Author's notes:
Disclaimer: Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3 and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware. Takeshi Kovacs trilogy belongs to Richard K. Morgan. Rated M for language, violence and suggestive (maybe even explicit) themes.
Sorry for my long-ish absence. Writing Mass Effect or sci-fi in general feels harder to me than fantasy, for some reason I haven't yet deciphered. Hopefully you'll like it anyway. I'll try to update, at least a bit, more regularly, but I cannot promise anything, sadly. I'd like to write more, but I haven't the time. Not really, and when writer's block rears up and knocks me in the head, overcoming it is often too much of a strain.
Nonetheless, please, enjoy.
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[h+]
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The Silence In Between
Chapter II
Threat Of Eternity
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[h+]
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Succeeding only partially, the military-grade neurachem grafted onto his nervous system scrambled to counter the effects of the ultravibe grenade, sub-sonics still ringing painfully inside his head. The Envoy conditioning pushed itself to the forefront and smothered the rest.
Johann's Envoy senses crawled out, soaking up the entire situation in a heartbeat. They entered through the sundeck's glass roof. Alert, with a fluid efficacy which belied their special operations training. His senses sharpened, aided by the neurachem, scraping raw against the threshold of pain, just shy of the unbearable end of the spectrum. Four. Five of them, tops. Spreading out to cover the entire apartment.
Nude, dripping water, soaked hair clinging to his skin, Shepard only just managed to grab his slim SA-issue monomolecular knife as the first of the assailants entered the bedroom.
Ready to pounce, Shepard's muscles tensed.
From the shadows, speeding over the carpeted floor with quick and silent steps on the balls of his feet, Johann invaded the black-clad figure's personal space, swatting his gun aside with the heel of his palm. Two quick motions, upwards. He hurled the intruder aside, onto the perfectly made bed, with a severed axillary artery and an opened throat.
The layers of scarlet velvet blankets atop the king-sized bed hid the blood in a morbidly peaceful illusion.
Snap out of it! Reileen Ridaura screaming at him. First day with the Corps.
He'd bought a few seconds worth of time. Quickly, he put on a bit more appropriate attire for the firefight ahead and grabbed his Diamond Back revolver, checking the unconventional side break action before flicking off the safety.
Thanks, Rei.
Still barefooted, he tiptoed along the gangway leading into the living area of the apartment, handgun held close to his chest. Johann stopped just at the edge, back pressed against the wall, straining his ears.
No doubt about the fact that the assailants had already established what the sudden radio silence of one of their comrades over their internal com meant. If they were any good, that is. But judging by the smooth movements the dead one behind him had exhibited, they were outfitted with top-of-the-line combat-sleeves, worth a fortune. Something Shepard himself couldn't claim for the flesh he wore.
Letting a drawn out breath escape his lips, closing his eyes shortly, listening to the approaching footsteps, Shepard let the neurachem run its course. The frenzy of his mind replaced by Envoy calm.
Peripherally, something yanked at his vision. Tugged it back from an unidentifiable edge wavering with wafts of heat elusively distorting the air, before it metamorphosed to a euphoric clearness. The world snapped into bright focus. His senses heightened to an almost animalistic perception. Everything sharpened to be covered in a surreal crystalline glint.
Johann checked the chronometer up high in the left corner of his eyesight, placidly ticking by. Rounding the corner, Shepard surged out of cover.
Time slowed to an idle crawl. Perception completely detached from the passage of seconds, minutes and hours. Only his heartbeat was there, calm, accompanying him like a steady war drum, even the prospect of violence didn't elate the beat.
One left. Two right. Two males, one female. All of them wore light ballistic-flex armour and full-face helmet rigs, their golden visors reflecting the light thrown down from the ceiling.
Before he'd fully stepped out of the gangway, Johann's arms had already completed their inbred movement, anticipating his first target's location, a reflex honed by performing the motion a thousand times over with always the same clinical detachment. He simply curled his finger.
The Diamond Back went off with a mad bark.
The pair to the right dove for cover, a heartbeat too slow, too sloppy, too surprised. Even their no-expenses-spared manufactured sleeves couldn't save them in time. Blue flaring kinetic shields stopped the bullet from taking the rightmost of the assassins in the eye. But it didn't stop the subsequent explosion, cracking open the faceplate and taking half the head underneath with it in a misty spurt of flesh and bone, showering the surroundings. The second assailant, the female, besides the half-decapitated man flailed, thrown off by the exorbitant usage of smart munition on Shepard's part, stumbled, sprawling awkwardly on the floor.
The black-clad figure to Shepard's left recovered the quickest, zeroed in on him and snapped off a burst of accurate shots. Already shifting his weight to one leg, pushing off with the other, Johann barely managed to pirouette out of the bullets' path, and into cover anticipating the third assailant's move. One projectile still grazed Shepard's torso, tearing open the ribcage with a scything sting.
With a neural command, the eezo nodes littering his sleeve flared up like countless tactical nuclear charges in space, the sensation sending shivers through his limbs, quickening his heartbeat, skin flush with excitement. A light step, a miniscule shift of muscle hurled him into a biotically accelerated charge, crossing the distance to the third assailant in the blink of an eye. Too short to develop the bone-crushing force of a longer charge.
Nonetheless, the sudden deceleration process and the curling biotic energies released, knocked the man off balance, most likely disoriented. Stepping in close, Johann locked the man's arm under his own armpit, which tightly clutched an erratically firing sub-machine gun, the shots ripping the rows of ancient books to bits of papery gore.
Lowering his Diamond Back, barrel pressed against his immediate enemy's leg, Shepard blew out his kneecap in a splatter of bloody pulp, the calf severed. Letting go of the screaming man, cries muffled by the helmet-rig he wore, Shepard deftly turned around and emptied the man's head of a large portion of his brains, careful to avoid harming the cortical stack in the spine.
The last of the assailants still alive, struggled up after her clumsy descent to the tiled illuminum flooring. With swift paces, amplified by the energy of auroral biotics covering his body like wafting up tufts of steam after a hot shower, Johann practically glided through the apartment, the skin around his mouth taunt. Still rising, the woman managed to snap up her rapid-reload shell-shotgun. Nasty piece of weaponry. Unfortunately for her, just a heartbeat to slow.
Grabbing the top of the female invader's bulky weapon, Shepard tugged it upwards. Launching himself in the air, Johann straddled the woman at the waist, like a lover. Relocating his superior weight to the right, away from her gun, they both went down in a heap. Rolling off his shoulder, Shepard came out on top, bringing down the business end of his Diamond Back with a snarl before the woman could recover her wits. The crunch her crushed trachea emitted resounded in the once more peaceful and quiet living room with a delightful cadence. Shepard kicked her shotgun out of reach. Flapping around like a fish gasping for air, her slim hands went for her throat, clutching feebly, gasping for air.
A thunderous roar from above, like a rising hurricane trailing through the Nos Astra skyline with the promise of vengeful destruction. Johann sprinted up the stairs, came to halt in a crouch just as he reached the sundeck. He emptied the remaining bullets in his revolver's chamber into the pristine hull of the taking-off VTOL. A futile attempt to bring the armoured vehicle down, even though the explosive munition rocketed the aircraft to the side, blackening its hull.
The Diamond Back clicked empty in his hand and Shepard screamed at the H-shaped tail of the retreating aircraft.
He plopped down on a couch nearby, deflated, and cast a glance at the internal chronometer of his ocular implants. From down below he perceived a sizzling noise.
'Fuck me.'
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[h+]
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What is it with these humans? Can't even leave them alone for a few hours. I swear trouble is ingrained in their DNA as much as wanting to fuck anything walking by them.
The ILE skycar touched down smoothly and the hatch opened. Iresa was buffeted by the roar of the engines, midway through the process of powering down. Ducking, to present a smaller target and avoid being swatted away by the wailing winds, Iresa reached the one-way kinetic barrier sheltering the sundeck of the Spectre's palatial apartment.
Troopers were already downstairs, trying to make a sense of things and gauge any clue as to the identity of the assailants.
Drawing on a lit cigarette, Shepard perched cross-legged on a couch, its body woven from a fine, pink-coloured timber growing exclusively on Thessia. He appeared unfazed, if not a bit wrung out, hair still damp. Iresa spotted a grazing shot, which tore open his flesh, blood covering the entire side.
What undoubtedly perplexed her most was his attire: just boxer shorts.
Irritated, Iresa approached, able to find a modicum of politeness. Her tone clipped, she asked, 'You alright?'
He looked up at her. 'Sure.'
'What about that?' She gestured at his wound.
He glanced down shortly. 'It's nothing.'
'It doesn't look like nothing.'
'What are you? My mother?'
Iresa snorted. 'No. And I thank the Goddess for that. But I'm an officer of the law.' Whatever that means on Illium. 'Can't have you dying just because you're a stubborn bastard.'
Shepard remained silent for a while, only drawing on his cigarette. 'It's no hindrance.'
'I didn't ask that.'
'No. You didn't.' He exhaled. 'But as long as it doesn't impair my movement. It just that. Pain. Nothing else. It helps me.'
These testosterone-ridden hair-scratching primates were going to be the end of her. 'What?'
'The pain. It helps me think.'
Iresa frowned, a headache starting to pound her temples. 'Well. What do you think, then?'
The human Spectre looked down the stairwell, expression unreadable. 'I'm not quite sure.'
'I thought you Envoys were supposed to know everything.'
'We can only combine what we know, lieutenant. And, currently, I know not with whom I should associate the welcoming party downstairs nor do I know the reason for their warm welcome. All I know is that those sleeves down there. They're top notch.' He shrugged, watching her. 'There are many people who'd wish me a corpse.'
'Can't imagine why.' The snide comment came out harsher than she actually intended. But Shepard seemed unaffected.
'People always find a reason.'
A transparent rebreather mask dangling around her neck, Private Lantaya jogged up the stairs, hovering a few feet away, shuffling around, a datapad clutched in her arms like a shield. Iresa waved the young asari over.
'Lieutenant.' She saluted.
Iresa gestured for her to get on with it, never having been one for protocol. The rookie bobbed her head up and down. Out of the corner of her vision, Iresa saw the Spectre smile wryly.
'Yes, ma'am. Four bodies, all of them human, ma'am. Artificial sleeves and gear appear to be military-grade hardware. Forced entry through the roof-'
'Their stacks?' Iresa asked.
The young private shook her head, opened her mouth, but Shepard intercepted, flat gaze steering over the skyscrapers catching the waning evening light. 'They'd a self-destruct installed. Toxic charge. Decomposing the stack after seconds. Leaves a nice hole. Sometimes gets the killer too.'
Iresa felt a bit shocked at the revelation. But fanatics could be found among any group of sentient existence. No matter their biological lifespan. Private Lantaya, skin taking on a pallid colour, appeared squeamish. Iresa dismissed her before anything happened and the young asari practically flew down the staircase. Should tell you something. That she rather wants to be down there playing with corpses than up here with her and the first human Spectre.
'You knew?'
'It was already too late. I couldn't go down there. The toxins would've killed me.'
Iresa nodded, understanding, wrangling with herself over what she was about to say. 'You have someplace to stay?'
Shepard peered at her, strangely. 'Well, this place is infested with unbreathable air for at least another few hours. So, no.'
Iresa heaved a sigh. 'You can crash at my place if you want. For the night that is. We're going to have a look at the crime scene tomorrow anyway.'
'Thanks.'
'But I swear. If you aren't on your best behaviour I'll kick you till you bleed.'
Shepard just arched a brow at her.
'In front of Ellie. Even though she's somewhat of a fangirl.'
'And Ellie is?'
'My wife. As you humans say.'
He groaned. 'Great.'
Iresa flashed a smile in his direction. 'Thought you'd like that. I'll have one of troopers fetch you some clothes. Then we'll be off. You've interrupted dinner, you know.'
Behind her, the Spectre grumbled something inaudible, provoking Iresa to cover up her laugh.
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[h+]
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The following morning, 9 a.m. sharp, they flew down to the nearest ILE precinct in Nos Astra, to Lieutenant Iresa's workplace, in perfectly content silence. Rather than discuss events which had transpired the night before.
Lieutenant Iresa had initially seemed a bit surprised at Shepard's charming demeanour, layered on like make-up, and the way how he easily conversed with her wife. Johann had seen Ellie's type often. Romanticising every cruel decision and gruesome battle into something noble. They saw the best in everything. Or simply lied to themselves disturbingly well. He didn't want to shatter the illustration she'd painted inside her mind. It'd do her no good. And him neither.
Heavily-armed security drones patrolled the exterior of the ILE precinct in an ostensively random pattern. Though, before Shepard's eyes something akin to a pattern only a machine could think up was already discernible. A complex, inhuman one, but a pattern, nonetheless.
They touched down on the tarmac on top of the station and walked inside, drawing curious gazes after them. Lieutenant Iresa barged through every security checkpoint uncontested, Shepard in tow.
The lieutenant gestured towards a door. 'You go on in. I'll have it loaded up.'
'Sure.'
The haptic lock of the heavy-set door seemed to recognise his Spectre credentials, flashed in confirmation and opened up automatically with a satisfied hiss. Above the door, in bold letters, was stamped: VCRE – VIRTUAL CRIME REVIEW ENVIROMENT. Another step, ushered in by humanity, out of the stagnant swamp the Council races were stuck it.
Once inside, Johann made a beeline for the rarely used pods, judging by the condition they were in, no scratch marks, a slight cover of dust here and there.
Lying down inside number three, squirming to get comfortable, Shepard refrained from applying the safety harness. No real need to fear injury by force feedback while reviewing a crime scene. He initiated the start-up sequence with an eye blink, looking straight into the heads-up display above, the orange diamond-shaped icon flashed green.
A current shuddered through his spine and traced along it, reaching his head. Johann closed his eyes and fell through static grey.
Bright flowers blossomed, mimicking an ever-changing spectrum of colour, too fast to identify each and every one. Until they folded inward before expanding, fracturing. Billions of pixels raced outwards, like miniature suns of millions of star systems crowding the endless expanse of space.
Out of the grey nothing a murky room trickled up like inverted rain. Through angled shutters rays of light filtered through, motes of dust hanging in the seedy air. Smoke lingered and a sweaty scent clung to the seams and edges of the room, etched into the walls. Empty bottles and broken glasses littered the floor. Like a hieroglyphic message only to be deciphered from a bird's view.
On the large bed occupying most of the room two naked female corpses sprawled, slumped against each other in a tumble of stiff extremities. One pale skinned and full bodied in the right places. In contrast to the other woman's body: tanned, long-limbed and fit. Their faces were seared off, a mess of charred organic tissue, holes in the back of their skulls, just at the nape. A lone chair stood facing the bed.
Shepard slumped down into it. Folded his hands, head resting on the tip his fingers formed, he surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes.
Lieutenant Iresa blinked into existence next to him. Standing a little bit taller than in reality, the unconsciousness worked funny that way in virtual. A bit healthier coloured, fewer rings under her eyes and fuller breasts. She looked about and seemed to notice his presence only after a few dazed seconds. She stared down at him with a sneer.
'Comfortable?'
Shepard ignored her comment. 'Which is Shelani?'
'You didn't guess?'
Of course, he had. Hand stiffened in rigor mortis, the pale-skinned supermodel sleeve still clutched a compact pulsejet blaster. Military-grade weaponry, not illegal on Illium, few things were, but hard to come by nonetheless. The SA kept a tight-lock on their tech when they wanted to. He gestured to the bed-side table. 'In summary?'
'Every narcotic you can possibly imagine. Tetrahydrocannabinol. Methamphetamines. Endorphins. Red Sand. Hallex. That new designer drug. Creeper. Take your pick.'
Shepard grunted. The Envoy programming clamped down on the irrational itch crawling over his skin, suppressing a sudden urge.
'What?' Lieutenant Iresa asked.
'Nothing. It's just impressive.'
'Impressive?'
'That they were able to fuck.'
Lieutenant Iresa snorted, an expression on her face which should probably remind him of the ape hormone cocktail guiding his biased system. And that of every other human male.
Johann got up and walked to the window comprising the entire wall to the left of the bed. 'Where is. Here?'
'Down in the industrial districts. Lower levels. Among the billions of poor and indentured souls. As far removed as possible where someone like Shelani would be.'
'Alright.'
'Alright?' Lieutenant Iresa mimicked his tone.
Shepard shrugged. 'I'm not going to find anything of use here, lieutenant. Just like you.' She looked away. 'There's no sign of struggle. Shelani's got the blaster, like you said. Scorch marks on the wall-' he gestured to where she stood, near the door '-and on the ceiling. Where Shelani probably torched her own face off. Nothing interesting. And everything lends credibility to your theory.'
Lieutenant Iresa hissed at him. 'Wasn't my theory. Besides, every DNA evidence or otherwise organic trace left behind has been wiped. According to forensics in a matter of seconds.'
Johann slated his eyes at her. 'DNA scrubber?'
'Probable. It's the only thing coming to mind.'
Shepard had used those quite a few times whilst working for the Envoy Corps. The first pulse mapped any organic imprints via a three dimensional scan, then removed them with a second pulse of subtle quick-shift nano-biotic fields scouring the room.
Heat in her voice, she glared at him. 'And if you ever call it my theory. I'll cook you with warpfire. Was just some bullshit line I fed down their throats.' Who she meant with their, exactly, she left dangling in the choked air.
Johann tried for laconic disinterest. 'I know.'
She gave a tired sigh. 'You really don't care. Do you?'
'Why should I? Sentimentality wouldn't help either way.'
'Goddess. You Envoys really are fucked in the head.'
Shepard smiled.
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[h+]
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The world was on fire. A raging maelstrom of flame surrounded him on the plinth he stood. The faint presence of a destroyed statue looming at his back, gave him some obscure semblance of support, of balance.
The sky filled with blackness, marring the once beautiful sunset. Skyscrapers and monuments of architecture spearing towards the clouded canopy crumbled with a shaking roar until only charred husks remained.
They were looking at him.
They were fucking looking at him.
Up, their eyes brimming with expectancy, with such clarity and surety in him. They wanted to be shepherded out of this fiery hell consuming the planet around them.
And they looked to him for guidance.
All he could do was lie well.
We'll make it out of here alive.
A ding.
Johann jolted upright, halfway out of the automould chair. His surroundings blurred into focus and he slumped back with a sigh, mildly unimpressed with himself.
'Agent Shepard.'
Johann cocked his head. 'What?' His voice sounded hoarse. The Envoy barriers wrapped around him in layers, a heavy presence in his mind and the rinse of the dream dripping off it.
'The IA&R construct is loaded up and ready for you to enter.'
Extracting the female assailant's cortical stack hadn't been all the hard. Of course, the fact that she'd still been breathing, albeit barely, – more like wheezing – had help tremendously in that regard. Flipping her on her belly what followed were steady hands, two precise incisions, one above the stack cutting into her spine, one below, with his monomolecular blade and an application of physical leverage and the damned thing came free with a wet sucking noise. Fabricating the damage of a toxic self-destruct was child's work compared to that. Wouldn't do to let ILE suspect anything.
He rubbed his dry eyes, trying to coax a state resembling wakefulness into them. 'Thanks.'
'My legal subroutines compel me to inform you of the fact that the action you are about to undertake is prohibited by Council and Illium law with a penance of up to thirty subjective years in storage if committed by a human.'
'Don't feed me that crap line again, Cara. Or I'll torch your datacore to the ground.'
'Affirmative, Agent Shepard. Logging you out.'
Fucking corporate virtual intelligence constructs. Probably knew full well that every major player on Illium disregarded the law when it suited them. Besides, the VI had no clue as to what he actually meant to fucking do. But, that was kind of beside the point.
IA&R. Identify, Assess and Recover. The needed equipment fit in two carryalls. Most military-grade cortical stacks had the software installed by now. Coming back from the dead is never an easy or smooth procedure. Not even for a spec-ops soldier. It is messy business. The psyche rarely took the dying part in stride. Many soldiers woke up screaming out their madness and kicking at the demons haunting them. Of course, some always survived death, but it changes you irrevocably.
So, before downloading and decanting a killed soldier into a new combat-sleeve, ready to throw him back into the frontline trenches, the SA now decided to send in the psychosurgeons first. To Identify. To Assess. To Recover. If possible. Grunts usually weren't worth the time and effort required to flick them back into a state approaching sanity again. Spec-ops, with highly specialised skillsets, though, were a completely different story.
Shepard put on the skeletal electrode-helm and leaned back into the automould leather chair. Before he could tilt back his head onto the rest, Cara jacked him in.
An endless field of golden wheat, brushing his elbows and tickling his back, surrounded him, as far as he could see, even with the neurachem cranked up to maximum. They danced in a light breeze, to the rhythm of a rushing sound produced by their idle movement.
Built from seamless white wooden tiles, without scratch-marks and unworn by weather and time itself, a single-family home squatted in front of him. Only an artificial or virtual intelligence construct could dream up such an unblemished house as the ideal. On the patio at the forefront of the house, shaded from the high sun by roofing, stood an unoccupied rocking chair.
Shepard entered the bizarrely twisted version of an idyllic home. She already waited for him, seated behind a wooden table, fingers folded on top. Features bland, nothing noteworthy, neither ugly nor beautiful, she stared at him with dull eyes.
Crossing his arms, Johann eased into the chair opposite her. 'Who sent you?'
She blinked.
'Alright. You're probably wondering how the fuck your stack is still intact.' He shrugged. 'I've had experience with. Extracting them.'
She twitched.
'And even though you had a self-destruct installed. Which would probably have killed me as well.' Johann tapped his chest. 'Augmented lungs. You know. Quite helpful. So either you start talking or.' Johann averted his gaze, faking a bored look.
'Or what?' She appeared amused. Envoy intuition picked out the layers beneath, the locked-away fear. Under control, for now. 'You going to torture me?'
Shepard stared back at her. 'I'm an ex-Envoy. We're sick fucks if you haven't heard.' Sometimes even so much as a whisper of the Corps could send a planetary uprising back into the complacent pits out of which it rose. But most of the time the Envoys weren't that blunt. They came and went without anyone ever noticing them, aborting the rebel regime before it even came alive.
The woman across him stiffened, then caught her reaction and tried to revise her mistake. Got you.
Shepard shook out a cigarette and pressed it against the ignition patch. Puffing out the smoke between pursed lips, he spoke, 'I'm not going to torture you.' Doubt flickered over her face, the solid ground swiped out underneath her, just like he did before crushing her throat. Keep them off balance. They believe something? Take it from them. Until they have nothing left. Thanks, Rei. Always appreciated. 'I'm just going to leave you here. Crank up the ratio to one-fifty. By the time the month outside is over you'll have spent a century here. Probably insane already. It's a rudimentary virtual setup, after all. And you've no need for food or water. In three months, by the time I've probably forgotten about you, you'll have spent three centuries in mental decay. Tried to kill yourself a few times. Doesn't work though.'
Johann got up, smoking his cigarette. 'Do enjoy yourself.'
His hand was already on the door when she broke. 'Wait!'
He turned the handle, like twisting a knife. 'Fucking wait! Arrastas! Name's Arrastas! Local turian kingpin. Drugs. Guns. Experimental tech. Re-sleeving facilities. Has his talons in everything.'
Johann turned back around. 'He gave the order?'
'Fuck, no. He's just a middleman. Running a clearinghouse operation every sick fuck from here to Earth makes use of.'
Shepard waited.
'I don't know who contracted him. But I know about him. About his set-up, his operation, his business.'
She sighed, the last remnants of resistance ebbing out of her, paving the way for defeat. 'I'll tell you. Everything. Everything I know, at least.' Something hard entered her voice. 'But only if you destroy my stack afterwards. If he gets his hands on me.'
Shepard more heard than saw the shudder run through her. He jacked out. Re-entry back into reality was about as fun as coming down from a tetrameth high. The surreal glint wore off, the knowledge, which so many beings graced with the dubious gift of sentience lacked, that he wasn't in control of reality as he was of virtual nestled at the back of his head. Lodged there by the rigid Envoy conditioning.
'Can you upload a construct of me into IA&R?' he asked the ever present in-house virtual intelligence.
'With the amount of interactive data gathered of you by now, Agent Shepard, I am able to do so.'
'Do it. Find out everything she knows. Send it to my omni.' Leaning forward, Johann rubbed his eyes. 'Then shut it down and scrub it clean.'
'Affirmative, Agent Shepard.'
Fucking moronic fanatics. Death didn't scare them. But eternity did.
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[h+]
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Thank you for reading. I'm always interested in your thoughts.
fjun
20150423 - Edit: minor changes. Added two paragraphs.
