“We'll miss you, our little Emily.
You brought such happiness to our lives,
with your laugh, your smile, your face.
You won't be forgotten, my sweet, silly sister!”
- Amy Forge
Emily stood before Ottavio. Her hair was not tied back, ready for duty, but hung lightly down to her shoulders.
Her normally happy face was coated in a fine layer of gray dust, with two dark streams of tears running their way through to her chin.
This was not Emily the happy-go-lucky girl from the country. Her face was melancholy, her body broken.
A grimace crept over her mouth and she looked down at her side.
Ottavio followed her gaze. Dark, almost black blood spilled from her side, staining her vest, her pants, the tiles on the floor.
“I'm sorry, Em,” he said, but his voice did not reach her ears. She continued to look at the wound in wonder. She poked at it, unsure of what it was. Her fingers came up, covered in blood.
“Em, let me help! I can stop the bleeding,” he called.
Oblivious to his presence, she undid her vest and dropped it to the floor. She hoisted her shirt to get a better look at the injury. It was dark blood, issuing from her liver, lethal.
“Put pressure on it! What are you doing?” called Ottavio, walking clumsily toward her.
She was brushing the blood away. It fell off like red snow, revealing a crisp separation of skin.
It was thin, flat. It looked more like a knife wound than a bullet wound.
“Em, leave it alone, don't open it! Just put pressure on it!” he screamed, “I'll get Cass, just hold on.”
Finally she seemed to notice his presence.
“Ottavio? Look at me, I'm hurt!” she said, sadly.
“I know, Cass is on her way. Keep pressure on it.”
“There's no time. Not for me, anyway. You will follow soon.”
“What do you mean? Come on, Em, we're getting you out of here.”
He reached over to help her, but she brushed his hand away lightly.
“No, Ottavio. There is no time. You have to choose, and when you do, you have to trust in the Lady.”
Ottavio started to panic. Emily's face became pale as her fluids leaked onto the floor.
“Lady? What lady? Emily, stay with me!”
“Penelope. Trust Penelope!”
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her legs buckled and she collapsed in a heap to the floor.
Ottavio woke.
He was soaking in sweat and his muscles were tense. His arms and legs were strapped down, and his head was in a clamp.
His mind thought back to when he awoke from Adaptive Surgery, when he was so disoriented, he did not even know who he was.
This was not like that. He felt, apart from a little uncomfortable in the restraints, quite normal.
“Hello?” he called.
“Ottavio,” Miss Penelope called softly, “I need you to wake up now.”
This was strange, because Miss Penelope's voice was modulated very carefully at all times, always at the same clinical pitch and volume. This sounded friendly, sincere.
He looked over to see Penelope standing a few feet away, hands clasped. In her white laboratory coat under the harsh lights, she seemed an angel.
“Ottavio, remain awake. I will be frank and concise. They are sharpening the ax and your head is the one on the block. The McMinnville incident, it was a setup. No, do not speak, but listen. We have not the time for chit chat.”
Ottavio held his questions within and nodded assent. He was a captive audience, in no position to argue.
Besides, she had a look in her eyes unlike anything that Ottavio had seen before. It was a mix of consternation, of fear, but, above all, of a concerned friend.
Miss Penelope took a step closer and continued, “The incident with Simon was planned. He was there to cause you to react, to display, without a doubt, your lack of control and your failure to follow orders. Do not feel ashamed, they would have gotten a rise out of you, one way or the other.”
“Why would...?”
“Those on the Board feel that the only way to move forward and ensure that their investment is secure, and to avoid any embarrassing repeats, is to remove the contributing factors of the incident, namely your insubordination.”
“But I...”
“To this end, they intend to reduce your faculties of free will. It is an intrusive and radical procedure, leaving only a few pathways in your mind for independent thought. Neurons dealing with debate, decision making, consequences, these are stripped. No more insubordination, you see, you will blindly follow the whim of your commander. Your humanity, Ottavio, is at stake.”
His blank stare irritated Penelope, “Perhaps I have not made myself clear enough, and I am running out of time. Very well, a quick history lesson then: Fifteen years ago a squad was sent to intercept a shipment of drugs bound for Tibet. It was a relief effort, organized by a branch of Tsang Tao, to aid after a devastating strain of Ebola broke out among the population. Houston wanted to intercept the shipment, divert it and then make the delivery itself, thus embarrassing Tsang Tao and winning favor with the population. A double blow. Of course, the plan would only have worked if the general populace had no idea that the drugs had been intercepted. It was a covert operation, kept well away from the snooping media.”
“The mission was a success, the drugs cache was intercepted without raising alarms. But two of the squad members found out what the mission was really about, that they had just stolen vital drugs from those who desperately needed it just so Houston could score political points, and, naturally, they had misgivings. They raised their concerns with their commanders, threatening to bring it to the attention of the divisional overseers, after which they were silenced.”
“Silenced?” asked Ottavio.
“Silenced. Not killed, mind, since that would have raised questions and gotten rid of two very capable operatives. No, they were silenced. They were two of the many, many candidates put through Houston's Assisted Compliance Surgery.”
“Sounds euphemistic.”
“Do not play coy. I know you already know about it. Norbert needs to be a little more careful in covering up his tracks when hacking the system. ACS sounds innocuous, but it is Houston's way of clamping a chain around your neck. Your physical faculties remain intact, however your personality, your ability to think critically, to judge, to empathize, Ottavio, all of it is removed,” said Penelope.
“How the hell can they do it?”
“I do not know, I am not a neurosurgeon, but I have seen the results first hand. One of them, Agent Maxwell Ingles, was a model Agent. His humanitarian record was second to none, the pin-up boy of Houston in San Francisco. A brief tiff with superior saw him reported for insubordination. A few more incidents later, and he was registered for ACS. He has gone on to be one of Houston's best agents, if by 'best' one means the highest body-count, the most ruthless attitude to mission success.”
Ottavio shook his head, “I don't think I've ever heard of him.”
“No,” said Penelope, “You have not, nor will you meet him. He, like the rest of the ACS candidates, tend to disappear and form secret squads. But this does not alter the truth. Houston Corps as an Entity has performed some terrible, terrible crimes to protect its interests. And you, Ottavio, are in direct contrast to its interests.”
“What... can I do?” asked Ottavio, slowly grasping the severity of the situation.
Penelope leaned in, saying, “You are a human being. You have an intellect that is capable of astonishing feats, amazing, really. Yet, for your whole life you have let someone else do the thinking for you, happy that someone else has more information, is better informed, and therefore more apt to make the call.”
Her soft words screamed in Ottavio's ears. It was as if she was reading a story of his life.
As far back as he could remember, choices were made for him. He had been directed this way and that, being led by the nose, told to follow orders without question.
Many times he had grown angry at his lack of control. Many more times he inwardly sighed and accepted it. That was the way of the world, after all.
“The scary part about decisions is that we must live with the consequences, however terrifying they may be. You want your freedom, Ottavio, your soul cries out, and yet you are chained down by your own notion that any decision you make would be the wrong one. You are scared.”
Ottavio remained silent. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she was not. He wanted to say that he was not scared, but in truth he was. There was nothing to say, so he looked at her.
Penelope drew closer, “You can exist, Ottavio, you can float through this world and be buffeted by the forces around you, being blown this way and that. And you will exit this world in much the same way, leaving no impression upon it, swallowed by the maw of nothingness. Or you can survive, develop and grow if you make choices. Meaningful choices.”
“What choice, ma'am?”
“You must trust me.”
“Of course I trust you.”
He was shackled down, after all, in no position to argue.
“No. I do not mean in just words,” said Miss Penelope, “Do you remember when I spoke to you about saving yourself if the time came?”
Ottavio nodded cautiously, “Yes. You said if it came to saving myself over saving another, I should choose myself.”
“And you probably thought that only applied in the field of duty, yes? Well it applies right now, Ottavio. I need you choose to give up everything you think you know about Houston and trust me. After all this is over, you can do whatever you think is best, but please, I implore you, for now, trust me completely.”
Ottavio, his world starting to melt about him, closed his eyes. Trust in the Lady. Trust in Penelope.
He nodded, “I trust you.”
“Good. First things first, break your restraints.”
He looked down. Steel fibers in the straps glistened in the light. He heaved and tugged, but there was no budging them.
“I can't, ma'am,” he relented.
She looked at him with scorn, the old Penelope had returned.
“Agent, I order you to break your restraints,” she hissed, “And I would not ask such a thing if it were not possible. Time is wasting!”
Summoning his strength, he grunted and shook. His muscles threatened to tear away from his bones as he pushed them, and their myopic actuators, to the limit.
The gurney creaked and groaned and trembled. He gritted his teeth, wrenching at the cords. They moaned, but held.
He puffed to a stop, “I... can't!”
Miss Penelope shook her head slowly, “I understand. Here, this might help.”
She tapped a sequence on her touchpad. It squealed in Ottavio's ears.
His body shivered as a wave of electrical energy swept over him, through his bones, through his stomach and down to his toes.
The sensation disappeared as quickly as it came. On his optical display came the words, 'Deep Muscle Actuators – Activated'.
“There. You should have...”
“Deep Muscle Actuators, huh? Could have used them a while back.”
“Quite. Now, for the last time, Ottavio, break your bloody restraints!”
Invigorated, powerful and determined, Ottavio gave it all he had. The steel belts pinged like a choir as they stretched to their limit.
Gripping harder, encouraged by the noise, he pulled with a steady force, his muscles fairly popping out his skin.
“Just a little more,” whispered Penelope, her eyes wide.
The gurney shook, the bars bent and with a tear the restraint on his right arms gave enough for him to ease it out.
It was only a short time before his left was freed, then his feet. He fumbled with the clamp on his head, fairly bending it out of shape to get it off.
“It does have a locking pin on the side, oh, never mind. It will add to the scene,” she said, watching him tear it off.
She looked at her touchpad, “And the time is almost upon us.”
“Time for what?” he asked, massaging his wrists.
“For you to accost me. Knock me down, Ottavio.”
He was confounded, “Ma'am?”
“Do not question me, trust me! For the next few minutes, your life is dependent on one thing, and that is doing exactly as I say, without question.”
“You want me to...”
“Strike me down.”
“Then what?”
“Then take my pass, unlock that door, then walk to up the corridor to the exit. There are two guards posted. Do not harm them permanently; they are good men. From there proceed up the stairwell to the mess hall. Turn right, go through the dormitory block to the western entrance, and go up the stairs to the upper level. The cameras will be deactivated along that specific route for a limited time. Do not deviate from it, do not stall or go back for any personal belongings. There is nothing here that you can bring with you, nothing you need. Do you understand?”
Ottavio paused, then nodded slowly, waiting for the punch line.
“There will be a service elevator waiting to go to the surface. Get in, and key in the code seven-five-three-one. This will override front end security for five minutes, allowing you to reach the surface undetected, no cameras, no sentry guns. At the surface you will see a truck waiting. Get in, get your head down and hold on.”
Ottavio's jaw dropped. “You... want me to defect? To desert?” he managed.
Penelope's delicate eyebrows furrowed.
“Ottavio. I am asking you to trust me. You are not defecting, you are saving your life,” hissed Penelope, looking at her watch, “And you do not have any time left. They will be coming for you shortly, and the cameras will be deactivated in exactly one minute from now. Remember, seven-five-three-one, the service elevator at the western entrance of the dormitories. Walk casually but quickly, and do not stop for anything!”
She stood erect, holding her head high in her usual demeanor, and took a measured step away from him. Ottavio watched his optical readout as the seconds ticked by. Less than a minute.
She watched him, waiting for him to strike. If he did leave, Houston Corps would assume he had defected to one of the other Entities, there would be no return, no apology.
Twenty seconds had passed. His brain tore itself apart, trying to make sense of it all. This was Penelope, a woman of utmost seriousness, a mind he trusted to be logical, clinical, telling him to abandon everything he had.
She was telling him that the powers of Houston Corps wished to turn him into a zombie, strip him of his free will. First the implants, then the mind control.
They wanted to create a robot. A damn biological robot.
Thirty seconds to decide. It made sense. That was their plan all along. He was a guinea pig, the first of an army of super-human warriors, unthinking, uncaring. And now that he was not following straight he was to be rectified.
Perhaps defection was not such a bad idea. Any of the other Entities would be more than happy to snap up a former Agent of Houston, especially one with top secret adaptations.
On the other hand, they would be more liable to dissect him and examine his advanced implants than risk using him out in the field.
Crap, ten seconds left. Time to decide. Time to choose.
“Damn it, Penelope!” he cursed.
Run, basing his future on her words, or place his trust in a faceless entity that could crush him like a bug.
“Choose!” she yelled.
He got to his feet. His legs felt a little light, slightly unreal.
He took a breath, apologized and caught her neatly in the stomach, then the chin. She collapsed roughly to the floor, out cold, very genuinely hurt.
Snatching her pass, he walked out the door.
The hall was empty. Two guards. There were supposed to be two guards posted. He looked behind him cautiously, continued down the corridor until he came to the door at the end.
Penelope's card worked fine, the door swung open, and Gus, the first of the pair on shift, turned to meet him, “Hullo Miss Pen...”
He never got to finish. Ottavio grabbed his shoulder, clasped his hand around his mouth and pulled him into the corridor. His cry was muffled as he fought Ottavio's embrace.
In response, Ottavio squeezed his neck lightly and, as the oxygen level to Gus' brain dropped, he fought less and less until he stopped struggling altogether. Ottavio left him on the floor.
“Aw, geez, Gus,” complained a voice from the hall, “You can't just walk off like that!”
It was Ranjid, back from his toilet break.
Ottavio appeared from the doorway and caught him a solid uppercut, putting his lights out. He picked up the limp body, put it next to his partner and closed the door.
He reached the stairs, took a breath and scuttled up.
“No going back now,” he muttered to himself, walking as if on auto-pilot.
The camera in the corner blinked steadily as he walked past.
He kept his eyes forward. Each step down the hall echoed his intentions. Each doorway he crossed screamed their suspicion.
“Relax, damn it,” he told himself, “Breathe!”
He turned into the mess hall. Seated guards barely looked up as he passed, busy as they were trying to enjoy some time off their feet.
The clanking of cutlery against metal plates mixed with the low murmur of private conversation drowned out his own nervous footsteps.
He made a beeline for the door on the other side, relieved to be leaving the rows of shining black armor to their meals.
“Otto!” called a voice. He opened the door, pretending not to hear, and walked through.
Cassandra came through the door behind him and grabbed his shoulder.
“Otto, wait up!” she said, “I didn't expect to see you.”
Miss Penelope's words were at the forefront of his mind. Ottavio did not break his stride.
She persisted, “Are you alright? You weren't supposed to be here. Otto, are you OK?”
“I'm fine, thanks Cass,” said Ottavio, “I have a few things I need to do, so if you don't mind...”
Cassandra had to hustle to keep up, “Ali gave us firm instructions that you were off site, not to be contacted. He said it was 'regrettable', you know. He sounded pretty serious.”
“It's all good, Cass. Probably a miscommunication...”
“Ali doesn't do miscommunications, Otto. Hey, slow down! Why won't you look at me? Otto, what's gotten into you?”
Ottavio kept his pace and grunted, “I don't know, Cass, I really don't know. Everything is up in the air right now, and I can't be here when it comes down.”
“So, what? You're leaving?” she laughed.
Her face dropped. His silence said it all. Cassandra scuttled in front of him.
“Oh my God, you're going to leave, aren't you?”
Ottavio did his best to gently push her aside.
She resisted, “No, no, you can't do this Otto. You can't! Whatever is in your head, forget it. It's not worth it.”
He made no indication of stopping.
“What? OK, now you're beginning to freak me out. Why would you want to leave, anyway?”
“Please, Cass,” said Ottavio, walking away with effort. She raced back in front of him.
“They won't let you go, you know, you're worth too much. This isn't the kind of job you can just up and leave when you feel like it.”
Ottavio side stepped her.
“Cassandra,” he whispered, heading up the stairs, “Do you think I don't know?”
“Obviously, otherwise you'd be heading in the other direction!”
“You shouldn't be talking to me Cassandra! I'm toxic. Persona non grata. This is serious shit.”
“You're damn right, it is!” urged Cassandra, brushing her hair out from her face.
A pang of loss ripped at Ottavio's heart, knowing he would have to leave Cassandra as well. Up until that point his mind had quietly ignored exactly what he would be leaving, and Cassandra brushing hair from her face brought it home.
“Listen!” he said, “They're going to fry my brain. I'm marked down for ACS. If I stay, this is the last you'll see of me.”
“Oh come on, Otto! Just listen to yourself, that's just being paranoid. I know what Norbert told you, but what if he's wrong? And you're scaring me.”
Ottavio grabbed her arm.
“This isn't paranoia,” he hissed, “And I need you to let me go.”
Cassandra struggled her arm free. Ottavio continued up the stairs with Cassandra hot on his heels.
“Ottavio stop. Just stop! Think about what you're doing!” said Cassandra, trying to keep up, “This isn't your average nine to five. Ask for some leave. With all the stress you've been under... Look, if you try to walk out without clearance, they will shoot you. They won't ask questions, Otto, they won't stand for any shit. They will shoot you dead. Just stop already!”
He shook his head, the picture of Miss Penelope in his mind beckoning him to leave spurred him on. Trust her, he had to trust her.
“I am so sorry, Cassandra,” he uttered, squaring his jaw and hastily trotting up the stairs and to the lift.
Cassandra did not let up.
“Look, I'm pissed about Emily, more than you can imagine. But I don't blame you for what happened, really!”
Tears crept into her eyes.
“Otto, please! I just lost Em, I can't lose you! Hell, if you get in that elevator, I...”
“Enough!” shouted Ottavio, fighting back the surging well of emotion building up inside of him, “Cass... let me go!”
Cassandra put her hand on the closing elevator door. It obligingly swished back open. She stood there in front of him, bewildered, sad and utterly void of words.
Ottavio placed his hand gently on hers.
“Cassandra,” he whispered, “This is not the end. I will be back, I know it. But for now, you have to stand back. I'm not irrational and I'm not crazy. I promise you, I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“You already have...”
An alarm pierced through the air.
Head of Security Kepler's voice came over the public address, “Attention all staff and security! Attention all staff and security!”
Cassandra jerked her hand back in a panic.
“Agent Ottavio Manieri is to be brought to the Security Department immediately