Arm Yourself

Kristen Kyers squinted at the photo she had been given. Being an "investigator" wasn't really something she had signed up for, so to say she feigned interest for many of the important duties required from her newfound whistleblower position was a gross understatement. She had never signed up to be someone's scapegoat for a project or otherwise. She had that in common with the woman she managed to get an interviewer with.

"So, wait. He didn't even try to sleep with you before sacking you?" Kyers inquired, unsure how to feel about the honor.

"No, not even a little. He even called me slop," replied Darcy, who sat down opposite Kristen.

Darcy Ellis's apartment was... less than organized. Clutter crowded every corner in a crude display of neglect that Darcy seemed particularly unwilling to change. While Kristen didn't take her firing well, Darcy looked downright depressed, donning a few unwashed pajamas with slight stains as she poured her coffee, accumulating more with her unsteady hands. To call it a pigsty would be to disrespect filth. Kyers nearly cursed under her breath, realizing she was thinking like Dante "The Custodian" Cormack. Still, she could agree with him on one thing: Darcy sure managed to be repulsive sometimes.

"Well, I'm sure he didn't mean it..."

Kristen's pathetic attempt to remedy some of the pain was met with a skeptical glare by Darcy, humorless in her stoicism.

"Okay, he might've meant it, but you shouldn't get wrapped up in it. He isn't worth it. Besides, I'm here to talk business, not just for an axe to grind at Dante."

"Yeah, I get it," Darcy muttered before taking a sip of her coffee, knowing what Kristen was really here for.

"There are rumors," she began, "that before you got canned, you actually saw the person beneath the mask."

An uneasy silence lingered in the air between them as Darcy stared into her cup trying to avoid the photograph Kristen slid in front of her before her eyes rested upon it.

"All you have to do is tell me if this is him. Yes or no," Kyers added. Darcy looked at the photo intensely, every muscle in her face deliberately still as she stared. That was him.

That was The Chameleon.

---

There was a cool breeze atop the XWF Headquarters as The Chameleon stared off into the distance from the rooftop. The sun was setting, just nearing when it would sink beneath the horizon and leave a cloak of darkness across the sky. The thing about beautiful sunsets is that you have to savor them as they occur, thought The Chameleon. You never get to watch the same sunset twice and the sky is never quite the same again. Their eyes peered at the mix of amber and crimson, swirling and blending in ways artists struggled to portray and pictures never could capture. A voice called out behind them.

"Chameleon."

The Custodian's tone was that of tinted glass, his gaze uninterested in the all too familiar sight of the coming dusk, preferring to stare daggars through The Chameleon. Ever since the rematch with Marf approached, The Custodian had become a tad more obsessive. A desperate need for perfection that always persisted underneath beginning to bubble towards the surface.

"It is almost time for you to prepare for this... exhibition you've set for yourself."

"I need to know something, Dante."

The Custodian shot a glare at Chameleon, disapproving of the use of his name.

"Why this match? Why Marf? The real reason."

With a steady pause, The Custodian contemplated leaving their question suspended in air, but decided against the need for such vagueries, especially this near the culmination of the project.

"Because he was meant to be TC-00; the prototype to what you have become, or rather are about to become."

The Chameleon nodded slightly, realizing just how close the end really was.

"So, when this is all over, I'll be a shell. A personality devoid puppet that you can throw at people you hold grudges against like Marf? That's what this was all about?"

"Far from it, Chameleon," walking to The Chameleon's side, The Custodian placed his hands behind his back, looking outward as if past the sunset and towards something deeper and farther away. "This is about guided evolution. What is your experience with the concept of transhumanism?"

"Isn't that just sci-fi bullshit that people take too seriously?"

"A foolhardy assumption. Transhumanism is merely the evolution of the human species through the sciences and technologic advancement. It is an accurate worldview even from the vantage point of our times. Consider the diseases we have managed to eradicate with modern medicines. The idea of genetically engineering our kin to never worry again of birth defects or cancers."

The Chameleon quipped back, an ounce of annoyance in their words.

"Bold of you to pretend about cancer when you're letting a woman die from it."

"Ms. Ellis's sister is a victim of a flawed humanity and disease. If anything, I am a part of the solution, not the adversity she faces."

"You cut off her main means of financial support for treatments. What the hell do you mean?"

The Custodian smirked, a disgusting pride in his lips as they curled.

"If you had existed prior to all this, Chameleon, then I can assure none of this would have occurred. Do you know how many years I spent as a psychiatrist, supplying the most banal of advice to those who could hardly apply it? It didn't matter that they weren't crumbling at a genetic level, the issues with their behavior, their perspectives, etcetera were all too numerous and suffocating. But, if the most positive traits of others can be easily emulated through forms of technological learning and simulation, if imperfection of the mind can be eliminated as thoroughly as imperfection of the genes promises to be, then we will not need to worry about a world where some focus on lives of complete and utter pointlessness and instead discover cures to cancer and the other disasters that plague us as a species. I am not a cruel man, despite what you take me as, I merely see the truth others are afraid to acknowledge. That weakness is something that can be identified and eradicated and it is a moral necessity to do so."

Chameleon gulped, the horror in their expression clear from their wordless shock, even behind the mask.

"You can't be serious... what about the imperfections that make us what we are?"

"I am and you know better than anyone why I'm correct. When you came to me, you were a sniveling, broken boy, shattered into a thousand pieces by the need to be the things people saw you as. The truth is that you've been more coherent, relevant, and capable in this formless shape. Imagine having to go back to be that person. You are incapable of it. This is the better option and after March Madness, once your triumph over my most shameful failure has been achieved, then The Chameleon will merely be a treatment that the more imperfect can purchase to become more like those they admire. To wipe away the things that cause them to be so flawed and destructive. If you fail here, Chameleon, you'll be right back where you were. You don't want that, do you? What would your father think?"

Another gust blew past, the jacket of The Chameleon raising in its wake as they continued to stare outwardly. They knew the answer to the question, but they didn't want to believe it.

"...I've been slipping back."

"Elaborate."

"I can feel my personality trying to seep in. It has since the malfunction in the simulation chamber. Like the more I try to supress these feelings, the more they keep returning. I can see my entire life stretched out in front of me and I don't know what the next step is, but I know I can't leave business unfinished while I'm still here. While a part of me is still me."

"So, you will allow the procedure that allows us to fully erase the final bastions of this unpleasant form that is "you," so to speak?"

"Yes, but I need something in return."

The Custodian tilted his head, turning to The Chameleon without a word.

"The cut of my pay goes to Darcy."

"Surely you jest," The Custodian forced a soft chuckle, hoping it might inspire some copycat behavior, but finding The Chameleon as unchanging as their mask.

"No. I mean it. I'll do all this, but you pay Darcy that cut. Her sister isn't going to die while I have a word in."

"So be it. Enjoy your remaining hours with this view. As I understand it, this view was a dream of yours when you were a child. Cherish it while you still value such frivolous things and I will prepare your final trial of emulation if you have yet to choose one," The Custodian began to walk towards the door that led back into XWF HQ, leaving The Chameleon to their thoughts before a few more words left their mouth.

"Well, unfortunately, Dante, I have chosen one."

"And?"

The Chameleon's tone went soft as they inhaled, "I'm going to defend a few people in Wrestler's Court."

The Custodian scoffed, baffled by such a decision, but unwilling to argue as he stepped through the door, letting it shut loudly behind him. The feelings of self were all back now, but they didn't have to linger for much longer. The Chameleon stared out at the dusk began to set in more firmly, the bright oranges being replaced with darker shades as the sun turned into a glowing, hot sliver of light that peeked out only barely. And the moment, like all others, was fleeting. The Chameleon took a breath and placed a hand to their mask, ripping the damned thing off for an equally brief moment, opting to stare at the horizon's beauty with his own eyes.

March Madness was nearing. Marf was nearing. All that was left was some time to do a little good before the night snuffed out the rest of him.

---

"That's not them," Darcy responded, careful to make her tone as natural as possible, "Looks like your informant got you the wrong person."

Kristen narrowed her eyes, asking again, "Are you so sure? Take a closer look. Oh, and remember, when this story breaks, you stand to make a lot of money that you could probably make good use out of."

Darcy inhaled deeply, her mind racing.

"I'm telling you, Kristen... that's not them. Honest."

Kyers scoffed, staring in disbelief as she took another look at the photo, desperate to try and make a compelling arguement, but instead merely getting frustrated and crumpling up the photo with a hand, tossing it away and beginning to make her way towards the door, wanting to leave this filthy, pointless place before any of it rubbed off onto her.

"Well, this was all a fucking waste. Thanks for nothing, Darce."

Darcy raised up her middle finger as Kyer's back was turned, letting the door shut behind her without much fuss at all. She walked over to the crumpled photograph and flattened it out to the best of her abilities, looking at his face again.


She sighed. She hated lying, but this was more than an adequate time for it. She gave him her word and she wasn't about to go back on it for Kristen of all people, even if she might need the money or the motivation. Even if the offer was tempting, that wasn't how her sister would want her to do things. Besides, he'd promised he'd find some way to make things right before Protocol 9 and for better or for worse, P9 was fast approaching. Darcy sat back down, pulling up her laptop from underneath the table and taking another sip of her coffee. She stared at the screen and began to plot out a few plans.

She might've been unemployed, but she had a lot of work to do. For his sake.

TO BE CONTINUED