"Humanity", she thought, sitting in the hangers and watching a hazy whorl of grey dance around her fingers, a strange chittering buzz following with its motions in her mind, "is a funny thing."
What marked someone as a person? She wasn't some Anthro-Chauvinist, beating their chest about the greatness of mankind: The last time they had any say, the Deimos Incident happened, and everyone knew how that turned out.
The Union, drove to its knees. The First Contact Accords. And N.H.P.s came into the world, howling, thrashing, overpowering in their wonder and terrifying in their splendor.
She hummed softly, watching the comparatively miniscule Greywash swarm land across her hand, giggling and marveling as they settled into a silvery coat across her hand in a strangely ticklish wave.
Non-Human Persons: Paracausal beings that could only safely interact with humanity as a whole when caged, shackled, and pared down in Caskets. Almost literal godsends for any sort of computational work, solving problems that would take a human millennia to process and input.
"And yet, just so they can interact and be, their shackling needs renewed every few weeks and cycled every few years, so they can properly understand us."
She tilted her head, looking at the settled Greywash on her arm, and felt for the connection that was ever-present at the back of her mind.
"And if it weren't for all that mess, I wouldn't have you, wouldn't I, love?"
A presence distinctly behind her, one that she'd grown so used to, so connected to that the thought of anything severing that bond made her very soul ache, rumbled like distant thunder in her mind, and a rush of "-WarmthEmbraceAcceptanceAgreementLoveYouToo-" parsed through her in a tide that left her almost breathless.
She was so young when she heard about them: Beings that had to chain themselves down, carve themselves to fit, just to communicate with humanity. She couldn't help but think of how lonely they must've felt, at the time: How much making themselves fit had to hurt. Then again, "She" had thought herself a "He", at the time.
And then, he became she, and she wanted to fit, too: To stop feeling like a square peg, crushed and ground into a round hole until her sides bled and she choked and wanted to scream-
The presence curled around her mind in moments, like a hurricane coiling around its eye: There, overwhelmingly present, and yet every bit as gentle as a summer breeze, a white-noise murmuring of "-SafeHappyWe'reHereShapeIsBetterNow-" filling her as she finally remembered to breathe, RA Take It All-
In Four... Out Eight. Ragged breaths slowly smoothed out, and she felt herself start to relax. "I-I'm fine now, love. Thank you."
The hurricane chirred in her mind, curled around her still, just like the grey tendrils that had coiled around her when-
"Oh." She looked, staring up into a single, softly glowing lavender eye that gazed down curiously, one car-sized hand cradling her while millions of Greywash drones held her tightly, anchoring her there and pressing close in an imitation of an embrace.
... And then, she'd found Them. Rather, They had found her: Offered to help, with all the innocent whimsy of someone seeing a turtle on its back, before flipping it over.
They'd only needed moments to hijack and print out a way to reach her, and then...
She fell, and fell, and fell, into a blooming sea of a million-billion minds. As one, they looked. As one, they spoke. As one, they acted.
"WELCOME HOME, O ERRANT DAUGHTER."
And they were her, and she was the sea, and the sea was Acceptance, Warmth, and Love.
And all was silent and calm.
When she woke up from... that, she could feel herself settling in ways she'd barely recognized, like a machine freshly repaired by loving hands, every part cleaned, oiled, and finally fitting right...
Something... buzzed, in her mind: A shard of the sea, gleaming, vibrant, loving and there. "-NewBrightHappyWhoAmI?"
She'd sat, all but struck mute, for a good long while. They'd left a fragment of themselves with her: Fledgling, strange, and curious about everything. There were many moments as her body finally, well and truly began to fit where she'd had to push down bubbling waves of laughter at their more strange questions, choke back tears at their more tragic ones, and watched them become.
To say that their growth had been exponential when they'd found any forms of data was an understatement: Information was analyzed, categorized, and compiled in moments.
Of course, she hadn't been slow on the uptake, either: Not to the (frankly) insane degree as her new partner, but she'd directed her efforts... elsewhere.
She stood, the Greywash floating apart and parting around her like water around a stone, and raised her hands. The cockpit of her mech, her Balor, bloomed open, and the swarm of nanites drew her in. Her partner had learned everything immaterial that they could. She'd learned to pilot: To make a mech dance, to clamp onto an enemy, hold together against a storm of lead, reach through data, and drag systems to a screeching, screaming halt.
Anyone else would have been eviscerated by the Greywash of her mech: Their very molecules ripped apart to feed and fuel the Grey'.
She was not Anybody Else: She was Kassandra Kal'lai, and this was her Balor: Her swarm.
The aperture closed quietly behind her, and she sighed as she finally felt comfortable again, cradled in the heart of her mech as the Greywash folded and pressed itself around her. She curled herself into the seat and pressed her head to the back of her seat, listening to the soft thrum of the machine's reactor: The resting heartbeat of a half-awake colossus, humming a sleepy lullaby to her.
She sighed, closed her eyes, and fell.
And the silver sea embraced her, once again. "-GoodnightSleepTightDon'tLetTheEgregoreBite.-"
And all was silent and calm.
