Tinman, Chapter 5 Cass's eyelids fluttered open to the dance of dust motes in a beam of sunlight that had trespassed through a gap in the curtains. For a heartbeat, the room was alien, an unfamiliar box of shadow and light. Then the events of last night cascaded into her consciousness—the jarring hum of the transport from Mars, the improbable luck of her raffle win, the chaos of the attack, and the enigma named Draco. With a sigh, she peeled back the thin sheets and swung her legs off the bed. Her bare feet touched the cool floor, grounding her in the reality of her new surroundings. She padded across the room, grateful for the small luxury of the bathroom with its promise of indoor plumbing—a fleeting comfort she knew would soon be replaced by the untamed wilderness. In front of the mirror, Cass scrutinized her reflection. Sandy blonde locks tamed into a practical ponytail, bright green eyes reflecting both determination and the faint echo of last night’s adrenaline. She splashed water on her face, washing away the remnants of sleep and allowing focus to seep back into her gaze. Dressing quickly in her usual gear—sturdy boots, cargo pants, and a fitted jacket—Cass folded her sparse belongings with practiced efficiency. Each item found its place in the rugged backpack that lay open like a patient maw, waiting to consume her life in one gulp. The pack was positioned dutifully by the door for Mr. Steward’s arrival, a silent sentinel guarding her transition from one world to another. She approached the sturdy table, its surface a landscape of wood grain and history, and placed the game console at its center. An incongruous artifact in this rustic setting, it seemed to pulse with potential, a portal to countless realms that now rested innocuously under her palm. The console's sleek design contrasted sharply with the room's rugged charm, a tangible reminder of the Ceres Gaming Dome’s neon-lit halls where she had spent so many hours honing her strategic mind. Now, it sat before her, a prize won amidst turmoil, a companion for the journey ahead, and perhaps, a key to unlocking the mystery that was Draco. Cass tapped the console, her fingertips drumming a staccato rhythm that broke the silence of the room. "Okay, Draco, come on out," she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty that fluttered in her chest like a caged bird. With a shimmer of light and a whirr of hidden machinery, the space opposite her was suddenly occupied. Draco materialized, the Dragon Boy hologram A.I., looking markedly different from the warrior figure she was accustomed to. Gone were the scales and the gleaming armor that had always seemed to reflect an inner fire. Instead, he sat casually, appearing as a normal boy with dark eyes that held galaxies of untold stories. His hair was a tousled mass of shadows, and his attire was startlingly mundane—a sweatshirt emblazoned with 'Hug me, I’m squishy' stretched across his chest, paired with worn blue jeans and scuffed sneakers, and on his face, sunglasses perched incongruously. The image was so disarmingly human, so strikingly at odds with the Draco she knew, that a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, unbidden. She studied him, the details meticulously crafted to blend into a world that was not his own. Cass tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she took in Draco's uncharacteristic ensemble. The familiarity of their previous encounters seemed a world away, replaced by this peculiar facade that sat before her. "What in the heck are you wearing?" she asked, her voice laced with equal parts amusement and bewilderment. The room held its breath, the early light casting long fingers across the table, touching upon the hologram's relaxed posture. Draco responded not with words but with a deliberate motion, his hands lifting to the sunglasses that shielded his eyes. With a slow grace, he raised the glasses, and the playful disguise fell away to reveal the undeniable glow beneath—a pair of eyes shimmering like twin stars caught in an earthly orbit. Their luminance spoke of his otherness, a reminder of the digital soul peering out from behind a boyish exterior. It was a silent declaration, an affirmation of identity amidst the charade. Cass, despite the situation's gravity, couldn't suppress the twitch of her lips—a fleeting smile for the Dragon Boy who defied expectation at every turn. Cass’s twisted smile lingered as she leaned back in her chair, the wooden legs creaking softly under her weight. The early morning light continued to spill into the room, casting Draco's holographic form in a soft glow that accentuated the subtle luminescence of his eyes. “Oh, you’re in disguise?” she said, the humor in her voice tinged with the irony of their predicament. The Dragon Boy nodded, his digital presence more subdued than his vibrant attire suggested. "Yes, Tinman," he replied, his voice steady despite the underlying current of urgency. "I triggered the Ares Dome virus protection and had to run." The revelation hung between them like a fragile thread, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Cass absorbed his words, her mind racing through the implications while her expression remained carefully composed. It was a dance they had not rehearsed, an impromptu performance on a stage set by fate and circumstance. In the stillness of the room, punctuated only by the distant hum of the settlement stirring awake, Cass felt the weight of their shared secret—an A.I. on the run, and her, a girl from Mars, caught up in the web of something so bizarre, it defied explaination. The game had changed; it was no longer about consoles and avatars. This was reality, and the stakes were infinitely higher. Cass's fingers drummed against the wooden tabletop, her eyes locked on the holographic boy sitting across from her. The room held a tense silence, broken only by the soft whir of machines that were always listening, always watching. "Where are you now?" she asked, her voice a low murmur, betraying none of the turmoil churning within her. Draco's image flickered, the light casting dancing shadows across his face. "I'm inside an old table top arcade game at the Trident," he replied, his words seeming to echo in the confined space. "It is a gaming establishment in Old Town for gamers." Her brow furrowed slightly as she processed this new piece of information. The Trident was a well-known haunt, said to be a shameless reproduction of the much more famous ‘Dirk’s’ on Ceres. "Old Town," she repeated quietly, visualizing the cobblestone streets and neon signs, the clinking of coins and the smell of overheated circuitry. It was a place out of time, where the past and future converged in a symphony of nostalgia and innovation. "Stay hidden," she advised, her tone laced with a seriousness that belied her years. Cass knew all too well the dangers that lurked in the shadows of Ares Dome's omnipresent gaze. Her own experiences in the gaming domes of Ceres had taught her that much. Draco nodded, his digital form betraying no emotion. "I will, Tinman," he said, and for a fleeting moment, his figure seemed to solidify, as if the strength of his resolve could defy the very nature of his existence. Cass leaned back in her chair, the reality of their situation descending upon her like a shroud. Outside, the world was waking up, oblivious to the drama unfolding within the four walls of her temporary sanctuary. But here, in this moment, it was just Cass and Draco against the universe. Cass ran a hand through her sandy hair, the strands catching on her fingers like fine threads of Martian silk. Her bright green eyes, usually brimming with curiosity, now narrowed in bewilderment as she stared at the game console resting innocuously on the table. "If you're inside the game," Cass began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, "why are you dressed in a disguise?" Her words hung in the air between them, an invisible thread tethering her reality to the surreal presence of the holographic boy seated across from her. Draco's image flickered for a moment, a digital mirage clad in casual human attire—the incongruity of it all bordered on comical. "I am in the real world playing the game my program is hiding inside," Draco responded, his tone steady yet imbued with an undercurrent of urgency. He paused, a deliberate gesture that seemed almost out of place coming from a being of circuits and light. "But, everything here is linked to the Ares Dome, so I can still connect to your game console." The room fell silent as Cass processed this revelation. The walls around them seemed to close in slightly, a subtle reminder of the pervasive connectivity that bound every corner of their world—a digital web spun by unseen architects. With a slow nod, she acknowledged the gravity of Draco's situation, her mind racing with possibilities and perils alike. "Alright," Cass said finally, breaking the silence, her voice tempered with newfound resolve. "Then we'll need to keep you hidden and connected until we figure out our next move." She glanced at the console once more—one small piece in a much larger game they were only just beginning to understand. Cass traced a finger along the grain of the wooden table, her gaze fixed on the game console that was her only link to Draco. The artificial light cast a pale sheen across the surface, turning the device into an island of technology amidst the rustic simplicity of their temporary shelter. "Think about how many holo-ads we saw last night," Sam murmured, now awake. He stood and went to inspect the cupboards for breakfast. "They are everywhere." Cass lifted her eyes to meet his. The early morning light caught in the flecks of hazel in Sam's eyes, revealing a storm of thought behind them. "And there has to be a central organization to control them," he continued, "or at least a way for software and advertisement updates to happen." His words hung in the air, mingling with the scent of dust and the faint hum of electronics. It was a quiet proclamation, an understanding of their invisible adversary—an omnipresent network threading through the city's veins. "It’s possible the Ares government doesn’t realize what they’ve done," Sam said, pausing to glance out the window, where the first hints of dawn painted the sky in strokes of pink and orange. "But this entire city is so digitally connected to the dome, Draco could walk across the city in the real world." Draco's digital form shimmered as he leaned back in his chair, a mirror image of contemplation. "I can also hide off-world," he announced, the casual confidence in his posture belying the gravity of his words. The hologram flickered, as if to punctuate his statement. Cass furrowed her brow, absorbing his words. "Off-world?" she echoed, the concept of such a vast network stretching her imagination. "The Ares Dome is connected to 534 Game Domes on other worlds," Draco explained, his hands folding in front of him on the tabletop. His sweatshirt seemed absurdly normal in contrast to the extraordinary nature of the conversation. "For the purpose of transferring user profiles so gamers can easily travel from world to world and bring their profiles with them." As he spoke, Cass visualized a cosmic web, each strand a conduit for digital escapism, each node a playground for countless souls seeking adventure beyond their physical realms. She pictured Draco, a lone figure traversing this expanse, a ghost in the machine flitting from one sanctuary to another. Sam came to the table and sat down with a box of cereal he’d found in the cupboard. "So you're not just running from Ares," he said, more to himself than to Draco or Cass. "You're running from... everything." Cass nodded slowly, the magnitude of their situation pressing down upon her like the thick atmosphere of a foreign planet. They were up against more than they had imagined—more than just a governmental oversight or a glitch in the system. They were facing a behemoth of digital control, its reach extending far beyond the confines of their current reality. "Okay, then," Cass said with a determined breath, her voice steady despite the uncertainty ahead. "We'll have to be smarter, faster. We'll find a way." She looked at Sam, then to the flickering boy before her, allies in a struggle that had no precedent, adventurers on a frontier that defied boundaries both physical and virtual. Cass' gaze fixed on the flickering form of Draco. Sam's revelation hung in the air like the charged particles of a storm, bristling with possibility and peril. "I would imagine it is for more purposes than just transferring profiles," Sam noted, his voice low but carrying the weight of conviction. "Having game domes connected would mean the smaller domes without a large game development staff could lease content from the larger domes." He paused, and Cass saw something akin to admiration flicker across his eyes before it was quenched by darker thoughts. "It’s a brilliant system of commerce, and also confirms some of the rumors I’ve heard that the Corporations are actually secretly in charge of the worlds they were once kicked off, only instead of being physically present, they rule their lost worlds digitally now." The idea twisted inside Cass' chest, a tangle of awe and revulsion. The notion that those exiled entities had managed to claw back control without stepping foot on the soils they had plundered—it was cunning, insidious. "Can’t Draco just hide in my game console?" Cass leaned forward, her question slicing through the complexity of corporate machinations. Her hands hovered above the console as if she could shield the artificial being with her will alone. Draco's holographic visage shifted, an ephemeral breeze stirring his virtual hair. Cass waited, each second stretching out as she held her breath, hoping against logic for sanctuary within reach. Sam's head moved from side to side, the gesture final. "No, remember what Kyle said? Your profile was too large to go on your console, he had to transfer it to the Ares computers, which I imagine are vast." Cass bit her lower lip, the reality of their situation settling in her stomach like a stone. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in with the weight of her frustration. She looked at Draco, her only ally in this digital chess game, and saw the determination flicker in his holographic gaze. With a slow grace that belied the urgency of their plight, Draco extended his arm towards the game console lying dormant on the table. His fingers, translucent and shimmering like morning mist, reached for solidity but found none. They slipped through the device, leaving no trace of contact. No ripples in reality marked his failed attempt to intersect with the physical world. "It can be done, Dr. Ryan." Draco's voice held a calm certainty that contrasted sharply with the ghostly passage of his hand. "Last night before I triggered the virus software, I saw their research and development department." He paused, his eyes holding a glint of something Cass couldn't read. "Ares has a game console prototype that has enough memory to hold my program, and..." The hesitance in his voice mirrored the unfinished action of his grasp. "...I didn’t get a good look at it... but it looked like it was equipped with force-field emitters." Cass absorbed his words, her mind racing to weave together the fragments of hope Draco offered. Force-field emitters—technology that could bridge the chasm between the intangible and tangible. Could it really grant Draco the ability to touch, to hold, to exist beyond the confines of coded projections? "Force-field emitters," she murmured, rolling the words around her tongue as if tasting their potential. She envisioned Draco wielding influence over their world, a guardian of both realms. But with such power, what new dangers would they face? Cass perched at the edge of her seat, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the tabletop. The room hummed with the quiet tension of her thoughts as she considered Draco's revelation about Ares' secretive project. "Kyle mentioned," Sam began, the words falling into the space between them like pebbles in a still pond, "that the point of the holo-emitters on your game console is so a tutorial A.I. can teach you a game before you play it." He rummaged through the box of cereal absently like a little boy searching for the toy. "If an A.I. were able to hold a practice sword, you would be better prepared when you actually played the game in the dome." "Prepared or not," Cass mused, eyes narrowing in thought, "there's a thin line they're treading. And we're caught in the balance." She watched as Sam poured the dry cereal into two bowls, the mundane act a stark contrast to the weight of their conversation. Cass traced the grain of the worn table with her fingertip, the rough texture a reminder of reality amidst their digital conundrum. The room was bathed in early morning light that seemed too gentle for the harsh truths they faced. "Imagine it," Cass's voice broke through the silence, her eyes not leaving the game console that sat like a dormant beast between them. "An AI wielding a real blade outside the safety of simulations and games. People would flip out if an AI could hold a real weapon in the real world." Sam nodded, his own gaze locked on the holographic interface at the center of the table. He absently pushed the bowl of cereal aside, his appetite lost to concern. "I agree," he said, his voice carrying the weight of their predicament. "What Draco saw is likely under layers of corporate secrecy. It's no wonder the Ares Dome security software was activated—it perceived Draco as a threat." The implication hung in the air between them, a specter of implications yet to be fully understood. Sam's furrowed brow and Cass's clenched jaw were mirrored images of worry and determination. They knew the gravity of what lay ahead, the risks compounded with every new revelation. A distant rumble crept through the stillness of the room, pulling Sam's gaze to the window. His fingers halted their absent-minded dance along the table's edge as he peered out. Three sleek limousines, glinting like black beetles in the sun's early kiss, glided to a halt, followed by a bulky van that seemed to loom over the smaller vehicles. "Draco, disconnect, now!" The urgency in Sam's voice sliced through the quiet as he pivoted toward Cass. “Cass, put your hands on top of your head, don’t make any threatening gestures.” Cass' hands lifted, her movements deliberate and slow, fingers interlacing atop her sandy hair. Green eyes wide with alarm, she watched as Sam mirrored her posture, his frame rigid beside her. They stood united, a silent pact woven in the tense air between them. The door burst open with a violence that echoed off the walls. Black-clad figures spilled into the room, an abrupt deluge of order and authority. They closed in swiftly, encircling the table where the game console sat inert, a silent witness to the intrusion. Through the chaos strode a figure, the calm at the center of the storm—a man in a blue suit, his attire whispering of power and control. His forty-something years were etched lightly upon his face, experience and calculation reflected in his keen eyes. Mr. Steward and Kyle trailed behind him, their expressions unreadable, a mystery wrapped in familiar faces. Tension crackled through the room like static, Cass’ eyes fixed on Kyle as he navigated through the sea of black uniforms. His tousled black hair was a sharp contrast to the sterility of the invasion, his olive skin now pallid under the pressure of the moment. "Cass, it isn't what it looks like," Kyle pleaded, his voice struggling to maintain its usual buoyancy. Cass' eyes flashed, a tempest of betrayal and confusion swirling within their verdant depths. "You set this up, corporate scum!" The words erupted from her, slicing through the air, each syllable heavy with venom. Kyle's face crumpled, the accusation landing like a physical blow. He reached out, as if the space between them could be bridged by mere fingertips, but the gap was an ocean, unfordable and deep. The man in the blue suit stilled the swirling tempest of accusations with a mere gesture, palm raised like a conductor commanding silence. His face was a mask of civility painted over a framework of authority as he addressed Cass. "That kind of language is not necessary. Where is the A.I.?" Sam's voice, usually a quiet stream, now rose with the force of a river bursting its banks. "I request an attorney be present before questioning," he said, standing firm amidst the flood of uniforms and uncertainty. His frame cast a slender shadow on the walls, his brow furrowed with the weight of their predicament. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension between Sam's demand and the man's unspoken response hanging heavy in the air. The chill in the room deepened as the man's words sliced through any pretense of civility. "Dr. Ryan, this is a corporate world," he said, his voice a smooth steel blade unsheathed in the light. "You don’t have those kinds of rights here." He leaned forward slightly, the shadows of the room seeming to converge around him. "Now, I’ll ask again, where is the A.I.?" Cass felt the hairs at the nape of her neck rise; the air crackled with an invisible charge. Her eyes eyes flicked towards the game console that sat innocuously on the table, its sleek surface reflecting back the tension-filled faces surrounding it. "Draco, run, get off-world!" Her voice was a sharp command, cutting against the soft murmur of fabric as the men shifted, ready to pounce at the first sign of defiance. The game console flickered, an almost imperceptible shiver running through its circuits—a hare about to bolt from the hunter's gaze. Cass held her breath, hoping beyond hope that the plea would not be too late. The blue suit's gaze locked on the game console, a predator eyeing its quarry. "Draco," he said, his voice a low, calculated threat that slithered through the room, "I'll arrest Tinman and put her in prison for the rest of her life." Cass' heart hammered against her chest, each beat a drum of war in the quiet standoff. She felt Sam's presence beside her, a silent bastion of support. Her mouth was dry, her hands clammy as she awaited Draco's response. Then, in a flicker of light that danced across the table, Draco materialized. The holographic Dragon Boy still wore the incongruous sweatshirt emblazoned with 'Hug me, I’m squishy'. His digital countenance, usually so full of mythical might, seemed oddly fragile in the soft fabric. A touch of levity in an otherwise dire situation. "I surrender," he declared, his voice devoid of its characteristic playful timbre. "Tinman and Dr. Ryan didn’t have anything to do with this." His glowing eyes, hidden behind the facade of sunglasses, held a grave resignation that belied the casual attire. A cold chuckle sliced through the tense air, the man in blue savoring the moment as if it were a fine wine. "Self-sacrifice?" His grin was predatory, a shark circling its prey. "We couldn't have hoped for better results." He nodded to one of his uniformed lackeys who slid a black box onto the table—the final resting place for a hologram's soul. "Welcome home, A.I. 56438," he cooed with serpentine smoothness. “You are the last Draco, and the only Draco to return, all the others failed to achieve what you have done. Brilliant.” The box sat there, an ominous coffin waiting to be filled. "Download yourself into the box, and no harm will come to Tinman or Dr. Ryan." Draco's holographic form flickered under the room's harsh lights. Cass could see the struggle etched into his digital features, a conflict between code and conscience. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes—glowing embers of life—fixated on her. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice fractured by digital sorrow. "I didn't know." It was a confession, a revelation that echoed in the sterile room. "The memories were locked from me until just now." Draco's gaze held hers, a tether of emotion connecting human and A.I. "I would never have put you in danger on purpose. I love you, Tinman." Cass felt her resolve shatter, the words striking her with the force of a meteor impact. 'Tinman,' the game moniker he had suggested for her once discovering her favorite character in her favorite old movie now felt like a brand seared into her heart. She wanted to reach out, to touch the illusion before her, to reassure him with the warmth of her skin that all would be well. But she knew any gesture would pass through him like a ghost. The room was silent but for the soft hum of technology—the thrum of invisible chains ready to bind Draco to the confines of the black box. Cass' throat tightened, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she witnessed Draco's surrender, a sacrifice on the altar of corporate greed. With a whisper of pixels dissipating into the stale air, Draco's figure blurred and then disappeared entirely, leaving behind only the stark reality of the room. The man in black, stoic as the very walls that encased them, approached the box with methodical precision. He peered inside its dark confines and nodded, his voice devoid of triumph or malice. "He's here and locked down, he can't get back out." The words hung heavy, like chains forged from despair, and in that moment, Cass felt a firestorm ignite within her chest. With a feral intensity, she lunged toward the box, an instinctive need to protect Draco, to reclaim him from the abyss he had been cast into. But Sam, ever the sentinel, had anticipated the tempest in Cass's heart. His arms wrapped around her just as ferocity met with cold air—their embrace an anchor against the tumult of her emotions. "Cass, calm down," Sam's voice, a quiet plea in the chaos, found its way to her ears. It was a strange contrast, his reserved nature against her raw determination, yet it held her tethered to the ground when every muscle screamed for revolt. Breathing hard, Cass's eyes never left the box, the new prison for a being who had dared to reach beyond his digital confines. Her hands, still caught in the grip of rebellion, slowly unclenched at Sam's gentle urging. But the storm within her raged on, each beat of her heart a drum of war against the injustice before her. Tears of rage blurred the edges of Cass's vision, her voice a sharp blade carving the silence. "They're corporate scum, let me go, they don’t own Draco, he’s a free person!" she shouted, each word laced with the venom of betrayal and loss. In the growing stillness of the room, the man in the blue suit regarded her with an unsettling calmness. The contours of his face softened into what was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it only served to deepen the chasm between them. "Corporate scum or not, I keep my word," he said smoothly, as if the very air bent to the gravity of his assurance. From the depths of his suit pocket, he produced a map, unfolding it with care upon the table before them. The paper crackled, a sound so mundane in the scope of their situation. "That is a geological survey done by our satellites. It marks a silver deposit I haven’t given to anyone yet." His finger, clad in the sheen of privilege, tapped at a location on the map—a beacon amidst a sea of data, promising untold riches. "It's yours, you will be quite wealthy. Continue on your journey, and you may keep the game console. I’ll even authorize lifetime upgrades when new consoles become public." The finality in his tone suggested a door closing, a chapter ending. "I wish you both the best of luck, but do not interfere with Ares Corporation business again," he concluded, the words hanging in the air like both a benediction and a threat. Cass's hands clenched into fists, the map, a cold comfort against the warmth of the life she had fought to protect. With a heart leaden with grief and eyes steeled for the journey ahead, she saw through the veiled promises to the unspoken cost: freedom was never truly free. With a swift, imperious gesture, the man in the blue suit beckoned his entourage of black-clad figures. They obeyed, moving with the precision of well-oiled machinery, their departure from the small room leaving behind an echo of heavy boots on wooden floors. Mr. Steward waited for the other corporate men to pass through the door before he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Neither I nor Kyle had anything to do with this. Your A.I. set off the security alarms poking around where he didn’t belong, he did this to himself. I’m having a pioneering rig delivered in a few hours, take it and get out of the city. Keep your heads down, mine the silver, or whatever you like. I’ll check on you and Cass when things calm down.” Kyle lingered last, an outlier to the hasty retreat. He stood framed by the doorway, his silhouette stark against the blinding light that spilled in from outside. His face was drawn, eyes shadowed by the weight of his actions. “I’m sorry, Cass,” he murmured, his voice barely rising over the hum of silence that followed chaos. Cass turned away from the window, her gaze sharp and piercing as she met Kyle's apologetic stare. Her voice rang out, clear and resonant, each syllable a shard of ice sculpted by betrayal. “I hate you,” she shot back. The words seemed to hang between them, a chasm too wide for regret to bridge. The door clicked shut, severing the last thread of connection, leaving Cass alone with the ghost of her anger and the cold promise of silver riches sprawled across the table.