You've got to be careful of humans like me

Hawthorn pulled herself up from her knees, groaning slightly as she felt her ribs shout their protest, but she kept her head held high and that smirk lingering on the corner of her mouth. “You’ve really got to be careful of humans like me,” she said, one hand coming up to wipe the blood that she knew was trickling down her chin, split lip, black eye, bruised cheek. She looked like hell, but that only served to intimidate the Okoryite standing at the back of the alley, red and black patterns of horror flashing brightly under the skin of their face.

Scattered at Hawthorn’s feet were half a dozen of the alien’s compatriots, all attempting to take something from her - knowledge or money, you could never be too sure in the backstreets of Ephesis. The whole sector was filled with pirates and spies, which was, of course, the reason why she was here.

“But then again, you’ve really got to be careful of humans in general. Three centuries in society, and none of you have really learnt your lesson.” The Okoryite had the white of despair mixing with the horror across their face and hands, before Hawthorn rushed forwards, swiftly crossing the length of the alley before driving her elbow into the tough acrylic like skin, then again, and again, ignoring the alien’s screeching and attempts to pull her away. Again, again, waiting for the spider-web of cracks to appear. The moment it does, she pulls a long steel cylinder from her belt, slamming it into the Okoryite’s head in one swift blow. The creature collapses - dead - while the cylinder starts to flash colours from the top.

The memory retrieval generally worked best when the Okoryite was remembering the memory, but any means necessary were the keywords of this mission, and that was what she was going to deliver.

Pulling herself up, Hawthorn barely muffled another groan as the various bruises and breaks in her body started to make themselves known, but she tucked the device back into her belt pouch and tapped the implant behind her right ear. She forced herself to not blink as a UI overlayed her vision, options clustered at the bottom left, and an orange mail button blinking at the top right. She dimmed its colour with a swipe of her hands, and pulled up a visual chat with Director Sibor, her hands automatically performing the salute. Her fists tapped against her temples before falling open ontop of each other infront of her heart. The director mirrored the movement, open palms curling up infront of them, before going to tap their temples, before speaking.

“Report, Agent 3HR6.”

Hawthorn nodded, acutely aware of the implants in her head, at the base of her neck, in her wrists, and wrapped around the base of her spine.

“Seven Okoryite’s neutralised. Probably pirates, though I recovered the memories of the last, who operated like their leader. The rest talked and moved like grunts. No permanent damage to myself, though a rehabilitation period will be required.”

The director’s lips thinned at that, always displeased whenever an agent was hurt, before nodding in acquiescence. (Was it due to concern for them, or for her tools? Hawthorn was never quite sure.)

“Directions are given to your overlay. Follow them to the drop off point, then new instructions will be given for your recovery location. Praise to the Revolution.”

“Praise to the Revolution,” Hawthorn intoned back, motioning the salute again. The Director received it, then cut off the communication with a burst of static Hawthorn knew was intentional. So she sighed and shook her head, before activating her cloaking, and hobbled her way out the alley.

Finally, she had reached the recovery house of the Rebellion, been checked up and fixed, and now her body was going through the final healing procedures on its own. The human body was still a lot more efficient and resilient than modern medicine, having adapted itself to any situation thrown at it, and the most the medicine could do was prevention and speeding up the process.

Hawthorn lay back on her bed and let out a heavy sigh, pushing her dyed dark purple hair out of her eyes, and opened up the Zimmer overlay again. Still, the mailbox blinked at her, mocking her, and she decided to open it.