"What now?"
Jamelia stares at him, a hint of moisture around her eyes. "Now's the bit where you decide whether to shoot me," she says simply.
[ ] Execute (x1.5)
[ ] Don't Execute
-4 Reputation with John Kessler (???)
This isn't the Director Belltower he knew.
But then again, who
was Director Jamelia Belltower anyway?
Kessler thinks through the possibilities at lightspeed, the hum of his overclocked ADEI the only sound in the silent room. Neffandery? He discards the thought after a moment; if Jamelia was some sort of undercover Nephandi, all she'd had to do was try slightly less hard to get killed in Moscow, and the entire world would've burned. Was she an imposter? Unlikely; someone faking the Director would try to fit seamlessly into her previous life, instead of upending it with such an obvious change-of-pace like this. Was it a gesture of trust? John barely suppressed a laugh at the thought of an NWO agent actually
trusting someone.
Was she subverted by Control in the past? Most definitely. Was she
still subverted by them? Well...Moscow. He didn't have anything concrete, just a spirit claiming to represent Control, (and he'd sawed the body it was possessing in half with his Thunderhead, so good luck interrogating the corpse) and of course the invasion of giant robots and subversion of Union assets and all that jazz. He had a good idea about what happened to folks stuck out in the Black for too long without a way to phone home, and with over a decade out there, he could only imagine what Control had gotten up to in the meantime. Yet the Director had fought the EDE incursion, gotten within inches of losing her life to seal it, and he had no doubt that whoever had been able to subvert entire armies of HITMarks would've turned those same skills on whatever little-C controls or killswitches she still had buried.
"I'm noticing a distinct lack of bullets or words from you, Mr. Kessler. Should I be worried?" she asks, with a lilt in her voice.
"Shaddup," he responds brusquely. He has to assume she's smarter than him, that she's looked through the ramifications and seen the possibilities. If the Director was still subverted, if that Man in White had gotten back into her head, could he be risking his subverted asset to try and bring in Kessler as a deluded ally? Or was she serving the same ideals but different masters; did he have to worry about her noticing his habit of talking to the spirits in his guns...or the Reality Deviants he called family?
Fuckin' noo-whoos, this is why no one likes you people. John could really use a chance to shoot something right now. Ideally it'd be something that deserved it, and
really ideally it'd shoot back too, but right now he'll take what he can get.
Too many variables. Too many possibilities. Too many wheels within wheels, plots reaching back decades and plans he can barely comprehend, let alone understand. John's splashed around in the kiddie pool of conspiracies before, but the tiny woman in the hijab has just pulled back the curtain and now he's looking at the goddamned Pacific Ocean. He doesn't know how to sail those kinds of waters without getting sunk, and he can't swim to save his life. (literally
and figuratively) When your boss might have actually been part of Panopticon-that-was, you're definitely in need of some metaphorical dry land to stand on.
John Kessler reaches out, and punches Director Jamelia Belltower.
That, he understood just fine.
He's pulled the punch, of course, so the short woman is 'only' knocked backwards into the couch, blood flying from her nose. John stands up and towers over her as she gasps in shock. "That's for puttin' this all on me," he growls.
He sees blood. That's a good sign; spirits don't bleed. But as she's knocked silly, in those moments where she isn't sure whether he's about to slap her or kill her, he sees something else: acceptance. Not the blank stare of a drone being abandoned by its controllers, not the shock of a master plan gone awry, just the calm face of a tired old woman ready to meet her fate. He can work with that.
The tired old man grabs his flask of brandy and hands it to her. "An' that's for helpin' you through it." Kessler drops back on the couch, which groans and finally gives way in a shower of fluff and splinters, and points a finger at her. "Tell me what you know - Vigilance, Panopticon, your past, everything. Don't leave a thing out."
Trust? He never trusted Jamelia Belltower in the first place, not with anything important. He still doesn't, if he's being honest with himself. But he can listen to the stories of a broken-down black-ops agent, and keep her secrets safe. He - no, the world - owes her that much.
[X]Don't Execute
[X]Punch The NWO Agent In The Face
[X]Like Seriously How Often Do You Get To Do That