Mech Men: Chapter Three
Goodbye and Welcome
Obi stepped through the front door, the soft melody of a piano filling the room with Beverly Craven’s Promise Me. In the dim light of the apartment, Neto sat by the old piano in the corner, her fingers gently gliding over the keys. She didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in the flow of the music. But as he closed the door behind him, she looked up and instantly sensed something he was not his usual self.
She stopped playing abruptly, lines of concern etching across her face. “Babe, what’s going on? You look... tense.”
Obi ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath as he pushed through the tight curls. “I’ve been selected for a…” he paused, “special mission,” he said carefully. “I’ll be gone for some time... I can’t say for how long.”
Neto’s eyes darkened slightly. “A special mission and you don’t know for how long? So you are saying you could be gone and either come back whenever or not at all? Can you at least tell me what it’s about?”
“It’s top secret,” he replied, his voice soft but firm.
Her shoulders tensed as she clenched her jaw in frustration. “Top secret? Obi, I can’t have you leave, risk your life, and not even know why. You could die out there, and I’d have no idea what happened. I wouldn’t even be able to…” she paused, unable to utter words about a burial. Speaking such words would bring the fate too close to life.
“I won’t die,” he tried to assure her, stepping closer, but Neto shook her head, her voice crackling as frustration turned to fear.
“Real life isn’t like the movies, Obi. If it were, the machines wouldn’t have won the last war. We wouldn’t be here.”
Obi paused, weighing her words and the emotions they came with. He couldn’t leave without telling her something. It’s not like she could meet him in the Grid when he was away. Neto didn’t have any machine parts—no implants, nanobots, no cybernetic interfaces—nothing that could be hacked or monitored by the machines. If there was a single person he could speak to about this, it was her.
Without a word, he reached up and turned off his network and machine systems.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “I’ll tell you.”
Neto’s eyebrows lifted, curiosity mixing with concern. She leaned against the piano as Obi began to speak.
“I’ve been assigned to hack into a Borg virtual prison, it’s called The Bermuda,” he said, his voice low. “There’s a child—a child of prophecy,’ he had not realized how silly it sounded until he said it. “They call her the child of prophecy. The Commander believes she can free us all, break the machine’s hold on humanity. It’s dangerous, but if I can free her... it could change everything.”
Neto sighed, her hands gripping the edge of the piano. “Everyone wants to believe in a prophecy. Everyone wants to be part of saving humanity, I get it. It’s like a new religion, but why you for this? You’re just a cadet.”
Obi met her gaze, realizing what she was truly saying—she wanted him to be part of saving humanity, but she was afraid of losing him in the process. He took her hand gently, squeezing it. “I’ll be fine, Neto. I promise.”
She wasn’t convinced, and he could see it in her eyes. “The commander is coming to get me in the morning,” he added.
Neto gave a faint, almost bitter smile that she followed with a scoff. “So, they just let you out to get your affairs in order? Is the mission really that dangerous?”
He didn’t answer, instead brushing a braid of hair from her face. “Let’s talk about something else.”
The radio, softly humming in the background, suddenly cut to a news report.
The story of the murdered Cyman scientist played out in brief, disturbing details. Neto glanced at Obi, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m sorry. I read the news earlier... I was scared for you.”
Obi shook his head. “I can protect myself. But not everyone can, apparently. That man... he was working on something that could have taken the darkness out of the sky, cleaned the air. And for what? He’s gone now.”
Neto’s expression softened, and she stepped closer, pulling out a small engraving tool from her art supplies. “Let me do something,” she said quietly. “Something for you.”
Obi raised an eyebrow as she gestured to his metal arm. “Take off the glove.”
He hesitated, but then removed the flesh-colored sleeve that disguised his cybernetic arm. The gleaming metal caught the dim light, reflecting the room in fractured shapes. With steady hands, Neto began carving an intricate design into the surface—a small planet, with a delicate moon orbiting it.
“There,” she said, stepping back to admire her work. “I’m the moon, always with you.”
Obi smiled, warmth filling his chest as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Always.”
They spent the rest of the evening on the living room couch, rewatching The Matrix like they had done so many times before. But the weight of the upcoming mission hung over them, unspoken yet heavy in the air.
As the movie played, Obi turned to Neto. “Promise me something,” he said, his tone more serious now. “If... if something happens, if I get stuck in the Grid—don’t come looking for me. I don’t want you risking your life like that.” he hesitated on his next line, “I don’t even want you to be tainted by that place.”
Neto’s eyes flickered with a mix of defiance and worry in the low light. She leaned against him, her hand resting on his chest. “Just make sure I don’t have to look for you,” she whispered. “Come back to me, babe. Then I won’t have to.”
Obi nodded, pulling her closer, the flicker of the television casting shadows across the room as they sat in silence, waiting for the dawn to break.
The soft, rhythmic sound of an alarm vibrated within Obi’s head, a gentle pulse originating from his neural interface. His internal clock had done its job, waking him precisely at the time he had set. Blinking groggily, he lifted his head from the couch, careful not to disturb Neto, who had fallen asleep beside him, her hand resting on his chest. The dim glow of early morning filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, muted light over the room.
Obi glanced down at Neto, her peaceful expression almost making him reconsider leaving. But the mission loomed, and he knew what was at stake. Gently, he moved her hand aside and rose from the couch, careful not to make a sound. As he made his way to the bathroom, he paused for a moment, looking back at her. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.
The bathroom was small, but it had a distinct corner dedicated to Obi’s needs—tools and instruments for maintaining his mechanical parts. The low hum of his systems filled the air as he reached for a small wrench, tightening a few bolts on his left arm where the joints had started to loosen. He worked with practiced ease, his hands moving in fluid, efficient motions as he adjusted screws and recalibrated the delicate components hidden beneath his synthetic skin.
Once everything was in place, Obi ran a diagnostic test, his internal HUD lighting up with a series of codes and checks. Systems were optimal—he was ready. He stood up to stretch when he suddenly heard Neto’s voice from behind him.
“Already practicing stealth for the mission?” she teased, leaning against the doorway. “Trying to sneak out without me noticing?”
Obi smiled, setting his tools down. “I just wanted you to rest,” he replied. “You barely slept.”
She stepped into the bathroom, her braids tousled from sleep. And then moved past him to turn on the shower. The pipes groaned slightly as the water began to run, steam rising as it heated up. Neto glanced over her shoulder at him. “Play some music from your system.”
The request took Obi by surprise. Normally, she would’ve dropped the needle on one of her old vinyl records or started singing herself. He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to play music?”
Neto nodded, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I want it to come from you,” she said softly. “And I know you’d rather die than sing with your real voice.”
Obi chuckled, shaking his head. “You know I could sing like Pavarotti if I wanted to. That’s the whole point of a voicebox alteration.”
“Yes, but it wouldn’t be your voice. I’d rather hear you play your radio. Somehow to me, it feels more like you.” she said with a wink, stepping into the shower. The warm water cascaded over her, steam filling the room as the heat built up.
Obi hesitated for a moment, then nodded, mentally pulling up his playlist. He selected one of Neto’s favorites—Touch Me While We’re Dancing by The Carpenters. The soft, gentle melody began to play, not from a speaker, but from within Obi himself, as if the music was resonating from his very being. It was strange at first, hearing it so intimately connected to him, but as the music flowed, he found it strangely comforting.
Neto reached out her hand to him, droplets of water catching the light as they fell from her fingers. Without hesitation, Obi stepped into the shower, the warm water soaking him as he took her hand. They moved together, slowly swaying to the music, their bodies pressed close under the steady stream.
The world outside faded away, the impending mission forgotten, if only for a moment. The water poured over them, mixing with the music, creating a cocoon of warmth and sound. Obi held her close, resting his chin on top of her head.
It was a moment of peace, but he knew it was fleeting. Obi could feel Neto’s heartbeat against his chest, steady and calming. She pulled back slightly, her hand lingering on his arm. “You need to get ready,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “And I need a moment to shed some tears in the rain.”
The reference hit Obi like a soft punch to the gut—Blade Runner, another of their favorite films. He managed a small smile, even as his heart ached. “Tears in the rain, huh?” he echoed, knowing the scene she was referring to—the sorrow of moments lost to time, like tears in a downpour.
Neto smiled back at him, though there was a sadness in her eyes. She gave his hand one last squeeze before stepping out of the shower, leaving him to finish preparing.
Obi stayed there for a moment longer, letting the water run over his face, mingling with the faint sound of the fading music inside him. He shut it off, watching the steam rise around him, knowing that when he stepped out of the bathroom, the real world would return.
He grabbed a towel and dried off, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. The metal arm that had once felt foreign to him now seemed as much a part of him as his skin. He traced the newly engraved planet and moon, Neto’s gift, feeling a renewed sense of determination. He had to come back. For her. For them. He drew the shower curtain and stepped out into the cool air of the apartment.
Obi moved through the quiet apartment, slipping into his tactical gear, each piece fitting perfectly around his synthetic body. The gear was sleek and dark, designed for both the real world and the Grid—a blend of cloth, reinforced plating, and cybernetic enhancements. As he strapped on the last piece, he turned to see Neto standing by the window, adjusting her kaftan, the fabric flowing gently around her. The soft light of early morning barely touched the sky, but the dark shapes of Commander X’s cars were already parked outside.
The trucks were massive and ominous, their black frames blending into the shadows of the predawn hour. Neto glanced over her shoulder at him, catching the grim look on his face.
“You should go,” she said softly. But before Obi could respond, his eyes drifted to the corner of the room where a painting lay half-covered.
“Will you let me see it before I leave?” Obi asked, nodding toward the canvas. The painting was something she’d been working on for weeks, but she hadn’t shown him yet.
Neto shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “It’ll be complete when you return,” she said, her voice soft with hope.
Obi felt a pang in his chest but said nothing more. He slung his go-bag over his shoulder, ready to leave. But before he could make it to the door, Neto pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around him as if she could hold onto him forever.
“Come back to me,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.
“I will,” he replied, the weight of the promise settling heavily over him.
He stepped back, giving her one last look before walking out the door. As he climbed into the back of one of Commander X’s trucks, he activated his bionic heat vision, glancing back at the apartment. Through the dim light and shadows, he could see Neto standing at the window, watching him leave, her silhouette framed by the early morning haze.
Commander X sat beside him in the truck, his face as impassive as ever. As the vehicle pulled away from the apartment, the commander glanced at Obi. “Did you spend more time studying the file or saying goodbye to your girlfriend?”
“I’ve committed every word of that file to my human brain,” Obi replied without hesitation. There was something else weighing on his mind. “But Commander, I still don’t understand why you picked me for this mission. I’m at least five levels below the XP required for something this dangerous. I’d probably need hacks just to stand a chance.”
Commander X smirked, his eyes glinting in the low light of the truck’s interior. “Relax, Obi. In the words of the legendary Swedish House Mafia, which by the way weren’t a crime gang, heaven’s got a plan for you.”
They arrived at the base just as the sun began to rise, casting a pale light over the steel buildings. Commander X led Obi into the underground facility, where they passed through layers of security until they reached a large, sterile laboratory. In the center of the room stood a sleek, high-tech chair, surrounded by a web of cables and interfaces. It looked like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.
“This is where it happens,” Commander X said, nodding toward the chair.
A lab scientist, dressed in a crisp white coat, approached them. “This is a direct link to the Grid,” the scientist explained, running his hand over the smooth surface of the chair. “Wired connection. Faster, more stable, and linked to our own independent servers and processors. You’ll have optimal performance inside the Grid. No lagging or lengthy loading time.”
Obi inspected the chair closely, his eyes scanning the wires and interfaces. “That’s great and all,” he said, “but I still don’t have enough XP. I need more levels in the soldier class to unlock the skills and techniques I’ll need for an S-level mission.”
“That’s why,” Commander X began, “you’ll be sparing witha fully powered digital clone of Elias. Not the nerfed version available to all the troops—the real deal.”
Obi’s eyes widened. “Elias? The legendary Elias? No one’s ever beaten him.”
Commander X nodded. “Exactly. But with enough battles, you’ll earn the XP you need. If you can defeat him—even once—you’ll have more than enough to unlock what you need.”
Before the commander could continue, Madam K appeared in the doorway, her wheelchair gliding silently across the floor. “Be careful, Obi,” she warned, her voice calm but serious. “These AI clones are not just simulations. Especially ones like Elias, built from strong ideologues. They can become... unpredictable.”
Obi raised an eyebrow. “Unpredictable?”
Madam K nodded. “AI like Elias can sometimes engage psychotically. Focus on gaining XP, not on winning. None of our operatives have ever bested the fully powered version. Don’t let your ego get in the way.”
Obi smirked, the old fire returning to his eyes. “I take every opponent on with the intention to win. I’m not about to change that now.”
Commander X and Madam K exchanged glances before the commander handed Obi the file one last time. “Ask Elias why you were picked for this mission when you fight him,” the commander said cryptically. “He’ll have the answer.”
With that, the commander and Madam K nodded to the technicians.
The lab scientist gestured for Obi to sit in the chair. Obi complied, his body relaxing into the sleek, metallic frame. The scientist placed a conductive helmet over his head, tightening the straps before stepping back.
“Relax,” the scientist said, his fingers hovering over a control panel. “You’re about to enter the battle space.”
With the flick of a button, the world around Obi dissolved into blackness.
Obi found himself standing in an infinite space of pure darkness. The only sound was his own breath, echoing in the void. As his eyes adjusted, he spotted a figure in the distance—a towering man clad in a dark exoskeleton suit, a laser katana glowing at his side. His dreadlocks, wild and untamed, cascaded down like a lion’s mane, framing his sharp, angular face. His eyes glowed electric blue, pulsing with an energy that seemed to ripple through the void.
The figure took a step forward, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
“You have arrived.”
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