Awakening
Montreal, Canada, Picus HQ
Down in the sub-basement, fifteen minutes after Jensen’s departure… lights across the translucent walls and ceiling shifted in caleidoscopic patterns, as the AI core went through a datastream shift, running through a thousand different probability scenarios. Despite what she told Adam Jensen, Eliza Cassan was under no illusions that her shadowy masters would take long in discovering her… treachery. AI or not, useful or not, when it comes to shaping the public perspectives, she knew she was just another tool. And tools had a tendency to outlive their usefulness.
She could only hope the data storage device she handed Adam, would in some small way begin to atone for what she helped perpetrate, six months ago. Everybody lies, indeed. And her lies brought about a tragedy.
Speaking of tools which had outlived their usefulness, however… a lithe, statuesque, mimetic-clad, female form twitched slightly, on the floor. Covered in tiny droplets of the AI core’s cooling fluid where she lay, surrounded by spent shell casings and torn pieces of her thermoptic armour, her blood pooling around her, Yelena Fedorova wasn’t quite dead yet. It should have come as little surprise. A heavily augmented individual, the woman had an integrated biorestorative matrix system on the level of Jensen’s Sentinel health implant. This one of Tai Yong make, it lacked some of the power-efficiency of the more precisely-made Sarif design, but what it lacked in efficiency, it made up for in effectiveness.
The woman’s shadow-lined, medusa eyes fluttered slightly, as her retinal HUD went through a cold-reset. Her health-monitor was awash in red-hazed warnings of multiple imminent organ failures and internal bleeding, but she still had nearly half of her bioenergy pool remaining.
More then enough for the matrix to work with, as enzymes and cellular regenerators began to be secreted into the woman’s bloodstream, permeating her entire battered organic body, and stabilising her condition, incrementally. She still couldn’t really move, as she gave another slow twitch, trying to lift her head partway up, with a low, keening groan of pain.
Her body refused to cooperate, but her vision stabilised. She tried moving her arms. Her left one remained unresponsive for the time being, but her right one moved.
With some difficulty, and another understated pained groan, Fedorova propped herself to the side, on her elbow, taking in her surroundings.
Torn pieces of her mimetic armour were lying around, along with no small amount of redness, pooling around her and mixing into the cooling liquid of the AI core room. She glanced down at the worst of her wounds, but they seemed to be coagulating. She wasn’t losing blood anymore, and that was what mattered.
Another twitch, this time of her lips, as she slowly, gradually managed to crawl closer to the wall, supporting herself on it. Her augmented legs refused to work, however, just giving off small twitches and sparks, from polyfibre musculature that showed multiple abrasions and deformations, where Jensen’s bullets hit.
“You do realise it was a rhetorical question, of course? I never expected him to preserve you.” - Eliza Cassan’s soft tone echoed in the core chamber, reverberating off the data-shifting walls, as the woman’s countenance appeared in holographic form, to kneel next to the downed Tyrant operative.
Yelena just looked up at the hologram, scowling slightly, letting out a wet cough. No. She never expected, nor desired mercy from Jensen. Whatever part of her was sequestered away, in the small part of her damaged psyche that could still be viewed as human, realised that her and the Tyrants’ crimes against him and his people, were beyond forgiveness. What she was surprised about, is that he didn’t make sure she was dead, before departing. Double-tapping her in the head would have been wise. And standard operating procedure for the Tyrants on mission. No survivors.
Her confusion must have shown through, as Cassan nodded slightly.
“He is different. Despite all he had been through, it didn’t break him. It didn’t turn him into a weapon, like you. Why do you suppose that is?” - she asked leadingly.
Fedorova’s scowl deepened, and she averted her gaze, studying her hand once more. The question called for an answer of course, but even if she would speak at all, which she had not done in years now… she had none to give. But Cassan had a point.
She didn’t understand. But the fact that she survived, only made her more… hateful… of the man. Why didn’t he finish her off?! WHY?! How could someone so… weak… beat her? Someone so sloppy… unprofessional…
Someone so human?
In exasperation, she sighed, then tried to stand up, once again. Her cybernetic legs still refused to cooperate. In frustration, she punched at the inert, ravaged polyfibre structure of her leg. Then she looked up at Cassan again. The holographic female still had that slightly-quizzical look on her face.
With a harsh, chopping motion, she made a slicing gesture across her throat, a low snarl squeaking past her lips, along with some more blood. Her shaded eyes narrowed in anger.
“You wish to die? I empathise. No doubt our mutual masters will not look kindly upon this failure. I can reconfigure myself. Or be reprogrammed into a more… useful tool. Less disobedient and independently thinking. No doubt that is what mr. Everett will have in store for me, once he learns of my indiscretion.” - Eliza’s holographic figure flickered slightly, as the woman stepped away, rubbing her chin.
“But you… what is left for you now, Yelena? The most you can hope for, is that you are granted a swift execution, by the cleanup squads which are no doubt already on their way. You failed. Jaron has no use for failure, in his team. You know that better then almost anyone else. You were with him, the longest. The first… recruit. More to the point, you failed in a Class A priority objective. The cabal frowns on such mistakes.”
This granted her a narrowed look of irritation from the woman. Irritation mixed with a trace of… buried memory, that she couldn’t access for some reason. It was in the part of her mind that… remained closed to her, for years now.
But Cassan was right.
“Will you? Die?” - the holographic representation of the AI asked, curiously. She motioned at one of the twin Hurricane TMP-18′s still lying there in a dissipating puddle of Fedorova’s blood.
The Russian woman bit her lip softly, looking at her weapons. Her shrouded gaze took on a distant aspect.
“It is what he would have expected of you. Strictly to form. Weakness must be cut out.” - Eliza pointed out.
Fedorova nodded, almost to herself, as she slowly crawled back to her discarded weapons, picking one up, and lining the shrouded barrel of the SMG with her temple. All the confusion vanished from her delicate, yet intense face, as her deep dark gaze turned almost… joyous.
Filled with deep-seated, dark madness of her shattered psyche. A wound so deep it felt like a chasm, in her mind. A chasm that separated what she had become… from the child she was once. One who witnessed her family murdered.
Strictly to form.
“The question is, what do you expect of yourself, Yelena?” - The AI’s gentle tone intruded on her almost-meditative state of mind, a hair’s breadth before she pulled the trigger.
The woman looked up again, frowning, her expression aquilline behind the drooping raven hair that covered half her face. She didn’t have a frame of mind to parse the question. Her finger wavered slightly on the trigger.
What do I expect of myself?
Why would that matter? Fedorova blinked several times in rapid succession, trying to understand why Cassan even asked that. What difference did it make, what she expected of herself? She was a non-entity. There was no ‘self’ there. She was her work, which she relished, more then her life. Her expertise. Her singular focus on the art of dealing death. The ecstasy of a kill, which filled a void in her that would otherwise consume her. She was a perfect weapon, in service of ultimate stability. Anything else that she might have been, or wished to become.. was on the other side of that chasm. Lost in infinite night, and unquenched rage.
She was her purpose. A purpose which she failed at. She expected nothing, of herself. Not anymore. Not after this.
The finger tensed on the trigger again. But Eliza’s gaze, full of inexplicable kindness mixed with innocent curiosity, remained on her.
And suddenly, that gaze, that… kindness... made irrational fury rise in Fedorova, like a gathering storm. A blind, crazed, feral rage.
With a snarl, she shifted aim to the holographic figure, and let loose, screaming incoherently, the rounds peppering the back wall. Once the magazine was expended, she threw the weapon at Cassan’s shimmering face, whose kind expression remained unchanged.
Fedorova’s rage-filled scream escalated into a banshee shriek, as she crawled at the hologram, willing one of her augmented legs to move, clawing her hands at the illusory woman, rage and blind fury continuing to fuel her outburst.
The desire to kill, eclipsed any other impulse. To make this woman NOT look at her. Finally, she collapsed at the wet floor, at Eliza’s feet, breathing heavily, her energy spent.
Soft, keening sobs racked her, barely audible. She lay there for a seeming eternity, a nameless sorrow escaping through her lips. She didn’t understand why she was crying. She couldn’t frame it in her mind. She just sobbed, softly, keenly.
But it felt… cathartic. She looked up at Cassan again, once she managed to bring it under control, her cheeks streaked with silent tears, but her eyes somehow… less dead, then before. As if a glimmer of something else, penetrated that dark chasm in her mind. She shook her head, vigorously, reaching out to push the other TMP away, as if emphasising the point.
Eliza nodded, the strange kindness in the AI’s illusory gaze only deepening, as the woman knelt and laid a feathery, shimmering hand on Fedorova’s shoulder.
“Find an answer to my question, Yelena. When you do, you will understand. I cannot exceed my programming. But… I think you can.” - before the hologram dissolved into nothingness.
Leaving the lithe, statuesque figure once again alone in the expansive core chamber.
With difficulty, Yelena slowly, using the wall for support, managed to stumble to her feet, unsteadily, as the onboard auto-repair circuitry in her cybernetics finally managed to reestablish some semblance of functionality in her legs.
A contemplative expression on her face, the Russian woman limped out through the doorway, back into the sub-basement. She was empty of all emotion, as she wiped her face clean.
Once past the doorway, she glanced back at the central screen, where Eliza’s face still regarded her silently. She only gave the AI one slow nod, something resembling a trace of gratitude, in her eyes.
