Written to the musical score of…

"Rachel's Song", Vangelis (Blade Runner)


[Booting…]

[Personal Archive, REPLICANT™ Snow.001]

Old Towne Hotel Tower

Outer-District Border/Level 3...

03/21/2077...

Michonne was staring at her hands.

These are my hands...she thought. A fact. And yet a mystery.

She had seen them before. And yet she was seeing them for the very first time with these eyes. Curious, the mixed signals sparking inside her at the sight of two things as standard as hands.

And there was something more.

An awareness so vast, so beyond what could be labeled as mere "sight" that she could only sit still and let it overwhelm her, gazing down at herself under the harsh white light.

She could also see (with just a small amount of concentration) thousands of microscopic hairs, layers upon layers of skin cells; even down into the follicles from which they grew. To the naked human eye, this was skin. But to Michonne's vision, this was an intricately complex tapestry. Millions of strands of organic and cybernetic tissue cells tightly woven together, teeming with data - from the pigmentation of her skin to her ability to sense the slight chill in the room.

Each cell held information. Each and every strand was carrying out a command. To "feel" the air or the mist or the sun. To perceive "touch", like that of the man whose voice roused her to consciousness. To download and categorize the "senses" like any human might instinctively, without notice. She could see the handywork of the microbots that constructed every inch of her in every pore.

In her few short minutes of existence, Michonne knew that her "vision" reached far and beyond what it…what it "used to"...? When she was...had she been...human? Yes. She had been. There was information there. Thirty years of data. A digital footprint abruptly cut short and left unchecked in netspace, centered around one Captain Michonne Snow. She had been Michonne. She had been human. At least, that was what her positronic brain had been built - programmed, grown, invented, all - to know.

What was she now…?

She knew something like an answer without having to think about it for more than a millisecond. She was much more than human, though human was what seemed familiar to her. Familiar and yet inaccurate.

Underneath this skin, she could feel bone and sinew, but also an adamantine core that fortified her from the inside out. She suspected that if this tower collapsed on top of her right now, she could withstand it.

She could not conclude what this all meant in relation to her current environment. Only that beyond her hands, there was an infinite universe of data that her positronic neural pathways were starting to process.

She could only allow a small amount of it to register at a time, as though pulling back a heavy curtain to reveal the brilliant, blinding sunshine, inch by inch.

Her eyes moved from her hands to the rest of her, her gaze making a slow, carefully scrutinizing odyssey across this vessel - this body.

She sat on the examination table in Dr. Jones' lab, staring at herself. It was all at once familiar, foreign, and highly-stimulating; the lean, dark skinned body, the tightly coiled spools of thick hair hanging down her shoulders, the slender fingers of the hands.

Narrow, graceful feet. Toned legs and calves. Strong thighs. Narrow waist giving way to a round, muscular backside. Perfectly toned arms. Her shoulders felt perfectly aligned, her back and posture straight; at ease. Michonne looked down at her medium-sized, round, smooth breasts. The scar on her right thigh. The small discoloration on her left wrist; what the cloud revealed to her as being called a 'birth mark'.

She had seen these things before...but where...when…? In what lifetime, what universe, what realm of netspace? Did it matter? She could not conclude. All she knew was that she'd been made to exist again, now.

She was...alive.

Blood coursed through her veins. She had a heartbeat; a pulse. She was breathing. She was flesh, bone, and unbreakable alloy. She was an infinitely complex matrix of organic matter and wiring, programming, instinct, fragments of data from a life cut short - and something more that she could not identify at the moment.

All this, she realized in the few minutes she'd been sitting perfectly still, gazing down at herself.

Michonne frowned at her body now, trying to come to terms with what she was seeing; trying to reconcile it with what she remembered from before she opened her eyes and found herself lying on this table.

Darkness. But before that? Vast, empty netspace. And before that…?

A face. A voice. With a...Southern...twang?

What was a Southern twang? Michonne found herself asking the question in her mind, and one second later she knew every variant, definition and use of the phrase in existence. This information appeared and began to stream through her positronic net at the mere behest of a single thought. It felt like a rush. A high. It felt like power. But these were not the answers she wanted. This data did not connect her to the face that produced the surge of sensation inside of her. Or the actual voice that belonged to the "twang".

I'm comin' after your kill count...and then I'm comin' after you...

Michonne wanted to hear this voice again. Very much. In person. Produced by the source.

Where was he?

Rick.

The thought and its resulting sensation jolted through her in a fierce current a second time. She could not name this desire yet, except that she believed it was some form of just that - desire. Her first sense of emotion in all of her five minutes, thirty-nine seconds of existence. Caused by a name and a memory.

Instead of that very specific voice with that very specific 'twang', Michonne heard another.

"Take your time…" Dr. Jones spoke up gently. "I know this must all be...very overwhelmin'."

And she remembered that she was not alone.

She was in the lab, and the man with the kind face who'd been here when she woke was still nearby. As was what Michonne immediately recognized - though only because her mind served her the information after a single glance - as DATA, the only android in existence.

DATA inclined his head at Michonne in greeting, standing near her examination table with his hands folded behind his back. His yellow eyes were cataloging every strip of information from her physical appearance, demeanor, and reaction to her surroundings as he gazed at her benignly.

"I believe she recognizes me, doctor." DATA surmised correctly, raising his eyebrows with a mixture of 'intrigue' and 'surprise' registering across his silver-skinned features.

"Quite right of her, too." Dr. Jones smiled proudly, crossing his arms as he watched his two creations interact for the first time.

"You're DATA." Michonne answered, ignoring the surprise hearing her own voice for the first time caused. She was attempting to complete a personal file of him to contain all the information being served to her at the speed of thought. "You're an android. Created by Dr. Morgan Jones fourteen years ago. You're one of a kind."

"That is correct. Like yourself." DATA answered her matter-of-factly, taking a step toward her while Dr. Jones looked on in wonder. "I am not certain how much you're aware of at present. Your positronic net is quite new; your neural pathways still forming, after all."

"I'm inside the machine laboratory at the Old Towne Hotel tower. I think. I'm on an exam table. I've been sitting here for six minutes...now."

"Correct again." DATA confirmed.

"What...am I?" Michonne asked DATA, offering a deeply thoughtful frown.

DATA turned slightly to Dr. Jones, who nodded silently, granting his permission.

"You are a REPLICANT™. The very first of your kind in existence, and one-of-a-kind, like myself. However, you are not an android, nor are you a cyborg. You are also not a hybrid."

"You are wholly unique, Michonne." Dr. Jones now breathed, drawing her attention to him. His face was still kind, though his eyes and brow were weighed with serious contemplation. "The very first human REPLICANT™ I ever made. I never thought…" He shook his head in awe, staring at her.

"You're Dr. Morgan Jones." She told him, matching that kind face with the information she was beginning to gather about him.

DATA's creator. He was everywhere in the cloud, his name held meaning. He was the cause of innovation, passionate debate, and the end of years of bloody, tragic war.

"You...created me?"

His smile faltered as he nodded again. He looked somewhat troubled, even saddened, by his answer.

"God made you, child, thirty-six years ago. All I did was...pay homage to his grace. As much as I could."

Michonne's frown hardened. "I don't understand."

Dr. Jones stepped forward toward the table while DATA examined Michonne with the holoscanner.

"What do you remember?" He gazed at her encouragingly, staring deep into her eyes. At the word 'remember', Michonne tilted her head at him, searching. Were these unbidden images and sensations of a voice and a face and feeling so strong it lit her up inside...were these called 'memories'? "You said a name when you woke. Anythin' else you remember? What other names, records, facts can you recall?"

DATA scanned her brain while she thought about it. The name and the face. The voice she couldn't shake.

Rick.

And Glenn.

Maggie.

Abraham.

Sasha.

Carl. Judith. Mike.

Andre.

And so many others. Men and women she had fought alongside. They shared many laughs together. Showers together. Many battles. Some sunrises. Affection. Comradery. A long journey, during which they lost many and nearly starved, before the records of their feats from all over the Safe Zone began. Music. Always music. Music that traversed time through the cloud, way back when art and creative expression were abundant commodities.

And a disembodied voice, always there, always watching. Preserving it all. LIZZY.

History and infinity and present tense all in the same stream of data. Producing a strong sense of 'home' that was totally unlike the stark reality of sitting naked, draped in a lab coat, on an examination table in a cavernous, chilly, abandoned hotel tower.

There was much more. Too much to process quickly; too unstable an experience for her six-minute-old brain. So she focused on the one face that stood out above all the rest. A slow grin. An ocean of affection contained in a pair of deep blue eyes.

"His name is Rick." She answered, turning back to DATA. "And I am Michonne. That much I know."

Again, DATA's eyebrows quirked as he searched his net archives for something resembling 'tact'. "Yes. You are the REPLICANT™ version of Captain Michonne Snow, a renowned peacekeeper here in the Alexandria Safe Zone. And I believe the 'Rick' you named is the equally renowned Captain Rick Grimes...your former partner."

Partner. That word seemed familiar, but it did not seem to do justice to the persistent expectation to see him, hear his voice. Rick. "Where is he?"

Dr. Jones stepped closer to her, placing a hand on the examination table next to her. "You'll see him again, in due time. But for now, I need you to listen carefully, Michonne. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes." She stared at him, committing every line and fold to her permanent memory. She familiarized herself with the kindness she found there. She listened carefully.

"We don't have much time." Dr. Jones said seriously, urgently. "I have a lot to teach you, and only a few days to do it. The Smiths are gonna come back for you...and then...well I'm afraid your fate is out of my hands." He scoffed, eyeing her in melancholy wonder. She saw emotion behind his expression, it moved across his features like a ripple in an otherwise still lake. "They made me create you. And now they're gonna rip you outta my arms before either of us are ready. But that's just how cruel the world is that you're bein' born into. I'm sorry."

"I don't understand."

Dr. Jones nodded slowly. "I know. You have a lot to learn, my child. I think we'll start by havin' DATA here answer any questions you have. Then rest. And we'll begin the real work tomorrow. DATA? Take good care of her."

Michonne understood the conversation to be over, though she had more questions. Dr. Jones's aging human body looked to be quite fatigued suddenly, however. He looked as though he needed rest of his own.

She wasn't tired.

She wasn't sure, but she didn't know if she would ever be tired. Or possess the fatigue she could see effecting Dr. Jones from his posture to his gait to his breathing pattern.

She wanted to believe she could 'rest', but she doubted it. Michonne turned to DATA. Dr. Jones had said that the android would answer any questions she had. He was not human and didn't require rest either.

"Of course. Goodnight, doctor."

DATA watched Dr. Jones make his way to his meditation room, standing perfectly still until the door slid closed and they were alone together. Then he turned and ended the holoscanning program he'd been using to get readings of Michonne. His yellow eyes rose to hers and he stood at ease.

"Your first question, Captain Snow?" He understood how insatiably curious she was, then. Of course.


The sun would be up in forty-seven minutes, but DATA was still answering questions.

This would become Michonne's habit. Days spent learning. Nights spent reflecting. She adapted well to her environment.

Tonight, Michonne's interrogation of DATA was quite nearly ceaseless, as she thought of something new to ask him every thirty seconds. Sometimes every twenty-tree. He showed her every level of the tower. Where Dr. Jones stored things, where they manufactured prototypes, the training facilities, the showers (which he did not require, but sometimes indulged in as 'practice'), the food dispensaries. He told her about how her 'vessel' worked, answering that Michonne required sustenance, but at a much slower rate than normal human beings. If she pushed herself and had no other choice, she could survive one hundred days without it, sixty days without water. Otherwise her vessel would shut down, slowing every cell in her body to a near standstill to conserve energy and life functions until she could be replenished.

But she was constructed to function, for the most part, like a human, with various 'upgrades' along the way.

"Your eyesight is one hundred times sharper than a human's, microscopic when you concentrate." He informed her as he slowly escorted her through the windy, aging halls of the fourth level, where they kept the greenhouse.

He had explained to her about the walker plague that nearly wiped out the earth's survivor and territory wars that followed. Dr. Jones's discovery of artificial intelligence, borne from walker technology, and the creation of the United Colonies for Peace across what was left of the world.

Now he intended to show her how they had survived, when half their species had gone extinct. The greenhouse was the center of the universe, as far as artificial life on planet Earth was concerned. It was Dr. Jones's personal Eden.

And Michonne was his Eve.

Michonne looked around, seeing the dust mites floating in the air around them. DATA was correct about her eyesight.

"You can hear on several different frequencies, though not simultaneously. As far as strength and agility…" DATA raised an eyebrow as they walked, and Michonne focused on his exact expression, committing it to memory. "Your inner skeleton is made from the strongest metal alloy on earth, and you would have no problem besting a grizzly bear, or outrunning a cheetah. Though, the full potential of your abilities will need to be tested, and developed over time."

They reached the greenhouse, and DATA bent to allow JENNY to scan his retina.

The doors slid open for them, and he stood aside to allow Michonne to enter before him.

Inside, there was a vast forest full of plantlife, wildlife, insects, birds, and even a waterfall she could hear hidden somewhere within, emptying down into some distant cavern at the bottom of the tower. The space was as vast as an entire level, almost, but for the corridor they took to get here.

Michonne stood very still, taking it all in. Everything her eyes, senses, and mind could pinpoint and process.

Owls hooted.

Crickets chirped.

Snails crawled along.

Butterflies fluttered.

Snakes hung from the branches of some of the trees.

Plants stretched toward the approaching dawn.

All of these creatures were emitting positronic signals, all unique. All REPLICANT™.

But none as sophisticated a design as she.

Michonne walked further into the room, her eyes closed, feeling her way from the way each and every unique signal called out to her. She catalogued them all as she went, feeling the birds flying above her head, the insects buzzing around her like radio waves, the plants filling her lungs with oxygen.

DATA watched with equal concentration.

After a moment, he followed, noticing an artificial mosquito landing on Michonne's arm.

She snapped at it, crushing it without even having to look at it.

DATA frowned as a bot came zipping toward them from out of nowhere to clean her arm of the carcass.

Michonne watched the bot work, frowning.

"If you would please, try not to destroy Dr. Jones's prototypes." The android suggested gently. "He oversaw the construction of each and every one. He considers them…" DATA tilted his head, his brows raising. "His children."

"Like me." Michonne posited.

"Yes. Like you."

"I'm sorry," she offered him after taking a moment to assess what she identified as remorse passing through her. "I won't do that again. It just...felt like something I would do. I don't think I like bugs."

DATA offered her something akin to a smile. "A memory. Good. That's very good."

After letting her spend a little more time in the greenhouse, which was more like a miniature jungle, DATA showed Michonne to her sleeping quarters. She still did not feel tired, but she followed him inside obediently. He and Dr. Jones had been kind to her, and she felt compelled to listen to them, even though she wanted nothing more than to find Rick.

Dr. Jones told her she would see him in due time. So she would wait. For now.

She did still have a lot to process, and learn, after all.

"I understand that sleep is a concept you are not yet fully accustomed to." DATA told her before he left her alone. "So, for now, simply try to be still and connect to your memories. Explore them. Examine them. Do not be afraid of unanswered questions, or even memories that register as painful to you. The more you allow your neural processor to develop of its own will, the more Michonne you will become."

She frowned at him, considering his advice.

"I will return soon to start your combat training. Dr. Jones will eventually show you how to meditate - something we come to think of as 'sleep' for those of use irrevocably tethered to netspace."

"But he's human. Why does he do it? Doesn't he sleep?"

"Dr. Jones is not like most humans. He works night and day. Meditation keeps him sane, he would say. Goodnight, Captain."

"DATA?" Michonne called out to him one more time before he left. DATA paused in the doorway, tilting his head back to listen. "Why am I alive? Why have I been created?"

Without moving an inch, DATA answered: "In some respects, it is intended that you should bring hope to the citizens of the Safe Zone again. In others...I believe you are a product of humanity's necessary evolution. Perhaps even a catalyst for its revolution. Time will tell."

"Thank you."

"You are always welcome, Captain. Michonne. I will see you at oh-eight-hundred. Sharp."

When she was alone again, Michonne called out to the darkness. "JENNY. Are you there?"

"Yes, Michonne, I am here."

JENNY's patient voice sounded out to her.

Michonne had become aware of JENNY as DATA showed her around. She felt she was aware of many, many more COMPANION™ entities, hovering in netspace, but she didn't dare go near them. Not yet. They were strangers to her.

"Open the viewers. Please?"

"Of course."

JENNY opened the wall-to-wall viewers in her room, and Michonne walked toward the vast, misty, twinkling scene spread out before her. The city of towers. She looked out over the the sky bridges and zooming flyers, wondering where - in all of this - was Rick Grimes, the man with the beautiful eyes and Southern twang?


[Personal Archive, Android DATA]

Old Towne Hotel Tower...

Training Room, Level Five..

03/21/2077...

Day I

08:15

"Jeet Kune Do." DATA announced.

Michonne immediately shot out her right fist, pivoting sideways with her back foot. If DATA were a lesser opponent, or a human, she'd have smashed in his eye socket. As it happened, he was able to block her attack, though he found himself sliding back exactly three centimeters.

She was stronger than him, and it was her first blow.

"Excellent." He raised an approving eyebrow. "Again."

Again, Michonne attacked, and this time she did not stop. DATA easily blocked her advances at first, but she adapted quickly, doubling up her efforts with the speed of thought, of rapidly intensified instinct, catching him in the ribs, arms, back, legs, the side of his 'skull'.

DATA was a quick study himself, and was able to keep up with her as they sparred fluidly, confidently around the vast, open space.

In the shadows, Dr. Jones watched, allowing one of his bots to refill his coffee cup.

"Kung Fu." DATA announced without warning, switching his style without any preamble or stumble.

Michonne called forth every technique of attack or defense in the cloud, and they danced.

It was her Tiger against his Crane. They moved so fast their movements blurred. Their blows so deadly, they tore chunks out of the floor, walls, and pillars surrounding them.

"Kendo." DATA tossed Michonne a katana, and she caught it mid-air, unsheathing it as she flipped backward, instinctively using both its casing and the sword itself to best him.

When she faced him again, he held two katanas in his hands, his stance perfect, and he was advancing on quick, nimble feet. They sparred faster, with deadlier force, their blades slicing against each other, causing sparks as they both tried and failed to remove a limb, cut through flesh. DATA sliced off half Michonne's locs on her right side as she lithely bent over backward and flipped away to avoid being decapitated.

"Hapkido."

Michonne growled, tossing her sword into the floor, and charged him.

"Kickboxing."

"Pencak Silat."

"Gaunlet."

"Short swords."

"Daggers."

"Staves."

"Kajukenbo."

"That's enough, DATA." Dr. Jones finally interrupted when they'd brought each other to an unbreakable stalemate, trapping each other with rapid-fire defensive blows.

The pressure was so intense that they were making craters in the concrete flooring that were growing steadily wider as they crumbled inward inch by inch under the weight of both DATA and Michonne's strength.

DATA released her and immediately stepped back, at ease.

Michonne slowly stood up straight, too, relaxing.

Dr. Jones walked onto the floor, now finally bathed in the light from the open viewers on the levels above them. He nodded at DATA to stand by, and turned to offer Michonne another of his kind smiles.

"How did that feel, Michonne?" He asked gently. "Did it jog any memories for you? You used to be a formidable peacekeeper. Now it seems you're far more advanced that I'd ever hoped."

Michonne breathed, not tired in the slightest, but certainly overwhelmed with stimulation. Memories, perhaps, yes. She found her gaze shifting toward the katana still buried by the tip of its blade into the flooring.

"I had a sword. Like that one. Always. Except mine had been altered. Where is it?" She turned to look from DATA to Dr. Jones.

"We don't know…" Morgan answered her somberly. "But if it belonged to you in your old life, you'll find your way back to it. That's how this is supposed to work."

Michonne still didn't quite understand her purpose, but she nodded anyway.

"Shall we begin HV-weapons training now, doctor?" DATA inquired.

Morgan observed his creation for a moment longer, but finally gave his consent to move on.

They didn't have much time to waste, after all.


Day III

01:29

"Now, take a deep breath…" Morgan's gentle, low voice guided Michonne as they sat cross-legged, facing each other in his meditation chamber. "In and out...that's it. Quiet your mind…

Let it go blank…

Now let it wander...don't instruct it...just...let it be…

Where are you now, Michonne?"

Michonne was floating in netspace. Aimless. Lost. Feeling as though she didn't belong.

And that familiar voice called out to her.

I'm comin' after your kill count...and then I'm comin' after you...

"I hear him." She answered, her eyelids shifting with her rapidly moving visions. She saw him, too. Rick. Those blue eyes like a cloudless sky on a clear summer morning. That slow grin. "We're going to war."

Michonne was suddenly thrust into chaos.

There were cyborgs. Firefights. A giant tank. Walkers. Blood. Gore. Death. Explosions.

One explosion in particular.

"Michonne?" Dr. Jones heard her beginning to hyperventilate, and he tore his eyes open to glare at her with concern.

She was falling.

She was perspiring and breathing rapidly, her face contorted as she was assaulted by memories, her synapsis sparking and sending emotions shooting through her with the speed that data moved through the cloud.

Dr. Jones reached up and clapped his hands together in front of her, sharply and loudly.

Michonne was yanked violently back to the present, taking in huge gulps of air.

"Michonne. This is only a manifestation of what humans call a panic attack." He spoke to her calmly as she tried to stop the flood of sensation from overwhelming this days-old vessel. "Be still. Will yourself to calm. You are far more advanced than any human on this earth. You are a REPLICANT™. You are my creation. And these are only memories...they can't harm you now."

At his soothing, though commanding words, she began to still. She realized that she controlled every particle of her body, and willed herself calm, as he instructed her to. She sat motionless before him, her breathing having slowed to a steady, passive crawl.

Her eyes finally met his, and he waited. "I died, didn't I? In some kind of...brutal fight."

Morgan nodded, the calm, peaceful atmosphere around them beginning to fill with tension. He allowed her to process; to sift through the memories her mediation had brought forth. He and DATA had made a difficult, but conscious choice to include every detail of Michonne Snow's life that they could find in the archives. They left no stone of data unturned. It was their intent that she be as human - as Michonne - as possible. This was the way. Spontaneous cognitive development. He had managed to design it.

And he was watching it unfold before him. He could not help marveling at his creation every second he spent in her company, falling more and more in love with their shared triumph.

She moved and spoke like a human being. Though imbued with such grace and beauty as to be ethereal to behold. She processed emotions in real time and wore them like a second skin. Her voice and pattern of speech was changing seamlessly, growing more mature, more self-assured. With each new minute that she existed, she was learning, retaining, becoming.

If this moment was not meant to be about her, he might cry, himself.

Instead, he chose to answer her very serious question. A miracle of a question.

"Yes. You were. It was a tragedy for the entire city." He tried to reassure her. "You were mourned by many, Michonne."

"And the others?" Michonne recalled their names. Their faces. Their presence and influence in a life that felt achingly familiar and yet as distant as the endless realm of netspace. "Glenn. Abraham. Sasha. Maggie. Shane. 'Drea...?"

Dr. Jones shook his head. "Some of them survived and are still alive today. Some of them didn't." He touched her hand, like in her first moments as a newborn. "When you go back, you'll have to figure out how to handle their reactions. They're human, and you were close. They probably won't understand at first...they may even be hostile. But you are Michonne. Every bit as Michonne as you used to be. You don't let them forget that. And you'll be fine."

"Rick?" She searched his face. "Will he understand? Will he...recognize me?"

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" He gave her hand a squeeze. "You've mentioned him more than the others. In fact, he's the only one you've come back to. Since you opened your eyes."

He thought about it for a moment as Michonne struggled to find the words to describe the memory of Rick Grimes. The way it made her feel. What was it...the emotion?

Morgan suddenly beamed at her. "You love him. Don't you?"

At the sound of the word, the memories began to soar inside her, and she found her eyes were wet with tears. It felt right. She had found her purpose. "Yes. I love him. I need to see him. I need him to know I'm here. I think...I came back...for him."

"Then hold on to that, Michonne." Dr. Jones insisted, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss before wrapping it up with the palm of the other as well. "That feelin' will be your way back to yourself. Love is the strongest human emotion there is. Trust it. Use it. It won't steer you wrong." He chuckled, reaching out to wipe at the tears streaming down her flawless cheeks. "At least, not by much."

She nodded, smiling back. "I will."


Day IV

04:04

Michonne was meditating in her quarters, but her mind would only show her Rick.

There were other memories, locked away. Memories that would cause her pain, she could sense.

Still, she found more and more to do with Rick Grimes.

The first time she saw him, behind a prison fence. He had saved her life that day, and kept on doing it, again, and again, and again.

Some sunrise, or two, or three she'd spent with him, sitting next to him inside a flyer. Smiling across at him. How beautiful he was in the sunlight.

Saving his life in return, again, and again, and again.

Runs together. Missions together. Showering together. Making love together.

Michonne opened her eyes.

She felt heat flood her senses. A fluttering in her gut. Her pulse increase. Other reactions, nuanced yet intense - the hardening of her nipples, the quivering of her sex. Rick caused these sensations. Thinking of his pink lips, his salt and pepper hair, his gleaming blue eyes.

"JENNY." Michonne called out, standing up.

"Hey, sweetie. What can I do for you?"

"Do you have archival footage of Captain Rick Grimes?"

"Ah. I was wondering when you'd get around to asking me for that. Stand by…"

JENNY projected a life-sized hologram of the man Michonne had been remembering with increasingly intense emotional attachment since the moment she was reborn.

He was standing at nearly six feet, leaning slightly to the side, shifting around as though posing for a picture. He wore a button-down shirt, a pair of old jeans, worn boots. He carried a machete and a big gun - a Colt Python, souped up. His curly brown hair was slicked back, a light layer of salt and pepper hair covered his chiseled jaw. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from an unseen sun as Michonne watching in motionless awe.

She walked slowly toward the hologram, doing as Dr. Jones had instructed - letting herself feel. Remember.

She stood very close to him. He merely gazed past her, out through her viewers

Her Rick.

She was in love with him, she concluded. Every inch of him. Every pore. Every flaw. Every breath he took. Rick kept shifting around, shielding his eyes, squinting into the sun.

Music.

Michonne suddenly wanted to hear music. One song in particular.

"JENNY."

"Yes, Michonne, I'm here."

"Play 'Blem', by Drake. I believe it's from - ?"

"Summer of the year two-thousand-seventeen, yes, I've found it. Playing back, now."

The song began to flood the room, and Michonne began to dance. She carefully, gracefully circled the hologram, and the way it moved as it posed for its picture in a never ending loop almost passed for some dance moves, too. She found herself smiling, watching Rick 'move' with her, and she made one more request of JENNY:

"Tell me everything about him. About us. Start to finish." Dr. Jones said Rick was her way back to herself. She trusted him. This felt right.

JENNY complied:

"Captain Rick Grimes, forty-four-years-old. Born in the wilds of what was once Georgia. Peacekeeper of the Alexandria Safe Zone for nine years. Partnered with you, Captain Michonne Snow for three and one-half-years. Nine-hundred-two kills registered to the cloud to date. Son, Carl Grimes, seventeen years old. Daughter, Judith Grimes, eight years old. Wife, Lori Grimes, forty-one-years-old…"

Michonne stopped dancing. Wife. Lori Grimes. She listened as JENNY continued her report. Rick's hologram kept gazing into the distance, stoic and handsome.

"Marriage date, unknown. Divorced, five years, four months. Mr. Grimes is one of eighteen survivors of the Skyscraper Command Tower explosion. File Code: GATUS. From that explosion - Deceased, Glenn Rhee. Deceased, Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglass. Deceased - "

"Stop." Michonne interrupted JENNY finally. "Stop the music, too."

She stared at Rick's hologram, longing for him to be real, as the music faded away. But he wasn't. Michonne's only reality now was how much she'd lost. How much she still did not understand.

"Start from the beginning. Tell me about GATUS. About the explosion."

"Would you like archival footage or a verbal report?"

"Both."

Rick's hologram disappeared, and a holoscreen took its place. The footage from that night began to play out before her as JENNY recounted the records of what happened.

The night GATUS tricked them. The night she died.


A/N:

Shout out to the very talented YelleHughes for designing a kickass banner featuring a VERY sexy REPLICANT™ Michonne! You can find it and other inspiring visuals on my tumblr.

Part 2 coming ASAP!

-Kendra