Archive of Our Own

Mara is dead now, slain just before GR-74’s consciousness was forced into Cybervoid. His tactile sensors reverberate with phantom pain from the damage he sustained during the battle, and he’s hyperaware of how empty his palm feels without the digital representation of his sword. He suspects it was taken away. That same suspicion puts him on his guard, hunching slightly and watching for malicious cues from the Architect, whose posture is relaxed, expression neutral.

“Congratulations,” the Architect says, hooking his right thumb inside a pocket in his trousers. “Humankind will surely prosper with its greatest threat eliminated, and it has you to thank for that.”

“What happens now?”

“Now? This very moment?” He tilts his head, looking pensive. “We should celebrate your victory over Mara.”

“‘Celebrate’?”

“Yes. Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

GR-74 doesn’t understand the purpose of the question, so he changes the subject. “Where’s my sword?”

“It’s not just a—” The Architect cuts himself off with a click of his tongue. “Never mind. You don’t need it right now; I am not teaching you any new techniques with it.”

“Then why am I here?”

“I told you: We are celebrating.” He folds both hands behind his back. “I have grown somewhat fond of you, GR-74. And I realize some of what I’ve said has unsettled you. You’re suspicious of me. You think you’re in danger, but you’re not. You think I’ve lied to you, but I have not. I said I wanted to avoid distracting you with superfluous details because your survival was more important, just like how I asked you to stop listening to that girl.”

“Zoe.”

“Yes, her. This tower is greater than one person—greater than a dozen or even a hundred people. But she chattered incessantly and disturbed your focus. She manipulated you and, in doing so, risked everyone’s lives.”

“You manipulated me.”

“I helped you. I gave you the skills and knowledge you needed to stay alive—because, certainly, there were too many close calls.”

He’s referring to the dozens of instances when GR-74 nearly took fatal damage, especially from the Laser Array T-073-M and from Mara. But everything the Architect taught him was out of self-preservation, not genuine concern for his well-being.

Their conversations have revealed, bit by bit, how little he values the individual. He sees humanity, not humans, and how it can best preserve the tower in his image. “Iron resolve, a single will, one purpose,” he called it. His arrogance is dangerous, but at least it’s contained.

GR-74 wants to leave Cybervoid, but he doesn’t know how. His departure has always been at the Architect’s discretion. “We’ve celebrated. Send me back.”

“I disagree. We were sidetracked, but I’m done arguing with you. There are only so many ways I can frame my benevolence, so I hope it sinks in.”

“It won’t.”

“Clearly. Platitudes aside…” The Architect gestures to the space before him. “I want you on your knees.”

“What?”

“I would ask if you misheard me, but I know that is not the case. Not with your caliber of hearing. Get on your knees in front of me, Ghostrunner. Kneel. It’s a command.” After a moment of stillness, he adds, “You want me to leave you in peace, don’t you? Then do as I ask.”

Kneeling is an act of submission associated with reverence or humiliation—things he can’t feel. Seconds pass as he tries to discern the motivation behind his command. Delaying long enough to see the Architect’s mouth tighten into reproach, he moves forward to the aforementioned spot and lowers himself to his knees with his palms braced on the platform. His reflection is pristine in the glass-like surface.

“Good.” The Architect circles him with measured steps. “What do you think will happen out there?”

“What do you mean?” GR-74 turns his head to track him, then to the other side when he passes behind.

“Mara is dead, yes, but her pawns are still fighting, unaware of it. They won’t surrender. What will happen to the rebels?”

“They’ll win.”

Half-smiling, the Architect disappears in his blind spot and reappears again. He keeps his face forward, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. His mannerisms are identical to Adam’s, but they still seem fake—probably because he has no use for a corporeal form in here. “You sound convinced.”

“They’ve planned this for a long time,” is a safe answer. Truthfully, Zoe has emboldened him with her confidence, but mentioning her will agitate the Architect, who devalues her to where he won’t even speak her name. She’s “that girl” to him. He ignores her crucial role in helping them reach Mara and seems offended that GR-74 communicated with her at all.

GR-74 can’t explain his behavior other than to attribute it to pride or maybe a territorial response since they exist in the same body. But an AI shouldn’t feel those things.

The Architect’s next question—“If they win, what then?”—is too ambiguous, meeting with silence, so he clarifies, “What happens to you? Mandatory stasis? Those who could properly deactivate and store you are no longer alive.”

GR-74 can’t see into the future, but, obviously, he’ll do the same thing he’s always done: patrol the tower and protect humanity. There’s no other answer, no other choice. It’s what he’s programmed to do.

As if expecting his reasoning, the Architect says, “They won’t want you. Once the gratitude wears off, they will fear you. Even that girl, if she survives.” He stops behind him, evading his field of view. “It’s a sensible reaction. You are powerful. Too powerful, some may say.”

Many feared his kind before the war, but, now, he alone survived the massacre of ninety-nine Ghostrunners, single-handedly fought his way from Base to City, and avenged Adam by ending Mara’s decades-long reign. He killed so many people, and Zoe watched him do it. Although it was done in self-defense, humanity suffers endangerment. He recognizes the impact of what he has done—the number of births required to undo it. This tower faces a grim recovery because of his actions.

The Architect is right. And he knows he’s right, so this exchange is pointless.

“You’re celebrating yourself,” GR-74 says. “You don’t need me for that.”

“Oh, there is plenty you can do to help,” comes the murmur at his back. Fingers snag his cowl, which slides off his head with a whisper of cloth and pools around his neck. The Architect steps into view and faces him. His smile has grown smug, and, judging by the twitch, he’s trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You wouldn’t get it.” He stifles his humor and returns to a neutral expression, identical to when this conversation began. “While we are on the subject, I call them ‘echoes’—that is, my emotions and physical needs. They are weaker, but they emanate from an original source.”

GR-74 thinks his “emotions” are superficial observations his system has assigned to address specific situations. They’re called to task like subroutines, predictable and consistent. Having a mouth, eyebrows, and vocal inflection, he can imitate them well. But there’s no arguing with an entity who believes he’s a postmortem extension of someone else—or, as he has trivialized, a copy of a deleted file.

“You have physical needs?” GR-74 asks.

“I know you’re skeptical. Without my human form, I lack the chemical processes, but I still feel. When I’m hungry or thirsty, I satisfy those needs with the images of food and drink. I enter a low-energy state to simulate sleep when I’m tired. Just over the last day, I have felt helpless and fearful, angry and impatient. Possessive. Even irrationally jealous.” Here, the Architect pauses, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. “I have felt… excited.”

“‘Excited.’”

“Even in my old age, I had sex. I have not in quite some time.” He pauses again. “Do you understand? I’m aroused—‘hard,’ if you will.”

GR-74 processes this information and wonders why it’s being shared. He decides to pursue it. “From watching Mara die?”

“That is part of it. But mostly from watching you.”

“Me?”

“Well, through you. Watching you enact my will with such precision and dexterity. It still astounds me that you, you—so unremarkable compared to other Ghostrunners—were the one to defy all odds.”

The backhanded compliment goes disregarded as movement draws GR-74’s attention to where the Architect drags his knuckles across the front of his trousers. He loosens his belt, underneath which taut black fabric outlines his erect penis, flattened to the right.

When the gold buckle falls away, his fingers pop open the button securing his trousers, then untuck his white dress shirt and undo its bottom two buttons. He unzips and, with some shifting, releases his erection. He’s circumcised, approximately six inches in length.

The Architect sighs, taking himself in hand. “Much better.”

Unsure of how to react, GR-74 shifts his weight on his knees. “You want me to watch you masturbate.”

He says nothing at first, stroking himself with an unhurried pace. His eyes have fallen shut, and he appears focused on his task. Moments later, he lifts his eyelids and looks down at him. “I know you’re curious. This is something denied to you. I won’t force you to watch, but you should.”

Curiosity is moot. There’s nothing else to look at, so GR-74 takes his suggestion.

Pre-ejaculate fluid leaks from the Architect’s swollen glans and coats his palm, and, with slick sounds, he smears it down his shaft. He stimulates the head between two fingers, rubbing his thumb along the slit there in short, quick flicks. His technique seems practiced. He’s done this before—he, not Adam.

“My humanity stifled me,” the Architect says, his breath hitching. “I was ashamed of the things I liked and wanted. I had already puzzled out the difficult decisions in my life but could not bring myself to act on them because of how others would perceive me. It was shameful. But I don’t have that weakness anymore.”

“Because you don’t care.”

“I do care. But there is a bigger picture to consider, and not everyone can see it. Mara could not. I… didn’t expect that from her. Such a waste.”

“What’s the bigger picture?”

“What else? Survival. Prosperity. Overcoming the stacked deck.” The Architect stills his hand. “You look tense. Maybe you would like to participate?”

It’s a strange thing to ask. As pornographic as the performance has been, GR-74 is unaffected. He’s incapable of anything sexual, lacking orifices and genitals of his own. Pleasure and arousal are beyond his imagining, leaving him devoid of sexual preferences.

“I don’t know,” he says, compelled to honesty.

The Architect gives him a searching glance. “Inaction doesn’t become you, Ghostrunner. You want to participate.”

They’re just words. He knows the requirement for leaving Cybervoid. “I want to participate.”

“I’m glad. What will you do?”

GR-74 shifts his visual feed to the Architect’s penis, still loosely held in one hand, then back up to his face. The correct answer is obvious: “Anything you want.”

“My thoughts exactly. Here, let me show you.” The Architect closes the meager distance between them and unexpectedly seizes GR-74’s head in his free hand, forcing it upward at an unnatural angle.

With a pained grunt, he rises on his knees to ease the strain on his neck and feels warm flesh press against him. It slides up and down, rubbing and shifting, as the Architect pleasures himself on his faceplate.

“This is where you belong, you know—here on your knees, waiting to serve,” the Architect tells him, low and soft, contrasting the aggression in his actions. “A perfect tool for my use.”

“This isn’t my purpose.” GR-74 rips free of the hand holding him in place and turns away. Streaks of pre-ejaculate fluid compromise his visual feed, so he wipes it clear with his forearm—the best he can, anyway.

The Architect thrusts uninterrupted along the side of his head. “On the contrary, your purpose is to obey me. It’s why I created you.”

Fingers curl under his jaw and dig in, yanking his head forward so he’s forced to focus on the flesh crowding his face. He recognizes how the Architect is diminishing him, debasing him as an object. The promise of reward keeps him on his knees, allowing it to happen.

When his jaw is released, GR-74 doesn’t bother cleaning his visual feed. He can see well enough, but he doesn’t need to see to understand what’s expected of him. Taking the Architect’s penis in hand, he strokes it with the same technique he just observed, familiarizing himself with the unique feel of soft skin over hard tissue.

At his coaxing, the skin rolls over the glans, and more fluid beads at the slit, where he collects it with a swipe of his thumb. He hooks his arm around the back of the Architect’s right knee, noting how much he’s trembling. His breathing is labored, audible over the wet noises, and there’s a twitch in his brow. Each time GR-74 touches that slit, his muscles jerk. It must be very sensitive, edging on painful. He suspects it won’t take long to bring him to orgasm.

The Architect looks like he may collapse. When a blocky structure materializes behind him, he uses it for support.

“Oh,” he breathes. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. “It has been so long. I had forgotten… Mm, but you’re a quick learner, as attentive as my hand. Exquisite. You’ll labor for my pleasure, Ghostrunner. This is how it should be.”

If GR-74 were doing this for a human, his system inhibitors would recognize his behavior as inappropriate and give him pause to consider the consequences of his actions, but there’s no life signature in this AI to trigger them. To his inhibitors, he may as well be modifying code instead of stimulating someone to orgasm.

“Yes…” With his eyes squeezed shut, the Architect arches his back and thrusts jerkily into the slick ring of GR-74’s fingers. “Perfect. I’m almost there. Keep doing that—just like… Ah—”

As close to orgasm as he claims to be, he seems to struggle to reach it, with his brow furrowed in what looks like concentration. He’s hovering at the edge, but it’s not enough. GR-74 can’t offer fellatio or intercourse—he can only speed up his pumping, which he does. Unhooking his arm from the Architect’s knee, he reaches into his trousers, finds his testicles, and massages them. The sac tightens in his hand. Should he probe for his prostate? He’s not sure how the attempt will be received, especially without lubricant.

Roughly two minutes pass in relative silence, broken only by the sounds of lubricated flesh, intakes of breath, and nonsensical murmurs. GR-74 watches the Architect’s complicated expression through all of it until he shudders and finally ejaculates.

Semen floods GR-74’s faceplate in viscous spurts, and the mess drips down his neck, where it’s soaked up by his cowl. Listening to the Architect’s panting, he curls his hands into fists and rests them on his thighs. The next twenty-one seconds of shifting cloth punctuated by a slow zip allow him to visualize what’s happening through the pale murkiness.

A thumb swipes across his faceplate, clearing a single line of vision with which to see the tight-lipped satisfaction on the Architect’s face. As expected, he has tucked away his penis and tidied his appearance. GR-74 mops up most of the semen with his scarf.

“Admittedly, when I brought you here, I had every intention of deleting your mind,” the Architect says in an even tone, so unlike the one he just used to plead for orgasm. Backing toward the opposite side of the platform, he retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans his thumb with it. “You’re deeply flawed—all but ruined by those imbecilic Climbers—but I cannot ignore your obedience. As a reward, I will allow you to remain in Cybervoid.”

“Why would I stay here?”

He says nothing at first, seemingly focused on removing all traces of semen from his skin. Once he deems the task satisfactory, he abandons the soiled handkerchief. It fragments and then disappears in midair. He interlaces his fingers, resting his hands on his abdomen. “Oh, well, you don’t really have a choice. By connecting the Cybervoid nodes, you have strengthened me considerably. You’ll find that I have already taken control of your body.”

GR-74 tenses.

“You played your part in keeping me entertained during the tediously slow transfer. I couldn’t have asked for a more appropriate celebration.” The Architect tilts his head. “Actually… I say that, but I think I would have enjoyed fucking you.”

GR-74 isn’t listening, having delegated his processing power to running simulations to decide the best course of action. He doesn’t need a sword to kill. The strength of his grip can break skin, rupture organs, and snap bones. Within milliseconds, he can close the gap and rip out his throat. Neither of them will leave Cybervoid.

Shoving off from the platform, he dashes toward the Architect—

A transparent wall of orange crosshatches blinks into existence in front of him, barring him from his target. Momentum almost sends him straight through it, but he skids to a halt—though not before it catches his right hand in its forward swing. He realizes it severed inches off four of his fingers and swallowed the pieces. It’s a deletion field, stretching from end to end. As far as he can tell, it’s impassable.

This is the Architect’s newfound strength, and GR-74 gave it to him.

The Architect approaches the wall. It casts its glow on his face as he squints over his glasses. “I know how this looks, but I would prefer not to delete you.”

GR-74 examines his surroundings. Orange neon emblazons his visual feed. The deletion field has crept in and boxed him on all sides. “Why?”

“I already told you.”

It was early in their conversation. He had disregarded it. “Because you’re ‘fond’ of me?”

The Architect slides his hands into his pockets. “Somewhat. Fond enough. I want you to have a body, but I need yours for now. You understand, don’t you? I can’t do anything meaningful from in here.”

“What will you do?”

“I have a plan. But, first, I must establish order. This tower needs a strong leader and new policies. Well, technically, old policies. There was very little wrong with my leadership when I was human.”

Mara talked about how Adam feared the Architect. She also mentioned a plan. GR-74 suspects the two are related, but it’s difficult to trust the word of either of them. Until now, he hasn’t stopped to wonder why Mara killed someone whom she considered a very close friend, but, recalling what the Architect said about his humanity stifling him and keeping him from making difficult decisions, it’s obvious.

The Architect lies—but he also tells the truth. Whatever he has planned is what Adam had planned. It’s something an empathetic human being wouldn’t subject to another. But an AI following a directive? GR-74 understands better than anyone that the end justifies the means. His recent massacre to reach Mara is evidence enough.

“Your plan,” GR-74 says. “It was Adam’s plan. He couldn’t do it.”

“I see you’re finally listening to me. Yes. He wanted to put an end to violence and corruption.”

“How?”

“Unification. Eating, sleeping, and breeding are all essential to life, but they require regulation for absolute efficiency. Everyone must do their part whether or not they agree. That is where my policies come in.”

“Enslavement.” This is what Adam wanted. Both he and Mara craved total control, and she struck first. “Mara was right about you.”

The deletion field shrinks—a warning. At this proximity, he can feel its low vibration and heat skating across his chassis like the prickle of static. If he even twitches in any direction, he’ll shave data off his form.

“She was wrong,” the Architect says with a hard edge and narrowed eyes. “Her shortsightedness led her to kill Adam. Me. I proposed addressing the root issues humanely, but she wanted to rip them out, along with any semblance of autonomy. With her, humanity was doomed. I, a monster?” He scoffs. “If anyone were the monster… She even looked the part.”

Before GR-74 can respond, the Architect shakes his head. “Mm. It no longer matters. A thing of the past. My new body is vulnerable, so I must go for now.”

“‘For now’?”

“Yes. You will wait here until I decide what to do with you, however long that may take.” He turns his back on him and walks away, gradually pixelating. “Until then, GR-74.”

When he disappears, the deletion field goes with him. GR-74 stands on the skyscraper’s edge and looks out at all the nothingness: the distant buildings and lights, the domed sky crossed with intersecting red lines. Cybervoid seems indifferent to the Architect’s absence, which makes him think he’s still here in some capacity, probably watching for a reaction—or looking for a reason to go through with the deletion. He should. It’s the pragmatic solution.

Being deleted isn’t what bothers GR-74. By doing nothing, he condemns humankind to cold curation, and, in here, all he can do is nothing. The Architect may never release him from Cybervoid, but his directive demands that he do everything possible to safeguard the tower and its inhabitants. If that means biding his time, so be it. He’ll await the Architect’s return.

This isn’t trust. This is necessity.

And he’s very patient.