Tech Support

This time of year, sales were through the roof. Yearly check-ins and reports were due, and many Virusytes were looking for a slight boost to their infection numbers. Something to make their makers proud, something to make up for a year of doing everything but their jobs. Vulf was happy to provide his services (the ability to charge hefty rush fees motivated him more than anything). But he was horribly behind schedule, and it didn't help that his bots had begun to bug out. He was struggling to keep up with it all, and it killed him to admit it.

Swift was one such Virusyte looking to commit infection rate fraud- but at the least, he was consistent. He sat at Vulf’s desk and all but folded himself inward, trying to make himself seem as inconspicuous as possible. Every time Vulf saw him, he seemed more miserable at the thought of being here. Vulf knew Swift thought he was the worst- he made no attempt to hide it, after all. But Swift had no choice but to deal with him if he wanted to get his managers off his tail.

It was nice to feel wanted.

“Hive!” Vulf said, masking his general frustration with a tense grin. “Great to see you again! It’s been a while since you checked in with me. Was startin’ to think they got you, or something.”

Swift never indulged in his fun banter. He was kind of boring like that.

“I'd just like to get this out of the way,” Swift muttered stiffly. “No need for small talk.” There was a resigned note to his voice- he made it no secret that he didn't want to be here. He refused to meet Vulf’s eye, his gaze focused squarely on the floor. He reminded Vulf of a human sometimes, the way he cowered.

“Oh, same here, believe me,” Vulf replied with a practiced note of customer-service sympathy. “Line's a mile long, I've been at it all day. You'll be in and out in the blink of an eye. All I need's your number, and you'll be on your way.”

…

Swift proceeded to not, in fact, be in and out. Vulf scowled at the window before him, the glaring red error on the screen reflected in his eye. Swift blinked in concern. He craned his neck as if to try and see the issue for himself.

“...Is there a problem?”

Vulf was quick to snatch the program out of Swift's line of sight, holding it to himself with a glare in the other's direction. “No, no,” came his hurried insistence, “everything's just fine. It's going great. …it just needs a moment. Traffic's awful, this time of day.”

A few more seconds passed, and it was obvious that Swift didn't believe him in the slightest. Vulf continued to mutter under his breath as he fiddled with the program- useless bucket of bits, you sonnuva–

Vulf glanced up under furrowed brows, his eye caught by the metal reflection of Swift's left arm. Swift's hands were clasped tightly together in worry, synthetic skin interlaced with steel.

“Hive. You work with bots, right?”

Swift was caught off guard by the question, meeting Vulf's gaze with bewilderment. “I have some familiarity with them, yes,” he responded, in a tone that bordered on sarcasm. It wasn't as if he attempted to hide the bot code in his system. In fact, it was pretty damned obvious, if he did say so himself.

Vulf stood up quickly, leaning over the desk to whisper to Swift.

“Look, I'll cut you a deal. I'll put you at the top of the list- gold star, up on the leaderboard, the works. All you’ve gotta do is help me out with–”

“Please do not do that,” Swift interrupted, almost pleadingly. “I don't need their attention on me.”

“Oh. Oh, gotcha– hell, I can do that! You'll be the most mediocre Virusyte in town. An absolute nobody. Hive? Who's that? Never heard of ‘em.”

Swift just seemed mildly insulted by the suggestion. Perhaps Vulf sounded a little too excited at the prospect. Vulf’s commercial-ready grin dropped off his face nearly instantly.

“Wh– okay, whatever!” Vulf sputtered frustratedly. “Look. Help me out, I'll owe you one. We'll figure out the specifics.”

Vulf hated owing favors. It killed him to have to ask anybody for help- let alone some do-goody detective. Let alone Strike's do-goody detective. But, at the very least, do-goodies weren't opposed to helping.

“...Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Perfect. Wonderful. That’s why you’re my favorite customer.”

Swift cringed at the title.