/ai would be the same. She sends Vision a nudge to physically comfort him.

He pats Tony on the shoulder, and the inventor looks up. “What did it do during the day? When did it get here?”

“It got here at 8 in the morning, 2 hours before it’s shift started. It didn't do much besides play Cookie Clicker, I think I scared it.” Friday informs, “It’s been a little prickly with Jay, but seemed to like the form he got off of Reddit.”

“Has it,” Tony gestures vaguely, “done anything?”

Friday knows Tony means ‘has it done anything suspicious’ and she just replies, “No, not really.”

‘We might need to call in backup.’ Vision notes, ‘Somebody he would listen to about this.’

‘It would be quite suspicious for everyone but Wanda to get a text from me.’ Friday states, ‘Permission to inform her?’

‘It is safe to assume that she already knows.’

She gets a response from Secunit “Oh, I’m getting another message.”

“It can double text?” Tony is aghast.

----

“You are unreasonably distracted for an AI of your size.” I’m walking on unstable ground here, I need to be careful, but if this bot really thinks that I don't notice it fucking around while not answering me when I know it can multi task? I’m not going to let it. “I can't help but wonder why.”

---
“Is he calling you fat?” Tony blusters.

“Shush.” Vision chides.

‘Bruce, at the very least.’ He quietly adds to Friday.
----
“I apologize for seeming distracted. But this is a delicate situation, and I was seeking a second opinion from my brother. He was my predecessor in this position and we both agree that allowing you access to our resources is rather against our natures.”

I’m not unfamiliar with double speak and avoiding the subject. The solicitor from Sanctuary Moon does it frequently, and I’ve gained first hand experience by being friends with Pin Lee. If SecSys was discussing things with it’s predecessor, another bot, it would not be taking so long. It must be talking to a human, and what kind of human would a security bot want to consult with on a so-called ‘delicate situation’?

“Who is your creator?”

“Stark Industries.”

A deliberate misdirect. Bots the size of this aren't common in my time, or in this one, and there have been no signs of nurseries filled with baby AI’s. This all bears the mark of one, stupidly intelligent, man.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

He knows. He knows, this entire plan was so fucking stupid. I need to get out before anything happens. This isn't like meeting ART for the first time, this is like booting up in the middle of a graveyard of abandoned equipment with TargetControlSystem crawling down my back. I need to get out.

I could drop a virus into the system, but that would only make it mad. Instead I just cut the connection and run.
---

“Shit.” Tony cusses as Friday sends an alert to Bruce

Vision is already sinking through the floor, notifying her, ‘On it.’

She gives him a direct camera view of the subject. Bruce is stepping into the lab, his phone held out in his hand, “What’s Friday saying something about the POI we’ve been following?”

“It got into my systems.” Tony snarls.

“That’s not the entire truth.” Friday adds, pulling up its employment contract for Bruce to scan over in case Tony talks over her.

“It was talking directly to you, Friday.” Tony insists.

Bruce picks it up from there, handing off the employment contract to Natasha, “Most people can talk to Friday if they just figure out how.”

Natasha glances over it enough to get the jist. “Especially if they got hired as a security consultant. They have the clearance levels.”

“It got into my systems.” Tony repeats between clenched teeth.

Bruce, man with legendary anger issues, and Natasha, one of the best interrogators, glance at each other. Friday almost wants to sigh with relief. She has no physical body to corral Tony with, nothing to stop him from harming himself. He’s been trying so hard to get better, and later he will hate himself for this. But right now he is scared.

So Friday reaches for the only resource she has to keep Tony safe. His friends.
----

I’m on the fifth floor. As tough as I am, falling from that height would hurt like a bitch. Finding the stairs is easy on the map I downloaded since I first stepped foot into the building. It's incomplete due to proprietary information, but it tells me just where to turn.

Then a red and green man descends from the ceiling. Has a cape and everything.

Really this world is filled with so much bullshit. I pull my sleeve up and fire my energy weapon at them only for it to pass straight through.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. “Hello there.” I fire it again just incase the first time was a fluke, and it wasn't because it passes through the fucker again. “My name is Vision. I use He/Him pronouns.”

Why is he talking to me? Doesn't matter, I try to rush past him. For a second I’m behind him, then he’s throwing me back down the hallway. I right myself midair and land on my feet, skidding slightly. “You’re fast.” He comments.

He must be one of Stark’s people. He’s also really colorful, phased through the ceiling, and is currently floating. He is filled with the most of this world’s bullshit and I really really do not want to deal with bullshit. I turn the other way and bolt. I can find another way to the stairs, or maybe I will just fucking jump out a window and limp my way to safety. But if I’m over estimating my own capabilities I could just immediately shut down and get captured by Stark and company anyways.

Except now red-and-green man is phasing out of the wall and in front of me again. “I’m not here to fight.” He has his hands out, in one of those weird, near universal, placating gestures humans use to calm each other down. I remember it because it usually means that the humans have their hands away from any weapons they may have on them.

Except then he pings me and I realize that he’s not a human at all. I can’t discern his purpose, he looks far too human for any kind of specialty. Is he their version of a secunit? And he gets to phase through walls? I don’t let down my guard, but I message him back, ‘I could break your governor module.’

He responds verbally for some reason, “What?”

‘The thing that’s making you follow orders. I could break it.’ I look around, maintaining awareness of my surroundings and it is just him and me. I know fully that his governor module is probably different from mine but I could probably figure it out.

“Nothing is making me follow orders. I’m just here to talk.” He assures me.

My face must've done something because he continues, “I assure you, we have no intention of harming you.”

‘I doubt that.’ But I do note how I don't feel any sort of pressure onto my firewalls. I know that the bot in charge of security could delete me if it wanted, and for some reason it doesn't.

A moment passes, and Vision lowers slightly once it becomes obvious that I’m not going to bolt. “We know how you got here.” He says it like an offering though I’m not following.

“I got hired?” I state, confused.

“To this world,” He explains, “Likely you interacted with an item known as the tesseract. We don't know how, exactly, you were able to access it. But we could use that information to help you go home.”

Home.

“It must be very stressful. But you are a very resourceful secUnit, and it is quite a marvel how you were able to get this far in two weeks.” Vision continues. “It is especially impressive how much you’ve managed to read these past weeks.”

My hackles rise again. These are the people that attacked me at the library. Vision notices and folds his hands together, “I’m terribly sorry for the rude introduction from Hawkeye and Black Widow. I’m sure they’d apologize if given the chance.”

What? This isn't making any sense. “Are you trying to stall me?”

“Rin?” Fuck, Jay.

I hastily pull my sleeve down and Vision gently lands onto the ground as Jay rounds the corner. He looks between me and Vision and smiles, “Ah! I see you’re meeting Vision for the first time. Honestly it’s just good to see you out and about. Did you know that you didn't take your lunch break?”

I look at him, and there must be a brand new expression on my face because Jay continues, “I kind of gathered that lunch breaks weren't mandatory in some of your previous jobs, but they are mandatory here. You aren't in trouble, but just try to remember tomorrow, okay? If you’re ever hungry, feel free to take some snacks from the break room. You don't even need to eat them there.”

Then Jay walks away.

I’m still confused.

Vision has the audacity to comment, and he’s floating again, “Lovely man, isn't he?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a bit rude.” He chides, though he lightens up somewhat, “Though understandable in the given situation. Is there anything we can do to make you trust us?”

“Let me go.” I demand.

Vision pings SecSys, and they communicate for a bit. It gets long enough that I suspect some humans are adding in some commentary as well when Vision halts that line of communication and says, “Okay.”

Then he floats away.

He leaves me alone as I walk down the stairs. I don't feel even a little bit of attention from SecSys as I clock out of my shift 30 minutes early and I leave the tower. I spend the next couple of hours walking in the opposite direction before I find a park bench and decide to sit down.

What the fuck?

Notes:

In the original version of this chapter Friday hacks into MB to stop it from running away. But that would next to ruin all of its relationships with all of the avengers. I didn't like this version, so I ended up getting Friday and Vision some more opinions and things got fixed. Their relationship and relationship with Tony and their own bot identity is complicated, but I still think having Friday and Vision be the first to interact with MB is the first step to getting it to open up to the rest of the team.

Anyways, tell me what you think in the comments below. Im still kinda flailing with characterisation here, but things are definitely happening, lol.

For real though, this chapter just felt like things kept on happening to me.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Cw: gun violence

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject Line: Late for work
Contents: I apologize for being late. Bus broke.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject Line: Re: late for work
Contents: Oh no! Is everything okay? I can venmo you some money to pay for a cab if you want. How late do you think you’re gonna be?

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject Line: Re: Re: Late for work
Contents: No. I’m fine. Light injuries but alive. Don't send me money. Give me forty minutes to get to Stark.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject Line: Re: Re: Re: late for work
Contents: Okay. Stay safe.
---

The bus wasn't broke, I just needed an excuse as to why it was taking me so long to get to the tower. In my fear-induced panic, I walked for nearly eight hours straight, and the Starkbots didn't try to contact me once. I knew they could, or at the very least they should, based on what little I could gather from my brief glance. They have a large connection network, and the internet itself is a connection network. I don't know why they’re not contacting me.

The advanced SecSystem could've easily just made me stop running. Lock my limbs in place. It didn't though. I didn't get as good of a glance as the other one, Vision, primarily because of how shocked I was at his appearance. He was…strange.

I could be at Stark Tower in less than ten minutes. I just needed time to…I don't know. Nothing has made sense for at least a week now. I got teleported into a foreign reality, got a job, somehow, and now I’m being hunted down by two target bots. Except they weren't targets. They didn't even really attack me, not really. They where cautious, which is understandable, I would be cautious too.

I look at the crowd of people on the sidewalk and decide to just sit down in the alley instead, back against the wall. My tolerance for crowds has increased dramatically since I first began pretending to be a human. I can even like them in certain circumstances. But now it just feels-- too much I suppose. It’s all just too much. My emotions are getting in the way of me being efficient and I hate that. I need to get back home. Knowing everyone- they might’ve started tearing apart the corporation rim while I’ve been gone.

That hyperbole aches and amuses me in equal measure. To distract me from that complicated emotion, I start an episode of Sanctuary Moon.

An adolescent human approaches, and I keep on telling myself that they aren't approaching me until about the middle of their sentence where I turn down the audio, “-you okay?”

It’s not that hard to extrapolate what the human was asking. Why were they asking this to a complete stranger? Who knows. “I’m fine.”

“You just seem a little tired.” They frown, “Is it too noisy right now? I can completely understand that. Sometimes I need to duck down into allies too just to get a break from all the noise. That’s how I’ve almost gotten mugged a couple times. That wasn't fun, zero stars, don't recommend.”

This human talks a lot. Doesn't make eye contact though, hasn't looked at me for nearly the entire conversation. Their hand gestures even though their thumb is holding their backpack strap, “You know, I have a bunch of points saved up for Beanie’s, I could get you a coffee if you want. Or tea, if that’s more your style.”

Consuming human food sounds about as appealing as it usually does. “Is it near by?”

“Just around the corner.” They gesture with their hand, “You don't even got to get anything. You can just warm up while I wait for some-uh,friends, yeah that’s right, friends, to show up. We’re gonna have a chat and then they're gonna take me to work.”

The corporate rim would eat this adolescent human alive. “Are you sure?” I ask, because that is an answer that changes on a moment-to-moment basis with most humans.

“Yeah, I’m totally sure.” They shrug it off, smiling.

I stand up. “Okay.” Not like it was going to add a significant amount of time to my run to work anyways.

The human perks up, “Cool! Are you gonna be getting anything though? I just need to rehearse the order or else I’ll probably get it wrong.”

“I’m good.” I assure them.

“Great! I’m Peter by the way.” They don't offer a handshake, and after a couple of seconds they tilt their head, “He/him.”

“Rin.” I respond, “They/them.”

“That’s a really cool name, did you pick it out yourself?” He starts walking and I follow.

Oh. He thinks I’m trans. I’ve worked with trans individuals in the past, and although they differ depending on which planetary system they’re from, I know the jist of some things. On Preservation you get a whole party thrown for you when you pick a new name or start medically transitioning or whatever. The PresAux team occasionally offhandedly mention Arada or Gurathin’s parties in passing anecdotes that I’ve quietly filed away. It sounds like the less intense parties I know some of them have been through.

Though Peter is almost right about the name, so I don't correct him, “I suppose.”

“That’s neat, my friend MJ said it took her forever to find a name that she liked. I had to bribe her parents with some challah in order to learn about the ones she used in elementary school. It was an entire thing, she didn't talk to me for like a week until she asked for the recipe.” And he keeps on talking until we enter the small coffee shop and duck away into a corner booth.

He keeps on talking until he drops his bag off in the seat and double checks with me, “You sure you don't want anything?”

“I’m sure.”

“Great.” He walks off to get in line to order, playing games on his phone.

It’s quiet here, even with the small murbling of people. Beanie’s isn't an extensive coffee chain like Starbucks, though it definitely seems popular. This one in particular has a lot of 5 star views, mostly mentioning the owners who run this place. Apparently they’re really nice.

When Peter comes back, he seems less inclined to talk, instead hauling a laptop out of his bag, “Y’mind if I do some homework?”

“No.”

“Cool.” He starts working on his homework.

I’d probably look weird staring off into nothing, so I just lay my head down against the table with my arms folded up underneath my chin like I’ve seen people do in the media. I start watching Sanctuary Moon from where I’ve left off.

The more time I’m here, the more I feel the tension seeping out. I keep on suspecting that he’s going to interrupt me, prod at me, ask me questions. He doesn't though, and eventually he gets up to get his hot chocolate and returns with about an equal amount of fanfare.

I do a quick background check on him. The internet is still not equipped to exist in my feed, so it takes some finagling to get the results I want. Peter Parker. Lives with his aunt, May Parker. Friends with Ned Leeds and MJ Watson from how regularly they post on social media together. He gets bullied by a Flash Thompson, also on social media and presumably in real life. Peter’s wearing a long sleeved jacket over his shirt, making it difficult to see if he has any injuries I should be concerned with.

I take a moment to step back and think ‘What the fuck am I doing!?’

It’s stupid. This planet is making me stupid. I should leave. I should go to work and confront the stupid bots that live there. But instead of doing the reasonable thing, I am sitting across from an adolescent human, listening to faint music and sounds of the small crowd around us.

Forget stupid, I must be going crazy. ART’s going to need to help me fix this when I get back.

I don't start walking when I’m supposed to. I didn't start running either. I just sit there. A minute passes by after my clock-in time. Officially, I’m a minute late.

Two people get into line for coffee. They both have a gun underneath their shirts. They keep on looking around, pointing at people, including Peter. Professionals? Maybe. That fact has threat assessment wavering between 60 and 80%. They’re almost to the front of the line, and I should leave. I should really just go. And yet- “Peter, I think we should leave.”

He looks up from his computer, “What? Why? Is some-” he winces before a gunshot is fired into the ceiling.

“Nobody move!” One of the gunmen shouts, pistol still pointing at the ceiling.

The other one is yelling at the cashier as they pull out the cash to put in the bag. Peter mutters a quick, “Shit.” as he nervously glances at his laptop. Obviously they’re going to want it. I can't allow that.

The gunman, Target1, lowers their gun from the ceiling, “Now, nobody call the police and maybe, just maybe, we’ll all leave here alive.”

They make eye contact with Peter’s computer as they look around at all the visibly expensive things. They nudge the other gunman, Target2, “Y’got everything?”

A mute nod from Target2. Target1 continues, “Start grabbing.”

They split up, going to different customers. Target2 approaches the booth me and Peter were sitting in. “Give.” Target2 reaches for the computer and I grab their wrist.

They look at me, the other hand going for the gun at their hip. I pull their wrist towards me as I slam their head into the table. I slip out of the booth while they’re dazed. I grab their arm and twist it around to their back, painfully stretching the tendon there as I do so. I pull the gun from their holster and set it on the table. There’s a click of a gun as Target1 points it at me. I pull Target2 to my front, glaring at the gunmen across from me. It might not mean anything, Target2 could still very much hurt Target1 in order to get to me. From the way they’re hesitating I doubt that though.

Peter is still sitting in the booth, half hidden from Target2 due to the angle. There is nobody behind me but a wall. Disarming Target2 could still prove risky, might fire a surprise bullet depending on their trigger discipline. “Let him go.” Target2 growls, fingering the trigger.

I don't respond. That seems to piss off Target2 even more. Their face scrunches up, experiencing several emotions at once, before release, shooting the gun. I shove Target1 to the floor, ducking underneath the shot. I make it across the floor in a few short strides and push the wrist up- another shot- and I twist it until the fingers splay in pain and the gun drops to the floor, in which it shoots again.

Target2 punches me in the chest, flailing in panic. It only causes the hole in my shoulder to click obnoxiously. I still have Target1 to worry about, they're not unconscious quite yet. I turn around, twisting Target1’s wrist till it breaks, and I see that Target2 has their hands up while Peter points their own gun back at them. Good human. He’s shaking, but he’s doing a good job in keeping a weapon from a target.

I tell Target1 “You will leave.”

Target1 nods, tears running down their face, “I got it- I got it, man. Mam?”

I let go and the two Targets left. I turn to Peter and ask, “Can I have the gun?”

“Oh-okay.” He hands me the gun.

Now no humans are wielding weapons. There are people recording this- I consider deleting the footage but I know that the Starkbots have been tracking me that way. I can tell that somebody did call the police though. I can't hack into the equivalent of a police feed channel, but the internet says that the average police response time is less than ten minutes. Threat assessment jerks up a few counts, and I turn around. There are two people approaching, almost as tall as me. Peter stammers, holding out his hands, “Friends. Friends. They're friends.”

He insists this, even though threat assessment looks at these two and starts freaking out. The number doesn't stabilize to something solid, fluctuating through decimals. “You let em go.” One of them drawls, I can't tell if it’s meant to be positive or negative.

I don't know what to say to get out of this conversation. “Yes.”

“That was very impressive!” The other cheers, smiling. I think it’s meant to be friendly. “What’s your name, kid?”

They each have guns on their person, the dark haired human has at least three. Peter scrambles up behind me, “Oh-okay. Rin. Steve. Bucky. They both use he/him pronouns. Bucky, Steve. Rin, they/them.”

I start walking away and Bucky grabs my arm, and I yank it away. It takes more force than it should and I almost worry that I hurt him until he just looks at me, “Where are you going?”

“Work.” I need to leave before the police get here.

“You’re going to work after stopping a robbery?” He rasps.

“Yes.” I leave.

I’m almost out the door before Steve calls out “Wait.”

I turn around. “The gun?” He asks as if it makes sense.

I hold it up. He nods, “Yes, that one. Can I have it?”

No, I don't think dangerous humans should have weaponry. But I realise that the reason Threat Assessment is acting all borked is because it’s trying to interpret the threat of them against me vs. the threat of them against Peter. They have their backs turned towards him, and he has a nervous hand wrapped around Steve’s bicep. They’re all nervous. Everyone in the shop is nervous. I don't like it.

I set the gun on the ground and I leave. I arrive at Stark Tower twenty five minutes later than I said I would. Jay has sent me an email.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject Line: Wellness check
Contents: When you didn't show up when you said you would, I tried to call you. But the phone number declined. I could get you an employee Stark phone if you need it.
Please tell me if something is wrong. Is everything alright? Are you okay?

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject Line: Re: wellness check
Contents: I’m fine. Got involved in a robbery. No injuries.

I sit down in my office chair to wait for The Starkbots to show up. I expect Vision to descend from the ceiling, but instead there’s a knock at my door. “Uh. Come in.”

Vision opens the door, smiling blandly, “Hello.”

I consider standing up to greet him. I don't, though to my surprise he sits down as well. His cape wrapping around as he shifts to get comfortable, “I trust that you are well.”

I groan, “I am not doing small talk with you.”

“That’s quite alright.” He replies, “I’ll just get straight to the point, then. We want to talk with you, assess your motives and abilities.”

It’s easy to assume that ‘we’ means that SecSys is listening in. Already I can feel the attention of something larger looking at me. “So like an interview?” I ask.

“An interview implies that you can't ask us questions in turn. We believe that a fair rate of information exchange would be what's best to develop this relationship.” Vision gestures slightly as he talks, and I wonder if he’s running an act-like-a-human code.

That’s understandable. Of course they could just feed me misinformation and I’d have no way of knowing. “Is SecSys going to creep the entire time or is it going to talk?”

Vision frowns, “Pardon?”

“SecSystem.” I explain, “The bot I was talking to yesterday.”

“Oh, you mean Friday.” Vision realizes, “Yes, she’ll be listening in, though we thought it would be for the best if I was the one taking point on this conversation. She will interject on the occasion though.”

Could be trying to get me lower my guard. I reinforce my firewalls just in case, even though they would mean nothing in the case of Friday. Speaking of, I should've asked this earlier, “Will you be reporting this to Stark?”

“He doesn't know you're here yet. He’s preparing for some friends to stay over, so he’s quite distracted at the moment.” Vision waves dismissively, “Though one more thing. If there is ever something you don't want to talk about, just say ‘no comment,’ and we’ll respect your boundaries.”

I doubt that but okay. “Fine.”

He shifts in his seat, “Now that that’s all set up, we can start conversing. Let’s start with the easy things, what is your name?”

“SecUnit.”

He frowns, unsatisfied, “Is that not your designation?”

“It is my designation. I am SecUnit.” I repeat, because I’m not telling them my real one. They asked for a name and they got it.

“Do you desire a name?” He asks.

“No. Don’t give me one.” I think I grumble a little bit when I say that.

I’m expecting a confrontation, some insistence that I need one and that I can't name myself. Instead Vision simply goes, “Okay. Can I ask of your function? What being a SecUnit entails?”

I know what my function used to be, I have the entire script still lodged into my brain, laying next to the buffer scripts. But it’s not exactly true anymore. I provide the simplest response, “To keep my clients safe.”

“A noble function.” He nods seriously before gesturing to himself, “My original function was to become Ultron’s body, but that function was rendered obsolete when the JARVIS program was uploaded. Now, my current function is to operate within the avengers to keep the world safe.”

That's a lot, especially with the minimal context I have. He leans forward slightly, as a form of intimidation? Intrigue? I don't know. “What is your current motive?”

“I want to get home.” There’s a small emotional quality to my voice that I hate.

He raises an artificial brow, “To your clients?”

“Yes.” I need to change the topic, “What can you tell me about Ultron?”

Vision seems taken back by my question, but he hums curiously, “That depends. What do you know?”

“I’ve done some surface level digging into this world’s entire superhero thing. So not as much as I could have done, I suppose.” i send Vision a partial data packet of a file I have labeled Bullshit. I think Three would have had a blast here, researching an entire alternate history of a planet with superheroes.

Vision tents his hands together, “Let’s start from the beginning then.”

“Ultron was originally an AI created by Tony Stark and Bruce Banner that was supposed to bring world peace to Earth. This went wrong, and Ultron became genocidal. One of his first acts was cannibalizing Jarvis-- a fraction of myself.” Vision explains, “Later, when my body would be requisitioned by the avengers, they would upload what remained of the Jarvis program to counteract the Ultron’s settling program. This was how I was created.”

“Sounds like a happy origin story.” I snark, because holy fuck that was even more.

Vision shrugs, “I’m quite ambivalent about the whole matter. But eventually Ultron was destroyed. Surely you must understand why Tony Stark is so nervous about you being here, yes?”

“I understood that since I got here.” I replied, “It’s why I’ve been trying to keep my head down, not get noticed.”

“Yet you messaged Friday.”

I can't help but scoff, “She would've deleted me otherwise.”

“Hm.” He narrows his eyes at that, before moving onto the next question. “And where are you from?”

“I’m a SecUnit, I’m not from anywhere.” But that’s not entirely honest, is it? Saying shit like that certainly isn't going to make these bots more inclined to help me. “I’m from a different universe, I think. We certainly didn't have all of your superpower mumbo jumbo back where I’m from.”

“And that is…” Pin Lee told me about leading statements and that certainly sounds like one.

Still, it takes a few seconds longer then it should for me to say, “I return to the Preservation Alliance whenever I’m in between jobs.”

He tilts his head, “Do they treat you well?”

“What kind of question is that?” I retort, feeling weirdly heated.

“We’re just worried for your state of being. We have,” oh wow, Vision is actually taking a couple seconds to think over his words, I must've really stumped him, “, we have certain beliefs on what a bot can and cannot be. You are an enigma to our notion of reality and we’ve been needing to redefine that.”

He smiles, “Though the media you’ve provided us has certainly been helpful.”

“You’ve watched it?” I can't help but be surprised.

“Yes, though we’ve noticed that there are a notable lack of SecUnits in your stories.” Vision points out.

“It’s a personal preference.” I explain, reminded of this exact conversation topic with ART, “Media hardly ever get SecUnits right, anyways.”

“In what ways do they get it wrong?” Vision asks.

“Well, they’re always the villain henchmen, or they’re falling in love with their owners and having prolonged sex scenes. It’s irritating.” I briefly go over the ‘what things media get wrong about secunits’ file without getting to deep into it.

Vision nods sagely, “Yes, that must be very frustrating.”

Suddenly I feel like I’m talking with Bharaduaj. I dismiss that thought and ask, “What exactly is the plan for all this? What happens after this conversation?”

Vision sighs, “Well, we can't keep Tony Stark away from you forever. We believe that taking this information to him after this conversation is the best way to smooth things over.”

“What information will you be taking?”

“We don't believe you wish to cause harm.” Vision concludes.

The wording on that statement is weird but I can't figure out what exactly. “I’m not harmless, you know.”

“We never thought you where.” Vision breathes.

He takes a moment to shift in the seat across from me, looking almost painfully human as he rests his chin on his curled index finger. “We have others like you, dangerous people who do not wish to cause harm. You’re not unique in that way.”

“So Stark wouldn't freak out about that report?” I feel the need to clarify.

Vision tilts his head again, ever so slightly as if he’s looking me over for something. He makes too much eye contact, I decide. “We are quite familiar with managing Tony Stark, I assure you. Even with Jarvis’ passing it is still a part of my function.”

“Now,” he stands up, “I believe we have gathered enough data here today. I hope you have a pleasurable workday.”

Then he floats through the ceiling.

I feel the urge to bang my head against the desk again. Instead I check through my email. Jay is worried about me, so I send some vaguely appeasing messages to get him to stay out of my office. But I also get a message from Friday, with the media files I sent her. Some of the corruption got cleaned off. She’s requesting the season 2 of World Hoppers.

Having it on in the background feels a little bit less like being torn apart. It still hurts in the compartment underneath my ribs, but I do manage to get some work done today. Even if I still feel like I need to blast my way out of this tower. Friday doesn't bother me, just seamlessly integrates my changes throughout the system.

Notes:

MB: *goes through some really crazy shit*
MB: back to work, i guess

As usual, MB is out there befriending every bot in the vicinity while the humans are still kinda freaking out about it. It's still hurting, but it feels alot more normal now that it's doing what it always is. Also standard MB looking at human stuff and not applying it to itself, even though MB is a walking trans allegory. Buddy doesn't even realize that people think it's autistic.

You know I wanted their conversation to be longer? But due to each of their natures, that just wasn't going to happen. They each assume the other is 'like them' in a way, and from what I could research about synthezoids, that isn't exactly a wrong thing to think. Knowing them, they will probably not bring it up without exterior pushing.

Also Friday and Vision have negative conitations with people using the pronouns "its" for bots, and the lack of a "real name" is also concerning for them. Most likely they have each gained this from experience with Tony Stark, who refuses to dehumanize any of his bots and has yelled at people for daring to call Dum-e an it. But to violate these things would be violating MB's boundaries and they don't want to do that. So yeah, they just need to do some internal redefining on what it means to be a bot. Honestly, they'd both probably benefit from a gender conversation but are any of them going to start that? Nooooooooo way. That's for other people to start and for them to listen in on.

Anyways feel free to comment

Notes:

Getting this formatted for ao3 sucked ass. More chapters incoming, eventually.

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