Whirrr... The sound of gears meshing echoed through the room.
In the silence of the sterile white chamber, the noise was gratingly loud. It was the scent of metal and electricity rubbing together—the sound of the drive system leaking from deep within Junkhead.
"Curious about where they came FROM, aren't YOU?"
The mechanical voice resonated slowly.
"Including that, perhaps I should explain a BIT."
His mono-eye locked onto mine, a faint red light tracing the depths of my pupils. Junkhead remained motionless, fingers interlaced beneath his chin. Behind him, the blue glow wavered, illuminating the girls in the capsules like specters. Light reflected through the preservation liquid, scattering across the walls and his metallic skull, causing the entire room to flicker rhythmically.
"First off, we didn't make these. NATURALLY."
He spoke with a strangely lighthearted tone.
Hearing those words, the tension in my chest eased just a fraction. At the very least, my old comrades hadn't started dabbling in human cloning. They were a machinery shop; their specialty was steel and circuits, not flesh and blood. Even if they dipped a toe into regenerative medicine, they didn't have the stomach for producing "products" like these—assuming they hadn't changed since my departure.
"As for where they're FROM..."
Junkhead planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly.
"One of our members found them at a 'junk market.' They were being auctioned off as pets, so we went ahead and recovered the whole BATCH."
The junk market.
The moment I heard the name, the smell of rusted iron and rancid oil flooded my senses. Even looking down from this height, that place was further still. It was a literal and figurative cesspool located near the Lowest District. A place where scavengers and beggars hawked scrap metal and salvaged parts to scrape together a few credits.
Occasionally, you’d find a diamond in the rough, but mostly it was just garbage. The bottom of the barrel. Not worth the trip. Even if Eradicata members did patrol the area periodically...
"...And the people selling them?" I asked.
Junkhead’s mechanical eye glinted narrowly for a split second.
"Hmph. They insisted they 'received' them from a man in 'strange attire.' That was all they'd SAY."
A brief silence followed. Then, he shrugged as if sharing a joke.
Creeeak. His metallic joints groaned.
"We likely won't get anything more out of THEM. Like a fried circuit, the trail has gone COLD."
He sounded almost disappointed.
"Those idiots obviously didn't realize they were looking at the Rainburg heiress. It caused quite a panic on our END."
Junkhead’s mono-eye pulsed faintly.
"If word of this gets out, things could turn ugly. Rainburg might even send in their 'Cleaners.' That would be... TROUBLESOME."
I frowned. He wasn't wrong. For the elites of the Upper District Core, this was no laughing matter. It was a question of pride. Especially for Rainburg, given "that incident." They were likely already on high alert. If they discovered their own bloodline was being trifled with, they wouldn't stay silent.
And I was standing right in front of the tinderbox.
"...Is that why you showed me?"
The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. The light in Junkhead’s eye intensified.
"Heh. That's part of IT."
His voice was a grating mix of grinding metal and laughter.
"Did you notice? There's a single line on each of their foreheads, isn't THERE?"
The mechanical voice rumbled through the white room. Bathed in the blue light from the capsules, the row of bodies seemed to shimmer. Now that he mentioned it, I saw it.
Their skin was as smooth as porcelain, yet each girl bore the same thin, vertical line on her brow. It looked like a surgical incision—or perhaps a seam. It was as if the "structure" of the human body had been redesigned to be opened and closed like a piece of hardware.
"The marks were there when we found them. But when we ran the scans... we found nothing. No brains at ALL."
Junkhead leaned back in his chair with a loud creak. The metallic groan of his joints seemed to chill the very air.
I narrowed my eyes, looking at the capsules again. No brains. So they were just husks. Empty vessels.
"We see things like this on the market from time to time. But for all of them to be identical... that's more than just SUSPICIOUS."
Junkhead tapped the table with a metallic finger. Tap. Tap. The dry sound echoed with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.
"So, I did a little digging."
He stopped tapping the table and pointed the finger at his own head. He gave it a light knock. Clink.
"It seems they were messing with the brains like they were plugging and unplugging a CORD."
His mono-eye narrowed while his finger remained pressed against his skull. It looked as if the eye itself were grinning at me.
"You're curious, aren't you? Yes, I know YOU are."
His voice was thick with conviction. In that instant, it clicked.
That capsule back then... Olaf's body.
The flesh had been intact, but the contents—the brain—had been gone, as if it had been "extracted."
A cold shiver crawled up my spine. I was used to seeing death in this city, but this was different. I felt a slick, cold sweat break out on my skin.
...There was no way.
The mechanical hum of the room drowned out my whispered thought.
"Well, that's the gist of IT," Junkhead said airily.
Despite his casual tone, his mono-eye remained cold and observant.
"The request is simple. I want you to feel out Rainburg. If it looks like they know something, I want you to act as a mediator. Though, simply 'passing word along' would be SUFFICIENT. We don't want to go poking the hornet's nest unless we HAVE to."
As he spoke, he slid a hand across the table. A data chip stopped right in front of me with a soft click.
Encrypted cache data. A down payment.
I picked it up in silence and slotted it into my terminal. I dug a long-dormant passcode out of my memory and began to type. The terminal gave a small, affirmative chirp.
I exhaled as I scanned the rows of numbers.
The amount wasn't bad. Not bad at all.
Besides, "brains" and "Cecily." If those two things were linked, I couldn't just walk away.
"...I'll look into it. But only as a side project," I said, nodding.
The light in his mono-eye flared with satisfaction.
"EXCELLENT! I'm counting on you, then. Send any updates through the Encrypted LINE."
Junkhead pressed a button beneath the table.
Pssshhhhh...
The wall behind him slid open again, and the capsules began to recede into the darkness. The blue light faded, leaving the room in a monochrome, sterile silence.
One last, large bubble popped and vanished within a tank. It sounded like a final, whispered breath from the unconscious girls.