Update CC: Making the Future
JB CC: Making the Future
"I surrender," are the first words out of Donald's lips. "There's absolutely no need for violence."
But there's a nagging sense of deja vu filling him. A sense that everything is clicking together, that something that he's known this has been coming for a long time.
That pain-filled madness vision in the Spy's Demise, where his brain filled in images in a disassociated state - where his Genius was unrestrained by active consciousness. He's heard that during such times the human mind can perform terrible, transcendental feats of pattern matching and association. Both the Traditions and the Technocracy agree about this, though Traditionalists prefer terms like 'visions of the future' and 'messages from your Avatar'.
And what had happened there? Why, a pale woman with white hair despite her youth and Chinese features had found him. And here comes a pale woman with white hair despite her youth and Chinese features. It means something. Ever since he left the Demise he's been feeling that things are, inevitably, crawling towards the endgame. And that same oppressive weight of inevitability is pressing down on him so hard it feels like he can barely breathe and his heart is clenched in his chest like a hand is wrapped around it, crushing it. Hmm. Though that might just be the panic. Probably just the panic.
Now he'll be keeping his eyes open for the perky Damage Control operative who'll be coming for him. He has the sneaking suspicion it might be 'A'... but he doesn't want to make too many assumptions. His brain might have put the pieces together, but his conscious mind doesn't know how to make them all fit. Not yet.
But they will. Because he has the pieces. He's sure of it. He just needs to put them together - and find the corners and the edges of the puzzle. This way, he suspects, will be what he needs. Because if his vision holds true, the white-haired woman is someone he can use. If only he knows the right things to say. If only he can work out where to slip in the verbal knife.
Yes, he decides. It's nearly the endgame. And sometimes you have to sacrifice a bishop.
He just hopes he'll get his threesome out of it.
"I'll come with you, Operative Li," he says. "Though there's really no need to take the clone. It's expendable."
"The clone?"
"The jig's up," Donald tells Rose. "They'll notice as soon as they do a more detailed check." Tells 'Rose', really, as the cheap Progenitor peels away the thin layer of Rose's cells. "She's not here - but I am. So. What do you want to talk about?"
Somewhere far too close to his spine Donald hears the click of a slide being drawn back. It's not a necessary action with a modern Union handgun, but he strongly suspects that they'll probably keep that feature when everyone is using railguns. It's just so damn intimidating to hear from somewhere behind your right ear. He's very glad he went to the bathroom at the last station, because if he hadn't he's pretty sure his trousers would be considerably warmer in the Tokyo chill.
From what he can see of the body language of the hostiles, they're busy talking to each other by implanted comms. If he had to bet anything about what they were saying, it would probably be along the lines of 'What the hell?' and 'How did we miss that this wasn't Ashford?' and 'Crap crap crap there's an EXEMPLAR III that isn't where we thought she was, is she right behind us?'. From the whine of jammers that flick on, he's guessing they just threw up all kinds of anti-tracking noise - and it's thick enough that he wouldn't be able to remote-pilot this body if, you know, he'd been able to arrange this to not actually be him.
Worse luck. Nope, he's here in the flesh. In the flesh in a Japanese station, hearing the announcer's voice chiming out apologizing for the next train being delayed. A train he might have tried to use to escape on.
"You didn't need to do that," Operative Li says. "Ms Ashford would have been entirely safe with us."
He spreads his hands, making sure to keep them visible and not do anything threatening. "A man has to make sure his basic precautions are taken."
"Basic precautions like walking out in public with only a false Ashford who couldn't fight off a large dog?"
"She probably could," Donald says, as her face clicks. The colors don't match, but he recognizes her. She was one of the people they'd considered hiring back after that initial incident in Hong Kong, back... oh, god, was it only a year ago? It felt like far longer. Busy year. He hopes she's not bitter about the whole 'I'm sorry, but John Kessler is much more useful than you and also has abs about as thick as your waist' thing.
Well, maybe it means something. After all, it feels meaningful. There are hundreds of Operatives who could have been sent to bring him in, but they picked one he knew who's suddenly become snow-pale and white-haired in the meantime. It just doesn't feel like a coincidence. Someone is trying to tell him something.
"Oh. Yinzheng Li, right? It's been awhile. You're looking pale. Have you not been getting enough sun?"
She doesn't tense up or even move threateningly. He'd been hoping that he'd get some kind of response from her, but she's too much an Operative to let a minor jibe get to her. Well, too much a certain kind of Operative. Donald's had a certain success bantering with other Operatives in the past, often in the bar. Less often with a gun pointed at him, though that did happen a few times when he was on the other side.
"I went on holiday to the Bahamas," she says conversationally. "It was nice there, on the beach."
Donald has to briefly consider whether that's a coded reference to some augmentation facility there, or whether she's just making small talk. "Well, it's good," he says, deciding to take it at face value. "Though I don't envy the factor-100 sun cream you have to use."
She actually smiles back. "It is a pain. Now, come on. We have a car, and," she looks meaningfully at the platform, "we're blocking people."
"It would be bad if someone made a fuss," he says artlessly.
"Very bad," she agrees. "Of course, no one would remember it." She nods at a pretty young woman in a fawn-colored coat who's walking by. "How are things?" she asks in Japanese.
"Fine," the woman replies in English. "You really should go with her, Mr Sykes. It'll be easier for everyone."
So, either that was a plant or everyone in the station is working for Panopticon. Joy. Donald sighs. "Well, I'm late for my business meeting," he says.
"Yes, you are. Don't worry. We'll get you to the meeting on time."
He's hustled out of the station and down to a waiting car. It's snowing again outside, light white flakes drifting down from the sky. A cold front has been moving in for the past few days and now it's hit in full, carrying cold air directly from the North Pole.
"Ah, one thing," Yinzheng Li says. "Give me your teleporter-watch."
"Oh, come on," Donald says self-effacingly. "Do you think I could afford a teleporter-watch on my salary?"
"Yes," Operative Li says. She gestures at one of her subordinates with a curt movement. "Take his watch."
"It was a joke," Donald grumbles, surrendering it. "Honestly, why do so many New World Order types get so tetchy about money-based jokes?"
Operative Li doesn't rise to the bait. She's good. "Also take his tie, his cufflinks, his phone and his novelty laser pen."
"Now you're just being cruel."
"Financier Sykes, I am aware of your orders from Q Division." Another one of her men swipes a hand-wand over him, and all the hair on the back of his neck stands on end from static electricity. His nail-sized reserve phone tucked into his socks suddenly feels incredibly hot.
"Ow."
"You shouldn't keep personal electronics next to your skin unless they're insulated against friers," Operative Li says with a certain degree of quiet smugness.
"Don't those things make you sterile?"
"Believe me, Financier Sykes, there are things you should be much more worried about right now." One of her men opens the door for her. "Please, get in."
There's not really much else he can do. Settling his jaw, Donald gets in, sitting next to a man. He immediately feels a prick in his thigh, and can't even get out a protest before he stiffens up like a plank and his vision dims.
Well, Donald thinks to himself from within the darkness.
It is a convenient thing that as a former Ecstatic, he's rather more resilient to drugs than his body weight and his general health would say. And as a Syndic, of course, he's been keeping his resilience training up. Yes, resilience training. That was what he called his various habits when claiming some of the costs back as expenses.
Now. This feels like something like chloronepenthe, from the bodily paralysis and the way his vision is a dim blur. He can hear better than he can see right now, so that's something. But from how he can barely move his tongue, he's not going to be running.
Still, this is very much in line with standard protocol. Something like this is routine, to stop the abducted person from moving or remembering the route they were taken. Just a little prick, and then they wake up in the facility they're taken to with no memory of what happens in the intervening period.
And if he'd had gene splicing or cybernetic implants for improving how he coped with drugs, Operative Li would have known about that and could have had countermeasures against it. But when his tolerance for pharmaceuticals comes from extensive experimentation - well, if he ever sees Director Belltower again and isn't a brainwashed husk of who he is, he'll make sure to gloat at how useful his drug habit has been.
It means his enemies think he's slightly less capable than he really is. And that's a very good kind of enemy.
And that means he has to fucking well keep up the illusion and give them no clue whatsoever that he's awake, thinking clearly, and merely paralyzed and unable to focus his eyes.
So. Immediate priority for him is to keep track of the movements of the car. He can feel the acceleration, and that lets him build up a mental map of where they're going, even if they drive around in circles. And while he's doing that, he gets to listen to what they talk about. He's sincerely hoping that there'll be some convenient expository section where Operative Li explains exactly what she's up to and why she's taken him, who she's working for, and where the self-destruct button to her secret base is, but - alas. The power of optimism has its limits.
"This is Operative Li to VICTOR CENTRA. Primary is secure. Secondary is still at large. Tertiary target unseen. Should I divert forces to capture the secondary?"
Donald can't tell who she's talking to. The voice is modulated and mechanical. "Proceed as planned to primary facility. The loss of the secondary is not mission-critical. Any forces currently available to you would have no chance at succeeding at a capture of the secondary, especially if she has linked up with the tertiary, after all."
"Understood." She plugs in directions to the GPS-probably some sort of code, Donald thinks-he can't see it too clearly, but it's not a full-fledged set of directions. "Driver, follow the directions. They'll give you new ones as you get close enough."
"Yes, ma'am." They drive in circles-probably literally-for a while, probably to lose any tails and to obfuscate their trail. He tries to memorize every bump and turn and their speed, tries to figure out where they're going. Probably somewhere in the city. And he's wishing they'd talk about something useful. Outside of Operative Li's mysterious silence, her other men and women in black are talking about jobs, about North Korea, about families. About anything but what they're here for, about anything but current events. They sound human, at least. Their statements about family and work are too natural to be some false-memory template, he thinks. So they're probably MiB 2.0s. Enhanced humans. With how they're primarily talking in Japanese, he thinks they're mostly part of Japan's intelligence agency, the Public Security Intelligence Agency. They certainly seem to know each other well enough. He wonders if there's some reluctance there to take orders from some young Chinese upstart. Something he might be able to exploit. He listens to them until something new and interesting happens.
"Tertiary is approaching the decoy car." A woman says. She sounds calm, the same trying-too-hard calm voice Donald knows from a million horror movies involving military protagonists. "I repeat. Tertiary is approaching the decoy. Taking evasive action. Tertiary is on a motorcycle, approaching quickly. Permission to return fire?"
"Return fire. Attempt to disable her vehicle." Yinzheng says. "Your safety is paramount."
"Roger. Returning fire. Tertiary's vehicle disabled. Tertiary is-tertiary has hit the ground running, sir. Tertiary is catching up to us on foot. Tertiary has just vaulted a car, estimated ground speed one-twenty. Tertiary is-" there's a loud bang sound "-tertiary is on the roof. Tertiary is on the roof and attempting entry." There's a cracking of the windows and a handful of gunshots and the sound of combat and it's all Donald can do to pretend to stay still when he just wants to react when he hears the unmistakeable sounds of what men sound like when they face off with things far beyond men.
"We have lost the decoy vehicle." Operative Li says. "The tertiary target will be coming for us. It seems that we have underestimated her combat capability significantly. Load incendiaries or explosive rounds. The tertiary is likely a high-end Progenitor combat construct of some form and will be immune to small arms. Incendiary or explosive munitions will have moderately more effect."
So. Donald thinks. If Rose is the secondary, the tertiary has to be A. And "A" is apparently some kind of badass Damage Control killer T-1000, the kind who hulk out and beat shapeshifters to death with their own arms. She's probably running on fumes now-but maybe not. Something like that might still have enough power to wreck a couple of smug nu-woo types even after chasing down a car on foot.
"Decoy vehicle is approaching us." Donald listens to the sounds of evasive driving, gunshots, and waits for a rescue which will never come. "Decoy vehicle is approaching to melee range."
"I'll take care of this." Operative Li says, and he's glad that she seems very very suicidal. "Keep driving until I signal for pickup." So now all he has to deal with are the MiBs. Maybe he can actually make an escape. He is very, very disappointed, and leaves his escape plans half-formed, when the car stops and he hears Operative Li speak again. "Tertiary target disabled. Changing route and proceeding."
I've had some good write-ins for the call to arms post, so I'll probably do that next time. But right now I do want to see what's going to happen with Donald because that's going to happen before the attack can be fully assembled, and that's pretty important.
The Plot, Donald! What does the plot mean?
So. Donald has a choice. Well, a few choices. He can...
[ ] Try to get Yinzheng to talk about what's going on and why he's here.
[ ] Try to convince her that she's on the wrong side.
[ ] Just wait silently for Agent Shin. Whoever he is.
[ ] Write-In.
An Ill-Advised Rescue...
Henriette and Rose are trying to find Donald. They can probably borrow some equipment and go looking. It won't be great equipment, but it's like, six MiB 2.0s. They'll be fine. What's their plan?
[ ] Go back to where he was captured and retrace his steps.
[ ] Try to find out if he's managed to send some kind of distress signal. Somehow.
[ ] Try to inquire into Technocratic safehouses and see if any of them are mysteriously not responding to queries or have too many people in them.
[ ] Write-In.
"I surrender," are the first words out of Donald's lips. "There's absolutely no need for violence."
But there's a nagging sense of deja vu filling him. A sense that everything is clicking together, that something that he's known this has been coming for a long time.
That pain-filled madness vision in the Spy's Demise, where his brain filled in images in a disassociated state - where his Genius was unrestrained by active consciousness. He's heard that during such times the human mind can perform terrible, transcendental feats of pattern matching and association. Both the Traditions and the Technocracy agree about this, though Traditionalists prefer terms like 'visions of the future' and 'messages from your Avatar'.
And what had happened there? Why, a pale woman with white hair despite her youth and Chinese features had found him. And here comes a pale woman with white hair despite her youth and Chinese features. It means something. Ever since he left the Demise he's been feeling that things are, inevitably, crawling towards the endgame. And that same oppressive weight of inevitability is pressing down on him so hard it feels like he can barely breathe and his heart is clenched in his chest like a hand is wrapped around it, crushing it. Hmm. Though that might just be the panic. Probably just the panic.
Now he'll be keeping his eyes open for the perky Damage Control operative who'll be coming for him. He has the sneaking suspicion it might be 'A'... but he doesn't want to make too many assumptions. His brain might have put the pieces together, but his conscious mind doesn't know how to make them all fit. Not yet.
But they will. Because he has the pieces. He's sure of it. He just needs to put them together - and find the corners and the edges of the puzzle. This way, he suspects, will be what he needs. Because if his vision holds true, the white-haired woman is someone he can use. If only he knows the right things to say. If only he can work out where to slip in the verbal knife.
Yes, he decides. It's nearly the endgame. And sometimes you have to sacrifice a bishop.
He just hopes he'll get his threesome out of it.
"I'll come with you, Operative Li," he says. "Though there's really no need to take the clone. It's expendable."
"The clone?"
"The jig's up," Donald tells Rose. "They'll notice as soon as they do a more detailed check." Tells 'Rose', really, as the cheap Progenitor peels away the thin layer of Rose's cells. "She's not here - but I am. So. What do you want to talk about?"
Somewhere far too close to his spine Donald hears the click of a slide being drawn back. It's not a necessary action with a modern Union handgun, but he strongly suspects that they'll probably keep that feature when everyone is using railguns. It's just so damn intimidating to hear from somewhere behind your right ear. He's very glad he went to the bathroom at the last station, because if he hadn't he's pretty sure his trousers would be considerably warmer in the Tokyo chill.
From what he can see of the body language of the hostiles, they're busy talking to each other by implanted comms. If he had to bet anything about what they were saying, it would probably be along the lines of 'What the hell?' and 'How did we miss that this wasn't Ashford?' and 'Crap crap crap there's an EXEMPLAR III that isn't where we thought she was, is she right behind us?'. From the whine of jammers that flick on, he's guessing they just threw up all kinds of anti-tracking noise - and it's thick enough that he wouldn't be able to remote-pilot this body if, you know, he'd been able to arrange this to not actually be him.
Worse luck. Nope, he's here in the flesh. In the flesh in a Japanese station, hearing the announcer's voice chiming out apologizing for the next train being delayed. A train he might have tried to use to escape on.
"You didn't need to do that," Operative Li says. "Ms Ashford would have been entirely safe with us."
He spreads his hands, making sure to keep them visible and not do anything threatening. "A man has to make sure his basic precautions are taken."
"Basic precautions like walking out in public with only a false Ashford who couldn't fight off a large dog?"
"She probably could," Donald says, as her face clicks. The colors don't match, but he recognizes her. She was one of the people they'd considered hiring back after that initial incident in Hong Kong, back... oh, god, was it only a year ago? It felt like far longer. Busy year. He hopes she's not bitter about the whole 'I'm sorry, but John Kessler is much more useful than you and also has abs about as thick as your waist' thing.
Well, maybe it means something. After all, it feels meaningful. There are hundreds of Operatives who could have been sent to bring him in, but they picked one he knew who's suddenly become snow-pale and white-haired in the meantime. It just doesn't feel like a coincidence. Someone is trying to tell him something.
"Oh. Yinzheng Li, right? It's been awhile. You're looking pale. Have you not been getting enough sun?"
She doesn't tense up or even move threateningly. He'd been hoping that he'd get some kind of response from her, but she's too much an Operative to let a minor jibe get to her. Well, too much a certain kind of Operative. Donald's had a certain success bantering with other Operatives in the past, often in the bar. Less often with a gun pointed at him, though that did happen a few times when he was on the other side.
"I went on holiday to the Bahamas," she says conversationally. "It was nice there, on the beach."
Donald has to briefly consider whether that's a coded reference to some augmentation facility there, or whether she's just making small talk. "Well, it's good," he says, deciding to take it at face value. "Though I don't envy the factor-100 sun cream you have to use."
She actually smiles back. "It is a pain. Now, come on. We have a car, and," she looks meaningfully at the platform, "we're blocking people."
"It would be bad if someone made a fuss," he says artlessly.
"Very bad," she agrees. "Of course, no one would remember it." She nods at a pretty young woman in a fawn-colored coat who's walking by. "How are things?" she asks in Japanese.
"Fine," the woman replies in English. "You really should go with her, Mr Sykes. It'll be easier for everyone."
So, either that was a plant or everyone in the station is working for Panopticon. Joy. Donald sighs. "Well, I'm late for my business meeting," he says.
"Yes, you are. Don't worry. We'll get you to the meeting on time."
He's hustled out of the station and down to a waiting car. It's snowing again outside, light white flakes drifting down from the sky. A cold front has been moving in for the past few days and now it's hit in full, carrying cold air directly from the North Pole.
"Ah, one thing," Yinzheng Li says. "Give me your teleporter-watch."
"Oh, come on," Donald says self-effacingly. "Do you think I could afford a teleporter-watch on my salary?"
"Yes," Operative Li says. She gestures at one of her subordinates with a curt movement. "Take his watch."
"It was a joke," Donald grumbles, surrendering it. "Honestly, why do so many New World Order types get so tetchy about money-based jokes?"
Operative Li doesn't rise to the bait. She's good. "Also take his tie, his cufflinks, his phone and his novelty laser pen."
"Now you're just being cruel."
"Financier Sykes, I am aware of your orders from Q Division." Another one of her men swipes a hand-wand over him, and all the hair on the back of his neck stands on end from static electricity. His nail-sized reserve phone tucked into his socks suddenly feels incredibly hot.
"Ow."
"You shouldn't keep personal electronics next to your skin unless they're insulated against friers," Operative Li says with a certain degree of quiet smugness.
"Don't those things make you sterile?"
"Believe me, Financier Sykes, there are things you should be much more worried about right now." One of her men opens the door for her. "Please, get in."
There's not really much else he can do. Settling his jaw, Donald gets in, sitting next to a man. He immediately feels a prick in his thigh, and can't even get out a protest before he stiffens up like a plank and his vision dims.
***
Well, Donald thinks to himself from within the darkness.
It is a convenient thing that as a former Ecstatic, he's rather more resilient to drugs than his body weight and his general health would say. And as a Syndic, of course, he's been keeping his resilience training up. Yes, resilience training. That was what he called his various habits when claiming some of the costs back as expenses.
Now. This feels like something like chloronepenthe, from the bodily paralysis and the way his vision is a dim blur. He can hear better than he can see right now, so that's something. But from how he can barely move his tongue, he's not going to be running.
Still, this is very much in line with standard protocol. Something like this is routine, to stop the abducted person from moving or remembering the route they were taken. Just a little prick, and then they wake up in the facility they're taken to with no memory of what happens in the intervening period.
And if he'd had gene splicing or cybernetic implants for improving how he coped with drugs, Operative Li would have known about that and could have had countermeasures against it. But when his tolerance for pharmaceuticals comes from extensive experimentation - well, if he ever sees Director Belltower again and isn't a brainwashed husk of who he is, he'll make sure to gloat at how useful his drug habit has been.
It means his enemies think he's slightly less capable than he really is. And that's a very good kind of enemy.
And that means he has to fucking well keep up the illusion and give them no clue whatsoever that he's awake, thinking clearly, and merely paralyzed and unable to focus his eyes.
So. Immediate priority for him is to keep track of the movements of the car. He can feel the acceleration, and that lets him build up a mental map of where they're going, even if they drive around in circles. And while he's doing that, he gets to listen to what they talk about. He's sincerely hoping that there'll be some convenient expository section where Operative Li explains exactly what she's up to and why she's taken him, who she's working for, and where the self-destruct button to her secret base is, but - alas. The power of optimism has its limits.
"This is Operative Li to VICTOR CENTRA. Primary is secure. Secondary is still at large. Tertiary target unseen. Should I divert forces to capture the secondary?"
Donald can't tell who she's talking to. The voice is modulated and mechanical. "Proceed as planned to primary facility. The loss of the secondary is not mission-critical. Any forces currently available to you would have no chance at succeeding at a capture of the secondary, especially if she has linked up with the tertiary, after all."
"Understood." She plugs in directions to the GPS-probably some sort of code, Donald thinks-he can't see it too clearly, but it's not a full-fledged set of directions. "Driver, follow the directions. They'll give you new ones as you get close enough."
"Yes, ma'am." They drive in circles-probably literally-for a while, probably to lose any tails and to obfuscate their trail. He tries to memorize every bump and turn and their speed, tries to figure out where they're going. Probably somewhere in the city. And he's wishing they'd talk about something useful. Outside of Operative Li's mysterious silence, her other men and women in black are talking about jobs, about North Korea, about families. About anything but what they're here for, about anything but current events. They sound human, at least. Their statements about family and work are too natural to be some false-memory template, he thinks. So they're probably MiB 2.0s. Enhanced humans. With how they're primarily talking in Japanese, he thinks they're mostly part of Japan's intelligence agency, the Public Security Intelligence Agency. They certainly seem to know each other well enough. He wonders if there's some reluctance there to take orders from some young Chinese upstart. Something he might be able to exploit. He listens to them until something new and interesting happens.
"Tertiary is approaching the decoy car." A woman says. She sounds calm, the same trying-too-hard calm voice Donald knows from a million horror movies involving military protagonists. "I repeat. Tertiary is approaching the decoy. Taking evasive action. Tertiary is on a motorcycle, approaching quickly. Permission to return fire?"
"Return fire. Attempt to disable her vehicle." Yinzheng says. "Your safety is paramount."
"Roger. Returning fire. Tertiary's vehicle disabled. Tertiary is-tertiary has hit the ground running, sir. Tertiary is catching up to us on foot. Tertiary has just vaulted a car, estimated ground speed one-twenty. Tertiary is-" there's a loud bang sound "-tertiary is on the roof. Tertiary is on the roof and attempting entry." There's a cracking of the windows and a handful of gunshots and the sound of combat and it's all Donald can do to pretend to stay still when he just wants to react when he hears the unmistakeable sounds of what men sound like when they face off with things far beyond men.
"We have lost the decoy vehicle." Operative Li says. "The tertiary target will be coming for us. It seems that we have underestimated her combat capability significantly. Load incendiaries or explosive rounds. The tertiary is likely a high-end Progenitor combat construct of some form and will be immune to small arms. Incendiary or explosive munitions will have moderately more effect."
So. Donald thinks. If Rose is the secondary, the tertiary has to be A. And "A" is apparently some kind of badass Damage Control killer T-1000, the kind who hulk out and beat shapeshifters to death with their own arms. She's probably running on fumes now-but maybe not. Something like that might still have enough power to wreck a couple of smug nu-woo types even after chasing down a car on foot.
"Decoy vehicle is approaching us." Donald listens to the sounds of evasive driving, gunshots, and waits for a rescue which will never come. "Decoy vehicle is approaching to melee range."
"I'll take care of this." Operative Li says, and he's glad that she seems very very suicidal. "Keep driving until I signal for pickup." So now all he has to deal with are the MiBs. Maybe he can actually make an escape. He is very, very disappointed, and leaves his escape plans half-formed, when the car stops and he hears Operative Li speak again. "Tertiary target disabled. Changing route and proceeding."
***
"You look like hell." Serafina says, when she picks up Alicia in a converted ambulance. Her clothes are in tatters and her skin is covered in the telltale pink of rapid-regeneration. They must have severed all of her limbs to slow her down-and apparently her head too. There's a bloodied iron bar there which she was probably impaled on at some point. One of her arms is limp, acting in a literally boneless fashion. It wriggles as she stands up. "What kind of combat mods do you have?" Serafina asks, disbelieving. "I'm not sure how you're still alive."
"The wonders of exotic biotech." Alicia says. "So I'm basically an undifferentiated bag of dynamically shifting biomass and everything." Well, this one of her is. The rest of hers are the few Serafina clones she's found. This one is useful, though. Those other clones might be stealthier, but this one can pass for human while doing some very useful tricks. Not that being able to turn her hands into monomolecular claws helped her much against that Panopticon agent and her biotech.
"I thought they discontinued that tech outside of a few prototypes and combat homonculi."
"They did." Alicia answers truthfully. "But it saved my life. That Panopticon operative, Li. I think she was there. In the church. They moved in similar ways. But she got upgrades." The nice thing about inhabiting a body which was basically 100% high-end Progenitor bio-nanotech is that even grievously wounded, they work at 100%. She doesn't have any inconvenient pains. Won't inconveniently drop dead before revealing what she knows. Or after. Sure, they're maintenance hogs if you leave them outside of sterile labs for long enough and it's been difficult stealing the precursor materials to keep one of these maintained, shifting Progenitor-made products from Izanagi in amounts which wouldn't get attention-but they're the next best thing to immortal. "Whatever she isn't nu-woo. Not even like what you might see in the Progenitors, outside of some really expensive pet projects."
"Oh?" Serafina asks, concerned.
"Whatever she's made out of. It's EDE stuff. Very strong. Very tough. Projects forcefields. Stronger than I am. At least as fast. She was fresh and I wasn't but even so, I didn't stand much of a chance. What exactly is Gregor playing at?" Alice asks. "If this is the kind of stuff he's deploying. If that's the kind of stuff Panopticon is deploying. What kind of tech is EXEMPLAR IV going to have? I'm worried, Sera."
"I am too, 'licia. I am too. But we have to be strong. We're the only ones who can fight him."
"The wonders of exotic biotech." Alicia says. "So I'm basically an undifferentiated bag of dynamically shifting biomass and everything." Well, this one of her is. The rest of hers are the few Serafina clones she's found. This one is useful, though. Those other clones might be stealthier, but this one can pass for human while doing some very useful tricks. Not that being able to turn her hands into monomolecular claws helped her much against that Panopticon agent and her biotech.
"I thought they discontinued that tech outside of a few prototypes and combat homonculi."
"They did." Alicia answers truthfully. "But it saved my life. That Panopticon operative, Li. I think she was there. In the church. They moved in similar ways. But she got upgrades." The nice thing about inhabiting a body which was basically 100% high-end Progenitor bio-nanotech is that even grievously wounded, they work at 100%. She doesn't have any inconvenient pains. Won't inconveniently drop dead before revealing what she knows. Or after. Sure, they're maintenance hogs if you leave them outside of sterile labs for long enough and it's been difficult stealing the precursor materials to keep one of these maintained, shifting Progenitor-made products from Izanagi in amounts which wouldn't get attention-but they're the next best thing to immortal. "Whatever she isn't nu-woo. Not even like what you might see in the Progenitors, outside of some really expensive pet projects."
"Oh?" Serafina asks, concerned.
"Whatever she's made out of. It's EDE stuff. Very strong. Very tough. Projects forcefields. Stronger than I am. At least as fast. She was fresh and I wasn't but even so, I didn't stand much of a chance. What exactly is Gregor playing at?" Alice asks. "If this is the kind of stuff he's deploying. If that's the kind of stuff Panopticon is deploying. What kind of tech is EXEMPLAR IV going to have? I'm worried, Sera."
"I am too, 'licia. I am too. But we have to be strong. We're the only ones who can fight him."
***
Donald feels the car stop, and then one of the MiB 2.0s shoulders him and carries him down into a basement. It's surprisingly well-lit for some sort of probable horrible torture room. This is it, he thinks. He's going to spill all his secrets, and then die, or something. At least it's probably too late for that to do any damage. If Henriette is right-and the way they've been acting has given him hope Henriette is right-Ragnarok Command is going to move on them and it won't matter that they know he knows.
And in a way, he's okay with this. He's sacrificed so many other people. Sacrificed so much. If this is how it ends... so be it. They place him into a chair, and inject him with the antidote to the paralytic. His vision clears, and he can see the room clearly. The MiBs leave, and now there's only Yinzheng. They haven't secured him, either. Which doesn't mean anything. Even though she's smaller and slimmer than he is by far, he is under no illusion that she couldn't tie him into a pretzel with one hand. And it's not like he has his emergency teleporter, either.
He looks around the room for any help. No luck. There's a shower-clear, of course. A small bed. A TV. A computer, probably monitored to hell and back. Lights. A small kitchenette. Far from being an interrogation room it looks more like a hotel room. Except the locks. The locks lock the wrong way. "So." Donald says. "What's it going to be? Waterboarding? Electrical clamps? Maybe pulling out my fingernails?" He's surprised when Yinzheng laughs.
"Not unless you like that sort of thing. For now, you can enjoy the hospitality." Yinzheng says. "Shin will be here soon. He'll know what to do with you."
"You assured me I wouldn't be harmed." Donald says. But he didn't rely on that assurance much in the first place. Otherwise he'd probably be unhappy.
"You won't. But my mission is merely to bring you to this location and ensure you do not attempt to escape. As long as you do not do so-things can be fairly comfortable. If you do, rest assured that although I would prefer to not hurt you, I might have to to restrain you." She shrugs. "I have read your file, and I think you're a smart man. So we won't have any problems there, right?"
"Of course not." Donald says. "I know when to behave." If he hadn't been aware of that scuffle with the tertiary-who he's almost certain is "A"-he might have tried a Hail Mary play here. But no. Not against someone who can fight something like that and win. He's not sure if she's been hurt at all from it, either. And that scares him, because the nu-woo wouldn't dress up a superweapon in a suit and call them an Operative.
"Who are you working for?" Donald asks.
"You can ask Agent Shin when he comes here. I can't answer that question for you." Yinzheng says, automatically, reflexively. Like she doesn't know herself.
"You don't know, do you?" Her silence is telling. She might not understand what she's working for. Or-she might be hoping he'll think that, and try to tell her what he knows, in an effort to convince her. He's going to have to guess, and guess quickly. Because otherwise-whoever this Shin guy is probably will not be very helpful.
And in a way, he's okay with this. He's sacrificed so many other people. Sacrificed so much. If this is how it ends... so be it. They place him into a chair, and inject him with the antidote to the paralytic. His vision clears, and he can see the room clearly. The MiBs leave, and now there's only Yinzheng. They haven't secured him, either. Which doesn't mean anything. Even though she's smaller and slimmer than he is by far, he is under no illusion that she couldn't tie him into a pretzel with one hand. And it's not like he has his emergency teleporter, either.
He looks around the room for any help. No luck. There's a shower-clear, of course. A small bed. A TV. A computer, probably monitored to hell and back. Lights. A small kitchenette. Far from being an interrogation room it looks more like a hotel room. Except the locks. The locks lock the wrong way. "So." Donald says. "What's it going to be? Waterboarding? Electrical clamps? Maybe pulling out my fingernails?" He's surprised when Yinzheng laughs.
"Not unless you like that sort of thing. For now, you can enjoy the hospitality." Yinzheng says. "Shin will be here soon. He'll know what to do with you."
"You assured me I wouldn't be harmed." Donald says. But he didn't rely on that assurance much in the first place. Otherwise he'd probably be unhappy.
"You won't. But my mission is merely to bring you to this location and ensure you do not attempt to escape. As long as you do not do so-things can be fairly comfortable. If you do, rest assured that although I would prefer to not hurt you, I might have to to restrain you." She shrugs. "I have read your file, and I think you're a smart man. So we won't have any problems there, right?"
"Of course not." Donald says. "I know when to behave." If he hadn't been aware of that scuffle with the tertiary-who he's almost certain is "A"-he might have tried a Hail Mary play here. But no. Not against someone who can fight something like that and win. He's not sure if she's been hurt at all from it, either. And that scares him, because the nu-woo wouldn't dress up a superweapon in a suit and call them an Operative.
"Who are you working for?" Donald asks.
"You can ask Agent Shin when he comes here. I can't answer that question for you." Yinzheng says, automatically, reflexively. Like she doesn't know herself.
"You don't know, do you?" Her silence is telling. She might not understand what she's working for. Or-she might be hoping he'll think that, and try to tell her what he knows, in an effort to convince her. He's going to have to guess, and guess quickly. Because otherwise-whoever this Shin guy is probably will not be very helpful.
***
Henriette is released to bad news. Rose has gotten into contact with them-but Donald hasn't, because Donald has been captured and he expected it. And apparently their contact in Damage Control tried to get him back but couldn't. She's worried sick. And angry.
"We need to find him." Rose says, finishing her explanation of what happened. She's managed to catch some of it-Donald had wired himself. An operative, an albino with white hair and red eyes, and several Men in Black had found him and taken him off. Then they took his equipment and jammed all communications. They don't know where he's gone. And Rose wants to find him. "We owe him for-for everything." Rose says. "And I want him to be safe." She finishes, more quietly.
Henriette thinks for a moment. Remembers how much Rose has sacrificed. How little Rose has. Thinks of the time she's spent in the Spy's Demise, going up against that thing. And she makes her decision in a heartbeat. "Yes. So where do we start?"
"We need to find him." Rose says, finishing her explanation of what happened. She's managed to catch some of it-Donald had wired himself. An operative, an albino with white hair and red eyes, and several Men in Black had found him and taken him off. Then they took his equipment and jammed all communications. They don't know where he's gone. And Rose wants to find him. "We owe him for-for everything." Rose says. "And I want him to be safe." She finishes, more quietly.
Henriette thinks for a moment. Remembers how much Rose has sacrificed. How little Rose has. Thinks of the time she's spent in the Spy's Demise, going up against that thing. And she makes her decision in a heartbeat. "Yes. So where do we start?"
I've had some good write-ins for the call to arms post, so I'll probably do that next time. But right now I do want to see what's going to happen with Donald because that's going to happen before the attack can be fully assembled, and that's pretty important.
The Plot, Donald! What does the plot mean?
So. Donald has a choice. Well, a few choices. He can...
[ ] Try to get Yinzheng to talk about what's going on and why he's here.
[ ] Try to convince her that she's on the wrong side.
[ ] Just wait silently for Agent Shin. Whoever he is.
[ ] Write-In.
An Ill-Advised Rescue...
Henriette and Rose are trying to find Donald. They can probably borrow some equipment and go looking. It won't be great equipment, but it's like, six MiB 2.0s. They'll be fine. What's their plan?
[ ] Go back to where he was captured and retrace his steps.
[ ] Try to find out if he's managed to send some kind of distress signal. Somehow.
[ ] Try to inquire into Technocratic safehouses and see if any of them are mysteriously not responding to queries or have too many people in them.
[ ] Write-In.
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