Silence stretched taut in the maintenance bay, thick enough to choke on. The only sounds were the low, resonant hum of the Probability Drive's core, the distant drip-drip of water somewhere in the parking garage abyss, and the slightly elevated whine of the energy sidearm still aimed squarely at my sternum. My own SP felt fragile, hovering at a precarious [25/80], the keypad hack having taken a noticeable toll on my already strained reserves.
The woman – sharp eyes, grease-smudged cheek, practical armor that looked like it had survived more than a few rough encounters – didn't move a muscle. Her gaze remained locked on mine, intense, analytical, searching for the punchline or the deception in my words. That faint ghost of a smile I thought I'd seen earlier was well and truly gone, replaced by focused scrutiny.
"Debug the universe's shitty code?" she repeated finally, her voice dangerously soft. There was no amusement now, only a razor's edge of disbelief. "That's your pitch? You some kind of Glitch Cultist trying to sell me salvation through technobabble? Or just plain crazy?"
"Neither," I retorted, trying to keep my own voice level despite the adrenaline still making my heart perform syncopated rhythms against my ribs. The lingering effects of the Emergency Reserve from the NOC left a faint tremor in my hands, which I carefully kept raised and open. "Think less 'prophet', more 'specialized exterminator'. Reality's throwing bugs; I swat them. On a small scale. Usually."
I needed specifics, details to anchor her attention, something concrete despite the abstract nature of my 'skill'. "Your personal gear," I said, nodding briefly towards what I guessed was a flickering personal shield emitter (visible only as a shimmer in my enhanced perception), then towards the steadily humming sidearm. "It runs clean, mostly. But there are micro-fluctuations. Inconsistent power draw, faint data echoes. Nothing critical, maybe, but not optimal. Like running an OS with memory leaks. You get used to the sluggishness, but it's still there." I paused, the effort of focused perception sending another throb through my temples. "I can perceive that kind of 'noise'. Sometimes, I can even smooth it out."
Her eyes narrowed further. The gun didn't waver, but I saw a flicker of something else in their depths – not belief, not yet, but perhaps… resonance? Anyone running high-tech gear in this reality knew the constant battle against instability.
Before she could respond, a small gasp came from behind the vehicle. Leo. "Ren," he whispered urgently, his voice cracking. "The… the entrance! That thing they blocked it with… I think it moved!"
Her head snapped towards the sound, then back to me, suspicion flaring. "Your 'easily spooked' associate seems very observant."
"Panic sharpens the senses," I deflected quickly. "Is he right? Did something move out there?"
She didn't answer immediately, her attention momentarily divided. It gave me a fraction of a second. Okay, demonstration time. Risky, especially with my SP barely registering above fumes compared to my usual capacity, but necessary.
"Look," I said, trying to sound reasonable, like explaining a printer jam instead of negotiating with a heavily armed stranger while trapped. "Forget the universe. Let's talk about this." I nodded towards her sidearm. "That hum? It's steady, yeah, but it's not perfectly clean. There's a slight harmonic imbalance, like a capacitor not quite seated right in the energy matrix."
Her eyes snapped back to mine, flinty. "You analyzing my sidearm now?"
"Just noticing the background noise," I countered. "Tell you what. Keep aiming. Don't shoot. Give me five seconds. I won't move." I braced myself internally, hoping I had enough juice left for this without passing out or accidentally making her gun explode. The latter seemed counterproductive.
She hesitated, her expression unreadable. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe desperation. Maybe she just wanted to see what kind of idiot I really was. "Five seconds," she clipped out. "You twitch, you fry."
Showtime. Closing my eyes wasn't an option. I needed to watch her reaction, and besides, [Perceive Glitch] worked fine eyes open, even if it made my head swim. I focused, pushing past the headache, zeroing in on the energy signature of her sidearm.
Visualize. The weapon glowed in my mind's eye, a compact nexus of contained energy. Found the power flow. Identified the source of the hum – not a physical capacitor, but a tiny, recursive loop in the energy regulation code, creating a minute oscillation, a resonant frequency that manifested as the steady hum. It wasn't dangerous, just… inefficient. A minor bug.
Targeted the loop. My SP bar flickered warningly. [-3 SP]. It felt disproportionately draining, like trying to run uphill through sand. Didn't have the reserves for complex untangling. Just needed to dampen the oscillation. Pushed a simple [Dampening Field] onto the resonant frequency itself. Visualized wrapping the vibrating code in a layer of mental 'soundproofing'. Muffle it. Smooth the wave. The effort scraped precious energy from my already low reserves, leaving a faint wave of nausea in its wake. [Current SP: 22/80].
The steady hum from the sidearm didn't stop, but it changed. The pitch smoothed out, losing its almost imperceptible metallic edge, becoming a purer, quieter thrum. It was subtle. Almost unnoticeable unless you were attuned to it.
Or unless you were holding the damn thing.
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Her knuckles, gripping the weapon, went white for a split second. She didn't lower the gun, but the absolute certainty in her stance wavered for the first time.
"What...?" she breathed, staring down at her sidearm as if it had betrayed her. She glanced back up at me, suspicion warring with outright shock. "...the hell did you just do?"
"Optimized your hardware's acoustic signature," I said, trying to keep the relief and the strain out of my voice. My head pounded. "Reduced energy leakage via harmonic resonance. Marginally increased battery life, probably. You're welcome."
She stared at me, then at her gun, then back at me. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the weapon, though she didn't holster it. The immediate threat level dropped from 'imminent vaporization' to 'potentially lethal scepticism'. Progress.
"Okay," she said, her voice tight. "Okay. You're not a cultist. And you're not crazy." She ran a hand through her short, grease-streaked brown hair, pushing her goggles further up her forehead, revealing tired but intensely focused hazel eyes. "What you are… is potentially useful."
Finally. "Glad we cleared that up," I said dryly. "My associate and I prefer not being vaporized before lunch. Usually."
"Lunch isn't on the menu right now," she snapped, all business again. "Leo, you said? The entrance moved?"
Leo peeked out cautiously. "Y-yeah. That big… metal slab they slid across? It scraped. Like something pushed it. Or… settled."
The woman's frown deepened, turning her attention fully to the bay entrance. "Dammit. Knew this spot was getting hot. Rival scav crews? Or something worse?" She looked back at me. "Alright, 'Debugger'. You and your friend just walked into my workshop and possibly alerted whatever trapped us in here. But…" she gestured towards the Probability Drive, "…you might be the only one who can fix her fast enough to get us out."
"Fix her how?" I asked, walking closer to the massive vehicle, drawn by the hum of its strange core. The air around it felt thick with power and instability. Even proximity seemed to drain energy.
"The reality drive," she said grimly. "It's stable enough for short hops, navigating minor Glitch-fields. But pushing it hard? Or punching through a major distortion? Lately, it's been throwing… exceptions. Nasty ones. Power spikes, spatial shear feedback, phantom energy readings." She kicked one of the massive tracks lightly. "Nearly got smeared across Zone 4 yesterday when the inertial dampeners decided to argue with local gravity about the definition of 'down'. Almost ended up folded into a pocket dimension shaped like abstract art. If we need to ram that blocker or outrun whatever set it, I need this rig running clean. Perfectly clean."
She locked eyes with me again. "You claim you can debug reality's code. Prove it. Get my drive stable. Truly stable. Do that…" she paused, glancing towards the nervous Leo, then back to me, "…and maybe we can talk about sharing fuel, ammo, and a ride out of this concrete tomb. Fail? Or try anything stupid? And the high-energy deep cleaning is back on the table. Deal?"
It wasn't much of a choice. Trapped, low on power ([22/80]), with an unknown threat potentially closing in. And this impossible machine, humming with unstable power, offering the only conceivable way out.
"Deal," I said, meeting her gaze. "But I'll need diagnostics. Schematics, if you have them. And access." I nodded towards the glowing core. "Full access."
Anya smirked, a genuine, hard-edged flash this time. "Oh, you'll get access. More access than you ever wanted." She holstered her weapon with a decisive click. "Name's Anya, by the way. Welcome to the hot seat, Debugger."
The fragile truce was set. Now came the hard part: trying to fix a reality-bending engine core while running on mental fumes, trapped in a garage with a heavily armed speed-demon and a nervous architect, with unknown entities potentially lurking just outside.
Just another Tuesday. Probably.