#there will be a quiz on the layers of mjolnir later for those following along at home

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Mjolnir Syndrome: A Helping Hand

My half of an art trade with @fablepatron - find the whole thing here on ao3.

The first chapter is too explicit, but here's the second chapter Roland POV.

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Another night watching his crew recover. Another night of patrolling the circuits of the ship, checking and rechecking, herding dumb AI back into their functions, herding dumb humans back to their responsibilities like sleeping. Most of Roland is divided into the monotonous tasks required to run a starship of this size and to care for a crew of this many talents. However, there was a negligibly sized portion of his focus on the single operating War Games sim and one Spartan Miller.

He didn’t play favorites. (Statement: untrue.) He had a handful, maybe. (Also untrue.) But that came with the territory of being a shipboard AI. Lots of handshakes and handholding. It made sense to keep an eye on a specific few in Command. Really. Just as a way to get a read on the rest of the crew and understand the social systems in place. That was the real reason Roland was watching Miller beat himself up in the wee hours of the morning, and why his subroutines flagged more processing power to monitor the Spartan as his vitals peaked.

There’s a spark of brain activity and a rapid release of cortisol in Miller’s system. His temperature raises even further and Roland considers getting help. Nothing had changed other than the slowly ramping feedback of the Mjolnir systems. The closed system was prone to feedback loops when worn for longer periods of time without a release of charge or not maintaining proper levels with an AI syncing the NI and the various layers of the armor.

Miller hadn’t wanted his help so he was keeping his distance. Mostly.

It was strange to see the usually quick-thinking Spartan brute force his way through what was bound to be unpleasant and quite distracting sensations. Unless… he wasn’t expecting it. Did Miller not know about Mjolnir Syndrome? A fun nickname given by more season Spartans and crew in the know of the…symptoms. Is that why the sudden spike in vitals?

His favorite Spartan was easy to fluster. He’d need help soon, Roland could tell. The constant influx of sensation only built and then plateaued as Miller froze. He’d never reach overload by himself, especially if he just became aware of why h-everything was so hard.

Luckily, and with no outside input from Roland, help was on the way.

The Master Chief had noticed Miller, not for the times Miller wants to space himself over, but because like Roland, Chief found Miller interesting. Maybe it was akin to studying something and finding yourself attached, like those scientists over in xenobiology who named the new flatworms they found on Requiem. Miller was Roland’s flatworm, and he was willing to share, if it meant helping the poor Spartan out.

Chief observes Miller with a tilt of his helmet. Roland was still learning the IIs body language but he thought he was picking up amusement. The specific head tilt and slight shake of the helmet for outsider observers was one he had seen Chief use with Blue Team. But they weren’t here, it was just him and Miller and R-.

Oh. Chief was including him again. It was so strange when humans did that. Only a handful seemed to remember his presence, unless he made them. Always running in the background, ready at a moment’s notice. Well, this was interesting.

“Hello, Master Chief, fancy meeting you here.” Roland says after his ping for channel access is accepted.

“Hello, Roland. I’m assuming he’s not hurt?”

“Do you think I’d let my crew get hurt and simply let them lay there.”

“No, but I wasn’t sure if I was intruding on anything.”

That gets a pause from the AI. He’s still debating on which snarky or too-honest reply to go with when Chief checks on Miller.

"I believe Spartan Miller is experiencing some technical issues with his armor." Roland supplies. He’s helping whatever this is along. Chief’s got him thinking now, which is always a dangerous thing when you’re as fast and clever as Roland. He’d been a passive party for so long. An observer or helper, and it’s not like Miller was chomping at the bit for Roland’s help, even when his plans had been so helpful in the past.

“He’s lying to you. Not that you didn’t pick that up. He’s been active for over 24 hours. He won’t let me help.” Chief doesn’t need to know how honest Roland’s words were, or that Roland’s been watching Miller push himself for 36.3 hours now.

“Have you tried asking nicely?” Chief asks and Roland wishes he had a plinth nearby to deploy his avatar on for the sole purpose of squinting at the Master Chief. He stays silent.

Chief asks and Miller says yes.

Roland wasn’t jealous. No, he was something else. Some higher AI experience rather than some silly, illogical, human emotion. Miller would let Master Chief touch his armor and help him, but not Roland who’s always there and who knows the specs forwards and back and is so familiar with piggybacking off Gen 2 Mjolnir systems.

Miller’s fine being all sweaty and nervous and frustrated around Chief. Chief who is so frustrating and calm and never rises to Roland’s bait. Chief who’s asking for Roland’s help overriding the safety features on Miller’s armor?

The great thing about being a vast machine intelligence with unfortunate connections to human emotions is the ability to experience time differently and to save threads of oneself being petty to feel petty later. He’d put this behind him for now to help them out - help Miller out.

What’s a little power reallocation between friends?

#my writing #Spartan Miller #Roland the AI #John 117 #there will be a quiz on the layers of mjolnir later for those following along at home #halo fanfic