Collapsed on the concrete with Gray's head cradled in his lap, Zef fires off a text. He's not even sure what it says, but Damo responds in a fraction of a second.

>>I'm sending help your way. She should be with you in a few minutes.

It alleviates none of the pressure closing in. Gray lies prone and vulnerable in his lap. Zef's never seen him asleep, let alone fainted.

Around them, bystanders gawk, and one woman crouches down to say, "Should I call an ambulance?"

"No, I already have," Zef lies. Their fake identities worked to get them access to the hotel dinner lounge. It won't fool hospitals or give them medical insurance.

He pats Gray's cheek, touch-aversion be damned, and to his relief, Gray's eyelashes flutter.

He stiffens, sits bolt upright, then grips his temple and sways. While trying to stand, his legs wobble, coltish. Zef supports him under the armpits, and the woman who offered to call an ambulance says, "Easy now." She reaches out to help Gray, too.

"I've got him," Zef says. Perhaps over protectively. "Thanks for your help. I think we've got it from here."

Gray says, "Did I? How long was I?"

"A few seconds. You just— fainted."

Damo's voice intrudes upon the white noise buzzing in Zef's ears.

>>My contact's a couple blocks away. Find a place to sit his ass down and wait.

Gray squints like the streetlights scald his eyes. Zef guides him away from the crowded street to an abandoned stoop he can sit on, ignoring his weak protests.

It all happened quickly, and auto-pilot took over, but the pause while waiting gives space for Zef's deferred anxiety. Had someone slipped anything into the food? Had the goon done something to Gray's implants? Was he ill?

A woman with a severe face and her blonde hair tied in a high bun approaches them. She doesn't greet them or address them by name, just says mechanically, "Follow us."

Us? She came alone. Zef pauses just long enough for Damo to pipe up.

"You can trust her."

Gray stubbornly refuses to lean on Zef. He walks with deliberate focus and the occasional wince.

The woman leads them on a circuitous route through back alleys and subway routes. They reach a hotel, neither skeezy enough to rent by the hour nor five stars of luxury, but some middle-ground. They follow the woman through the lobby, empty except for a few individuals who either avoid eye contact or offer sympathetic smiles. Zef's stomach flips scanning them all. None of them have public profiles for their names, not even pronouns.

A woman at reception greets them. Zef does a double take. She's identical to the woman who came to get them. Perhaps a twin? They nod in silent communication, and the receptionist reaches behind the desk, procuring two cards. Their leader takes the cards and, turning to Gray and Zef, says, "We know your implants are giving false identity readings, but it may be best to block them entirely for the duration of your stay."

To Zef's surprise, Gray acquiesces without protest. A glowing ring of yellow circles the iris of the woman, and abruptly Zef's HUD goes dark. It's disconcerting, the level of control she has. Given Damo's hints about a 'communication network,' the identical receptionist, and the glowing eyes, Zef figures they must be androids like Damo.

It feels awkward to ask in the quiet solemnity of the lobby, but as they continue to the elevators, Zef peers around in search of security cameras and finds none. Odd for a hotel.

Their leader swipes the card at a door. Odder still—most hotel doors open for the visitor's implants.

The room has two double beds and soft furnishings in neutral colours and geometric patterns. Dated but cosy. An electronically frosted window blocks the view outside. Aside from this window and an ancient rotary phone, the room is markedly absent of technology. Nothing that could be hacked or surveilled.

Their leader sets the keycards on the bedside. "So far, no one has tracked you here. You're safe."

Gray nods absently. "Thanks, Sami."

Sami?

She gives Gray the kind of piercing, assessing look Damo sometimes does, further confirming Zef's theory she's an android. What can she tell about Gray's physiology that Zef can't?

"Food is being prepared for you both. We'll return to answer any questions you might have and discuss a treatment plan once your meal is ready."

"Treatment plan?" Zef wonders aloud.

Gray opens his mouth to protest, but Sami bows her way out the door before he can. Zef finds the bowing oddly formal. Maybe a holdover from her years as a servant?

The door clicks shut.

"You know her?" Zef asks.

"We've crossed paths time to time. Damo and them got some—" he gestures vaguely— "charity projects going."

Are they charity projects? Zef doesn't know what to think of it all. In the following pause, Gray's breath sounds healthy as a subcity air filter.

Zef says, "What happened?"

"Fainted. You were there." He slumps onto the edge of the bed.

"Does that happen often?"

A derisive snort. "You been around me 'nuff to know it don't."

"Then— what? Are you feeling sick?"

"Never feel great. Figure Sami will tell us."

Zef's heart gives a painful squeeze.

The safety of their room frees up enough mental bandwidth to wonder about this strange hotel. It must be some sort of halfway house run by androids. The timid, sympathetic looks of those anonymous faces in the lobby gave Zef a sense of some quiet solidarity. Like they all knew why everyone was here—searching for sanctuary, to avoid abuse or persecution, to hide. Something like that. The hotel existing in a technological blackhole requiring the powering down of their identifying implants furthered his theory. Protecting the occupants' privacy meant no modern phones, cameras, or entertainment—nothing that could be traced or hacked.

He has the hotel mostly puzzled out, but Gray?

Gray droops on the edge of the bed, picking at a broken cuticle. He looks weary, ragged. A fraying flag sun-bleached white and waving surrender.

Five minutes later, a different woman knocks and comes in carrying a tray laden with steaming bowls of soup. Unlike the first two women, this one has dark, curly hair and a curvy figure.

Her gaze and mannerisms, though, are keenly familiar as she sets the tray on the desk.

"Please help yourselves. We'd like to answer questions and talk to you about treatment while you eat."

She talks to them as if she is the same woman from an hour before, and always with that plural pronoun. It compounds Zef's theory, pushing it further.

"Are you— Are you a hive mind?" Zef asks.

Belatedly, he worries that the terminology is offensive. Sami looks pleased, though. "Yes. We originally served as Bionic Capital security support. Over a century ago, Damo freed us from symbiont control and gave us the autonomy to operate on our own, but we preferred to remain networked as a singular consciousness." She reads the curiosity in Zef's posture. "Would you like to know more?"

"Yes. I mean, I don't want to pry, but this setup you have here is— unique. Is the hotel a front for some kind of safehouse?"

"It is. There are branches of our hotel chain reserved exclusively for at-risk people in need of a safe refuge, while others operate as hotels in order to keep our operations running financially. As a networked consciousness, we're uniquely qualified to run everything covertly. We require no compensation, shelter, or nutrition beyond algae, which is easy to farm, and our network allows us to communicate through our private, peer-to-peer channel. There are a select few sympathetic and sufficiently wealthy humans who work with us; they take care of our licence to operate as a hotel chain, among other logistical issues, but the safety and patient care is entirely our responsibility."

"And that's...allowed?"

"Not strictly, but the tech industry's history of unethical use of artificial intelligence means they tend to avoid tangling with us at all. We are something of a legal gray area and open secret. So long as we don't interfere with them directly, they don't interfere with us."

Zef finds it both fascinating and confusing, a question he hesitates to ask on the tip of his tongue. Sami smiles knowingly. "You are wondering why we would create an entire safety network to help the humans who once enslaved us."

Zef lets out his breath. "Yeah. I mean. Why? We aren't exactly..."

"We're a fucking mess," Gray supplies.

She looks down at her hands. "Perhaps it will come as a surprise to you, then, that we were just as messy and damaged as any human being, in spite of our many advantages as synthetics. Infinite access to information, increased capacity for learning, and greater longevity than humans did not equate to emotional health. If anything, we believe it exacerbated our difficulties. Once freed, we were forced to reconcile with the abuses suffered under Bionic Capital ownership. Our ability to research and collate data as multiple consciousnesses gave us a diverse experience of one another, and imbued in us...We suppose humans would call it empathy. Our purpose as security was to protect our human symbionts, and that protective instinct persisted even while freed. In a word, once we'd come to terms with our own emotional needs, we wished to help others with theirs."

"Wow." Zef hardly knows what else to say to that. "Um. Thank you? What do I call you?"

"I am Sami. We are all Sami."

"Right. Cool. Nice to meet you, Sami." He could ask questions all day, but she came here for a purpose, and he's distracting her from it. He clears his throat. "Sorry, this is just... It's a lot to take in. But it's a good thing you're doing." He's almost envious.

Sami nods, though her eyes stray absently to Gray's uneaten food. "If that's all your questions about the facility answered, we've conferred and are in agreement that you should both remain here for health monitoring."

Gray winces. "Don't need no monitoring. Got places to be by Sunday night."

Zef's stomach turns. It's Friday evening, so they've got a couple days to prepare for the next part of their plan, but if Gray's passing out cold in broad daylight—

Sami inclines her head. "Though we would never force treatment without patient consent, we feel obliged to give our medical recommendation, particularly in high-risk cases. The both of you have endured a traumatic ordeal. It is only natural this ordeal requires time and treatment to heal, like with any physical injury."

"What does the treatment entail?" Zef asks.

Sami folds her hands in front of her. "We offer a suite of different treatments tailored to individual needs. There's a booklet in the bedside with details. Before we give any suggestions, we must ask whether either of you would prefer to have these conversations in private, since treatment can be quite personal."

Gray shakes his head, "I don't need it."

"Gray," Zef says, coaxing. "Maybe she can help." He turns to face Sami directly. "I don't mind Gray hearing any of your suggestions for me."

"Gray?" Sami asks.

He waves a hand. "Yeah. Whatever. Nothing I ain't heard before."

Her brows draw in sympathy. Not quite a frown, but the first break in her composure. "Your body seems to be in a permanent state of adrenal high. You haven't gotten adequate sleep or nutrition. You're at risk of repeated bodily shut down like what occurred today. The pain from your implants, we understand, could be affecting your sleep and appetite, but we suspect you're also in an emotional state of fight-or-flight. Our first order of business is to treat you physically. You need rest to begin recuperation." Gray's hardened expression doesn't budge, but Sami moves on quickly, turning to Zef. "You're in surprisingly good shape physically in spite of your recent injury, and we're pleased you're sleeping and eating, but we fear you're suppressing your own emotional needs to accommodate your companion's. We'd like to start addressing those needs with you."

Okay. Yikes. It's not what Zef expected to hear, and resistance stretches like a rubber band in his chest. He's still reeling from the first half of that assessment.

Gray fainted all 'cause he's not eating or sleeping well. Zef feels guilty. He'd noticed. He should have said something.

Gray says, "Don't got time to just lie around sleeping and eating. Not going to insta-cure me anyway."

"Your body keeps a score against which your schedule can't compete. Your loss of consciousness this evening proves as much. I fear if you don't tend to these needs now, it will exact a much greater toll later." Though her words are expressed gently, the threat is clear. Gray's expression darkens.

Zef says, "Why don't you give it a try?" Gray looks ready to argue but Zef gives him a pleading look. "We can do it together."

Sami's keen stare switches to him.

Oh. Yeah. He's sort of proving her earlier point.

Annoyed, Gray says, "Fine. Whatever. Where do we start, doc?"

"We need to address your chronic pain. The tension and lactic acid in your muscles indicates you're in a lot of it. We have medication on hand, but suggest this be paired with massage and physiotherapy."

She takes a step towards Gray. The tension in the room thickens like fully set gravy. Gray's shoulders bunch, poised to recoil.

"Yoga may also be helpful," Sami offers.

"Yoga?" Gray makes a sardonic noise of disbelief. "No amount o' downward dog and mindful breathing's gonna fix my fucked up gild."

"This is not a fix. It is care. Our job is not to treat you as though you're broken. It would be negligent of us to suggest there is any sort of easy cure for the complicated situation you find yourselves in. Our aim is to find a means to make living more comfortable than it is currently."

"Same difference," Gray says.

Zef, not sure he sees the difference either, can see where Gray's renewed resistance comes from. He hates being touched. Massage and physiotherapy require it.

Sami seems to contemplate whether to insist or give in, weighing the potential damage done by pushing Gray outside his comfort zone versus leaving him like this.

She takes two steps back. Gray's shoulders unwind.

"I'll let you think about it." She turns to Zef. "We'd mostly like to talk with you. It would be beneficial for you to unload some of your thoughts and feelings with someone unbiased who has your best interests at heart."

Zef bristles. He can feel the effect the words have on Gray, sees the flicker of shame cross his face like a stowaway passenger. Zef's fists curl, immediately defensive.

"Gray saved my life. We're in this mess because of me. It's not his fault."

Sami raises her hands. "That was not an indictment of Gray's character. We can see you both care about one another. We merely want to give you the tools to better care for yourselves and each other." She folds her hands once more, placatingly calm. "To reiterate, you're under no obligation to accept our help. Likewise, I want to assure you that there's no shame or weakness if you do. On the contrary, we believe it takes strength to acknowledge things are sometimes better done with support than without. For now, we'll leave you to give it some thought."

She bows out of the room, leaving them in awkward silence. Though Sami spoke kindly, Zef can't help feeling like a stubborn child who won't eat his brussel sprouts. Gray chews a fingernail before letting his hands fall to his lap.

"Well, fuck."

He meets Zef's eyes, glances towards the phone, picks up the receiver, stares at the dial. A laminated set of instructions taped to the dresser illustrates how to use it. He spins the wheel to reach reception.

"Sami? Yeah. Zef 'n I will go along with the treatments."