cayde "quickshot" mori // father ship // #990012 // img credit: alex flores
"What's the purpose of currency on these ships?" a synthetic voice asked, "everything on the Prime sustains itself from the food to the government to the labor that keeps the ships afloat. So why bother with taxes? Everyone would live more efficiently."
“Without money how do you expect anyone to ascend from ship to ship? It isn’t as simple as throwing wheat at the government,” a white-haired individual mused, “having your wealth tied to your labor would create a caste system.”
“If all the money is being funneled to Mother and she hoards it like a dragon then the Prime is already one, just with extra steps.”
"Is this what you do when you get old? Blabber on about socioeconomic theory?" A blonde woman cut in.
"Hey, I'm only thirty-eight!" Cayde snapped, "now pass me the WD-40."
"So they say." Halo smirked as they tossed the aerosol bottle.
Small spurts of silicone filled the air as the cybernetic man lubricated his joints. It wasn’t easy being Cayde Mori, or Quickshot, as he would be known by the masses. Halo and Renee (their stylist), decided that he needed a stage name that reflected well on him and of the options they came up with, Quickshot was the most popular.
“Mmmm Halo, what do you think of this?” she asked, holding up a rhinestone blazer, “too flashy?”
“I’d prefer not to look like a disco ball,” Cayde deadpanned.
“You don’t have a lot of options looking like…” the woman gestured towards the mutant, “...that.”
“You just pointed at all of me.”
Halo pursed their lips for a second, stroking their chin in deep thought.
“A lone ranger, super soldier, a family man?” they suggested, cyan eyes moving towards his competitor’s mask.
“Definitely not a family man.” Renee shook her head vigorously as she pulled out a fluffy overcoat, “he doesn’t have the face for it or really...any face. How is anyone going to connect with him if they can’t even see him?”
“You don’t need a pretty face to earn patrons. Modeling is about more than that.”
“That's rich coming from the face of everything from designer clothing to toilet paper,” Quickshot scoffed, as he set down the spray, “I bet you landed every job you came across."
As if anyone below the ships could afford their products.
“I’m keenly aware. That’s why I stepped out of the limelight,” Halo frowned, “I always changed myself to fit the product, but here...we can build around you.”
They left the couch, approaching their stylist’s closet. It was a curious piece. The sliding door was only a few feet in length and inside appeared shallow in depth, yet the list of clothing was endless. Pulling up the navigation menu, they scrolled through a variety of themes ranging from western to cottagecore to an amalgamation of east Asian aesthetics. Each piece projected onto Cayde’s form via hologram, flickering as it went through each suggestion. After a long string of “no”s (from all sides), the human finally retracted their finger from the touch screen.
“Renegade,” Halo announced finally, “a man who lost everything and seeks to redeem himself by saving others, even at the cost of his humanity.”
“Isn’t the anti-hero trope played out?” the cyborg asked, “everyone is going to spin themselves into a hero.”
“Not to mention, nothing about him is even human," the stylist yawned.
“I don’t think you need to be human to have humanity,” Halo smiled, “you just need them to identify with you.”
The manager walked over to their competitor, draping a mesh cape over Quickshot’s shoulders. Upon closer inspection red, hexagonal outlines shimmered in the light, seemingly to dim and brighten with his breathing. The fabric was not unfamiliar to him as he’d used it in the past to dress people’s wounds. It was waterproof, breathable, and reacted with heat in order to regulate the wearer’s body temperature, making it ideal for protecting delicate skin. It wasn’t uncommon for mutants to dig through the trash of humans and repurpose what they found in ways both fashionable and otherwise. Long, continuous pieces of fabric were rare. It was far more common to see patchwork linens, threadbare garments, and if your species was hardy enough, nothing at all.
He was sure he saw a few people on Father wearing the same styles, but for them it was just that: an aesthetic. Fake eyepatches, prosthetic tattoos, and the gas masks that didn’t filter anything.
Perhaps he was getting old.
After snapping the magnetic strip down, Halo sat back down on the couch and motioned for Cayde to approach the closet
“Mirror mode, please.”
Pulling up the fur-trimmed hood, the mutant mutt gazed at himself, tugging on various parts of the half-cape half-cloak until it finally found rested around his shoulders. Despite his prosthetics, he could still feel the smooth, cool fabric between his fingers. The black matched him well and the fur was surprisingly unobtrusive. Pieces of himself still showed through the garment with the crimson parts of his armor shining the brightest.
“Renegade huh, I like the sound of that” Cayde murmured to himself, “Why didn’t you go with that as my nickname?"
”It didn’t do well with test audiences,” the white-haired model chuckled.
Cayde rolled his eyes beneath his mask. Who could they have tested in such a short amount of time?
“Well! If it’s all good with you two, I’m going to arrange for a fresh coat of paint, a tune up and a new mas-” she paused after seeing something resembling a glare-“okay no mask. How about just a cleaning then?"
Halo glanced at Cayde expectantly until the mechanical mutant took off his helmet and handed it over to Renee.
"In the meantime you should unwind, relax, and grab a drink while the pit crew gets to work,” she said before glancing over at Halo, "are you coming along?"
”Good luck out there, Cayde,” Halo smiled, standing up once more to leave the room.
Renee closed the door behind the two of them, a locking noise following soon after. Walking over to the minifridge, he cracked open a beer and sat back on the couch.
I don’t need luck. I always get the job done.
“Without money how do you expect anyone to ascend from ship to ship? It isn’t as simple as throwing wheat at the government,” a white-haired individual mused, “having your wealth tied to your labor would create a caste system.”
“If all the money is being funneled to Mother and she hoards it like a dragon then the Prime is already one, just with extra steps.”
"Is this what you do when you get old? Blabber on about socioeconomic theory?" A blonde woman cut in.
"Hey, I'm only thirty-eight!" Cayde snapped, "now pass me the WD-40."
"So they say." Halo smirked as they tossed the aerosol bottle.
Small spurts of silicone filled the air as the cybernetic man lubricated his joints. It wasn’t easy being Cayde Mori, or Quickshot, as he would be known by the masses. Halo and Renee (their stylist), decided that he needed a stage name that reflected well on him and of the options they came up with, Quickshot was the most popular.
“Mmmm Halo, what do you think of this?” she asked, holding up a rhinestone blazer, “too flashy?”
“I’d prefer not to look like a disco ball,” Cayde deadpanned.
“You don’t have a lot of options looking like…” the woman gestured towards the mutant, “...that.”
“You just pointed at all of me.”
Halo pursed their lips for a second, stroking their chin in deep thought.
“A lone ranger, super soldier, a family man?” they suggested, cyan eyes moving towards his competitor’s mask.
“Definitely not a family man.” Renee shook her head vigorously as she pulled out a fluffy overcoat, “he doesn’t have the face for it or really...any face. How is anyone going to connect with him if they can’t even see him?”
“You don’t need a pretty face to earn patrons. Modeling is about more than that.”
“That's rich coming from the face of everything from designer clothing to toilet paper,” Quickshot scoffed, as he set down the spray, “I bet you landed every job you came across."
As if anyone below the ships could afford their products.
“I’m keenly aware. That’s why I stepped out of the limelight,” Halo frowned, “I always changed myself to fit the product, but here...we can build around you.”
They left the couch, approaching their stylist’s closet. It was a curious piece. The sliding door was only a few feet in length and inside appeared shallow in depth, yet the list of clothing was endless. Pulling up the navigation menu, they scrolled through a variety of themes ranging from western to cottagecore to an amalgamation of east Asian aesthetics. Each piece projected onto Cayde’s form via hologram, flickering as it went through each suggestion. After a long string of “no”s (from all sides), the human finally retracted their finger from the touch screen.
“Renegade,” Halo announced finally, “a man who lost everything and seeks to redeem himself by saving others, even at the cost of his humanity.”
“Isn’t the anti-hero trope played out?” the cyborg asked, “everyone is going to spin themselves into a hero.”
“Not to mention, nothing about him is even human," the stylist yawned.
“I don’t think you need to be human to have humanity,” Halo smiled, “you just need them to identify with you.”
The manager walked over to their competitor, draping a mesh cape over Quickshot’s shoulders. Upon closer inspection red, hexagonal outlines shimmered in the light, seemingly to dim and brighten with his breathing. The fabric was not unfamiliar to him as he’d used it in the past to dress people’s wounds. It was waterproof, breathable, and reacted with heat in order to regulate the wearer’s body temperature, making it ideal for protecting delicate skin. It wasn’t uncommon for mutants to dig through the trash of humans and repurpose what they found in ways both fashionable and otherwise. Long, continuous pieces of fabric were rare. It was far more common to see patchwork linens, threadbare garments, and if your species was hardy enough, nothing at all.
He was sure he saw a few people on Father wearing the same styles, but for them it was just that: an aesthetic. Fake eyepatches, prosthetic tattoos, and the gas masks that didn’t filter anything.
Perhaps he was getting old.
After snapping the magnetic strip down, Halo sat back down on the couch and motioned for Cayde to approach the closet
“Mirror mode, please.”
Pulling up the fur-trimmed hood, the mutant mutt gazed at himself, tugging on various parts of the half-cape half-cloak until it finally found rested around his shoulders. Despite his prosthetics, he could still feel the smooth, cool fabric between his fingers. The black matched him well and the fur was surprisingly unobtrusive. Pieces of himself still showed through the garment with the crimson parts of his armor shining the brightest.
“Renegade huh, I like the sound of that” Cayde murmured to himself, “Why didn’t you go with that as my nickname?"
”It didn’t do well with test audiences,” the white-haired model chuckled.
Cayde rolled his eyes beneath his mask. Who could they have tested in such a short amount of time?
“Well! If it’s all good with you two, I’m going to arrange for a fresh coat of paint, a tune up and a new mas-” she paused after seeing something resembling a glare-“okay no mask. How about just a cleaning then?"
Halo glanced at Cayde expectantly until the mechanical mutant took off his helmet and handed it over to Renee.
"In the meantime you should unwind, relax, and grab a drink while the pit crew gets to work,” she said before glancing over at Halo, "are you coming along?"
”Good luck out there, Cayde,” Halo smiled, standing up once more to leave the room.
Renee closed the door behind the two of them, a locking noise following soon after. Walking over to the minifridge, he cracked open a beer and sat back on the couch.
I don’t need luck. I always get the job done.