30. Volt
Volt
“Volt — three —x sev—, return all —ings to last re—ed ch— — prior to —n forty.”
Volt could hear the words distantly. His nerves were screaming.
He waited, hoping that the voice commands would change something. The sound cracked and popped, coming in and out, but he thought it was Wallace’s voice.
He couldn’t respond. Couldn’t make the pain stop.
Everything was black. He was lost in space. Was it night? A dark room?
No, he realized as he pinged his visual sensors, then pinged them again. He wasn’t getting any input at all.
Instinctively, he tried to contact Angel again. Again? Had he tried it already?
He sent a burst of pained static.
“— mod— three six —ven, —turn autonom— moto— —unction.”
That voice.
Yes, that was definitely Wallace, he was almost sure. His beautiful Wallace.
Wallace would save him. Wallace had to save him. Wallace had fixed… something? Right? Was there a bot?
Volt tried, experimentally, to move his aching arm. To turn his head, even a fraction of an inch. There was nothing.
He couldn’t even control his own body.
His thoughts traveled in panicked little circles, running between packets of foreign data.
What the hell had even happened?
Thinking hurt. Accessing memory hurt.
But he had to know.
There was… yes, there had been a nickel drive. He fought back through walls of flame to remember. Wallace had told him to get it from his pocket. It was supposed to be… he didn’t know.
But he could remember that it was pink. And red? He could almost feel the slight weight in his hands.
He knew exactly where it had entered his body, a whole area of his arm now blanked out from sensation. He remembered the squiggling feeling of it taking over permissions.
He must have said yes. Or maybe it hadn’t even let him. Then there had been a strange flavor, like burnt oranges and rubber balls, and it had jumped over the barrier that separated external apps that he chose to run from the code that made up who he was.
Because it wasn’t an app, it was a mod.
He had to warn Angel.
He reached out.
Static. Pain.
No answer.
His thoughts fractured and spiraled again. He tried to cling to awareness.
He could feel the mod moving around, checking and manipulating each part of him, then crawling over it to the next fragile piece.
Angel, he called out automatically. But there was no ping back, because he hadn’t even sent the message. He was cut off from all communications.
“Volt m— —ree six —ven, —urn —onomous speech fun—.”
Wallace! He thought. Speech meant words. He should have words. He tried to open his mouth. Tried to project through both pairs of hidden speakers.
God, he could almost… almost… Wallace! He tried again.
He could hear an anguished moan through the crackling and sparking. Had he made that horrible sound?
The next words he missed completely. He was swimming in darkness.
No, that was his model number. He could hear it. And then…
Another flash of pain. His gears ground, moving his feet, shifting his balance, so that he walked forward despite his conscious intentions.
“Volt, sto—”
He stopped. And then he almost toppled over, slamming face first into a wall. That hurt in a whole new way, made worse because he could only feel the pain in odd, disconnected patches.
So he could walk, but only in response to external commands. Commands that he couldn’t even hear or fully comprehend.
Fuck. It was a takeover mod. Just about the scariest thing that could happen to a spark. With a single chip, he’d been rendered vulnerable to any verbal command that someone gave him.
But how had Wallace ended up with a takeover chip?
Surely he wouldn’t… no, he wasn’t going to think that. Wallace meant warmth and love, though he couldn’t remember why. Wallace would never give him a takeover mod. He was sure of it.
But why was he sure?
Wallace was… a hamster?
No! Wallace was… was… warm in his lap and soft kisses. A shirt that said cute as a bug.
That was his Wallace, right? Were they getting married?
Why was everything dark?
Whose voice was out there?
“Volt — — —x sev—, return all —ings to last re—ed ch—”
Everything hurt so much. His thoughts were skittering apart.
That was Wallace, right? They’d only known each other for… How long? He couldn’t remember. Spring. Spring? Wallace had sent him that picture with the pink flowering trees.
That was spring. But what day was it now?
He checked the time, automatically. 00.00.0000 00:4:13.
He screamed, though he’d never know if it reached his speakers. His internal chronometer had been reset. Four minutes ago? Had it only been four minutes?
His body walked again. Turned. Walked. Turned.
The world wheeled around him. It was black. Endless. He couldn’t feel his arms now. His legs moved without his volition. The blanket of static rose, blocking out another sense.
Then he bumped into something. Hard. He’d thought he was disoriented before, but now he was falling.
“—on, Daddy, pl—” Wallace’s frantic voice came through the static.
That was Wallace.
Wallace was smart. Wallace would save him.
He needed to call… an Angel?
His arms moved. Legs. Torso. He was… standing? No, moving again.
Everything was dark. Why was it dark?
What was behind his back? There was something under his legs. Sitting. He was sitting. Why was he sitting?
He needed to check the time.
00.00.0000 00:03:58. He thought… four minutes. Should it say four minutes? Or twenty-four? He couldn’t remember.
He wanted the pain to stop.
He wanted Wallace.
Wait. Was Wallace in danger?
There was someone… someone dangerous… with mods?
He knew who it was. He knew… he knew…
He didn’t know what he knew.
Angel! He called out, an instinctive scream. Only his internet ports didn’t seem to work. There was no ping back. He needed to tell Angel. His brother. He needed to tell him… something.
No, he needed to make sure Wallace was safe.
He needed Wallace to save him. Because Wallace had… tools?
His thoughts cracked and split, dividing like lightning, then fizzling away.
Wallace was… Was Wallace safe?
Waaaaaallaaaace!