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Wow. I just keep liking Sigmund more and more, and Idania less and less. This chapter is a good one.
Nay, a magnificent one.

Part Five: Change of Hands

His mind drifted on the helicopter ride, which would take only a couple hours to get to their destination zone. They would wait there for several hours, gather intel, and then move in.

He drifted back, inevitably, to Natasha. Before he left, Idania had asked him about the sudden change in heart.

--

“You wanted her euthanized,” Idania said. “This will either do what you want or what I want. I’ve settled for that much.”

“Euthanization is sanitary. She goes to sleep and doesn’t wake up. What you’re doing is psychological torture.”

“Torture and conditioning can be equally difficult to bear. It’s the purpose that differentiates them.”

“What if your conditioning drives her mad, like it did the last one?”

“If it would, just being on the nightmare floor would scare the living pants off her! She didn’t react differently to any of that than anyone else—she actually had pretty considerable fortitude given her position. All we’re putting her in a creepy room for a few hours and letting her back out again. She used to be a raccoon, for God’s sake, Sigmund, you think she’s afraid of the dark?”

“It’s not the dark people are afraid of there. Tell me the last time you went in there.”

“I’ve never had any need to, Sigmund, It’s a closed down section.”

“And why was it closed down?”

“Irreparable damage to multiple important structures. A few people can go in there at once, but constant traffic could bring the whole thing down on itself.”

“It’s perfectly reparable, and you know it. People are just too damn scared, Idania. You know that, stop pretending the excuses you tell the interns are going to work on me. I’ve been here since day one.”

“Like hell you have, Sigmund!”

“Then like hell you have,” Sigmund replied, and Idania knew better than anyone- once she was CEO, Charson had begun a new life. Once from tinkering with DNC’s to full-blown, controversial investigations into the possible positive effects of Zaire Beta. They’d cured genetic defects in the blink of an eye, rewriting genes so that some of the most horribly disfiguring defects disappeared within days.

Sigmund walked away, and Idania huffed once, spinning her chair around to see the full office view. How did she keep losing arguments to Sigmund? No one else even tried to spark them. And he was getting bolder with them. He was a friend—a damn good one still—but all this public confrontation was slowly taking her public respect away. Sigmund didn’t know about or care of corporate machinations. He didn’t care that most of the board thought it an oversight how he hadn’t suffered any penalty for his behavior. And Idania, for her lack of heart, couldn’t even tell him that.

Sigmund was stuck in his own little world where right was right and wrong was wrong. Perhaps that was why they never got along- Sigmund was an idealist. He worked, sweat, fought for ideals. Idania was a realist. She worked, sweat, and fought for a good life. That was why she made high seven-digit figures and Sigmund barely made six.

But Sigmund was happy with his life, for a good portion of it. Happier than Idania could’ve been with his set of cards. Maybe even happier than Idania period, even with his daughter dead by his own forced hands. He lived through that. He could still joke, still smile, still laugh.

And she found that she almost never did any of the three. She remembered that there was a time when she watched comedies and laughed at them all (even the relatively unfunny ones) with uproar for each punch line. She had been a happy person before Zaire Beta, even in the shadow of her sister she hadn’t been the sad, stiff being she was now.

The Morph, she realized, hadn’t just changed her body- it had, though indirectly, changed her soul.

“Look, all I want is some honesty, Idania. No roundabout corporate half-truths. No cloak and dagger.”

“And all I want is a little less of a confrontational attitude,” Idania blurted, too rudely, and she knew it. Sigmund may not be an equal in rank, but friendship should have long ago given him the right to give advice, regardless of his position. They were bonded in ways other than partners, but since Natasha—maybe even since Moira—they had become more distant.

“I’m sorry,” she said solemnly. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“No, you did,” Sigmund said, completely unphased, not even a trademark scar of cynicism in his voice. “I…know you, Idania.”

Idania wondered at the pause, repeating the scene again in her photographic memory, as if on a reel- I…know you, Idania.

He had meant to say love you, or maybe simply like. Idania stored it away for later. His statement, however mentally edited, was true. Idania hadn’t been giving him a friend’s license. He had acted out because he assumed he still had some kind of bridge with her. She had ignored that bridge, and possibly burned it. And now, in the last week, was the last time to be making amends. Maybe after this was all cleared up, they could patch up that bridge. Be friends again.

Be lovers again…

She shook the thought from her mind. Sigmund couldn’t love her. Not anymore. Those fires had died with Moira, all Sigmund had from his messy divorce. His wife, Axelle, had an impressive lawyer, and meant to take everything that Sigmund held dear, for the sheer sake of making him miserable—and, whether Sigmund was the better parent or not, that meant Moira. But Sigmund managed to generate pity, somehow, and he kept her, along with a ratty apartment and enough money to live on McDonalds for about a week in his bank account.

He had worked from there, pulling double jobs. His wife got weekend visits, but rarely, if ever, came, usually only dropping an occasional voicemail more for Sigmund to hear than for anyone, telling Moira in somewhat that she could come and jet ski or picnic with her mother if father was working on Friday- Moira was, after all, getting old enough to start making her own decisions, or so Axelle had said (The girl was ten at the time- an obvious lie, but being a bad influence wasn’t enough for a restraining order. The fact was that Axelle didn’t care about Moira, and the jury had perhaps sensed that. Moira was just a tool to make Sigmund miserable for ever, ever wanting to break up for Moira’s sake, or for any reason. (Axelle had been a heavy drug addict, something Sigmund had, once he realized, told her to put an end to or be shown the door. Axelle chose neither, and instead sent Sigmund out of the door herself.) She had, after the divorce, pawned anything she could pilfer from the case, and had mailed the receipts to Sigmund personally after she had spent the money. Axelle had once tried to run away with Moira, failing miserably, and that was the end of her weekend visits. Sigmund received neither receipts in the mail or phone calls from Axelle again, and neither did Moira. A week later, Axelle had hung herself. Sigmund had still attended the funeral with Moira, an action Idania would never understand.)

Then he met Idania. The happy moments –at least from Idania’s perspective- seemed to blend together, perhaps the best days of her life, . She was infected, and then Sigmund confessed his love for her. And then Idania became successful. And then she decided to give Moira’s failing mind a chance.

And that chance had destroyed the girl, and had destroyed Sigmund. Idania had never been sure who Sigmund really blamed for Moira, though she suspected it was his own self more than anyone. It was just the type Sigmund was, self-blame before anything. But still—Idania knew a part of him, small or large, blamed her personally.

--

It felt as if the real world was filtering in around him, and his memories left. He checked his watch. Their ETA was 2130, and it read 2115 now.

He stood up, felt the eyes of everyone there upon him before any rational sense could have indicated that notion, except, perhaps, for memory and sense, though he employed neither. It was simple instinct, and almost instinct that gently pulled the simple phrase outside of his throat-

“We’re synchronizing on my mark. Five, four, three, two, one…mark.”

--

I fell onto the bed, exhausted more from worry than from anything.

I was allowed outside as much as I wanted now, even allowed lobby access. They knew I wasn’t going anywhere without Natasha, and they also knew I wasn’t dumb enough to try and bring the police into it. Charson would aptly dodge through five different hoops before giving any real evidence that they were working on Natasha. Even with all I could muster and reliably take out of the building, I could say nothing more than that they were inducing nightmares on willing participants.

So even when I was free, I was bound to a degree. I tried not to worry about it as I sipped coffee that afternoon and downed perhaps a little too much Miller Lite that evening.

It had been a while since I had a drink, and I needed one. I wasn’t an alcoholic, per sé, I just had my days. And the business with Natasha had been four weeks of those days.

When the psychic shout came from a building that had to be miles away as I stepped into the cab, I was totally unprepared.

“HELP JACK!”

I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood upon hearing it. It sobered everything in my brain almost instantly, scattering whatever bumbling thoughts I had gathered into the wind.

The man in front turned around, looked confused; I figured he had a right to.

“Sir? You okay, sir?”

The shouts continued for about five more seconds. Then they stopped. I gasped for air, felt like I’d just ran a mile. I instinctively grabbed the back of the seat. Luckily, I wasn’t on the driver’s side, so it wasn’t as awkward as it could have been. Nevertheless, the man was still looking at me like I was nuts.

“Charson building. You know where that is?”

“Yeh…yeh, I do. You, uh…you might wanna get another cab, though…”

“I got money, I’ll pay you double.”

He blinked, once. “Alright, then,” he said, obviously not caring enough to turn down that kind of offer.

“And no roundabout routes, it’s an emergency.”

Considering I had stumbled in his cab dead drunk, he probably didn’t take me seriously. But all the lisp and curl was gone from my voice and head—I spoke, sober as a judge. Perhaps the psychic scream could counteract the alchohol’s effects, even if only temporarily. Or maybe it was something much simpler- fear cleared my mind.

But nevertheless, he got there with enough promptness not to warrant any foul play. I paid double what the meter said, as promised, and then ran inside, dashing through the lobby to the elevator.

It was an urgent cry. I didn’t know if I could get to her even from this distance, which was relatively short.

I checked my watch. It was around nine fifteen, and the sun was low.

I didn’t have that kind of psychic strength, but, as I rode the elevator to my floor, I gave it a shot.

“Natasha!”

--

Jack’s reply came, waking Natasha before she had quite had time to have a nightmare.

“Jack?” she whispered, quietly. Nana Wendy was still watching television. She knew he probably had to be closer.

“Where are you?” she asked, in a normal tone.

“I’m coming up. Do you know what floor you’re on?”

She couldn’t remember the number, so she projected the memory of going from floor 36 to wherever she was now.

A whispered curse, mere surface thought (and probably vocalized on the other side as well) escaped into Natasha’s mind.

“I can’t get there.”

“Why?”

“I need an ID card.”

Natasha understood what that meant, to a degree. Cards were used to slip in and out of doors that would otherwise remain closed.

“What do I do?”

”I don’t know. But tell me what’s wrong, okay?”

Natasha couldn’t describe it, so she sent the memories of Moira to Jack. Even delving back into them hurt- but as she saw them, so Jack saw them. She couldn’t leave out any details. She belched them out quickly, but rather than construct the whole thing, she gathered bits and pieces of what she could remember…and then the dark, murky place in her memory began to clear, the place where Moira had visited her, the place of Nightmare.

Before she could stop it, all the remembrance of pain, all the strangely clear images, somehow clearer than reality itself, returned to her, and she couldn’t close the link to Jack in time- not that it really occurred to her to do so. It just streamed out, and as it did tears ran down her face, but she knew better than to weep out loud, lest Nana Wendy suspect. She was far too entranced in whatever silver spectacle played on television.

--

It was a slower vision, but it seemed to pick up speed. She had less and less holes to explain and less time to explain them, and before long it was all a single vision.

I absorbed the vision. The memories felt as if they were my own. Each time it felt like a walk in her shoes- not just that I was there, but that I was Natasha. I remembered the pain on such a level that my own hand seemed to give a dull ache in angry memory. At first, it felt like it was all simply a weird dream, or like remembering a dream- but then I realized that it was Natasha who was remembering a dream, not I. What was real to her felt real to me.

And then it was over, but it wasn’t, at the same time. Those memories stayed with me forever. She hadn’t just placed a picture in my head- she had shoved everything out at once, as if she just wanted to get it all over with.

I reached the 36th floor. Natasha hadn’t changed floors, she had simply gone to a part of this one that was completely sealed off from the rest. Where I couldn’t follow.

I sighed. I’ll do all I can to help you, Natasha. I promise.

When can you come?

It pained me, even to ask. But I had to- she wasn’t going to get out tonight, that was plain and simple. I was tired, beyond tired, and drunkenness was beginning to return to me en masse.

“I can’t do it tonight, Natasha. I’ll tell Idania what happened, and maybe she can do something.”

“What if she says no?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if she wants to keep me here?”

“Then you’ll be out in a few days.”

“I don’t want to go back again, Jack. Please.”

“I’m doing all I can, Natasha. I can’t talk to her now.”

“Why not?” Natasha asked.

How did I tell her I was drunk? That I wouldn’t make the right decision today, almost inevitably? That I had partied too much and exhaustion, even though the night was young, was already creeping onto me because I hadn’t gotten outside, really outside, into the streets, for weeks, hadn’t had much to do or think about, except perhaps wait for the future, for weeks?

How did I tell her that the reason she was going back there was because I was negligent? That I had, for the first time, really failed her, even if by accident?

It was a simple question and it had a simple answer. I didn’t. And maybe she would pry into my mind for it, but I didn’t think about that. I figured she wouldn’t, just for decency’s sake.

“She’s not here, and I don’t know how to get to her.” How did lying work in telepathic communication? Did they automatically know you were lying, or did they have to look deeper? I didn’t know, but I lied anyway. I was drunk now, all the stupor coming back to me, wasn’t thinking about what I was saying, just thinking thoughts into the wind. I wasn’t even capable of concentrating enough to get to Natasha.

--

Natasha heard the last thoughts as a whisper, as if Jack hadn’t even spoken them in her direction, per se. ”She’s not here, and…” the thought was gone.

She called out to Jack, and he was gone.

Just gone. He was there and gone, like a whisper in the wind.

And Natasha was left alone, the mute silence inside her confused mind only amplified by the television’s noise.

--

They were silent, swift, completely invisible.

But the Chimera knew they were coming, though not necessarily from which angle. Sigmund was ever the cautious one, as his men knew- he would always assume someone saw them land, and work from there. He would likely be coming from a different angle than originally planned, then.

The Chimera’s agents were everywhere, hiding within the trees through which the four Champions, led by Sigmund, crept with such a lack of sound that it seemed to defy all logic given their size.

The bat-things watched, not quite bats, men, or anything in between, but something of those and of something else. They were the same creatures as Agent #11954, something of a snake, a wolf, and a bat. The Champions were quietly moving, and many animals, in all honesty, took little note of them, but they were against enemies with senses that could detect an anomaly of a stirring leaf from kilometers away, that could point out a single person among thousands just as easily as if he stood alone in a field.

Being that such beings were far from the Champions (but sensing and tracking them nonetheless) the soldiers would not be expected to heed those warnings. Their senses were not as sharp as their trackers, but they had enough to know that they were being tracked. So they didn’t go on their intended path. Instead, they switched to thermo and dug into a single point, quickly taking whatever cover they could in the underbrush.

Their trackers, at first invisible, were suddenly, though far, now lit like candles. They must have realized this- they took to cover.

Idania said to avoid an incident, but these were Morphs. Not just caught Zaire Beta from a hooker Morphs, but carefully designed for stealth. Bio-soldiers, somewhat like the Champions themselves. They knew what they were getting themselves into, to a degree, at least.

Soldiers against soldiers. That was how you fought. Sigmund gave the order, and silenced gunshots tore through the trees. A forward scout stalked towards the body sites, reported two down. They continued on, using a different route, already assuming that their assailants radioed in.

There was a new paranoia. Jackson would never have taken bio-soldiers. He didn’t trust Morphs, ever. Sure, in the PR magazines he was careful never to say anything to state the contrary, or to even give his position, but the man was, in the end, a tad racist, though justifiably so- if there weren’t any Morphs, then it was likely the Chimera wasn’t going to get him. That had been Jackson’s fear, or so they knew, and though at first Sigmund had figured that the Chimera had been a hoax for some ulterior motive of Jackson’s, he now knew otherwise, and knew what the Chimera was capable of.

But now there were bio-soldiers just outside Jackson’s home, apparently guarding it. Maybe Jackson finally got over his prejudice. More than likely he hadn’t.

Something wasn’t right.

The forest parted into a U-shape, which surrounded Jackson’s estate, which sat upon a wide plain. There was no one outside. Sigmund looked around the windows for a careful entrance, but he had been here before. Jackson never knew about it, at least, never knew about him. But Sigmund had been here before, knew the halls well.

He picked a particular window he knew would land him close to a file room. The squad gathered close behind.

“I’m going to go in and collect our data. Get out of sight. If I don’t radio in ten minutes, report me MIA and go back to the extraction point.”

They nodded, giving no complaint.

Sigmund climbed deftly up the brick walls and pulled out a glass cutter when he reached his desired floor. Within seconds, the pane was carefully removed and set aside, and Sigmund was in.

Night vision gave bare basics to the shapes, to keep Sigmund from bumping into anything. This was a file room he hadn’t used in a while, maybe it hadn’t moved. Sigmund knew that it kept the newest gossip, and that each time he broke in, some new defense measure would be placed before him. Jackson had once placed two armed guards in front of the room. Sigmund had used an anesthetic pistol on them both before they could turn around. By the time they woke up, Sigmund was eating breakfast in Detroit, the files he wanted successfully pilfered.

He moved along the hallways, which were dark and abandoned. Strange. There was no one here.

Someone traces us, and then they shut down all the security? What the hell’s going on? Were those people even affiliated with Jackson?

He knew that the next turn would have him facing the hallway where the file room was kept. This hallway wasn’t one he would have used—he was arguably running out of ways to get to this room that weren’t covered—but still, Jackson should have been able to secure it, with his hotshot team and all.

But no one was here. There weren’t even bootsteps. The lights were on in the hallway, indicating someone was here, but the quiet was simply eerie. Not even the most distant sounds echoed to him. No signs of life. Jackson’s security was always patrolling. Sigmund always ran into at least one of them. Where had they gone?

He approached the file room. No guards. The door was unchanged. Sigmund worked the knob. It was locked, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He pulled out a lock pick and, within seconds, the door was swung open.

Not Jackson at all. Too lax. If this was any other manor, Sigmund wouldn’t have been surprised in the least- but Jackson was paranoid. Beyond paranoid, Jackson was borderline schizophrenic. The man thrived on being secure, feeling secure. And here was this hallway, totally empty.

It said trap, and Sigmund understood that. He started looking around at possible locations.

They could just storm out the rooms, half a dozen armed men with guns trained on him.

He knew that this hallway was suddenly more dangerous then it probably ever had been. But orders were orders. He proceeded into the file room with night vision at the ready, amplifying the hallway light.

The otherwise invisible laserlight on his weapon shined brightly upon the opposite wall. The file room was just as he had seen it before, many times.

But unguarded.

There were other file rooms, weren’t there? They had maps of Jackson’s manor.

We’ve got to go, now. No time for exploration. Insistency nagged at him. His team was waiting.

He walked in, and carefully opened one of the cabinets. His reflexes let him see the wire before it reached the breaking point. If he had opened it a quarter-inch further, a flashbang charge would have blinded him, more so considering his nightivision.

He quickly looked up at the only possible place someone could be waiting for him.

Another one of the bat things stared back at him, with pure black eyes.

He fired, but it moved with such speed that it was gone by the time he did.

He knew he only had seconds before the alarm went off. He opened up a radio channel as he ran back to his point of entry.

“Mission abort, I repeat, mission abort, Alpha Dog 6, we are returning to LZ!”

The alarms began to sound. Within a second Sigmund heard bootsteps all around him.

“Roger Captain Sigmund. We’ve got a fully fueled fusion engine here, no worries for two hours, over.”

“Roger. Over and out.”

As soon as he flipped the radio off, bullets flew in from behind him. He rolled, leaning hard to his right so he’d land facing his attackers. They were huge, bigger than the Champions, but they didn’t shoot quite as well. Sigmund pegged them both before they could get a fix on him again.

He kept on running, knowing where he was going. He saw the door, still wide open, heard the running bootsteps. They knew where he was. There would be more behind him.

He dived straight through the window, and fell three stories. It may have killed a lesser man, would have crippled a pretty good one. But Sigmund landed on his feet, rolling to relieve the pressure, and pressed on, adrenaline forbidding his body to feel pain just yet.

The field was wide, he expected shots to his back. But they didn’t come- not yet. It took him a second to realize why.

They’d be waiting for him in the forest. And his squad would already by at the LZ.

Sigmund knew that Jackson –or whoever was in control now- knew that he wasn’t alone. They’d have compensated for his squad.

They would die, all of them, to save him. He was that important. He had saved each of their own lives, some of them too many times to count.

But whoever this was, he wasn’t taking the squad today. Not yet. He turned on his radio, on the forest’s outskirts.

“Everyone still there?”

The squad replied that they were awaiting him.

“I’ll be there in five. If I’m not, go back home. That’s an order. Copy?”

Some hesitation, some remorse in their voices, but “Copy, sir,” came nonetheless.

“Good. Over and out.”

He turned on thermal and stalked into the forest.

He walked about ten paces, carefully watching for signs of movement. He saw a flicker of it just around the corner of his eye, turned to see it, rifle at the ready.

Nothing.

He continued. There was about a hundred yards left. He could try and make a dash for it- but would he last?

He decided that caution was the best procedure here.

He felt something prick the back of his neck. Anesthetic, no doubt. Normally, he’d be on the ground. He had less than a pair of seconds. But he’d used the anesthetic trick- wasn’t going to work on him.

Instinctively, his right hand worked on one of the caffeine jolts he kept in hypothermic needles just on his leg, that had nanotech on it that kept it sterilized, jamming into his leg with a motion that would be hard to notice, as he used his left hand to pull out the dart, and then fell unconscious- but only for a split second, the pure caffeine already pumping through his system just as fast.

When he woke up, they were close. Without warning, he pulled out his gun and turned around in one motion, on his back, and fired on both of them, the same bat things that had attacked him earlier. They fell before they knew what hit them.

“Not that easy,” he mumbled, holstering his pistol, picking up his rifle, and now making a dash for the helicopter. He only had one more of those, and if too many needles stuck him, it might not work well enough, or fast enough, to be any good. These could be designed to knock out for five minutes- could be for five hours.

The treeline was getting closer. He knew it, heard the chopper. He moved on, and his senses noticed sounds of things hitting the grass other than his feet, but close to him nonetheless. More darts. They wanted him alive now, for whatever reason. Not that he had any intention of letting that happen. He glanced back and saw three more orangeish-red lights in the trees, big enough to be humanoid.

He gunned each of them down and continued on his course. No more darts hit the ground. He figured he got them all- but that was no reason to slow pace.

He broke the treeline. The field on the other end was in sight, as was the chopper and his crew inside.

“We’re going back to Charson, now!” he said as he leapt into the chopper and took a seat, glaring out at the forest wall behind him as he took off his thermal.

It suddenly seemed so peaceful, a place Sigmund might have strolled by without notice, even found to be a place of solace. But he knew what lay behind there.

They flew into the night sky, and soon they were gone.

Three more of the beings congregated outside of the forest to watch them disappear into the black.

--

“The Chimera won’t be pleased about this,” one said, a forlorn look on his face. He had honestly thought there was no escape, that the man would have fallen for the flashbang he himself had set. It would have ensnared anyone- should have ensnared him. Even without the flashbang, there were the troops, there was the forest…someone even hit him with a tranquilizer. How did he just keep moving?

“Or he could be amused. He is a man of many moods,” a second one said, though he didn’t seem to be much more hopeful either.

“You still dare call him a man?” The third one asked with sudden anger in his voice.

“We need not argue about this, brother. You may think he is a god if you wish, but both of us aid his cause equally. In any case, that isn’t the problem now. The Chimera wanted that one, and badly.”

The third one nodded, putting away his prejudices for now, at least actively. A silent part of him still mumbled curses at the infidel in their midst.

“What shall we tell him?” The first one asked.

“Simple. We did all that could have been done,” the third responded. It was true enough- all had been done to take Sigmund alive. Even the bullets from the Guardian’s weapons were low velocity, made of an alloy that would break on the armor but seep through with an anesthetic, which would go to the nearest heat source via directions given by nanotech.

“And what if that is not enough?” The second said.

“Perhaps we should run?” The first asked timidly.

A second of preposterous silence, enmity. Then laughter between all of them. It was an amusing thought in and of itself that anyone could run from the Chimera and continue running for long. He had ways of finding people after they’d changed their faces and bodies a dozen times over.

Once in the Order, forever in the Order.

--

Sigmund returned to Charson at exactly one in the morning, asleep from the anesthetic. It had been long acting. His men shot him with his second caffeine jolt, which woke him up long enough to get him to the lobby. One of them drove him home. He took off only his body armor and fell dead asleep onto his bed, and, for the first time in his ordered life, slept in late. When his men debriefed Idania on the situation, she didn’t blame him.

~END OF CHAPTER FOUR~

Great job!!!

Nice action scene too. I am like Sigmund more and more :) .

I just found one little mistake.

"By the time the woke up, Sigmund was eating breakfast in Detroit, the files he wanted successfully pilfered. "

I think the "the" is supposed to be "They".

*gasp* ONOZ I am ficks nao.

Chapter Five: Grief

“He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real.”

-The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams

I awoke in painful greef. Moira haunted my dreams, but not in the usual way. She and Natasha both, with the things that Natasha had sent me…the images…the nightmares. They became my own. I did not take Natasha’s place- I did not need to. I observed, as if outside, but felt her pain as my own. I was unconsciously clutching, rubbing my wrist as I awoke, not even realizing the insane movement until I had continued for several seconds.

It was 9:30 AM. Natasha would be where they wanted her soon, back in the room which haunted my dreams. It was not in utter disrepair, but it was dirty, dark, and damp, the palpability of it all not dissimilar from, perhaps, that of one of the outer rings of Hell.

I called out. “Natasha!”

“Jack?”

“You’re there. Thank God. I’m so sorry about last night, I was…we’ll talk about it later. Do you know how I can get to you?”

“There’re people who have keys. But you’d have to take it from them.”

“What do the keys look like, Natasha?”

She sent a surprisingly detailed image to me, which was burned in my mind as if I had seen them myself. This was where it would all pay off. The relative trust I had earned simply by cooperating, whether watched or otherwise- no breakout attempts, no shifty searching of rooms- I had lengthened, however I could, the short leash Charson had put me in. With any luck, I could now, at the crucial moment, snap free of the collar.

I was dressed and out in the lab, one of their own. They had stopped seeing me as an outsider a while ago- I had blended in, worked with them, talked with them, and walked with them. I even got friendly waves as I walked by. They didn’t know my intentions, and if someone had told them, they wouldn’t believe it. This was my last week, and then I was gone, back home, back to life, with everything I had wanted.

But everything I wanted wasn’t worth keeping Natasha there, to be tormented throughout the day. That was what I had tried to save her from.

I knew what the keycards looked like- essentially, ID tags. I knew the floor manager didn’t always keep the best track of his tag.

I had been passive, but I had been watching.

I walked into the manager’s office. Empty, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

I went through his shelves, grabbed the card. There were no cameras guarding the manager’s office. I slipped out and put the thing in my pocket.

--

Idania absorbed the information Sigmund gave her with the same intense, concentrated stare that she always gave to anyone speaking in her office. It was hard to believe. Jackson out of the game—so quickly? It was likely, then, one of the people he thought he had under his thumb. But from Sigmund’s explanation…no, this wasn’t some small-time drug lord, selling Zaire Beta to people trying to disappear or some enraged mob of morph addicts. There was only one person capable of that kind of lockdown.

At least the monster had shown its head. The Chimera was to blame for Jackson’s sudden silence- perhaps for this whole affair, in one way or another. The agent that Theremin had escaped from was, without a doubt, one of the Chimera’s own.

Idania knew Jackson well, but not the Chimera. Granted, she probably knew more than most. But that didn’t count for much when you were talking about a ghost. Over a hundred and fifty different aliases and perhaps a billion dollar fortune—where he got it, who knows, but the point was that he did. Some say that he leaked different forms of super-viruses to Third World countries in use for warfare, others that he was linked to every terrorist act since 2035, others this, others that. Never anything with hard proof. What little Idania knew, though, could possibly help her now, and she knew it. Natasha would have to be more carefully guarded. Theremin wasn’t part of them—hopefully, anyway. This couldn’t all have simply been a ruse to get close to her, could it?

“Thank you, Sigmund,” she said. “You can go now.”

--

The locked portion of the floor had no armed guard, only a seemingly impenetrable, vault-like door. I placed the key card, and the door opened with impressive speed.

“Jack!” She called. I answered only by movement, now being able to pinpoint the thought as if it were a voice. I didn’t think about how I could hear her, and everyone else couldn’t. I only thought about getting to her as quickly as I could, without arousing suspicion.

I could only hope the security here didn’t know my face. They passed by me without any form of recognition, so I figured they didn’t.

I was at the door, behind which my name was called. Surrounded, and with little disguise, I knew my time would have to be short. And something struck me, then.

This was going to destroy us. Even if we escaped from the building, Charson would hunt us down. We were—or rather, Natasha was—their responsibility, at least for now. But isn’t a child the responsibility of his father? And if that father’s cruel, we take away the child and give it to a loving father.

I heard Idania in the back of my head. “She’s not just a normal child,” the stern visage said. “She could kill you over a lollipop. Will she be the same little girl a week from now? A month from now? She could degrade.”

But I knew she would if she stayed here. Even if she didn’t turn into a killing machine, these people would destroy everything that made her who she was. She’d been given a chance at human life. Charson was going to take away that chance, tear her mind until it was nothing more than the animal it originated from.

Determination took me over. I flashed the fake badge on the reader, which beeped and turned green. Luck was with me so far.

The door opened. An aged woman was asleep—she could have been dead, actually, and I never would have known from looking at her—in front of a still-droning TV. I read my watch. Seven forty-five. I had to move.

I closed the door, looked quietly for Natasha. I called out mentally.

“Natasha?”

I heard nothing.

I found a door opposite a television, opened it. It led to a dimly lit bedroom, much in the same style as the one that me and Natasha had lodged in for the last month. Most noticeable was a lump under one of the beds. She had been calling to me only a few moments ago. She couldn’t have fallen asleep, could she? No, this was a trap. I wasn’t going to walk into it. Her calls had been too coherent at first, too coordinated, to simply be calling out from a desperate nightmare.

I went in, foolishly but ready.

But not ready enough. The door slammed behind me. The lights turned on. I heard the slight click of a pistol hammer. I turned myself around.

There was Sigmund. “I know you’ve been communicating.”

Damn. We had given it away, somehow.

“Really, I knew from the start Natasha could still read minds. A select few can even tell she’s doing it. But you seem to be the only person capable of responding. I’ve watched you for a long time, Doctor, and I’m no fool to Natasha, or any of her tricks.”

I saw the weapon planted firmly at me. “I suppose you’ll kill me, then?”

“Of course not. You’ll be escorted out, and you’ll lose all liberties outside of your dormitory.”

“And about parental rights for Natasha?”

“Parental rights,” Sigmund echoed. He holstered the weapon. “Why, Doctor?”

The question struck me, only because I had, but a day ago, asked it to myself.

“Why do you want someone like that for a daughter? Let me be frank—your whole private life is open to us, so don’t expect any surprises. You’ve never married. The closest thing you’ve had to a relationship is finding some drunk girl at a strip club for a one night stand, am I right?”

That hit somewhere painfully close to the truth.

“What they’re doing to her, to make sure she will never, ever turn into a monster—or that she’ll die trying—will, in the end, turn her into a vegetable. Everyone’s got their own psychic abilities. You, me, everybody. A lot of the most sensitive feint going into the places Natasha’s going. She’s roughly a million times more sensitive to psychic fields and waves than those people. You tell me what’s going on in her addled brain.”

“Where is she?” I said.

“You don’t quit, do you?” Sigmund said, sighing. “She’s under the bed. I tranquilized both of them. Her and her nanny.”

“Why?”

Sigmund eyed me curiously. “Because you and me, despite what you want to think, aren’t all that different, doctor.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“How so?”

“I’d never kill an innocent child.”

“I used to think that. It didn’t stop me. When it came between my survival and hers, my own won out. What about you, doctor? When Natasha goes berserk, when she decides to tear the flesh from someone else’s limbs and hang it around her like a cloak, what in God’s name will you do?”

“She isn’t like that!” I cried desperately.

“Let’s hope to God she isn’t. Because if she is- if that’s even remotely possible- she won’t leave here alive. We’ve killed a psychic. We can do it again.

“Enough talk about that,” I said. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’ll tell you, once you’ve answered my question. Why adopt Natasha?”

I thought about it, and it was an answer that was too simple, and guised poorly the fact I didn’t know.

“She needs a father. And she wants to live with me. And I want to raise her. I want to watch her grow, live, eat and breathe.”

“Yes, but why do you want that?”

It was too simple an answer after all. Slowly, I walked to her, saw her under the covers. The needle wasn’t in her neck, and she was sleeping, peacefully. Sigmund had laid her there, to rest. He had every chance to kill her here. Tranquilizing her and her nanny would still get him into trouble, wouldn’t it? He had wanted it- what had stopped him? I looked back to Sigmund.

“Maybe its the same reason you didn’t kill her when you had the chance,” I said, having no clue what that reason was.

He didn’t respond for a long time. Awkward silence, seconds passed by. There would be guards here any second, though I was already done for.

“If that’s the case,” Sigmund said, “Then it’s a damn good reason.”

I turned to him, and he was smiling, widely. “You will be a good father, Theremin. I think you’re smart enough to understand what you’re tackling here. Most would be afraid of that power, Theremin. Why aren’t you?”

“Look, these questions are great for soul searching, but you don’t need to extend your victory here.”

“No one’s coming for Natasha today, Theremin. I control the security in this sector. I’m going to be escorting Natasha myself.”

“She’s not going with you,” I said. I half-way expected, right then, for Sigmund to shoot me and walk out the door with Natasha over his shoulders. But something told me I had to fight for her, even if there was only the slightest chance of a lifetime I could possibly win.

“She showed you what she saw in there, didn’t she?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know what it was, myself. The board decided to place her in the room with Moira to see how she would react. If she could handle that, than she would be let free. But I think you get what was really going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“You saw what she saw. I can only bet it’s enough to drive a fully grown man crazy, let alone a two year old girl. They don’t know what they’re dealing with, as usual. They’re playing God, and if Moira really gets to Natasha, it’ll be twice they’ve gotten their [censored] bit for doing that. History repeats itself, usually, but I want to stop it.

“Natasha can’t leave here until her tests are up. You have to understand that it’s dangerous, possibly more than ever, for her to leave Charson, to even be seen anywhere outside of the building. This place is a company building- mostly. But this floor in particular is a fortress. No one gets in or out without specific access. Idania took a risk giving you outside freedom, you know.”

“She knew I would come back.”

“No, she didn’t. You could have been one of Jackson’s agents,” Sigmund said, not even mentioning the Chimera.

“So why did she let me out at all?”

“I said she took a risk. I didn’t say she was stupid. You were under surveillance the entire time. All your clothing is bugged with nanotechnology. We practically know what you smelled like in that bar.”

I was getting tired of how often I was played, how every time I thought I was beating Charson, I was just running through their maze.

“What’s the point, Sigmund?” I said.

Even a rat can run through a maze for cheese.

“I’m going to escort Natasha to her test room, and stay with her. So are you.”

“Idania won’t like that.”

“She won’t know. Cameras don’t function in that room, and I’ve disabled your nanotech sensors on account of maintenance.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually.”

“She probably will. And when she does, she’ll scream at me, threaten to fire me, probably will this time. But she’ll hate every minute of it. She’ll hate herself for doing it. She’ll break down and cry, maybe in the shower, but maybe in bed. That’s a variable.”

I perked an eyebrow at how well he knew her.

“We were lovers,” he explained. “For six years.”

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Ever since you arrived.”

“Why haven’t you just left Charson?” I asked.

“That’s a long story,” he told me. “But I think you need to hear it.”

He sat down.

“Believe it or not, it’s mostly faith in Idania. There’s a part of her that’s sensitive, caring, beautiful. That part of her I fell in love with. Then there’s a stern, iron-hearted being, who she is to the rest of the world, and who she has wanted to be, has strived to be, ever since she was fired from internship fifteen years ago, back when over a hundred thousand cropdusters flew over suburbs all over the world. From what I understand, they kept on spraying that stuff until the government took military action. They were completely non-responsive on radio. Every last one was shot down, all too late. By then tens of millions across the country were infected. And now that number’s increased to billions, if I remember.

“It happened about fifteen years ago. She broke down when they fired her, said she was mentally incapable. A load of bollocks, of course. But then she changed. Changed into a new being that’s grown since then, a decade and a half ago. But still, that caring girl I knew, and loved, is still around. Somewhere. And I’ve stuck around waiting for that girl to show herself again. Well, I’m done waiting. Idania’s decided the path she wants to be on. And I’ve followed her in hopes of getting her off for a long time. And sometimes I’ve even made progress.

“Even though I didn’t realize it when it started, I sacrificed a lot—and now, I realize, too much—to see that woman again. I sacrificed the girl I really did love, that was still with me, that had a life ahead of her.”

“Moira Anatolia Sigmund.

“They said she died from a car accident. Charson covered the whole damn thing up. The public isn’t aware of what Moira did to over two dozen people. That I killed my daughter in cold blood. That since then I’ve been wanting to turn the gun on myself, every night, for eight years. I still remember it. I still remember how little thought it took for me to murder my own daughter. To destroy what God had made for me—so easily—and yet it seemed like such a battle. I remember how she tore anything with any weight at all and sent it at us, how she made that whirlwind around herself. How half a dozen of my men were brutally murdered. I cried to her to stop. She responded by tearing a man to pieces with a thought. But, in the end, I got her to stop for a few seconds. I reminded her of who she used to be. I was two feet from her. She opened her arms to me. I opened mine.

“Maybe the turmoil in my own mind, the pure sorrow, the happiness, all of it, confused her. But I think, at that moment, she wanted me to kill her. That’s the most likely, and the most horrible, theory imaginable. In an attempt to treat my daughter’s ineptitude, to make her into some kind of model student, I sent her into a whirling inner battle. A battle that she lost.”

“I know hundreds of ways to end a human life with dozens of different weapons. I ended my own daughter’s as quickly as I could. I still remember how easily the diamond-edged knife slit through the back of her spinal column, how she seemed to simply fall into a deep sleep. I remember standing over her as she died, from my own hands. And I see part of her again, yet in a completely different person. Stronger, perhaps capable of winning that inner battle. That’s Natasha.

“She can be a force of greatness for this world, Doctor. She has a mind unlike any the world has ever witnessed. Moira was a godsend that we abused until she broke. I don’t want Natasha to be the same.”

I sat down on the bed next to Natasha. She slowly began to stir.

“It’s about time,” Sigmund said. “Help her up. Explain what needs to be done. We’re going to be with her every step of the way.”

“Why are you coming?” I asked. “You may have known Moira, but Natasha’s still her own person. She may not be as much your daughter as you think.

“I know. I’m coming to face some old demons,” Sigmund admitted. “Demons I’ve let lie for too long. And when you leave, remember what happened here. And remember that Natasha will always be under my protection.”

I stood with a glowing awe at the favor he had just given me. Had given both of us. The man that wanted Natasha dead was now going to protect her against anything, at all costs.

Two words from my mouth sealed the deal.

“Thank you.”

It was already past time. I shook Natasha awake.

Part One: Denial


The Chimera knew of his agent’s failure already, and it convinced him of two things- one, they were of the utmost incompetence, and two, Charson would not be returning anytime soon. They wouldn’t make this a government matter- too much could be dug up on both sides by a federal investigation. It was simply too risky. All the Chimera had to worry about was Charson.

He was prepared, as were his guard. They would be enough, once he discerned Natasha’s position on the many-floored skyscraper.

It was almost time. He would have her- her power would be his own. Charson had fabled power- but so had Jackson, even though, in all technicality, he had never really been head of any corporation. But he controlled several. As did Charson. And they also had the Champions. They were the only thing that made the Chimera nervous at this point. Trained soldiers were never good to deal with.

He watched the sunset, low on the horizon, turning the clouds a beautiful orange and painting the sky with myriad colors. Natural beauty. There was no finer, there never would be, the Chimera thought, believed with something engrained in his soul. His sanity could be stripped from his mind. Perhaps. Everything he built could be destroyed in a matter of days. Perhaps. But the superiority of nature would always be with him. Wherever mankind went, nature would hold a supreme grip, strength beyond anything he could muster. Walls would crumble, armies would be dissolved and destroyed, but nature would be ever supreme. Always there would be storms, whether on the sun or earth.

The vault door was opened, as the Chimera expected. The captain of his elephantine guard entered with a bow, a large blueprint in one hand and a laptop in the other. It was a PC, and was meant for storing data, not for programming new Zaire Beta strands. That was becoming less and less needed anyway, with the self-programming Zaire Gamma.

The guard unfurled it. It was a blueprint of the Charson building, top to bottom.

“There are too many floors to do a full sweep, not with the Champions there. It will not be simple to dispatch them. They are well-trained and numerous. Even if possible, the police will eventually be a factor. It will not be as simple as holding a few hostages.”

The police—or SWAT, at the very least—had become no weaker despite the rise of private corporate armies. They were still ahead in every respect- they did not use any form of Zaire Beta, but that hardly mattered. They would use armor-piercing rounds if they even suspected Beta-treated individuals, making the tough, elephantine skin of his comrades useless. The Champions would likely be using those rounds as well. Bullets were still the primary weapon, probably always would be. Everything else, for the most part, was either defensive or purely psychological. But that didn’t make them any less necessary.

“Since we do not yet know her location, we believe the best way to find such a thing will be a single, covert agent. Perhaps a mole.”

“Those have always failed,” the Chimera quickly retorted.

“Yes, but we have Zaire Gamma. Before we had that, every entrance to Jackson’s mansion failed, and now…” the guard gestured to his surroundings.

The Chimera nodded, surprised that he was not the first to realize how much the game was changing now. Before they pinpointed the agent’s face, he would already have another.

“And he will attempt to isolate Natasha’s position?”

“Yes. And then, he’ll attempt to exit the building with all due speed.”

“If he’s intercepted?”

“That’s the issue. This will be risky—there’s no doubt of that. Should the agent be intercepted and captured, we’ll make sure he’s capable of self-termination.”

The Chimera nodded curtly. “How exactly will the agent determine Natasha’s position?”

“The agent will hack directly into the database. He’ll use a DNC. Those are almost never used for hacking—most are too slow. With any luck we’ll catch the database undefended. Another necessary risk.”

“Why not just a normal PC, drop the risk entirely?”

“If we use a normal PC, they’re likely turn right around, find the IP and its registry. Their database is still centered on PC technology, despite the fact that they have a central DNC as well. They want their secrets guarded, and guarded well.”

“You know we never sign with anything that could be traced back to us.”

“Anything the police can trace back to us. Or would. They aren’t going to look for us, the press would find them sooner or later, and ridicule them. Charson, on the other hand, could do that, all under the rose. It’s simply more than I would like to risk. We’re dealing with people who know how to avoid the media better than most.”

“Most,” the Chimera said. The Captain chuckled with him. He was smart, and actually capable of laughing—the Chimera liked that. The elephantine guard was a surly lot by nature, and it was a welcome relief to one that would respond to a small spat of humor.

“Do we know Natasha is still there?”

“If she isn’t, we can still intercept at Theremin’s house, if we’re lucky.”

“If you find Theremin, bring him to me.”

“As you wish.”

“Once you have the data on Natasha’s location, how will you acquire her?”

“We’ll hit the roof and tether downwards. Once we’re there, we can tranquilize her and escape the same way we came in.”

“When will we be able to execute this?”

“By tomorrow, we can send the agent in. the day after, we can be there.”

“Excellent. You have my leave to start immediately. Is that all?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Go.”

As the Chimera said, so it was done.

--

The board meeting took place regardless of the massive distance that separated twelve of the twenty-five executives. Two-way television sets (two-way because of the cameras on top of them—they could be rotated via remote control) thin enough to be rolled like posters were set up at each of the table areas.

“Ms. Libiakova, you have the floor,” one of the sets greeted.

“Thank you, Mister Chung.” Chung, an aging man, was the son of a Chinese investor who had taken a large portion of Charson’s stocks back when it was a relatively small pharmaceutical company in the 80’s. That money paid off during the First Human Genome Project, and even more so during the second. Charson did not develop the DNC, but it would never have come without them, and the company had hundreds of millions to prove it. (Still only a small sum compared to what Jackson had made.) The investor planned to cash in, but died somewhere around 2035 at a comparatively young age of 70. His son was quick to take an executive position once offered. Chung didn’t know anything about biology, nanotech, or psychic phenomena. He had never even been in the Charson building—he had never been in America. His entire operation had been from Hong Kong. Nevertheless, he owned a significant enough part of the company that his say had a strong weight—not quite as strong as Idania’s, but strong nonetheless. Secretly, Idania hated Chung—just as many on that board did. He was a severe imperialist—he only trusted his senses and his alone, his judgment and his alone. He opposed the Champion project, because to him, the Chimera and Jackson were faraway fears, not on his doorstep or on any of his friends or neighbors. He had not said that—he had said that he did not believe they were worth the trouble of trying to make a nearly illegal security force, which sounded reasonable enough to postpone the project for three years. However, after the events preceding the Moira incident, he was more than happy to place his investment in a security team. But still, he assumed he knew more about the dangers of open Zaire Beta testing in a country that had a Zaire Beta infected rate of less than 1% and an even lower interest in anything other than keeping it away from the major cities. That assumption did not win him too many friends, but he had been simply been there too long to be voted off.

“As you know, subject P-2 has performed excellently, even during the final tests she remains in sane mind and body. She has handled areas of exceptional emotional stress with no clear outward signs of depression or fright.”

“What about the doctor?”

“Isolated from P-2 as promised. He has been allowed to do re-diagnosis on previous tests, due to his already-standing experience with the subject.”

“Well, Ms. Libiakova, let’s review,” said another person, a clear Zaire-Beta infect. He had the angular features and small lips of a Caucasian, but skin of an African-American. He looked as if he had painted his face—it was something no natural birth could likely have created. He spoke with no conceivable accent. “Some of us have been away at earlier meetings.”

Idania cleared her throat. She had come prepared with complete details, and had listed them off almost a dozen times now. This was the first time everyone was present- it was amazing how the executives of Charson functioned when they could so rarely garner a board meeting with all present.

“The subject is in excellent health. She has not suffered any severe or even minor post-metamorphosis cell mutation, as most Zaire Beta carriers. She weighs exactly thirty-eight point nine kilograms and is one point three meters tall, zero point four meters wide from shoulder to shoulder. Her facial structure is very similar to a human’s, though her individual teeth are inherently carnivorous. On-par with the average two-year-old, she is of phenomenal physical strength, endurance, balance and agility, easily capable of gymnastic feats that usually take months, even years of training for individuals many times her age. She is athletic, sporting a fully-developed adult muscle structure, mostly human except for her two extra pairs of mammaries and tail. Although all her organs appear to be functioning perfectly, it is unknown if she is actually capable of reproduction, as, in all technicality, she is the only one of her species.”

“As with most Zaire Beta carriers who have received Animal DNA,” Chung commented. Ten years ago, maybe even five, Idania would have felt the barb, the implication that she was sub-human, and the secondary implication that she was as sterile as a surgery room.

Not anymore.

“As with all,” Idania corrected.

“Her basic mental capabilities—reading, writing, and speaking—are developed in varying amounts, some barely first grade, such as writing skills, others reaching into high school, such as her competence for mathematics and science. However, virtually none of these aspects are average of her age group- all of them are reminiscent of an older individual.

“The subject, as is well known, is capable of psychic interactivity with people and her environment. It is known that she can send telepathic messages, can read virtually any mind, and has telekinesis very similar, though less abundant, than subject P-1. For safety reasons, however, we have not allowed her the use of her telekinesis

“She shows none of the negative psychological symptoms of P-1, despite the fact that they shared DNA. Her personality is considered to be outgoing and charismatic.”

It was positive. She didn’t know what it meant to them, though. They had their poker faces on—this was not a game of cooperation, hadn’t been for too long. There was competition here. Idania did not appear, to any of them, to know it, but she did.

Idania had already been declared human—at least, human enough to be given all the rights thereof, by the Supreme Court, along with over three million individuals at the time. But developments had caused that case to be reopened again and again. Things like the Barbara McCauley case, when a girl hadn’t seemed to suffer the symptoms of Zaire Beta, which was apparently caught from the families golden retriever. She showed no outward physical symptoms- not even the slightest bit of transformative pain, or even a change of vocal chords or proportions. She was married one month later, and went into labor less than three and a half months after conception. She gave birth to three children—and all three of them were Golden Retrievers.

There were dozens of more bizarre cases. People who switched personalities, between that of an animal and that of a human being. And so far, none of them had changed that clause.

But the second one of them managed to, and Idania Libiakova was declared an animal by the Supreme Court, they would jump to the offense with the power vacuum prepared and ready. The power that should have been theirs. But here came this Beta-infested Russian who had managed to play her cards right and buy out a large enough portion of the company to be declared CEO by anyone with half a wit. It had been subtle and sudden all at the same time—quick, but gradually so.

It was not a surprise that, if someone looked at all the cases challenging what had frequently been called the “Beta trials,” they would find that over three fifths of them had been submitted by executives of Charson Incorporated. All for personal gain.

So Idania was aware—there was more competition than cooperation here, and if there was any serious amount of cooperation (beyond this façade of a meeting). But if she acted inhuman, it was far too calculated to be animalistic. Though every one of them honestly wished it would happen, Idania Libiakova was not going to suddenly leap onto the table, growl menacingly as she tore her designer clothes, one thousand four-hundred and twenty eight dollars total in value, from her body, and attack the monitors with animalistic ferocity. But she hadn’t gotten this far by giving into aesthetics and pretending she was a cornered animal, though the metaphor rang somewhat true.

“Let’s get something straight, Ms. Libiakova,” Chung said. “The end result of P-1 was a fourteen-year-old girl died after she killed a dozen people. The results from then were similarly optimistic.”

“We have, and still are, placing P-2 under enough psychological stress to root out the possibility of a breakout.”

“And how certain are you that she will not end up like P-1 regardless?”

Idania could have sworn she had this argument a dozen different times, and they had all ended the same way.

“P-2 has been voted, in an internal vote by her peers, incapable of P-1’s violent behavior even in the most stressful of situations. And her telekinesis has been inhibited.”

“With the same device P-1 was given after her initial outburst.”

“Yes, but an improved—”

“The one she disabled,” Chung interrupted.

A pause.

“P-2 does not have the proper knowledge in circuitry to disable the device. In fact, no one does. Five people got together to make the improved version of the Telekinetic Field Suppressor Model 2.They’re in five different parts of the country now, working remotely from positions we made for them.”

“And how much money was that out of corporate funds?”

“Nothing. It was from my own pocket.”

“From your own pocket.”

“Yes, Mr. Chung.”

“How much?”

“Too much. Na-” she caught herself. Anyone could be listening. “P-2 should never have existed. This whole project had to be thrown together, essentially, with toothpicks and chewing gum, because one of your subordinates failed to clean-up properly.”

“My subordinates?” Chung said, infuriated.

“God, we’ve been over this,” Idania mumbled, and she felt a similar vibe go through most of the room. Chung had refused to admit that it had been even partially his fault that Zaire Delta had spread to Natasha. He had refused to admit that for a long time, despite that there was completely undeniable evidence. He was just that kind of stubborn.

“You got a bad clean-up crew, Chung. I’m sorry, but it’s true. They—and don’t ask me how—got living Zaire Delta in produce products. Luckily, that caused them to die overtime, and the families that bought them threw them away. And one of those families happened to have a raccoon problem. And as you can see, that turned out poorly.”

“I did not ever—”

Idania held her hand up and said “enough” in a voice that commanded immediate obedience, even from stubborn Chung.

“We are not here to point finers. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. We’re here to do what we can. To restate our treatise, on which we agreed upon February 15th. We have decided not to terminate the girl, and so we’re going to make sure that, most importantly, she will not misuse her telekinetic or telepathic abilities in any way, and that, second most importantly, that she can live an enriching life as a human being.”

It was more Idania’s treatise than anyone else’s, but most of them feared to disagree with her, other than Chung and a few others, and their vote had been assuaged simply by numbers.

“We understand you’re putting her through an area with a high residual psychic activity as a final test,” another said, an executive currently calling in from Paris. He spoke with a thick Cajun accent.

“Yes, Mr. Cadley,” Idania responded. She liked Jeremy Cadley the most of the board members, but that wasn’t saying much. He seemed happy where he was in the company- surprising for an executive, but perhaps he wasn’t interested in the rat-race anymore, and simply wanted to keep what he had. That didn’t mean Idania liked him more—it meant she distrusted him less.

“Isn’t that dangerous? To her psyche, in any case?”

Idania paused. A part of her felt like she was talking to Sigmund, but she was smart enough to realize that it wasn’t just a creepy room. It was haunted—that was the simplest word for it. But it was unprofessional and gave thoughts to old horror movies where the little girl came out of the television set and sucked your soul out. So they didn’t say it was haunted. They said it had residual telekinetic energy running through it, something tangible that showed up on sensors and readouts, something that human beings had historically manipulated and controlled. It was just like fire or electricity or the atom. It was energy, pure and simple.

Nevertheless, that energy could hurt Natasha—but there was a specific reason why it was only second most important she lived a full, human life. Idania would not be held responsible for another Moira. Even if that meant that Natasha screamed and howled in fear of whatever resided in hallway 341, there would be no more blood on anyone’s hands because of Zaire Delta.

She stated that as plainly as she could. The board seemed to accept it.

“Alright then. What should we do after P-2 is released?” Cadley asked.

“We’ll naturally be keeping tabs on our doctor, who wishes to adopt P-2 as his daughter. Also, should it become a case, I would like P-2 to have Charson’s full support should someone question her rights as a human being. However, this is unlikely to become a factor, as we will provide Ther—the doctor with a cover story appropriate for the time. According to said story, she was infected with Zaire Beta at an early age, and a severe cell mutation caused her to hit puberty early, hence her developed reproductive system.”

“So we will treat her as a normal little girl,” Chung said, smug. And Idania knew that it was a dream too good to be true that everyone on that board would say “Of course, give the girl her own life.” No—there was too much to gain.

“Allow me to be frank, Ms. Libiakova. I speak for a majority of the board when I say that, while P-1 was a failure, might I add, on your behalf, if your assertion of P-2 is correct, we may not wish to simply...throw it away.”

“She,” Idania stressed.

“She. In any case, she has four million dollars of R&D running through her veins.”

“She is not a lab animal for you to—”

“If I recall, there was a disagreement about that fact. In fact, the only reason anyone learned of her at all was because a certain doctor made a point of that being a disagreement. Why should I not treat her like any other lab animal, like the dozens we killed to perfect Zaire Delta?”

Idania could hardly believe that there could be such coldness around her. Natasha was a living, breathing, feeling, person, regardless of whether she was homo sapiens or not.

“We also suspect, due to your own condition, you may be prejudiced to give her human rights.”

“My condition has nothing to do with this.”

“There is no evidence to prove that.”

“Neither is there evidence to prove what you’re saying, Chung,” Idania said coolly.

“Then, in the lack of hard evidence, we can only make any sense of this by democracy, would you not agree?”

A young and rebellious fire welled within her, something she hadn’t felt for so long. She wanted to say hell no, and [censored] you, thinking you know this little girl inside and out from behind a computer screen in [censored] Hong Kong. It would have been suicide—Chung wouldn’t take that kind of public humiliation, even from Idania.

She called it down. “I think you should all come here and see for yourselves before you make a judgment on whether or not to ruin a little girl’s life. That’s not a decision you have a right to.”

“We are not going to decide whether or not to ruin a little girl’s life. We are going to decide if a particular being is human or inhuman.”

“That’s not within our right.”

“We created her. I rather think it is.”

There was a general agreement, and Chung stopped it to say something else.

“Don’t you think, Idania?”

There was a silence, and she racked her brain for ideas. Good ones came to mind—so did bad ones. The silence that couldn’t have been more than two seconds (because if it was any longer, Chung would have taken the floor by now) seemed like a ringing eternity where she racked her mind for any kind of solution. She couldn’t run away—she knew better than anyone how far Charson reached, Champions or no. She couldn’t simply withdraw and consider Natasha part of her benefits—she would already have lost. Like it or not, she wasn’t the only one who funded project Zaire Delta.

Then one last solution came. Idania knew what it meant. Probably meant that quite a few people would lose their holds in Charson, including Idania. That probably meant most people wouldn’t think she would do it, unless she really did her best to convince them. None of them realized how tired of the rat race she really was herself. She had stayed with Charson to try and lead it to do some good—but it was far from the selfless organization that had searched for cures for cancer, far from what she had wanted it to be, or thought it would be someday, too far for her to do anything about it. The changes she thought she had made weren’t so effectual after all, and she was realizing it, right here, right now, in this board room.

The room Sigmund never entered or knew about. He knew about everything else about her. About her proud, and not so proud, moments. She had told even the most embarrassing stories, the parts of her she was most ashamed of. She had even, occasionally, spoken of this board. But not often. And this was the last secret she had kept from Sigmund.

And now, she had decided, she had sacrificed enough. She had fed too much to these jackals. They had taken her love from her. They had taken her strength, her life. She had held on and held on and held on, and almost in ritual sacrifice to appease the gods that lived behind those screens she had burned away every bit of love and sensitivity in her heart. She had turned herself stone cold to survive here. And realizing now, what these people wanted for Natasha, was never going to be for Natasha, but for them. She had waited to see if any of them would honestly care about the victims they were supposed to be helping instead of lining their own pockets. And some of them seemed to. But in the face of those that didn’t, they shirked away and were bullied until whatever decision lined Chung’s or someone else’s pockets was made, unanimously.

And now, Idania was going to do her best to change something about that.

“I think that, were they given the option, the Supreme Court would say it was their decision, Chung.”

Chung laughed. So did a lot of the board. In between chuckles, he said “You couldn’t possibly mean—”

“I do. I’ll be honest, Chung. I’m tired of this [censored].”

She spoke with such strength that the room fell silent instantly. And it remained that way until she finished.

“I’m tired of listening to you pretend like you know what it’s like to watch a little girl you fell in love with like she was your own goddamn niece die in your best friend’s arms. That best friend happened to be that girl’s father. I’m tired of you thinking you know, just from what I talk about, whether someone should be called a human or not. You didn’t make her. I, and my R&D team, did every last bit of research for Zaire Delta, and I don’t think I made her, either. You didn’t make her, Chung—You paid for her. To you, maybe that’s the same thing. I don’t really care. I don’t care if you think because I got caught under a cropduster one fine afternoon fifteen years ago that I’m going to corrupt your business options. Let me be perfectly clear about what I do care about.

“I am the only person at this meeting who’s even seen Natasha in the flesh. I know her better than any of you. So you better pay some goddamn attention when I tell you that girl deserves to live. That’s what I care about. This girl deserves to live a beautiful, enriched life. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s worth a million, ten million, a hundred million, a hundred thousand billion, in anyone’s hands. And if you can’t see that, then maybe I’m not the only one here whose humanity should be in question.”

“Vote what you want. I’ll tell you what will happen. If you vote that Natasha is an animal, I will instantly bring Natasha’s case to the Supreme Court. Maybe they’ll agree. But I think they won’t. Natasha has a way of getting people to want to agree with her. And, no matter what they decide, they’ll probably uncover some seriously bad [censored] for Charson. And every single one of us will take a fall for it. I’ll give them every detail there is to know about Zaire Delta. Oh, of course, none of it was illegal. It was screened by two dozen doctors to be perfectly benign. It worked great on the test animals before we finally gave it to Moira. But if anyone else heard about Charson’s failure on a scale like that, that’d spell doom for any future deals. With anyone. And I’ll make sure someone hears about that. Understood?”

Chung simply grew sour. “You speak hollow threats,” he said coolly. “You are just as fearful of being found out as we are.”

“Which is why, after I compile a complete report from our completely local database here at the Charson building, from which all of you are at least several hours away from and incapable of stopping me, I will sign my resignation, which a good bite of you have been hoping to see since I got on this boat. So go ahead, vote negative. Maybe you won’t get stuck with anything, and you can all have my share of the company—the part I don’t cash in, anyways. But I promise you, you will never, ever, have your way with Natasha, if that means classifying her as an animal so you can do whatever the hell you want with her.”

“What exactly do you think we will do?”

“Worse than I’ve done, that’s for sure, and what I’ve done to her so far makes me shudder.”

She felt like Sigmund—in fact, she thought she had a pretty good idea, now, how Sigmund felt. She no longer felt like she was behind the table, surveying her property, but that the table was before her, staring at her, and demanding from her. And that had been the reality, had always been the reality. For Sigmund, it was a little more obvious. And perhaps only Sigmund saw it, but wanted to see if that table and the warm, compassionate being that was once Idania Libiakova could ever be reconciled.

Idania had learned a long time ago they could not, and had told Sigmund to his face on multiple occasions that she was no longer the fragile little girl that he had made love to so many years ago. But that was all she had ever seen herself as—fragile. Only now did she realize what she had lost.

“Ms. Libiakova,” Chung said, and there was some vague happiness in his tone, “I believe your resignation will not be necessary. All those in favor of Idania Libiakova being stripped of her title, and shares, with Charson Incorporated, say ‘I’.”

There was a semi-chorus of ‘I’s,’ to which Idania only laughed.

“I’m getting that data, and the hell out of Charson, no matter what anyone says in this room.”

“It will be data illegally taken from our database,” Chung said, “and of no legal value.”

“It doesn’t need to be. And actually, it’s my private data on my laptop.” She rose from her chair. “of a corporate project, yes, but the only thing that would happen should I break my bond of secrecy, you have already made happen.”

“Vote what you want. I think Natasha’s done well enough. I’m taking her out of the program, and away from Charson, now. Anyone tries to stop me, and I’ll have the media all over you [censored]. Don’t think I can’t. Or I won’t.”

There was no comeback from Chung this time. There were no words. Only stares.

“Goodbye, gentlemen,” she said, her tone returning to the businesslike lady she had been a few minutes ago. “Have a nice day.”

Her heels clacked on the hardwood floor as she took her leave, drops of sound in an ocean of stunned silence.

Sigmund would have been proud. She wasn’t going to stop at her laptop, though—there would be plenty of time for that later. No, her first stop was going to be hallway 341. She was getting Natasha out of there, once and for all.

The clock read 8:10. She took the express elevator to floor 34.

Part Two: Anger

The exact words of the conversation had long since escaped her mind. Natasha could only remember thoughts.

“I don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“It’s not just fear, it’s pain.”

“You’ve showed me.”

“But you were never there yourself.”

“Now I will be. We need to do this. Together.”

“But why does he have to come?” Natasha had, at some point or another, pointed an accusing finger at Sigmund.

“He’s going to help us.”

“No he won’t! He’s always wanted to hurt me!”

“Sigmund, do you mind letting her see for herself?”

The old fighter merely shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“You can look inside him, Natasha. To see for yourself.”

“But that’s not-”

“You need to be able to trust him, Natasha. And you need to trust me. I won’t let you down. Not anymore.”

Again that look, like peering into a great distance, then she returned. “She was your-”

“Daughter. That’s right.”

“So that means”

“It’s still up to the law to find out if you could be classified as my biological daughter. But I’m afraid that, whatever biology says, the place of your father is Jack’s, not mine.” And, despite that Natasha had suddenly been given a new perspective on Sigmund, she agreed wholeheartedly. Jack would be her father. She would be his daughter. It was how it should have been. It was how it was supposed to be. Any other outcome would only have been second-rate. She knew that, and Jack knew that.

“Are you ready?” Jack asked her, holding her small hand gently. There was fear on her face…but determination. Jack helped her to her feet as she came out of bed, the white jumpsuit still on. “I am now.” She wasn’t sure if she ever had been before.

--

We were in that decommissioned hallway, sealed by airlock for so many years. The airlock style door was at least six inches of solid steel. The two guards saw Sigmund and ignored all else. He was important enough not for them to worry, and perhaps chain of command hadn’t told them to detain him if he came. Or perhaps he had found some way to appease them otherwise. Sigmund produced two cards from his pocket and swiped them through at the same time, and the two armed Champions gave no resistance.

We stepped into the Labyrinth, and it seemed as if that door held more than simply dust or some possibly dangerous airborne spores from moss or some other calamity that could be ascribed to disrepair. I immediately felt a wide range of emotions, none of which had any rational beginning or end. Anger, sadness, and guilt in fluctuating durations. They had no reason, nor any person attached to them.

Natasha winced as if she had just been hit by a can of mace. “She’s here.”

“Do you see her?” I asked.

“No. But I hear her.”

The door behind us closed and relocked. There were analog key holes on this side, for whatever reason.

“Don’t worry,” Sigmund said. “I have the keys for those too.”

I nodded to him. I wondered what he felt- what Moira was to him here, now. It couldn’t have been pleasant, if this was the closest thing there was to her ghost. It haunted him outside of that lobby, I couldn’t imagine what it could do inside.

“Lead the way, Natash-”

“I already know it,” Sigmund said grimly. We followed him.

--

She was here, angry, furious, and that was only what Sigmund could have expected.

Residual Psychic Activity. That’s what they had called it. It had risen to a climax some time three months ago and cooled, as far as what little readouts could be obtained with insulated equipment. Sigmund reminded himself that his daughter was dead, and was in Heaven, and perhaps God had explained to her the necessity of Sigmund’s actions, or perhaps He had told her what a worthless piece of trash her father was for stabbing his own daughter in the back. Sigmund wouldn’t have blamed him for the latter. But no, this wasn’t Moira. This was a shadow, a figment, a mimic of a conscience, something that might torment him, but he could not say it was his real daughter.

He knew that whatever had made him strong enough to go on would not survive the knowledge that she had returned with all the hatred Sigmund felt he so richly deserved.

He felt those feelings get stronger. But they were just that- feelings. They had no direction. The ghost was just a ghost. It couldn’t recognize anything- it just acted on impulses that long since stopped having any new ideas.

--

Natasha heard Moira, and knew that Moira couldn’t hear her yet. She was still with Jack, with Sigmund. But soon she would lose consciousness, and then, and only then, would she be with Moira, and they could speak, face to face.

Help me

I love you Daddy I’m so sorry I’ll never do it again

Why wouldn’t you forgive me

They were echoes of echoes of echoes. They had been reverberating, like sound but not quite—these were more sustained. Perhaps all bad places had something like this—places where blood had been shed or wrong had been done. Something that stayed behind and wondered why, or planned to carry it out again.

She felt Jack’s hand holding hers. She felt her steps begin to wobble, her vision begin to fade.

Jack snapped her back to reality with a tug on her arm as he picked her up. “You alright?”

“When she gets closer, stronger, she makes me get dizzy, sleepy, sick. Then I see her, and I can talk with her.”

“Do you want me to keep you awake?”

“Yes, please.” It was now the plea of the scared child again. Natasha no longer gave any inclination of adulthood. Jack saw her in a different light- the bizarre juxtaposition of her cherubic and childish facial structure and more adult muscle build and bust no longer occurred to him. She seemed in every way frightened like a child should be frightened. She grabbed Jack as tightly as she could. Her black claws dug a little into his back. He didn’t mind.

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “We’re almost there. We’re going to do this together.”

--

She was terrified to a level I could not have understood being sustained for any length of time, even here. I didn’t understand why she hadn’t simply gone mad already. But now I was here. I didn’t know what that counted for- for all I knew, it was the comfort before she lost consciousness and whatever she said happened to her, happened, and then she would be alone and powerless, trapped within her own mind.

Sigmund stopped suddenly, turned to his left and opened a door that had been recently installed, from the looks of it. It had a small mail door at the very bottom, too small for anyone—even Natasha—to fit through.

“This is it,” he said.

The door opened.

“Take a seat, Doctor. The ground is pretty much the only place there is.”

The room was empty and featureless. It had, perhaps, seen better days. There were holes in the wall where bolts had been. There wasn’t any wanton junk in any place.

“Natasha, are you with me?” I asked. She gave a quiet yes.

“We’re going to sit down now. I’m here with you.”

“Okay.”

I set her down in front of me, and sat next to Sigmund. We formed a triangle.

“What do we do now?” I asked him.

“We wait.”

I nodded to him.

There was a silence.

Then Natasha seemed disturbed, beyond reason. She got to her feet and started hacking, coughing. It was a sound too huge to come out of so small a person. In an inhumanly high voice, she screamed-

“SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE”

And then began coughing again.

“Natasha! Come on, Natasha, snap out of it-”

She retched out something that smelled of eggs, then collapsed backwards.

“Natasha!”

Her eyes were glazed open, and then fluttered shut. I ran to her side and checked her pulse.

She was still there, still with us, her tiny heart pattering at an incredibly fast rate. “She’s alive,” I said. “Scared, but ali-”

The door behind us opened. Idania stood outside. Everything in my head screamed “She needs me, leave me alone, she needs me NOW!”

“Sigmund? Dr. Theremin? What’s wrong with Natasha?”

“She lost consciousness,” Sigmund explained. “After vomiting.”

I felt a sudden shock go up my arm. I hadn’t taken my two fingers from Natasha’s neck yet. Suddenly it went into my mind. I felt a splitting pain go from there to my stomach.

I could only scream.

And then I was taken, with Natasha, to Moira’s private Hell.

--

“What the hell?” Idania rushed over to Jack. Sigmund instantly got to his feet. “Don’t! It might happen to you too.”

“What’s going on?”

“I have no idea. It might be the RPA affecting Natasha, and perhaps anyone who touches her, or even anyone around her. I wouldn’t get too close to Theremin if I were you, just for safety’s sake.”

Idania stared, wide-eyed, at the collapsed pair, the small puddle of retch that Natasha had made on the floor beginning to creep into an acidic stink already, at least to Idania’s more sensitive nose.

“Can we do anything?”

“I think this is where we wait to see what happens.”

“Nonsense. We need to get doctors-”

“Don’t. If it’s possible this condition could spread…”

“Then Natasha would have already infected us all, and we’d have the symptoms by now.”

“It may not be like any other virus or bacteria. Just sit down. Wait and see.”

“They could be hurt-”

“They’re not. This is what’s supposed to happen. I overheard Natasha. She claims that, in an unconscious state, she can speak with Moira.”

Idania glared. “That’s what I want to stop.”

Sigmund gave a confused look. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I found something out I should have learned a long time ago, Sigmund. We’re not on the good guy’s side anymore. Charson’s being taken over by people like Jackson. Less brilliant, less cunning, but Jackson all the same. So I resigned. And now I’m taking this girl out of here to get a life.”

“How the hell you plan to do that without their help?”

“Charson is not the sole world source for a fake ID, Sigmund. I have a couple sources to work with in Mexico. After that, we should be able to find another place for them to live. They can’t live in Theremin’s house anymore, obviously. Maybe not even in the same country, all depending.”

“Are you sure that the Chimera will go after Natasha?”

“He hasn’t had any reason to stop wanting her. I don’t want to take any chances, Sigmund. She has a chance, a chance we gave her, even if we didn’t mean to.”

“You wonder if it means something?”

“You talking about divine providence, Sigmund?”

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

“I haven’t heard about that in a long while. At least from you, and not the nuts on the radio. So tell this reformed agnostic why you think God had something to do with this.”

“God takes mistakes and turns them into masterpieces. He decided to take our mistake, and make his own masterpiece from it.”

“Why would he, pray tell, care?”

“I suppose He would have plans for the girl.”

Her tone screamed cynicism. “I suppose you’re about to say He has plans for all of us.”

“If I remember, so would you, once upon a time.”

“Once upon a time, Sigmund.”

She sighed, and now she seemed as if she looked into a far distance- not one of miles, but of years.

“Once upon a time.”

Sigmund sighed. Once upon a time meant something for both of them. Once upon a time, they weren’t just friendly business associates. Idania was not a figure he only argued with, only ever either took or defied orders from. She had become colder- stronger, but colder. And perhaps that strength was something that wasn’t supposed to be there- a strength that, in the end, had become her weakness. It was more of a toughness- a resistance to pain and mocking. After all, you needed thick skin to run a business. But that thick skin had taken away the Idania he remembered- loving, caring, and the woman he had planned to marry. The change in her body had not changed those plans in the slightest, but the decisive change had been in her heart.

“What will you do now?” he asked. The smell of Natasha’s puddle was beginning to reach his nostrils. He could only imagine what it had done to Idania’s.

“I have enough to retire. And you?”

“I have enough to live on.”

“What about Theremin?”

“As long as it’s in Natasha’s interest, if he needs it, he can come to us for support. But I doubt he’ll ever work in America as a virologist again, for any extended period, anyway. The Chimera hasn’t shown any signs of stopping.”

“Other than a want to try and capture me, he hasn’t shown many signs of anything.”

“I suppose he could migrate down to Mexico, or into Canada if need be.”

“Mexico’s not a safe place to raise a child. And as for Canada-”

“You’re right. We know for a fact the Chimera has eyes there.”

“We’ll figure something out.

“I suppose we will.”

Silence. The two unconscious bodies showed no movement or stirring. The smell continued on, now becoming progressively more rank.

“Did you know she had eggs benedict with a fruit salad and a salt-seasoned English Muffin and chives?” Idania asked suddenly.

There was a confused half-silence before they both burst out laughing. It was a long laugh, and the empathic feelings of that place had been forgotten in it- Idania had not even noticed them in her rush, and other issues were clouding her brain too much for the RPA to affect her in any notable way.

“That’s an absolutely disgusting talent,” Sigmund said, in between chuckles.

“You take what you’ve got,” Idania said, shrugging.

“When was the last time you told a joke like that?” Sigmund asked.

“It must be years ago. Too long for me to remember.”

“I remember you used to be able to tell what the takeout was before it even came out of the box, back when we were roomies. I never understood why you were so proud of the fact you could do that.”

“It’s useful enough. You know if they screwed up the food right away, in any case.”

“Good times,” Sigmund noted, the smile still on his face.

“Good times.” Idania agreed.

--


The room we were in was identical to the room where we were lying unconscious, but neither Sigmund nor Idania were anywhere to be found. The room appeared to be in better repair overall, except the door had been violently ripped off its hinges.

Natasha stood beside me.

“She’s here. Somewhere. She’s here.”

I grabbed hold of her hand. Everything felt too real to possibly be a dream. I felt more in control, less under the action of somebody else, like my dreams usually felt. The world around us appeared concrete and immutable.

Suddenly, she was there. Bullets seemed to twinkle from their respective wounds. She was teenage, completely naked, with black hair almost identical to Natasha’s. Her combined pallid face, nudity, and bleeding wounds made for a figure that was, though human, a mockery of humanity—something that had been driven to a brink of both madness and death.

This was Moira.

“Just remember, we’re not really here. She can’t hurt us, not really.”

“She can make us hurt ourselves, though.”

Moira screamed, ignoring me, going for Natasha.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE AGAIN?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Dust began to swirl around Moira, and Natasha as well.

“She didn’t do anything to you,” I said, as calmly as I could. Moira didn’t listen.

“HEY!”

She took no notice.

“She can’t hear you,” Natasha said. “She’s confused.”

“Who are you talking to? It doesn’t matter. Why are you here again? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because you asked for help!” Natasha screamed again.

“Help?” Moira echoed.

“Help.”

The dust clouds around her began to settle.

“It’s okay, Natasha,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “No one can make you do anything, you understand? Whatever she does to you is fake. Remember that. It’s all in your head. And do what I tell you, alright?”

“Help.” Moira said again.

“Ask her what she needs, Natasha.”

“What do you need help with, Moira?”

“I want to go home.”

“Tell her you know how to get out of the building.”

“I know how to get out of the building.”

Something awoke. Suddenly, Moira seemed no longer to be moving in an imbalanced daze.

“Where?” she asked.

“It’s down the hallway. If you follow me, I’ll show you.”

“No. Daddy will catch me.”

“Don’t worry. We can find a way around them.”

I didn’t understand entirely what was going on. Initially, I would have figured that the RPA was doing little more than reenacting a memory that Natasha simply became an object of. But now Natasha was altering that memory with her own psychic ability- and the RPA, which had made itself into some kind of conscience, had to respond.

Moira followed Natasha out of the hallway, turning where two parts of the wall had been pulled together by some titanic force.

They made their way to the door.

“Even I couldn’t move that,” Moira said. “It’s too strong.”

“We can do it together.”

“That’s a good girl,” I said.

--

It was simple- so simple. This wasn’t really Moira- just a shadow of Moira. It wasn’t smart enough to understand that Moira had wanted forgiveness or anything else, it was only assorted emotions and thoughts, and only the introduction of a logical way out could remove those emotions and replace them with an objective other than staying alive in that hallway for as long as possible. The meeting with Sigmund- or Sigmund’s shadow, in this case- could only have one conclusion, and the shadow knew it, and would not go to that.

Part of Natasha regretted she could not see that moment in Sigmund’s life with her own eyes. But she knew that it was more important.

“We’ll both push in the center, as hard as we can. Alright?” Natasha suggested. Moira nodded.

At first, their combined efforts did nothing. Then, the door began to groan, dents began to form. It strained every inch of Natasha’s being to a limit she didn’t know she could reach. No test of Idania’s could have ever come to this much effort.

The metal began to stretch, tear, and finally, the door imploded like a wadded up piece of paper.

Blinding light came from the new hole in the wall. The loophole in a program that had played again and again and again, without interference or interruption.

It was only because she had gotten one extra piece of information- home. But she wouldn’t have known what to do with that information. She was too frightened. Jack was there- Jack understood. Jack reacted in a way that Natasha’s completely roundabout, genius mind could not have understood—simply show it the way out the building, like you would any other, normal teenage girl. Perhaps if Natasha was older, she could have taken offense to that, that all her efforts, all her fighting, would all have been for naught if she had thought of that one idea earlier. But she was still, in all emotional states, a child—she was simply happy that it was all be over.

She looked back to Moira, who now had clothes on. It was not the white jumpsuit that we were given, but a plain white blouse and a pair of jeans with a butterfly stitched onto it. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The wounds were all but gone. Her skin now took a more healthy, browned hue, and her voice sounded like that of a sweet teenage girl.

“Thank you.” She said.

She walked into the light.

And so the saga of Moira Anatolia Sigmund came to a final close.

--

“What the hell?” Sigmund said, watching as Natasha seemed to rise off the ground. At first, she appeared limp, but when she was floating at least two feet off the ground, she began to utter what seemed like grunts of effort. Her hands clenched into tight fists. A vein pulsed on her forehead.

“What’s going on?” Idania asked. Sigmund could only shake his head to state his lack of knowledge.

“What’s she doi-”

Natasha’s headband, with no warning at all, began to show cracks in its foundation, and finally, shattered to pieces. The ceiling above Natasha tore apart like so much paper in a meat grinder. The completely surprised employee in the cubicle above screamed as the floor exactly three feet away from her, and the ceiling directly above it, were torn clear through. In that moment, Sigmund knew what had happened. Whatever ghost had haunted this place was gone. Simply gone- no trace of it remained.

Then Natasha awoke suddenly, and fell to the ground.

Jack awoke about the same time.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Idania and Sigmund spoke nearly in unison.

--

I raised a hand. Natasha was smiling, as was he.

“We’re done here,” I said. “There’s no more point in leaving Natasha here any longer, unless you want to test her response to boredom. There’s no more post-mortem psychic activity, no more ghost, whatever you want to call it. It’s gone. And hopefully, that’s how it’s staying.”

“Good news,” Sigmund said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m curious how you got it.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then it can wait,” Idania said. “You and Natasha are leaving. You have a life to live, and I’m giving it to you now. You’ve made it. Both of you have.”

“What now?”

“We can talk about it in the car. Sigmund, this is my responsibility. I won’t ask you to come with—”

Sigmund took out his knife and cut both the Champions and Charson insignia from his vest.

“I’m going with you,” he said simply as he re-holstered the blade. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to quit this place.”

Idania smiled. “It wouldn’t have been complete without you, would it?”

“All part of the plan.” A smirk made its way up his face.

“Alright,” Idania said. “Plan or not, we need to go. We don’t have much time.”

They left, Sigmund and Idania turning the keys themselves. The door hissed open. The guard’s reactions were as neutral as before.

Idania left us briefly to get some files from her laptop. “It’s important,” she said. “Sigmund will debrief you.”

She left, and Sigmund found an empty office.

“Alright. Here’s the deal. You can’t go back home, Jack.”

“So I’ve figured. The Order’s waiting for me, isn’t it?”

“You’re perceptive,” Sigmund said. “I’m not a part of this corporation, so I’m not entitled to any secrets. I hope both your lips are sealed?”

“They are,” I told him. Natasha nodded in agreement.

“Good. Here’s the deal. Idania seems to have figured that Charson had no intentions to give you Natasha, so to that end, she’s decided to find another way to get Natasha an ID. The problem will be fake medical records, adoption records, and a back story. Specifically, the ones that say she’s a regressed six year old, who went through early puberty after Zaire Beta from an American raccoon began to affect her body, for unknown reasons.

“Won’t that cause a bit of attention?” I asked.

“It’s not easy to explain Natasha as anything other than what she is. But this way, she’ll be able to go through the school system like any other child, except she’ll probably be in high school before she hits double digits.”

“What’s high school?” Natasha asked.

“It’s this giant wheel they make you run in for about four years before you can get a job,” I replied off-handedly.

She giggled and shook her head. “You’re silly.”

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s like here, but easier. Much easier. And it doesn’t have any dark rooms.”

Sigmund continued. “You may be able to continue living in the States, if you’re lucky. We don’t have the resources to keep a good watch on you anymore, though. You’re not completely safe in this country. The Order will be looking for you for the rest of your life. Not even considering Natasha, you killed one of their Agents. You might not even get away if you cross continents. But we’re going to try. Somewhere in Europe, more than likely. Gas is expensive, but other than that, no worries.”

“We leave tomorrow. You can’t stay at Charson anymore, obviously. In fact, we should probably be making our leave quick. The—well, the new leaders of the company will be getting to the Champions sooner or later. They’re loyal to me, but they’ve got families to feed regardless. We’ll be leaving once Idania comes back.”

As he said that, the door creaked open. Idania stood outside, the laptop in her arm, power cord neatly wrapped.

“Let’s go.”

“That’s a good bit of corporate data you’ve got there. They can likely sue your [censored] off.”

“They can if they can find me. I’m pulling what I need and then I’m trashing this thing and leaving the States.

“What are we doing about these two? That’s what this whole rogue operation is about, isn’t it?”

“It’s that, and a last goodbye to the company.”

“The hell do you have on that laptop, Idania?”

“All the records that Jack and Natasha will need.”

“I thought you needed to-”

She raised a finger. “I still need to get them printed in Mexico. I know a safe house down there they can go to.”

I tried to interrupt. “Now look, I can’t just leave everything at home behind.”

“You can if you want to live. It’s a good home, but it isn’t worth your life, or Natasha’s. Especially if the Order’s the one who wants it.”

I sighed. There were plenty of things I’d miss, but I had enough liquid funds to work with in savings. I guessed I was going to have to find another job.

I looked to Natasha. The girl I had only known for two months.

“Does that mean-”

“It means we’re together. You’re my adopted daughter, and we’re going home. It may not be the same house, but we’ll make it home.”

She squealed, smiled, and embraced me. I think that moment, confident in the knowledge that we would be together, was one of the happiest in my life.

--

The Agent shadowed Idania, silent, visible, but unassuming. He heard everything. Mexico, a safehouse. It wasn’t enough to track on information. He got authorization relatively quickly, and then he was ready.

He placed a small tracer on the bottom of the former CEO’s car and walked away. He noted the bright red paint job and the aerodynamic texture and couldn’t help but scoff

A Morph, and she lives like a Static. She’s got more luxuries than any Agent could ever afford.

With that scorn placed and filed away, the Agent was gone as quickly as he had come. He found a quiet looking alley and pulled out his PDA and, simultaneously, another Zaire Gamma shot, turning into the exact likeness of the third dead man to be found in the Charson building exactly thirty minutes after Idania, Sigmund, Dr. Theremin, and Natasha left, heading straight for Mexico.

I have only one word to describe this story so far, "Marvelous"

Truly a story that any library can`t be complete without as it makes you wonder what humanity really is. or if it maters what skin color, fur, even body, this little ball of Life has. As it looks at you with those curious eyes and soul behind them

This is my view on it, share it or cast it away, i care not. But in the end, we are all animals living on this earth together. :grin: