ataraxionlogs | What you don't know won't hurt you. Maybe the lies are true.

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What you don't know won't hurt you. Maybe the lies are true.

CHARACTERS: Topher Brink, Wheatley, Whiskey/Claire Saunders, Alex Summers, and Dirk Strider in A COMEDY OF ERRORS THAT ISN'T ACTUALLY THAT FUNNY.
LOCATION: The auxiliary science labs.
WARNINGS: SHADY BRAIN SCIENCE. PROBABLE PUNCHING.
SUMMARY: Topher finally gets his gun to work so he can put Claire back in her right head, Alex is here to supervise. Dirk's here to be Dirk. Wheatley is angry at almost everyone in this room.
NOTES: BACKDATED TO A FEW DAYS BEFORE THE JUMP.

It had taken awhile, but Topher finally figured out how to fix the gun enough to re-imprint Whiskey with Claire. The chair was safe in a lounge area somewhere in one of the upper decks, thanks to Netherlands, and Topher would never be able to thank Wheatley enough for his contributions to this screwed-up little scenario. It wasn't ideal, but once the gun was disabled and handed off to Claire to destroy, maybe that would be the end of it. They'd forget about everything else.

And if they didn't, the chair was almost ready. If he was allowed this one thing to go right, maybe then he wouldn't have to worry anymore. Until that moment, he had to lay low, pretend everything was okay, and hopefully no one would think too hard about everything.

Yeah. Good plan.

He stood in the middle of the science lab, holding the gun up. "Okay, guys. This is a really simple process. I point the gun, I pull the trigger... Bam. She's imprinted again, then everyone can go back to their little lives like all of this was just a really bad dream."

He paused and then gestured at Dirk and Alex. "Except for Saunders, who will want to wring my neck, despite my trying to save her life, so if one of you two could please make sure that doesn't happen, that'd be great."

Lowering the gun a bit, he turned to Wheatley and hissed out a pained, "I really, really owe you for this one, man. This could be going way worse."

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For the last few weeks, Whiskey had been staying in Alex's room. Surprisingly it was calming. Shd didn't understand this place, buf she also didn't know she had to. Things were simple. Alex took her out on occassion, and she had Anya and Bozo, Alex's pets, to keep her company. It was light, and nothing had happened to make her brain go off.

She had been told they were going somewhere. She didn't understand the concept of being fixed, but she knew it was time for a treatment. Alex was at being an impromptu handler, even if he didn't know it. In the room she stood by him, blinking at Topher. It was nice to see him again. Nothing he said really registered though. She simply stood there, waiting to be told what to do.

Alex had been more than a bit stressed about this entire situation...but he had brought it down upon his own head, and had to own it. He still didn't trust Topher or Wheatley, but if this would get Whiskey back to Claire...well. He didn't have much of a choice, did he?

Standing next to Whiskey, he squeezed her arm, gently, leaning it. "I will be fine, I promise."

He knew better than to promise, but she most likely would like to hear it...and unless something went wrong, it would be fine.

Looking over at Topher, though, he quirked an eyebrow, snorting. "She can do what she wants. I won't stop her."

Topher set his jaw in the closest proximity to a grin he could manage, which was more than a little smarmy, given the circumstances, which were bad all around, and anything he could have said in retort would have made it worse. It wasn't like anyone in this room was actually really and truly on his side, Wheatley, excluded, but even he looked like he'd hit his limit.

"Just like home," he quipped, unable to stay silent, even in the face of probable judgment. Alex truly was on his way to becoming a handler.

He leveled the gun at Whiskey and sucked in a breath. One, two... There was a flash, a slight buzz, and Topher held that breath in, teeth grit. Please work please work please work.

She stood next to Alex, trusting him. Though Topher was right, she would trust a piece of toast right now. She didn't know or understand what was happening or what was going to happen. Whiskey just knew she had a treatment. She stood in place, even with the gun pointed at her.

And then it hit her. It looked painful only for a moment. Just like before she paused and picked her head up. Claire paused for a moment and blinked. Where was she? Why was shy suddenly standing up. Slowly she looked around them, the group of people. There was a sudden deer in the headlights look. She took a step back toward the wall, bracing herself.

No. No, this wasn't her worst fear playing out in front of her, Topher holding some tech he didn't know. "What happened?" Her eyes found Topher's. Could she even trust what he would say?

Edited 2012-12-09 04:53 (UTC)

"Programming glitch!" Topher blurted out seconds after the immediate exhale of relief and also to cover up the whoop he nearly let out. It worked. "You glitched. I fixed it. Everything's fine now. No need to... do anything hasty or anything."

And in an act of pure desperation he hid behind Wheatley, because in some highly logical part of his animal hindbrain, he believed he programmed Claire to be incapable of punching through an innocent bystander to get to him. Unfortunately, this would be way more effective if Wheatley weren't roughly a head shorter.

Wheatley had remained uncharacteristically silent through the exchange, content to perch on a chair in the corner, watching the scene with a certain amount of disdain. His apparent displeasure (at the situation, at certain present parties), was more than evident on his face.

It was the face of someone who'd sold themselves into Oxygen Garden indentured servitude.

He wasn't even allowed to breathe a sigh of relief at the apparent success of the re-imprinting, because Topher was trying to use him as a human shield. Wheatley instantly threw his hands up in defense, even though he knew full well Claire had no reason to suspect he had anything to do with what had just happened.

"Uh--"

She stilled, eyes going wide. His movements, his actions spoke of his guilt. How could he bull face lie to her? That was right. He was Topher. She suddenly laughed, cruel and hard. She looked around the group. She probably could push Wheatley out the way. She certainly wanted to.

"Is that what he told you all?" She looked around him. There was an easier way to hurt him. "There are no glitches. I'm not Echo. I'm a permanent imprint."

Her jaw clenched, wanting to rip something a part. She felt sick. Her world crashed down on her once again. Nothing felt right. All the puzzle pieces scattered, jaded.

Alex let out a breath when Claire started talking again-- really Claire, not the child-like Whiskey. Topher's actions, though, hiding behind Wheatley, had him shifting his position, moving so that he was behind Topher. Only options were to step right into him, or move towards Claire.

Alex wasn't about to let Topher just walk out of this like nothing happened.

"He's been full of shit since it happened." Alex didn't believe it was a glitch--he never had. But he also didn't know enough about the system to know what it was, either.

"Woah, hang on, hold up."

Wheatley had no idea when he'd become the voice of reason in the room, but with Topher cowering behind him, Claire looking like she was going to murder the next thing that moved, and Alex moving into what was clearly a human threat display, the logical thing to do was attempt to talk everyone down.

"There's no need to get accusatory." He moved his hands from the front to the sides, in a clear back up sort of gesture to all parties, first addressing Claire.

"First time for everything, right? Current theory is that the jump drive's done something to your architecture. Caused a programming glitch. I know you don't want to believe him, but it's true."

He reached out to Topher, motioning for him to hand over the gun. "We've established that everyone wants to punch Topher in the face. I want to punch Topher in the face. But my desire to have everyone walk out of here alive outweighs my urge to punch him in the face. He's done nothing but hold up his end of the deal--he fixes the gun so he can fix the glitch, and then you two get to destroy the aforementioned gun in, ah. Whatever way you see fit. So let's get on with that."

Topher remained planted behind Wheatley and nearly snapped out something vicious, because both of them were being complete idiots right now, but then suddenly reason and logic happened.

And, really, Topher, being the only one in the room that ought to be aware that Wheatley and making situations better was not something that happened all the time (if ever), just had to stop his hissing and spitting mid-hiss and spit, and just look down at his friend with surprise... and a little bit of confusion.

"You are actually way better at this than you think," he murmured. Then part of that speech caught up with him and all surprise vanished, replaced with PURE OFFENSE. "...Minus the punching me part."

Still he coughed up the gun, anyway, mentally sending big, hopeful nerd prayers up to Space Jesus that Wheatley didn't... hit any buttons on that thing. Although, he'd actually deactivated it a few seconds ago just in case someone decided to do just that and half the room ended up drooling onto the chrome- one still couldn't be too careful with the way this stupid ordeal kept escalating.

"See? Everyone wins. And- and it's not even the first time and you know it. Look at Sierra and Victor and November when they got drugged. I think you remember that right? It led to your big wish fulfillment exercise that didn't work. Good times all around." He dropped his hands to his sides. "C'mon, Saunders, don't be so... you about this. I've had that gun in my locker since my first jump. I just... Brought it out because it was the only way to fix you."

Lies. Lies. Lies. But damned if those puppy eyes weren't trying to be convincing and it's easy to look unbearably pathetic when you're hiding behind someone all of seven inches shorter than you. "You're fixed. If you wanna keep it around in case it happens again, knock yourself out. Otherwise... set it on fire, throw it out the airlock, smash it with a hammer."

It was when Alex moved that she took noticed of him, realized he was on her side. It was-- odd. No one was ever on Claire's side. Boyd only took an interest because she was an active. And even then, he clearly had his own agenda given everything that had happened with that. "Please, Alex." She put her hand out to let him know it was okay.

And then of course Wheatley spoke and that look of pure fire and seething hate was turned on him. "Just because you're his lapdog doesn't mean you have any idea of what he's capable of. I know there was no glitch. I spent every waking moment noticing glitches and patterns in the actives." She grit her teeth, watching the tech get passed.

"How long have I been gone?" She fired the question at Topher. "You can't program that away, the gap in my memory."

"Oh, come off it," Wheatley snapped, raising his voice his ability to play diplomat rapidly dwindling.

"Yeah, you're an expert, we know. Are you an expert on the bloody jump drive, too? On space? On a ship that wants to kill us? Are you confident enough in your apparently boundless knowledge of interstellar travel to be absolutely sure that whatever supernatural anomalies floating about on this one-way ticket to space hell would have no effect on an active? Oh, yeah, sure, it can rip me out of my body and shove me in another one no problem, but there's no way it could possibly mess with your brain."

He was vaguely aware that getting angry would do nothing to help the situation, but then again, helping situations wasn't exactly what he was programmed for. The only good thing, he supposed, was he'd managed to twist the lie so many times that it wasn't even a lie anymore, not to him.

"Making another rule, right now. Putting it right up there with there's no need to get accusatory. New rule is don't assume."

That was something that set him on edge--the implication that he didn't know what he was getting into as far as Topher was concerned. They'd been over it more times than he could count, and in another jump or two, he'd be the one sitting in the chair, letting Topher poke around in his brain, and he couldn't stand being told he didn't know anything about it.

"I know exactly what he's capable of, thanks."

With that, he slammed the gun on the table before retreating back to his spot in the corner, sending an emphatic gesture Topher's way as if to invite him to answer Claire's question.

Topher blinked a few times before it caught up to him that he was supposed to be answering a question. He shook off his surprise (and actual genuine relief that someone actually stood up for him, because the ever increasing paranoia that he'd messed things up beyond repair had started to hit him- it was becoming just like home in the worst ways) and stepped forward, swallowing his pride and his fear and his anger and tried to be calm and rational, like soothing an angry tiger.

"He's right, you know," he said. "You can't predict these things. I can't predict these things. These nanites?" He pulled down the sleeve of his shirt. "They aren't just for show. They're living machines and they've got enough of a hardline into the brain to futz up all kinds of things. Just think for a second."

No, he couldn't program that away and he never intended to not explain it. "You were out for about a week. I had to fix the freakin' gun. It got... busted when it was brought onto the ship, I guess. It wasn't syncing right or-or I don't know. Either way, I fixed the problem. You're fixed. And this-" He snatched the gun off the table, dropped it on the floor and kicked it over to Claire, "-is all yours. It's done. Be mad all you want, but there's no conspiracy." He broke into a slightly crazy laugh and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hey, assholes, how about you two shut the fuck up? Because you're both fucking liars." Alex's hands glowed red for a moment, before he forced himself to calm down. He shot Claire a look. He didn't care if she wanted him to back down--she might not remember, but he did.

"First off, it was closer to two weeks. Second, if you don't tell her the truth, eventually, I swear to fucking God I'll give you the worst migraines of your life. Or I'll melt your faces off, depending on my control level." Which was at dangerous levels of 'low' right now.

Moving to shove Topher hard (hoping to push him into Wheatley), he crossed back over to Claire. "Whatever. I'll tell you what I know, later." Out of hearing of them, out of their own spin. She could take it for whatever it was. "And I'll destroy that thing for you, too."

She didn't care what Wheatley or Topher said. Even after looking at her arm. She knew she had never glitched, not back at the Dollhouse and not here. Not once. She tried to keep Alex back, but he was leaving. Her eyes looked from him back to the gun then to Topher and Wheatley.

"I know what I know. You can fool the rest of them into thinking you're some cute neurologist that uses his hands far too much when he talks. But don't forget, I know what you've done, the lack of a conscious you have. I hope your little expirament worked, whatever it was." She may have gotten that part wrong, but if Topher would so easily give up his tech to be destroyed, there had to be more out there.

She picked up the gun, handing it to Alex. "Burn it." She didn't want to see it, be reminded of what she was. She looked back at Wheatley, still glaring. "Have fun being his lapdog, but don't be surprised if you get burned."

She had enough of this. She didn't know where she was going, but it was going to be out of there.

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What you don't know won't hurt you. Maybe the lies are true.

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