Tech Support

Now, Swift was hovering over a malfunctioning device, with somebody describing the issue to him using the most nonspecific and confusing terminology he'd ever heard. Swift couldn't remember much about his host, but this felt familiar in a way that made him nauseous.

Vulf had led him into a back room, with a large screen as the centerpiece: the server room, he had called it. A headquarters of sorts for Vulf’s work; it had that rosy decor that Swift identified as distinctly Vulf-esque. Cold and metallic, yet warm and plush; steel beneath the carpet, compressed images of roses in a vase, scattered pages tacked to the walls. A better detective would have been concerned at some of the sights- the string of identification numbers scrawled on one wall, the streaks of red ink dashed through them. Swift skimmed the writing only to make sure he didn’t recognize any of the numbers listed. It wasn’t a problem, because Vulf was helping him out- the last thing Swift wanted to do was piss off the only guy keeping him in his managers’ good graces. It wasn’t his business what Vulf did for fun. 

Vulf didn’t seem to notice Swift’s studious gaze; he was too busy listening to himself talk.

“...so the output’s been awful. Absolutely awful. And I know for a fact that it’s not a supply issue; humans are a dime a dozen, devices moreso. Hell, I could go get them myself- but I’ve got to be here too, you know? Can’t have a dozen Vulfs managing things, runnin’ around and- you ever try it? Running multiple instances? It’s doable, if you've got the optics, but it gives you a hell of a headache…”

Swift wished he would shut up– or, at the least, actually describe the issue. He tried his best to tune the rambling wolf out, directing his focus to the screen before him. This was the head of Vulf’s operations- a single device, for maintaining his network. It felt intimidating to even look at. Some dark part of Swift’s mind contemplated the possibility of destroying it altogether: the thought of hindering the Virusyte spread at such a scale was frightfully appealing. Not that it would be useful, he told himself. Vulf was smart; he had to have at least a half-dozen backups across the web.

So he’d fix it, he supposed. No hidden goals- not from the Virusytes, not from Swift-Check. Just doing as he said he would. If nothing else, he had his word.

He almost didn’t want to touch the device, but he eventually allowed his fingers to rest on the keys. He could almost feel the electricity arc along his hands, the surging possibility of power. He was starting to understand why Vulf acted like that.

Vulf had power, he had control, he was cunning- but he didn't know the first thing about software care. That much became obvious to Swift as he combed through the Hound program. It was infuriatingly sluggish, bogged down by temporary data and overclocked to an extreme state. It was warm to the touch- Swift wasn't sure how Vulf had managed to overheat a digital program to such an extent.

“When's the last time you've turned this off? Let it cool down?” 

Vulf's sheepish expression spoke volumes. Swift scowled.

“We're all ones and zeroes; it's not much different from either of us,” Swift continued. “It's got to rest, or it's not going to work how you want it to.” 

“I– fine, fine, okay. You don't need to lecture me. Just fix it.”

“Cut it off for a bit, and it should be fine.” 

“I need a fix that doesn't require me to shut everything down. You're the bot guy, you've got to know somethin’.” 

“That– Vulf, that is the something. I'm a technician, I don't work miracles.”

“There's not– I don't know, can't you slap a band-aid fix on it? Something to keep it going just a few more days, at the least?” 

There was a note of desperation in Vulf's voice, and Swift turned to look back at him. Vulf was trying his best to maintain that arrogant sales personality, but worry creased his brow and tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“I just need a couple days to work through the backlog,” Vulf explained nervously. “It's the end of the year, everyone's doing reports. I can't let them down, that's– it's bad for business! You know business!”

“That's why you take care of your stuff before it breaks.”

“Hive, c'mon…”

Swift was getting tired of explaining. And it was hard to resist Vulf's puppy-dog eyes. He sighed, turning back towards the screen.

“...It won't work as well as it usually does.” Swift moved through the menus with ease, familiar with the act of modification. “But I can dial down a few unnecessary visuals, shut off some processes. Put it in a workable enough state. But I wouldn't suggest you keep it like that. Or keep it running too long; it sleeps when you sleep.” 

“Well, I'm not sleepin’ till I'm done.”

“Vulf.”

“Nevermind.” 

Swift rolled his eyes as he stepped back from the device. His fix was nothing pretty, and he didn't trust Vulf to actually give the damn thing a rest. But he'd done his part, at the least. 

“Once you're caught up, cut it off,” Swift reminded him. “No more quick fixes.”

Vulf's relief was obvious, his grin no longer tense as he took Swift's place in front of the program. It wasn't perfect- but it was functional enough that Vulf was willing to push through it.

“Hive, you've saved lives tonight. I hope you know that.”  

“You don't have to butter me up,” Swift replied dismissively. “Just take a break, once in a while. Take an off day.”

“Everyone says that,” Vulf mumbled, only half listening as he ran through the program. “You're stuck in that beta mindset.” 

“I– wh– Vulf, at least my programs work fine!” 

Swift didn't even care about the insult- he certainly didn't subscribe to any dated wolf pack terminology. But it was just like Vulf, to turn around and insult the person who had just saved his work. He didn't see why Strike hung out with the guy.

Swift considered himself a pacifist, a peacekeeper. But something about Vulf was just so banally aggravating that it caused him to reconsider. He hated the fact that he needed Vulf's help. Sometimes he wondered if being culled was the better option.

“...Alright. Sure. Beta mindset. But you owe me,” Swift said, if only to make Vulf flinch at the mention of a favor.

“Y– yeah, yeah, I've got you. Just say the word.” Vulf didn't look away from the screen as he spoke. “And your numbers are fixed. You're free to go. Tell Strike I said hi.” 

“Will do.” 

He almost didn't.