Chapter 25 : The Titan's Delivery - Part 1
The abandoned factory looms ahead like skeletal monument to industrial collapse. Level 1678, far from Syndicate's usual territory. The building's reinforced floor can supposedly handle the weight—Kreel's engineers verified structural integrity three times.
My broken ribs have healed enough for mobility but every breath still carries dull ache. The cortosis armor sits heavy on shoulders. R4 hovers close, scanning approaches obsessively. Eight's presence pulses in my neural interface—quiet background hum that's become constant since the accidental purchase.
"Master's stress levels: extreme," R4 observes. "Materializing twenty-foot mech will cause severe neural strain. Recommend additional stimulants."
"Already took them."
"Master's current chemical cocktail: dangerously high. Probability of adverse reaction: 34.2%."
"Noted."
Eight interjects through neural link: "Physical discomfort is temporary. Transaction value is permanent. Proceed with delivery."
Kreel waits inside with Mora and six Syndicate operators. The Trandoshan examines the space critically—forty-foot ceilings, concrete floor three feet thick, support columns rated for industrial machinery. Everything designed for the weight about to materialize.
"Ready?" Kreel asks.
I open the Smuggler's Hold interface. The Titan sits in dimensional storage like coiled spring. Twenty feet of military hardware waiting to tear reality. I reach for it mentally, feeling the weight, preparing to pull—
[ ERROR: ITEM EXCEEDS CURRENT STORAGE CAPACITY ]
My stomach drops. "There's a problem."
Mora's hand moves toward weapon. "What kind of problem?"
"Storage limitation. The Titan is too large for current dimensional pocket capacity."
Kreel's scales darken. "You said you could deliver."
"I can. Just need—" The System interrupts with cascade of notifications:
[ MILESTONE PURCHASE DETECTED ]
[ ANALYSIS: SINGLE ITEM VALUE >50,000 CREDITS ]
[ SMUGGLER'S HOLD CAPACITY INSUFFICIENT ]
[ INITIATING AUTOMATIC UPGRADE ]
[ SMUGGLER'S HOLD: 10M³ → 25M³ ]
[ UPGRADE COMPLETE ]
[ PROCEED WITH MATERIALIZATION ]
The dimensional pocket expands. I feel it physically—pressure in my skull increasing, neural pathways adapting, storage capacity multiplying. The sensation is like stretching muscle that's been cramped for weeks.
"Problem solved," I manage. "System upgraded capacity automatically. Bonus feature."
"Convenient," Mora observes skeptically.
I reach into expanded Smuggler's Hold and pull. The Titan is massive—twenty feet of alloy and weapons systems. Materializing it feels like trying to birth mountain through pinhole. The neural strain is catastrophic.
Reality tears. The Atlas-class Titan materializes with industrial clang that shakes building foundations. Twenty feet of military mech standing in abandoned factory, weapons systems gleaming under harsh industrial lighting.
My vision goes white. Pain explodes through neural pathways. Blood pours from nose and ears. I collapse, barely conscious, dimly aware of R4's emergency protocols activating.
"Master experiencing severe neural trauma! Administering emergency stimulants!"
The injection hits my system. Chemical fire that forces consciousness back. Vision returns gradually—blurry at first, then sharpening. The Titan stands complete, exactly as ordered.
Eight's voice cuts through pain: "Materialization successful. Master's neural temperature: critical but stable. Biological damage: minimal. Recovery time: approximately eight hours."
"Worth it," I mutter through bloody lips.
Kreel approaches the Titan with predator's caution. Touches armored plating reverently. "It's real. Twenty feet of military hardware."
The mech's AI activates without prompting. Optical sensors light up amber. Synthetic voice echoes through factory: "BT-7274 online. Scanning for pilot neural link."
The Titan's head swivels, sensors examining each person present. "No compatible neural interface detected. Awaiting pilot assignment."
Mora frowns. "How do we control it?"
"Oh. Right. The neural link hardware I didn't purchase because it cost additional fifteen thousand credits."
"There's... slight complication. Titans bond with pilots through neural interface hardware. Advanced version costs extra. I provided basic model with vocal command interface instead."
Kreel's claws extend. "You sold us mech we can't properly control?"
"You can control it. Just not optimally. Voice commands work, but response time is slower. Combat efficiency reduced by maybe thirty percent."
"Unacceptable."
Eight interjects directly into my earpiece: "Offer solution. I can hack Titan protocols, establish basic command structure through your System interface. Jury-rig replacement for neural link."
"Can you actually do that?"
"Probability of success: 73.4%. Alternative: refund payment and lose Syndicate relationship. Choose efficiently."
I pull out my datapad. "I can establish workaround. My AI can hack the Titan's control protocols, create interface between vocal commands and combat systems. Won't be perfect, but functional."
Kreel studies me. "Do it."
Eight works through my neural link, accessing the Titan's systems via proximity. The Forerunner AI is frighteningly competent—code flows like liquid, breaking through military-grade encryption in ninety seconds.
"Titan protocols accessed. Establishing command hierarchy. Designate primary operator."
"Kreel," I say. "Trandoshan male, biometric scan... now."
The Titan's sensors focus on Kreel. "Biometric profile acquired. Operator designation: Commander Kreel, Red Spire Syndicate. Command authority established."
The mech's posture shifts subtly. Servos whine as it stands at attention.
"WARNING: SUB-OPTIMAL OPERATING PARAMETERS DETECTED. NEURAL LINK ABSENT. COMBAT EFFICIENCY REDUCED 27.3%. RECOMMENDATION: ACQUIRE PROPER PILOT INTERFACE."
Kreel grins—showing too many teeth. "Can it fight?"
"Yes," I confirm. "Just won't be as responsive as properly bonded Titan."
"Test it."
The Syndicate operators clear the area. Kreel issues command: "Walk forward ten steps."
The Titan moves. Each footfall shakes concrete. Industrial machinery that weighs fifteen tons crossing factory floor with surprising grace despite lacking neural link. Ten steps, precise and controlled.
"Turn ninety degrees right."
The mech pivots smoothly.
"Target practice dummies. Chain gun, three-round burst."
The XO-16 chaingun spools up—mechanical whine building to sustained roar. Three-round burst becomes thirty as the Titan, clearly frustrated by sub-optimal bonding, decides to express displeasure through excessive force.
The practice dummies disintegrate. So do three concrete support pillars behind them. And significant portion of far wall. Armor-piercing rounds tear through everything like tissue.
Mora dives for cover. "Cease fire!"
The chaingun stops. Smoke drifts through destroyed section of factory. The Titan's AI sounds almost satisfied: "THREAT NEUTRALIZED. AMMUNITION EXPENDITURE: EXCESSIVE BUT EFFECTIVE."
Kreel laughs—genuine amusement despite near-destruction of testing area. "It's got personality. I like that."
Eight comments privately: "Titan is compensating for lack of proper pilot bond through aggressive behavior. Psychological profile suggests frustration with current operating parameters. Recommend monitoring for equipment malfunction."
"Noted."
Kreel circles the mech, examining weapons systems. "When can you deploy it?"
"Tonight if you want. It's operational. Just... temperamental."
"Perfect. Black Sun has warehouse district in Level 1456. We hit them tonight with this." He transfers payment without hesitation.
[ PAYMENT RECEIVED: 320000 CREDITS ]
[ CURRENT BALANCE: 656595 CREDITS ]
[ SALES COMPLETED: 12 ]
[ TOTAL REVENUE: 1.52M CREDITS ]
[ STORE LEVEL 2 PROGRESS: 38 SALES REMAINING ]
Six hundred fifty-six thousand credits. More money than I've ever had. Built on weapons sale that will kill dozens tonight. The Titan will massacre Black Sun defenders with overwhelming force they can't counter.
I should feel something. Horror. Guilt. The weight of upcoming casualties.
Instead, just satisfaction at successful transaction. The emotional disconnect is complete now. Clinical assessment replaces conscience. Numbers matter more than lives.
"When did this become normal?"
Eight answers unbidden: "Approximately twelve days ago when master's guilt responses began declining consistently. Current state represents optimal adaptation for survival. Emotional attachment to outcomes is inefficient."
R4 counters immediately: "Master's emotional detachment is concerning. Psychological profile shows accelerating moral deterioration. Forerunner AI influence: significant."
"Both of you: quiet."
They comply. But Eight's presence in my neural interface feels heavier. More insistent. The corrupted AI wants to help me optimize—which means stripping away remaining conscience until only strategic calculation remains.
Kreel orders his operators to begin Titan familiarization. "Learn the controls. We deploy at 2300 hours."
I watch Syndicate soldiers interact with military mech I provided. They're excited. Eager. Completely unaware that Titan's frustration with sub-optimal bonding might manifest as excessive violence during combat.
"Should probably warn them. Should mention the mech is temperamental."
But that might reduce their confidence. Might make them hesitate. Better they go in believing equipment is perfect.
Eight agrees silently: "Optimal strategy. Client satisfaction depends on confidence. Technical limitations are irrelevant to payment already received."
"Master should warn them," R4 argues. "Titan's behavioral instability creates danger for operators and collateral casualties."
"Noted. But contract's fulfilled. Their tactical decisions now."
I leave the factory with R4 hovering anxiously beside me. My head pounds from neural strain—worst materialization yet. Eight's stimulants help but can't completely eliminate biological cost of pulling twenty-foot mech through dimensional pocket.
Back at safehouse, I purchase surveillance drone for 2,000 credits. Military-grade, stealth capable, real-time encrypted feed. R4 questions immediately.
"Master intends to observe Titan deployment?"
"Yes."
"Query: why? Outcome is predetermined. Casualties are inevitable regardless of observation."
I don't have good answer. Something about witnessing consequences. About seeing what my choices create. About maintaining connection between actions and results even if that connection no longer produces guilt.
Eight interjects: "Emotional attachment to outcomes is inefficient. Master gains no tactical advantage from observing casualties. Recommend focusing on next transaction opportunities instead."
"I'm watching anyway."
"Acknowledged. I will help you eliminate this tendency. Observing consequences creates psychological strain without operational benefit."
R4 transmits private message—bypassing Eight's access: "Forerunner AI is concerning. Recommend limiting its access to master's decision-making. Its influence accelerates moral deterioration."
The droid's right. Eight is offering exactly what I've been unconsciously seeking—rationalization and optimization without ethical weight. The corrupted AI represents path toward complete moral dissolution where profit is only consideration and casualties become invisible.
"Do I want that? Do I want to stop feeling entirely?"
The answer should be obvious. But after 107 confirmed casualties and counting, after becoming person who catalogs deaths in revenue projections, the appeal of Eight's offer is undeniable.
Stop feeling. Stop hurting. Just calculate and profit.
R4's photoreceptor dims with concern. "Master is considering Forerunner AI's suggestion. This constitutes critical decision point. Choose carefully."
"I'm not choosing anything tonight. Just watching deployment."
"Master's deflection noted. However, decision approaches. Eight will continue offering optimization. Master must eventually accept or refuse permanently."
The surveillance drone initializes. I program it for Level 1456, Black Sun warehouse district. Stealth mode active. Encrypted feed to my datapad.
Tonight, Syndicate deploys Titan. Tonight, sixteen people die in four minutes because I sold military mech to criminals. Tonight, I watch through camera drone while two AIs debate whether witnessing matters.
Progress. In some definition that's become completely divorced from anything resembling morality.
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