The Past, Rewired

[Soban]

Livadia, Station Block A, Level 1, The bar

---

Mac Donagan entered the bar, muttering under his breath about how much he despised being interrupted in his crucial research. Grey had decided she needed help sifting through some old data rumored to be tucked away in the Livadia databank, and she was convinced Mac Donagan was the best man for the job. As if that weren’t enough, he’d also been saddled with the duty of babysitting an unknown freelancer for the task.

He settled at a table overlooking the nebula that concealed Livadia, waiting for the aforementioned freelancer: John Derius Guerra. A good minute passed with Mac Donagan engrossed in his own irritated mumblings, delivered in a curious blend of Irish and Scottish accents, before the barman, Phillip Watson, deemed it safe enough to approach and take his order.

As the barman drew near, Daniel finally noticed him, his eyes brightening at the promise of a well-deserved drink. Poor Watson quickly realized he should have waited another moment or two when Donagan opened his mouth to speak.

“Ach, me dear Watson, ye’ve no idea how much I’ve been needin’ ye! I’ll take me usual hot tea toddy, but first, let me tell ye what the higher-ups have discovered this time tae interrupt me grand research!”

Donagan then launched into a stream of ramblings about his metallurgical work, while Watson inwardly prayed some unknown deity might spare him—or anyone else within earshot—from Donagan own endless monologue.

[thisDerius]

Derius sat at the bar, nursing a cup of black coffee that had long gone cold, his cybernetic fingers tapping absently against the ceramic. The station’s dim lighting barely reached the corners of the establishment, a small dive nestled within the trade hub’s winding corridors. The air smelled of burnt synth-spice and engine grease, the usual scent cocktail of places where pilots and mercs gathered between jobs. He glanced at the chrono on his wrist, then toward the seating area near the wide, reinforced window overlooking the nebula. Grey had arranged this meeting, said this Donagan was the one to talk to if he wanted a shot at breaking the Ingenuus encryption. That was all Derius needed to know—though he had his doubts. People who dealt in secrets were rarely the kind of people one wanted to trust. Still, if it got him what he needed, he could stomach it. He had done worse.

A sharp voice cut through the low hum of conversation, dragging his attention from his thoughts. A man at one of the tables was giving the barman hell over something—his drink, maybe. The accent was thick, and the tone was brash, laced with the kind of entitlement that made station workers regret their career choices.

Derius exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You can’t be serious..." he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible even to himself. This was Donagan? He hadn’t expected a man of quiet intelligence, but he had at least hoped for someone who didn’t announce his presence to half the room.

Finishing the last bitter sip of his coffee, he set the cup down with a quiet clink and pushed himself off the barstool. His movements were precise, calculated. There was no hesitation in the way he crossed the room, no wasted motion. He was used to moving with purpose, and now was no different. He arrived just as the barman—whose patience had visibly worn thin—was about to walk away. Derius placed a firm hand on the man’s shoulder, stopping him in place.

“Get the man his tea,” he said, his voice level but carrying enough weight that the barman thought better of arguing. “And I’ll have a double Sidewinder on the rocks.” The barman hesitated for half a second, then nodded before heading off to prepare the drinks. Derius turned his full attention to Donagan, stepping forward and pulling out the chair across from him. The reinforced metal legs scraped slightly against the floor as he sat down, settling in without breaking eye contact.

His augmented arms rested loosely on the table, metal fingertips drumming once against the surface before stilling. His gaze was sharp, studying the man in front of him with the cold efficiency of someone used to sizing up threats. “You must be Mister Donagan,” he said finally, voice steady, tone measured. “I am John Derius Guerra. I believe Miss Grey Kalish told you about me.” There was no pleasantry in his introduction, no unnecessary words. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to get what he needed—and he didn’t have time for theatrics.

[Soban]

---

Mac Donagan cast a sharp gaze at the man who had interrupted his tirade. He had never before seen quite so much machinery grafted onto one individual, yet far from appearing impressed, he merely responded in his usual brash manner.

“Ach, so ye’re already here, eh? Grand. I’m Mac Donagan—current administrator o’ Livadia an’ main fleet engineer for Phoenix.”

He half-expected some flicker of disappointment from his new acquaintance, but if there was any, it never showed.

“Aye, maybe a mere ‘fleet engineer’ won’t be much use tae ye, or so it might sound. But I’ve a few tricks up me sleeve, an’ it’s best we dinnae discuss ’em in so public place.”

With that, he began rummaging through his so-called “Engineer’s Suit,” a garment sporting enough pockets to carry half a barge in spare parts. After several seconds of intense searching—punctuated by muttered gibberish—Daniel finally unearthed a compact datapad fitted with a privacy filter. Only someone peering at it closely and head-on could see the display.

“Here we are, lad—so ye’ll have somethin’ tae do while we wait on our drinks. It’s connected tae a private mainframe in Corinth. We’ll head there once we’re done wi’ refreshments. I’ve already loaded it wi’ all the data we’ve got on the subject in question. Ye can upload samples or entire files right here—our Quantum Multiplexors’ll hunt for correlations between that an’ known ciphered data. Take yer time an’ browse as it calculates.”

He placed the datapad on the table and slid it toward Darius.

[thisDerius]

Derius took the datapad into his black metallic hands, his fingers gliding over the smooth surface with slow, deliberate motions. The synthetic servos in his fingers adjusted subtly to the weight and texture, a reflex he barely thought about anymore. His glowing eyes flicked over the data as he skimmed through the files, absorbing the fragmented history buried within them.

"Finn McCool… Holiday… IRG Cells… Aphanta." He muttered the names as if tasting them, letting the weight of old ghosts settle in his mind. Some of these were whispers from another era—footnotes in the tangled mess of secrets that was Ingenuus. Others, like the power cells, were more than just rumors.

He leaned back slightly, his mechanical fingers tapping rhythmically against the side of the device as he mulled over the information. "There’s a blast from the past," he said under his breath, the irony not lost on him. He’d spent years trying to sever his ties with old enemies, old allies, old mistakes—yet here he was, peeling back the layers of history once again.

Derius flicked through a few more pages of encrypted data before finally placing the datapad back onto the table with a soft metallic clink. He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. "Seems to me like you’ve got everything I need," he admitted, though his voice carried a note of skepticism. "But I’d rather access all this on Corinth. I prefer a more... physical interaction, if I had to put it that way." His fingers absently tapped the table. "I need to make sure this data isn’t tracked in any way before I upload it to my database."

As he finished speaking, the bartender arrived, placing their drinks onto the table. The familiar scent of his Sidewinder hit his senses first—a potent mix of spice and heat, just strong enough to take the edge off without dulling his mind. He lifted the glass, rolling it gently in his hand before bringing it to his lips for a small sip. The burn was immediate, tracing a line down his throat, a contrast to the cold calculations in his mind.

His gaze flicked up briefly toward the man across from him. He hadn’t spent much effort analyzing Donagan—at least, not yet—but something about the way he carried himself had been scratching at Derius' instincts.

He lowered the glass slightly. "You’re not at least a little interested in what all this is about?" His voice was calm, measured, but there was an edge beneath it, a challenge just barely veiled.

Derius wasn’t sure what he expected in response. Maybe curiosity. Maybe disinterest. Either way, it didn’t matter. The path forward was already set, and soon enough, the past would be laid bare—rewired and unlocked, piece by piece.

[Soban]

---

Mac Donagan, for once, resisted the urge to gulp down his drink the instant it arrived. This wasn’t exactly his usual field of research, but he was the only one around who could prep the mainframe for such a specialized task. He decided he might as well savor these last moments of peace before plunging into the unknown—especially given that dealings with Ingenuus rarely came with any semblance of good times. A small sip of his hot, sweet beverage helped steady his nerves.

“Interested, are ye? Aye, well…we’ll see. I’d have obliged for any technology—long as it wasnae Nomads or Ingenuus.”

He took another mouthful of hot tea, hoping to wash away the lingering memories of past experiences. Ingenuus had become renowned for their discoveries, though less so for how they came by them.

“Maybe this time, we’ll stumble on somethin’ truly worth our while. But tae be honest, I doubt it—it’ll likely be the nth remake of…”

He paused, realizing he might be sharing too much in such a public place. Finishing off the last of his drink, Donagan relished its warmth one final time.

“We’d best head somewhere more private before I run me mouth further. I’ve set the mainframe up in a secure lab, cut off entirely from the Neural Net. All the data we need was uploaded afore we shut down the external link. Only the PDA can access it, an’ only at close range. It’s in the annex—Block D, Level 3.”

With that, he waited politely for his companion to finish his own drink, slipping the datapad back into the depths of his suit’s many pockets.

[thisDerius]

Derius exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting down to the amber liquid swirling in his glass. The dim lighting of the bar cast long shadows across the table, the faint hum of conversation and distant clinking of glasses creating an ambient backdrop. His fingers tapped idly against the smooth surface of the table, his cybernetic limbs making a barely audible metallic tick with each motion.

"I am familiar with the history of Ingenuus and the Zoners," he murmured, his voice carrying a thoughtful weight. "It is not perfect, but it is useful." His eyes lingered on the drink for a moment longer before he lifted it to his lips, tilting his head back and downing the Sidewinder in one smooth motion. The sharp, sour burn barely registered—it was a taste he had long since grown accustomed to.

The empty glass met the table with a dull clink as he set it down. With a subtle shift, he adjusted his posture, his hands pressing against the table as he prepared to stand.

"Lead the way," he said, his tone cool but direct. His eyes met his companion’s, unwavering. "I understand you have important work to get back to, and I would hate to occupy your research time any longer."

His expression remained neutral, but there was an unspoken urgency beneath his words. Time was always against him, and the faster they moved, the closer he would be to breaking the encryption.

Derius pushed the chair back slightly, rising to his feet with a smooth motion, his coat shifting slightly as he adjusted it over his cybernetic frame. His right hand flexed instinctively—an old habit, muscle memory still lingering despite the modifications.

One way or another, this was just the beginning.

[Soban]

---

As Daniel watched his companion rise, he retrieved his old, trusty dottle and lit it. Then he followed Derius, standing as he flicked the spent match into the bin built into the table. Surprisingly, no smoke rose from the dottle as he drew on it—only a faint scent reminiscent of a forest after morning dew.

“Let’s be off then, lad—it’ll be but a wee walk.”

Without further ado, Donagan strode silently toward the bar’s exit. The subdued departure starkly contrasted with his earlier, brash entrance. He seemed utterly lost in his own thoughts as they navigated corridors and lifts, offering little more than the occasional puff of his pipe and a mumbled greeting whenever they encountered a member of Livadia’s crew.

After a few minutes, the pair finally arrived at Corinth’s entrance. A massive armored door, guarded by a security checkpoint, stood between them and the laboratories beyond.

“Here we are—one o’ the beating hearts o’ Zoner ingenuity: Corinth’s research annex.”

Donagan proceeded through the scans and tests with practiced ease, the process taking only a few moments. He then slipped a card through a reader as the biometric scanner recognized him, all while Derius prepared to step through the checkpoint in his wake.

[thisDerius]

Derius kept his pace steady as he stepped into the scanning zone, watching the security monitors flicker with diagnostic readouts. The soft hum of electromagnetic waves pulsed through the chamber, and within moments, a series of warning indicators flashed red across the display.

BIOLOGICAL ANOMALY DETECTED.
CYBERNETIC INTEGRATION: 40%
HIGH-GRADE AUGMENTATIONS DETECTED.
ADDITIONAL SCANNING REQUIRED.

Derius exhaled sharply through his nose, already expecting the inconvenience.

"You know that I am..." he began, but the warnings flickered again, reinforcing the obvious. "...forty percent augmented?" His voice carried a mix of resignation and mild irritation, as if he'd been through this process far too many times before.

The station's security personnel eyed him warily, their expressions shifting from professional disinterest to quiet caution. Some of them had likely encountered cybernetically enhanced individuals before, but not all augmentations were created equal. In some parts of Sirius, extensive cybernetics could be a sign of a mercenary, a war criminal, or worse.

Derius sighed and stood in place for a moment, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knew protocol dictated that a more thorough scan would usually follow, but with Donagan present, it shouldn’t escalate beyond standard procedure. He glanced sideways, subtly searching for any hint of concern or resistance from the guards.

"I bring no danger to the station," he assured them, his tone calm but firm. "Have no worries." He didn't bother raising his hands or making any exaggerated gestures to appear non-threatening—those who truly meant no harm never needed to.

A tense moment passed before the lead officer gave a brief nod, signaling the others to stand down.

Derius took that as his cue to move forward. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, concealing the subtle lines of reinforced plating beneath his skin. The weight of his cybernetic limbs felt natural to him, but it was moments like these that reminded him how much of his body was no longer his.

Still, it was a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. With an easy stride, he turned toward Donagan.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice lighter now, as if shaking off the brief hassle.

The tension in the air began to ease, and the moment passed. The station had seen countless travelers come and go, each with their own stories, their own pasts etched into flesh and metal alike. And for now, Derius was just another face in the crowd—if only for a while.