Somewhere in the UTs (Still)

[stykera]

Why he had chosen that night, of all nights, to ignore a voice in his head, Stark had no idea. It had started out fine. Yoti had escorted him to a refreshment house near the temple. Stark had declined the offer of a drink. That decision, at least, had been a wise one.



"You said you had a proposal," Stark prompted, eyeing Yoti warily.

"I did, I did." Yoti smiled again, drained his bright green drink, and motioned to the bartender for another. "I mentioned I'm a game designer? One of note even."

Stark nodded, trying not to look longingly at the exit.

"Yes. Well, I'm looking for something new. Something different. Something...unique."

The word unique, said in such a way, had unpleasant Scorpy associations for Stark and he repressed a shudder. "What do you want with me?"

"A Stykera would be perfect," Yoti said. "Perfect. Something new. Different. A neural template no one else has used."

Stark stared for a moment, then shook his head. "No."

"You haven't even heard me out," Yoti protested.

"Don't need to. Not selling you the inside of my head. It's mine."

"You're a Stykera," Yoti pointed out, sipping at his drink. "Is it even really yours?"

Stark stared again. "What?"

"From what I understand, you remember things. From those you help to die. So is your mind even yours anymore? Or is it everyone you've ever helped?"

"More reason not to share with you," Stark said. This conversation, he was sure, could only lead to trouble. "Why would I share that with you?" He moved to stand up, face already turned towards the exit. "Not sharing anything with you. With anyone." If he could keep things from Scorpy and his Chair, he could keep them from this man.

"Because." Yoti's disturbing smile was gone now, Stark could tell that without looking, and his voice had gone dangerously quiet. "Because there's someone outside the exit, waiting for me. And waiting for you. A Scarran. A Scarran who I told I might be able to deliver an escaped Stykera too. He was very interested. I told you you were valuable."

Stark had gone very still while Yoti spoke. Forcing himself to move, he slowly turned to meet Yoti's eye. He clasped his hands tightly together, trying to hold back the oncoming flail. "You're lying." He wasn't. Stark knew that.

"You are welcome to see for yourself," Yoti said calmly, taking a small sip of his drink. "But I wouldn't recommend it. Coming with me will be far more pleasant than going with the Scarran."

Stark sat back down heavily, shoulders hunched. He was trapped. He knew that, even without confirming there was someone outside waiting for him to exit. He knew the feeling of being trapped. And he hated that feeling. "I won't give you what you want. Any of it. Not mine to give. Wouldn't give it if it were mine. I won't. Didn't before. Won't now. I won't." He knew he was starting to babble. He didn't care.

"How do you know what I want? I told you, all I want is your neural template for the game. You'll be free to go."

"No, no, no," Stark said. "Won't do it. You can't make me." Unfortunately, even he knew this protest was not likely to achieve anything.

"There is always the other option." Yoti motioned towards the exit. "If you'd rather."

Stark was still trying desperately not to flail. He cursed himself for being an idiot under his breath in a variety of languages. This man had known who he was from the beginning. He'd walked into a trap. He knew there were things in his head that were valuable, information that was wanted by others. And he didn't doubt there was someone outside waiting for him. How did the expression go? 'Rock and a hard place?' "What does this entail, exactly, this template? What do I do? What do you need? What do you want? Why me?"

"I already told you why," Yoti snapped. "And I'm happy to give you to the Scarran if that what's you'd prefer. If not, be quiet. I'll explain the process. Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink? The Scarran won't wait outside forever. You should know their lack of patience well enough."

Stark glanced sharply at Yoti. "How much do you...no. I don't want to know. Don't. Just...say what you have to say. I'll listen." And decide if this was really the better option.

Two arn laters, maybe a little less, a very smug game designer led a very resigned and quietly terrified Banik out of the refreshment house. He still hadn't agreed to anything, but Stark was convinced at this point that he was not going to have a choice. From there they headed to a ship belonging to the game designer. The Scarran, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen. But that didn't mean he was gone.

[Emo alien is so doomed. But at least he didn't sell anybody's memories to any skeezy game designer on purpose or anything. *glares at John Quixote*]