“It functions in conjunction with Viator Imprint technology to allow the user neural access to a mainframe.”
“Looks like an arm slot to me,” Puck said.
Adequin looked back to find a new Puck standing beside the apparatus again. He laid his arm down into the slot.
“Fucking void,” Jackin cursed.
Mesa crossed her arms and watched in irritation as the duplicate Puck disobeyed her orders. Real Puck pressed his hand to his visor and sighed.
Adequin found it quite amusing for a half second prior to realizing what it meant. Reverse time ripples. Future and past shit mingling in the present to create glorious chaos. As well as a very pronounced, visceral reminder that the Divide rushed closer every second.
Adequin walked over to real Puck and punched him in the chest.
“Ow, boss, what…？” Puck trailed off, watching in surprise as his duplicate flickered and faded away.
“Wait…” Adequin’s brow creased in confusion. She’d reacted on instinct, but that made no sense. She looked to Griffith. “Why did that work?”
Griffith’s eyes were wide, and he gave a weighty shrug. “No idea.”
She shook it off, then checked the readout in her HUD, confirming that the exterior oxygen levels and temperature remained safe. Gripping the sides of her helmet, she released the lock and pulled it off her head. An immediate onslaught of oppressive heat greeted her along with a wash of blinding light as her eyes adjusted to the unshielded brightness of the room.
“Rake!” Jackin barked.
“Quin, what are you doing?” Griffith asked, voice low and distressed.
Tossing her helmet aside, she began to peel off her suit from the neck down, skin slick with sweat. She hadn’t realized how much her suit had dampened the heat.
“We’re short on time, guys,” she said. “We need to get this thing turned on. Now. It wants real Viator Imprints?” She shouldered out of the sleeves of her suit and tied them around her waist, then held up her arm. The silver and copper Imprint squares flashed brilliantly in the intense light. “How do I control it, Mes?”
“I…” Mesa began, face slack. “I am not sure, Excubitor.”
Adequin nodded, decided she didn’t care, then turned and laid her forearm in the slot. The glass glowed white as the cylinder encircled her arm and the cool metal clamped down.
Her skin tingled and a brief pang of horror spiked in her chest as her Imprints sprung to life of their own accord. She’d never not had control over them before, never seen them act other than under her urgings or instincts. She watched in awe as they folded and unfolded in a glittering cascade down her bicep and onto her forearm, disappearing under the metal sleeve.
Then she realized what was really happening, because it started to hurt. Hurt like it had when she’d gotten them, but instead of scorching metal burning into flesh, it was the opposite. Like the squares infused into her were being torn off, carved out of her skin and muscles one by one as they transferred into the machine.
She ground her teeth as the Imprints continued to flood from the rest of her body, up her back and chest and into her arm, disappearing into the metal cuff. She let out an involuntary, guttural growl, and though she bit the pain back down, it quickly became all-consuming.
“Shit, Quin,” Griffith’s low voice hissed as he hovered in her periphery.
Then in an instant, the pain ceased, the tension left her muscles, and her eyelids dropped closed. The awareness of her physical presence withered as her mind disconnected and faded into the machine.
She instinctively knew what to do, how to interface with it. Just like her Imprints—will thought into action simply with intent. The Imprints would translate.