The morning had arrived on the green farm and Arthur felt his brain thunder about inside his fragile skull. Old men weren’t meant to skip the regular sleeping hours yet he had decided to do just that, no matter how many warnings a certain friend of his had given him. At the very least, the tasks for the day would be relatively light. The fruits and vegetables were getting closer to being harvested, sitting in that sweet spot where the only thing that could ruin them was predators. Or, as he was dismayed to have found earlier that day, rain.

“Field 7 and 5 need to be combed through with the hydration balancer,” Arthur told Tom as the only other old man on the farm finally decided to show up.

“Well isn’t that just lovely to hear,” Tom said with a pouting tone, though the negative emotion didn’t reach the man’s eyes. He was all smiles and sunshine within. Arthur didn’t understand it. He needed to get himself an aspirin when he had the chance. “How about I make it even better?”

“Why do I not want to hear what you have to say right now?” Arthur asked rhetorically, feeling the world start to look down on him with a middle finger.

“The balancer was pushed over last night by the wind. Somebody with lacking senses decided to leave it outside at Field 4,” Tom explained without pausing to breathe. The man was too inhuman. “Greg is too busy to help so the only others with the idea of how to point a screwdriver have to fix it.”

“That means we have to fix it.”

“I am happy to see that old age hasn’t stopped you from stating the obvious, friend,” Tom said with a bark of laughter, clapping the man on his box while a toolbox swung in his other arm. Arthur narrowed his eyes for the barest of moments before letting it go. He just had to get through the day. The weekend was getting closer and closer. As long as the storm didn’t come back for round two, he would be out hiking in peace.

Arthur wasn’t a mechanic, electrician, or anything else that had to do with machines, never getting past the basic modules in education. Instead, he had thirty years of experience working at a farm and one that never seemed to hire the smartest people. The number of tricks he was forced to learn to have the machines operate at their minimum capacity was astounding. The second the old man finally decided to get the qualifications for what he knew, he was sure a higher paycheck was coming along.

Or a letter of forced resignation. It was one or the other, depending on how his boss felt. Earl had been rather grumpy after the last batch had gone missing. Arthur knew it was best to leave promotions and raises after that debacle finally ended if it would ever actually get to that point.

“It is incredible how much waste builds up in those pipes,” Tom noted as Arthur emptied the last hydraulic line on the ground. “I sometimes wonder how they’re still moving with so much inside.”

“A mix of luck, desperate workers, and us patching together the few bits that aren’t fully flooded,” Arthur suggested as he wiped off the grease stains on his hands. He knew fifteen alternatives to the material from the top of his head but the company refused to use them, no matter how much the former stained his clothing. It was a waste. “Were there any other machines left outside?”

“Not any that were noted down this morning but I don’t think we should trust human eyes that much,” Tom said, getting out a tablet to send out a systematic search. A few minutes of blissful silence was had before the electronic tablet emitted a beep. “Two tractors, one transport-wagon, and another hydration balancer aren't responding to pings. I think we have the entire morning cut out for us.”

Arthur sighed, feeling a need to get back to his warm blanket. Work didn’t wait for the old man to love it, however, and the two friends moved along once more. The storm of the decade had wrecked Sector 42 and they had to clean up the mess. It didn’t help that the people he worked with couldn’t help but ignore their very simple closing protocols.

“Do you think they just hate the idea of thinking?” Arthur asked as he bit down on his sugar-filled sandwich. “The new workers, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t say they don’t think,” Tom fired back with a smile, the other man eating from a small container. It was one of the meals that the company supplied free of charge, the mix of beans and whatever other waste products they couldn’t legally sell. Arthur ate it in large amounts as well, though he had issues with eating it three times a day. There were limits to anybody’s patience. “They don’t think about work. Money, television, and whatever else takes their fancy? That is what’s on their minds half the day.”

“And the other half?”

“That’s when those empty-brained kids sleep, eat, and do whatever else requires no thought,” Tom answered, grinning all the while. Arthur looked at him emptily for a second before shaking his head and taking another bite of his sandwich. The other old man took notice of the contents. “Quite the change of diet, Arthur. I didn’t take you for a sugar-lover.”

Looking down at his food, Arthur tried to remember why he had chosen that for his lunch. He usually picked the salads, their cheaper price and average taste bringing him great pleasure. Instead, he had chosen what was likely the most expensive lunch box in a radius of ten kilometres.

“I… am not sure,” Arthur said, taking another bite. The taste spoke sweet words to him. “Maybe I just wanted to try something new?”

“Well, there are healthier ways to try something else. Maybe something that doesn’t destroy your heart in five years,” Tom suggested. Arthur supposed he knew best, the other man having been on a forced diet in the last couple of months. Cholesterol was an issue that would hit everybody in the end.

“I would rather eat this than that yuck three times a day,” Arthur said in defiance, taking another bite out of his meal. He had to confess, the sugar was growing on him. Maybe the ban of sodas all those years ago had something going on. “Enjoyment in life is something you need to strive for at some level.”

“Speaking of enjoyment,” Tom said, his facial cues changing around as if he suddenly remembered something. “The new Hell-Glory comes out this afternoon. Do you want to watch it together?”

“... Do you still have the diet cans?”

“I don’t know why you like that dirty alcohol but, yes, I do have them somewhere in the fridge.”

“Then sign me up,” Arthur said, finally getting some form of a smile on his face. He couldn’t remember that announcement the last time he had scoured the news. A surprise release, maybe?

Lunch ended with relative silence, the rest of the day’s work going about in the same fashion. Some bickering was had, yes, but the work on the machines wasn’t something that required much thought. Screws were removed, bolts readjusted, and a few tubes were replaced. Only once did they need to put in an order for a capacitor, one of the tractors missing a part.

“I don’t think storms do that,” Tom commented as the two old men looked into the empty space on the inside of the tractor. “Who do you reckon stole it? One of our guys or an outsider?”

“Why can’t it be both,” Arthur said grimly, closing the hatch on the tractor. Black stains on his hands met his eyes. Those wouldn’t wash off easily. “Maybe a mix. Somebody cuts it and another carries it out during the night.”

“You have to at least call them dedicated,” Tom said. “Being outside in a storm to steal tractor parts isn’t too normal. They must really want to make their own at home.”

The mention of the storm made Arthur shiver for a moment, Tom putting up an eyebrow in response. Neither put pressure on it, going about their day until the last moment. The crops were finally rebalanced with the fixed machines, the technology running like smooth clockwork. Arthur allowed himself a small pause to overlook the work. Even if the people running around were of lesser calibre, at least the machines still worked fine.

No real issues were had by the end, their regular tasks are done without any more controversy. Numbers were noted down, plans made for the next shift on what they needed to do, and what they needed to personally remember for the next day.

“We need to see if we can get the tractor working again,” Tom said. “If not, we have to see if Oak can remove the foliage growing on the engine.”

“Do you think he would say yes if we asked?” Monty questioned, remembering the last time he had tried to make that Biomancer do anything other than be lazy.

“I don’t remember suggesting that we should ask. Just say that he has been ordered to do it,” Tom corrected.

“That could get us in trouble.”

“I don’t think he would bother reporting us.”

“... Touché.”

The workday met its end and the two old men parted ways to change into their regular clothing choices. Dragging filth around their rooms wasn’t the most widely appreciated gesture.

Arthur wasn’t sure that Tom would have noticed, however, with how dirt-filled his entrance was. Their rooms were cleaned weekly by the bots. How did one man make one room so dirty in so little time?

“Tom!” Arthur shouted into the apartment as he rid himself of his shoes. “Clean your place for once in your life.”

No response could be heard, though the sound of a running shower was at the edges of the old man’s ears. Waiting around was the right choice, Arthur supposed.

He had known the man for twenty years yet not once had he learned to take care of the messes he left behind. Arthur surveyed the trash everywhere with an unsurprised gaze. He had seen worse from the other man, though it had been a few years since last time something like it had happened. He wondered what had changed.

A few cans of beer were found on the dining table. They were cold to the touch, seemingly taken out of the fridge mere minutes ago. Arthur smiled, not saying no to the many cans as he walked to the sofa, the TV already up and running. A few ads started up the moment he sat down, blasting him with vital information about the newest clothing choices in Sector 13. Arthur barely looked at it, opening up the first can with a grin. He never bought the stuff for himself since it was too expensive but his old friend had something of a supply of them, having bought many crates while they had just come out. Arthur smiled at the memory of Tom’s reaction to the taste, the other man finding them utterly despicable. Arthur couldn’t say he understood why, the alcoholic substitutes tasted just fine to him.

Steps were heard from behind. Arthur didn’t care to look, taking another swig of the can at hand. The stuff really was too-

The wooden bat hit the back of the old man’s skull perfectly. It was only a glancing blow but Arthur was down on the ground, no thoughts running through the man’s mind. Tom looked down at the body coldly. Laying down the bat and grabbing the prepared knife, the old man went down on his knees.

A hand went into his mouth, the man coming out with a small egg. Cutting into the other man’s neck, the required position was found before the man used self-made materials to close up the wound.

Stage 1 of Replication completed!

Starting Stage 2 of Replication

The internal pop-up was dismissed as quickly as it came, the mass of flesh manipulating the body to move around once more. The bleeding old man would wake up in a short while and the wound had to look like an accident. Tom, as the Parasite was being called, washed the knife before hiding the bat for future use. A drink was spilt on the ground as well, some of the liquid being smeared on the fallen old man.

Tripping on a wet floor wasn’t the most impossible situation to be in, after all, and the mass of flesh needed the roles to be played for a while longer. The initial [Replication] was an outlier in terms of speed, as the system had shown after control had been granted.

Stages of Replication

Stage

Description

Estimated time

1

Egg is inserted into the brainstem. Requires immobilisation of the potential vessel.

10 Minutes

2

Egg is incubated. Preliminary scans are made to figure out an optimised method of attack. Transmitter is initialised and a connection to the main host is made.

2 Days

3

Egg unfolds inside the brainstem. Shell is consumed to gain energy. Will hibernate until the vessel is relaxed before moving to stage 4.

1 Day

4

Replacement of the brain begins. All parts consumed are replicated to maintain all regular functions and behaviours. Continues until all parts of the nervous system have been replaced

10 Days

The nascent Hivemind wasn’t sure why it wanted to become a Hivemind. It had become sentient that very morning, waking up in the body of a man called Tom. From that point on, some nagging thought at the back of its skull had screamed at it to maintain the appearance, to figure out its location, and make sure that it became more than just a figure inside one man’s head.

Cursory searching online had told the Parasite that it was experiencing compulsive thoughts. It was a curious phenomena, one that even humans had experience with. There was no clear cure, though the future Hivemind didn’t truly feel any need for it. The idea of becoming many wasn’t something it opposed, the security around multiple bodies bringing serenity to its mind.

On the ground next to the sofa, Arthur coughed loudly, announcing his entrance back into the conscious world. The personality of Tom was resettled, running out of the bathroom with barely a towel to him. Any evidence of the attack was gone, the scene of a stupid accident replacing it. One bonus to being attacked from behind was the lack of memories associated with the attack. Brain trauma was nice in that way.

The Hivemind settled in for the long term, in the meanwhile. It had to let the scene play out for a while, lest it would do more bad than good. Playing it safely never hurt anyone anyway, or so its instincts told it.