SR II: Purgatorio
2015
Eventually Serafina stops screaming. If only because her voice isn't working anymore. She tries curling up into a ball, but she feels cold. So very cold. Not cold enough to make her stop moving, though. She needs to find some kind of warmth.
Shivering, her rumpled lab-coat wrapped around her, she stumbles through the ruined landscape. She's in a building, only she can see the iron grey sky through the holes in the roof. And that's not the only thing that's wrong. The world around her is grey and somehow… blurred. It's not that her eyes aren't working right. It's that everything is smeared out and faded. The exit sign is colourless and the letters are smudged.
Something's happened. Maybe she has brain damage. That's why she can't read things properly and can't see colour.
There's something she needs to do. She can't remember what. She can't remember a lot of things.
She looks at her hands - maybe she wrote a note on them - and winces at the mess of her right arm. It's mottled with bruises, running all the way up and down. There are black streaks in it, too. That can't be good. It makes her asymmetric, because her other arm is a pale grey. It's amazing it isn't hurting more. She prods at it experimentally. No. It doesn't hurt. It's just a bit stiff feeling.
What happened? How is she alive? Why was she screaming about being alive?
Shambling, staggering she picks her way down the stairs and-
1997
Whiteness. An antiseptic smell. She's wearing a heavy full biohazard suit, and her back hurts. She's been on her feet all day, being shown around Chieron Station. She has rules about when to sleep, because they don't follow a day-night cycle here. Rules about when she can access the eating facilities. Rules about waste disposal. Rules about everything. It's worse than Damian, and she was glad to see the back of the place.
She feels so sorry for the junior staff she's seen - well, the ones which aren't task-built clones, anyway. Family status has its privileges. She gets her own quarters. She doesn't have to hot bunk. But that just means she feels guilty about it, because she's not actually contributing more. Izzy might just be able to accept it, but she's a bitch. Sera sometimes really wants to tell her what she thinks of her to her face, but of course she's just nice bubbly Sera, who gets on with people. She puts work into not having enemies, but it does mean she has to hide the retorts. She doesn't want to get bogged down in their stupid games.
Shaking her head, she puts those thoughts out of mind.
At the moment, she's being shown the GeneOva. Now this? This is amazing. They're taking advantage of zero-g growth techniques here. Her fingers itch at what she could do with such a fast development cycle. She stands on the narrow rim of grav-plating around the edge of the room, and stares up at the row after row after row of egg-like red-lit pods. FACADE have gestation time down to twenty-one days, with minimal clone defects. There are two thousand pods in this vast chamber, a secular cathedral of science under a diamond roof letting the sunlight through to feed the photosynthetic gatherer-constructs. The GeneOva hang down from the ceilings like fruit, sprawling from their vine-like nutrient conduits.
"Shift 3a. Please prepare for shift handover to Shift 3b," the speakers boom. "Remember! The Administration rewards excellent performance! We are, all of us, part of the Progenitors and here on Chieron Station we must work to maintain the delicate ecological balance of the habitat. Your efforts aid the whole! Parasites will be excised!"
"We better go," her tour guide tells her. "There's only so long scheduled and then we'll need to get you settled for when you start shadowing Professor Guilder the cycle after next."
1992
There's the scent of blood. Blood and something vaguely insectoid. Someone is screaming. No, lots of people are screaming, but most of the screams are ones of fear. They've found the mess. The screams which stick in her mind are ones of pain.
Numbly, Serafina lifts her hands. They're shaking like leaves. Something has gone wrong with him. Really, really, really wrong. And now he's loose and isn't responding… and she should be outraged that he was
cheating on her but that's just a reflex which can't even burn through the horror of everything. Everything that he's done. And she wasn't stupid! She built in shutdown codes! They just… didn't work.
She doesn't know what to do. It's all gone so very wrong.
2015
The world around her is grey and winds are howling all around. Flensing, cold winds that chill her to the very bone. Chill her to the very soul. Incoherent, distant moans fill the air.
Serafina screams. No. No. She's meant to be dead. She shouldn't be seeing things. Hearing things. Her brain should be mush. Her organs should be dead. She shouldn't be here.
She screams until she's hoarse.
Eventually Serafina stops screaming. If only because her voice isn't working anymore. She tries curling up into a ball, but she feels cold. So very cold. Not cold enough to make her stop moving, though. She needs to find some kind of warmth.
Shivering, her rumpled lab-coat wrapped around her, she stumbles through the ruined landscape. She's by the side of the road. An endless highway, littered with countless burned out cars. It's like a nuclear bomb went off. She half expects to see some maniacs in assless chaps running around. The sky is an iron grey and the sand by the side of the highway is grey and every car is black.
Well, that last bit is usually evidence that she's hanging around the NWO, but it's probably more serious this time. Something's happened. Maybe she has brain damage. That's why she can't read things properly and can't see colour. And why's everyone gone?
Is she in… Moscow? Something about that hurts. It hurts so very much. It makes her want to...to something. There's something she needs to do. She can't remember what. She can't remember a lot of things.
She looks at her hands - maybe she wrote a note on them - and winces at the mess of her right arm. It's mottled with bruises, running all the way up and down. There are black streaks in it, too. That can't be good. It makes her asymmetric, because her other arm is a pale grey. It's amazing it isn't hurting more. She prods at it experimentally. No. It doesn't hurt. It's just a bit stiff feeling.
What happened? How is she alive? Why was she screaming about being alive? She needs to find a car. Get out of the cold. Maybe a working one so she can drive away. Or a motorbike. Yes. She thinks she knows how to use a motorbike.
Limbs stiff, she tries to pick her way up onto the embankment and-
2013
The bar is lit in a deep purple. Glow-in-the-dark cocktails sit stickily on the tables. Grinning, Serafina adjusts the sit of her very little black dress and enjoys the catty looks she's getting from some of the other women here. There's nothing quite like the ego boost of having women young enough to be your daughter glare at you like they're not sure whether they want to claw your eyes out or start frenching you.
Actually, she'd consider some of them, but she's taken for this evening.
God, sometimes she just needs a night out! She's been working hard and she just needs to unwind! And Alex is around which means she's taking him out to the clubs - so she can show off her arm candy, if nothing else - and then. Then he might well shoot his arrow into her heel.
Alex doesn't let her make those kind of comments anymore. He hears them from everyone. Oh well. She'll just make them in the privacy of her own head.
"Sera!" She turns to face him. He's wearing an
incredibly sheer white t-shirt. Like, it probably was painted on. She has no idea how she's going to get him out of it without tearing it. "Sorry about being late. I just got caught up with handling a call from New York and…"
"Shh," she tells him. "You're here now. Now, let's have some fun! What do you want to dr-"
And that's when an indistinct figure steps up behind Alexander Cross, places their Protector against his skull and pulls the trigger.
Serafina slumps, her eyes wandering over the corpse. Alexander hasn't shown up. She's been waiting and… and he's not here. Oh, she knows they don't exactly have a conventional relationship, but he said he'd be here.
She dabs at the red moisture on her face. Oh, great. She's crying. She probably looks like she's been stood up. Because she has. Great. Just fucking great. He hasn't even called.
Story of her life.
2015
The world around her is grey and winds are howling all around. Flensing, cold winds that chill her to the very bone. Chill her to the very soul. Incoherent, distant moans fill the air.
Serafina screams. No. No. She's meant to be dead. She shouldn't be seeing things. Hearing things. Her brain should be mush. Her organs should be dead. She shouldn't be here.
She screams until she's hoarse.
Eventually Serafina stops screaming. If only because her voice isn't working anymore. She tries curling up into a ball, but she feels cold. So very cold. Not cold enough to make her stop moving, though. She needs to find some kind of warmth.
Shivering, her rumpled lab-coat wrapped around her, she picks herself up, and clutches at her head. She's feeling stiff and her head is spinning. She's… she's got this strangest sense of deja vu. She's done this before, she thinks, looking at the expanses of barbed wire and barricades. There are figures up on the barricades, which look sort of like some post-apocalyptic border crossing. They look… not entirely human. The proportions aren't quite right.
She lowers her arms. There's something wrong with her right hand. It's puffy and bloated and covered in bruises. She can see her veins as dark shapes. It's unlike her left hand, which is pale grey. What happened? Why is she like this? What's going on?
A pain stabs her in the chest and she sinks to her hands and knees. It feels like she was just kicked by something. A horse, or maybe a unicorn, Stupid pets. Black blood drips from her mouth, splashing down on the filthy and degraded tarmac.
Something bad must have happened. Something very bad. There's something she needs to do. She can't remember what. She can't remember a lot of things.
The pooling blood flows into words.
it's all just memories
to find her
think of better times
What does that-
1989
The Legate Model-1988 is a sleek jet black machine which handles like a dream. Q Division did a wonderful job with it. However, even their skill has its limits, and right now this expensive superbike isn't starting because one of the compression coils in the rear wheel's engine is blown. This is quite an annoyance to its owner, who had wanted to take it out today.
A smaller face, her hair tied up and with oil smudges on her face, pokes up from behind it. "Okay, papa!" Serafina calls out. She's sweating from the July heat in Rome. "Now the missile pod's out, I think I can get my hand up inside and work the screws loose! Pass me the magdriver!"
"Sera," Daniel Rosario cautions. "Be careful. Your mother will have my head if you get hurt."
Serafina grins at him cheekily. "But she'll keep the head alive, right?" she asks. "Maybe it'll do you good. Give you time to get away from work!"
"Yes, but don't you know how boring it is in the specimen fridge?" he retorts. "Anyway, worse, not only will she cut my head off and keep it in a jar, but then she won't let us mess around with bikes any more. So please, darling, be careful," he says, passing her the tool.
"How much is it worth to you?"
"Sera!"
Serafina sticks her tongue out at him. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be careful." There's a whirring as she works away with the magdriver on the microscrews, before emerging again, offering him the broken coil. "See! Much faster than getting someone with big clunky hands to try to get it out!"
Her dad grins at her. "Yep." He shakes his head. "I'm going to need a replacement for this," he says sadly, inspecting it. "I can't fix it. So I guess we can't take the Legate out."
"Aww."
"I know! Aww!" Daniel grins wickedly. "How about we take the Hoshi instead?"
"Yesssssssss."
"And Sera, important question now. What's better? Motorbikes, or your unicorn?"
Serafina purses her lips. "Motorbikes!" she answers firmly. "Una's got boring anyway. And she doesn't have rocket launchers and oil slicks and super-boosters and she neighs rather than going brrrrrrrrr rrmmmmmmmm neeeeeeeyoh!"
"Plus ten points to Serafina!"
2002
"So I have a daughter," Pia Rosario says, rising to her feet as Serafina enters the restaurant. "I was beginning to think I dreamed you up. You don't call enough, you know." Despite that, she's smiling as she wraps Serafina up in an embrace. "You don't look like you've been eating properly. Are you cooking for yourself again? You should get a proper chef."
"Oh, mama," Serafina says, hugging back. When they meet like this, in semi-public, her mother is in 'stealth-mode'. People would ask questions if renown-in-her-field ecologist and conservationist 'Laura Renzi' didn't seem to age. That means that while she is growing old gracefully, her hair is an iron grey and her face has its fair share of lines. "I've missed you."
It's one of the reasons Serafina is quite glad she doesn't have a place in the public eye. She won't have to get the implants which allow the conscious creasing of her skin and the pigment-shifting chromatophores in her hair which allow her mother to look forty years older than her 'natural' appearance when the Masses might be looking. People would ask questions if a woman meant to be in her sixties could pass for a teenager. But whether she's Dr Laura Renzi or Research Director Pia Rosario, she's Serafina's mother either way.
"Well, it's lovely that you're at this conference," Pia says, letting go. "Sit, sit. You really do feel too thin, Serafina. At least I should be able to get one meal in you before you're off again. Where will you be heading now?"
"San Francisco, still," Serafina says. "Supreme want to keep me on with the extension they should be getting if tomorrow's speech goes well." She isn't sure if she'll take it. She quite enjoys the work she's doing on HumAug, but she doesn't want it to get stale.
"Supreme is a very good project," her mother tells her approvingly. "Gladys is a personal friend and she has wonderful things to say about your work. She's very interested in keeping you. She says you're one of her top RAs." Her mother leans forwards, cupping her chin in her hand. "Oh, Sera," Pia says in her soft voice. "I do worry about you, sometimes. You're too easy-going sometimes. You let people push you around. You're still an RA at twenty-four. You should be a Primary Investigator by now."
And here it goes.
"But I'm not going to ruin seeing my daughter by going on about that," Pia says. "So. Have you met anyone?"
Serafina flushes slightly. She really wishes her mother wouldn't ask her these things. "I… it's just something casual at the moment," she says.
"Mmm mmm. Just one thing, darling. Have you checked that they're not a werewolf this time?" her mother asks quietly.
The blush is accentuated. Her mother will
not let this go. "Yes, mama," she says, head sinking into her hands. "I have."
"Good girl."
They make small talk for a while. Small talk she can do. Small talk is something she's good at with her parents. She doesn't mind spending time with her mother, at least when she's not asking about her love life. It's just… she doesn't know how to make big talk. Her mother is one of the world leads for crop development and botany. She now sits on the Administration - the new one made up of the Research Directors, because there's been no contact from the old Administration for nearly three years now. But she's almost a stranger to her own daughter. Her mother's soft voice draws her attention.
"Serafina?" Her mother sounds slightly hesitant, and that's a surprise. "There is something I've been wanting to talk to you about."
"I'm always listening, mama," Serafina responds automatically.
Pia reaches forwards, and rests her hands on Sera's. "I know things haven't always been easy with you," she says. "I… do you remember the row we had? In '97?"
Serafina blanches. "The one about the… um… Werewolf Incident?" she says.
"The other one, Sera."
"Oh. Um." Yes, the one after she rejected the offer on Chieron Station. "Yes."
Pia sighs. "I was wrong, Sera. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye and… and we have our differences and we're somewhat distant, but Chieron was wrong for you. And… and I'm so glad you didn't take it. Because if you'd been up there - God! We'd have lost you. And I'm glad we didn't. I'm not entirely happy with some of your choices, but even if I sometimes seem disappointed, I'm glad you're around."
Her thoughts are a whirl. What's this about? Reflexively, Serafina brushes back her hair, trying to work out what prompted this. "What's… well, I quite like not being dead," she says.
Her mother laughs. "Yes. Serafina, I was just thinking - when I was reading that paper you co-authored with Menes - how lucky I am and all the ways it could have turned out worse with you. I know you have the problems focusing and I wish we could find a cure for that, but you really do try your best most of the time and I am proud of you."
She drops her voice, ignoring the faceless, shadowy figure which stands directly behind her.
"And I might have heard rumours of a possible project you might like to be involved in. Very,
very challenging. You won't be bored, I can promise you that - it uses some of the last data received from Chieron. It's still on the drawing boards at the moment, but if it gets the go-ahead, I'll tell you more. You're already on the long-list for involvement because of your work with Supreme. Just… darling, please. Try not to embarrass yourself in the next few years. Can I just ask that of you?"
2015
"Do you still need any help?" Rose asks, as Serafina runs another test for this next generation of synthetic antibiotics. It's the middle of December outside, although it never really gets that cold in LA. "It looks like there's still a lot of work to be done on this batch. Maybe it'll work this time." Rose muses. "The shapeshifter-derived stabilizing agents might work-it's what makes shapeshifter hyper-adrenaline so long-lasting."
"No, dear. I'll be fine on my own. You should go." Serafina says. "Donald's waiting for you and if you're going to keep seeing him you should at least be punctual about it." She's still slightly worried about Rose but after the past few months-her worries have been largely resolved by how well Donald's been treating Rose. He, at least, seems to understand that using his position of power and influence over a construct who has to listen and follow legitimate authority might not be the most ethical or moral thing to do.
Rose smiles at Serafina's response, and Serafina's worries vanish. "Thanks, Sera!" she says. "You've really warmed up to him in the past few months. I'll be good."
"I have." Serafina admits. "Not that much, though. So I'm not worried about you being good. I know you're always on your best behavior. I'm more worried about him being good. Tell me if he's not treating you right, Rose." He still gets bored, Serafina thinks. She doesn't know how Rose might react to understanding Donald's indiscretions and proclivities, but she's been convinced by Alicia and Rose herself that maybe Donald deserves a chance. And maybe Rose deserves something more than being bubble-wrapped and kept away from all mankind.
Her phone vibrates. It's a text message from an unknown number. "You can't trust him," it reads. "He'll break her heart."
Her stomach churns in fear. But Rose is so young. And she's just let her walk off, as if she… she were her biological age.
What has she done? It's all her fault.
1992
The pre-dawn light streams through the curtains. Inside, Serafina waits with bated breath.
"Chillax," Alicia says casually. "She'll be fine."
Serafina pouts. "But I want to worry," she mumbles, which makes Alicia fall off the bed laughing. "And keep it down!"
That comment only makes Alicia laugh harder.
There's a tap at her window. Carefully she slides it up, letting the dew-wet Alice in. The other girl is dressed in a greyish-greenish outfit which makes the eye skip away from her. She's not as tall as Sera, and it seems half her height is made out of knees and elbows.
"Got a towel?" Alice asks. Serafina tosses her one, and she begins to dry off her camosuit.
"You're okay?" Sera asks, twisting her nightie in both hands.
"Yeah," Alice says as she finishes drying, and begins to strip down, passing the illicitly 'borrowed' equipment to her friend to conceal under the floor tiles. Once she's dressed again in her nightclothes, she reaches out and touches Serafina's hand. "
Easy enough," Alice's voice says in her head. "
I took the B3 route over the roof via the North Tower, through the blindspot there."
"Niiiiiiiice," Alicia says.
Alice smiles. "
Yes," she says "
The ooze creature worked perfectly on the lock. Thanks for that. Then I doped Clayton's duck-bread just as before. He hasn't noticed it or anything, 'cause he isn't keeping it secure or anything. He shouldn't notice a thing. That's the third dose, right?"
"
Great," Serafina thinks back, smiling. "
Yes, that should be the final growth enhancer." Alice is squeezing her hand tight as she sits on the bed beside her and Alicia. "
What've you got today? You're all tense."
Alice sighs, shoulders slumping. "
Morning isn't so bad. Music, Literature, Politics," she thinks. "
But all afternoon? Combat. More hand-to-hand, and they have me practicing techniques to use against stronger opponents." Her shoulders hunch in. "
If I'm not at dinner, it's probably because I'll have broken something."
Sera gives her a hug. "Poor you," she whispers. "I'm so glad I've only got one Self-Defence module this year."
"Says you," Alicia mutters. "Damage Control is awesome."
Alice giggles. "
'Licia's right," she transmits. "
I'd rather have Combat than the number of practicals you have. It's bad enough that I have to take some Prog modules for my biokinesis." She shakes her head. "I need to go," she says softly. "I need to be back in bed before Miss Clock checks on me." She pauses, gives Serafina a fierce hug and then lets herself out silently.
"I don't see why you think Damage Control is awesome," Serafina tells Alicia, stretching out on her bed.
"I don't see why you think it
isn't," Alicia retorts, spinning around on Serafina's chair. "First class is at eight today, yeah?"
"Yeah. Late start." Serafina pauses, trying not to grin. "Oh man. This is going to be great."
"I know, right?" says Alicia, grinning like the cat that's got the metaphorical cream. "The look on their faces! And it's going to look like Professor Clayton was the one who did it! Serves him right for being so boring! Who on earth makes xenobiology dull? It should be illegal!"
When the rowing team's training session on the lake is interrupted by a winged xenografted octopus the size of a small aircraft, it's
totally worth it. And Alicia's whispered chanting of 'Ia! Ia!' throughout the assembly the entire school gets on the misuse of mutagenic compounds makes it incredibly hard for Sera to keep a straight face.
Miss Clock stares at her coldly throughout the entire assembly. It's like she
knows. It makes cold shivers run up and down Serafina's spine.
2015
Serafina sits on an artificial leopard skin bed, surrounded by discarded hankies. Her hands grip the bed tightly. Director Belltower is a shorter shape to her left, sitting here and letting her sob her heart out without saying much. At least until she produces an impersonation out of nowhere, which brings a sudden giggle-hiccup of laughter from Serafina. "I shouldn't be finding this so funny," she gasps, shoulders shaking. "Even if I did literally make a robot of you. You should give up the spying and become an impressionist."
"I'll consider it," Jamelia says in an utterly flat and serious monotone, before relaxing again. The other woman is being… surprisingly open here. Serafina knows why, or at least suspects. Her boss is being honest with her because she thinks Serafina would know if she lied. "Though... no, I can't persuade you that you shouldn't feel bad about it. All I can say is that the fact that you feel bad about it means you're not as bad as you're claiming. I'm not surprised. I wouldn't have let you join my amalgam if you were. Someone who could give those orders and not consider eating a gun afterwards has lost most of their humanity."
Serafina doesn't say anything, but her hands relax slightly from their death-grip on the bed.
"It's not going to be easy," Jamelia says plainly. "You're going to live with this for the rest of your life. I can't tell you to say a hundred Hail Marys and absolve your sins. I do think we'll need to look at anti-depressants, because there are certainly safer ways for you to self-medicate than nearly drowning yourself in wine. I will help you resolve the current tension between you and Rose, because even if you don't believe I'm doing it out of altruism, I need both of you functional.
"And if you have to look for a sense of absolution in the longer run, the Union needs its shepherds as well as its butchers," Jamelia says, taking Serafina's hand. "If you can't forgive yourself, find a vaccine for malaria which is stable and can be distributed en masse. Or something like that - you're the biologist, not me. If you feel you have to 'pay back' the lives, you of all people are in a place where you can do that. You can't do that if you're dead."
Serafina lets out a deep, shuddering sigh. Yes, that's what it comes down to, doesn't it? Killing herself would be selfish. When you die, that's just the end. It'd be running away. And the fact that it's a cold-blooded Operative murderess who's telling her this… doesn't really change a thing. In fact, it makes it a little better. It's not like Belltower isn't familiar with killing. The fact that she's actually opened up here is… almost heartwarming.
Maybe it's cold and clinical. Maybe whatever machine ticks away in her head has decided that the best way to keep Serafina alive is to show her some of the woman underneath the coldness and the professionalism - some of the same woman she saw back when they'd had that first talk about the Computer in Moscow. Maybe it is just another lie - but she doesn't think so.
She hopes.
"I... I guess." Serafina manages, after a long bout of silence. "I suppose that's all I can do, make it up to the world somehow." She thinks she's found some steel inside her. Something she can use to stand against the onrushing tide. "I just... never signed up for this."
"Nobody did." Jamelia says. "And nobody thinks any less of you for how you feel. Now... take the rest of the day off. You probably need it."
"Thanks. Coming from you, just... thanks." Serafina says. "And Jamelia..."
"Yes?"
"Thank you for being a real friend." God. She's so fucked up. The closest she has to an actual close female friend is her workaholic boss who's got something not entirely human-normals-sane working away in her brain. And who's probably killed hundreds personally and many more indirectly. She needs to get back in contact with Alicia. Just for the contrast. "Even if you are an enigma wrapped in a mystery who's probably doing it in your own self-interest."
Jamelia smiles quietly. "Entirely true," she admits. "You only mean anything to me as long as you're alive and useful. I suspect I'll need to have you taken in to have those mental issues fixed. Unfortunately, I can't trust you to do it to yourself properly. You're damaged goods, Serafina. And this entire incident has compromised an operation. So annoying."
Serafina's shoulders slump. Yes. That's entirely r-
There's a figure in front of her. A figure with blond hair wearing a Damage Control biosuit.
"Caught you," Alicia hisses through clenched teeth.
Then she punches Director Belltower in the face, so hard she goes flying back through the wall and into
1990
the hockey goal, sending the goalie sprawling.
"Pass, Sera!" shouts Imogen from the left flank, but Serafina pushes forwards, past the first defender, and sends the ball humming low and fast into the goal.
The biosuited figure leaps in, moving faster than any unaugumented human could, but Director Belltower rolls out of the way and flips to her feet, knife in hand.
"I'm going to purge the fuck out of you," Alicia hisses, extending bone-blades from her forearms. She advances, slashing at the shorter woman's head but she rolls under the blow, bringing her knife around in a slash which nicks at the biosuit.
"Nice goal, Sera!" Jessica says cheerfully, although Imogen seems less happy.
Director Belltower feints, ducking around a sulky-looking girl wearing House Tycho team colours and steps out
1997
from behind the mirror. Discarded clothing litters the floor and neon light washes in through the narrow window. The room smells of sweat and a hint of something else. Something which Serafina might have noticed, if she wasn't drunk and her brain wasn't mostly occupied with how to get the man's belt off. She met him at a bar - well, wow. She doesn't even know his name, but then again, she's not really interested in such details. Not when compared to those abs and the sprawling, celtic-style tattoos which only accentuate his muscles..
Alicia kicks down the door, sending it flying off its hinges. "Different memory, Sera!" she shouts at her. "It's a trap!"
Fingers fumbling clumsily, Serafina lets out a quiet cheer as she finally manages to work out how the clasp on the belt work. It turns out that he isn't wearing any underwear.
"Oh, goddamnit! Stop thinking about the fucking werewolf!"
He reaches out and strokes her hair. Pets her.
Director Belltower smiles.
Alicia pulls out a grenade and there's just enough time for the other woman's eyes to widen before the flash and the boom and they're
2011
both flat on their backs in a sunlit room.
Rose cheers. "It's... it's amazing!" she says, pure glee in her voice. "It's for me? It's... it's really for me?" There's tears in her beautiful eyes, and her full red lips are wobbling.
"It is your birthday," Serafina tells her, smiling.
"Ow," Alicia manages, pulling herself to her feet, spitting blood as she circles her way around so she's between the mother and daughter, and the other woman. Director Belltower doesn't look hurt. "So, do you have anything to say for yourself?"
The other woman doesn't respond, circling Alicia, knife in hand. Alicia moves to obstruct her.
"Thought not," Alicia says, an adrenaline snarl locking her face. "You're not Jammy. She's not this good at hyperpsych," Alicia says. "QED you're a mnemosynic synaptic rendition of a Nu-Woo meme intrusion made by Sera's brain 'cause she actually likes Jammy, plus authority stuff." She pauses. "Anyway, if she was doing this, she wouldn't look like herself, so the fact you look like her means you're not her. Duh."
The woman lunges, faster than the eye can see
1995
through the glass window. Alicia is already here, perched on Serafina's desk, waiting for her. With a cattle prod in hand.
Lying on her bed, Serafina stares up at the ceiling. She's had this room since she was four. Lived here longer than she's ever lived at her parents house. If someone asked her, she'd say she's not sure how she's feeling. Obviously she'll miss good ol' Damien, but she's excited to be leaving and moving on to bigger things.
Of course, she'd be lying, she thinks as the room fills with the sound of a solid beating and the crackle of electricity.
It's quite possibly the happiest day of her life. She's had her last exams. They were… well, not a breeze, but only a small tornado. It's hot and sunny outside. And she's nearly out of this
rotten stinking place forever. She's free.
"Yeah, funny thing?" Alicia says viciously to the prone figure, grabbing surgical tools from Serafina's desk. It's coming apart and doesn't look much like Director Belltower any more. "You're a suicide memeplex. You can't corrupt memories like this one. And now that I found you, it's a mind-vs-mind thing, and I'm smarter than you. Hmm."
She frowns, ramming a diagnostic tool through their forehead.
"Nu-Woo, obviously. Very organised mind. Clinical. Pragmatic. No, wait, there's a core underlayer." Her eyes widen. "Classic Progenitor neuroscience exploiting elements of Sera's enhancements and all those emotional smarts. Hit her right in how she hurts. Trap her mind in emotional pain. Accentuate the negative. Propagate through by emotional association. And welp, I hadn't even thought of some of these tricks." Her eyes narrow. "It's made by someone even smarter than me."
She cracks her knuckles.
"And doesn't
that narrow down the candidate pool." The look on her face strongly implies that she wants to have words with whoever came up with this and see what they have to say for themselves. And that will turn out be 'please stop hurting me'. "So, let's take a look at-"
???
Blackness.
"-you." Alicia's voice comes from nowhere. "No. No. No no no! Not now! Sera! We beat it! We… we beat it! It can't… hold on! Please, hold on! Because-"
???
The world around her is grey and winds are howling all around. Flensing, cold winds that chill her to the very bone. Chill her to the very soul. Incoherent, distant moans fill the air.
Serafina screams. No. No. She's meant to be dead. She shouldn't be seeing things. Hearing things. Her brain should be mush. Her organs should be dead. She shouldn't be here. She's… she's got this strangest sense of deja vu. She's done this before, she thinks
She screams until she's hoarse. Tears roll down her face. Emptiness and loneliness bites at her.
Wailing, shivering, she pulls herself up staggering off with her labcoat loose around her. She needs to find some kind of warmth. There's something gnawing at her. Empty and hungry and old and cold. She needs something. Something she doesn't have words for. Because-
???
It's dark in here. There's a stale, unwashed scent in the air and her eyes don't work properly. Everything hurts. Her muscles burn. She feels as weak as a kitten.
She tries to speak but nothing responds. It's like she's trapped in her own body. Her own
cold body.
No heartbeat. No pulse. No breath. Blind and hurting and useless.
Something bad happened. Something very bad and... she's starving. She's thirsty. She wants something she can't describe. Something she isn't sure she should want when she feels like she does.
She's so fucked up.
Something happened and she doesn't want to think about it. But maybe she has to. Because her mind keeps on coming back to it, time and time again, no matter what the voices in the background say. They're talking to each other but she's not listening. She's all alone in a dead body and the worst part about all of this is: she deserves it.
???
The sky above her is black. There are no stars in the sky, but the lights of the city around her bleed radiance up to the heavens above.
She sighs. What a beautiful night. She always likes this time of year. Smoothing down her the sleeves of her cerulean gown, she leans out over the balcony. The lighting of the city below spreads out as far as the eye can see. The fireworks display should be starting soon, and she's in a good position for it.
???
"Hello! My name's Alicia! What's yours?"
???
Above her, whiteness. Below her, blackness. She floats in a sea of slowly congealing crimson blood.
She isn't breathing. Her heart doesn't beat. But she can't stay here forever. Because between the white and the black, the grey waits for her, bone cold, and if she stays here she'll be trapped.
Slowly, painfully, she rises, pulling herself up onto her hands and knees. Copper fills her mouth. The light is above her and although her legs feel as weak as a newborn fawn's, she pulls herself upright.
Reaching for the light.
********************************************************************************************************
Night of the Living...
Someone has their hands on Serafina's body… and not in the fun way.
[ ] It's in the back of an ambulance. There's a Vanessa watching over it, needler close to hand. There's something wrong with the construct - something mad-eyed and twitchy like it's ODing on combat stims.
[ ] It's in a meat locker. The walls are frosted over and pig carcasses hang from hooks. There's the smell of flowers in the air, over the stale scent.
[ ] The operating theatre looks empty, but anything could be lurking in the shadows away from the pool of light. Countless surgical tools gleam in the light.
[ ] It's been laid out in an unpainted and windowless concrete cell. The heavy iron door is bolted. A single candle provides the only illumination.
[ ] The sky is dark above her. Dark earth surrounds her. She's at the bottom of an open grave.
