Excerpt from the Diary of Freelancer Agent Washington
South framed me. I'd like to say I never saw it coming, but what's the point of lying to myself? If I lie to myself, no one will be telling me the truth.
They were going to put me back in the psych ward, but they changed their minds. Maybe it's because South shot herself in the leg, and next to that I don't look so crazy. Probably it's just that they don't think the psych ward will hold me anymore. Hell, if it couldn't hold Arizona, I don't know who it could keep in.
At least detention is quiet. I think the walls are soundproofed, but if they think that's going to psych me out, they're wrong. Silence is . . . comfortable. It's been a while since I was somewhere actually quiet. No comment about the inside of my head, except that it's not so bad anymore.
Vermont got what was coming to him. If I hadn't, someone else would have. He may be incontinent for the rest of his life, they tell me. As if I should feel bad. It's all I can do to keep from laughing, honestly. Some people just don't understand the humor of karma. I suppose I can give Vermont a pass on that one, since it's never particularly funny to be shot. But mostly I just don't care. As long as he leaves me alone, I should be all right. Although it is an added bonus that he's in tremendous amounts of pain and is constantly pissing himself.
I just didn't think she'd do something like that. I knew she was a vengeful bitch, but I had no idea she'd go so far as to frame me for shooting her. Sure, it was uncalled-for to punch her, but she was never going to leave me alone otherwise. What did she expect? That I'd just turn around and act like nothing had ever happened? I should have shot her. But just because I wanted to doesn't mean she has the right to frame me for it! What the Hell is her problem, anyway? I don't understand how she gained anything from it, and South is all about "what's in it for me." It just doesn't make sense.
Maybe she's just still angry. If there's one thing South does well, it's hold a grudge. I think she could hold a grudge until the world ends, and would be happy to do it. That's probably it. It's just her petty vengeance for me leaving her. As if she hasn't done enough already. As if I don't have enough to worry about without her stupid little vendetta.
They tried to decommission Tex, by which I mean remove Omega from her system and lock him up. Turns out Omega didn't like that too much, and he took Tex and ran for it. There was a lot of gunfire. I've decided that I don't particularly like that sound. It carries too well. It's too loud. I could hear it down here, where it's supposed to be quiet.
Tex got away. No one told me, I just happen to know. She had the cloaking device, and she and Omega were nearly unstoppable. Not always a good thing. In this case, it's a real slap in the face to the assholes running this place. When you make people powerful, you should make sure you don't make them more powerful than you.
Someone's coming. I have to hide this now, since the Counselor still doesn't want me keeping journals. Maybe he's just telling me that so I will.
Agent Washington was lying on his back with his eyes covered under his right arm, the perfect picture of lazy disinterest. That was how South knew he had been up to something. Washington never relaxed, especially not when someone else was in the room.
"Wash," she said, rapping on his door, "hey, wake up."
"What do you want?" he asked, not moving.
"I wanted to talk to you."
"That's funny. The last time you wanted to talk to me you framed me for shooting you. What'll it be this time?"
"Wash. . . ." South began, and sighed. "I came to say I was sorry. I didn't think about it. If I didn't give the Counselor a reason why I let you go. . . ."
"Well, that makes sense. You were saving your own skin. Suddenly everything becomes clear." He waved a hand dismissively.
"Look, I said I'm sorry. I was trying to protect us both."
Washington snorted derisively. "Yeah, right. Go away, South. You're not fooling anybody."
"Vermont isn't going to recover." she said suddenly.
"Isn't he? Good."
"I mean it, Wash. The infection could kill him. He'll be out of service forever. This job was his life. He doesn't know how to do anything else. He's going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life."
He chuckled, about as close to laughing as he got these days. "Serves him right."
"They're thinking about keeping you locked up for the rest of your life."
"Let them. I don't care. They can kill me for all I care."
"Stop it, Wash. You don't mean that."
"Sure I do. Go away, South. You're ruining the quiet."
"Jesus, fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"For the record, they still think you're insane."
"Have they moved me to the top security bracket yet?"
"Third from the top."
"Ha! They must have talked around it to make themselves sound better. I have to work harder, I guess."
"You're causing them enough trouble, already."
Suddenly he was very close, his eyes burning out at her from the little window in the steel door.
"Do you have any idea what they did to me? Do you have even the slightest hint of a clue what I've been through? If I personally boiled every single one of them alive, it wouldn't amount to half the pain they've caused me. You have no idea. You can't even begin to imagine what they put me through. Your little brain would shrivel up and die."
"So tell me." she said, her face almost touching his through the window. "For God's sake, Wash, tell me."
He shook his head, smiling slyly. "Oh no. You're still their dog, South. You'd go running right back to them." Suddenly the window was empty, and when Wash spoke again, his voice was calm and detached. "So go run, South. Make your report. Tell them I'm even crazier than before. Oh, and don't forget to leave out the part where you apologized for framing me. Since the truth is so important to you."
"I'm sure they'll be glad to hear it." she snapped, and strode from the detention wing as well as she could, her pronounced limp making it significantly less impressive.
Washington laughed at her. He knew she could hear him, which was the only reason he did it. He didn't actually find her injury particularly amusing, but she hated being laughed at.
Once the door closed behind her, Washington stood perfectly still, eyes closed, simply listening. He could hear nothing from the outside world; only the hum of the lights in his cell, the buzz of the magnetic clamps holding the door closed, and the soft sighing of air through the vents.
Magnetic clamps. Who holds a prison door closed with magnetic clamps? Electromagnets. If the power goes out, all your prisoners go free. Hadn't they thought of that?
Reasonably satisfied that no one was coming, Washington sat down on his small, uncomfortable cot of a bed and rubbed his temples. The headaches had been getting worse. He didn't dare write about them in his journal, for fear that someone would find it and read it, or had already found it and was already reading it. If they knew what he knew . . . if they knew what Epsilon had given him. . . .
The best he could hope for was a clean execution.
He wanted to run. He wanted more than anything to tear the door off its hinges and go screaming into the night, never to be seen again. But he didn't want to be far away from Project Freelancer. Oh, no. He needed to be close. He needed to be put back on duty, which was why it stung so much that South had framed him. Shooting one fellow officer was . . . occasionally . . . not reason for detention and heavy psychological evaluation. Shooting two officers was, especially after the sort of massive psychological trauma a failed implant could incur. He would be on their blacklist for months—"Certified Article 12" (which is the military-bullshit way of saying "insane")— and that was the last place he wanted to be.
The door opened again. Wash didn't pretend to be relaxed this time. South had been right—he wasn't fooling anyone, and it only made him look suspicious.
The Counselor's face appeared through the metal bars of his window. There was a smile on it. The Counselor was good at smiles. This one was very inviting, and trusting, and just the slightest bit concerned. Washington hated the Counselor's smiles. They were completely dishonest and fabricated specifically to manipulate people. Washington refused to be manipulated.
"Hello, Agent Washington." said the Counselor, pleasantly, as though they had just run into each other on an afternoon stroll. "I've been informed that you're being held here under . . . false pretenses."
Oh God, thought Washington, she told him the truth.
"Oh? And who informed you?"
"Agent North Dakota was good enough to tell me that you didn't shoot anyone—well, anyone other than Vermont, of course." The smile went off like a flashbulb, meant to blind and disarm. "But, seeing as he purposely provoked you, we are of the opinion that detaining you is, shall we say, a little extreme."
"Is it, now?" Of course she didn't tell him. I wonder what excuse North made up for her? "That's good to hear. I'd like to get out of here." He wouldn't. He liked it down there. But he couldn't tell the Counselor that, or the bastard would get suspicious.
"Yes, I'm sure you would. Frankel, open the door, please."
The buzzing of the magnetic clamps stopped and the door slid open neatly. The Counselor stood there, in his impeccable dark suit with his impeccable false smile, hands clasped behind his back, hair cut to the very epitome of 'regulation,' eyes dark and cold and calculating. There was nothing the Counselor could do about his eyes, no matter how much he perfected his thousand smiles. They were not the eyes of a man who cared about what happened to the little people, or the big people, or any people, for that matter. If his eyes were windows to his soul, it was no wonder that Wash could never see anything behind them.
"Come on out, Agent Washington. Your room upstairs is just as you left it. Unless, of course, you have anything you'd like to take with you?"
He knows about the journal. Well fuck him.
"No, nothing. I don't want any souvenirs."
The Counselor smiled a gently amused, slightly relieved, still-a-little-concerned smile. His eyes were like two craters in the middle of his face.
I bet he knows about Epsilon. And the voices in the psych ward. I bet he knows everything, but he's waiting for me to prove it to everyone else, first.
"Go on, then. These gentlemen will take you back upstairs."
Washington contrived to look taken aback. If the Counselor was an actor, well, Wash could be one, too.
"I hardly think I need an escort."
"Oh, they're not for your protection." said the Counselor, and his smile went sharp around the edges. "They're simply there to make certain we have no more . . . unfortunate misunderstandings."
I'm being guarded so South can't frame me again. Ha!
"I see." he said aloud, hiding his dark amusement as well as he could. "Well, thank you, Counselor." And meanwhile you're going to look for my journal, aren't you. You think you're so clever.
"It is my pleasure, Agent Washington. Goodbye. Oh, and one more thing."
"Yes?"
"I'm afraid Agent Maine has . . . gone."
"Gone? You mean, he's been sent out on assignment? I thought he wasn't well enough."
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean he's gone. He vanished, not long after Agent Texas and the Omega AI had their . . . episode. We haven't been able to locate him, I'm afraid. I thought you should know. He was your partner, after all."
And you think I can help you find him, Washington thought. Think again.
"That's unfortunate." said Wash. "For you."
"And perhaps for him, as well. He is not entirely well, you know."
He's crazier than I am. "I know. I was there."
"We were hoping, perhaps—not immediately, of course, but at some point in the near future—you could give us some insight as to where he might have gone."
"You're out of luck." said Washington. "Even if I knew where he was, I wouldn't tell you."
The Counselor smiled indulgently. "Ah. I see. I do apologize for troubling you, then. I'm sure you have better places to be."
"Hah. You really think I'd turn on Maine, for you people? That's almost funny."
"Goodbye, Agent Washington." said the Counselor, glancing at him sharply. The four men of the escort variously cleared their throats, rubbed their faces, and shifted their weight from foot to foot.
"Goodbye, Counselor." said Washington, and then, because the performance called for it, "And thank you for sorting all this out."
The Counselor waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, no trouble. We can discuss things further at your next appointment. You seem to have some underlying trust issues with the program that I would like to address."
Oh, shit, thought Washington, how much did I say aloud?
"Sure." he said, and headed for the door.
"Oh, and, Agent Washington? We would appreciate it if you didn't leave the building. We've been having some problems with agents leaving the building."
So I'm still in prison. Just a bigger cell. "I get it." he said. "I won't leave."
"Thank you. Goodbye."
"I hear you went behind South's back and told the Counselor the truth." Wash said.
Agent North Dakota did not turn around. He had never liked Wash. The man was cold-hearted on an almost inhuman level.
"I did." said North. "It wasn't fair for you to be locked up for something you didn't do."
Wash stood next to him, looking out the same window. North didn't look at him. "And here I was, thinking you hated me."
"I don't hate you. I don't like you, but I don't hate you."
"Hm, that's funny."
North sighed. "Look, Wash, just because she's my twin sister doesn't mean we have the same brain. We're not the same person."
"I never said you were."
"But you're so surprised that I did something she didn't want me to do that you came up here to talk to me."
"Yep."
"So why are you so surprised?"
Wash shrugged. "I thought she might stab you in the back."
North shook his head. "Anything she could do to undermine me would undermine her, too. It's one of the benefits of always being in a group with her."
Washington laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "That's not what I meant."
"What? What did you mean? That she would actually stab me?"
"I wouldn't put it past her."
"Just because you would stab your own mother in the back—"
"I wouldn't stab my own mother in the back." Wash glanced at North out of the corner of his eye and smiled a little. "I would stab her in the front so I could see her face."
"What do you want, Wash? What do you want me to say? Yes, I told the Counselor that South framed you so he would let you out of detention. Why? Because I'm fair-minded, I guess, I don't know. But you're still certified Article 12, and you're confined to this compound. You're not going out on assignment, you're not going after Maine no matter how much you want to. What else do you want from me? I let you out of jail, but I'm not letting you out of prison. Why? Because you're insane."
Washington laughed again. "I'm not insane, North. Arizona was insane. Florida was insane. I just know too much, and it scares them."
North turned to look at him, abandoning the picturesque view of space which he had been considering previously. "What do you know too much about, Wash? What happened? You're not the same person you were before the implant. What did it do to you?"
North had expected another laugh, but Washington's face was stony, his gaze like ice. "Like I'd tell you, lap-dog." he said softly. "You, and every other two-faced bastard in this place, can keep on guessing. Thanks for getting me out of jail. Just don't forget that you're in prison, too."
"How could I? They don't make a secret out of it."
Rather than reply, Washington turned on his heel and left. North resisted the temptation to rub the goosebumps off his arms. On his shoulder, Theta appeared and piped up, but quietly.
"Agent Washington is not well."
"Tell me about it."
"His behavior is erratic, to say the least—"
"No, Theta, that was a figure of speech."
"Sorry."
"Don't worry about it. But tell me, do you think he's really insane?"
"It's difficult to say. He certainly seems, at times, to be disconnected from reality."
"That's not the same as being insane."
"I know. 'Insane' is a legal term, however, not a psychological one."
"So what would you call him?"
"I would call him 'psychologically disturbed.'"
"And what disturbed his psychology?"
Theta shrugged. "At a guess, the Epsilon AI."
"What can you tell me about it?"
"The Epsilon AI? Very little. I can tell you what equipment it was designed to run—"
"But what was it like? Was it tricky, like Gamma? Or was it evil, like Omega?"
"Omega was not evil. Merely angry."
"Fine, angry like Omega. What was its personality?"
"I don't know. I haven't had any contact with other AIs pre-implantation."
North sighed. "There's something wrong with him. I just don't know if it was there to start with, or if Epsilon left it behind."
Theta shrugged again. "I can't help you with that."
"I wasn't expecting you to, Theta. Don't worry about it."
"I won't."
Washington hadn't been sure he'd hated North before. After overhearing the other agent's conversation with Theta, he had made up his mind. North knew too much now—he knew that Wash knew too much about something and had become a liability to the program. Washington would have to be more careful about what he said. With all luck, South would be so enraged about her brother's betrayal of her trust that she would kill him.
And once Project Freelancer was down a few agents more, they would be forced to call Recovery One back into action.