I wake up in a bed unfamiliar to me, silk sheets wrapping around my frame. I flinch in momentary panic, but quickly come to my senses as I remember my mission, pushing aside fuzzy alcohol-dimmed memories of the last night. Rolling over in my best impression of someone still slowly waking up, I reach for my partner. To my slight surprise, I find the bed empty. It was somewhat expected. She seems the type to wake up early.
I sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My left eye burns - it’s been exceptionally irritated as of late. Perhaps a reaction with the newly installed Mindshackle augment and other neural enhancements? My golden arm twitches. I’m still getting used to the movement, the neural interfacing crude and requiring enhancements. It’s uncomfortable to say the least, but I must put on airs of comfort and refinement. Augmentation without the proper control is simply uncouth. Cheap.
Feeling cheap is nothing new to me, now. Despite being clothed in silken sleepwear I could have never dreamed of affording on my own, I feel worthless. Used. The clothes on the back worth more than the body wearing it. Putting on some overwear, I slowly make my way into the hallway. Corinne hears me despite my intention to remain obscured, and calls out.
“Genevieve? Is that you?”
The name feels unnatural to hear in this context. I had taken a name I was familiar with - my mother’s. It felt wrong to use in such a deception. Despite this, I managed to muster a response.
“In the flesh. You must have tired me out last night - I slept like a rock.”
She didn’t need to know that my rest - like always - was fitful and unfulfilling.
“I think you must have tired yourself out. Did you know you talk in your sleep, dear?”
My face falls.
“Who’s Callisto? Actually - don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”
At least I had not let slip more than that. I gingerly make my way to the kitchen island, pulling up a chair to the massive slab of marble which stood sentinel in the center of the bright white kitchen. Sunlight filtered in through trees gently swaying in the morning light, and the sound of seabirds echoed outside. Waves crashing could just barely be heard - only perceptible through my advanced sensor suite. Overall, it’s quite calming. It reminds me of home in a way I cannot articulate, stirring emotions in my chest. My hand shudders. Corinne notices, but pays no mind.
She tends to breakfast, eggs and fish cooking in a cast iron pan. Though she’s a busy woman - a council member, no less - today is an off day for her. Probably why she took me home. I see my evening dress haphazardly draped across the sofa in the living room. Evidently, she hadn’t seen fit to tidy up too much. Maybe she wanted to remember.
Breakfast, as much as my stomach turns with stress, does sound appetizing. I curse myself for actually falling asleep - my mission would be made effortless if only I had managed to stay awake - but the mission is not unsalvageable at this stage. Asterius would be cursing me if he could observe, but most signals intelligence has been disabled at this moment. For a better cover story. It would be hard to explain a radar warning receiver activating when I walked by.
Taking a break from tending to the breakfast, Corinne pours me a glass of water. It’s lightly flavored by cucumber and mint, providing an exceptionally refreshing experience I was wholly unprepared for. I had always grown up with rationing, and experienced even more so on the Iron Hand. To flavor one’s own water with these perishables? Such concepts were beyond me. I can tell my mask slips, for but a moment, as I wholeheartedly enjoy the beverage. I catch Corinne’s glance as it happens and see her eyes soften for but a moment. Perhaps, to her, I register as more than simply someone to take home. Maybe she sees something in me. Maybe I could get used to infused water and soft sunlight and sea breeze.
Maybe it’s best for me to stop imagining such things.
The breakfast is done, lightly charred around the edges, my chemical sensors pinging volatiles floating in the air. Paired with lovely French bread (much better than my own baking, as much as I hate to admit it), the meal is certainly delicious and nourishing, suitable after a long night of drinking and otherwise. I politely wait until Corinne has begun to eat until I do.
“How come I haven’t seen you around before, Genevieve?”
I pause. I wasn’t expecting her to ask questions.
“You know, I pay attention to anything going on in the area. Councilmember of the New West isn’t exactly a job where one can afford to not be perceptive.”
I take a breath before responding.
“I’m here on business, I guess. Representing someone hoping to make some expansions on this coast.”
“Interesting! I wonder who you could be representing, sweet thing. I’d say, given the arm and the other augmentation,” she says as a sly smile crosses her face, “you would be representing the-”
“Shipping company! It’s a shipping company,” I blurt out, in a rather unbecoming way.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Tell me about this company.”
“We operate mostly out of Asia, hoping to expand into the City of Angels, I just -”
I take a moment to compose myself.
“I wasn’t expecting to talk business today.”
“I understand, dear. I’m sorry about that. How’s the breakfast?”
“Delectable, Corinne. Thank you so much. I don’t think I’ve ever been treated like this before.”
She smiles once more. The edges of her face crease when she does in such a beautiful way, and her eyes seem to laugh, reflected in the late morning sunshine. My guard slips. I smile back, and she laughs. I laugh with her. The mission slips from my mind like so much water on a polished metal surface, like the water droplets from my new arm in a warm shower.
She’s gorgeous. The teachings of Asterius flare up in my mind, as well as my devotion to Callisto. The guilt hits in waves. First Asterius’ words in my mind, echoing to never let one not so blessed as myself in, as friends or lovers. Such attachments are anathema to us, the rust between our skin and our soul. I wonder what he would do if he knew what I felt for Corinne, an avowed enemy of the church and our enlightenment. Overseer Zure most certainly counted on her psychological profile best priming her to fall for me, but Asterius would be enraged if he knew I felt even the slightest thing for one outside of our own ranks.
And Callisto. I can imagine the heartbreak in her words. I know I should not be affected by such things, that she does manipulate me to cause me to stray from the light, but I cannot let her go. I could not bear to face her if I let myself fall deeper into this rose-colored haze.
I take a drink of water, letting the mint clear my head. Corinne is still looking at me. I cannot tell if she’s imagining a future or just undressing me with her eyes. It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford to let it continue. The sliding glass door beckons, offering escape. I stand, making my way to the door. I open it slightly, letting the sea breeze wash over me. Despite my attempt at escape, Corinne follows, resting her hands on my hips. I shiver at the sensation, though I do not attempt to remove her. I’m almost honored that she still seeks to pursue me, even after she’s had her fun. It will not make my job any easier.
Her holo-watch buzzes. I feel her let go of my waist, and retreat further into the kitchen. It’s a relief in some ways, but I can feel the way my body reacts to the absence of hers. Such an experience is a deeply painful reminder of my own humanity. I can hear the continued buzzing of the holo-watch, what seems like a barrage of text messages. My sensor suite picks up an outgoing call to community police, which could only mean one thing.
I brace myself for what is to come, and turn around just in time to avoid the cast-iron frying pan careening towards the back of my head. I manage to duck out of the way, but the overhand swing catches me in the left shoulder, knocking me to the ground. She shouts something at me, but I cannot parse her through the adrenaline haze. All I am sure of is that she knows who I am. How or why she knows this, I cannot tell, but such details are unimportant. I attempt to rise, only to catch another blow from the frying pan to the arm once more. It sparks and twitches, throwing me off as I attempt to defend myself. I see murder in her eyes, though, and realize that now is my only chance to complete the mission, before the local police arrive. If this gets out… I can hardly consider the possibility.
Corinne is strong. Not as strong as a trained fighter, and certainly not as large, but she’s definitely been training. No one weak could swing something so heavy like she does. She continues to slowly pursue, backing me towards the closed sliding glass door. An idea strikes. An agent of the Cog’s Teeth must be resourceful, or else she is doomed to fall in the line of duty. Though I have only been an agent for a short while, I do not intend for this to be my final mission. With my heavy augmetic arm, I slam my fist against the door, glass shattering behind me. The unnatural movement throws me to the ground as I twist to avoid the worst of it, though glass still embeds itself deep into my thigh. Despite my best efforts, I cry out in pain, the flood of morphine into my system only dulling the agony. Hauling myself once more to my feet, the intrusion of glass into my musculature ripping new gashes in my leg, I fill my right hand with glass shards. Though the material cuts deep into my hands, I’m able to get a good enough grip to send the shards flying into Corinne’s face, blinding and stunning the councilwoman.
Unfortunately, she is not stunned for long. Despite crying out and holding her face, she blindly strikes out with the pan, connecting with the fourth rib down, right side. The bone collapses instantly. As if stabbed, a sharp pain erupts in my lung, made worse by my body’s reaction to instantly gasp. Despite the fortitude offered by my augmentations, I double over once again, broken glass embedding itself into my shoulder this time. I can’t contain the scream this time either. Some blood comes with it, as I curl up coughing dark red fluid mixed with phlegm. Such vulgar displays of humanity would doubtless earn me a punishment at the hands of Asterius, though luckily for me, he is not here. It’s only Corinne and I now.
She must have heard me fall. At the very least, she must have heard me scream. Despite the blood pouring from beneath the hand covering her face, she kicks wildly in my general direction. She’s not wearing shoes, instead opting for softer kicks hoping to discover my location. She connects with my shoulder. Quicker than I can expect, her heel connects with my sternum and pain radiates from the impact site. I try to dodge the next one, but she’s quicker than I expect, the second strike fracturing the bones underneath. Despite the solid hit, she slams the frying pan into my chest again, setting my frayed nerves alight with agony. I cough, the damage to my lungs severe enough to elicit such a reaction. My blood stains the front of my silken nightwear, disgusting, sickly dark red blooming across pure white fabric. I can hardly breathe, my lungs stilling with the repeated trauma.
Corinne, though evidently experienced in self defense, is unable to remove her arm from my reach in time with such a heavy weapon. Mustering all of my fading strength, I’m able to catch her arm and pull her to the ground with me. She screams as she falls onto the bed of broken glass, her piercing cry eliciting great discomfort or even pity in my psyche, something I believed I had already excised. Taking the opportunity and rolling into an upright position, pain flaring in my shoulder as the glass is driven yet deeper, I’m able to secure both my hands around her neck as she struggles against my grip. I’m much larger and heavier than she is, and as such her attempts to dislodge me are in vain. She strikes with the pan against my side, but with such little leverage, it only succeeds in causing pain - no more broken bones. I feel her windpipe give way beneath my fingers, slow cracking and bending under the weight of my body, her protestations morphing into rasping and wheezing. With the vice-grip of my augmetic hand tightening around her neck, it’s not long before her futile attempts of a counterattack slow and eventually stop. Her sightless eyes, despite pooling blood, transition from burning with anger, to terrified and panicky, to pleading, to eventually resignation at her fate.
I wonder what she must have been thinking in her last moments. Maybe she had been thinking about what a mistake it was to bring the tall girl home after the ball. Maybe she had been hoping for the police to bust down the door, shoot her assailant, and help her to her feet. Maybe she had been thinking none of those things. My main objective, now, is the desperate need to stagger to the lawn where I can wait for exfil.
Collapsing in the grass outside the home, I smell the sea breeze as the rotor-wash of a cult helicopter draws closer. I must be a sight. Clothed in expensive nightwear ripped to ribbons with shards of broken glass, the once-white silk stained deep red with blood, both my own and Corinne’s. I remember the feeling of times like these. Learning to fly by the coast, hearing the chopping of helicopter blades as they agitate the salt-laden air. Even the smell of blood is familiar, eliciting memories of flying over a boat unloading bled tuna, the sharp stench of it permeating the cabin air, overpowering even the smell of burning avgas and machine oil.
I permit myself a moment to think of home before collapsing onto the cold, dewy grass.