PMC1 - Hex and Maxwell
It was after midnight and outside there was a miserable rain, too hot to be refreshing. Hex sat inside the People's Med Center 1, a free clinic for folks without credits, or perhaps some legal reason they couldn't go to the actual Hospital, and once in a while a genuine emergency. Tonight he'd seen a woman who's baby had a bad cough and a man whose implant had gotten infected. It was black market, of course.
Hex had helped them both, then settled into his chair behind the desk to wait and watch the old CRT TV hooked to an ancient VCR. The phone was a corded landline. Even the computer they kept records on was a dinosaur.
The Center was set up that wa in purpose. Most people, the ones that knew it existed at all, assumed they lacked funding. The funding wasn't the issue. Security was the issue.
They'd been thrilled to have Hex come aboard. The field medic knew how to do most anything with the lowest tech possible. And he liked doing it. Helping people without options was something he could do in a world where he saw so much wrong in the system.
Hex had helped them both, then settled into his chair behind the desk to wait and watch the old CRT TV hooked to an ancient VCR. The phone was a corded landline. Even the computer they kept records on was a dinosaur.
The Center was set up that wa in purpose. Most people, the ones that knew it existed at all, assumed they lacked funding. The funding wasn't the issue. Security was the issue.
They'd been thrilled to have Hex come aboard. The field medic knew how to do most anything with the lowest tech possible. And he liked doing it. Helping people without options was something he could do in a world where he saw so much wrong in the system.
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"Yeah," he said. "Got me training in the water wars, and now I'm doing something good with it."
There was so much there in such a short statement. The front lines were brutal, the wounds that veterans survived were horrifying. A medic there was enhanced for speed and strength to grab the wounded and run them to safety if necessary.
And doing some good now spoke volumes about how he viewed his role in violence.
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"Gruesome," Max said, before realizing that wasn't the appropriate response.
"War, I mean," he clarifide, looking annoyed with himself. This was why he didn't say much.
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"You're not wrong, mate. Don't be sorry," he said.
They crossed the street to a chip shop. Hex didn't go in, though. He opened the door past the window to a stairway.
"Mine's on the top," he said. "A bit of a climb. Come on."
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Max followed along, and it was hard not to admire Hex as they climbed the steps. He was fit and broad, a handsome face to match.
The thought made him look away. Watching his feet as he climbed the steps instead. Hex seemed too gentle a soul, Max only danced with monsters.
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On the third floor, Hex opened the door blocking the stairway.
Inside was a museum. Old tech from bicycles to fans to ancient stereos were all around. The whole floor was his, clearly.
"Make yourself at home. I'm going to wash up, yeah?" he said. "The bed is through there if you want to lie down..."
He vanished into the loo.
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It was a bit overstimulating, and Max wandered to the bedroom in hopes it was a bit more empty in there. It was all fascinating, but Max struggled when there was too much going on.
Sitting on the bed, he put the bag on the floor and touched the bed and it's linens.
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Hex was our of the loo in five minutes, almost on the dot. He came out with a towel wrapped around his waist and headed straight to the kitchen to grab a protein shake.
He listened carefully, sure when he didn't hear anything that Max had taken his offer to sleep.
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Max was awake though, not sure what to do with himself. Eventually he emerged, taking in the space again, then looking at Hex himself.
"Why are you so nice?" He asked bluntly.
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Hex looked at him and gave a shrug.
"The world is shitty enough. Kindness is radical, yeah?" he said.
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"Perhaps," Max said, though he didn't seem convinced of that fact. In his opinion, kindness was often a weakness.
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"You'd be surprised how right I am," he chuckled.
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Hex tossed his cup in the sink and nodded for Max to join him in the bedroom. He shamelessly dropped the towel to pull on some pyjamas, then melted into bed.
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Max nodded slightly, following along.
Hex was so chatty- It was nice. Max never said much himself, but he sort of liked listening to others speak. It was a reminder that the world wasn't only made up of bastards.
Without thinking too much about it, he started to undress, leaving his clothes draped over a chair. Pale skin was marked with old wounds and fresh bruises. Scars and marks wove a tale of a violent past, from what looked like small burns, to what was definitely a healed bullet wound. It also put a few of his enhancements on display, including an old fashioned cart port. A tiny thing just above his hip that once had been used to run fantasy programs at the sex clubs in New Soho. They had been banned years ago, replaced with sex bots, holograms, and augmented reality. Maxwell had apparently never had his removed though, and given how long it had been since they'd been banned, he'd likely had it installed quite young.
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Hex watched him undress and noticed the port. His eyes widened.
"Say, those are rare," he said. "Is it still functioning?"
His interest had little to do with using it. He had shelf space for a port like that...
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Max put a hand over it, almost defensive.
"It works perfectly," he said quietly.
It also explained his miss-matched upgrades. Everything installed had some kind of backwards support for the banned port- Even if some had to be activated manually.
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"If you ever want to sell it, let me know. We can even remove it safely," he said.
He budged up a little when he realized he was all over the bed.
"...Do you, erm, use it?" he asked curiously.
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Max hesitated, then slowly settled on the other side of the bed.
"I do. I've learned to make custom cartridges even."
It helped, he found, when it came to hunting down men who wished to do others harm. The kind of men not shy about throwing a punch were the same sort who seemed to think there was nothing hotter than a living sex toy.
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"Boss," he replied. "I've never had any head for coding. Always wanted to, but the lines get jumbled in me eyes. I met a bloke who had one at a club. I thought it sounded amazing. Safer now, augmented reality...not the same, though..."
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"They're becoming rare. Not meant to have one," Max noted, settling on his side and watching Hex.
Most men he wound up in bed were salivating when they saw it, demanding a go. Not Hex though. That was interesting.
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"They outlawed them a while ago. You must have been young," he noted.
No judgment.
"I mean, I was only sixteen when the Army fixed me up," he added, a sweet, lopsided smile curving his mouth as he rolled his arm to show Max the scar of the nanite injection site. "...Not the same, I know..."
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"Just a different kind of survival," Max assured him. "You'd be surprised how alike it likely is."
Reaching, slender fingers touched the injection site. It was gentle, and his hands were cold.
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"Do you ever regret it? I don't. It got me out, yeah?" he said, looking down to where Max's fingers chilled his skin.
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"I didn't have a say," Max shrugged, withdrawing his hand and getting comfortable.
"You should rest. You worked late. ...I wont touch anything," he promised.
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"Aw, mate...touch anything you like," Hex chuckled as he rolled over and settled in.
In just a little more than a minute and he was already asleep. Hard asleep.
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