Panopticon: A Game of Posthumans, Perniciousness, Paranoia, Politics, and Plasmaguns

[EarthScorpion]

Donald presses the joystick on his wheelchair and adjusts the position of his chair. He tries whenever possible to wheel himself, but his arms are tired. He gets exhausted so quickly. The doctors say that it'll take weeks of physical therapy for his body to rebuild all the nerve connections that were damaged by the thing that he was shot with, and in the meantime he just has to go through hours of exhausting exercise each day to help it along.

But all work and no play makes Donald turn into Jack Nicholson and... well, fall over when he tries to pick up an axe. Honestly, his current physical state is a great impediment to axe-murder, and without axe-murder what's the point of going crazy? Which is why he's coaxed Henriette into going out with him for drinks. Sure, 'out' in his circumstances is the in-house bar, but he likes to think of it as out. It makes him feel less useless.

And it's a pretty good bar, he has to admit. Lots of wood. Expensive drinks. A bartender that's clearly an old MiB 1.0. Okay, that bit doesn't fit, but clearly his boss is wasting her chance to access the NWO alcohol budget. They've got good scotches. And yes, martinis.

Henriette's even put some work into making him feel less she's humouring him. She hasn't just shown up in a pilot's jumpsuit, but is actually wearing a cocktail dress. It's probably secretly a pilot's jumpsuit or can transform into one if she presses a button hidden in the neck, but it does make him feel better. And if she's secretly checking her email, she has the good manners to use the computer in her brain so he can't tell she's doing it.

But ye gods, it's really really showing that she's a hothoused twenty year old who's had most of her real world experience in the past year, which is to say in one of the most anormal amalgams you can find. Among other things, it means she has a really warped impression of what normal life as a Technocrat is like.

"... no, you would be amazed at how many times I haven't been shot," he says in response to her latest question. "This isn't normal for me. Or... most people."

"I don't believe you."

"Yeah, Henriette? Most people can go entire years without being shot."

Henriette leans forwards. "You said you struggled with the SPD before! They must have tried to have you killed then!" she raises in the manner of someone presenting a devastating counterargument.

"Yeah, but they failed. I ran away."

"Well... what about when you were on the other side? You must have got shot at then!"

"... look." Donald takes a breath and forces his hands to cross. "Here's one of the big secrets. A lot of... I guess you can call them 'small fish' Traditionalists really, really don't go looking for Technocrats. If you're in contact with a Technocrat, you fucked up because you're just a rag-tag group of misfits and they're the big, scary force of the Man who've got the police working for them and they've got shiny guns and stuff. I mean, sure I did get shot at a few times, but most of the times it missed. When you're not against a HITMark - like, say, when you're being shot at by ghouls or some Pentex First Team - if you keep your head down you have to be unlucky to get shot." He tries to think of how to explain it. "It's... like, this is how we can get away with Men in Black being the first response units, rather than needing HITMarks or Progenitor stuff all over the place. Most people aren't great with guns, so Men in Black are fine. They're comfortably peak-human."

"But what about when something big shows up?"

"... well, then you're in trouble," he admits. "But most of the time... like, back in '05, I got hit in the shoulder by a stray bullet from a Pentex goon. It really fucking hurt at the time, but my friends dragged me off and patched me up."

"Ah. So we're talking about that kind of baseline injury," Henriette says, in a very Iterator way.

"Well, I was savaged by a werewolf once," Donald says. He smiles. "Well, okay, it wasn't really a savaging, but I was bitten by one. To be honest, she was in human form. Okay, it was a love bite. But it did take an unusually long time to heal!"

"Charming," Henriette says flatly.

"Not even a giggle?" He gets a glare. "Look, I'm just trying to find some comedy where I can. You could help by making some jokes about my current condition, if you don't want me to have to carry all the humour weight here."

"I don't joke about bodies not doing what you want them to," Henriette says quietly.

No, Donald supposes, she doesn't. "Yeah. Fair enough."

"I wonder who has my old one," she says in the same quiet tone of voice.

"Sorry, what?"

She gives him a bitter smile. "You don't think it odds that a meatbag like me would be an elite pilot?" She sighs, smoothing down her cocktail dress. He gets the nasty feeling she'd be trembling if her implants weren't stopping her hands from shaking. "I used to be able to take a 30g acceleration, easy. Bremsstrahlung from cosmic rays? No problems. Of course, those kinds of bodies are expensive. And I was broken equipment." The last words are said with self-mockery. Then she suddenly squares her shoulders, and sits up straight, her expression neutral again. "But that's just self-pity and old scars"

He's not fooled for a minute, but he recognises that she doesn't want to talk about it. Because, you know, he's not blind and has even the slightest capacity to read another person. "Are you?" he asks anyway.

Henriette shrugs. "I can't say there weren't advantages to being like that, but at least this way I don't have to spend every night in a maintenance pod." She smiles. "Being a meatsack is much easier, especially inside a gravity well. Excellion-class bodies really don't like extended life in 1g. That's why they'd resleeve us back in our old bodies when we were earthside. That, and it freed up the bodies for use by other people."

Donald boggles. Just a little bit. "You were hot-bodying?" he asks.

"Yep. Normal practice for space-adapted shells," Henriette says casually. She runs her hands through her short hair. "I guess I'd probably not have taken so well to being 'humanised'," and oh my, there's bitterness there, "if I wasn't used to spending time in this thing for groundside work."

He leans back. "Mmm," he says.

"But enough about me." Henriette smirks. "I know, I know, me not wanting to talk about me. You're probably dying of shock. Don't worry, if you want later I can make it up to you by bragging. And will, if you tell me about another one of your stupid affairs."

Donald snorts. "Now, see! That's better. That's more along the lines of cheering me up." He mock-frowns. "Probably shouldn't give up the day job to become a stand-up comedian, though."

"Ha. Ha."

"You'd still be a better stand-up comedian than me right-"

"... yes, yes. You've made your point." Henriette sips at her vodka-and-coke. She really is wasting the offer of the drinks here, Donald thinks sadly. Hands wrapped around her glass, she looks straight at him. "So. Rose."

Yes. Rose. "Can't we go back to me making jokes and you acting all weary about it?" he suggests.

"She's not alright."

He sighs. "No, she isn't."

"She's pretending she is, but she isn't."

"I know." Donald is hoping that Henriette remembers she's in a NWO bar and the place will be tapped. Hell, the beer taps will be tapped. Badum-tish.

"I know all about pretending. It doesn't help." Henriette puts her drink down. "I'm not surprised. From what you said, she was running at full combat readiness for more than a month. That's enough to make a HITMark start glitching. People need downtime more than HITMarks, and she's still a person. You need to make her take a rest, Financier. She just needs some time off to de-stress."

Donald silently thanks whatever's listening out there that Henriette has at least learned enough tact to approach it as a personnel issue. "I've been trying," he says wryly. "This was meant to be a low-risk mission for intel gathering."

Henriette snorts. "With all due respect, as if."

"... yeah," he agrees. "But still, I am aware. She's not going to relax when she's wound up tight. And she's very loyal and wants to serve the Union to the best of her abilities," he says for the benefit of the listeners, "so she won't react well to being flat-out ordered to take downtime. She's a construct. She considers 'being useless' to not only be a failure, but also a risk."

"Well, I can understand that," Henriette says. "So." She taps her index fingers together. "That means she needs a few quiet low-intensity missions that won't turn into life or death situations, but which... hmm. She'll realise if it's too obvious you're giving her easy things. She needs to feel useful."

It's quite a good insight from the young woman. Donald nods. "Pretty much. And that's why I'm putting together a few mission profiles she can carry out with you."

"Why me?"

"Because she knows you. And because unlike me, you're not her superior." Donald grins. "Plus, it's always easy to find makework with your skills."

Henriette glares at him. "Thank you very much," she says sarcastically.

"Breaking into SPD-linked Masses companies to grab data off their secure servers, researching people mentioned in data we got from LaCroix, her going to clubs with you and having a night out while also bugging the place... it's work that has to be done. I should be able to get a support/protection MiB team from Bastion as he needs people he can trust to keep it quiet to do these things, but none of them should be that risky." Donald folds his hands. "The way I see it, she'll get some low-risk missions that should help her calm down slightly and maybe open up to you-"

"Wait wait wait. Wait. Wait."

"I'm waiting."

"Open up to me." Henriette's mouth twitches. "I'm not a people person."

"Exactly."

"Run that past me again."

"If you were a people person she'd suspect you of being a people person out to get her to open up, but since you're not a people person she knows that and thus she'll be less guarded to people person-ness."

"I think the phrase 'people person' has stopped sounding like a phrase," Henriette observes.

"Look, basically, just talk with her, especially post-mission. Don't push her, but just... be there for her. You know?"

Henriette sighs. "I'm not good at this, but I'll give it a go." She jabs a finger at him. "But this better be mentioned in my next performance review!"

He grins. "Well, lieutenant, considering that the Men in Black will be answering to you, it certainly will be. This should get you some low-risk command experience with covert forces." He takes a drink. "It won't just be you. I'll also try to help her, but I can't do it as a peer. I'm too old and have too much authority over her. She can't look like she's stressed or exhausted to me. She's got too many bad experiences with authority figures. You're younger, less experienced, and she knows that. If you ask her for help for planning a break-in to plant bugs, that's just because she's done more break-ins than you."

Running her hands through her hair again, Henriette sighs. "I'll try my best," she says. "But I'm still not the best pick for any kind of touchy-feely stuff. I just want this out in the open. Any plan which relies on me being all... all persuasive is probably a bad plan."

"I know. But Rose won't open up if pushed. Just... handle her with care, okay?"

 

[EarthScorpion]

It's late at night, and two black cars and two black vans have just pulled next to a warehouse by the LA docks. Against the light-polluted skyline, the cargo cranes tower spider-like over the moored whales of the container ships.

1st Lt Langley folds down the screen in front of her in the back of one of the vans and plugs in, briefing her team. "People, keep it simple. Rose, you're heading into the offices just like we planned. I'm getting the real-time feedout of the scans of the location and I've located their computers. Keep your eyes open - I'm getting sensor anomalies that may be haemophages. Don't let them blindside you. Also, I've marked locations of various hidden caches on your HUD. Check them - my feed is saying that they're just drugs and illegal weapons, but we need to be sure."

"Got it," Rose says, sounding happy, enthusiastic and peppy. And she is feeling happier. She's doing things. She's not just sitting back at base, worrying about Donald and feeling just awful about not being able to be there to keep him safe. If only she'd come along with him, she could have kept him safe! But she shouldn't think about that now. It's not a very complicated mission, but they're following one of the leads they got from LaCroix about the import routes he used to get some of the weapons from his mysterious backer. For that reason, she's wearing a baggy dark blue dockworker's overall over her catsuit. The dark blue is actually quite hard to see at night, and if someone does see her, they might think she's staff long enough for her to get the drop on them.

"Ms Mouse, stand-by until required. Be ready to go if Constable Ashford reports a moderate RD presence - otherwise, secure our transports."

The woman in black nods. "Yes, Supervisor." Her MiB team is a MiB 1.0 late upgrade package - they're 1.4s or something - and to Rose's eyes they're a NWO sub-Victor knock-off that sacrifices strength and physical appearance for 'not being as thick as four short bricks'. But they don't need to be pretty when they're dressed up in light power armour disguised as bomb disposal equipment.

"Mr Salt, once Constable Ashford has located the holdings and confirmed the lack of RD assets on-site, begin the police raid on the smuggling organisation."

"Roger, Supervisor," says the man over the radio. His team is embedded in the LAPD. They're MiB 2.0s, almost indistinguishable from a normal human. They'll be handling clean-up if the worst they have to deal with - as the intel reports - is some ghouls.

Rose wonders how Henriette is handling her temporary Supervisor status. She's proud of her! She's heading up her first task force! That's how promotion usually starts, with some experience leading small teams of constructs or seconded units. Then once you've got experience with that, you start getting Enlightened subordinates and once you've proven yourself capable of leading teams for a single mission, you start being bandied around as Director material.

"Unless you're a construct," Thorn points out, her reflection smirking from the lens of the gas mask of one of the MIBs. "Then you're lucky if you can break Supervisor, especially if you're in the Progenitors."

Rose ignores her. It's not like she wants to be promoted. She doesn't feel like she's leadership material.

"Precisely wrong. You were made to be leadership material."

Still ignoring her.

"But then again, that's a very Progenitor thing to do. Iteration X has HITMarks who are now Directors and they're not even Enlightened. Men in Black can go a long way in the Nu-Wo. Why do you think the Progenitors have such an... issue with the kinds of constructs that they don't custom-grow and call their children?"

Shut up, shut up, Rose thinks. Sera calls her her daughter!

"Oh, Rose," Thorn says, shaking her head. "And look at how the people who designed her treat you. You saw the glances they directed at you when they saw that you were around here, but she wasn't. Like you failed to protect her."

Gritting her teeth, Rose just listens to Henriette's briefing and waits for the mission to begin. Breaking into a ghoul-guarded compound is much easier than having to deal with the voices in her head.

***​

The ghoul goes limp in her arms. Rose pulls her fangs out of his neck, and works her jaw. Urgh. He didn't taste too nice. She wasn't even drinking his blood; no, the taste of his sweat is rank as she injects him with a sedative. She thinks he's got a failing liver from his drinking and it's only the haemophage blood that's keeping him only slightly jaundiced.

She leaves him slumped over his desk, and - holding her nose - licks the wound to heal over the puncture masks. Urgh. Urgh. Oh yuck, that taste. It's... huh, familiar. Ah ha. Haemophage category-Nosferatu, yes, that would match the foulness and the smell and the way he doesn't look healthy.

Hand going to one ear, she calls this in. "Henriette? I think it's a Nosferatu-species haemophage running this operation. From the v-addicts, they're showing signs of Nosferatu exposure."

"What does that mean in terms of expected hostiles?" Henriette checks.

Rose thinks. "Expected animal control, enhanced senses, capability to conceal self and assume disguises through haemophage hypnosis. Also, watch out for sewers. They're known to be troglodytic."

"Understood. I've found briefing packs and am sharing this with the rest of the team. Progress?"

"Just taken out the ghoul in the office. Putting your USB tool into the computer. Can you feed me a scan of the room for paper?"

"On it." A brief pause. "Okay, overlaying it on your HUD."

A yellow tinge hangs over Rose's eyes. Paper is bright yellow. And yes, there, a big yellow block behind a poster. Rose carefully removes the pin-up (of some silicon-enhanced blonde) and sticks her fingernails into the false plaster wall, finding the catches and flicking them. There's a collection of black-bound ledgers. "Henriette," she whispers. "I think I've found the real ledgers." She flicks through them. "Yes, they're recording inbound and outbound shipments. I think these are the books for things that are kept off the books. Well, on these books. But not on the normal books."

"That's good." There's a pause. "Get them back here now, I think. We'll scan them instantly and then put them back, if you think you can hide that they were touched. If we put trackers in them, if the haemophage returns for them we might be able to track them back to their lair."

"That's a really good idea," Rose says happily. She might get to do an assault on a haemophage nest. Compared to other things she's done, they're nice and simple. You break down the door with incendiary weapons and hit them hard and fast. And no one cries over more dead haemophages. She gathers up the books, and crawls back out the window, scaling the building up onto the roofs. From there it's a simple hop, skip over lanes of cargo crates, and jump over a six metre wall and she's back to the vans. The door opens and she's back into the warmth and light and the computer consoles.

Henriette doesn't look up. "Scanner's to my left," she says, fingers clattering on the keyboard. "I'm just reconfiguring the sensors to scan an entire book at once, so just dump the ledgers on the plate and I'll do the rest."

"Sure thing!"

The scanning arm descends, and Henriette sits back. She shakes her head. "I couldn't ever have seen myself doing this two years ago," she says conversationally to Rose, shaking her head. "I used to sneer at people who were stuck Earthside doing this kind of work. I was kind of a bitch back then."

"I'm sure you weren't," Rose says automatically.

"No, really, I was. I've grown up," she says. "Okay, let's see... paper composition of the eldest one shows characteristic acid decay of... hmm. Fairly cheap paper, fourteen years old or so. If they're getting through one book every two years or so, that would fit. Right. So let's scan all of them, then I can install the bugs and you can get them back to their place." The machinery whirs again.

"How long?" Rose asks.

"A few minutes. I'm taking high resolution scans because..." she looks at Rose, and clearly de-complicates her explanation, "... because we don't want to miss any hidden details. From some of the acid traces, I think someone's been writing on some of these pages in lemon."

"Oh! Like spies! With invisible ink."

"Yes. Yes, Rose. Like spies." Henriette stretches. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. All my systems are green, and it's not like I'm stressing anything. You don't need to worry about me!"

The other woman spins on her chair. "I didn't mean that, Rose," she says. "It's like... I was a mess when I joined our amalgam, you know. I had nightmares about Autochthonia. I still don't remember exactly what happened there. When you've gone through someone incredibly stressful that no one else has, when no one understands - when they can't understand - it's not fun at all. I got angry at people. I tried to pretend I was just the same person. That nothing had changed. I... I attacked things that seemed to be threatening me. Sometimes literally. Mostly just a metaphorical counterattack - by the way, I'm sorry for how I was to you at first. I don't think I've really said that clearly enough."

"Thank you." Rose smiles. "You were sometimes a bit mean, but I knew you had to have a good reason. And you have got better! Isn't that great?"

"Look, I'm just saying... going through something no one else has been through changes you. And it's not the same. It's never going to be the same again." Henriette sighs. "I... I think I'm a better person now. But I think I was happier back then. Even if I was a brat. Look, Rose. Not now because you're busy with the mission, but after debriefing we... if you want to, we could probably talk. Just you and me. We could... um. Braid each other's hair if you wanted. Or... or paint our nails. Or... look at pictures of cute cats online or whatever the hell you do to relax given you don't read or play computer games. Watch shitty movies and get drunk together, if you haven't tried that before."

"I'm fine," Rose insists. "Really. I'm not like Donald. He needs someone to talk to more than me. He's really bored in recovery, you know."

"I wasn't fine when I told people that I was fine," Henriette says, blue eyes glinting. "You're not fine when you say you're fine."

"I am fine!" Ooops. That came out a little louder than Rose meant.

Henriette seems about to retort, and then exhales. "You know what. Yes. Fine. You're fine." She pauses. "The offer of hair braiding or a leisure activity of your choice remains open."

"Are the books done yet?" Rose almost begs.

"Nearly." Henriette swivels back around, much to her relief. "Just error checking, but it looks good. And... and... and... and... fuck it, there's thirty seconds to go and I'm not going to keep on saying 'and'."

Thorn is laughing in her reflection on the computers. "That was probably one of the most uncomfortable things you've gone through recently, right, Rose? Little Miss Tsunder Run trying to be nice. I wonder if she caught it from your murderous sociopath of a boss. She's really bad at it, anyway. She's trying to pull the levers in your head, only being somewhat let down by the fact that she's pretty crap at it. Isn't she adorable?"

Shut up, Rose thinks at her.

"Now you sound like a broken record. But oh, no. You don't need her. You just need to listen to me," Thorn says smugly. "Now, come on. Run to obey. After all, of course she was going to be promoted ahead of you. She might be a construct, but they let her pretend to be a womb-born and that means that the natural births treat her like she's one of them. Not like you. She's like Serafina that way, although of course she's a cheaper model than your beloved smother." Thorn pauses. "Ooops, I meant mother."

Twenty-three seconds later, it's done and Henriette embeds the trackers. "Take them back, put things back how they were," Henriette orders. "Cover up your presence, and then await further orders."

"Got it!"

Rose slips off into the darkness, now glad to be leaving that brightly lit, warm back of a van behind. Why does everyone keep pushing her on this? Of course she isn't fine! No one would be fine if... if they'd been what she'd been through! She's broken! Defective! She's been broken and defective since the start and... and now she can't even lie to herself. Reina broke her. Reina shattered her so she could pull out the programming and... and then she vanished off to where ever she had come from and left Rose lying among the pieces of herself. To fight and kill like her body was made to.

But she can't let people know. Especially not with the leader of the NWO so close. Or Serafina's parents. She's just a failed experiment to him, and Serafina's parents are... they never liked her. She has to keep people thinking she's all right! No matter how hard they try to trick her into admitting it.

Her vision is blurring. Rose wipes her eyes on her sleeve. There... there must be smog. Or something. Because she's not crying because if she was crying she wouldn't be fine and she is.

She swallows, vaulting a pile of containers as she moves from shadow to shadow holding the stolen ledgers. Maybe... maybe if she pretends to open up to Henriette a bit, people will stop asking her. They'll think she really is fine. And Henriette is... well, she's not like Director Belltower or Donald. She's not smooth or good with words.

And... and... and maybe she does understand a bit how it feels to be broken. After all, she's mentioned that she used to adore the Computer, like a good little Iterator. Rose gulps. Henriette has got better. That much is true. And... and maybe that means Rose can, too. Maybe if she pretends to open up and pretends to be better, it might be a little bit like getting better by really opening up. It's... it's not like Henriette can report her to Damage Control to have her destroyed. She probably doesn't even know anyone in Damage Control.

"Henriette?" It's a quiet little voice over the comms.

"What is it? A problem?"

"N-no. Um." She takes a deep breath. "I've burned a lot of energy tonight. Drinks and... um, ice-cream would be a good way of. Of refuelling."

"We'll do that, then. And I'll bring the bad movies."

 

[NonSequtur]

So I've tried to compile as complete a documentation of how the party has progressed since they started as I could. Unfortunately, our records are rather sparse...

Spoiler: Serafina Rosario

Serafina:
Influence (Progenitors) 3, Requisitions 6

Click to shrink...

She has obtained Alicia as an Ally, allowing her to have a physical presence. Her Ally merit is paradigm-limited - Alicia can only physically 'manifest' by possessing hardware or wetware which could allow a Technocratic beta-fork intelligence to inhabit it, effectively being treated as an Enlightened Mind 5 mind. Alicia's manifestations are also a fork and she does not share her knowledge with the Alicia which exists in Serafina's head until she can Cram the data back in. Alicia has all the same spheres as Serafina, and the two share a common Paradox track - Alicia will therefore try to avoid using vulgar magic as much as possible, but will sometimes forget. Backlashes will usually hit the one of them who invoked it.

She has increased her Willpower to 8 and switched her Virtue to Leader, after she has reconciled with her parents, forced herself to work past her attention span problems, and made the choice to stand in the light and lead the Union as an inspiration (she has forgotten she made that latter choice, but the inner determination still remains). She is therefore considerably more self-assured and is better at staying focussed on one goal.

From the knowledge she obtained from the Subjugation Corps scientist she mind-probed, Serafina has RD Data 2 (Subjugation Corps). This makes her one of the greatest living experts on the Corps when combined with her Intelligence. Which admittedly is mostly a product of how the Void Engineers don't know too much about the inner workings of the Corps.

As befits the prettiest of pretty Union Princesses (sorry, Henriette, but it's true), Serafina has spontaneously developed Legend 2 (Trickster Princess). She is a living embodiment of the cunning princesses from fairy tales who make use of their knowledge, their position and their sexuality to fool others and achieve their aims. She can regain primal energy when she does this, which she feels as an buzz or a rush which makes her feel fully rested like she's just had a good night's sleep. As a side effect of this, she now has the Echoes 1 (Butterflies) flaw. Butterfly themes, imagery, metaphors and - yes - the literal animal will appear around her more than is statically likely. At this level, it is mostly a minor aesthetic thing.

She has learned Entropy 1, which mostly operates under her paradigm of "God, I'm such a super-genius", but sometimes does strange things not entirely under her control due to her Legend (for example, it will activate if she meets anyone with the Legend (Prince Charming) or Legend (Baba Yaga) and give her a strange gut feeling about them).

Her body is now heavily saturated with X-410 'Xiaolian' programmable cells. Her bone marrow now produces them so they're in her bloodstream and integrated into her organs. Her sensory organs have particularly heavy integration - she can now generate HUDs and enhanced vision modes. This gives her on-the-fly Life focuses which are akin to a lesser version of what Rose has - she couldn't easily transform her entire face or bone structure, but she can move fat and muscle under her face and produce more melanin over the course of a few minutes to look like a different woman with a similar build, for example. With more time she can carry out more extensive modifications - she's a chimera, not someone made entirely of programmable cells. Most directly, she can use them to clot instantly and heal quickly, or overcharge her body for short-duration physical boosts at the cost of increased energy requirements and possible damage to herself. These are basically a kludged-together version of the kind of augmentations that a 1970s Damage Control agent might have had, before the widespread use of combat homunculi of modern standards.

The presence of the cells in her bloodstream and their more efficient ATP transport has given her Stamina 4 (Untiring).

As she is now effectively a walking biochemistry lab, she has learned Matter 2. This is paradigm-limited - she can only use the sphere for rolls she could enhance with Engineering (Chemical) or Engineering (Biological). Obviously this is especially useful for synthesising compounds within her, using the modified X-410 cells, but she can also use her existing knowledge of the fields for analysis.

Thanks to her new low-level job as a brain-scrubbed storage-personality, she has acquired:

• An Ally 1 Mary husbando
• Knowledge of Portuguese with a Brazilian accent.
• A watertight False Identity merit as Dr Isabella Minuano, a citizen of Brazil.
• Resources 3 from her salary as a mid-level biochemist.
• The Good Boss merit from the Demon Player's Guide.
• An apartment in Rio.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Donald Sykes

Donald, being Best And Most Likable Dosh King, has gained Charisma 5.

Click to shrink...

Meanwhile, Donald has gained +1 WP (to 9) and Lore: Traditions at 4, from having very little to do but to listen in on how the Traditions are handling things and work on planning meetings with them. Possible specialties include (Cat Herding, Bullshitting, The Biblical Sense). Okay, seriously, no specialty yet. He has also gained Iron Will, making him particularly resistant to mind control effects, adding +3 to his effective Willpower against those.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Henriette Langley

[ ] Body Language Optimization

• Iteration X implant system, but more commonly found in NWO agents and Syndicate executives than Iteration X operatives.
• Implanted mesh network adjusts body movements seamlessly to improve operative presence
  • +1 Charisma, +1 Manipulation
• Adaptive body movement processing shields against attempts to discern microexpressions that signify falsehood
  • Provides Permanent Mind 1/Entropy 1 shield against mind-reading effects and Entropy 1 "Ring of Truth"
• Skilled users can hack the fine muscle control systems to enact various effects
• +1 Permanent Paradox

Click to shrink...

[ ] (1.2x) Generation 6: Project BISHAMON/Sub Project RAIDEN Pilot Optimization Program
Post-Reckoning enhancements developed by Iteration X nanotech labs in Japan. High end, relatively subtle improvements to pilot capabilities via low-profile nanotech enhancement and organ replacement. Minimal humanity cost and high reliability, but lowest overall capabilities. No cyberrejection-not vulnerable to Reality Deviant anti-cybernetic psionic effects.

• Bone strength improvement: +1 unarmed damage, +2 Stamina, reduced falling damage
• Synthetic muscle myofibrils: +2 Strength, +1 Dexterity, +2B/2L soak
• Vasculoid replacement of cardiovascular system
  • Improved Trauma Management: +2 -0 HLs, heal 1 HL/scene
  • Life 2 adaptation: G-forces, toxins, diseases
• Implanted Smartlink
  • Interface with electronics via touch
  • +1d to all rolls involving smartlinked equipment
  • Forces 2 emergency taser effect (renders smartlink inoperable for a scene)
• Low Profile Enhancements
  • +1 difficulty to detect enhancements
• Vasculoid replacement of all blood vessels
  • Paradox flaw: Enhancile does not bleed
• +1 Permanent Paradox

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[ ] Legendary Pilot: +1 automatic success on piloting rolls. Will always survive destruction of piloted vehicle short of near-total vaporization.

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[ ] Firearms 3, Brawl 3, Athletics 3 ("I know kung fu." "Show me.")
[ ] Willpower + 1 (to 8), Charisma + 1 (to 3 base/4 augmented).

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Also she's gotten a version of her sister, lost a lot of her old phobias and bought a lot more abilities. I think.

Spoiler: Jamelia Belltower

New Game Concept: Legendary Attributes/Abilities
Some characters have Legendary Attributes or Abilities. You've met a few so far. These expressions of legendary prowess grant automatic successes on relevant rolls, and furthermore provide additional benefits. For example, Cross had Legendary Firearms which granted him an automatic success on Firearms rolls and let him ignore almost all difficulty penalties related to shooting guns.

Jamelia now has Legendary Dexterity 1, providing an automatic success on all Dexterity-related rolls, and allowing her to count 10s as 2 successes on Dexterity-related rolls (so if she rolls Dexterity, she rolls Yd10x7 instead of Yd10e7). "Hey MJ12, this sounds just like Mega-Dexterity in Aberrant 2.0". Ding ding ding we have a winner. Legendary Attributes are "static" magic of a sort, and do not provoke Paradox. They can, however, be extremely obvious, which may not create Paradox but may cause people to take notice. Jamelia's Legendary Dexterity Enhancement is Freeflow. She jumps extremely high, takes no damage from falls, and can easily scale vertical surfaces by running straight up.

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Also, excellent. I can work with this.

Anyways, Jamelia's new Enhancements are fairly broad. She has broad physical enhancements giving her peak physical capability with marginally superhuman Stamina, an effective +1d bonus to all combat rolls, a significant boost to her Mental attributes (she now has Perception 5, Intelligence 5, Wits 6), and Manipulation 5.

But that's not all! Donald's contribution has been licensing the Hyper-A adrenal reconfiguration from Praetorian Military Solutions, an INVICTUS-controlled private biotech researcher. The Hyperadrenal reconfiguration of Jamelia's endocrine system replaces normal adrenaline and her normal adrenal glands with synthetic h-adrenaline, which hyperoxygenates the user's musculature and also has nootropics that greatly accelerate cognition. The brain activity in such a state looks like a seizure, but... rather more effective, since victims of seizures do not generally grab two guns and get four headshots in 0.38 seconds.

Of course, the issue with Hyper-A is that it causes heat buildup, especially in the brain. Using it for too long (more than [Stamina + Endurance] turns) starts to cause unsoakable bashing damage from heatstroke.

Yes, Jamelia can say that she has harnessed 100% of the human brain simultaneously. The Progenitor military research labs really, really hate Praetorian because they always make the joke whenever they talk about Hyper-A. And it is a bad joke.

Donald's also licensed Praetorian's counter-intrusion nanoweb. It's an implant network of about a thousand small-scale interference field generators, like the ones in the Qui La Machinaes the Void Engineers use to defeat Reality Deviance. It's countermagic. Serafina has kindly implanted most of them along the brain and spinal cord, and also set them to 'discreet', which will make sure that anyone looking who isn't looking Very Very Hard and specifically at Jamelia, especially given her Cloaking, will find it impossible to notice Jamelia. The field generators are also absolutely tiny (a fraction of a mm in size each) and thus invisible to surgical procedures as well.

All of this has cost Donald a pretty penny but he has cash to spare, right?

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[ ] Willpower + 1 (to 10) + Ally 0 (Ceres)

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Spoiler: John Kessler

[ ] Forged By Dragon's Fire: Slaying the great wyrm has imprinted your name on the very dreams of Sleepers themselves. People who never knew what you accomplished will understand, instinctively, that you existed, that you could exist. You are legend. -2 Permanent Paradox. (This is a weaker version of what you'd have gotten had you consumed the great wyrm's legend in its entirety).

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[ ] +2 Mind (to 2), lose Anachronism (SECOND neural bonding)

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[ ] Improved Damage Control System: heal 1 HL of bashing/lethal per round, +2 Stamina (to 12). B/L soak increases by 1 from Stamina increase (to 16 B/L). Vulgar if repairing significant damage.

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[ ] M-1992 ZERUEL Combat Chassis
M-1992 ZERUEL Combat Chassis

• Iteration X high end synthetic body. Likely discarded by former user and delivered as a 'hand me down.'
• Body requires one (1) human brain. Donation is irreversible.
• Human brain is replaced (Matter 4/Life 5/Mind 5/Prime 5) with synthetic nanotech emulation, granting drastically accelerated cognitive clockspeed (Time 3). In crisis situations clockspeed can be unlimited (Mind 1/Time 4) to effectively allow infinite thinking time.
• Derivative of high-end ItX bodies used by leadership personnel pre-99. Demonstrably allows user to retain Enlightened Science ability.
• Built out of adaptive nanotech over a micromachine (~3mm) skeleton (Correspondence 4, Matter 4). Micromachine skeleton is built out of Primium, providing heavy countermagic. Unit can disassemble to fit through small gaps or other spaces, but operator may not attempt Enlightened Science if disassembled, for unknown reason.
• Capable of plasma generation equivalent to heavy antimateriel plasma weapons (Enlightenment 8, Forces 3/Prime 2). Strength and durability equivalent to commando HITMark V unit, but with self-repair. Superhuman speed and coordination.
• Universal Weapons System (Matter 4) allows for generation of any mundane weapons system, melee or ranged. Unit is capable of shapeshifting to disguise self or improve combat effectiveness.
• Prime 5 Self-Diagnostic Systems and capacitors allow for paradox mitigation. Internal fusion reactor provides steady trickle of Prime Energy, sufficient to mitigate normal paradox conditions. Heavy combat will strain reactor.
• User becomes effectively unliving and is immune to Life effects. Matter effects must be used instead. User will not show up on Life scans.
• Override codes and Conditioning triggers must be installed post-market.

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[ ] Legend 3 (The Terminator)

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Spoiler: Rose Ashford

Since Reina plays way better with Rose than Thorn does (who is sadly pretty one-note) Rose has bought off Demented Eidolon. It represents her growth, where she's left the black and white world of Technocracy Good Traditions Evil behind and matured in a way so that her foil is not a stereotypical inversion of her, but rather someone who is her opposite in many ways-but is still a person, not a caricature.

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Templar Cross

Comprising of a cross-shaped necklace, the Templar Cross was manufactured by construct Rose Ashford apparently in an attempt to emphasise with and understand her genestock. This has been logged in her psychological records and is currently viewed as acceptable - and indeed admirable - behaviour. It is based on a necklace seen in a painting dating from 1631, painted by the Dutch artist (and member of the Cabal of Pure Thought) Johannes van der Braxton.

The Templar Cross is a surprisingly subtle Device - as befits something its creator was not actively intending to make as one. It only provides its benefits for users whose paradigm includes reverence, idolisation or considerable respect for Reina Lior. Firstly, as an icon made in the shape of a possession of Reina Lior, it serves to provide a Mind mental shield against mental influence - whether overtly RD or merely conventional hyperpsych - which would have the wearer act against the principles of the Order of Reason. These principles, while similar in some ways to those of the Technocratic Union, differ in several aspects. A Primal Utility countermagic effect attempts to unravel any magical mental effect which afflicts the wearer which would have them act against those principles, rolling once per order which goes against them. Those who respect this champion of the Order also benefit from a Mind and Primal Utility effect which strengthens the wearer's surety when they slay monsters such as spirits, vampires, werewolves, blasphemous horrors from beyond the stars, Infernalists, faeries, demons, the risen dead, demonologists, ghouls, ghosts, spectres, wraiths, haunts, witches, changelings, and other obvious enemies of mankind - as well as the fools who would welcome those things into the world from beyond the Gauntlet - restoring Primal Energy and placating doubts they might have about their course of action.

If worn by someone who doesn't idolise Reina Lior, the wearer will have strange dreams where they fantasise about the Order of Reason and experience things which show remarkable coherence with events in her life - though without enough detail to discern much. Strangely enough, such experiences will lead them prone to looking into the Order of Reason and curious about the knights of the Order and the respected figures among them.

Any allegations that this is mechanically more akin to a Talisman rather than a Device are, of course, lies, calumny and slander.

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Rose? Rose has been using-some might say abusing-her vampire genetics way too much, and has been rewarded for that. Well, 'rewarded.' Some might say. Rose has increased her Blatancy (Vampire) to 4, which means that she basically doesn't take paradox from successful use of 4 dot spheres when you're using them with vampire explanations. Furthermore, some level of the vampire's undead vitality and surprising durability has marked her, boosting her soak. She has also permanently activated her hemophage muscle grafts.

As a side effect of these modifications, she has also been marked by her vampire nature, and now suffers a few vampire side effects. Namely, any damage she suffers from fire (regular, natural fire) is upgraded 1 level (bashing->lethal->aggravated) and her blood is more than a little addictive. She can't make proper ghouls without throwing magic into the problem, but it beats the hell out of cocaine. Originally it was going to be something else but @NonSequtur gave me the best idea from his write-in. Thorn approves of her rejecting her Technocratic origins and tapping into the primordial well of power they built into her. Janice is horrified. Donald would probably be mortified as well if there wasn't a rebellious part of his brain which found this immensely sexy.

Oh, and she's also gained a fairly significant amount of leadership talent and has gotten much better at pretending she's something she's not. But that's less important.

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Rose wins a gold star for most improved. She's basically eaten a starting character.

 

[MJ12 Commando]

JB CLXXXVI: Studies

The lights in the laboratory are as carefully calibrated as everything else, designed for maximum efficiency. Long gone are the unnecessary tesla coils and clumsy mechanisms, the bulbous automatons and automated rayguns.

Well, not the rayguns. They had simply been slimmed down and given a new coat of paint. The smell of it, ever so faint, still lingers in the air.

But even careful artificial management of the human sleep cycle would fail without more hands-on measures. Thankfully, Rose is only human to casual inspection.

The lights brighten as someone approaches the door to the laboratory, and she looks up from the screen, glad for an excuse to focus on something other than the complex protein simulations. The trawl had given them quite a bit of information, but had taken entirely too long. Better cognitive accelerants would be useful, if they could be made to interact with haemophagic biology safely.

Her expression falls flat as she sees who's coming through the door.

"Call her nonna," urges Thorn, her voice bright and eager. She's holding a camera which she's pulled from somewhere. "It'll be great."

Rose ignores her. "Dr. Rosario," she says instead.

Pia looks around the laboratory, seemingly more interested in the interior design than her maybe-granddaughter. "Construct Ashford," she replies. Bobs file in through the door behind her, carrying equipment around to wherever they can fit it. She pays them no mind.

Thorn grins. "Hardly subtle, that."

Rose's face remains carefully neutral. "I wasn't expecting you to be... moving in."

Pia shrugs. "Neither was I. But family is important."

Rose nods slowly. The silence drags on, broken only by the footsteps of the Bobs and the sound of packages being opened.

The simulation flashes a new configuration on the screen, and Rose is the one who breaks first. A glance downward is all she needs, but she lets the dance of simulated proteins hold her eye. Across the laboratory, Pia fiddles with some of the new equipment.

"Awkward~." Thorn mouths from the faint reflection on the screen. "She really doesn't like you."

I know that already. Rose absently changes a few of the molecules in the simulation, and the model flexes wildly as it reconfigures itself.

"But you don't know why, and that's what bothers you." Thorn smirks. "Does she think you'll go mad and rip her baby girl to shreds? Does she see you as an albatross around Serafina's neck, better cut off and forgotten about in some assault group than cared for? Or just as a failure which should have been recycled?"

I wouldn't know, replies Rose. She wouldn't be surprised, though. She'd thought the same at times. Still does.

"Yeah, granny's pretty cagey about it, isn't she? Still, it's fun to speculate. Maybe it's something less obvious." Thorn chews on the end of a pipe for a moment. "Vhat about her mother?"

Are you going to ask me to lie down on a couch next? Rose wonders. Also, your accent is terrible.

Thorn nods. "Noted. Do you think she was born, or made?"

Rose pauses for a moment. I... I'm not sure. Artificial wombs only came into wider use after the second World War, but a high-ranking Progenitor might have had access to something more experimental. Could go either way.

"Do you think a part of her resents that?" Bubbles rise from the end of Thorn's pipe. "Doesn't like how the Technocracy takes motherhood away from mothers? Whether it's surrogacy or exowombs, the Rosario family hasn't had a true birth in a century. You just lack any pretense about it, springing fully formed from mens' minds instead of weak and vulnerable from a woman's womb. The equality of the Union is making everyone into men."

That sounds like a bit of a stretch, Rose replies. Pregnancy doesn't seem like something to be envied.

Thorn hums contemplatively for a moment. "Maybe she's jealous."

Rose freezes, eyes darting briefly over to where Pia is checking over some fragile equipment for damage. What.

"You've probably had more time with Serafina than Pia ever did. And gotten more attention than she received from her mother to boot." Thorn sighs in mock happiness. "Ah, Damien Education. Well, this is all guesswork, so you can take it or leave it."

Rose doesn't respond. On the other side of the room, the Bobs start cleaning up the boxes and packaging. She leaves quietly. She doesn't want this confrontation.

***​

Running her hands through her night-dark hair, Pia Rosario washes her face. In the next room, her husband works at his secure computer, throwing out hooks and offering tendrils to old allies and compatriots. The secure mobile pod is an adequate temporary accommodation - albeit a little spartan for her tastes - and more critically it's highly secure.

They weren't about to stay in New World Order-provided 'secure' accommodation. It would no doubt be very secure against hostile RDs - and utterly transparent to the NWO. That would be undesirable. Especially when whoever had gone after Serafina had used Union assets to do so.

"I don't trust Bastion," Daniel says.

Pia pokes her head through the door. "He's the head of the Order. He'd probably be offended if you trusted him," she says liltingly.

Her husband pinches his brow. "More than usual. The thing that worries me is the members of Serafina's amalgam he's managed to produce - and the ones who are missing."

"Just that?" Pia sits down beside him.

"No, not just that - but it's a minor thing that doesn't sit right with me. Financier Sykes and Ashford were ground-side with Sera, right?"

"Right."

"So... why does he have Lt Langley here as well? We know she was off-world at the same time as the attack."

"Do we?" Pia asks thoughtfully.

"If not, whatever went up there was good enough to fool the Engineers," he states. "So, no, we don't know it - but he'll know that too. Possible he's trying to use her heroic reputation?"

"That's certainly a reason to have a proxy made," Pia says, frowning. "But I don't think she is one." She taps her temples. "I could see the primal energy in her body - and when we talked, she showed clear signs of genius-boosted cognition. If she's a duplicate, she's a reprogrammed enlightened. Same for Sykes - he checked me out, you know."

"Well, that is what you made that body for," her husband says drily. "But yes. Ashford's body is certainly real. The NWO couldn't fake something that expensive or sophisticated without enough cooperation from us that I'd know. Her mind, though... I'm not so sure."

"You think she's been reprogrammed?"

"Bastion isn't a fool," Daniel says casually, "and Ashford is a waste of a high grade combat unit. So yes, I strongly suspect he'll have had Q Division make her less useless. Serafina won't be happy, but we'll come to that when we have to." He rises and sits down next to her. "Water?"

"Thank you."

"Hmm. As I recall, Langley also has extensive psych problems on her file. She gets handed off to Jamelia Belltower who fairly soon brings Sera on-board - and then suddenly Henriette Langley is a hero of the Technocracy. Sera has my talent for neurobiology - and she's also soft-hearted and kind."

"... well, yes, we did design her for empathy."

"No, not quite like that." Daniel's eyes narrow. "I think we're moving around the edge of something. Feeling out the shape, but we can't see it." He strokes his handsomely unshaven chin. "The duplicate of Serafina said that she was reporting to Jamelia Belltower. Jamelia Belltower was seen earthside before the attack, and she's still leading her amalgam in Los Angeles. And yet most of her amalgam winds up going offworld in a top secret mission that we only heard of because I asked some questions with Void Engineer contacts. Ones that most people won't have." He heads back over to the computer, bringing up a virtual board. "Serafina was replaced in that attack. Sykes... Sykes must have been too. The fake Serafina was working with him."

"We'd guessed that already," Pia agrees.

"But Ashford wasn't. The duplicate was all worked up about how 'injured' Ashford was. She's too expensive to easily duplicate. But this is the real one."

"Ah." It's a short inhalation. "Yes. So we assume that... that she managed to extract Sykes. Probably how he picked up that cyberarm. For whatever reason, despite how she's a puppy around Sera, she went for Sykes rather than her. Proximity?"

"Or standing orders," Daniel says clinically. "Most of his injuries weren't from then, though. They're more recent. From that... Serafina said she'd been on the run. So were they, probably. Possibly captured by an Order takedown team. But I suspect they went to the Order - after all, they're Belltower's subordinates. Sykes is a useful proxy for Bastion in the Syndicate and Ashford is a combat unit. We know how the Order wants to keep the other Conventions closer to heel and regain influence it's lost to the Syndicate."

"So where does Langley come in?"

"I don't know yet. I know she - or something which resembled her - was part of the group which landed with the Engineers. Along with, I note, a woman that looked like Jamelia Belltower." He sighs. "She appears to be as fond as body doubles as Martines."

Pia laughs. "At least that's more justified for an Operative."

"Quite so." Daniel steps over to his wife and takes her hand. "Don't worry. The Order might be playing games, but I think our interests align. I'm willing to trade a bit more of an Order yoke to get Li's hands to loosen."

"He declared war when he cut funding to my banana genetic diversity program," Pia says darkly, eyes glinting.

"Yes, dear."

"That imbecile doesn't understand that the genetic diversity of a major food crop is far more important than another Victor upgrade program!"

"Quite so, dear." Daniel coughs. "And we've got ways in with the Void Engineers that they need. I've already been talking with some people. They owe me, and they don't have enough good quality neurobiologists as it is. Time, I think, we had a poke around in some of the alien corpses from Mexico City and maybe we'll find what Serafina was doing on their spaceship from another point of view. And where she went afterwards."

"Mmm. You'll have to take the lead there," Pia says. "Unless they're plant-aliens, I won't be so much use. I think I'll... ah, try to resolve some of the mystery of Ms Langley."

"I agree. There's something useful there. What approach are you thinking of, dear?"

Pia smiles. "I think I'll go off your hunch. Serafina seems to have had some success with her, if your hypothesis is accurate. And I am her mother."

***​

"You know, Belltower," Professor Bastion says, glancing over the reports, "I do believe the senior doctors Rosario don't trust us. They're being very rude and blocking our attempts to monitor them."

"That would be a shame, sir," Jaron says neutrally.

"Quite terribly so. After all, are we not the most trustworthy of men?"

"I have often been known to trust you with my life, sir."

"And have I ever let you down?"

"No comment."

Bastion nods. "Excellent redaction of sensitive information there, Belltower."

"Thank you, sir." Jaron clears his throat. "I believe that the doctors Rosario know more than they let on."

The older man flaps a hand in the air. "Oh yes, I know that already. I know they've been talking with the Void Engineers. The Watchers are still working on breaking those Progenitor codes, but I know they've been talking. I can guess at some of what they've been talking about, too." He pushes a manila folder forwards. Jaron's eyebrows rise at the sight of the high security rating. "Take a look." Jaron flicks through. The source of the intel has been scrubbed, but from the context he can guess that the NWO has someone embedded in a senior position in Human Resources, the asset management branch of the Administration. He could probably put together a shortlist of names from this knowledge, too - and the loss of someone this senior would be a blow to internal monitoring. Bastion must be concerned.

"The Rosarios used the ultra-secure WETSCAPE network to contact the Void Engineers on the 25th of December," he observes. "And from the file size, they were either padding it significantly or that's a very large data burst. And their household private server is suspiciously bland with no trace of anything that they would have sent at that time."

"Precisely." Bastion takes the folder back and taps its self-destruct, tossing it in the bin where enzymes digest the paper and ink, leaving it a formless pool of sugar. "The timing matches. They know something about Mexico City - and they passed the Void Engineers information. I know they've been talking. I just don't know who they've been talking to. That irks me. Belltower?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If you could, please resolve this situation."

"Very well, sir."

"Don't compromise your main mission in satisfying my curiosity, of course."

"Of course, sir."

He's already thinking about how to get more information as he leaves. Fortunately, as this is a NWO operation, and they are cooperating with the NWO, he's director of security for this. Some would chafe at the responsibility. If anything goes wrong, and either of the Doctors Rosario end up wounded or dead, it's his fault now. Of course, given what he engaged in that factory, he suspects that whatever might try to kill them is probably going to try to kill him as well. And oftentimes, you take out the security detail's leadership before trying for the target. So his chances of surviving that scenario are... low. And they'll probably bring him back, but by the time they do that, things will almost certainly have blown over. He doesn't make a habit of incompetence.

He decides to put Langley on the detail. She's an interesting person. And far less likely to have Progenitor overrides which make her a security risk than Ashford. So as a stalking horse, she's much better. She has enough expertise in small arms use that she makes a rational fit, especially since her role will be 'getaway driver' in case something goes wrong. Along with those super-high level Damage Control killing machines and a member or two of TYRANT-he assigns Juliet to them, mostly because she probably fills the Dimensional Science hole which has been a significant weakness in Union security ever since the Reckoning-he'll have enough eyes on them that he might be able to know more. Someone else might be concerned about the invasion of privacy, but this is exactly what the NWO does. Trust, but verify-and emphasize the verification. He knows Juliet won't be trusted as another NWO spook-but Henriette might.

***​

1st Lieutenant Henriette Langley relies on her BLO to keep a straight face as she sees the principals for her next assignment waiting on the tarmac by the private jet. Director Belltower-the one which isn't Jamelia-has decided that she is assigned to the protection team for the Progenitor VIPs. The Progenitor VIPs who are Serafina's parents. The Progenitor VIPs who bloody well look younger than she is.

This? This is not fair. This is not fair one bit. Serafina's mother looks like a goddamn college student. She also looks quite a lot like Serafina, but at least Serafina has the decency to look like she's in her mid-twenties in the way a lot of Technocrats who can afford it default to. It's... it's disgraceful that people that old willingly go around looking like they shouldn't be old enough to drink. It's... it's clearly showing off! Because they're showing off they can get rejuve back to an age which isn't even efficient! It's wasteful! Shamelessly wasteful!

Henriette realizes that her chain of thought is ending in too many exclamation marks, and tries to quieten down a little. But still! She read up on them. Daniel Rosario, world famous neurobiologist and psychologist. Less known for being unfairly hot, in a sort of indie sort of way. Pia Rosario, inheritor of the Rosario family, one of the minds behind the Green Revolution, and also - although she hasn't been to the field in years - someone who tore Nephandic Nazis apart with killer plants in WW2. Also drop-dead gorgeous and doesn't look at all like the grey-haired respected elder scientist that her public persona is. Respected elder scientists don't dress like that. She has orders from the to keep an eye on both of them and record everything she sees in the Void Engineer facility. Because of course it had to be Void Engineers. Stupid Void Engineers. Stupid Progenitors.

Pia fixes her with a very warm and Serafina-like smile. "Oh, Henriette," she says, and isn't it unfair that she sounds so much like Serafina too? It's either a natural mother-daughter resemblance, or it's some kind of deliberate ploy to manipulate her. "You don't mind if I call you Henriette, do you? Serafina told me quite a bit about you after Moscow. The two of you, the Heroes of Moscow!"

No one this smart should sound so bubbly, Henriette thinks darkly. Except Serafina. Serafina has earned it. Her mother hasn't, not in her books. "I was just doing my duty, ma'am," she says.

"Come on, sit with me," Pia says as they board the plane. "We should talk. Among other things, have you been briefed on what we're doing here?"

"Yes, ma'am. You're heading to," she pauses, "to assist the Void Engineers with research into the invasion in Mexico City." She sits where she's directed, and checks that her systems are saying that the area is secure.

"Call me Pia! Really! I insist!"

"Well... um, Pia, the Void Engineers have various alien spaceships and parts of the mothership in temporary secure sites all over the city. They're having to stabilize them and can't move them too far away from the epicenter of the invasion, due to something to do with the Dimensional Anomaly. Same as the alien corpses - they're somehow preserved by whatever happened and so they're having to do all the research on-site."

"Pretty much, yes." Pia reaches for the nanofactory. "Do you want a drink? You look like the sort of girl who likes... hmm. Vodka-and-coke for both of us, I think."

This is going to be a long trip, Henriette thinks darkly. Stupid likeable Progenitors.

***
​

The armed camp is ostensibly run by the Mexican Naval Infantry and there because of the 'war on drugs.' Drug gangs have made actual attempts to raid it-attacks which have given it even more cover. And it's heavily secured by a marine infantry presence-just not the marines of Mexico. Few Mexican military forces have ever stepped foot inside the perimeter. Underneath the body-concealing combat suits and full-face helmets the soldiers are predominantly Indian and Chinese. Void Engineer marines. Most of these men and women are reservists now-chimeric augmentation has made it increasingly difficult for the frontline teams to deploy themselves on Earth. Discussions about 'making use of the Devil's tools' have been common. But what choice do they have?

Their enemy is inhuman, implacable, with no human weakness. They need the technology to fight it. And if that means that the frontlines are increasingly being replaced by autonomous lethal robotics and high-spec enhanciles, that the power armored marines with basic enhancements are falling out of favor to Iteration X and Progenitor-style enhanciles built off of salvaged Threat Null technology or reverse-engineered Haiden xenografts-so be it. But that technology is expensive-which is why they've set up camps like these. They're tearing apart the tools and weapons of their former comrades, salvaging them into weapons and armor that can be used for their Earthside infiltrations. Out in the void, increasingly inhuman VE chimerics fight increasingly inhuman Autopolitans and Transhumans. Here, the old guard of the Void Engineers still functions just fine. And they've got quite a few tricks.

Colonel Isaak Sokolov sighs. He wonders if the Void Engineers are going to win the war, only to lose their soul. An ironic thought for someone with so many enhancements-but his have been a gradual accumulation, bits and pieces of him replaced slowly because he was one of those rare people who had difficulties with the standard rapid regeneration treatments. Enhancements which come with a cost. He dumps a few pills into his bionic hand and swallows them, taking a swig of water to clear the bitter taste. It's why he can stay on Earth, rather than being doomed to being a voidfarer forever. The new chimerics-they aren't like that. They're faster and tougher and smarter than him, but they're barely human and they lack the experience. And when the war's over-will they be willing to give up their upgrades to step on Earth again? Or will they be another alienated group kept far away from Earth, bitter and resentful? Another potential threat? He wonders.

In the prefab field command center, one of the soldiers runs up to Colonel Sokolov. "Colonel! We have visitors!"

The old colonel stands up. He's not supposed to be running operations anymore. He was a trainer. But after Mexico City, everyone was called up. He's personally rounded up VE personnel who had been more than satisfied to spend their twilights in obscurity, living quiet lives in comfortable retirement with their minds scrubbed of secrets, or doing safe but necessary work. Now they've all been drafted again. The old men of Earth and the young posthumans of the void. What a Convention. "Who are they?"

"Progenitors. Doctors Pia and Daniel Rosario, plus escort. Looks like one of them is Pilot Langley, and the others are NWO agents."

"Right. Well I guess it's time to roll up the welcome mat." He feels glad that they've stripped out the Qui La Machinae components already. The Progenitors shouldn't be able to figure it out, and neither should Langley. But he doesn't want to take any chances.
​

***
​

A flight to Mexico on Bastion's private plane-the leader of the New World Order has plenty of legitimate reasons to visit the site of an alien invasion, after all-getting off at a Mexican armed forces base to borrow a NWO VIP Roland, and it's only a relatively short drive to the compound where the remnants of the aliens are being studied. It makes Henriette happier. The Roland's not nearly as good as the kind of vehicle she's used to, but it's fun to drive and reliable and pretty well armed. She misses the LX-5, but this is fine. And sitting up in front in the driver seat means she doesn't have to worry about unfairly hot Progenitors trying to sweet-talk her into sharing more details of what happened. She's said only what she thinks Serafina's parents know, but she's not sure how smart they are. Unfairly smart, probably. The Progenitors have always had their geniuses.

Henriette stops the Roland in front of the gate. She glances at the passenger compartment camera, showing the two doctors and their incredibly suspicious-looking Damage Control bodyguards. They look like Venusian adapts, the ones who were intended to be able to fight both in the horrifying hell-jungles of Venusian subdimensions-and also survive in the temperatures and pressures of Venus itself. Scary folk. They've brought along a personal assistant, who Juliet's said is probably some kind of combat homonculus capable of taking on a horrific bioengineered warform. She's glad that they're helping. The firepower is nice. The firepower arrayed against them is less nice, even if it's mostly Void Engineer. Exosuits with mounted heavy weapons over heavy plated armor, cheap and easily mass produced, maybe two decades out of reach of the masses. Their weapons are magnetic rifles-again, maybe 20 years more advanced. Very cheap-but still effective. And they've got their own supersoldiers. ORIONs, they call them-2 meters and change tall and nearly as broad, wearing heavy body armor. Hybridized with alien DNA, she's heard. Basically like the deadlier Progenitor combat clones, but smart and experienced. There are VE cybershells which look like modified old ItX technology. She'd have sneered at its primitiveness before, but now she understands its efficiency. It lets the Void Engineers keep their deadlier assets off of Earth. Gives them fewer limitations.

They motion for them to disembark. The doctors do. Henriette does so as well-she can drive the Roland by remote, and if they're going to be shooting at them, they're dead already. An older-looking man-his face lined, his hair white, walks over. Probably cosmetic, Henriette thinks. She can see the cybernetic arm of his and the old-style myomer implants in his body. If he couldn't take to any advanced medicine, he'd probably have died from the biological stress long ago, and life extension is relatively simple.

"Colonel Sokolov." Daniel says warmly, offering a hand.

"Doctor Daniel Rosario." The VE says, shaking it with his biological one. "Welcome to our humble facility. Thank you for taking our offer. I hope that you're impressed, but seeing the tech you surround yourself with, I doubt it. And Lieutenant Langley." He salutes. "We're honored by your presence. Thank you for saving Moscow."

Henriette would be flustered if she didn't have the BLO. Even with it, she barely manages to choke out "I was just doing my duty, sir." She returns the salute shakily.

"Yes, but you succeeded, and that is more than enough." Sokolov says. "Come in. We have accommodations for you and your security detail. Secure accommodations." he hints. "And we have the objects of interest you wanted to see."
​

***
​

One advantage of being augmented, Juliet thinks, is that she can deal with multiple tasks at once. Right now she's briefing Director Belltower on what she's learned, while watching-and eavesdropping-on Daniel Rosario, as well as watching Henriette look more than a little disturbed at the autopsy and analysis.

"So what have you found out?" Jaron asks.

"Right now I've sweet-talked a lab tech about getting to check out the hardware-flashed him some credentials and a pretty smile and my NSC experience and he was more than willing to share details. So I've learned more than I want to know about these aliens. There's greys, but there's also some we haven't seen much of. They call them 'Mantons,' you know." She sends a picture.

"What do they feed those things?" Jaron asks. "You'd think the only guns they'd need are the ones attached to their shoulders."

"Concentrated protein paste, retrovirals, and a load of steroids, apparently. They're not as tough as they look. Even Julianna would probably be able to handle one. Simple tech, easily mass produced. Even their plasma weapons are relatively low-tech. Shorter ranged than Iterator ones, but more reliable. Power armor's more primitive than ItX models, probably a bit worse than our Alanson variants. They'd go through Category C or D forces like a hot knife through butter, but Cat A units like us or Cat B units like an ItX cyber-assault squad would be able to tear them apart. But that's not the interesting part. The interesting part is what the VEs aren't saying. These enemies aren't new for the VEs. They've got Dr. Rosario (M) here not because they want to know more about the Mantons but because there's a bunch of other aliens they haven't had much experience with. They seem a little impatient while he's playing around with the Manton DEIs-did I mention that they basically have old-style DEIs?" She knows what Jaron is thinking, because she's thinking it as well. MUSCOVITE, then. But not in the way the things in Moscow were.

"Good work." Jaron says. "Keep me updated."

"Will do."
​

***
​

Dr. Daniel Rosario feels a chill as he passes into the ship itself from the bio lab. There's something wrong with the place. Something that feels terrible, something fundamentally at odds with all human morality and sense. He's reminded of his wife's stories of World War 2, of Nephandic Labyrinths. She's always been more of a fighter than he was. His guards are visibly tense, probably checking their vast arrays of implanted hardware. Lieutenant Langley looks even more worried, but he puts a hand on her shoulder and that seems to help her a bit. The things he's seen from the preserved brains of these 'Mantons'-they sicken him. It's a violation of every bit of medical ethics he knows. Unwilling subjects. Unwilling transformations. Drastic alterations to the human form. Human memories washed away by tides of pain and fear and hate, then these primitive brains being shackled to hard-wired loyalty and technology which reminds him of Iteration X cyberware for some reason.

But there's some interesting glimpses he found. Some of the Mantons-the ones killed by Progenitor biotech weaponry and their own autoimmune responses-some of them remember a svelte figure, an X410 modification. The body shape reminds him of Serafina-certainly a Progenitor of some sort, and she'd have been in Mexico-and it'd be possible for an imperfect VIP protection protocol to lead to that kind of integration-and it's just enough to get his hopes up as they travel into the saucer. It helps, because he has something to concentrate on. The idea that he might be able to see his daughter again, to apologize in person for everything, to make things right. It helps as the atmosphere of the saucer gets even more oppressive.

Their tour guide is one of Sokolov's trusted lieutenants, a Russell Brannigan. Sokolov himself is too important to shadow his guests at all times. He seems well-adapted to the circumstances, completely at ease despite the atmosphere. Maybe it's the xenografts they've built into him. The Haiden were never ones to care about mere human fears. He's done some autopsies on their bodies, though, and he's impressed that they've even managed to make the grafts work on a basic level. And it means he's handy in a fight. He says more than enough to give him context to work with, but there's something about him which makes Daniel feel like he's reticent about something. Like there's a big secret that will change everything that he's not talking about.

They advance towards what would have been the engine room, looking at the signs of combat damage. There's a lot of damage to the UFO. Void Engineers attacked afterwards, killing its defenders and seizing its bridge. Daniel has enough knowledge and enhanced intellect that with the documentation he has, he can reconstruct that assault. Reptillian hybrids in the front, pushing forward and taking casualties, air support punching through the top armor of the UFO, power-armored VE marines following with smart missiles and grenades to take out known concentrations of force, heavy assault units peeling off to seize the bridge. But there's anomalies. There's places where the attack wasn't done with VE weapons, but weapons designed for high-end combat constructs. An earlier assault-by the very feminine X-410s the Mantons saw.

When they get to the reactor, there's more evidence. His portable scanner shows X-410 matching DNA, but with some other traces. Traces he's familiar with. After all, he designed its bearer. He and his wife designed their daughter. He looks at the crashed tripod and the biological waste there. They've put field generators around it to prevent any biological contamination. It's got more of the matching DNA. So this thing attacked Serafina. But she has to still be alive-she had to have gotten off the ship when she sent that data burst. So she's survived this. He just needs to know where she went.
​

---

An Investigation...
So Daniel Rosario is going to be able to recover some of the trail to Serafina, at least to the old bar she met Alice with. That bar has...
[ ] Fallen into the possession of Panopticon. It's a 'crime scene' because they're trying to recover information about a major Traditions HVT, and forbidden to access. You'll have to figure out a different way to get in.
[ ] Fallen into the possession of the Traditions again. There's a lot of scary looking mystics there, who you can probably take but it'll be a hard thing. It might be better to negotiate.
[ ] It's gone. Someone's tried to erase your leads by turning the place into rubble and then sterilizing it.
[ ] The bar isn't the problem. The problem is what happens next...

Where are Rose and Donald and the rest?
[ ] Investigating Amalgam-391 with the backing of some very scary NWO types taking the lead (and tacit permission from influential Progenitors).
[ ] Looking at alien attack sites for more evidence.
[ ] Exploring the Occult Underground.
[ ] Write-In.

Have the Tyrants Put It All Together Yet?
Please explain your choice.
[ ] Yes
[ ] Maybe
[ ] No

​

 

[MJ12 Commando]

JB CLXXVI.5: And Then There Were Two

Someone else, like Jamelia Belltower, would have been much less direct in the ways he works. She'd have insisted on some complex scheme to probe for trust, to take it slowly, to make sure every I was dotted and every T was crossed. That's not how John Kessler works. He's done enough research, but he doesn't play spy games. He walks into the lobby for Molotek, the receptionist giving him a respectful nod and not making any move. If he wasn't who they thought he'd be, there's enough hidden firepower here to turn a tank into metallic vapor, and enough sensors to verify everything down to bacteria. Perhaps a bit of overkill, but they know what they're dealing with. Such precautions are necessary.

He walks in, goes to the floors which they've been expanding with their knowledge and technical expertise. Not the ones which look like any Iteration X base, but the ones which are designed to contain the equipment which they can't afford leaking. Technology recovered from Autochthonia, expertise from Iteration X's top scientists. Technology which despite how much more advanced it is to what Iteration X is carefully husbanding now, is still inferior to what Autocthonia has managed when humanity and morality have become forgotten considerations. The people he wants to see are already there when he gets in, a few of them in the 'flesh' as to speak, most of them projected AR visions. "You're back." They respect him-whether it's for the body or for his role-and that's enough for him to make his suggestions.

"I am. I wanted to suggest something." Kessler says. "You're isolated here, you need more official cover. You need people you can trust, people who can alter records and keep your expansion working. It's risky but I have a suggestion about someone who might be able to help."

"Go for it."

He makes his suggestion-and the discussion explodes in both complexity and rapidity. Trusting a head of a Convention might be a risk, some think. Could they do it? Even if he's served with him-twenty years is a long time. What about the risks that the organization is infiltrated? But Kessler's done his research-he knows what they'd be asking. He might not be some godlike information processing savant-but he's never been dumb and there's a lot of cognitive tech in the ZERUEL chassis that makes him even better at leadership. And of course-he's been planning this for a while. Days, in fact. It might seem like a short period of time for a human, but the ZERUEL's got enough near-sapient subroutines for computer-aided research that he's done what would take a team of hundreds years in those few days. Eventually, they agree. Just like he expected them to.

***​

The bar has seen better times. Now, late at night, the people there are generally part of a rough, tough, crowd. Things have gotten worse with the auto industry's collapse, in the rust belt. It's loud, crude, and the people there are ready and willing to do violence. But still, they leave the two men in the corner table alone. More than a few of them are veterans-whether of a formal military or of gang wars-and they know the look. They know exactly how true killers look, and they stay far away from them. A good policy, since between the two of them they have the firepower of an armored platoon-and very nearly the toughness. And that isn't counting all the other precautions that exist. If any serious attack-say, a dozen shapeshifters or so-dropped in, there's always at least one QRF of mixed combat walkers and cyborgs ready to teleport on site, as well as on-call orbital support with precision dialable from 'shooting a gun out of someone's hand' to 'destroying an entire city block.' Acausal threat analysis programs, running on Iteration X hypercomputers, would result in a reaction time that is very close to negative. Within ten minutes, a hypersonic transport VTOL would be able to drop in more forces as needed, up to and including a multiped cybertank with tactical nuclear capability. Such are the advantages of being the leader of Ragnarok Command.

Unfortunately, General Charles Starborn thinks, he's had to leave it all behind for now. He owes his old friend that much. It's... refreshing, in a way. Knowing that all that keeps him safe are his own instincts, his upgraded and still military-grade body, the Mjolnir on his hip, and the Barnes-Sykes he's carrying in a hidden holster. It's refreshing not being coddled sometimes.

***​

"What happened to us?" John Kessler asks. "And what happened to the world?"

"You vanished, and there's only so long you can spend on the front lines before someone decides that it's wasting your IQ of about 500." Starborn says. "You'd have ended up somewhere like this too, if you didn't end up coming back 20 years late and half-crazed, pumped up on enough mutagenic xenobiology for half the people to want you stuck in a primium box with no air holes." Charles Starborn says, puffing on a cigar. It's not like he needs to worry much about lung cancer anymore, not when his lungs are entirely artificial. Or dead, he doesn't say. But they both know what it means to be Shock Corps. Death's just part and parcel of life, and they'll try to bring you back if you've got a good combat record, but the emphasis here is on 'try.'

"No, I mean this." Kessler gestures. "Things aren't right. The crime waves were gone, the Soviet Union was breaking up, everything was supposed to be leading to utopia. We all knew the predictions-winning the war against poverty, against drugs, making the world safe and peaceful. Then going to the stars. Immortal, perfect, post-scarcity. That was the plan. We should at least be at the Moon by now."

"I told you you didn't want to come here. Everything fell apart after '99." General Charles Starborn says, eyeing the decrepit drinking hole. It probably had been nicer decades ago. His old comrade has a tendency to end up in these kinds of places. "Things didn't go as we thought they would. We're behind on the last Time Table and we haven't managed to pass a new one for... as long as I've been on Command. So make that running on a plan 18 years old, trying to make things work now that we've got a tenth the resources and five times the problems. Another victory like this and we are undone." He looks around for any suspicious figures, calculating lines of sight. Nobody. "Didn't have the resources, didn't have the leadership. We were too busy trying to hold together now that most of our men and machines and everything else vanished."

"Suddenly I feel glad I missed the Reckoning." Kessler says. "To the lost." He takes a swig of his drink. Sure, it's not going to affect now-the only thing that's going to happen to it is that his body will take it apart and use the raw building blocks-hydrogen and carbon and oxygen-for other things, but sometimes gestures have their use. And besides, if Iterators stopped drinking simply because it didn't affect them, there would be a lot more teetotalers in the Technocracy.

"To the lost." Starborn says. "And that includes you. You might have come back from space-and I know you came back because no way in hell I was going to vouch for an EDE infiltrator or a puppet or an alien riding in your brain-but you don't spend 20 years out in space alone without changing. You're different. Less angry. Loyal, but a different kind of loyal." He still respects him. Good. So he's in the right place.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not really." Starborn admits. "Even if they're the enemy that doesn't mean we should hate them. I'm not the kind of guy who thinks they're some kind of subhuman monsters to be exterminated." He refers, Kessler knows, to Professor Li. "Even if they're fighting on the wrong side, they're still soldiers. Just on the wrong side. If Li had his way, he'd treat them like criminals. Guy needs to tone it down a little. We need to be able to do our jobs-dispassionately, without prejudice. Hate is inefficient."

Kessler chuckles. "It really is. But I thought we were getting away from that?"

"Maybe Iteration X is. It's the reason I took the offer to swap. You were getting the young kids-full of propaganda and ignorance-to do jobs old vets like us were supposed to be doing, but couldn't because we were too valuable. Had to keep us and the HITMarks around. Imagine, some young dumb twenty-something filled with NWO propaganda and secondhand war stories doing the job a HITMark should have been. Lots of dumb fights back in the early 2000s when we were still punch-drunk, before we realized just how much we'd lost."

"Right. Speaking of what we've lost. I think I have a solution for that. I know how low we're running, but I know some people who might be able to help us on that." Kessler gestures to himself. "I know you've noticed." Jamelia Belltower would probably have told him to not trust, to not take risks like this. If he's subverted, or if he doesn't believe-things will go drastically, terribly wrong. With all due respect to Jamelia Belltower, Kessler thinks, he's not as bad at reading people as she assumes he is. Just because he looks like his IQ is smaller than his shoe size doesn't mean it actually is-and he's had to make a lot of calls about who to trust and who not to. On the balance, he's sure that he's done pretty well. And he's already told IBM about this. "New upgrades, new tech. Or old tech, as it were."

"I made that offer to get you up to speed, but you didn't take it before. Wouldn't have gotten you anything like that, though. Where'd you find that thing anyways?" Starborn asks. "They don't exactly turn up in random yard sales. You'd need to know high-level people. I don't think Lovelace is even making bodies like that anymore. Too wasteful-and she's right." Starborn says. "You found some equipment. Something lost in the Anomaly, maybe. Iteration X tech, high-end. Anything I can use?"

"I think there's a better place to talk. Have you considered a vacation in Moscow? I hear the hotel rates are cheap. Try to be less noticeable."

Starborn nods. He's suspicious-but he's trusted Kessler before. He'll take this next step.

***
​

For the head of Ragnarok Command, showing up at short notice in the middle of Moscow is trivial. It's where Ragnarok Command's doing most of its work now. The dimensional breach has weakened the Gauntlet sufficiently that there's a higher-than-normal level of EDE interference. There are a lot of creatures which would love to take advantage of that-and that means there's a lot of soldiers with anti-EDE equipment standing by to make sure none of them get through. Sleeper auxiliaries ostensibly seconded to the UN can handle a lot of the problems-explaining away what people saw, using ectoplasmic disruptor rounds on the occasional RNE or EDE-but sometimes something more than a simple grey or two gets through. And they're afraid that someone might try using the same invasion corridor the MUSCOVITEs used. So Ragnarok Command is there, based heavily in the military-run temporary command and control centers administering the international relief effort. A hypersonic suborbital flight and two hours, and he's there to talk to his counterparts in person.​

Moscow impresses him. It's not the destruction-although he has a general's appreciation for that-but how the Technocracy there, beaten after decades, has not lost hope-and how many of its disillusioned defectors are crawling back after one large victory like that. He wonders if that's not an inspiration for the rest of them. They've lost so much in the Dimensional Anomaly, been forced to cut down-but if Russia can recover from the blows of the nineties, those short-sighted self-inflicted wounds, perhaps they can as well.

***
​

A few days of meetings, a few promises of deployments of non-combat infrastructural assets to assist in the recovery of Moscow-and he's free to vanish again, using a beta fork and AI support to do routine day-to-day management, like the supervision of the reconstruction, is typical for members of Command. And he's glad for it. He's glad he can walk away for a few hours.

For all that his job is necessary and he respects the responsibility and the necessity of being a commander, it's sometimes refreshing to be able to rely on his own wits and talent and augmentation for a while. Kessler's given him an address and a time. It could, in theory, be a trap. But he doubts it. It's another Union facility, one which has held a bunch of Iterators who have been aggressively helpful in sterilizing hemophage infestations and removing RD influence in Russian politics. The local Damage Control units love them. He considers the possibility that they're all Nephandi or something, that he's trusted the wrong guy. He finds that unlikely. Not even the SPD were that thoroughly corrupted, or that willing to take risks. And this time, he's not doing it quietly.

He makes his own way to the Molotek building, is waved through security by a couple of high-end HITMarks-suspicious, given the circumstances, and is surprised when the elevator takes him down underground, far underground. That wasn't ever part of the facility. They had a few floors for power and logistics, but they seem to be going a hundred or more meters downwards here.

"You're here." One of them says, a woman whose body and mind read as completely synthetic. And he recognizes her. Well of course he'd recognize her. She was Iteration X leadership, back in '99. Assigned near-permanently to an Inner Circle member. The others-some he doesn't recognize, having given up most of their bodies for radical chimeric augmentation. But he recognizes enough of them. Shock Corps, Macrotechnicians, Biomechanics-all of them heavily augmented, many of them much more heavily than he is. His exomuscle and skeletal boosting and his strategic-grade neural processors seem very, very underwhelming compared to what he's seeing. And behind him-racks and racks of high-end machines, autonomous combat robotics and nanofabs and other tools. They look like exemplars of what Iteration X had, back before the Reckoning swept it all away. Kessler's standing there, giving him a thumbs-up.

"Comptroller Pajari." Starborn manages. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"General Starborn. Congratulations on the promotion. You are currently wondering why we are here, and what we want. Right now, we are here because not everyone went missing on Autocthonia during the Reckoning. Some of us escaped. Changed-but we survived. What we want is to reintegrate with the Technocracy, and your new Convention both has a need for our expertise, and the kind of radical high-end combatants which would allow us to successfully integrate. In return, we want to vanish. Quietly. We have information on the MUSCOVITEs which implies that they have the capability of infiltrating Union organizations-indeed, we believe they have access to Union hypertechnology and are more than capable of using it to disguise themselves. We would like your assistance in defeating these existential threats."

General Starborn thinks for a moment, accessing the network of hypercomputers Ragnarok Command uses to understand exactly what is or is not likely. He runs it through-True, 99.5% Confidence. Instinct tells him to erase his query, and he does. "I trust you, but I'd like some more proof, if you don't mind."

"I understand." Comptroller Pajari says. "We'll show you exactly why we believe this. You now have read-access to all our neural implants."

'He looks at the augmented personnel, probes at them. They willingly show him what they know. Willingly give him read-access to memories, show them what they experienced. What they've seen in Autochthonia. And at that moment, another of the members of Command joins the conspiracy. "Goddamn." He whistles. He hasn't been religious for decades. The last time he went to church was in the nineties, back when Kessler went MIA, and that was only because he wanted to show some solidarity to the man's family. But what better phrase to use when you realize just what kind of existential threat he realizes he's about to fight? "Tell me what you need."

He doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know how he feels about the Computer going rogue, being corrupted by the Dimensional Anomaly. But in a way, he's glad. He knows what he's facing now. And just because his enemy is a god doesn't mean that he can lay down his arms and die. He's standing in Moscow, a city which, wounded as it is, shows that men can stand against gods, spitting defiance to the heavens, and win. And if he isn't willing to do that when he knows that gods can be beaten, when the defenders of Moscow-Kessler's comrades in his amalgam-didn't even know whether the gods they were fighting could be toppled-then he's failed himself, failed mankind. Failed Iteration X and the Technocracy.​

---

Just reminding people that other characters are doing things-and that by deciding to send Kessler off on his own, he's gotten you a second major ally. Also, that they should probably vote on the previous post's vote so I know there's broad consensus.​

 

[MJ12 Commando]

JB CLXXXVII: A Twisted Mirror

Amalgam-0391 is a sprawling complex, a subterranean kingdom built up over a half-century, an underground hive of activity. Or at least that's how it is usually. Even Rose has to strain to hear anything besides the whisper of the elevator door as they arrive, the entire facility having been put into a sort of suspended animation for the purposes of their investigation. Of course, names like Donald Sykes or Rose Ashford would draw entirely too much attention on such a mission. That's why they're not here. In their place is a NWO Internal Affairs team. With significant concerns about how this place is being run. Donald doesn't know exactly how many favors Bastion had to burn to do something like this. Normally, the Progenitors would take care of their own-but he supposes that with two high-ranking Progenitors being Very Concerned in the right ways, and whatever his own throw weight is, not even the influence of a Research Director would be able to do anything to resist. Which isn't to say that there was no resistance. But the moment the NWO brings in authorization from Command itself, people fold.

Rose adjusts her mirrorshades and checks her shoulder holster. They're both fairly useless to her, but she needs them for the act. She can hear Thorn humming a Johnny Rivers song. Next to her, Donald seems to be struggling to maintain the impassive expression characteristic of the New World Order.

The Tyrants fan out and begin their meticulous search, leaving them alone for the moment.

"So... any ideas?" asks Donald. "You're the expert here."

What an odd thought. Though obviously Donald wouldn't know anything about how to infiltrate a Progenitor facility. She contemplates the problem for a moment. Her mother wouldn't be able to simply sneak past the defenses. She must have been let through. Stowed away among some equipment?

"Ah, Ms. Bay, Mr. Banks." Her train of thought is interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Fujiyama. He's attractive, as most senior Progenitors are, and the winning smile he flashes them doesn't hurt. Even if it's all for show. Everyone knows that absolutely nobody here wants NWO Internal Affairs investigating, but there are far worse things. There is something off about how he looks at her, but Rose can't quite put her finger on it. "Dr. Fujiyama, second-in-command here at 0391. Professor Allende is unfortunately out of contact for the moment, so I will be providing you what assistance I can in your investigation." He meets her hidden gaze with a steady look. He sounds more than a little angry about the affair. And just a little scared.

Ah. There it is. He isn't looking at her like she's a thing. And like that, she knows how Serafina infiltrated the construct. She smiles at Dr. Fujiyama, incisors still ever-so-slightly long. It's a Thorn smile. "We'd like to see the records for your constructs and requisitions."

***​

Secretary Wolf reminds Rose of an old china doll, all faded colors and childish proportions. She stands dutifully in front of the desk as Donald goes through the files. They've borrowed an unused office for their investigation, even as the Tyrants go through the motions of a more thorough sweep, checking computers, trawling records, and interrogating every Bob, Laura and Mary they come across.

It'll be useful later, but right now Rose has the only Laura that might know anything in front of her.

"Secretary Wolf," she says flatly. "What can you tell us about L12-001A-0420, issued name Maria Hernandez?"

Wolf pauses for a moment, and Rose can almost imagine a hint of discomfort under the standard issue Laura calm.

"It's very different, being on the other side of this conversation, isn't it," says Thorn. "Uncomfortable."

"She was a capable assistant."

"Do you think Lauras mourn? Feel anxious about each other?" Thorn asks.

Rose doesn't say anything.

Donald looks at her. He isn't used to research constructs. The Syndicate tends to stick to Vanessas or Marys when they source things from the Progenitors. Honeypots and bodyguards who can wine and dine with the best of them.

She motions towards the door with a slight tilt of her head, and he decides it might be better to grab a breath of fresh air. Rose takes another look at Secretary Wolf.

She could use the overrides. She could simply order complete accounts of every day, every thought, every private moment she might have had. Serafina had likely used them, ordered Secretary Wolf to assist her unknowingly, to enable her infiltration and forget. Rose could break through the blocks by force.

She moves in front of the desk, closer to the bioroid, options running through her head. Up close, Secretary Wolf is even more fragile seeming, a large, childish skull suspended over a thin body.

She could, but she won't. Rose sighs and takes off her glasses, locking eyes with the secretary. "Did any of the staff take an interest in Maria?"

"Yes." The word comes out clipped and breathy. A human might be choking up. But Lauras aren't human.

"Who?" Rose asks softly, not breaking eye contact.

"Doctor Fujiyama."

The second in command himself. Rose can see how the rest would play out. Play the guileless construct, use his credentials to give herself access. Subvert the amalgam from there.

"You always got stuck at step one, didn't you," comments Thorn, but there's no malice behind it.

"Thank you, Secretary Wolf. You may go now."

The secretary exits the room.

"Mr. Banks!" she calls, and Donald reenters the office. Once the door closes, Rose lets the NWO agent drop away. "We're sure she was Maria, right?"

He shrugs. "If she was pretending to be a construct, Maria's the only one that fits. Joins after the attack in LA, vanishes right before Christmas. If she wasn't..."

Rose shakes her head. "Nothing else would have gotten her the access. Get the schedule for Maria Hernandez. Find out exactly what she was up to. And then cover her tracks."

It's only after Donald nods and leaves the room that Rose realizes how much she'd overstepped, slipping back into the habits of the Spy's Demise. She isn't the ranking officer here, and insubordination has consequences. She'll have to be more careful, even if Donald doesn't care. She sighs and moves to put on her mirrorshades again, but something catches her eye first.

There's blood on her palm. She stares at it for a moment, before she grimaces and licks it off. No sense in potentially leaving biological material around Progenitors, after all.

***​

Donald rubs his eyes. His mirrorshades sit discarded on the desk, and his tie is undone. If anyone were to walk in right now, the Mr. Banks act would be seriously threatened. After all, no self-respecting NWO agent would remove their shades and tie. I'm getting loopy, he thinks. The reports fill his screen. Photos, text, even some audio trying to paint a picture of what happened in Mexico City. Fortunately, Donald could delegate the collection to Rose and the Tyrants. Unfortunately he's a much better analyst than he is a detective, which means he's spending his time beating his head on this problem.

Donald is missing something, and it's not his arm. Serafina had worked her way through the power structure of Amalgam-0391 until she'd essentially taken control of the entire facility. She'd also left quite a bit of a trail for any serious investigation to pick up on, but he could deal with that. Then she had suddenly left with a number of combat assets for an unknown purpose.

Or maybe not so unknown.

"Alice Aristide," he says to himself, letting the syllables roll off of his tongue. What a small world they lived in. Serafina's childhood friend. Focal point of the suicide memeplex. Defector from the Technocracy. Only child of Director Harlan Aristide. High Value Target. He's still trying to figure that last one out. They'd managed to pressure Fujiyama into going above and beyond when detailing requisitions. Enough that he'd used an email from a Constable Viehmann to provide justification for supplying certain reptilian tracking constructs to Panopticon. Assets lost, along with so many others, when the incursion happened. But for all he can tell, she's just a defector. They exist. The Technocracy hasn't had the time and resources to care about them for a decade and a half. They're almost all unimportant lower-level agents with no real clearance and no real assets. Defection rates go way down the moment you get anything important.

So, the timeline. Serafina is hit with a suicide memeplex and somehow manages to get herself patched together and in Mexico City. If Amalgam-0391 wasn't her original goal, add somehow knew about Panopticon making a move nearby. Did she know Aristide was here, or did she only find out afterwards?

Donald frowns. There's too many unknowns here.

The middle stretch is clearer. Disguising herself as a Laura, she manages to take control of the Amalgam's central computing system by assigning herself to it with Fujiyama's access. She then takes a number of their assets with her, presumably intending on interfering with the Panopticon operation on Christmas Eve. Ends up interfering with the alien invasion using the stolen assets - three of the Xiaolians and the gunship.

Then things get blurry again. Serafina vanishes, though apparently the Doctors Rosario are working on that. Panopticon refuses to help fight the incursion, ends up leaving a whole lot of assets in pieces in and around the church, along with a number of SPD assets, which seem to have been dealt with before Panopticon arrived.

So, fill in the blank. What happened in the church? Something big. Serafina would have needed allies. The equipment she's taken from Amalgam-391 might have done it-except the Tyrants have been interviewing the VPR units and the gunsquid and know they weren't there at the time. Or if they were there-someone spent a lot of time giving them completely seamless false memories and timelines. Amalgam-391 couldn't have done it. You'd need cross-Convention assets to even try that. Something like Panopticon. But why would they be hiding something like this? None of it makes sense. If the dead X410s could be interrogated, Donald would be able to do something. But they can't. Not because they're dead-but because someone's conveniently erased everything they remembered.

But not the location data, Donald realizes. Their GPS trackers weren't erased, and then it's only a few minutes' work to figure out that one of them was at the church itself. But that doesn't mean much by itself. It just means that at some point, Serafina gave it orders. There's enough X-410s around that she didn't have to be there. And she's no killer. She probably wouldn't be there. Nevertheless, he makes note of the X-410's serial number. It might be useful later.

***
​

Daniel has a lead on Serafina, or he thinks he does. At least one X410 was heavily damaged in the combat engagement, and he's found a very faint trail of biological residue that's settled on the roofs of the city. The unit escaped on some kind of helicopter - it's clear from the scattering of the particles. It's far more dilute than any non-specialist could track and it's barely more than a directional pointer, but he has the hardware and the very convenient Lt Langley has donated a drone to the cause.

The Void Engineers have warned him about poking around the city. He thinks they actually mean the warning. They're saying that the Dimensional Anomaly has left... well, they call it scars when trying to explain it to a biologist... on the fabric of reality. The laws of physics don't work exactly as they should in these affected areas. They were quite firm about telling him that should he wind up in such an area, any hypertech on his person might not work reliably - and advanced procedures might be dangerous to him.

He'll keep that in mind. It's fortunate that biological systems are less unreliable than Void Engineer technology.

Pia catches his eye. The two of them are sitting in the passenger compartment of the disguised IFV. It is NWO issue, and that means it's barely comfortable, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. She's quite clear about that by the angle of her head, and he tells her back that he knows, and it won't be long. They've been married so long that a meaningful glance can exchange as much information as words.

Are you sure about this, she's asking. I have been reading up on these incursions. Their effects on biology are unpleasant

He stares back. It's a lead, he wants her to know. We don't have a choice.

She flutters her eyelashes at him. No, she agrees. We really don't have a choice. But be careful.

When am I ever not careful? he shrugs.

I just hate having to be the calmer one. Don't get worked up, she implies by the angle of her head.

A blinking of a light catches his attention.

"Yes, Langley?" he says.

"Sir," their driver reports over the radio. "My drone cut out. No sign of enemy action - but before it crashed, I think it managed to just about find a place the X410 spent extended periods. It's... well, sir, it's right by one of the red-flagged areas the Void Engineers labelled as extremely hazardous."

He considers his options. "Take us in carefully," he decides. Keep away from the hazardous area as long as possible. We'll see how bad it is from a safe distance. Tell the other vehicles to take care too."

"Sir." The light blinks off.

"Do you think she approves?" Pia asks wryly.

"I'm not sure," he says. "We'll see, though."

***​

Mexico City is no Moscow. No, the damage is far more localized. One street might be completely untouched. The one next door might have suffered some minor damage from fallen power lines. The next one, subsidence. And the one beyond that is dominated by a 'sinkhole' caused by a plasma lance hitting a gas main. The Masses haven't noticed, but only really because the Watchers and Media Control have been working overtime talking about the weak foundations of Mexico City and the damage caused by the snow. That, and the fact that most of the Masses in the city don't seem to want to remember.

"So. We've seen," Pia says.

"Hush, dear."

"I don't think I can take the vic any closer," Lt Langley says, waving a hand scanner over the area past the yellow tape which has sealed off the entire street. "The road can't support its weight, even before we get closer to... well. To that."

She nods towards the chasm that splits the entire street vertically. The walls of the buildings nearby have run like wax, metal streetlights twisting into pretzels. Structures are sinking down or have slumped and are leaning against each other. When the wind blows down the chasm the buildings creak and moan. The area's been taped off and marked for demolition, but the general population is avoiding it anyway. There's... there's something wrong about the air. It feels thick and greasy, almost like there's a static shock waiting for the incautious.

Pia is pale. "There's something about this place which reminds me of a Caul," she says very softly. "Not quite the same, but... things aren't meant to be like this."

Daniel checks his own hand device and the protection on his glasses. It's playing up - there's static all over the screen. "The concentrations of particulate matter are densest around that structure over there," he says. It looks like a bar. The entire thing is half-way falling into the chasm, tilted at a twenty degree slope.

"You just had to say that," his wife says, a tart note in her voice.

"I'm with the lady. I don't like this," one of the NWO cyborgs - Juliet - says. "I've got power fluctuations in my volatile cells, even this far away. And the dimensional readings in that area are really unhealthy. The Engies are right to tag this area as dangerous. I'd recommend fewer than fifteen minutes of exposure, if you insist on going in."

"Yuck," Henriette says darkly. "If it's that bad, it'll be interfering with my ADEI." She takes a breath. "I can cope without it, but it'll be profoundly unpleasant."

Daniel massages his temples. "What should we do here?"

"Separate assets by level of enhancement and send in the assets closer to baseline to test whether higher-augumented assets are viable in the area," Pia says clinically. "If we can't go in and Henriette's drones can't operate, I don't think it's safe enough. We'll have to try to pick up the path somewhere else - at least we think the X410 was here, so we might be able to find where it went next. If we can dash in, though, well." She shrugs. "I've done my fair share of spelunking in fieldwork down in variant subdimensions. I know how to handle myself and I dare say others will to - and there's climbing gear in the vehicle, so we can string out ropes just in case the building gives way. We'll try to find what we can, and then get out ASAP." She grabs the equipment she needs. Nothing complex. In environments like these, even mechanical tools can break down easily.

She could send one of the Damage Control constables-they're practically begging her to do it-but she doesn't want to. They're designed for very hostile environments, certainly, but the Dimensional Anomaly doesn't play by normal rules. She doesn't know whether the adaptations which allow them to survive in tech-hostile, life-hostile regions will protect them from-whatever this is. She walks into the bar. Slowly and carefully, like a blind woman, waving a sensor wand in front of her before taking any step. It's a simple tool-a transparent tip filled with bioluminescent microorganisms, hardy ones. They glow green in an environment friendly to human life, yellow for environments where long-term exposure may cause severe harm, and red in hostile ones. There's not even the faintest hint of green in the wand for several minutes. She's committing the twisting, tortured path she's taken to memory.

She reaches the door of the bar, finds that the door has sealed itself shut, the metal of the lock warping to shut it. She has tools for that though-a few minutes' with a crowbar, and she's through. There's a black bag there, empty. A few empty drink bottles. Ash and soot, harsh and acrid. She looks around. Checks the restrooms. Discarded clothing, a woman's. Biological residue. Pia carefully scoops some of it into a sample bag, takes everything there. She takes some atmospheric samples to make sure. There might be something they can use. Nothing can be left out. She carefully makes her way back. The sooner she leaves this hellhole, the happier she'll be.

***
​

"Serafina was definitely here." Daniel says. "There's skin cells belonging to her-and there's X410 residue in the sink. The same X-410 as the one which was on the UFO. After which..." Just like any other puzzle, it's about finding enough of the missing pieces. "...she seems to come in with another X-410, which was seen in a church." A church which was suspected to have belonged to RDs-although the situation in Mexico meant that they never had any time to confirm whether or not it really did. "Which saw heavy fighting during December 25th. That's our next destination."

When they arrive, Daniel is struck by just how damaged the place is. The bodies have been removed, but the signs of violence are obvious and severe. Even outside, it's clear that the church is now nothing more than a bombed-out husk. "I did crime scene reconstruction for Damage Control before this." One of the constables says. "With your permission?"

"Granted, Constable Ivey." Daniel responds automatically. "And keep it discreet." It's not the first time he's worked with these officers. He thinks he can trust them to keep their mouth shut. If he suspected otherwise, even slightly, he would have refused. But Constable Ivey is right. Both of them are biologists, not detectives."

"All right. No transmissions to anyone you don't trust." Ivey says, switching to E/M neural induction-'telepathic radio.' "Keeping it between you and Mrs. Rosario."

The black-skinned, bug-eyed man starts his walk. He glances at a faint impression, talking over the radio. "A vehicle was parked here, around 1900 to 2100 kilos. A minivan, then. Looks like they then left on foot. Towards that building." He lopes towards it at an easy ten meters per second, a pace that doesn't even strain his body. Here, the Dimensional Anomaly's effects seem nonexistent. Here, he can push his biology more. "Residential, built up. Looks like they barricaded the door. Someone vaulted the barricade, moved in. I'm seeing multiple bullet holes, single shots. Looks like glial cell remnants and cermet fragments in each of them."

"Can you say that in simpler terms, Matt?"

"We're looking at multiple consecutive headshots, no misses, to people who were wearing high-tech body armor, either Etherites with salvaged WW2 Union gear, or SPD manufacture." Matthew Ivey says. No return fire. Whoever did this was good, very good. Continuing on-they break into an apartment, blow the wall, and enter the church through the second floor." He makes the leap to the church. "By the way, the church is even more of a mess. You guys should come in. Doesn't take an expert to see what happened here."

It really doesn't, Daniel thinks. There's spent shell casings everywhere, the pews are ruined, everything's a mess. There's metal fragments scattered wildly everywhere, the pews have been turned into toothpicks, the walls have been scorched and the stained-glass windows shattered. And it stinks. It stinks of oil. It stinks of corruption and greed and money. It's the kind of stink that doesn't wash out. But what's more important is that here their tools work. Here, they can find what they need to find. Serafina's trail, one made of blood and X-410 cells. It leads away from the church. Someone drags her away. The trail leads to an abandoned apartment block, long-since sterilized of any forensic information, carefully enough that it had to be either Superstitionists or the Technocracy. Some sort of blacksite? She leaves it again, apparently escorted.

Arrives at the airport. It's child's play for Henriette to get into their servers and find her at that point. "So here she is." Henriette says. "She was boarding a flight to Brazil under the name 'Isabella Minuano.' They didn't modify her facial features enough to spoof AI recognition. As a disguise, it'd only stand up against amateurs." Something Jaron said back in LA.

"Which begs the question," Juliet says. "Who goes through the trouble of doing such a clean scrub and then makes it possible for us to follow that trail? I think whoever recovered her is using her as bait. For something. A search shows that Minuano works for us-but Borboleta isn't exactly some kind of high-security operation, it'd be trivial to insert someone there without our knowledge or approval."

"We'll just have to find out then." Daniel says.
​

---

​

Your Arrival in Brazil will be:
[ ] Overt: You have a world-famous botanist and biochemist with you. There's plenty of reason why Pia Rosario would go to a biochem firm.
[ ] Less Overt: The Technocracy has plenty of reasons to check up on the facility. With the current influence of 1 member of Command + 2 senior research directors, you can pull a few strings quietly and 'ensure that the operation is working as expected.'
[ ] Covert: ~nwo~. More seriously, Bastion has stealth transport available to get you there.
[ ] Write-In: A different cover, if you want.

Burying the Hatchet:
Is Rose coming? She really wants to come-especially since they helped. But she'll have to convince Serafina's parents.
[ ] Write-In: Do exactly that.
[ ] Otherwise: No. ~nyoro-n~

 

[EarthScorpion]

Rose is lonely. She wants her mother. Oh, she's doing things which have to be done here with Donald, but it's not like she's doing things that need to be done by her of all people. She should be keeping Henriette safe. She's better at that. And she should be keeping Serafina's parents safe too. They're her grandparents. Sort of. Well, at least according to Serafina when Sera is not around them.

Even if they don't like her. Even if she doesn't like them much.

She's not very comfortable with trying to think of them as grandparents. It's much more comfortable to think of them as superior Progenitors she needs to keep safe. And Serafina will be happy if they're safe.

But maybe she shouldn't be comfortable when thinking about this sort of thing. Because... well. Donald has family, even if he doesn't talk about them. She wonders if he has children out there somewhere. She expects so. Considering his reputation, he'll have impregnated some women and statistics are such that at least some of them will not have chosen to terminate the pregnancy. Henriette has... um, quite a thing going on with family. She's not happy about the fate of hers. Serafina has her parents and she has her. She has no idea about Kessler - but then again, being lost in space means that it'd probably be quite hard to explain where he'd been. Which means that the only one without any family ties is Director Belltower and... and Rose gets the feeling that she wouldn't want to be like her. Even if she's nice to Rose, she scares people. She scares people more than Rose scares people, and Director Belltower is very nearly baseline human.

She doesn't think she would like to be thought of like that. It's bad enough when people are scared of her as it stands. Everyone is wary about Director Belltower, and quite a few people are actively scared. It's not very fair. Director Belltower is kinder than she lets on. She's nice to people when she doesn't need to be.

"I see that your actions have been moulded by a little kindness, and thus she has carefully - with only a little investment - guaranteed your loyalty nearly to the point of death," Thorn says. She's wearing mirrorshades and a headscarf. "All according to the scenario."

Rose sighs and doesn't rise to the challenge. Picking up a cooler, she heads through to Henriette's room. The two of them have reduced duties tomorrow and that means they're taking the chance to have another film night. So that means they're going to sit back, watching more Netflix and eating more ice cream.

"Okay!" Henriette announces loudly. She's in a red onesie, and is already snuggled up beneath some blankets. "So, I got drinks and mixers. Did you bring the ice cream?"

"I brought all the ice cream," Rose announces proudly. She's somewhat more formally dressed than Henriette, insofar as she isn't literally wearing sleeping wear.

"Yeah. You certainly did that," Henriette says, eyes wide. Rose has a large cooler held in her arms.

It's 2am and the night is darker than usual for Mexico City. There's no power in the abandoned districts. Henriette has filed her reports for the mission and Rose has added her addendum. Now they've got the next day off for R&R so they're taking some time off for relaxation. The Iterator has set up some big flat screens and also rather more secretly liaised with Financier Sykes to get some anti-surveillance tech set up. For some private girls' time, of course.

"So, what are we watching?" Rose asks, settling down with her large cooler. "Also, what's the Mexican drinking law? Neither of us are 21 yet. I don't think we should be drinking alco-"

Henriette makes a noise which can be translated as 'Do you think I really give a shit?' and cracks open a beer. Rose joins her, to fit in. It won't have much of an effect on her, but she wants to show willing. "FYI, no," Henriette adds. "It's totally okay for me. Not you, but the Masses' laws aren't made for you. So I figure, if you can get someone to sell you beer, you can drink it. You can. So, yeah."

"Do you want Cookie Dough?"

"I would love it." Henriette opens up Netflix at about the same time as she digs in. "What do we want for today?" she asks with a full mouth. "Captain America: the Winter Soldier? Nah, too much like work. The Wolf of Wall Street? Pfft, would probably remind us all of Donald." She scrolls down. "What about-"

Rose frowns. "What are these things in the Continue Watching For Henriette? Are those all romance films? I know Love was one because-"

Henriette turns pink. "Don't judge me!" she blurts out.

"I don't understand. And why are you blushing? Shouldn't your implants-"

"Let's just watch Pirates of the Caribbean!" Henreitte says very very quickly, throwing back her beer. "Oh look, it's now the entry, no time for more talking."

***​

It's quarter to four in the morning, and Rose has eaten most of the ice cream. She's also drunken most of the beer. She's inhibited her liver functionality somewhat, so she's now probably what Henriette describes as 'pleasantly buzzed'. She hopes that's what this feeling of slight dizziness and mild loss of inhibition is. Otherwise, she might be in trouble. She might have something going on with her that needs attention.

She checks, just in case. She's fairly sure it's the alcohol.

And she's still feeling lonely. Even with Henriette next to her, so much warmer than she is, it isn't anything like watching things with Serafina. Henriette constantly argues with movies. She's noticed this before. She always talks about plot holes and special effect flaws and things she would have done differently. It's a bit relaxing, as long as you don't actually listen to Henriette or try to argue with her. Rose just tells her that she's right, and tries to make it sound like she's not just telling her that.

She's not really sure why Henriette watches things, if all she does is criticise them. Wouldn't you want to watch something you don't criticise?

On screen, William Turner is being taken into the secret isle of the pirates and is about to have himself bled dry. That's bad for his health. Oh, and now Barbossa knows that Jack is still alive.

"Hee," Rose says. "She is a woman of her word."

"I really can't believe people still trust Jack," Henriette mutters. "Well, apart from the British here. Not trusting him is good. Honestly, the British are the good guys here. A bunch of zombie pirates are clearly the bad guys, but so are the normal pirates. It's even worse in the sequels."

The loneliness gnaws in Rose's gut. She just... she just...

No one understands what it's like to be like her. And she doesn't want to talk, but not talking isn't working for her so... so what's the point. At least with the way she isn't being challenged and she's getting sleep, she isn't feeling quite as wobbly. The pressing urge to not let anyone know how broken she is on pain of death isn't quite so demanding.

The undead pirates are boarding the ships.

"Rose?" Henriette asks. Henriette can hear the forced undertones in her voice. "Are you feeling fine?"

"Fine? Of course I'm fine," she says desperately. She's hating herself for that, but...

"You're quieter than usual, and drinking more. Uh... which means I think you're trying to get drunk? Can you do that? If you can't, that would explain so much."

"Wait a moment," Rose says, diverting the conversation. "How would you know about it? Weren't you raised in a controlled environment?"

Henriette gives her a patronising glare. "What do you think happens when you get a bunch of teenage cyber-brats together and put them under military discipline?" she asks. "Especially when a bunch of then are enlightened?"

"Everything is disciplined and organised?"

"... yeah, no. What happens is they find a way to get their hands on beer," The pilot rolls her shoulders. "In retrospect, I think they monitored and organised it. As a bonding thing. I think they did it to give us a harmless avenue for controlled rebellion. Plus, you know, a lot of our trainers were eighties mecha jocks and those guys drank like fish when off duty. Well, the ones who didn't go full emoneut, at least. And the best trainers were emonorms, 'cause emoneuts lose their edge. And... wait. I can see what you're doing, you know."

Rose blinks. Henriette doesn't usually notice such things.

"Like, literally, you're not subtle." Henriette gestures with a spoon. "You're not okay, and you haven't been okay since the stuff in the Demise. I told you that back in LA and I'm telling you it again. You're fucked in the head. Guess what? So am I. I'm better than I was, but I was in such a state they nearly kicked me out of ItX. Serafina can't hold down a stable relationship - and I bet there are things about her that you know that you don't even think are weird, but they're going to be there. She's not a normal Progenitor princess-brat. She's nicer than most of those bitches and I have no idea why she's like that. Donald acts like a playboy but I saw him in that raid on the werewolf base. He's totally lying to everyone when he says he's a harmless playboy. I wonder what the fuck he used to do for the Traditions back before he changed sides, 'cause trust me, that's not stuff they teach Financiers. Kessler? Total weirdo. Harlan? Double weirdo and psychic on top of it. Also, an asshole who keeps on claiming I'm psychic. Director Belltower is a perfectly normal NWO spook - which makes her a mega-weirdo by the standards of normal human beings. Fuck, the most normal people here are either the Void Engineer lesbian ninja who kept on being a pain in the ass flirting with me constantly on the way out when we were in space, or the Void Engineer nu-woo wannabe who's... nu-woo normal and thus has a stick up his ass that's coming out of his mouth.

"So basically, you're not fooling anyone when you say you're okay. Okay, maybe you're fooling a lot of people," Henriette admits, "and you probably want to fool them, but... whatever. Look, when I'm - that's me, Miss Good With Tech Not So Good With People - the one telling you you're not okay and you've got every right to feel that way, I... I just want you to realise I know what it's like to be in a fucking horrible mental state? Okay? Rose?"

There's silence. Then a hitched sob shakes the beautiful woman's shoulders. And then another one.

"Rose?" Henriette asks, a note of worry in her voice.

"I can't let them know," Rose whispers. "The Progenitors. Damage Control. I'm broken. Useless. I've been br-br-broken since I became me. They never wanted me. They wanted Reina."

"Uh."

"And then Reina t-t-took over. Because they made me want t-to kill Donald. And she left me in... in the back of her head. And she broke me. So she could pull the things out of my brain that made me want to do that. Then she put me back together, but not very well. I... I don't feel certain any more. I always used to know what to d-do. Now I don't. She... she didn't want to come back. She made me come back. All raw and hurting and... and naked."

Henriette doesn't say a thing. Rose doesn't know if she wants to slap her or kiss her for that.

"It doesn't work," Rose pleads. "I can't tell anyone. I can't. The Pro-Progenitors never wanted me. Not me. If... if they know Reina came back, if... if they knew about it... they m-m-might try to make her stay. And... and even if they don't, they'll put the things back in my head. The th-things that they used to make me try to kill Donald. And want to. Long to. Because it was Control telling me to and... and I loved them and wanted to please them. And now I'm broken and useless and hollow but I can't be made to be fixed because... because anyone who'll try that will make me like I was before and I can't be like that because I'll be a d-danger to all of you so I have to pretend to be all-right? Y-you understand?" It's a pleading.

Carefully, gingerly, Henriette leans forwards, and wraps an arm around Rose's neck. She feels warm against her neck. On screen, an undead Captain Jack fights an undead Captain Barbossa. Rose can smell her fear, but she's trying to hide it. "I do understand," Henriette says sadly. "You sound as bad off as I was... I was just after Autochthonia." She takes a careful breath. "I tried. To cut my own ADEI out. So, you know. There are worse ways of trying to cope than pretending nothing is wrong."

"Something is wrong," Rose whispers. "Everything is wrong."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"I... I want to help mama. I do. I... she'll make it better. She... she has to. I don't know how long I can go on, having to pretend that everything is fine and I'm just happy cheery Rose. The construct with things in her head that makes her just fine and stable and all sweet and nice and not able to say no to anyone important who asks her to do things. That makes her like what they have her do. And now I can look back and I remember it."

Henriette is silent. "Does Serafina..."

"She and Cross were good to me. They tr-tried to keep me safe. But they couldn't be everywhere at once." The words are blunt in their bleakness. "She's just a construct. Why are you getting so upset? She was made for it. Why do you think she looks like that? Why do you think she's set up like that? They were RDs and the mission was to kill them all; why are you getting in my face about it?" Rose takes a deep shuddering breath. "Yesterday. When I was pretending to be NWO. The Progenitors didn't treat me as... me."

The hold on Rose awkwardly tightens, and Henriette clears her throat. "I... I don't know what I can say," she says, sounding on the edge of tears herself. "To... um. To me, it sounds like you've been pretending that things are all-right for a lot longer than you think you have." She tucks Rose in, under the covers on the sofa.

"I... I think I have," Rose whispers. "I... I just don't know. I couldn't... think what I think now before. I don't want to be Reina. She doesn't want to be me. I don't want to be me and I don't want to be not-me. I... I don't know what to do."

"Um. I'll... uh. Stay here, if you want? Or should I... get some tissues?"

"Just stay," Rose whispers, a fresh wave of tears overcoming her. "And... and you can't tell anyone! You promise!"

"What about Donald?" The words are gentle, but firm. "Rose. I'm not... I can't... I'm twenty and I'm not good with people. I won't tell him anything you don't want, but he has to know at least a bit."

There's no response. Only a Rose wriggling up to her, using her as a mixture of a hot water bottle and something to blot her eyes on.

 

[MJ12 Commando]

JB CLXXXVIII: Two Birds...

Rose drifts for a while. Most days she doesn't have time to sleep. Being able to rest is nice. Her face is warm. Are the blinds open? She can't feel Henriette next to her. She must have left. Rose reminds herself to apologize to the prickly pilot for using her as a pillow. Later. That's when she hears the fire. Altered adrenal systems shock her awake in an instant. She's not in Henriette's room. She's not in any room at all. Dry leaves crunch as she gets up, but even her hearing has trouble picking it out over the roaring flame. She's in a forest fire. There's something wrong with it though. Something unnatural. The trees are growing. For every layer of bark that blackens and crumbles under the heat, there is always another below. For every leaf reduced to kindling, five more unfurl from green shoots. The entire forest creaks as it grows. Reaching for the clear blue sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Thorn says from the flames behind her. Rose turns around. Thorn's wearing Reina's armour. The primium glows cherry red, radiated heat making her outline blurry.

Rose scowls. "What do you want?" It's a dream. It has to be.

"What do I always want?" Thorn asks.

"To be mean," Rose replies without hesitation.

Thorn pouts. "Is it really that hard to believe I have your best interests at heart?" She holds up an armored hand. "Actually, don't answer that."

Rose raises an eyebrow. It's a good raised eyebrow - she copied it from Henriette.

"Rose, Rose, Rose. You were doing so well." Thorn approaches her, throwing off an uncomfortable amount of heat. She's smiling. It's actually nice, oddly enough. "You'd shed your chains. Seized your birthright. You were so close... and then what did you do? Act the perfect construct. Yes ma'am. If that is what the mission requires sir. All for the Union, which you don't even believe in anymore." The smile gets sickly sweet, the voice hateful. That's the Thorn Rose is used to. "Pathetic. Two hearts and no soul."

"I- I can't let them know. Know I'm doubting, I'm broken, all they need is an excuse,-" She's babbling. Why is she babbling? Why does she need to justify herself to Thorn?

Regardless, Thorn doesn't want her justifications and cuts her off with armored hand grabbing her jaw. It burns, and Rose remembers that vamp- hemophages react poorly to fire. Normally, flame-heated metal wouldn't bother her too much. Normally, nobody would be able to hold her by the jaw like this without losing the hand.

This is not normal. She burns, flesh smouldering as Thorn talks, hands trying to break the hold and charring black for their trouble.

"Excuses, excuses, all I hear is excuses," mocks Thorn. "You're just afraid to step out of the little box you've made for yourself and face up to what you are."

She lets go, and Rose falls to the dry leaves, glaring at her hallucination.

"Do you think they'll scrap you for volunteering for a mission? Really?" asks Thorn. "No. Not really. You're just scared. You're scared of uncertainty, so you hide in orthodoxy. You're scared of being disliked, so you tell comforting lies instead of necessary truths. And you're scared to talk to the people who could have been your grandparents, so you miss out on a chance to help your only family."

"Being scared of them isn't stupid," replies Rose. She tries to stand, but the burns are making her woozy. The pain's enough to make her gasp for its unfamiliarity.

"It is when it makes you stupid. Master it. Transcend it. Did you think the Hermetics were just being covetous literalists when they talked about turning lead into gold?" All around them, the trees grow bigger and taller. Their branches crisscross and blot out the sky.

"Get to the point," Rose spits. The burns aren't healing. It's an odd feeling, to just have pain sit, without the tickle of flesh knitting itself back together.

"That's more like it!" Thorn cheers. Rose can't tell if she's being sincere or not. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I'll- I'll go to Professor Bastion," she says slowly. "Ask him to be put on the team. I'm a better hyper-psychologist than the other field agents, and I know mother more than anyone. I can be useful."

"Bzzt. Wrong. Do you really think an old NWO spook will put you on the team if it'll make everyone walk on eggshells?" Thorn asks rhetorically. "Especially if he can have you 'be useful' somewhere else, an asset nobody even knows he has?"

Rose nods, slowly, working her sore jaw. "You mean I have to... get them to like me?" she asks, tone incredulous.

Thorn laughs like that's the funniest thing she's heard in a long time. "Get them to like you, whew," she says, wiping away a tear which immediately boils away on the hot metal. "Oh man. Just getting them to tolerate you is going to take work. Hell, I can hardly stand you most of the time!"

Rose gives her a withering look. "Any more-"

She wakes up to an empty room.

"-'advice'?" Rose finishes. Of course not.

***​

The mobile pod the Doctors Rosario have made their temporary home smells like plants. More so than usual, which is saying something. Daniel is working on a modified beta level clone that can better fool behavioral detection measures, while Pia... Pia is working on her holdout weapons. Every so often a giggle comes from her side of the pod. She hasn't gotten the chance to do this sort of work in years. Of course that's when someone knocks on the door. Pia suppresses a snarl and gives herself a quick check. No potentially lethal stains. That'll have to do. She checks the cameras.

Standing outside is Rose Ashford.

"Daniel?" she calls. "Construct Ashford apparently wishes to speak to us."

Daniel stands up, expression just short of a frown, and Pia opens the door. They do not step out, or move to let Ashford inside. Nobody speaks for a long moment. Finally, Ashford works up the courage to talk. "Keeping me off the retrieval team is a mistake," she says.

"Oh?" replies Pia. "I wasn't aware that we had anything to do with that."

Ashford suppresses a scowl, eyes flickering over to nothing. Nerves, or her hallucination? "I'm not stupid. And neither is Bastion. Our... issues are fairly obvious. But if they keep me from the retrieval mission, then they hurt our chances of getting Serafina back."

"There's no ou-" Pia begins, before Daniel raises a hand.

"What makes you say that, Construct Ashford?" he asks clinically.

"I'm better than anyone else you can take along," she replies. It's not a boast, to her. It's a fact. "I'm an expert in applied neurology. I know Serafina personally. I'm not some New World Order operative. And our goals are the same."

"Are they?" he wonders aloud. Baiting her. She seems earnest enough, but then, so did the other Exemplars. The ones who went mad.

"Sir, I- Don't think I am unaware of what Serafina has done for me. Sacrificed on my account," Ashford says tightly, her speech becoming more formal, more complex, gaining an odd accent that Daniel can't place. "I owe her a debt I might never be able to repay. And I was not by her side when our amalgam was attacked. I failed her once. I won't do it again. No matter what."

She means it, Daniel thinks, and he gives Pia a quick glance. One on hand, it means some of her controls have degraded. On the other, it means that Ashford is loyal to their daughter above and beyond the near-fanatical devotion of constructs to the Union. That intrigues him. Constructs don't generally rebel against their programming. And rebellion requires success. So she's been forced to choose between the Union and Serafina before, he thinks-and he chose their daughter. And despite the degradation of her shackling, she's still not any more unstable than... well, than she was before. The potential risks tick down slightly, and the potential benefits go up commensurately.

Pia looks back. He knows that look. Serafina, at least, would be... terse... if it turned out that her surrogate daughter had been left out. With what he knows now, and what Serafina's said about what happened last year-she might be the safest asset they have. They both know it, and so for her sake, he acquiesces. "See that you don't." He says tersely.

"Thank you." Rose says, and vanishes almost immediately, before they can try to change their mind.

"I hope we're not making a big mistake." Pia says, after she leaves. "But... if you trust her."

"Not quite." Daniel says. "I trust Serafina on this. I think if she's found a construct who trusts her more than even the Union-I think she might have made a better decision than we thought. I'm still worried about her being a bad influence-and all the costs, though. If she was just a friend-or a trusted companion-" the rest goes unsaid. Rose Ashford, like most constructs, makes a far better tool than a person, a far better weapon than a daughter.

***​

The summer sun beats down on Rio de Janeiro. It's cool inside the wood-lined room that Jaron Belltower finds himself in for his meeting with the Brazillian Regional Coordinator. Most RCs wouldn't personally meet with him for this, but then again, he did request it personally. It suggests that this one considers himself to be in a weak position. That, or he wants something from Jaron. Possibly both. Jaron tries to keep a low profile, but people know Task Force TYRANT has Bastion's ear. They might not know exactly how closely tied the two are, but they know that when Bastion wants something done, there's a decent chance that TYRANT will show up to do it.

Regional Coordinator Jose Calheiros is a slightly plump middle aged man. His isn't a body which has seen the rigors of the battlefield. He's Ivory Tower to the bone - a solid administrator and good at smoothing over internal dissent, but there's whispers going around about the mess going on in the Brazillian political system and whether he's up to the job. Too much a compromise candidate, some people say. Jaron is inclined to agree. He's weak, too focused on making sure that there isn't internal conflict and as a result the amalgams and practices and laboratories in Brazil have rather more independence than many in the rest of the world get. Which means that Brazil has done wonders in attracting Progenitor and Iteration X research programs which resent NWO 'micromanagement.' Maybe that's why the unknown party moved Serafina Rosario here - or why they want him to believe they did, at least.

Jaron shakes the man's hand. "Good day," he says. "Jaron Belltower."

"Mmm, yes. I was expecting you, Director. You said you had more briefing data on your presence here. I am somewhat surprised that you didn't communicate it remotely, but..." he shrugs. "The security codes were clear."

The cyborg nods. "Yes. Apologies for the secrecy, but there are reasons."

"No doubt." The man sighs. "There always are. A drink?"

"Water, please." Jaron sighs, faking it very convincingly. "There are always costs to augmentation and I'm full-body." Actually, he can drink just fine, but he likes to spread the rumor that he'll shut down if fed alcohol. Some day, hopefully some enemy will try to take him out with a vintage wine and it'll all be worth it.

Calheiros pours himself a bourbon and gets Jaron a mineral water. "Unfortunate. Well, go ahead."

"Very well. I think you'll understand why I'd prefer to keep this quiet, at least until I'd briefed you. I've been conducting operations against the Special Projects Division in the western United States, under the existing auspices of Operation THIRTY SILVER."

"Damn those Syndicate traitors."

"I intend to. With a successful assault on one of their production facilities - making a HITMark knock-off - we managed to grab data that they didn't manage to purge in time. One of the things we discovered was that there had been several major shipments of their assets to Brazil - there may be as many as two hundred of their BACD units in-country, although we suspect that they're moving them to rural facilities or to other nearby nations. In a worst-case scenario, though, they have a major automated infantry presence in-country."

The worst thing is that it's true. The SPD has been moving far more automated infantry units to South America than Jaron is comfortable with. At least some of the units from the LA factory were in Mexico City, destroyed in the mysterious shoot-out in the church, but there's a lot of missing units. At best they're being thrown away in the constant Pentex warzone in the Amazon. Jaron hopes that they're being tossed at fanatical lupine shapeshifter berserkers. Mutual annihilation of one's foes is seldom a bad thing. He suspects however that they're in SPD facilities, turning them into tarpits. This is saving up problems for the future, no doubt about it.

"Two hundred? What kind of threat are we talking about here?" Calhieros asks, turning pale under his tan.

"Roughly comparable to a low-cognitive HITMark III. More cheaply made - no primium, fortunately - but still resistant to conventional small arms fire."

"God." Calheiros frowns. "What were the Americans playing at, letting them get away with making them? If there were two hundred hostile HITMarks in the United States made in Brazil, I'd be getting formal sanctions at the highest level," he says hotly.

Jaron nods. "I understand your feelings, and I agree. But right now, we have bigger issues. I'm requesting your cooperation with these ops. I've brought specialists with me, but I'm going to need to work in close coordination with you and other elements in your region while we hunt for them. Above all, I'll need intel on possible sightings of BACD units. Before we can track them, we'll need to find how they were getting into the country. And the SPD are rogue Syndics. We're going to have to be careful about alerting them."

The other man takes a sip of his bourbon. "God, don't I just know it? Always so free with their bribes. We purged one amalgam they'd subverted back in 2014. You don't need to tell me twice." He puts down his drink. "You're going to need a cover. We've got a known RD presence in the favelas. The poor sorts there have too many superstitionist tendencies, brought in from the countryside. We're working on reeducation policies, but there just aren't the funds and there are too damn many of them. I'll prepare a list of the big RD names in the local area - the ones who aren't prepared to compromise and who don't stick to the favelas. There's a Rogue Council streak to them." He looks over the rim of his glasses at Jaron. "If any of them were to die, I'd no doubt be able to free up even more assets to be of use," he adds unctuously.

"The death of reality terrorists always serves the Union," Jaron says casually.

"I'm glad you understand."

***​

"The thing about the boss," Juliet says easily, "is he considers killing two birds with one stone to lack ambition."

Specialist Ana Manya, a Time-Motion Manager on long-term secondment to the Watchers who is not in any way whatsoever 1st Lt Henriette Langley, adjusts her mirrorshades and smooths down her neat black suit. "Yes, ma'am," she says with only a hint of sarcasm. "Everyone knows that you can get at least four birds with a good rebound."

"Now that's the spirit. Specialist, begin analysis of the data systems for this airport. Let's see if the smuggled 'cargo' really did enter by this airport."

"Of course it will." 'Manya' says. "You don't go around doing something like this without covering your traces."

"You'd be surprised." Juliet sighs. "You'd be very surprised."

The first thing they're doing is seeing if the trail of Ms Minuano really does match up with the fight path from Mexico City. They look like they're up against competent adversaries so it probably will, but if it doesn't it could be a lead - and if it does, it helps narrow down which groups are good enough to arrange something like this. The Rosarios have their own ideas, and their own plans. A few hours of video footage scanning and Henriette has a conclusion. "Okay, they weren't amateurs." She concedes. "The only reason you'd have found Serafina in that would be if you already suspected she was going to the airport. They've put in Mrs. Minuano-yes, she's married," Henriette says, looking at her data trail, "into all the right CCTV images and data records. Seamlessly. The only reason I think she doesn't exist is because we know for a fact that Serafina passed through that airport and she's the most likely suspect. Otherwise... regular trips to and from Mexico city. Similar timeframes, similar luggage. Even a nice fake address and fake friendships to make it work. And I suspect if you found those people they'd actually believe it."

"Mmm." Juliet ponders. "That's one way to hide someone in plain sight, Specialist. Make it so that nobody would expect anything odd if they weren't looking for the exact disturbance." The analysis raises only more questions, though. Who'd go on and hide something like this, then set up a trail of breadcrumbs to send them this way? Does Serafina have allies? Or is this just a trap to make it look like Serafina has allies? She can't tell, not without more information.

"I think we're going to need to go and take a look around." Henriette sighs.

"Right. Anyways, the good news is that since the SPD is involved, it gives us carte blanche to inspect literally anything and everything Technocratic. The bad news is that if we want to keep it quiet, it's not going to happen, because there's so many people we have to coordinate with. Ethical Compliance, ItX Anomaly Correction, Syndicate Enforcers, so on and so forth. So we don't keep it quiet. We'll just have to scattershot all our actions so that they look like part of the investigation. Hide it in the noise." Juliet says.

"It'll be a lot of work." Henriette observes. "If most of what we're doing is completely unrelated."

"If you didn't want to do the boring legwork you'd have joined the Reality Deviants. And probably be dead." Juliet says. "This stuff saves lives."

***
​

Julia Carvalho is a young intern at Borboleta biochem. She loves her job, normally. Today, not so much, because she wants to go to work, but feels very, very unwell. She can barely keep her head up, and she sways in her seat on the bus. Most of the passengers naturally give her a wide berth as she does. The woman next to her-tall, pale, friendly-seeming-takes hold of her as she sways. "Are you all right? You don't seem well." She hands Julia some money, enough for a taxi. "You should go back home."

"But my job. I need to go to work." Julia tries to protest. She doesn't question why she's justifying herself to the stranger.

"I'm sure they won't mind you taking the day off." The woman says, and what she says sounds very convincing. Incredibly convincing, in fact. She really should go home. "Don't worry about calling in sick. I'll take care of it." Julia nods, and gets off the next stop. The next day, she'll forget about all of this. She'll forget the mysterious woman and that she didn't actually go to work.

Meanwhile, Rose takes her acquired DNA and biometric data, and stops where Julia would have. A quick trip to the restrooms-and "Julia Carvalho" enters Borboleta biochem, carefully scanning for any signs of Serafina. Mr. and Mrs. Rosario have decided to gather information from Serafina's home, probably because they felt it was more likely that she'd be there. So Rose has been 'volunteered' for the phenomenally mind-numbing task of going through the offices of Borboleta trying to find out what Serafina's been doing all this while. The work Julia's been assigned would be difficult for someone like her, a gifted university graduate-but for Rose, whose bioengineering expertise is instinctual and has the spark of Genius, it's trivial to make the changes needed to her project while spending most of her time observing the employees.

Most of them don't know anything about Borboleta's true purpose-they just think they're working in a biotech firm, with no idea of what services it provides to the Progenitors. They believe that the technology they're working on is cutting edge, when it's largely a matter of perfecting and economizing decades-old research. While she's idling, letting the computer handle the grunt work of genetic sequencing or predicting protein folding, she makes her rounds through the office. She's not afraid of being detected-Borboleta is an unmilitarized asset. There's very little at stake if it's lost, so the guards aren't particularly alert for RD infiltration. The highest-ranking 'Technocrats' there are a handful of Enlightened Citizens who almost certainly know little about the Technocracy at large.

They probably think they're working for government agencies still. Nevertheless, it pays to be careful, and she sheathes herself in the same field of "I belong here" that hemophages do, as she walks through the corridors, looking for Serafina's-Isabella's-office. When she gets there, she looks over it with a practiced eye, letting the savant parts of her mind reconstruct the scene. Serafina isn't here. She hasn't been here for a while, several days at least. She goes through the logins with the administrator password the Rosarios provided, looks at her recent history. She's been using the network to hide some searches. Rose can't tell what-but she can tell that someone's been using it to login to Union sites. Something that is theoretically possible-but would require you knowing about them in the first place.​

But what's more important is the DNA trace. It confirms, without a doubt, that Isabella Minuano is in fact Serafina Rosario, and that she's been active here. Rose's heart jumps at the thought. She is alive, she is doing things, and she is going to come home with them, safe and sound.

***
​

They meet again-Henriette, Rose, Donald, and the Rosarios-in the pod. They share all their results. They put together what they know.

"The people who set this up are pretty good at their jobs. They made it so that it'd be impossible for standard Union protocols to find any disturbance. They'd read the security footage and not notice anything odd, because Isabella Minuano was edited into all the previous security footage seamlessly. Without knowing that she wasn't 'actually' a real person, she'd effectively be lost in the haystack." Henriette says.

"We interviewed the Mary who was Mrs. Minuano's husband." Daniel says. "He was told to be perfectly loyal to her and follow her orders to the letter, and not report any anomalous behavior. His previous orders were, of course, to monitor Mrs. Minuano for any aberrant behavior. Exactly what someone would do if she was being watched by us after being given false memories."

"She was using the Borboleta servers to discreetly access Union sites." Rose adds. "She didn't show up to work for the past week. She said something about a stomach bug recurrence." Her boss was very forthcoming with just a little bit of pheromonal prodding. Her illness was important to him-he seemed quite concerned for his workers, in a good way.

"And going through the gateways which Borboleta used and pulling up past data," Henriette finishes, "she was trying to get access to assets. Quite a few assets."

"The question is-where exactly was she going?" Donald asks. "But I think I know. There was something on Isabella's search history at home that leads me to believe that she's going to Japan." Donald says. "She was looking at ways to get there quietly, I think. Searching for smugglers." Donald says. "Ways to get from Brazil to Japan without showing up on anyone's radar."

"So how do we pick up her trail there?" Pia asks. "We can't just barge into Japan and start knocking on every door we see. For one, Professor Bastion can't reassign his task force of cybernetic killers to Japan on a moment's notice now that he's dealing with 200 killer robots gone missing."

"We won't need him." Henriette says confidently. "We can take care of this problem without his help."

"I think I know what she's looking for." Rose says quietly. "There's something another Progenitor was doing in Japan-using her research. She wouldn't have approved, but her copycat sent him files-data on the Apocalypse Canceller and its performance in Russia, data on EXEMPLAR. She's going to look for Gregor Leon." Rose says. "She'll be going where he is. If she can find him."

"That would explain some of the equipment she's been looking for." Henriette agrees. "A lot of this would be overkill if she was just trying to hide somewhere. But if she was attempting a break-in..."
​

---

I've been stuck on this update for way too long. Time to move on towards the finish line.

Serafina's Gear:
What, exactly, was Serafina looking for? (Choose two additional ones, or five total)
[X] A sizable sum of money in untraceable cash.
[X] A genetic disguise kit, multirole.
[X] pDNA (pedagogical DNA) for the Japanese language and customs.
[ ] A combat homonculus and biohacking kit.
[ ] Encrypted files on Japanese Reality Deviants, as well as several Prime Energy storage batteries.
[ ] Some Damage Control contacts who could get her back to LA-to access the labs or Damage Control in general.
[ ] Personnel files on Japanese Technocrats and one-time encryption systems.
[ ] A portable biochem fabricator, suitcase size.
[ ] Syndicate cosmetics, clothing, and some tailored Progenitor retrovirals for enhanced pheromones.

~nwo~:
How much are you telling the NWO?
[ ] The most important stuff.
[ ] Vague details.
[ ] Tell Jamelia Belltower and see how much she tells Bastion.
[ ] Write-In.​

 

[MJ12 Commando]

JB CLXXXIX: A Matter of Family

The dining room is luxurious. The food is excellent, and there's a haze of blue smoke hanging in the air. Everyone else in the restaurant is a Progenitor construct, and so is suitably intimidating.

"... and that just about sums it up, I believe," Pia Rosario says, smiling at Donald. She flutters her eyelashes at him. "Do you have any questions?"

Donald blinks, eyes drifting up from her tight white blouse. He blinks heavily. "Uh..." he says.

Smiling sweetly, Pia leans in. "Oh, don't worry over the details," she says. "Just keep an eye on the broad overview. You're working under me," her eyes dip downwards, and she licks her lips, "if you know what I mean."

"Yes." Donald takes a drink, trying not to show that his hands are shaking. It's just water. He wants something stronger, but when shut in a confined room with Serafina's mother, he really doesn't want his inhibitions lowered. Donald has to remind himself that this woman who looked like she was twenty if one were to highball it and acted like a flirtatious college student was his superior in basically any way you cared to mention. She's on the Administration, she's also more than twice his age and she's managing to play him. He thought he was good at this sort of thing.

Oh, and she's married, on top of everything else. He has to remember that too.

God, no wonder Serafina was a little strange if this was what her image of a maternal figure was. What would it be like to have someone showing up at your parent-teacher conferences looking like your big sister? Especially when he'd looked through some of Henriette's footage from Mexico City, and noticed that the senior female Dr Rosario got very serious when presented with something like the prospect of abseiling into an Anomaly-contaminated area. How much of it was an act wasn't something he'd been able to read off her, but he'd be willing to bet that she had some kind of mental-tweak regime to keep her mannerisms this distractingly innocuous and harmless.

This was a very, very dangerous lady. And also prettier than even Serafina or Rose, which was leaving him having to constantly remind himself to think with his head, rather than his dick.

"Working under you," he repeats.

He just has to think rational, economic, data-driven thoughts. Think economically and put his base instincts behind him, ignoring cognitive shortcuts and the fact that that is a very, very tight blouse.

"Yes." The cigarette in her mouth does a little circle and he swallows. "Under me. I will be going to Fukushima along with Daniel. We have legitimate reasons to be there, because there are strange unorthodox mutations seen in the local sea-life from the radiation release and Daniel has friends on a committee handling shakedown of the mess the local Union made of handling the incident. We'll be nice and public and close enough to offer support, but far enough away that you'll be off the main radar. We'll make sure you have the tools you need while you look for my daughter." She looks distraught and Donald feels an unwelcome surge of pity go out to her. "I just want her back safe. Find her and protect her."

Donald has to repeat to himself that she's not doing a massive favour to him by offering her help, that she wants Serafina found just as much as he does - and that means he doesn't owe her a thing.

"We'll certainly help you find her," he manages to say.

"I'm sure you'll do an excellent job of it," Pia says. "So since you'll be helping, you'll be reporting directly to me and Daniel. We'll require daily status reports, and we'll have to sign off any operations you conduct. After all, we'll be providing you with resources, so that much isn't much to ask, is it?"

It really isn't. It's such a small thing, and he wants to agree so she'll smile at him again. But Donald grits his teeth and thinks economically. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he says. "That kind of data flow risks compromising you - and us - and on top of that, we'd only be able to communicate with you at safe intervals. With the urgency of the situation, sign-off on everything is just asking for too much."

She looks sad, and his heart wrenches again. "So demanding," she says.

"I'm afraid so," he manages. "While of course I'll try to consult with you whenever possible about major operations and I'll be more than happy to hear your viewpoint, safety and the... ah, unique set of facts on the ground does mean..." What was he saying? His mind is drifting. "Does mean that I'll need to be able to act swiftly and without undue oversight," he manages to say.

Pia shakes her head. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr Sykes," she says, looking at him over her eyelashes. The cigarette in her mouth does another almost hypnotic circle. "I can't help but feel you're taking advantage of my needs."

He swallows. He wants to help her. He really does. "I'm afraid I have to insist," he says, sticking to his pre-decided line in the sand. Goddamnit. His trousers are far too tight at the moment. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "It's all about keeping Serafina safe, after all."

"Oh well." Pia taps some ash off her cigarette, shaking her head sadly as she checks her appearance in the mirror behind the bar. "Well, we'll handle getting your team into Tokyo - and provide you with the necessary disguises, communication channels and backgrounds. I know you want to show you're a strong independent man, Mr Sykes, but please keep in contact with us. We can only give you limited help, but we know how Serafina thinks and we really do care for her."

"I'll try my best," he says, trying to avoid sounding too relieved that she isn't hammering him with her sheer presence right now. "And... and Professor Bastion?"

She laughs. "Don't worry. I'll handle him. I'm good at handling men."

Donald swallows. His throat is dry. Each word from her mouth in that Italian accent and that tone brings very vivid mental images to mind. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure you are."

***​

An hour later, he slumps down in the comfortable armchair, and takes a drag on his newly lit cigarette. His hand is shaking. Rose glares disapprovingly at the smoke, but decides not to say anything.

"Holy shit," Donald manages, exhaling. "I never thought I'd say it, but here goes; that is too much woman for me."

"You remembered that she's designed her appearance to seem harmless and nice?" Rose asks. "You didn't let her get to you?"

"It was like being fucking Sisyphus," he declares to the world. "Even with everything and all the ways you warned me. Jesus." He checks his watch, sees that the countersurveillance equipment was still in place. "She makes that thing from London seem repulsive. Holy shit, I haven't gone through something like that since the old days and that was around RDs who based everything they did about being too damn sexy. Just being around her when she was turning on the charm... it was like I was drunk."

"Hmm." Rose leans over and sniffs him. "Yeah," she mutters.

"Excuse me?"

There's a slight red hint to Rose's irises for a moment. "I can smell her pheromones on you," she says, a slight growl reverberating at the back of her throat.

Donald slaps himself around the face. "Thought so," he says. "She must spend a fortune on Syndic cosmetics. And that's before you get started on the gene-tweaks and bio-sculpting. God, she's walking around with enough augs to pay for a squad of HITMarks. And not cheap ones, either."

"It's like being around my big sister. She has some of the same things," Rose agrees.

"Your... ah?"

"My big sister." Rose sighs. "Maria. EXEMPLAR II, derived from Helen of Troy."

"Oh." Donald thinks. "So... you're saying I just stood up to a face that could launch... like, a good three hundred ships? Maybe four hundred?" He slaps himself again. "I think I have cause to feel pretty proud of myself."

"Serafina says she almost never lets it all out and sticks mostly to more subtle things. And guilting and telling you that you need to settle down and think of your career, but that's probably what just what she does to Sera," Rose says. "I don't know why she went full blast on you." She pauses. "Did she say anything about your career?"

Donald rubs his temples, and tries to think through the quickly thinning fog in his head. Now that he's out of Pia's presence, he's wondering that too. When he was around her, of course, he just... he just couldn't think ill of her. Or blame her for anything. "I... I think it was a test," he manages.

"Huh?"

"Look, if I could stand up to her enough to not just throw myself at her feet and beg to clean them with my tongue, I'm not going to fold against many weaker things," Donald says, frankly. "I mean, damn. No wonder the Iterators all emotionally neutered themselves and the Order relied on the stick up their arses back before '99, if they were having to negotiate with senior Progenitors who were all like that."

"And that's why the Progenitors became what they did in space," Rose says, looking at her reflection in the shiny counter with a thousand yard stare. "People so smart, so socially adept that baseline humans were just an extension of their will. They were already becoming like that on earth." She looks sad, and there's a little bit of Donald which notes that a sad Rose doesn't compare to a sad Pia in sheer raw sympathy-inducing power. "It's just in space, they lost everything holding them back."

"You know who she reminded me of?" Donald says, pinching the brow of his nose.

"One of your ex-girlfriends?" Rose says, a little cattily.

"No. Well, yes, okay, more than a few." Donald frowns. "I really need to stop dating dangerous, strong-willed women. Not the point. That wasn't who I was thinking of. Actually, she did remind me of Serafina."

"She is her mother. Of course they'll have a similar appearance."

"No, but... not like that. She's like Sera, just... just without the kinder side. Or at least, she's better at hiding it."

"I don't think they're that much alike," Rose says, glaring at her reflection.

"No, I think they are," Donald says. "The mannerisms are similar, and so's the feeling that they're thinking things through ahead and that... look, it's just a feel. I wonder how much she's like Sera when she isn't trying to take advantage of an innocent like me."

"Not at all!" Rose insists. "They... they are not alike!"

"What do you m-"

"They're just not anything alike! Sera is nice and gentle and kind, and her mother is a manipulative... bitch who manipulates Sera and tried to make her give me up and just tried to control you!" Rose is panting, and her eyes are bloodshot.

Hands shaking, Donald takes another drag on his cigarette. "So. How you doing, Rose?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Look, I just got out of being damn near well whammied by your grandmother. I need to talk about other things to distract me from thinking about her."

That produces a harsh sniff from Rose. "You know, in a way she's sort of my descendant, too," she says.

Donald blinks.

"There are quite a few Liors in the Rosario family tree. The first Magister del Rosario even married one of her daughters."

He opens his mouth. He closes his mouth. "Sure. Whatever," he says. "I'm just glad I don't have to deal with your family tree. But Rose, I was talking about you."

She massages the back of her neck. "I... l've been talking with Henriette. It's... it's going okay," she says in a little voice. "I... she knows what it's like. To have to pull yourself back together after... after being broken." She looks directly at him, eyes slightly teary. "You don't know. Not really. Having the central part of your life kicked away from you is horrible. But she survived it. So will I."

Donald raises his hands in mock surrender. "I just wanted to be sure that you were talking," he says. "Little steps are the thing. Remember, I chose to change sides. No, it's not as big as what you two went through, but I can't pretend it was easy."

Rose smiles, blotting at her eyes. "No, I don't suppose it was." She squares her shoulders. "Now, uh... you need a rest, I think. You look exhausted. I'll prescribe you something to help you sleep. And also unpick any hypnotic suggestions or vulnerabilities she might have got into your head."

"I'm pretty sure I already found Italian accents sexy long before I came to this amalgam," Donald jokes. "Neither you nor Sera nor her can claim credit for that."

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I!"

***
​

"Mr. Belltower." Jaron recognizes the voice instantly. He's been trained to.

"You are go for Belltower." He says, taking the call via his implants. "Is there something new?"

"Is this a good time?" Daniel asks. Jaron's pulled his background. Unlike his wife, who definitely does not squirm away from taking things into her own hands given her modifications-he's more of a safe, rear-echelon Progenitor scientist. An excellent but boringly plain one, whose talent and luck brought him into marrying one of the scions of the Rosario bloodline and taking her last name. Still not entirely used to the political machine, and definitely not basically a walking memetic hazard. Sometimes he misses being fully flesh and blood, but having to deal with Pia Rosario was not one of those times. "You sound a bit busy."

"It's nothing important." Jaron says, firing back calmly as bullets whiz around him, barely missing. He takes a moment to shoulder-charge through a wooden door, ignoring the enchanted splinters that would maim or kill a normal person, and fires at one of the RDs, aiming to cripple rather than kill. The first one goes down, and he marks her for recovery and interrogation. "Just asking some RDs a few questions. They're shooting back, but they're not as good as they think they are." TYRANT wanted to know what these Ecstatic drug-dealers knew about Pentex. Apparently, their association with the Rogue Council was tighter than the NWO had suspected. "It shouldn't take that long." In his tactical network, he gives his teammates orders. "Feel free to talk."

It puts Mr. Rosario off-balance, as intended. He's not the kind of Technocrat who reacts nonchalantly to someone holding a conversation and engaging in a firefight at the same time. His loss. "I'm calling to say that we've been requested to leave Brazil and visit Fukushima for some testing on the anomalous plant and animal life found there... they want a neurology and cognition expert as well so I'll have to leave soon. I'm sorry I couldn't give you any advance notice but-" It's obvious to him that Daniel is only giving an excuse, that they've found who they're looking for. They have their own contacts in the Progenitors, people who can get them there. They would be foolish to rely on the NWO.

"So Japan, then. I take it you've found where the trail leads and that she's still okay. That's good to hear. We'll provide whatever assistance we can." Jaron leaps, and he's on the rooftops with them, keeping an easy pace, hardly taxing his body at all. One of them panics as he runs away from the cyborg, losing his balance and falling. There aren't that many of them friendly to the Rogue Council. Most veterans of the Ascension War are willing to enjoy the situation where the Technocracy isn't trying to assassinate them in their sleep, after all.

"I don't think that'll be necessary. You seem to be busy." Jaron sends a mental command to the MiB 2.0s with him to grab the fallen RD for questioning, and makes sure that one of his own will be around in case he does more to resist than they can handle. They seem to be newbies-but Jaron is fully aware that sometimes things are more than they seem, and even neophytes can be dangerous.

"I won't need all of the team here, and there's plenty of reasons for the NWO to get involved. There's plenty of reason for me to be involved." Also, an issue that is almost certainly spiraling into all-out conflict. If it wasn't, they'd have the resources to vet people, to check if anyone was listening to the Computer and taking orders from 'Control.' But right now they're too busy, too overtaxed, and with the war on there's too many oddities in accounting to really make a good determination. "The events happening in Asia are rather important right now." He can't help but suspect that they'll be operating there. If you were going to distract the Technocracy, you'd want to create a war there. Something the Union would have to keep its hands full trying to spin and suppress-invading an actual mystical kingdom where the Traditions' paradigm holds out. "And this is something that will benefit both of us." He's almost caught up with the runner-his pack full of RD drugs, his stance clearly learned from Akashic tutoring. Still, Jaron can see the trembling. The kid-and he is a kid, dark brown skin unmarred by age or combat, eyes wide and scared-has clearly never fought anyone deadlier than a MiB team. It's the kind of thing which makes you overconfident, but suddenly breaks when you're facing someone who's gone through your friends without any apparent effort.

"I understand your concern, but we'll be fine."

"Let me rephrase my request then." Jaron says. "I want to talk to your daughter about what happened in Los Angeles. I need to know who or what in the Technocracy is compromised. I want to help you, but if you are unwilling to let me help you, I still have to talk to Serafina and that would probably lead to mutual inconvenience. For both of us. I sympathize entirely with what you're doing-I was a father myself-but this is important for the Technocracy as well. Moreover, having someone like me around might be useful. An ace in the hole, as it were." He keeps eyeing the RD, the kid-who keeps inching backwards, hoping for an opening. No luck.

"I'll consider it." Daniel says. It's all he can hope for. Just that seed of an idea. He hangs up, just in time for the RD to gather his guts and try to attack.
​

***
​

They've worked out of better places, high-end labs and constructs where the quarters for researchers are lavish and everything optimized for maximum comfort and efficiency-the Progenitors have never been big fans of Iteration X's moves towards asceticism. They've also worked out of worse places, like the motels in South America or 'her' home in Brazil. She's working out of a rented apartment, with just the materials she's managed to improvise from Sleeper technologies-some carefully husbanded favors from Progenitor colleagues from school or who she's worked with, and of course the gene-hacking kit designed for field modification of combat constructs. Alicia's demonstrated that she's incredibly useful when she's not being silly-taking out a few Kuei-Jin nests and stealing their ill gotten gains, doing scouting, standing guard. Without her Serafina wouldn't have any sort of operation, instead of a merely rather tiny one.​

​

"So, Sera." Alicia says, smiling. "I've been doing some looking around on my own while you were out talking with Dr. Maeda. How is he, anyways? I remember you had the biggest crush on him when he was teaching."

"Shut up, Alicia. I just liked him because he gave me good grades and he was a good professor." Serafina insists. She's good enough at lying that she managed to almost believe it herself. "He's fine, thank you very much, and he's been keeping busy."

"Of course he would be." Alicia says."Keeping busy trying to fight to do other things besides 'kill all RDs' and 'get on track with the Time Table'? Maybe occasionally getting some actual work done with the exciting parts of being a Progenitor? Like trying to make a mutant turtle that breathes fire and knows kung-fu?"

"Maybe not the mutant turtles but most of that's true." She concedes. "But guess who's signed up on this crusade and has become the voice that's garnering mass support from everyone opposed to Professor Li?"

"Gregor Leon." Alicia sighs. "For someone who scoffs at cosmetic augmentation and has the charisma of a sea sponge, he's done well for himself."

"The one and only. I don't know if he's just being an opportunist or if he works for the other side-but he's been setting himself up as a peacemaker." She sighs. "Probably because of his pet project and how it's a compromise for both sides-a chance to get no-questions-asked development done on anything as long as it might have application to the war-and he's very good at saying things are combat-applicable in a way even Professor Li has to concede. 'An army marches on their stomach,'" she says, mocking Leon, "and if we can feed the starving people of North Korea they're less likely to become an insurgency that we need to suppress.' I'd be more sympathetic if he wasn't such a smug sociopath." Alicia, thankfully, lets her vent about the developments. Allows her to vent about how Leon is an unlikable troglodyte but is playing everyone, about how this wouldn't be happening if Professor Li hadn't managed to create a situation ripe for it, and how everyone is walking into unknowable doom with their eyes wide open and big grins.​

"Right." Alicia says when she's spent.

"Sorry. I just-he stole my research and I sent it to him and I don't know if he's responsible or not but it's just so easy to blame him." Serafina sighs. It's cathartic having someone to blame that you might be able to touch, unlike whatever Panopticon did to her-and their suspicions about Jamelia Belltower. Their insistence that she was a traitor, that she was responsible for the attack on the construct. Cleaning house. She wonders how that could even be possible.

"Anyways, do you want to know what I found out talking to people?" Alicia asks. "No wait, of course you do. Your parents are coming here in a day."

Serafina looks at Alicia in shock and surprise. "What."

"Seriously, Sera." Alicia says. "Apparently they, entirely coincidentally, and entirely without any knowledge, are coming to Japan because of weird fauna in the Fukushima exposure zone. I don't know why, your mom seems to be really interested in it, and the ways of senior Progenitors are not to be debated. Professor Li could, but he just wants her out of his hair for a good long while and maybe he thinks that sending her on safari will do it. So. Are you coming to see them? I bet they're here for you."

It's obvious to her that they're here for her. "Anyone else? Is... anyone from the amalgam okay? Donald and Rose and all the others?"

"No sign of them yet." Alicia sighs. "I'm sure they're fine. They won't have given up on you. We can't give up on them either. So first steps first. You'll probably want to make sure they're actually your parents and not some FACADE clones. Then..." she trails off, waiting.

"Then I'm not sure. I'll think of something, Alicia." I promise. Serafina says. Her and her parents saving the world. She's dreamed of this when she was ten. Now it might be a reality and she almost wishes it wasn't happening.

---

Reunion:
How does Serafina approach this reunion chance?
[ ] Write-In

Reunion, Part 2:
And does she run into Rose and Donald and Henriette yet?
[ ] Yes
[ ] No, not yet

Investigating Tokyo Construct 3:
So what exactly has Serafina found out about Gregor Leon's plans and what he's making?
[ ] It's... *sigh* another half-organic giant robot. You'd think that the Technocracy's plan to destroy North Korea would be more interesting.
[ ] Some sort of super-infiltrator hivemind thing. Sounds very... London-esque.
[ ] It's a miniature giant death robot, built out of Deity Suppression System seed tissue. A swarm of miniature giant death robots.
[ ] He's restarting the EXEMPLAR project. And those names he's using as sources-those sound very, very familiar. How he's managed to sell it to the review board Serafina's not sure.
[ ] He's found some failed stuff from Project Svalberg-the anti-soul-parasite thing which got shelved because it lobotomized every one of its test subjects, and when you can tell that a Bob is lobotomized that's some bad shit.
[ ] Oh, it's just another bioweapon. The nasty kind built out of xenobiology with genetic memory and all. Imagine a horde of 'zombies' which are all actually a hivemind made up of an uploaded Damage Control operative.
​

 

[MJ12 Commando]

JB CXC: Of Games and Players

In a dark room, a man twirls a pen in his fingers. The light catches his glasses that are so covered with streams of information flow that they glow solid white. Vaguely, in the dimly lit room behind him fluid-filled tanks can be seen, giving off a dim green glow. There are things floating in the tanks. Human forms in various levels of assembly and disassembly can be seen.

Opposite to him sits Serafina Rosario.

"Let's play," he says. "You're black."

"Fine," says the duplicate. Picking up one of the pieces, she rolls it over her fingers as she considers her first play.

Leon Gregor looks over his glasses. This simulated personality is running on another one of these low-grade transhuman bodies that he can make much better use of than his... ahem, colleagues in space. He feels momentarily sad that he hasn't got data from the one running the Ms Candle personality. From what Operative Li said, these bodies do sometimes suffer catastrophic and rapid malignancy - but then again, that was during a Dimensional Anomaly Incursion and extradimensional effects are something he's never bothered to study, least of all something niche like that.

And this will be a fair match. The mutability of these bodies has let him restructure it so it's just as intelligent as the real Serafina - and then run further procedures on it so the difference in cognitive capacity produced by its loss of enlightened science is negligible.

He is hunting a fox. Who better as a liaison than the selfsame fox, who answers all your questions perfectly truthfully and genuinely wants to help you?

She places her piece. "Why do you think I'm here?" she asks.

He places his. "The statistical influence is slight, but present," he says. "But I know how you think. If you discover what I'm up to, you will act to stop me. You will be able to work out that I was behind the autotermination meme. If you get access to Progenitor networks, you'll be able to find up what I'm up to. And you have enough allies - and enough former sexual partners - that someone will be able to cover for you. Therefore you will come."

Pieces click down as they play. Leon Gregor smiles, coldly. She's losing, of course. She's putting up a determined fight, but she's simply being outmaneuvered.

He knows her mind intimately, in every way. He's played with her psychology, broken her down and rebuilt her and built mind duplicate after mind duplicate. First it was work, part of designing the suicide meme. Then it became a hobby. And then... well. He can see the patterns. Jamelia Belltower and Jazmin Clock, both forks of Jazmin Blade. They think alike. They act alike. They look for similar things in subordinates. One of their differences, he notes with great amusement, is that Jazmin Clock cares about winning more. In that, she's closer to the source material - and isn't that interesting. He strongly suspects that somewhere in her head, there's something driving her to want to show Jamelia Belltower that she can do better with the same tools.

And that makes him the tool Jazmin Clock thinks she chose to counter Serafina Rosario.

He smiles faintly. He places a white stone, knowing that in thirty moves it will block the line of pieces she's planning to try to put together in the far left corner of the build to blindside him and allow him to take out the entire group all at once.

So art imitates life.

"I see my parents are in Japan," Serafina says, heart-shaped face resting on her arms as she stares down at the board.

"Yes. They are." The question hangs in the air and she answers it.

"I don't know what they're doing here. Maybe they're following some clue left by the other me, but I don't think it was deliberate." She scowls. "I'm not much more than a prize show-dog to them. And a disappointment. Always a disappointment."

He places a piece. "What would you do in her place?" Poor little Serafina, driven by her loneliness. No real friends, no one she trusts, no one close to her. She isolates herself from people. She doesn't make friend, only associates. It's a clear trait in her personality. The closest things she's had to a friend in years is a lover - and the fact she clearly trusts Jamelia Belltower.

Serafina chews on her lip. "It's too dangerous to go near them," she decides. "People know I'm a 'princess'. They'll expect me to go running to them. And if I think what I'm doing is important, they'll snatch me away."

Too dangerous? Oh, a valid answer. A good rationalisation for a mind that for all its brilliance has its blind spots. But Leon Gregor knows things Serafina doesn't. The blindspots were built in - and the ones which weren't intentional are the result of repressed trauma. Serafina Rosario, mentally unstable and used as a test subject for experimental genius manipulation techniques. Serafina Rosario, who had small elements of her brain excised to suppress Genius Induced Psychosis Syndrome in her teenage years. And it was her parents who did that to her. Well, they'd been the ones leading the team back in '94, at least. Control had sent other specialists to contribute, though. When Ms Clock had ordered him to design an autotermination meme for Serafina Rosario, he'd been quite amused to be getting back inside her head again. Though this time, the skull remained in place.

"In that case, I suspect they'll be less of a danger than... other parties. I'll have to make sure to deal with that."

***​

"So..." Elongating the word, Alicia hops around the cramped bathroom, trying to peel off her biosuit. Once that's done, she hangs it in the shower which has been hastily rebuilt to drip nutrient feed down into the engineered biotechnology. "What're we going to do about your parents?" she says as she cleans off the biogoo and film layer.

"Do about?" Serafina says, leaning over her laptop. "In what context?"

"Don't play dumb. We're super-geniuses, you know. You can't fool me there." There's the sound of a tap running, as Alicia starts to wash her hair in the sink.

"It's too dangerous."

"Bullshit," Alicia says.

"It is!"

"It's dangerous," Alicia says. "Too dangerous?"

Serafina purses her lips. "But I..." She pauses and takes a breath. "We know they did use what we got to them. They did make sure the Void Engineers got what they needed," she says softly. "But..."

"I have reasons to not like them," Alicia says, over the sound of running water. "They hurt you. They hurt me. But they did it because they loved you and I... I was just in the way."

Putting down her computer, Serafina sticks her head in through the door. "Alice was 'in the way', too."

Looking up from the sink, Alicia shakes her head. "No. You're not Alice. Your parents wanted a daughter, and... yeah, they fucked up in a lot of ways. Alice was meant to be a weapon."

"And you?"

Alicia grins broadly. "I'm a social model. Being a Damage Control super-amazing agent is something I do, not what I was made to do." Reaching over, she gives Serafina a one-armed hug - which also drips water down her top. "As long as I've got you back, I'm okay."

Serafina smiles back. "Fine. You've talked me into it. So we're going to need to find a way to talk to them." She shakes her head. "You're not a good choice."

"Yeah. I'm... not," Alicia admits. "Don't let them know about me. Damage Control will be really, really angry if I'm found out about. And I don't trust them with me."

"I understand." Wriggling free of Alicia's grasp, Serafina leans against the damp tiles. "I think we'll work through one of the functionaries in the Fukushima facility. I'll use the biohacker kit to write a message into the DNA of one of my mother's flowers, dry it, and press it in a bookmark - then have the book sent to them."

"Will she read it? The flower, I mean."

Serafina smiles widely. "Oh yes. It was one of the first things she showed me to do."

Alicia grins. "Oh man, I remember that! That was fun."

"You do?"

"Well, you told me all about it when you got back to school. And you showed me how to do it."

"Oh." Serafina looks sad. "I wish I could remember you from back then in more than just dribs and drabs."

"Pass me the towel," Alicia says, her back turned to her. Serafina does so, and goes back to dealing with the latest batch of information she's recovered.

Fifteen minutes later, both of them are done. "Ahh. That felt good." Alicia sighs contentedly, lounging on the sofa in a bathrobe. "It's good to be out and about. So I wonder-if your parents are here, is anyone else looking for you? Because that might be inconvenient."

Serafina sighs. "I'm not sure. I don't feel like it's safe but I don't have any evidence. It just feels like... things are about to go wrong."

"I understand exactly what you mean." Alicia says, frowning. "I feel the same way too. I'll go check to see if anything suspicious is happening, and then I'll tell you when I find something."

"You mean if?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I mean 'when.'" Alicia says. "That way I won't be surprised when everything actually does go wrong."

***
​

Operative Yinzheng Li is surprised when she's told to report to a briefing at a safehouse location she doesn't know. She's surprised-there hasn't been any of this secretive double-dealing recently. Still busy, certainly-the Technocracy doesn't issue operatives enhanced bodies and minds and expect them to relax, except maybe for the Syndicate-but not for her. Ensure these bugs are working. Get close enough to the local NWO to sneak something into their offices. Pretend to be a delightfully naive new ingenue-easy enough, given her experience-impressed by the appearance and charisma of the local Progenitor, so they don't realize that she's watching them carefully for any slips. Basic leadership as well-make sure these Progenitor constructs are functioning correctly. Go on the occasional raid against Rogue Council sympathizers. Sure-each raid will turn some moderates into enemies, but knowing who's hostile and who can be counted on to save their own skins now, rather than when North Korea blows up, is a useful tool.​

And it provides new test data. Occasionally, she takes to the field as well. The "Next Generation Humanoid Biomechanical Weapon" Gregor Leon is working on-with help from the Iterators of Belltower's amalgam-not Sanjeet, but Ling and Villaret-it'll incorporate some of her combat data, some of the improvements her body has. It makes her proud of her work. Proud enough that it almost makes up for the million little inconveniences of being highly enhanced.

She's not sure how the Iterators-all three of them-deal with it. Sanjeet says that he's proud of having the opportunity to serve humanity, but she wonders if he actually believes it as much as he claims. He yearns for a connection-to someone who sympathizes, someone who can understand his condition. She's tried to give him one as much as she could. Deal with his mental flaws, his trauma from being resurrected years after the fact. But she's not perfect. And it's heartbreaking to lie to him, to pretend that she's more interested than bemused.

It's not like she hates him, or doesn't care for him. But he wants someone to love, and she can lie to him about it, she can feign interest-she's an operative, after all, not some innocent farmgirl anymore-but she can't live a lie. Not for that long. She's not trained for that. Maybe, she thinks, Ling is interested enough. As interested as a recovering emo-neut can be. Her thoughts distract her until she reaches the safehouse, a nondescript apartment in a nondescript highrise in Tokyo. People don't notice her. She's Chinese, of course, but she's an operative. She can pass for a local. Her Japanese is perfect, the result of hours and hours of sleep-teaching and pDNA injections. She's learned all the little habits, everything that sets foreigners apart from locals. An operative is a human chameleon.

As is whoever she's talking to. The room is poorly lit and designed so that her attention wanders away from the person's face. There is a table there, in the dim light, and she can see the man kneeling there, on the floor. She immediately knows that whoever he is, despite how she can't place his face or his name, he is important. He has to be important. He speaks with the voice of command, of Control. "Operative Li." The person says. He sounds male. Old. European. "Thank you for coming here. Some tea?" He gestures to two cups on the table.

"A pleasure." She takes one. It smells energizing, heady.

"I would like to say-thank you for your service for this long. You are so young-yet you've done so much. In Florida, in Mexico City-your actions have been of significant benefit to the Union." His tone is slightly congratulatory, but not effusive. It makes her even more happy to have served.

"Thank you sir. It was all for the good of the Union. I'm more than thankful I've been allowed to help."

"Certainly, you've accomplished much in your short time here. The death of a major Reality Deviant and obstacle to our plans-I believe you are destined for great things, Ms. Li. Which is why I need you to accomplish this mission for me. This comes from the highest levels of the Union itself." He speaks words, words that no human mouth can speak, words which no human mind should know, words which tell her she should listen.

"Yes, sir." She tries not to be too enthusiastic. "What is it?" Anything for the Union. She loves the Union with all her heart.

"I am aware that there are some... unpredictable elements around. My predictions . I would like for you to find them, and interrogate them as to why they are here." The man puts an envelope on the table. "There will be tools here. Take what you need. Do not kill them or harm them unnecessarily. Whether or not they continue living is something I will decide upon when the time comes. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Yinzheng nods. "Thank you for this chance."

"You have the tools you need here. Good luck, Operative. And do not underestimate your targets." The man walks out, quietly, blending into the throng of people in the bustling metropolis. When Yinzheng gets up, she turns on the lights and checks the house, using her augmented senses. There's a veritable smorgasbord of gear stashed in the apartment-hidden in the walls, in sensor-shielded cases, disguised as mundane items. All old technology, built before the budget cuts of the 21st century. A slim women's watch with an antipersonnel laser and electromagnetic remote system. Jewelry which can be used as lethal weapons. Sets of clothing, her size. The suit jackets reinforced with piezoelectric elements to redirect blows and convert kinetic energy to electrical charge, gloves capable of channeling that charge into lethal electrical attack. A high-end disguise kit, surveillance equipment-and actual weapons. Many of them quite mundane-but she's not a snob about them. She's seen how effective an X-5 or Mjolnir can be.

She gets a call as she's changing, tying her hair back with one of the flex-ties which she can also use as a restraint. "This is Operative Li. Yes?"

"Hey." The voice is nervous. "You said something about karaoke night tonight and I was-" Sanjeet starts. "I was wondering if we were still good for that because I haven't heard anything from you for an hour."

Yinzheng realizes she's spent a while searching the small apartment, taking stock of the equipment there. "Sure. A promise is a promise." She takes out her makeup kit from her purse, goes to the restroom in the apartment. Her hair dye is starting to fade-a side effect of the overaggressive blue goo and alien DNA, and she's noticed silver streaks in it. She'll need to swap out her contacts again, just in case. Otherwise, no issues. She's feeling good-and she's noticed there's quite a stash of the medicines she needs. She guesses that they expect her to possibly be out of touch for a long period of time. "I'll be there in..." she does a quick mental calculation, giving herself enough time to get back to her small private apartment and change, then adds a few minutes to ensure that nobody knows where the safehouse might be. "Forty-five minutes. See you soon."

"Sure." Sanjeet sounds happy about it. "I'll meet you at the door."

Yinzheng tucks the envelope with pictures of Donald Sykes and Rose Ashford into the inside of her jacket. Even as she's singing with her friend-she'll be thinking of how to find them.

***
​

Donald isn't quite sure about the Progenitor he's arranged to meet with. She... doesn't seem like any of the Damage Control agents he's met before. Certainly not in any meaningful way. He's had to deal with them when the SPD... unpleasantries happened. Those men and women were black ops types, gas masks and black tactical gear and no sense of humor. Not... whoever this woman is. Oh, he's sure she's dangerous, but she's much better at hiding it. And when someone who's worked closely with Serafina contacts them out of the blue, it's certainly suspicious. Which is why he has Rose with him-disguised, of course. She's very good at changing herself to match the surroundings. So he's not Financier Sykes, but Mr. Banks again, but a different Mr. Banks, a more suave 007-type with a Mary as arm-candy. He didn't like it, but Rose insisted that it'd be easier for her to be ignored if she was obviously just a Emile instead of a NWO operative.

But it didn't seem any more dangerous to humor the meeting than to avoid it. She's shown up in his searches, in their planning-and this is the safest he'll get, probably. Donald isn't going to destroy himself thinking like a nu-woo type and trying to quadruple-guess everything that can be quadruple-guessed. He'll just trust his instincts-they've steered him well in business deals, they'll probably steer him well this time. And his instincts say this is safe.

The contact is obviously a Progenitor-tall, honey-haired, beautiful. "Hi." She grins as she opens the door and invites them in. "It's great to meet you. Don't worry, I've made sure nobody's around to hear us. I'd like to talk."

"What's your interest?" Donald asks warily. "In my experience most people don't risk their lives and careers at the drop of a hat."

"Well, Mister Banks..." the woman says. "Call me A. I'm just here to tell you a little about what's going on. Keep you on the right track, as it were." She smiles. "I'd be displeased if you wasted most of your time investigating false leads and red herrings. Especially since time is short." She hands him a small flashdrive. "Of course I can shortcut that for you. Out of mutual self-interest. I don't want Professor Leon to finish his project, let's say. It'd be inconvenient for a lot of us. So if you could find something incriminating," she bats her eyelashes at him, "I'd be very grateful."

"So, internal politics." Donald ignores her flirtations. "I'm not seeing why this is so important right now."

"Well, let's just say that everything surrounding him has been a bit suspicious." The woman says, sighing. "He's always been a Progenitor neuroscientist, and they're all... okay, I'll be blunt. They're all assholes. They keep to themselves, they play their games, they use their own experimental augs, sometimes they go mad and we have to stick them in a padded room for a few months, the usual stuff."

Donald can't help but laugh. "That's your life?"

"I spend a lot of time around people with mental instabilities." 'A' deadpans. "And I exaggerate a lot. But anyways. So we have Dr. Gregor Leon. Not very good with people, brilliant but obsessed with one field, has a notable distaste for a certain Dr. Serafina Rosario. Suddenly he becomes popular, he's going into another, entirely different field of artificial lifeform engineering, and he's working with the same Dr. Rosario on it. Or at least cribbing her research notes. Probably the latter, really."

"So he's decided to get some prestige, probably had some social mods done. What's the big deal?" Donald asks. He knows enough to make a guess, but he doesn't want to assume.​

"He's started working on research that's a variant of what Dr. Rosario's last really big project was."

Donald takes his phone out, looks it up. "Organ transplants?"

"No, big project." 'A' says. "Bigger than that."

"EXEMPLAR?"

"Something like that."

Rose fights to keep her feelings under control. Donald reaches over and squeezes her hand. 'A' pretends not to notice. "Why does he want to resurrect a gigantic boondoggle?"
​

"I don't know why." 'A' says. "That's why I want someone to find out. And since you're new here, and you're also interested in the unusual happenings-" yes, Donald thinks, he did present himself as a NWO investigator, thank you Professor Bastion, "-you might be able to get somewhere I can't."

"We will. Thank you for your time. Will you contact us again or-?" Donald starts.

"Definitely." 'A' says, smiling. "But business before pleasure, right? Take care. You and your girlfriend both."

"I'm not sure about this." Rose whispers to Donald when they've left and are safe back at the Tyrant-provided safehouse. They've modified it a bit, of course. Removed all the bugs and listening devices. They're all unanimously agreed that the head of the NWO is probably not going to be angry at that gesture. "She seems familiar. And more than a little odd." She hmms, playing a bit with her hair. "I don't know where I recognize her from, but I feel like I've met her before. Even though I haven't. I think you should be careful."

Donald nods. "I'll be careful."

"Good! You get hurt too often." Rose insists. "You should be more careful."

"Don't remind me." Donald sighs painfully. "I wish I got hurt less too. But I doubt that's going to happen."
​

---

Donald Sykes, Gumshoe:
So, now Donald has met someone who is totally not Alicia and totally has not given him enough information to start off on his investigation. Where exactly do Henriette, Donald, and Rose start?
[ ] There's a few lab assistants and researchers who don't spend their entire time isolated in secured constructs. You could probably find one and take the time to peel some memories out of them.
[ ] The Iteration X subsidiaries have been doing a lot of heavy bioengineering-related simulation work. You could probably have Henriette walk in and talk to some people.
[ ] Maybe you should call someone more important and tell them exactly what's going on here. Like Professor Bastion. (0.5x)
[ ] Or maybe the Rosarios would like to know. (0.5x)
[ ] Write-In