Panels lined with rows of buttons framed the doors on either side, the buttons themselves separated into two separate grids by a centimeter of empty space. The masked man followed him and chose a button on the lower grid of the leftmost panel.
Nick's stomach crawled further into his throat as they rocketed upwards, the cyborg's presence congealing, unaffected by their momentum. Nick inhaled deep and held it over his pounding heart. He let it out as he shrugged his armor into a more comfortable position, cradling the semi-automatic rifle that hung from the harness on his chest. He rested his palm on the rifle's grip as he continued to take deep breaths faintly scented of hot copper and circuitry.
The elevator chimed, and the doors parted to reveal a single, short hallway leading to a lone, natural wooden door. The masked man prodded him down the hall, and Nick heard the lock slide away as the masked man placed his hand on the doorknob and pushed.
Nick kept his hand on his rifle as he was ushered into an office covered in a lush garden of crimson carpet and polished hardwood. Generations worth of trophies lined wood-paneled walls next to paper books in pristine condition with titles like The Holy Bible, The Maker Mother, and The Torah.
The masked man continued past all of these, past the desk and the startled young woman sitting behind it to another wooden door on the far wall. He ushered Nick through as the door opened like the first, closing it behind him as Nick came face to face with Connor Dawn.
Dawn sat behind an interface desk large enough to be a dining table, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the horizon behind him. The office itself was relatively bare compared to the room before, though it still was floored in lush red carpet and surrounded by wood panels. He looked to the masked man from a floating interface-screen quantum locked above the desk. "Teddrick. Why have you brought me…" He looked Nick up and down, eyes narrowing. "Why don't you have an ID, Cleric?"
The masked man pulled the helmet from Nick's head before he could respond.
Nick had to smile at the look of surprise on Dawn's face as recognition slowly donned on him. "Surprise, fucker." He felt like he'd hidden his own shock pretty well, but he'd been high on adrenaline for the last few hours. Nick's smile slowly faded as Dawn's grew.
"Well, well." He steepled his fingers. "I assume it was my daughter that rescued you?"
Nick tilted his head. "Which time?"
Dawn's smile stiffened. He pushed back from his desk, leaning back in his chair. "Of course it was her -- it's the only way to explain how you got your interface software to mimic mine."
"Maybe I got into a trade school." Nick's fingers tapped nervously above the trigger.
Dawn shook his head, turning to the masked man. "Did you have a use for him? Otherwise I say just kill him and be done with it."
Nick could feel the hard angles of the venomous smile that would have stretched across the masked man's face. "Arrogant. You misinterpret my reason for being here."
Dawn's brow furrowed, but he remained silent. He laced his fingers, resting his chin on his thumbs.
"You have delayed progress long enough. We must launch."
Dawn nodded, raising an eyebrow. "We will launch, and soon. We're even ahead of schedule."
"Ahead of your schedule." The masked man's voice was deep, guttural, and was accompanied by utter stillness. "Hundreds of standards behind mine."
Dawn rubbed his temples. "As we've discussed, the longer souls are held in stasis, the less viable reintegrating them into a synthetic becomes. Harvesting the north now in its entirety would just deplete our only supply-"
The masked man's volume increased, filling the room, "we have enough."
Dawn looked from side to side, flattening his hands against the desk. "Either way, it's much more efficient to run a society with an underclass. B-but if you think-"
"Enough." The masked man's voice was a clipping, emotionless roar that made Dawn shrink into his seat. "If I wanted to still be the one making decisions, I would put myself back in charge of RDI." He commanded the room without motion, without eyes, and yet Nick could feel his rage towering over the room. "You have been a disappointment since you first sat behind that desk. The position has done nothing but inflate your ego," the masked man rattled. "Did you really think I'd brought you Harte to ask for your advice -- or worse, gain your approval?" His presence ceased to tower, now viscous and warm as it dribbled out in all directions. "We put up with you because we are family, but now, well… There is no 'we' anymore, is there? And I no longer have time for your incompetence."
Dawn's hands trembled, fingertips lifting his palms off the smooth, black surface of the desk. "Grandfather…"
"So I have brought Harte here..." The masked man's head rotated to face Nick. "To do what you so cleverly inhibited me from doing with your firmware 'update'." He turned back to Dawn, though his gaze seemed more towards the windows than the man himself. "Over three hundred partitions, and you infiltrate the one with your initials."
Dawn's eyes widened as he turned to Nick.
Nick drummed his fingers over the grip of the gun, ears ringing. His jaw clenched as he raised the rifle to his shoulder. He knew he was speaking, but all he could hear was the sounds of the foundry, the screams of the "retired" on their way down the conveyor towards the smelter. "You should be grateful. It's better than you deserve."
Dawn looked pleadingly to the masked man as his head filled the sights of Nick's weapon.
Nick gritted his teeth, cheek on the stock. "But I suppose beggars can't be choosers."