The Past, Rewired

[thisDerius]

Derius took the datapad into his black metallic hands, his fingers gliding over the smooth surface with slow, deliberate motions. The synthetic servos in his fingers adjusted subtly to the weight and texture, a reflex he barely thought about anymore. His glowing eyes flicked over the data as he skimmed through the files, absorbing the fragmented history buried within them.

"Finn McCool… Holiday… IRG Cells… Aphanta." He muttered the names as if tasting them, letting the weight of old ghosts settle in his mind. Some of these were whispers from another era—footnotes in the tangled mess of secrets that was Ingenuus. Others, like the power cells, were more than just rumors.

He leaned back slightly, his mechanical fingers tapping rhythmically against the side of the device as he mulled over the information. "There’s a blast from the past," he said under his breath, the irony not lost on him. He’d spent years trying to sever his ties with old enemies, old allies, old mistakes—yet here he was, peeling back the layers of history once again.

Derius flicked through a few more pages of encrypted data before finally placing the datapad back onto the table with a soft metallic clink. He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. "Seems to me like you’ve got everything I need," he admitted, though his voice carried a note of skepticism. "But I’d rather access all this on Corinth. I prefer a more... physical interaction, if I had to put it that way." His fingers absently tapped the table. "I need to make sure this data isn’t tracked in any way before I upload it to my database."

As he finished speaking, the bartender arrived, placing their drinks onto the table. The familiar scent of his Sidewinder hit his senses first—a potent mix of spice and heat, just strong enough to take the edge off without dulling his mind. He lifted the glass, rolling it gently in his hand before bringing it to his lips for a small sip. The burn was immediate, tracing a line down his throat, a contrast to the cold calculations in his mind.

His gaze flicked up briefly toward the man across from him. He hadn’t spent much effort analyzing Donagan—at least, not yet—but something about the way he carried himself had been scratching at Derius' instincts.

He lowered the glass slightly. "You’re not at least a little interested in what all this is about?" His voice was calm, measured, but there was an edge beneath it, a challenge just barely veiled.

Derius wasn’t sure what he expected in response. Maybe curiosity. Maybe disinterest. Either way, it didn’t matter. The path forward was already set, and soon enough, the past would be laid bare—rewired and unlocked, piece by piece.