A Far Distant Shore

((From => Convenient Tides))
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The sounds of distant screams and cheers faded into a background of bustle and general activity that itself gave way to the regular crash and roll of waves as the sun beat down with relentless force. They were sitting in the shade provided by a small beach-side cafe table; Rogan took occasional sips of an iced fruit drink while Lyntael enjoyed the cool sea breeze and watched to crowds of people going about their lives.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let her other senses take in the atmosphere; the coastal beaches here went on and on and on, a paradise for surfers the world over. Beach culture was in full force, with barefoot locals and eager tourists alike moving about the relaxed cityscape that, for all its arching skyscrapers and bustling streets, never managed to feel more than a stone's throw away from somewhere to kick back and take in the more natural elements of beauty. Another chorus of screams rolled out, on cue, as somewhere in one of the nearby theme-parks one of the tall, fast-moving rides entranced another load of passengers.

She wanted to go down to the sand, and feel it between her toes, maybe go for a swim, and mingle with all the people who managed to enjoy this situation most days of their lives. It was easy to spot the locals from the tourists, once you got your eye in – despite how casual they looked, the locals generally wore broad hats, sunscreen and took numerous other precautions against the beating sun; many tourists did not, and she had already seen dozens of baked red and blistering holidaymakers paying for their hubris. She'd read that the sun here was worse – the UV penetration was more extreme than anywhere else in the world... so even people who travelled from places that regularly saw the same temperatures ended up underestimating it. When she'd read that, it had seemed like an over-reaction, but just one day people-watching here had been enough to show the truth of it.

The breeze was nice, though. Lyntael stretched with a long sigh and lay back on the wood of the tabletop with a content smile. Best to enjoy the relaxation while she could; it wouldn't last much longer. Rogan was waiting on communication from a contact he only rarely made use of; a strange, reclusive person for the most part, but one whose capabilities for digital infiltration and data retrieval surpassed Rogan's, and probably even Eric's by a fair margin. She'd only ever known Rogan to refer to them by their call name – Chaotic Crisis – and she'd never known them to meet in person; just designated times and places, and exchanges of information and favours carried on the back of other innocuous activities. Beside her, Rogan took another sip of his drink and glanced at the PET's clock.

“Are you ready, Lyntael?” She sat up then stood, stretching again as she walked back towards the device's screen.
“I kind of don't want to go, but, yes.”
“Good, I'm going to be jacking you in to visit two specific locations, down to very precise co-ordinates, and then from there, you're to visit the program that operates the bounty system and collect a new objective for the rogue nets.” Lyntael nodded; it sounded like the sort of coded check-in they'd done before.
“Ah, for which net, sir?” She glanced up at him, pausing before she touched the screen to return to her room. Rogan tilted his eyes down to meet her and raised an eyebrow.
“I'll give you a choice, Lyntael... This is about training you, so, I can send you out long range to the Sharo nets again... or I could just jack you in here, but, I'll have to push you harder.” He chuckled softly. “No shirking with your friends this time – last contact I had, the Ezarith's are dealing with a somewhat serious issue of their own at the moment.”

Lyntael glanced back out towards the rolling surf a short walk from their cafe shade. This was important, she knew, but... the thought of going back to the freezing cold of Sharo – cute winter clothes or not – just seemed too unappealing right now.

“I'd really rather stay here, if that's okay. I know what I need to do, I'll stay focused, I promise.” above her, Rogan nodded, then tilted his head in a direction that suggested the screen. Lyntael nodded in return then stood on the interface and let herself slip through back to her own home.

The sudden cool of the interior air was sharp, almost enough to make her shiver for a moment, but she moved quickly, gathering a few things and making sure sh was ready for the next excursion. A scattering of different feelings were present, as they always were now – nerves, trepidation, excitement and daring, all meshed together as different parts of her remembered feeling different ways about the conflict that was sure to follow soon. Rogan's voice came to her a few moments later as she stood by the screen, looking out.

“Alright, Lyntael... hold a moment...” she watched the seconds tick past until they reached forty-seven past the minute, then felt Rogan punch the command that whisked her away onto the greater net.

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((To => Coastal Paths))

Between keeping an eye on Lyntael's combat progress and ordering the exchange of information he'd received from his contact, Rogan contemplated the more fine-tuned statistical values the PET was showing him. He'd noticed it, on closer inspection from time to time, and where once the overwhelming array of data had been frustrating and off-putting, he'd been doing his best to take the time to make sense of the bits of it that had eluded him previously. She seemed to grow on her own, and had always done so, gradually, and rather than the physical upgrades in the PET providing her a boost, their limits actually seemed to be what constrained her at times.

He frowned as he looked at the screen, then glanced about the sunny, beach-side cafe location where he was currently settled. No nearby branches, but there would probably be a nearby dispatch at least, for remote orders. With a few cautious taps, Rogan started to scan for a suitable private courier service in the area.

It was only a handful of minutes, while Rogan sipped his drink and watched the crowds on the nearby beach, before his order bore fruit. He caught the yellow and blue uniform that matched the company's logo, from the edge of his peripheral and cast his eyes sideways to see a woman with a delivery satchel moving through the thoroughfare towards his cafe, and then start looking at table numbers. He returned to monitoring his PET and waited for her to find him.

"Excuse me, sir?" Rogan glanced up at the sound of the querying voice. The girl was already pulling two small parcels from her satchel and conferring with a data pad. She looked up again a moment later. "Would you be Charles Brown, sir?" Rogan just nodded and reached out to take the data pad and the offered stylus as she offered them. "Good morning, then. I've got some PET upgrades here, two customisers and two process upgrades, is that correct?" Rogan finished signing the stand-in name and handed the data pad back with a smile.

"That's right, thank you for the quick delivery. I'll be sure to use your company again." She grinned and shrugged in return, before setting the good down on his table an shouldering her satchel again.
"No worries, sir, it's what we do. Hope the rest of your day goes well, it's going to turn into a real scorcher out here by afternoon."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again." With a last acknowledgment, the courier turned and retreated back into the crowds, and Rogan began unpacking the products. He glanced at the screen of his PET and checked on Lyntael's status. He could probably apply these quickly enough without disturbing her. With once last quick glance at the screen, Rogan flipped it over and got to work.

It was, he had to admit, a strange feeling. Rogan continued to work, sorting information and doing research in innocuous ways that couldn't raise any kind of suspicion, but as he kept one eye on Lyntael's progress and activity, he was keenly aware that his other tasks were mostly busy-work. It wasn't like a stake-out, or waiting for a particular moment in a plan – here it was just... as though he were relaxing, with little to do, and the sensation was borderline uncomfortable. Lyntael would probably tell him that he'd forgotten how to relax, or take time for himself. He glanced at the screen again, a wry twist at one corner of his lips. Perhaps he couldn't even claim she'd be wrong.

It was hard to accept though, not when they had serious, dangerous and important work on the horizon. This was still preparation for that, after a fashion, but it didn't stop it feeling like an excuse for being unproductive. Lyntael needed to grow comfortable with herself and what her capabilities were now, after everything that had happened, and since she still needed to work alone, it left him little to do but busy himself with background activity.

He took another sip of his drink and looked out over the sunny beach front and the rolling waves beyond. The cool breeze and shade from the baking heat; milling throngs of tourists and beach-goers, the regular sounds of theme-park rides and their over-excited passengers... Yes, it definitely felt like making an excuse for being lazy. The drink even had a thin slice of lemon in amongst the ice. After another moment, Rogan looked at the PET screen again, while Lyntael held her ground and addressed the hostiles around her.

“Lyntael... it will be very difficult for you to assess your combat strength if you try to avoid every fight.” A part of him understood that she was trying to work out more than just her fighting capabilities, but it still left him feeling like her current path of resolutions wasn't really getting her anywhere. She spoke back without relaxing her stance or growing distracted from what was before her, her words a more clear articulation of what he'd suspected she'd say. He caught himself sighing softly, then stopped and refocused, looking at the situation again.

Despite the mounting danger, the girl before him was still calm; her heart rate was up, and her bio-metrics – which he was gradually getting better at reading – suggested that she was still a little tense, and a little nervous... but she looked confident and in control all the same. Not the terrified but determined brave face she would try to show in the early day, nor the reckless anger and aggression she'd began to display after.... his thoughts still skipped articulating it, even in his mind. After. It really was different to see.

Rogan glanced up and nodded, tapping the now empty glass as a name-tagged young woman stopped by the table to collect it and ask if he'd like anything else. Once she left, Rogan returned his attention to Lyntael's screen, listening as she gave an ultimatum to another group of viruses on her trek. He cleared his throat.

“Actaully, Lyntael...” He spoke a correction to her, but even as he reminded Lyntael about her very real bounty hunt, he knew that the issue wasn't really much of one. He wasn't bothered by it, or by her resistance to pursuing it, not really... it just made it feel like they were doing something more productive. There was a feeling that he couldn't quite place as he watched her; even if he felt it was pointless effort and a waste of time, seeing her act with the confidence to give those second chances, and, he had to admit... after everything he'd put her through, still with the heart to give them as well... He wasn't really sure what the spark of feeling was, but it brought another hint of a smile to his features. Still, the danger increased the further she went with open palms. He amended his initial correction as, sure enough, the nearby viruses seemed uninterested in words. “And you're only endangering yourself by not quelling the immediate threats swiftly.” Lyntael answered as she fought, her voice level despite a slight panting of exertion.

“Maybe... But that's my choice this time, and I'm making it.” Rogan felt a sharp lurch in his chest and he winced at her words. Choice. Choice was what it always came down to; you can't be free unless you can make your own choices, and you can't make your own choices unless you have choices to make. He and Eric had both made choices in pursuit of true freedom, and as proof of their ability to exercise it. Choices that had left ruin in their wake, and blood on his hands. He pushed the unwanted memories away.

His eyebrows drew down slightly as he watched the fight she'd been pulled into; despite the situation, the girl wasn't acting against the viruses around her; instead, he watched her methodically bring down the defences that had forced them into the cage match situation in the first place. The unwelcome memories pressed at the edges of his thoughts again as he listened to her speaking.

“This fight isn't any of yours, and it's not one you'll win. Go live your lives somewhere else... that's my offer.” She sounded a little out of breath, but sure of herself all the same. Rogan felt his brow crease as the simple, surface-level situation conjured uncomfortable parallels in his mind. Locked in and forced to fight to survive; to hurt, or to be hurt, and her choice was... to try for something different.

Lyntael had told him that she was trying to work out who she was now, and who she wanted to be... and somehow, the thought whispered in his mind, who she was choosing to be was a far better person than he had ever managed. But he knew that, didn't he? Maybe she couldn't see it for herself, but, even at her most terrified and helpless, even at her most furious and rash, with guileless authenticity she was always... his thoughts reached for a description that they couldn't pin down until they settled on the best truth they could find... she was always herself. He brushed the moment of introspection to one side and cleared his throat.

“I'll admit, that was... unexpected... But the point remains, the bounty request you agreed to is not progressed by scaring them off.” Was he diminishing what she was attempting by phrasing it that way? Probably.

“I know, I know... I just... I don't know, Rogan.” She wasn't irritated or put off by him, at least he didn't think so. It sounded more like her own thoughts were as busy as his. “I don't feel like I can just treat this all as black and white. It's supposed to be that simple, for navis and viruses, but it's just not. Maybe it was, back in the beginning, when all the programs here were simple, but I don't think any of us are any more.” It was the same thing that Eric and his other colleagues had tried to convey to him, many times over... but rather than humans insisting on behalf of navis, now it was his navigator insisting on behalf of viruses. Rogan held his tongue for an extra second or two as he watched her divert her attention, crouching to talk to the one virus that had been following her around for some time now. It's behaviour had certainly been strange, but hardly anything on the same complexity as Lyntael herself, or any of the other navigator she'd interacted with in the past. It wasn't something that he could rule out categorically any more... but even so...

“Lyntael...” He tried to pick his words carefully. “It took me far too long to understand that you are a being, in truth, and that you do indeed think, and feel, as I never permitted myself to accept. I know that you want to extend that benefit to every other program you meet, but I do not think there is another program out there on the net as unique as you.” It still hurt to say it, and he could feel sensation in his throat and behind his eyes as the admission carried memories of things he'd rather forget with them... He pushed on. “But you know that there are even whole classes of navigators out there that are known to be simple, insentient, insapient computer programs, fit to task... you can't expect to find a friend in every virus you meet. You will only get hurt doing that.” This much was true; it was a distinction he'd always scoffed at, but it existed throughout all levels of AIs, all across the world, and he'd started to pay more attention to it now. Most still classified all viruses as simple code structures without any kind of life or self-awareness, that just replicated and destroyed, as the definition of any viral program described. The friendly metool at Lytnael's feed didn't look like it cared much about those formal definitions, he had to admit.

“Maybe. These ones... they know what they're doing, I'm sure of it. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to let them continue hurting others.” Lyntael sounded... wistful, as she answered him, still looking at her new companion. It was the common crux of failure in any idealistic outlook. There often wasn't a solution that could make everyone happy, or keep everyone safe. A part of him felt certain that she wouldn't be able to hold onto that peaceful altruism forever, but he also loathed and dreaded facing the day when she sacrificed it.

“And... What will you do?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Well... I'm... watching.” He didn't really know what else to say. Perhaps she understood anyway. As he watched her push further into the ruined city before her, Rogan felt the warring perspectives struggle in his mind; she'd get hurt again, looking for solutions that eventually would not exist. It was a fool's optimism that imagined righting wrongs without also doing harm. At the same time, a small part of him desperately wanted the young girl to succeed where he couldn't.

The sounds of sunny beach-goers and excited theme-park enthusiasts continued to make a strange and discordant backdrop to the thoughts that Rogan turned over in his mind as he watched his navigator press further into danger on in her pursuit of answers to the smaller conundrum she'd happened upon during this supposedly simple outing. Once his other work had been taken care of, he'd shut down his laptop and slipped it back into his bag but now he pulled it out again, a thoughtful expression on his features. It only took a moment to shift the viewing output to the larger screen, and split it into a few different elements that the PET could normally only show him one of at a time. Most of the time, when he worked with Lyntael, it was purely through audio while his hands were full with other tasks, or else it was a glance here and there to check her status or statistics. Occasionally – though more frequently lately – he would let the view settle on the display that represented her location and surrounds in whatever network she was in, instead, and that had always been more than enough to get an idea of the girl's disposition, even if what was rendered was more of a drawn back, eagle-eyed view of her situation.

Rather than any of those elements, however, his eyes focused instead on the direct communication view – the one that was always disabled. It was a natural part of the personable intent of any interaction; the desire to see the face of the one you were talking to; but Rogan had never had any need for it really. He looked at it now. It captured a feed of her much more closely; a portrait capture intended for face to face discussion, and Rogan could see the messy, wild strands of her hair, the light dusting of faint freckles across her cheeks, and the hard expression in the deep green of her eyes.

His mind drifted back to some of the things Eric had enthused about when telling him of his 'sunseed' project. He hadn't really understood most of it, and hadn't paid much attention to the bits he could have understood. Between one soft blink and the next, he noticed that several of her delicate eyelashes were sticking together. How much had Eric designed with meticulous care, and how much had been left to chance, unknowable until it was complete?

Her expression hadn't shifted much as a different element of the screen showed him another ambush springing around her and the girl shifting into a cautious, defensive stance. She was concerned; he could see that up close. Concerned, maybe a little worried, but not frightened. There was a note of frustration too, as her gaze moved across the space around her, assessing everything in quick heartbeats of time.

“I'm going to suggest, Lyntael... not friendly this time.” He murmured the words, barely parting his lips to speak them as he watched her react. The worry wasn't for herself, he realised. It was for the metool virus that had been following her. A small crease formed at one corner of his lips. Of course it was.

She spoke with confidence; decisive and certain, without the shaking hesitation or quavering he was accustomed to hearing from her in dangerous moments. People grew and changed, they learned and were shaped by the difficulties of their lives; he knew that... but the thought in his mind persisted, bringing an echo of pain to his chest: would his Lyntael ever have grown to become this girl... could she have, if he'd only learned his own lessons sooner? If he'd been faster when it really mattered? He caught his own thoughts a moment later – it didn't help anything to think of her that way. This girl, now, was 'his Lyntael'... she'd even told him that she remembered everything... but some changes were indelible, and they were part of her story now, no matter the regrets.

Once more, as he watched, her determination to give her foes a chance gave way to an unexpected result. He had to admit, he was a little bit intrigued by the unfolding situation, even if it was largely inconsequential to anything of import. For as long as the net had existed, people had been hiding things in secret locations across it, and as more and more of their net had become increasingly unconnected to any physical data centres, the sheer malleability of ethereal data spaces had made the the hiding of things within it exponentially more needle-and-haystack... He shook his head, grinning at the thought; it was a poor euphemism these days, in truth. The near infinite possibilities let the reality far outstrip to colloquial now. Even so... A group in hiding, working on some sort of virus-based experiments. Likely one of many thousands, but still the ones they'd stumbled across. He did wonder what they were up to.

More to the point though... he watched as the cluster of viruses escorted Lyntael deeper into the city, towards whoever the mystery speak had been. With an absent curiosity, Rogan retraced and picked up the communication that Lyntael had heard, and attempted to clean it up enough to trace. Whoever the speaker was, they were close at hand, it seemed – a navigator, rather than a human operator, though they likely still spoke on behalf of one. More 'trained' viruses meant increasing danger, especially if it was giving them more time to bring other navigators into place as well. Rogan tapped a few keys and checked some of his more recent contingencies.

“Lyntael... I am watching, but are you sure about this? My instinct tells me that whether our mastermind here wishes to talk or not, you are walking into violence that grows increasingly stacked against you the longer you stave it off with words.” He was nodding along to her affirmative even before she spoke; he'd known what her response would be before he'd finished his own cautious words.

Sure enough, before they reached any kind of any actual meeting point, the escort was interrupted by something much more obviously violent and Rogan's brows drew down in focus as he took in its features. People could make navigators look like anything they wanted, of course, and to any degree of monstrous or strange if it tickled their fancy, but there was still something wild and broken about the creature.

“Hey! Easy there!” Lyntael's call came as she reached a decision in the seconds that it took her guide to 'explain'. “Back up, all of you... Come on, over here... just look at me...” She worked to get the other viruses to move clear and take the larger creature's attention herself. He wasn't surprised... even when she'd been terrified of everything, she had still preferred to risk herself rather than see others in danger. Now, with her extra confidence, it was almost a certainty.

He didn't exactly trust that anything that happened here and now wasn't some part of some bigger plan by the ones that had first attacked Lyntael... One of them needed to stay cautiously cynical, and he knew it wouldn't be her – she always wanted to trust everyone.

“Okay, fine... let's pretend I believe you for now.” Rogan had barely processed the thought when her next words reached him. Her expression was hard and untrusting as she glanced away form anyone else, clearly talking to the voice that had just asked for help. Rogan felt something sharp twist inside him for a moment and he pushed it away; it was good that she wasn't going to trust the other woman's story blindly. He should be relieved. As she kept talking, Rogan felt himself lean his head to one side, almost unconsciously as he grappled with the stance she was taking. She didn't trust that the woman was being honest with her, but she was still going to protect them. She clearly wasn't happy, in the moment, but she was certain. So certain that she was already fighting on their behalf against the creature, with barely a moment's warning.

There was a bigger problem, Rogan realised, as seconds ticked by and his navi made her stand; monstrous and insapient programs were one thing, but if this creature was as the voice had described, then there was no way that Lyntael wouldn't... He watched her dart in close and reach up to lay a hand on the creature's chest, speaking to it even as it took another swipe at her, landing blows that would have harmed her terribly if not for the defences surrounding her, but it wasn't the hits that made him wince.

“If there's anything left in there, struggling to hold onto yourself or trying to be seen... I'm here, and I'm watching, and I'm listening... And if there isn't enough, and you don't have the strength, then I'm here, and I'll be with you when it ends. You won't be alone.” Rogan grit his teeth as she spoke the words. Of course she chose to see it as a person... but even though he'd been sure of it, the words she spoke made his breath feel tight. How, after everything that she'd ended up going through, and all the things she could now remember experiencing in full... how was that what mattered most to her? The treacherous part of his heart knew the answer, of course... she wasn't directing the words at him, but he felt them anyway. It was what she'd needed, when she suffered and felt invisible. What she'd needed, and he hadn't given; what she never wanted anyone else to ever feel.

The creature didn't appreciate her concern, or so it seemed, but somehow, Rogan knew that Lyntael surely had no regrets for her effort. It struck again, shattering what remained of her defences and leaving the girl exposed to actual injury. Rogan knew that as far as navigators went, it was all just write protection buffer, and everything else was cosmetic... and he knew, too, that that wasn't quite true for his navi specifically. He saw her falter as the strikes from the creature dragged across her; unable to harm, this time... yet he could see, in her eyes and her expression, just for a moment, Lyntael was somewhere else.

“Lyntael, focus.” He wasn't going to chastise her for trying to reason with the beast, but a fight was a fight, and there was no talking her way out of this one... this was no time to be letting past events take hold. Even without that, though... there was also, he was sure, no emergency protection or special safety mechanism on the creature she was facing... the creature she was choosing to view as a person, worthy of care. Some part of him wanted to tell her to run away; to spare herself what a looming sense of dread told him was coming. If they were lucky, the program would just resolve into simple data, and it wouldn't seem any more real than anything else.

He blinked as he looked at the screen again, then checked the other elements of the display to confirm what he was seeing. Lyntael had relaxed her stance, standing still and turning her face upwards to breath, as though she wasn't in the middle of a desperate battle. She seemed... bright, on his screen. The rolling clouds had broken into pouring rain, and as she checked the spread of the effect, sure enough it was focused directly around Lyntael as its epicentre. He couldn't claim to know too much about the sorts of networks that navigators traversed, but he was... fairly sure... that manipulating a network's local weather patterns was not something that a navigator without special access was meant to be able to do. Her status had gone blank; a whiteout of static with no information, but as the creature attacked her again, its weapon passed through without connecting, as if Lyntael wasn't even real. Rogan's brow furrowed as he looked at her. No... as though the weapon wasn't. She still hadn't moved, though cracks of lightning flashed on the overview and sparks rolled off her in waves. Rogan dared to clear his throat softly on the line.

“When I said focus, Lyntael... I did mean, on the fight.” The effect was immediate, as though his words had pulled her from a trance. When she moved, it was... well, if he had been feeling poetic, he might have said she moved like wind and lightning. It took her scarce seconds to end the battle with an almost horrifying degree of precision and power. He found himself controlling the urge to flinch as the former navi died violently. So much for simple data dissolution.

Rogan couldn't help the grimace that tugged at his features as he watched Lyntael's reaction, all too familiar. Whatever trance-like state she'd been in flickered and faded and she stumbled back. With the communication view up, he could see the shock and sudden horror flash across her face, followed by the unmistakable look of someone about to throw up. He understood, intimately, what the girl in front of him was feeling and fought off the urge punch his fist into the cafe table. It wasn't right. Putting it off might have been hopeless, in the end, but he'd still hoped to spare her this for as long as possible.

Instead, he watched her lean on the wall, fighting heaves and trying to breath. It was too familiar; the taste of bile in your mouth, mixed with blood. The air, thick and foul, not enough to fill your lungs; not enough air in the air to breathe. Your own injuries forgotten in the face of what you did; too much blood and someone living now dead, by your own hand, even if you tried to tell yourself you had no choice. How he hated those words. His own mouth felt dry and his chest was tight as he drew a breath and calmed himself.

“Lyntael... listen to me. Listen to my voice.” He spoke, quiet and firm, unsure exactly where the words came from but determined to help if he could. “Focus on breathing, Lyntael. The air is clean, even if it doesn't feel that way. Just breathe.” Close by, one of the serving staff at the small cafe approached, probably to ask if he wanted anything else, but she paused when she took in Rogan's intent focus. He waved her off with one hand, and for a mercy she went. On the screen, he could see Lyntael trying to take longer breaths, eyes closed tight. “You are alright, Lyntael. Centre yourself and focus on that. Don't dwell, not for now.” There would be time to deal with your thoughts and feelings later; dwelling on the immediate action would just make you spiral. Physical calm first. Grounding and stability. “Spit if you have to, and drink if you can. It will help.” She looked like she'd staved of the retching, at least, but cleaning out your mouth would still help you feel cleaner, at least in the short term. He watched her steady herself. Good. The rest would be discomfort to deal with in safer spaces... that was always how it went.

“I'm... I'm okay. I... I just... I didn't...” Her voice was too painfully close to the nervous girl he remembered, but Rogan did his best to respond with calm reassurance.
“I know. I was not expecting that.” In his peripheral he noted the approach of another navigator... probably the voice that had guided them here. “We will talk about this, Lyntael, but not here. You have company.” It was not a conversation he was looking forward to, but now it was necessary. Rogan shook his head and pushed away the rising swell of unwanted memories, but a sense tickling in his mind whispered that trailing threads were becoming the knots of a net, and running wasn't going to work much longer.

Rogan's focus remained on his own navi as the other creature tried to explain the situation; he listened, but his eyes stayed on Lyntael, watching her struggle for calm and filter through the conversation before her with more cautious good-nature than he knew he would have managed at her age, and after what had just happened. Despite his worries, he watched her set aside her own distress and discomfort and reach out instead. The same insidious whispers of thought that had been scratching at his subconscious clawed at the back of his mind again; of course she could do that, and did it by instinct... he'd forced her to, again and again, until she was used to putting her own fears and discomfort aside for others. With a brief sigh, he rubbed at his temples with one hand. This was a little different... and it was something he really did not want to escalate before she could sort it out for herself.

“If I may...” He broke into the conversation before Lyntael could volunteer herself for more of the same. “Eurayle, was it? I do not wish for Lyntael to accrue any more blood on her hands in that way. I would spare her that, for the time being. It is not something a person should be asked to do lightly, no matter the good cause.” He tried to pick phrasing that would stop Lyntael herself from objecting to his decision, and shifted the dialogue away from the hunting of other flesh- and blood-like, life-like programs, towards firmer ground. Lyntael might normally have objected to him refusing their help to someone who asked, but this time Rogan could see that there was definitely a part of her that was quietly relieved, beneath the outward apologetic expression she showed Eurayle as he spoke for them both. She'd been tense and withdrawn until he interjected; it was subtle but definitely there to his eye, until she relaxed at his words.

At least it didn't sound like any situation that any of the people he was cautious about were connected to; another little group with their own plans, trying to make a foothold and stay out of the warpath of the bigger names. Her story about one of the mafia navis fighting one of the cybeast entities was intriguing and he filed it away, but more than anything it confirmed to him that the ones Lyntael was talking to right now weren't any really threat; just one more independent slapped down by a greater power and warned not to annoy the bigger fish.

It took another few moments for them to conclude the necessary pleasantries with the other navigator-program – Rogan wasn't quite sure if she ought to still be called that, given her current more of existence, but he had to resign himself to the idea that it was largely semantics – unoperated and abandoned navis were still called navis, even if they no longer served the purpose of navigation for an operator, after all. As if to juxtapose the thought itself, he caught the words that Lyntael was speaking to the other woman as they said their goodbyes, her voice gentle and considerate, despite everything of the past few minutes.

“...You're a person, and whatever ever else you've done with your life, whatever else has been done to you in turn, you deserve to be seen. Everyone does. Okay?” The words caught him off-guard and hit him in the chest like a solid impact. He felt himself wince, shoving down the ball of self-loathing that made itself known in the pit of his stomach once again. He knew she wasn't doing it deliberately; she wasn't directing the words at him... but he still felt them all the same. How long would it last, he caught himself wondering as he watched Lyntael begin to move on again. How long would the good natured care that she showed to everyone around her feel like weapons and blows without her even noticing? At least... he hoped she didn't notice.

Rogan sipped his drink, glancing away from the display and out over the tourist-packed beach. The silence between them lingered for long moments while he sought for something to break it with. They would need to talk about more serious matters later, but that was a conversation for privacy and safe spaces. He caught himself contemplating the strangeness of it for a moment; here he was, awkwardly seeking a conversation topic to engage his navi with, but he couldn't put his finger on why he felt the need to. They were both used to working in silence, talking only as important matters came up. Often Lyntael would talk and chatter to him outside that, and he'd humour it, but now, it felt reversed somehow, and he couldn't quite understand why. He still felt the need though. Something she'd mentioned during her talk with Eurayle rose to the surface of his mind.

“I wasn't aware you frequented any conspiracy theory sites, Lyntael...” Truth be told, he knew very little about the cybeast situation, beyond the general knowledge that most people had of the situation. He had to allow to himself that he probably actually knew a little bit less than even that, just because the oddities of strange programs rarely had any bearing on his work. He watched Lyntael shrug slightly on the screen, but the close up view of her features showed him a flicker of something else – something slightly shy. What could that be about?

“I read message boards, sometimes. I was... I was trying to read up on the net war, first of all... Aurora was involved in it, and I wanted to...” Ah. That would explain the girl's tentative reaction. This was something he hadn't had any idea or inclination of how to deal with before everything... now... now he felt like he was somehow was even less prepared, against all logic. She really ought to be talking to Eric about this; if anyone would be equipped to act as her parental figure in this it was him. Rogan swallowed and took another sip of his drink as she ventured her explanation a little further, then tried to do his best.

“You... feel affection, for them, Lyntael?” A clumsy start. It really ought to be Eric... especially since he knew full well that, in talking to him about this, Lyntael probably didn't want mature or parental advice... But then, what was she expecting of him, given how she felt?

“Um, I... I don't know. I really don't. It's... confusing.” She sounded hesitant, and he could see the first symptoms of a nervous blush beginning on her cheeks. “They're nice, and I care about them. I wonder what they're doing. I want to see them. I've had... Thoughts, feelings, you know what I mean...” Rogan fought off the urge to cough as some part of breathing and swallowing like a normal person temporarily failed him. Sudden uncertainty struck him; she'd tried to show a desire for affection to him in the past; wanted him to see her in ways he just couldn't... but maybe that had indeed changed, now; maybe she did just want advice after all? Talking about your more heated fantasies still wasn't exactly the kind of thing he felt a girl of her age should be talking to someone like him about... but... He cleared his throat.

“I'm not sure how I should feel about—”
“I love you, Rogan, I really do...” She cut him off suddenly before he could venture the thought any further. On the screen, he could see that her walking pace had picked up, her steps firm and hard; an unconscious extension of the determination to push on he could hear in her voice. “And for the longest time, I knew that that was a feeling I was throwing into the void, because you didn't see... and I hoped and wished, and told myself that if you did understand, it might be different.” More knives. He closed his eyes and turned his head away slightly, unable to keep watching her figure on the screen. What could he even say about that that wouldn't feel trite or formulaic?
“Lyntael, I—”
“Let me finish, please.” Again, she cut over him; her voice wavered and he could hear the threatening of a wet crack in it. Without looking at the screen he could imagine her clenched jaw and hard expression. Internally, Rogan tried to brace himself for the rest of what was coming; it would all be deserved, and she had the right to say it. He held his tongue and she continued after taking a longer breath.

“I knew, I think, even then, I knew that even if you did see, that it wouldn't be what I wanted. I know now, now that we can talk like this, and I know that you understand that I'm here, and that these feelings are real... I know that even if you do care about me, and love me, it won't be... it won't be... It won't be the way that I love you. That's not, how you see me. I understand that.” And there it was again. What was the right thing to do, to say? He wished he knew. Rogan rested one elbow on the artfully wrought iron cafe table and let his face press into his hand, trying to think of what he could say. It seemed like there was nothing he could say at all that wouldn't hurt her in some way, but he had to answer somehow.

After another moment he looked up again and drew a long breath, focusing on the screen again and looking at Lyntael properly; every detail – each scattered freckle, each wild, messy hair out of place, the way sand was clinging to her feet as she walked along the beach; her form, young but definitely maturing, even if she would always be slight; her outfit, cute and playful, but definitely the choice of someone who wanted to be seen as feminine. His eyes reached the torn section of her vest, where the top catch had pulled away and the dampness of it still clung to her chest, defining the body underneath in perfect detail. Rogan turned his head away, looking off to the side again. Maybe she was a young woman; maybe she was ready to start having those thoughts and feelings, and... pursuing a life that included such things... but he still couldn't see that in her, not without feeling lecherous and vile. She was still waiting on his response, and he drew a breath.

“No, Lyntael, it's not. I do care for you, and I regret... my failures.” He spoke softly, as gently as he could; there as no way to say it without hurting. He did love her, he could admit that now... but... “But you are Eric's little girl, and I couldn't ever—”
“I know. I know, Rogan. It's okay.” She cut him off, her initial words sharpened by a moment of panic and rejection; he understood. She didn't want to hear it, no matter how kindly spoken it was. She was holding back emotion, even now – It wasn't okay, despite what she said; they both knew that. “It's... okay. It is what it is, and I'm... I'm glad, so glad, that we have this chance, now, at all. That I'm here, and you're here, and we can see each other, truly and honestly. I'm glad, even when parts of it hurt. There was a part of me that believed a day like this would never come.” Rogan felt his fists clench and his jaw tighten... even when they both did their best, it seemed like they were destined to keep hurting each other. Why was this how it was, even now, when he was trying to be better?

“I'm sorry, Lyntael.” A dozen conversations, more... always the same. Heartfelt words, bared hurts, and sorrowful apologies.
“I know.”
“I always have such easy answers for everyone else, Lyntael... but so often we seem to end our conversations with those words, one way or the other.”
“I guess it means we're still trying. That counts for something, right?” She was doing her best to sound hopeful, but the familiarity of their exchange was weighing on her too, he was sure.
“I hope so.”

Normally, Rogan would have moved on to other tasks swiftly, rather than dwelling on the silence between them, but, of an irony, he didn't have any other tasks to distract himself from right now – not when the whole point of his afternoon today, after finishing with his contact, was to focus on her.

He sipped his drink and checked the directions that Eurayle had given them, ensuring that Lyntael was heading in the right direction. She seemed content to simply enjoy the trek across the network's beach, but Rogan found himself fighting back the urge to find something else to say. He was spared from his first attempt to strike up fresh conversation by another hostile engagement; if anything the lack of any kind of response that showed intelligence was a relief, this time – Lyntael tried to give a warning, but quickly moved to defending herself and neutralising the threat once it was clear the viral programs arrayed against her weren't capable of listening.

For all of her caution and reticence, the battle, such as it was, was concluded in a handful of short moments, and Lyntael's worst damage was an unfortunate amount of mud. He caught himself smirking as she gave up on trying to keep clean and let herself fall back in the muck for a few moments, staring at the sky.

“Majestic...” he tried not to laugh outright, but the was no harm in letting the amusement show through in the deadpan murmur. He was heartened to see her slight grin in return, even if it came with a feigned recrimination.

He probably shouldn't have been caught off guard a few moments later as she picked herself up and headed for the water; he was, nevertheless. A rinse off was perhaps within expectations, but he nearly choked on his drink when she began to undress. With a hurried movement, Rogan shifted the various view and statistic screens to pull away from the girl and ensure nothing untoward was showing. Despite himself, he glanced about the cafe to make sure no-one else had been looking in his direction at the wrong moment. He could only imagine the awkwardness of trying to explain something like that; at the very least he'd be asked to leave.

Once he was sure it was safe, he tweaked the different views again to track at a safer distance and from an angle that would keep his navi decently obscured. Even so, he felt like half closing the screen on his laptop anyway, just in case. Rather than give in to the paranoid sensation, Rogan opened the line and cleared his throat softly to get her attention, and remind the girl that she wasn't, in fact, alone. Lyntael jumped, seemingly startled, and made a quick motion to cover herself even though he'd already ensured she was safe. Apparently she had forgotten.

“What? I'm not going to wander around caked in mud if I don't have to. No-one's looking.” She was making an effort to sound matter-of-fact, but he could still hear a thread of embarrassment in her defence.
“I was more concerned about the danger of the network you're in, Lyntael. It's not an ideal place to be lowering your guard.”
“I know. It'll be fine. You can keep watch if you'd like... Then I don't have to berate you not to peek.”
“And here I was thinking you were doing this just to tease me again, Lyntael.” The thought had occurred to him, though he doubted it considering the conversation they'd had moments before. It was his part of the joke, though, and he played the part just as she was playing hers with her own comments. He tried to laugh softly at the end of it and was relieved when Lyntael giggled along with him after a moment. Some part of him was sure her laughter was as awkward and forced as his, at some level, but after a moment she continued to chat in a more thoughtful tone.

“No... I'm just... I don't know if you've ever noticed, Rogan, but I seem to have impossibly bad luck with my clothing and outfits...” It would have been very difficult not to notice it, in fact. Rogan had more or less grown used to it, now, though he had to admit, a lot of the time Lyntael's own choices and behaviour seemed to invite the mishaps, even if they were made innocently. And were they actually as innocent as they seemed, for that matter; his mind drifted back to their last infiltration, and the... voyeuristic, exhibitionist way she'd behaved when she wasn't sure if she could be seen or not. He though about Eric's basement lab, his choice of posters and decoration, and certain elements of Lyntael's initial outfit, long since changed.

“I...” He swallowed. “Had noticed, yes...” His hesitant answer seemed to be enough for Lyntael to continue.
“It's almost like I'm a character in some dubious late night anime.”
“I had a less charitable thought about it, if I am honest, Lyntael.” He crushed the thought immediately, regretting that he'd even given it voice. That was not a fair thing to suppose, just him being cynical.
“Hmm?”
“No, it's not important. It's not a recrimination I want to give voice to any more. I misspoke.” Lyntael was quiet for a moment or two, but her sharp insight reached the unspoken conclusion swiftly anyway and Rogan winced as she proposed it. Even though she couldn't see it, he found himself shaking his head as he denied the possibility of it being Eric's fault.

“Eric loves you, dearly. You mean the world to him, and I cannot fathom that he would ever allow something like that to slip into the work he did. It was an uncharitable thought, nothing more.” Eric had always been adamant that Lyntael was a young lady, and he'd wanted to prepare her for living as an adult woman able to... make her own choices. Rogan hadn't really understood any of the details he'd gone into about his special Sunseed program, but one part of it had been about it extrapolating based on environmental factors. Whatever that was supposed to mean, he couldn't help but wonder if some element of Lyntael's misfortune, and her own occasionally fate-tempting behaviours, hadn't somehow stemmed from factors Eric had forgotten about.

Rogan took a deeper breath and tried to stretch away the uncomfortable tightness in his chest. It was still difficult to think about Eric, and what had happened between them. Even if Lyntael was healthy and well, and even if the girl she was now remembered all the things she had lost, in some fashion at least... he wasn't naïve enough to imagine that Eric would simply accept him back into his life because of it. If that bridge ever could be rebuilt, it would be a very long time in the working, and one sudden and painful epiphany wasn't enough to mend the hurt. Perhaps it was a first seed, but it wasn't enough to be called a branch on its own. Perhaps, if the trouble he felt certain was brewing came to a head, and he could face some of the loose tails they'd left behind, perhaps that might be a gift and a penance worth offering.

Every time his eyes drifted back to where Lyntael was attempting to clean herself up and wash off her clothing, Rogan pulled his gaze away again, looking elsewhere. He cleared his throat after another few moments of looking for something to break the awkwardness of his navi bathing while he had nothing to do but wait and try not to watch.

“You were interrupted before, Lyntael... you were telling me what you had been reading about these Cybeast programs, and the net war.” It was a more innocuous topic, on the scale of things; the idea of autonomous, destructive programs left to operate unattended across the nets was ludicrous and ridiculous to his mind, if he didn't know it was true... but he had to admit that he really knew very little beyond the basics of that situation.

Lyntael's voice gave him something to more easily focus on that wasn't the motions of her bathing and scrubbing at her muddied clothes. It was still a ridiculous situation that meant he couldn't simply press a button to refresh her, in the way he'd seen other navis could. The same function on her PET would just materialise fresh clothing, neatly folded, for her and if he wasn't careful about when he did it, it might well replace what she was actively wearing in the process. There was authenticity, and then there was excess – he wouldn't mind pressing a button to clean and refresh his clothes without having to worry about laundry or changing and he didn't think it would detract from his experience as a human being if he could. He returned his focus to what his navi was saying.

“That mostly fits the basics of what I've heard, Lyntael. I confess, I've not paid much attention to it, but it's not surprising that conspiracy theorists have much to say about major events like that.” Finished his drink and swirled the swiftly melting ice cubes in the glass. “You mentioned a change. I was under the impression that the most recent four were all destroyed during the events surrounding the net war, then restored later.”

The conversation did at least give him something to focus on outside of watching his navi, and as he listened to her discussing the odd theories and strange reports about the unusual cybeast entities, and their apparently even more unusual behaviour in recent years, Rogan let his gaze shift to watching the world around him instead of the screen. Across the thoroughfare and down the walkways opposite the small cafe, the smooth golden sands stretched away for miles in both directions as world class surf rolled in and crashed against them. It wasn't too dissimilar from some of the beaches Lyntael herself was traversing, at least in some senses, but it was very different in others.

These were the kinds of beaches she really wanted to visit. Sun, sea, sand and refreshing breezes... but also relaxation, comfort and... he cast his eyes over the crowds that sunbathed, played or simply milled around... people. People to make friends with and to enjoy being the social creature that she was with. Even the nicer beach networks were rarely as populated as this; navis rarely seemed to have private leisure time, from what he'd seen now that he was paying more attention; most were sociable, and personable, but most of their time was still spent alongside an operator, either in service to their needs, or as a companion. Lyntael needed more than that but the only places he'd really seen where navigators had the kind of time to freely pursue their own social lives, like she needed, were the sanctuaries that protected abandoned navis, where operators were out of the picture. He pulled his focus back to the story Lyntael was telling him with a quick side-glance towards the screen. If she had just intended to quickly rinse off, he was quite sure she could have been finished by now. Something told him the girl was taking the opportunity to just play in the surf while she had a defensible excuse.

“If they reappeared, wouldn't the sensible thing be to assume that someone, somewhere had a copy of the programs, or their original source code, and simply released it again?” It was the pragmatic supposition, if dangerous programs thought destroyed had suddenly reappeared... though by his somewhat shaky understanding, the amount of resource needed to actually encode and store programs of that size and complexity was still staggering, even many years later. At the edge of his peripheral, he got the impression of Lyntael slumping with a sigh and splashing at the water around her as her voice responded with an exasperated edge to it. He nodded softly at the scolding that followed and sighed.

It was a story as old as science fictions stories about artificial intelligence and it was surreal to think about it in those terms, playing out in front of everyone in the real world here and now, but... maybe the next stage really was that they'd be better off without human control. He wasn't sold on the idea that this was the ultimate truth for all navis – Lyntael was very unique, but... he had to admit that, as brilliant as Eric was, if it could happen here it could happen elsewhere, and would, and might have already, in who knew how many other cases. Humans would still need truly artificial assistants, of course, but what of those that weren't any more? Even if he only truly accepted Lyntael's person-hood as a unique and beautiful anomaly, he still had to extend the possibility to other complex programs, and try not to assume otherwise without being sure. It was a lesson it was taking him time to learn, and he tried to respond with a hint of good humour.

“I have recently come to accept that a great deal of the computer science field that I interact with on one level is plagued with talk and language that is distinctly unscientific, and frequently not really related to computers, on another level, Lyntael.” He'd meant it as a wry joke, but his navi snapped back quickly, irritation in her voice, and Rogan felt himself pull back from the screen slightly.

“You couldn't just make a data copy of me, Rogan. It wouldn't be the same.” Before he could control the reaction, Rogan winced, his teeth clenching as he drew in on himself like covering a wound. He hadn't... that wasn't what he'd meant. In his mind, her words immediately summoned up the memory of her, or something like her, standing before him in a distant airport overnight room with a calm, uncomprehending smile, blank and empty as she... it... asked what was wrong, and the soul-rending horror that had filled him, enough to overpower the smell of blood and the pain of his own injuries. That wasn't what he'd meant.

Rogan took a deep breath, then another, as he swallowed moisture back into his throat. As he had looked back, he had been able to see and finally admit that he had genuinely come to care about her long before then, but even when he'd protected her and made excuses of convenience to justify the choices... even when he'd struggled to save her in that dangerous, damn near suicidal rescue attempt... it hadn't been until that moment – as that 'restored' and 'repaired' figure, that empty doll, had smiled up at him that he had truly known he had failed, and understood what had been lost. He focused and forced the unpleasant recollection away.

“That was cruel, Lyntael...” He murmured the words quietly, trying to keep the momentary roughness out of his voice. She probably hadn't intended to remind him of that – it was his shadow; his mark on the wall, not hers.
“I... I'm sorry, Rogan.” The sudden upset and concern brought a small, wistful smile to the corner of his lips and he shook his head with a sigh.
“But, you are correct. I am... still getting used to dealing with that reality. So. These beasts re-emerged, or maybe did...” He sought to bring the conversation back on track, though Lyntael herself sounded a little awkward as she continued her story. When he thought about sending Lyntael to gather information on the phenomena, when it came with the dangers to programs that she described, he understood more keenly why few had been willing to take the risks.

“Rogan! I said warn me!” Lyntael's sudden half-shrieked shout snapped his eyes back to the screen, only for him to catch full view of the very things he'd been tactically trying to avoid looking directly at; somehow the sudden appearance of viruses had also lowered the water level in the area and left Lyntael preparing for a fight while still very much undressed. He focused on the statistics and the basic data the PET was giving him, rather than the visual display.
“Er... Sorry! There's, ah... Incoming?” Surely neither of them could blame this one on anything other than his own carelessness...
“Little late...” Rogan frowned; she sounded a little embarrassed certainly, but not nearly as upset about the situation as he really felt she probably ought to. Was she really just that used to it happening, or was it something else..? He thrust the thought away, refusing to entertain it, and did his best to focus on the sudden conflict his navi had found herself in... and trying not to let his eyes focus too closely or too often on the navi herself.

It ought not surprise him that Lyntael proved much less patient for talking things out calmly, in this particular moment, Rogan contemplated. He kept the primary view screen focused on the girl's detailed diagnostics; he recognised heart rate, respiration, core and extremity temperatures and several other basic vitals, though he was still swamped by the plethora of other read outs and diagrams that he suspected detailed pain responses as well as emotional, chemical and hormonal levels and interactions, much of which he felt he really shouldn't be invading in the first place... but it was better that watching her directly in her current state.

She demonstrated with swift efficiency once again that, when it came down to it these days, she didn't really need his help any more. There was no question that she'd been desperate for it in the early days, but he did wonder... Eric's accusation drifted up in his mind again; he'd given Lyntael to him because he thought Rogan needed her – the gift of a brother worried about his sibling – but the words he'd spoken after it was too late; that she'd needed him as well... He'd known the idea was there, when the whole arrangement had started, but he'd only really looked at her physical difficulties, and how she struggled, and he'd scoffed at Eric's awkward play. Well, she definitely didn't need his help in physical function any more... a sneaking thought slipped into his mind; after everything, it really seemed like she didn't truly need him emotionally any more either. Perhaps the opportunity for that kind of mutual benefit had passed, and he'd missed it. It surprised him, how uncomfortable the thought made itself. She'd reached out when he wasn't listening, and she'd found her own strength now instead. She wanted to be here for him, or so she said, but she didn't seem to need his support in return, not any more. Was he over-thinking it? This was why he avoided leaving his mind idle...

“Ah! Don't you dare, not again—!” Lyntael's frustrated shout drew his eyes back to the screen and without thinking he flicked the view back to a proper visual to see what was going on. Immediately, he turned his eyes to the side, shielding the screen from general view as he caught sight of the girl struggling to dress herself quickly again in the shallow water. The fight, at least, was done with, and her no worse for wear. When his peripheral vision told him she as done adjusting her clothes, Rogan looked back, then suppressed a sigh. Well, it was a beach, at least, and as long as he didn't draw the screen in closer, it didn't really show off the fact that her undergarments weren't nearly as opaque as a swimsuit when they were damp. She seemed to be moving on, just in her vest and underwear, apparently unperturbed. He opened the channel but didn't immediately find a way to ask if she was alright. Was there a good way to ask if she was too embarrassed, without amplifying any such feelings with the attention? After another moment or two he cleared his throat quietly.

“Lyntael. I... assume you're content to continue?” His fingers moved to hover above the commands he'd need to reinitialise her clothing, but he didn't press anything yet for fear of leaving the poor girl exposed again unexpectedly. On screen, Lyntael seemed nonchalant.

“I'm fine, Rogan.” He believed her, but again he found himself wondering if there wasn't some subtle ulterior motive to her risky behaviour. She got indignant and flustered, but it happened far too frequently and... he contemplated looking back at her more in-depth vitals again, before second-hand embarrassment stopped him... he had a suspicion there was some part of her that found these kinds of accidents exciting. He tried not to assess whether there was any disappointment in her voice as she claimed to have been expecting a more complete malfunction.

Instead, he listened and watched as she wandered down the beach on his screen, one not dissimilar to the scene before him, saving only that it was more barren; she seemed to be content, but as she mused about finding her balance, Rogan found himself wishing he could find the peace about everything that had happened that she seemed to be cultivating.

“I feel like I still need... I don't know...” There was a sense of frustration and uncertainty in her words as she tried to pin down what she meant; Rogan quickly gestured for another of the same with his glass towards the waitress that was moving in his direction, stopping her from actually approaching his table. The last thing he wanted was being picked up on improper browsing in public while his navi was trying to have a serious conversation.

“It doesn't feel quite... quite like I fit myself, not yet. I don't know how to explain it any better. Like there's so much here, but I don't quite know how to express it properly. And there's pressure still...” He'd heard her mention that before as well, though he still wasn't sure what it meant, exactly.
“I... Rogan...?”
“Hmm?”
“Could you... could you disconnect from me, for a little while? Stay with me, and keep watching, but...” Had they reached a point where it only felt right when she was out exploring or busting, if she was disconnected from her PET and alone? Rogan caught himself frowning and stopped.
“Lyntael, I know it maybe what you've grown used to, and I'll still need to do it for our work, but at this point, I'd rather not have you untethered unless it is necessary.” He meant it as a reassurance, but it didn't seem to have the effect he'd hoped for. Lyntael paused, glancing down and clasping her hands like a child asking for sweets.

“Please, Rogan. You'll still be with me, and you can patch up again right away if I get in trouble, can't you? I just... I feel like I need this. I need to be... free.” Rogan flinched as she finished, and the waitress delivering his drink stopped in the middle of her bright greeting and ducked away quickly. Was it coincidence that he'd been having the concern that she said it so plainly now? He should be happy that she didn't feel dependant on him, really; he should be, so why did it sting? He swallowed moisture into his throat.

“Every time you've been given the chance,” his mouth felt dry. “To go, or to stay away, or to live somewhere else.... you always choose to come back, to me. Even when... Even when it seems like the worst choice you could make, and everyone thinks you shouldn't and don't deserve... this.” Too late, he realised that she probably hadn't meant her words like that, at all, and he was jumping to a dramatic conclusion without thinking... but it was something that he had worried about, so he pushed the thought onward anyway. “Lyntael; it was easy to accept when I thought of you as a program – it was just how you were made and it ultimately didn't matter so long as you served your purpose... but now... I don't want you to feel... trapped with me.”

On his screen, Lyntael had swiftly drawn in on herself for a moment or two, radiating sudden regret, but she also hadn't cut him off with any kind of rapid dismissal or reassurance. Perhaps she hadn't meant to say it that way, but he felt as though she must have had the thoughts regardless. Eventually, he saw her rub at her neck and try to shake herself out.

“I don't, Rogan, I promise I don't.” She had started walking again, and somehow that simple action was more reassuring to him than the words. “I didn't mean it that way, and I really do want to be here, now, with you, helping. I swear it, I do. It's my choice, and it will always be my choice, Rogan, so long as you want me around, or I feel like you need me.” He nodded, even though she couldn't see. She wanted to help him, and she wanted to stay if he let her... but she didn't need him, not like she had once. He ought to feel glad for her about that. He didn't. Soft giggling broke him out of the thought spiral.

“And unless you look after yourself better, that second one will be true forever.” He could see her smile, but there was something in it that made him think she still felt bad about the indelicate exchange. He should be happy for her, though... Rogan tried a soft chuckle in return.

“I suppose that's true. In a little while perhaps, I may need to sort out some things here soon regardless.” It wasn't strictly true, but he could find an excuse to disconnect her, if it was what she really felt like she needed. It still made him shudder internally when he thought about all the times she'd spent away from the PET and disconnected from any safety, out on her own without him even knowing. She knew how to take care of herself, without him. It was what he'd always told her he needed, wasn't it? It didn't feel good.

Rogan was left alone with his thoughts for the time it took his order to arrive. The jovial sounds of the sea-side setting made a stark contrast for the workings of his mind. When another courier arrived and inquired after him, he gave her a short nod and signed the name of the non de plume he'd given the service without taking his attention away from the screen in front of him. Lyntael's continued exploration had been interrupted by what he would normally have assessed as a severely dangerous virus – an entity that came with its own spike warning as the PET scanned it – but Lyntael remained calm. He might have said 'no fear', but it was different from the reckless bravery she'd shown in the time between her death, and now. This was caution mixed with care, and her first actions were as she'd told him she intended; to give the creature a chance.

He felt himself frowning softly, brows drawn down as he made the adjustments to her PET with precise motions. She hadn't even said anything to him, or reported the conflict. She was handling it herself, without his advice or input. Perhaps she knew he was watching, and knew she didn't need to tell him what she was seeing, but that had rarely stopped her in the early days, or even the times that came later; now she was just focused on what mattered in the moment, and asking him for advice wasn't one of those things.

As the fight became more serious, and Lyntael's attempts to reach anything sapient inside the virus failed, Rogan watched her fight; several threats, but each of them managed while her focus rarely wavered from the incomplete entity before her. Was she seeing it the same way as the previous abomination? The close in view of her expression told a story of sorrow, behind hard eyed resolution. The environmentals in the area were hurting her, or so the readings claimed, but the girl on his screen wasn't paying any heed to it, and she didn't flinch from the violent blasts that the creature threw her way either. Part of him wanted to say that this girl was entirely different from either Lyntael he'd known, but at the same time... in a subtle way, she wasn't. She was exactly the same, just... He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing away a growing feeling that he didn't want to deal with. Just, less innocent. And wasn't that why it hurt to see her so competent, even as he told himself he should be glad.

With a click, Rogan closed up the PET and finished the updates. This was what happened when he didn't have work to occupy him; his mind went to more difficult places. He focused in on the readings from the Metavirus, trying to buy himself with a more detailed assessment of the program. It did seem... incomplete. Not just visually, but many of its internal structures seemed unfinished, or not properly compatible with each other. This was a project, an attempt at something that hadn't quite worked out the way the designer had wanted, if he had to guess. Different properties, different sources, but trying to create a complete whole, or... maybe using available code pieces to replicate something more complex that the designer didn't have access to. Perhaps if he could— A moment later the readings collapsed into static and Rogan blinked, looking back to the main screen.

He saw Lyntael, or at least it looked like her, clad in silver armour and descending on the creature from silvery wings. As she landed, a series of rapid strikes, each bearing fierce blasts of energy, took the entire virus apart with ruthless efficiency. He heard a shouted snarl of warning coming from her as the other remaining virus fled the scene, before his navi threw back her head and... well, if it had had more body and volume to it, he might have called it a roar. Not really, but definitely approaching the mark for a girl of her stature. What was going on?

His eyes flicked to the other readouts; a cross overlay, as he'd come to recognise it, had refitted her outfit. They sometimes seemed to influence her emotions as well, but more concerning was the flashing symbols trying to make themselves known across her more personal body readings. She was in pain, burning from the electrical circuit that her body formed, and it was close to the levels he'd seen in the past, before she lost consciousness. She was strained and hurting, but the girl on his screen wasn't cringing or holding herself – just spilling energy in every direction, and looking like she was about to lash out again. Uncertainty gripped him for a moment, and on reflex Rogan pushed it down, opening the channel again.

“...Lyntael?” She reacted immediately, and Rogan felt the urge to sigh with sudden relief. “Lyntael, I have many warning readings here; you're under substantial strain, are you alright?” There was a very slight nod of her head on the screen, though she didn't answer at once. The metal armour faded and returned the girl to her awkwardly half-dressed state, before she fell to deep panting for breath and strained efforts at recovery. He listened to her reassurance while his eyes checked her statistics again. The extreme overloads of electrical charge seemed to play no small amount of havoc with some of her other more human-like details; things he recognised as the equivalence of chemical and hormonal levels always shifted sharply in response to the extremes... but quite rapidly he watched the rhythm of her internal electricity return to what counted as a 'normal' pulse for her.

As she began to stretch and recover, Rogan opened the channel to speak, but paused. He knew he ought to say something to her; even if what she'd fought had simply been a conglomerated half-finished code project with no mind of its own, she had tried to treat it like it had, and now she'd put an end to it. It wasn't the same, but perspective was in the eye of the beholder, and if she had truly seen it as suffering, then he ought to say something. After a few moments of watching her stretching, the motions became a fluid, graceful dance and Rogan found his next attempt at words sticking in his throat. She'd never exactly lost her love of dancing, but... this kind of thoughtless, formless expression was something he hadn't seen since... before everything. He watched for a few more seconds, then swallowed an uncharacteristic roughness.

“I... know you tried, Lyntael.” How to say what mattered and still comfort? “But I'm sure there was nothing you could have spared, in that virus.” As her slow dancing motions came to an end, the girl stretched one more time and seemed to relax with a long exhale.

“I couldn't bring anything back, but what there was was only suffering, and now it isn't.” There was a surety there that made him wonder; after everything he'd had to accept, had she felt something he couldn't see? “I'm alright, Rogan, really.” That was a different statement, and it sounded less certain, even if she tried to make it as firm.

“Lyntael... Whatever form it comes in, taking life is difficult. Maybe not physically. You know what I've seen, what I've done; it's frightening how easy it can be, and how fragile lives can be, but it still leaves a mark on us.” Marks on the wall, scars that didn't heal; sacrifices made to the altars of freedom, rightness, or that most insidious one, necessity. “I don't... know... what you felt here, or back with Eurayle and that other program, but I can see that you viewed them as living things, and as beings worth compassion.” He hesitated for a moment, unconsciously suppressing the urge to rub at one of the several places he could feel his own scars.

“Even seeing them that way, you did what you had to, and now they are gone. It's... it's okay not to be okay, Lyntael. I'd be worried if you were. I'd be worried for you, if the reassurance that you did the right thing was enough on its own to let you smile and walk away... especially the first time. I can't pretend it won't happen again... it's why people...” He should say it for at it was, if he was being honest with himself. “...people like me, grow hard, and they sometimes stop seeing people as people. It makes it easier... but,” A sensation in his throat and behind his eyes made him catch his breath more carefully. “But I never want that for you, Lyntael. It's okay if you're not alright.”

He paused, unsure if anything he was saying was really making sense. They were the sorts of words he felt like he would have liked to hear, back when he was her age, with fresh blood on his own hands. It made him wonder if he'd have been a better person himself, if... he pushed the thought away. Better to focus on the present, and what Lyntael needed; perhaps she didn't need him for danger or fighting, but this was something he could offer still, if she still wanted it. The girl before him was moving down the beach again, walking slowly and seeming to just enjoy the scenery.

“I know... and you're right.” Her answer sounded more contemplative than anything else, talking more openly about he she felt, but as she responded something made Rogan catch his breath, biting back a wince as a fresh wave of discomfort and guilt rose up in his chest. He'd watched her struggle over it, tried to talk her through it, but it hadn't even been the first time she'd ended up in that situation... and worse, he hadn't known. She'd never let on... or had she, and he hadn't listened? He felt his fingers clench tight, nails digging into his palms for a moment.

“I'm sorry.” He wasn't sure what other words there were to say, but pushed on anyway. “If I had my choice now, I wouldn't ask for you to deal with that.” A treacherous thought threaded its way through his mind; he said that, but wasn't it likely that it had been his own orders at some point, that had caused it... and she'd just said yes, and kept it to herself, alone? He grit his teeth, then forced himself to relax and pushed his own guilt aside as best he could. “Is... it something you can talk to me about, Lyntael?”

The girl seemed to trip as he asked, but then paused on the rocky point to rest and look out at her own beachfront. The urg eto say more pressed at him, but he could see a distant, sad expression on her features that made him hold his tongue. Eventually she nodded.

“It wasn't bloody, or violent, like that... I think I'm still sort of... holding onto it, and dealing with it, you know?” He found himself nodding, even though she couldn't see, and Lyntael continued after another moment. Even as she started, Rogan felt a wince he couldn't stop this time, and turned his head away briefly, eyes closed. Of course it had been that night. That place, where all those experiments and test were being done on the most advanced navis they could get their hands on. In the middle of everything, and she hadn't said anything. Which 'yes, sir' was the one; which part of the plan, and the orders he'd given her, had forced her to it? He listened to her recount, teeth clenched tight.

“They had navis all through the system there. Hooked in to do different tasks. I think... I think they were just keeping them alive for the sake of it, for the processing power, once they were done with all their... tests.” He heard a catch in her voice as she continued; an intake of breath just barely on the edge of becoming a sniff. “When I... when I had to cut off the camera feeds to the sub labs, and create loops. The control room had navis in it, but they were part of the system, and it was the only thing really keeping them alive. When I cut them out...” another pause, another long swallow. Rogan felt his fingernails digging into his palms; that she was able to talk about it at all was best, but hearing her voice grow wet with painful emotion just made the sting of his own guilt worse.

“There were four of them.” He heard her take a longer slower breath, and where she was sitting on the rock, Rogan could see tears beginning to run down her cheeks from closed eyes. “SeaSpray loved her operator. They were swim partners. Her little girl wanted to be in the olympics, and everyone told her what a long journey it was, but SeaSpray believed she could make it.” She paused for a shaking breath, then continued. “PaperBoy was writing a screenplay, in the night hours, when his operator didn't need him. He hadn't shown it to anyone yet; he wanted to make sure it was good, before sharing it.” Lyntael was hugging herself now. This was worse somehow than he'd even worried. Knowing what you were doing was one thing... but somehow, she'd been made to actually know the programs as well... or, Rogan realised, she'd reached out to make sure she did... because that was who she was. This wasn't right. Lyntael wasn't stopping, and continued through rough tears.

“NightSkip... she used to sneak out, just.. just like I do, sometimes. She'd sneak out to go explore the night city networks. She liked to climb up high... and she loved to jump, and to fall. And... and there was SunCrest. They were... disappointed, frustrated. They felt like they were wasting away, with so much potential they couldn't ever do anything with; they wanted to do so much with their life, but never felt like they could, because they had work, and duty, and it filled all of their days.” When Lyntael paused this time, it was to sniffle hard and scrub at her face. Rogan felt heat behind his eyes and his jaw hurt. He wanted to blame CC, Lance, and their experiments... but the guilt was there, gnashing in his mind. Before Lyntael, he wouldn't have cared about their 'tests'; wouldn't have even thought there was anything wrong with them... while in front of his eyes... this. And he was the one responsible for making Lyntael face it, not anyone else.

“I... I felt the things that they felt, Rogan... felt the people they were, and the pain they were in and what they'd been turned into. They weren't 'just' programs... none of them were. They felt, joy and love and.... boredom, exasperation... inspiration, excitement... and in the end, agony, despair, terror... Two of them wanted to die, Rogan. One was so far gone, there wasn't anything left to want anything any more...” her voice cracked and broke and Rogan felt his chest tighten in response. “And one of them just wanted to see her operator again, hadn't given up hope, but... but cutting them out of the system was the end anyway, and I made it happen. I never want to be responsible for ending lives like that, Rogan. Sometimes it might be all I can do, but... but I will always... Always... try to find another way first.” Through the tears there was a determination in her voice stronger than anything he could even think about arguing with. How could he?

“Lyntael...” He heard the thickness in his own voice and caught himself. “I'm sorry. I gave you those orders, Lyntael...” It was his fault; he ought to be the one shouldering the weight of those feelings and those lives lost, not her. She had never done anything to deserve that burden, other than being his navigator. He said as much, but in the space between his words he saw Lyntael straighten and smooth her features, cleaning herself up.

“I'm glad I was there for them. I'm glad they weren't alone, at the end.” Truly, she was; he could hear the conviction in her tone and the returning calm. That really mattered to her, and it was what mattered most, far above her own discomfort. “I don't blame you for any of that. I don't.” Rogan felt himself pull back from the screen for a moment, a sharp sense of shock that moved him before he could control it. Of course she realised he was at fault, and just as naturally, she didn't want to hold any of it against him. Her absolution didn't lessen his responsibility, but with calm, firm words she cut off his objection just as quickly; they were working together, they were both doing their best; she was her own person, and that meant making her own choices. Choice. There it was again; the echo of Eric's words in his ears, now on the lips of the young woman in front of him... not angry or frustrated in demanding her right to be treated as her own person this time, but gentle and calm; giving him permission to do so.

Rogan blinked back the hot sensation behind his eyes and tried to compose the emotions that were threatening him. Once he'd truly let the mask down for Lyntael, it seemed like there was no putting it back, these days. Maybe that was okay, for her. Maybe he owed her that much. This had started as him attempting to help her deal with feelings she needed space for... how had the script changed so much? He took a breath before responding.

“Alright.” Just one word; it was about all he could manage without letting a tremor in, and he watched her nod and begin heading further down the beach again.

While his navi continued to meander on her casual way towards the apparent source of the viral upsurge – or at least the nearest such source – Rogan retreated to planning and research again. There were documents that he wasn't going to analyse in a public cafe, but that still left plenty of other variables that he could look into while Lyntael pushed forward with her soul-searching. He found himself trying, and failing, not to think about the conversation that had fallen now to silence. She didn't want him to blame himself or feel guilt for the things that had happened, that much he understood, but the reality didn't match up – how could he not, after all? That was what she was trying to say though, in the end... He gave her orders, and she followed them; she acted with loyalty, and he'd led her somewhere dark. She wanted him to believe that she hadn't needed to do as he said, that she'd made the choice on her own and was responsible for it, but it still felt like shifting responsibility that still belonged on his own shoulders.

To the side of his laptop, a cursory side-eye to the PET showed Lyntael approaching a new group of viral entities and he listed to her give another cautious overture. Sooner or later that was going to go poorly for her... he knew it would, and she would get hurt again. And now that he was finally willing to see what other people had been telling him to look at for years, and be a more responsible operator for her, the girl didn't want his help any more. He tried anyway, voicing a cautious word to her, but Lyntael's calm voice came back to him unconcerned as she appeared to settle down for a rest amidst the still potentially dangerous programs.

Against all sense, they seemed to abandon hostilities as well, but the PET screen showed the more subtle effects of some of the creatures hampering his navi's capabilities all the same. He made a token effort to warn her about the issue, but he had to admit that aside from slowing everything down, there wasn't any actual harm in the effect. Even so he keep his eye on the scene carefully as the cafe waitress brought him a fresh drink and he accepted it with a small nod.

He nearly choked on his first sip, holding back the instinct to splutter and cough as his navi decided that she wasn't done tormenting him yet, exposing her already borderline decency in the apparent name of sun-tanning.

“Lyntael!” He didn't think he needed to explain his objection any further, and received another candid, calm reassurance from the girl for his effort.
“It's okay, there's no-one around...” he turned his eyes back to his laptop again more firmly while she joked about her indecency.
“That's not— Lyntael, you can't just—!” He bit off the broken protest rather than continue to stumble for the right way to articulate himself. If this was what having a teenage daughter was like, then Eric was welcome to it. He just couldn't understand how someone who had been through what she had, had suffered as she had, in ways it made him feel physically ill to even think about... could just so calmly flaunt herself like this, in the name of fun. It just didn't make any sense. He knew she was extremely nervous around male navigators, understandably... it felt unnerving to see her act so... freely... in other contexts. When she decided that simply opening her top wasn't enough ,and she needed to take it off altogether, Rogan pressed his attention back to his work and tried not to grumble internally about it.

How best to properly take care of the issue of Lance and his organisation was a difficult question. The man had made his vendetta against Rogan very personal and clear, and while he was sure that he would come off the worse if he clashed more directly with the Sharroan family, he had a suspicion that he'd avoid that now that he had the scent of blood, as it were. There was also the possibility that his moonlight 'employer' might decide to change their minds, and consider Lance and his crew valuable assets, if he made them an appealing enough offer, and he didn't trust the situation not to end up providing Fitzpatrick with a new abundance of resources to pursue his grudge with. No, it needed to be taken care of before Varda's superiors got to him... and gracious as they were, in their own way, they'd permitted him the opportunity to do so. He needed to take it, and soon.

One thing that he was sure about was that, all of its extended feelers aside, Lance's umbrella organisation had a massive amount of its value tied up in a single profit sink... what was unclear was whether this was a fixed facility, a specific project, or something else again. Hopefully his new information would help clear that up. If he could come up with a way to— Lyntael's sleepy voice washed across his senses, pulling him out of his focus.

“Hmm? Yes, Lyntael?” He flicked his eyes across to her screen, then regretted it immediately as his eyes were naturally drawn to her indecent sunbathing.
“So... Lance, and... and Vigilance...” In contrast to the relaxed tone, the focus of the words made him start and he looked towards her again, taking another unintentional eyeful of the girl's undress. His eyes took in the details, and the more keenly male parts of his brain noticed them, and she continued as he cursed himself internally and forced his eyes back to his own screen again.

The question was there again, coming up as he'd known it might. She tried to avoid asking, after he'd deflected and outright refused to answer numerous times, but here it was again and it was getting clearer and clearer to Rogan that he wasn't going to be able to keep burying his past for much longer. What had happened... back north? Normally he didn't think about it, but the past had been unceremoniously forced into his mind increasingly of late. Despite himself, he sighed and stalled by taking another long sip of his drink.

“Until recently, I did not know who Lance was...” That much was true... but he knew Lyntael wouldn't be happy with that much of a non-answer, not this time. “But I know his type, and I think I know how he fits into... the past.” As much as he hated doing it, Rogan let himself recall the things he tended to keep pressed far down. It wasn't a good time, and they weren't pleasant thoughts, but he had to give her something this time, something meaningful. He spoke slowly, picking words carefully and speaking in a quiet, low tone as he did his best to explain the things he'd rather no-one else ever know.

He knew Lance's type well enough, the kind of thinker and planner who says 'yes' to his masters and 'no' to his underlings, and always believes he is destined for the top of the ladder. The kind that 'knows' that any failure of stride is other people's faults, and other people must be the ones to suffer for such failings... oh he knew Lance's type alright. He would have fit right in... he probably had.

Glory of clan, honour of family; concepts that sound noble in stories and songs, but things that turned vicious when they meet the concept of freedom and individuality. Those were the first real lessons of his young life. It had just been expected, of course... expected of both of them, that they would be a credit to the clan, that they would do as their elders instructed, obey their father and mother, obey their aunts and uncles, and turn all of their work towards the betterment of the family, as instructed. It was what you did. It was what you were expected to do... and woe betide the bad son who was so selfish as to pursue thoughts of his own desire instead of the work he had been instructed to by those who knew better.

Movement from Lyntael's screen made him look her way again as his explanation paused. She was rubbing at a spot on her chest, He looked away once more in frustration, and fought down the urge to scold her. She wasn't taunting him, this time – he'd seen her nervous tick in the past, and the way she rubbed at the place where her navi emblem had once been was enough to make him wince. Instead of snapping, Rogan took a moment palm his eyes and drew a deeper breath.

“Lyntael, would you please put your top back on?” Her seemingly surprised response was almost enough to make him throw up his hands. “Anyway...” He did his best to push on through the unpleasant recollection, and found himself staring at the curling iron patterns of the cafe table, tracing them meticulously with his eyes as he tried to explain without plunging into the worst of a bad set of memories.

They couldn't live their lives like that. That was what he'd always told himself, at least, and they were the words he heard himself speak as Lyntael listened. If it had been just him, perhaps he would have just endured it... Made himself look like the family player they wanted, hidden himself from their eyes in other ways, pursued his wants in secret, and in silence... maybe he could have borne it, if it had just been him. But Eric... he had a heart prone to love first, and doubt second; a need to mediate and find peace; and a brilliant, brilliant mind... To smart to ignore what was wrong, too gentle to do what was necessary, and too valuable to the clan, for his talents, to ever be allowed to be anything else but what they needed. Eric would have tried, if it had just been him, and his soul would have died a quiet death.

They'd planned to leave, to get away and make a fresh start, far away and unknown... but things hadn't quite gone right. It had been his fault... speaking in anger, and too freely, before they were ready. All the worst moments in his life had been his own fault.

“Unfortunately, Lyntael, such matters are rarely that simple. It...” He paused, drawing a long, shaking breath and letting it out slowly as Lyntael tried to push for more. She was desperate to know, to understand, but... “It's not something I like to think about, Lyntael, and especially not something to talk about in a public setting.” The sorrow in her response made him hang his own head, looking away from the device. He owed her the truth, especially if they were going to the heart of it together... She deserved to know the full of it.

“Later, Lyntael. I mean that; this is something you should know now, just... not here, not now.” He was sure she'd just take it as another refusal, another deflection, but in his own mind Rogan forced the promise on himself. He would give her the whole story, soon. Just... just not now. When he glanced back, it was in time to see her nodding in acceptance and picking herself up from the sand. He would tell her. Soon, he would.

It wasn't too long before Rogan found himself pondering, once again, the strange twists of fortune that seemed to surround his navi and her wardrobe; despite assurances of how isolated she was, and the low chances of coming across anyone else while she was wandering through the network in her underwear, sure enough another navigator came into range of the PET's readings and Rogan spent several moments looking at the reading with a flat expression. His rational mind said there as no such thing as bad luck and misfortune in the tangible, mystical sense... and there was surely and certainly no way that the girl could be orchestrating repeated decency-threatening situations, even if she sometimes seemed to respond in ways that invited further distress. And yet. And yet here it was again. He sighed and shook his head to himself.

“Looks like you've got another incoming, Lyntael. One signal, navigator signature.” He didn't mention that the surface layer scan showed the navi to be at least masculine presenting, for however much that meant amongst navigators – because of course it was. Before he noticed it, his hand had slipped across the controls towards the button needed to immediately pull Lyntael from the situation, just in case.

Lyntael didn't respond to his murmured warning, but subtle as it was he saw her steps slow, and other small shifts in her stance and movement that gave tell to caution and wariness. He kept quiet, but the thought that wouldn't be still in his mind reflected on the change – remembered a time when she might have rushed towards a potential new friend with guileless open excitement. The cause was more than justified, and he knew – even if she was questioning it – that Lyntael was no less gentle and no less kind, for the loss of her naïvety. But even so... His caution grew as the navi made his dramatic entrance in front of Lyntael and challenged her; that he knew her name and was looking for her was more worrisome still, no matter the excuse he gave.

Despite misgivings Rogan help his silence while they talked, using the time to examine the other figure more carefully with what little scanning information the PET itself could retrieve without the extra functions of his probe being online. The suggestion of a 'friendly' duel, however was another red flag that he could not approve of. He told her so in a silent message but his navi seemed determined to push on with the challenge.

Seconds passed as Rogan watched the pair face off then begin to spar; there ought to have been nothing too concerning about it, really, but he could feel a tension and a discomfort all the same. He checked her link again and reassured himself that she was correctly jacked into the network and that the PET's emergency system was online and listening correctly. How had he ever dared to send her into spaces via an unstable emulation before, where a flicker at the wrong time might cost terribly? How had he simple accepted the times that she slipped out onto the net on her own, completely disconnected, where any slip might lead to disaster?

Lyntael... danced. His eyes watched her slight form twist and weave, graceful and in perfect balance as she flowed around the battle, evading and striking out in rapid succession. She seemed... calm, despite the growing ferocity of her charge... almost like she was enjoying herself. The words of her conversation with the other navi washed over him and Rogan pushed down another small wince. She was carefully playing the role of an unoperated navi, for their security, but some of the comments cut at him all the same.

The readings on her PET showed the strain of energy starting to wear painfully on her body, but on screen, Lyntael herself was barely showing any sign of the discomfort it said she was feeling. He wondered if he should be glad, or sorry for that. It was good of course, that she could deal with the pain so much better now, but... His thought was interrupted as he watched Lyntael strike then weave away, twisting her body, but just a fraction too slowly as the other navi landed his first real strike of the match. Her shriek of sudden agony filled his ears and drowned out other thoughts, just as physical damage warnings, fought their way onto the screen.

“Lyntael!” He had shouted across the line before rational thought caught up. “That's enough!!” He barely registered her suddenly denuded form, beneath the violently bleeding cut down her front; her shriek was followed by a more directed, angry shout from the girl – fear, pain and fury, and words that sent a fresh shudder through him. Of course that was where her mind would go, sliced open in violence, by a man with a blade – Rogan's minds quickly filled in the blanks while Lyntael exploded with light and wild electrical surges amidst the suddenly breaking storm. His first call had been to stop the other navi, but he now saw the figure backing off, a look of sudden horror and worry on what he could make out of the navi's features. He hadn't been expecting to case harm like this... and why should he? It wasn't how navis normally worked, after all. Lyntael, on the other hand... in a moment Rogan knew that she wasn't seeing this unfortunate stranger in a friendly match any more, and all unnoticed, the girl had grown far stronger and more dangerous than she really knew.

The sudden fury of her retaliation masked the rising panic he could see she was stuck in, and the brutality with which she battered her opponent wasn't helping it. Rogan swallowed, trying to work his own dry throat and spoke again, clearly, but with a firm and steady voice that he kept from rising.

“Lyntael, listen to me. My voice, Lyntael. You can hear me, listen.” He saw the other navi go down amidst a storm of electricity flaring bright enough to interfere with the PET's visualisation. “Lyntael, Stop. You are not There. That is not Him.” He paused for just a moment, then pressed on. “Calm down, and breath, Lyntael.”

Her form burst into sight again in the middle of the area, and he could see the tension making her limbs tremble, the blood on her body while lightning danced in the wounds and across her skin. Clenched teeth, wide eyes; short, rapid panting.

“Breathe, Lyntael. Just breathe. You are okay. You are not in danger.” And judging from her reaction, she may never really have been so from this warrior. His words seemed to pass over her unheeded for a moment, before he saw her squeeze her eyes shut and draw a deeper, heaving breath while her body sagged and folded in on itself for a moment. All around, Rogan noticed the sudden thunderstorm dissipating as swiftly as it had arrived.

In the moments that followed he made sure the other navi was at least reading stable, even though his main focus was on Lyntael herself. It puzzled him still, the way her own nerves and trepidation seemed to vanish the moment she thought someone else was in more trouble than her, though perhaps that said more about him, that such an ideal seemed so alien. He didn't know whether to be exasperated or resigned when the girl announced that she intended to continue, regardless of the – in his opinion – very many and obvious reasons to stop for the day. She wouldn't brook his objections either, despite the fact that she was actively having to use one arm to cover her decency while dealing with the other navigator.

He found himself cut off, unable to respond as she called out the unfairly pointed fact that, when it really mattered, the people she might have to face again one day were not the sort to wait upon her decency. Rogan fought down another flare of angry nausea, unwillingly drawn to think of the way a certain navi had done the horrific opposite. He didn't have words to answer it. Lyntael probably didn't think she was being cruel – he could tell that it was simply a determined pragmatism in her voice – but reflecting on those events still made him feel ill and ashamed. He lapsed into silence and relented.

Rogan realised with an absent thought that he wasn't really getting any further work or research done any more, focused as he was on his navigator's journey. The midday sun was beating down hard, and heat mirages drifted up above the nearby beach, making the rolling blue waves beyond shimmer. From his comfortably sheltered cafe repose, he looked around at the constant stream of milling people moving in every direction, heading to any number of attractions – the white sands, the bustling theme park, the colourful shops or the mildly exotic eateries and cafes, much like this one. Even with the breeze, the baking heat was making his long-sleeved clothes feel stifling... but somehow he did feel like shorts and a singlet, as seemed to be the more common attire, would really suite him. Oh well.

Glancing down again, he listened with a careful ear as Lyntael and her former sparing partner made sure they were each alright. His attention piqued more prominently as they spoke about giving her a new outfit of some special construction, and Rogan's immediate instinct was to groan internally and wonder just how inappropriate and indecent it would end up being – because of course it would, wouldn't it?

He watched the exchange and then immediately started a quarantine scan as the data was presented to his navi; as much as some of the embedded subroutines were almost certainly harmless diagnostic reporters, Rogan removed them anyway – even harmless diagnostics from feedback for a whole outfit could potentially carry information about Lyntael's unique situation that couldn't be allowed out into places where it could be potentially found by unfriendly eyes.

By the time he was finished, he could tell that Lyntael was already very eager to put the outfit on, which, given her state of undress he was not about to delay any further. He felt an involuntary twitch threaten at one eyebrow as the girl decided that it would, apparently, be most sensible to remove her own underwear entirely before putting the new clothes on. It was a body suite, yes, but surely that wasn't necessary...

Once she was dressed he had to draw her attention again as she set its colouration – apparently unaware that she'd pulled it down to complete transparency while adjusting. The other navi, thankfully, was showing no interest in watching her dress, but Rogan really had to wonder what the explanation for these nigh on predictable difficulties could possibly be. The suit itself looked more like fetish wear than an outfit, in his personal opinion – a fact he was depressingly unsurprised about... though it was better than nothing.

Distantly, he hoped that he might prevail upon the girl to call it a day, but the gift of a new outfit – no matter how not-really-decent he personally felt it was, seemed to galvanise her to push on and Rogan heard himself sigh as she pressed him for new directions. Every time he thought it was safe enough to look at his navi on the screen, his eye would inevitably be pulled to a curve or a groove, mapped in skin-tight detail by her new outfit as she moved, and he would end up feeling like a pervert again. He gave the directions all the same, but as Lyntael chatted on about her choice of paths, a comment from her surprised him slightly... was she actually unaware that she was the one responsible for creating the odd weather patterns around her? He cleared his throat.

“I'm not sure if you were paying attention, Lyntael, but I suspect that might actually have something to do with you. As far as I'm aware, even the more deprecated sections of the network aren't quite that prone to sudden dramatically timed storms.” He'd pitched the remark in good humour, but her reaction as she stopped and looked skyward, apparently lost in thought on the matter, told him that she truly hadn't realised before now. Just another peculiar thing about his peculiar navi, he had to suppose. He focused on her expression as she looked to the sky, and the way she closed her eyes, listening to unseen senses. His eyes drifted down to the top of her chest, and the place where her emblem had once rested, identifying her as a netnavi to any who looked. Now it was gone, and she remained. Not for the first time recently, Rogan wondered just who and what the young girl before him truly was now.

It wasn't too much longer, between an exchange of quiet words as Lyntael made her way to the top of the cliff she was traversing and Rogan keeping one eye on her with his peripheral while trying not to look too invasively at the way her outfit hugged her through her stretching and climbing motions, before he felt that the majority of the serious threat had passed and he could return to his other reading.

He had decided earlier that this outing, aside from the earlier contact for information, would not be one for work... but the reality he faced was that simple sitting and watching, without proper purpose, was just not in him at the moment. Even if he was meant to be relaxing while Lyntael sorted herself out, or at the very least focusing on 'training' her for their upcoming work, he had to be doing something else more productive in the end. His laptop opened again and Rogan began to carefully sift through the files he'd been given; he'd checked earlier that the only recording devices in any sight of him was the security camera near the entrance to the cafe – which was looking inward at the interior, not out here – and a government cctv camera that was part of the net monitoring the public strip, which could not see his screen as he was positioned. It was safe enough to work.

His fingers tapped and danced at a rapid pace as he read and sorted the documents, sifting information and cross-referencing details where appropriate. The main trick, right now, would be pinning down exactly where and what Lance was funnelling all of CC's excess capital to; following the cash was always the fastest way to find answers, in this kind of situation. Glancing sideways, he noticed Lyntael approaching anew group of viruses, beginning with a similar overture to previously. For a moment he thought to speak up – at this point they had passed by more of the virus that they were meant to be hunting, than she had actually deleted, but the girl had made it fairly clear to him by now that actually hunting the bounty was a secondary concern to her. He kept quiet and let her speak to the new entities, as she had before.

By all accounts, the organisation's navigator experiments and weapons programs were the main focus of their covert operations; they were what the core company was doing while its many subsidiaries provided more legitimate fronts, but there was more to it than that and that was becoming clearer the more he dug into it. There was some specific purpose that Lance was trying to prepare for; pitting his ever improving tools for breaking data protected navis, against his continually improving... augmentations... for navigators, was all clearly moving towards something, when nothing they produced or destroyed was ever considered a success on its own. Just stepping stones. The weapons research was similar – he was trying to make something, something that would utilise navigator programs as the 'mounts' for his advanced weaponry, but the purpose was opaque still; any weapon a navi could use could only ever be a purely digital artefact, easily overpowered by real world level actions by people, and utterly unable to cross beyond the bounds of its network limitations... so what goal was this really all about?

His eyes scanned a document that sidetracked into a discussion of electromagnetic field projection and his brow furrowed over it for another minute before he looked back to Lyntael's screen. Her voice in his ear had remained calm while he worked, and now she seemed to be moving on from the group she had encountered without any further issues... though still no increase in her bounty tally, he noted.

On a whim, or perhaps by some quiet instinct, Rogan flicked her screen over to the girls more detailed diagnostic view, complete with its human-accurate medical read-outs and privacy-invading level of detail. He was growing more accustomed to understanding the elements of it that mattered, and he found himself unsurprised to see that it was happening again. If Lyntael returned to her PET now, her statistics would no longer align with its record of her limits, or indeed its capacity to account for her. This would be the feeling she had described before; the sensation of being pressed in on, and constrained in some way she couldn't describe, simply by being in her home. He wondered if he should question that more. From what he'd learned more recently, the majority of navis battled to afford upgrades, which, when installed, would make them stronger, faster, and sturdier, and so on... he had assumed the same, in the early days and acted accordingly... but now it was clear that Lyntael's presence and capability just seemed to grow, all of her own, and if he didn't purchase more expansions she ended up feeling stifled by the device. If Eric was willing to patent whatever special project he had designed to create Lyntael, he could probably make a mint...

As one of the cafe's waitstaff came by to check on him, Rogan switched his screen across to Suitachi's SciLab storefront, just in case anyone got overly curious, and ordered a lemonade. His eyes returned to the screen a moment later, then flicked across to Lyntael's PET readings, and the portion of Zenny that had been set aside for her personal 'training' fund. Well, as long as the funds were there, there was no sense holding off on the space it seemed like she was going to need... though Rogan had to admit, the increasing cost of the physical upgrades and firmware updates to improve the device's efficiency and capacity were growing quite pronounced, at least as far as a side-hobby went. He placed a new order with the courier company that serviced the store in this region.

It was only a few minutes before another courier arrived, glancing around near the cafe's front before Rogan caught his eye and raised a hand. The interaction only took a moment and the updates and adjustments only a scant few moment more; he had become adept at the process by now, though he had to admit it was only a small achievement considering how normal the practice was for the majority of people. By the time he was finished, however, Lyntael appeared to have made her way past her most recent encounter and was taking a break at the edge of the cliff she was hiking along. For a moment, Rogan moved to speak up, but something made him pause.

She had her eyes closed, but a serious, focused expression creased her features and he could see small flashes of light darting across her skin every now and then. A glance at her metrics showed nothing strange or unusual, save for a distinct fuzziness and confusion of the graph that usually represented her emotional state; it was only ever an approximation at the best of times, translated from her other bio-metric data, but now it was nearly incomprehensible.

It was a few moments more before the girl lifted her head and seemed to relax, but as she stood, Rogan could see tears streaming down her cheeks. He opened his mouth but she spoke first, softly, but with a smile that stilled the worried question on his tongue. Then her smile became a laugh, and a giggle, and Rogan felt something in him relax that felt like it had been tense for... a very long time. He nodded, looking for the right response, and settled for the simplest one.

“Well then, Lyntael... What do you want to do?”
“I don't know... I know what was wrong still, I understand... and I... I'm alright. I'm good. Better. I think... I think I feel like... I'm everything I want to be.” He watched her pause, turning to look out at the sea, then the sky, then away towards the direction they had been heading.

“I think I'm ready to actually find and take care of this viral threat now. I want to see this through, now that I'm here.” As the girl looked forward, Rogan took a sip from his lemonade and consulted the details Eurayle had given them. It was still a fair amount of network distance, for a navigator travelling off established transitways at least, but it wasn't as though they hadn't set this time aside specifically for the work; they could keep going at least until later in the afternoon. He relayed fresh directions and watched his navi press onward.