Three Days Earlier…
John received Virgil's summons and opened his vid-link to Scott's room, which was newly decorated with Grandma's burnt cookies scattered across the floor. He took a moment to study his oldest brother and smiled.
"Well, look who finally decided to wake up. How's the head?" John began as he shot Scott a grin.
"Could be better," the pilot admitted. "Especially since I can't remember how I bumped it in the first place." John traded glances with Virgil.
"About that, Scott. You probably won't remember much of anything since the landslide. You were injected with a narcotic of some kind. Brains is still analyzing the components. It wasn't pretty, Scott. Whatever it was, it was fast acting and interfered with your ability to pilot the plane."
While John tackled the debriefing, Virgil excused himself from Scott's bedside with the empty promise of breakfast in bed.
Ever since the attempt on Scott's life, John had been managing the front lines, coordinating with the GDF and Brains' scientific colleagues to determine the drug coursing through his brother's system and the mysterious mastermind behind it. And through it all, he'd observed the way the rest of his siblings succumbed to their grief.
Alan and Kayo were handling it the best, far more maturely than John had ever hoped. They'd stayed by Scott's side while he slept and assisted Brains anytime Doctor Virgil shooed them away to check their eldest brother's vitals. In fact, Alan had offered to switch places with John in Thunderbird Five and relieve him from the helm of communications.
"John, take a break. Be with Scott. I can shoulder some of the responsibility for awhile. Seriously, man, you look like you could use the help." John had merely pushed his brother's concerns aside.
"Thanks, Al, but it's crazy up here. Let me ride out the next two weeks of my rotation, then I'll take you up on that offer."
"Okay, if you say so," Alan had said with a shrug of his shoulders, leaving John to sort through the bureaucracy of the GDF.
John knew that Brains, Alan and Kayo were close to preparing a sample of the drug and a report of its horrid ingredients to the GDF's laboratory for further testing. Moffat herself was spearheading the effort from the GDF's home base.
Kayo and Alan, for the time being, were the least of John's worries. Virgil, however, was a different story.
Despite Virgil's insistence that Scott was past the worst of the drug's hold, John knew their medic was taking Scott's brush with death the hardest. After returning to Tracy Island, Virgil had taken it upon himself to analyze the data logs EOS had stored from Thunderbird One's mudslide rescue until John ordered him to stop.
"You've been at this for nearly five hours, Virgil. Get some rest. I'll let you know if something new comes up. Besides, I've got a backlog of emergency calls and I might have to send you out in Thunderbird Two." That statement seemed to have snapped the pilot out of his obsessive reverie, and Virgil had reluctantly set the files aside and retreated to the kitchen to witness Grandma Tracy burn a batch of chocolate chip cookies to place at Scott's bedside.
It was Gordon who concerned John most of all. His sibling had continuously avoided his calls, mostly confining himself to the hangar. John felt ashamed by the way he'd snapped at the young aquanaut mid-mission. He'd never threatened to tear control away from his brothers before, even though Thunderbird Five had the capability of piloting all of their vehicles remotely. He'd overreacted, and Gordon's cold shoulder was a gesture he rightly deserved. And yet…it wasn't like Gordon to nurture hurt feelings. John was at a loss. He could only hope to offer an olive branch of sorts and mend the rift his callous words may have caused. In the meantime, other matters demanded his attention. The most important one being Scott.
The space monitor completed the debriefing with his older brother and a huge part of him was relieved that Scott couldn't remember the more horrific events he'd been forced to witness up in Five. At the mention of Gordon's absence and the role he'd played in ending the submarine chase, John noticed Scott adopt his patented "elder brother" look of concern.
"John." Scott said. "You did the right thing." John ran a hand through his hair.
"I know, Scott. Let's hope that Gordon can see it eventually, too."
An incoming call from Colonel Casey snapped John to attention, and he winked at the pilot's weary face.
"Sorry, but I've got to take this. Stay out of trouble, Scott." He was met with a sarcastic reply from his sibling before he disconnected the line and switched comms.
"Colonel Casey. Perfect timing. I just got off the line with Scott. Looks like he's gonna make a full recovery." The colonel's relief was immediate.
"That's news worth waiting for. A victory in our book, at least. I've just received word from Professor Moffat. Once your engineer's completed his analysis of the drug's components, she's ready to proceed with the next phase of testing." An incoming call from Brains appeared on John's floating console.
"You may be in luck, Colonel. I'm patching Brains through now." John linked the conference call as the bespectacled man's hologram appeared nearly instantaneously. "Hey, Brains. I've got Colonel Casey with us. What'd you find out?"
"J-John. Colonel Casey." Brains rubbed his eyes and tried to hide his exhaustion. "I've discovered some n-new information about the narcotic. It appears that it was manufactured at an enterprise called Weston Pharmaceutical Company. I m-may need to run the sample through one of the GDF's global databases for a full b-breakdown of the components." The woman nodded curtly in agreement.
"Of course. All of our resources are at your disposal. Professor Moffat's on standby as we speak. A transport will arrive at Tracy Island within the hour for your departure."
"Th-thank you, Colonel," Brains said. He rummaged through his workspace to gather assorted equipment for the trip. "If it's not too much trouble, Mrs. Tracy would like to come along to help with the study."
"And her help is welcome. Anything we can do for the Thunderbirds," the woman replied, her voice softening. She turned to John.
"I'm assuming a full-frontal assault on the pharmaceutical company in question wouldn't be the best approach."
"Not likely. But I have someone in mind who may be able to take a peek inside without making waves." He paused as an emergency call started blinking on his radar, demanding his immediate attention. "Looks like we'll need to cut this conference short. Brains, let Kayo take point on this. Colonel, we'll touch base with you after Kayo's taken a closer look at that pharmaceutical company."
"F-FAB."
"Understood."
John, with the assistance of EOS, fielded the next flurry of emergency calls with deft precision, distributing the majority of them to local law enforcement and fire and rescue services. In the midst of the nonstop radio chatter, John allowed Kayo and Lady P access to Five's satellite imagery and provided a live feed of the pharmaceutical company's building. It was then that Lady P informed him that Scott would be assisting her and Kayo via comms from the Tracy lounge. John could only shake his head in amazement. The fact that his brother was able to take part in a mission so quickly after his accident was nothing short of a miracle.
About ten cups of coffee later—John had lost accurate count after five—he received a call reporting a minor cave-in. The small village affected didn't have the equipment needed to stage a rescue, prompting John to deploy Thunderbird Two for the job. At Scott's insistence, Alan tagged along and joined Virgil in the green rescue vehicle.
"JOHN! If you hear anything back from Brains while we're out on this rescue, you've GOTTA let me know! Him and Grandma left for the GDF, like, ten minutes ago!" Alan exclaimed mid-launch.
"No problem, Al. I'll keep you guys informed," John replied and stifled a yawn. He ended the transmission just as Thunderbird Two departed Tracy Island and stretched a hand behind his head. "EOS. Bagel me."
"I do not believe a fifteenth bagel would benefit you in your current state, John," the AI sniffed. John sighed.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, there's always coffee." He completed a half-hearted spin in zero gravity. "Uh. Where's my thermos?"
"I have currently detained it with the bagels."
"You're killing me, EOS."
"Incorrect. An electrical scan concludes the presence of premature ventricular contractions, most likely related to your increased caffeine consumption over the past twenty four hours—"
"Okay. I get it. No more bagels and coffee for the day." Another call lit up the touch screen, but EOS resolved the crisis before he could even touch the icon. "Hey!"
"I will intercept all emergency contacts for the time being and process accordingly. Data suggests you are in need of a break," EOS explained. John knew from past experience that arguing with this somewhat petulant program was a fight he had no chance of winning. Instead, he relented and allowed her the controls. He was about to drag himself off to bed and crash when a sudden thought occurred to him.
"Hey, EOS, connect me to the hangar. It's been awhile since I've checked up on Gordon." A pause then—
"Connection granted, John."
"Thanks, EOS." His tactile screen came to life and he watched as Gordon aggressively scrubbed the side of a suspiciously spotless Thunderbird Four. John frowned. Getting Gordon to clean Four was like trying to win the lottery without buying a ticket. Impossible.
"Hey, Gordo. Got a minute?" John asked. He took a deep breath and braced himself for Gordon's expected rebuff. The aquanaut didn't seem to hear him as he studiously wiped down the already flawless hull.
Gordon's clothing was covered in grime, suggesting that he'd spent a generous amount of time waxing his craft to blinding perfection. John knew each of his siblings had their own coping mechanisms, but excessive cleaning was not one of them. Especially when it came to Gordon.
The blonde jumped, as if he'd just noticed John's presence.
"John! Hey, man." The words were husky from misuse, evoking another grimace from the space monitor. "Is it time for the debriefing?" John blinked.
"Gordon, the debriefing ended hours ago."
"Wait. What?" Gordon paused in his mundane polishing then glanced at the digital clock on the wall and visibly stiffened. Almost as if he hadn't checked the time for twelve straight hours since he'd returned from the mission. "Wow. I didn't realize I'd missed it. Sorry, John, that's really unlike me…" While his brother sputtered for an explanation, John roved his eyes over the hodgepodge of cleaning equipment by Thunderbird Four's base and noticed a familiar bottle on the ground. Despite himself, he cracked a smile and had to will himself not to laugh.
"Hold on. Are you using Scott's hair gel to wax Four?"
"Well, I ran out of all the wax in back, so I kinda…borrowed hair gel from Scott's room," came the guilty admission. "Figured it would work the same." John couldn't hold back the laugh any longer.
"Bet that didn't go over well with Scotty!"
"Yeah…he doesn't exactly know I took it…" John laughed even harder, earning a half-smile from the blonde in return.
"You'd better be glad he's still drowsy and dosed up on whatever meds Virgil gave him, or else he'd have your hide for sure." When it came to hair products in general, Scott and Virgil were connoisseurs of the art. And they didn't take kindly to their fellow siblings tampering with their expensive salon brands.
"I had to sneak it past Scott earlier. Lied and told him I was gonna go swim in the pool…" Gordon added, a spark of his personality returning. "You'd better not tell him!"
"Don't worry. Something tells me Scott has other things on his mind right now than his hair for once. But if he asks, I'll blame it on Virgil," John joked. Some of the tension left Gordon's shoulders and he gave John a slight nod.
"So, how was the debriefing? Scott's doing okay, right?" Gordon wiped down another section of the submarine while he talked.
"Scott's doing just fine. Kayo and Lady P already roped him into a mission. He's sitting on the couch running comms. Staying out of trouble, at least," John said with a shrug. "Listen, Gordon, I—"
"Wait, hold that thought!" Gordon said. He gave Thunderbird Four another once over before taking a step back. "How does it look, John? Did I miss a spot?"
"Looks pretty thorough to me," John admitted.
"You're sure? Like, REALLY sure? Because I can go over it again—"
John tried to hide his surprise. Gordon was considering waxing Thunderbird Four a second time? This went way beyond any false assumptions of coping mechanisms or wounded pride. If his younger brother had reason to obsess over the physical appearance of his sub, something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Gordon. What's going on?" He was polite enough not to count the empty Redbull cans scattered around Gordon's feet. Apparently he wasn't the only one that had pulled an all-nighter. "Did something happen to Four?" Gordon scrambled to one of the work desks where he'd laid out an impressive schematic of his Thunderbird and pointed to the right wingtip on the paper.
"There. It happened right there. I'm sure of it." John briefly wondered if he should've counted those empty Redbull cans, after all.
"Sorry, Gords, but I really don't see anything out of the ordinary."
"At least, not yet!"
"You lost me."
"John, I've ran the scenario over and over in my head a thousand times. That sub marked me. It tagged my Thunderbird somehow. I just know it." Gordon gestured to a series of barely legible equations he'd written across the graph paper. "I did the math. The pilot must've placed a tracker on one of my blind spots. Whoever that guy was, he wanted me to chase him. That's why it was so easy for me to get close to him. He baited me hook, line and sinker."
John pursed his lips as he digested Gordon's theory. That would mean that Gordon had set to work refurbishing Four the moment they landed back at Tracy Island, all because he thought Scott's would-be killer had attached a tracker to his rescue vehicle. Well, it certainly explained Gordon's mysterious absence. Even Gordon's alleged cold shoulder and unanswered summons were nothing more than his little brother losing track of time. But…There was still a major flaw in Gordon's assumption.
"Hold on, Gordon. You're saying that the sub led you into a chase, just so that it could place a tracker on your Thunderbird?" John ran a hand through his hair. "Brains built a sensor around Tracy Island to prevent that kind of thing. The proximity alarms would've gone off if the security system detected a foreign object on the vehicle."
"I know, I know. But you gotta admit, isn't it weird that the sub didn't shoot a missile at me when it had the chance?" Gordon continued, undeterred. He started to pace. "I got pretty up close and personal to that sub, and it looked like it was built for war. It was probably packing enough firepower to blow me to smithereens along with Thunderbird One." John let out a heavy sigh.
"I guess it's possible, but for all we know, that sub was only armed with two missiles at the time of the attack, and both of those were used to try to take down Scott. We don't know for sure that it had other weapons equipped. Besides, you've scrubbed everything down on Thunderbird Four. If something DID manage to get past our protocols, that heavy duty hair gel you're using probably took care of it."
"But, think about it. How did a sub like that get such high-tech missile technology?" Gordon pressed. "I mean, those missiles were fast enough to track Thunderbird One! You would think that a sub carrying around multi-million dollar weapons with military-grade equipment would be able to outrun me. It even had a head start."
"So now we're back to your earlier question: Why were you able to catch up to the sub and leave unharmed?" John rubbed his chin in thought. "You might have a point. I agree that the logic isn't adding up." At this, the diver's eyes lit up.
"You think there's a hidden tracker somewhere on Four too, huh? I KNEW it! You'll help me find it, right? You believe me, right?"
"I'm getting there. I just want to eliminate some possibilities first. EOS, can you scan Thunderbird Four for any irregularities?" John asked. The AI gave a small whirling noise, as if affronted that she'd be assigned such a mundane task.
"No irregularities reported."
"Okay, well, my gut instinct is saying that something's really, really, REALLY wrong here! I just can't shake the feeling that I've made a terrible mistake," Gordon said. John's features softened at the words.
"Gordon. None of this is on you."
"I shouldn't have followed that sub. You told me to turn back, but I was gaining on him and…well, I may have cost us everything." Gordon wrapped his arms around his torso. "I'm the one responsible if something happens to Tracy Island."
"Hey. That's not true. The only people we should be blaming are the ones who drugged Scott and shot him out of the sky," the redhead replied. He gave his brother a smirk. "Besides, I've got something better in mind than sitting around sulking. Ready to suit up for a test drive?"
"What? Really? But didn't EOS just say—"
"I know what she said. But you know that Thunderbird inside and out, not EOS, and if you have a bad feeling about it, then it deserves a closer look." John ignored the bagel that hit him across the back of the head.
"A duplicate scan shows no irregularities. Further testing would prove unnecessary," EOS commented as she launched another bagel. John ducked to avoid the flying missile.
"EOS. I can and will stuff you in that Pac-Man simulator if you don't stop it." Despite the empty threat, the AI hesitated. It had taken John months, but he'd finally found a game she couldn't win. Mostly because he had manipulated the Pac-Man program to play on loop so the level never truly ended.
John liked to call it EOS's personal time out corner.
"The Pac-Man entity does not respond to my statistical attempts to reroute its intended path."
"Well, yeah. He's stuck in a maze, EOS. That's kind of the point. You can't just create a new pathway for him when you feel like it."
"And the entity is largely unequipped to defend itself from multiple attacks."
"He's a yellow dot with a mouth. I don't think he's equipped to do much of anything."
"John." EOS gave a whirling pout. "My earlier observation regarding Thunderbird Four still stands. Additional assessments would be futile."
"Then consider this part of my break. Just a training session between brothers," John said curtly. He glared at her to cut off any argument before turning back to an amused Gordon. "Okay, Gordon. Go ahead and launch. I'll have you take Four around the training trench and lower her at different depths. If we find anything out of the ordinary, then I'll alert Scott and the others. If not…" John gave his little brother a wink. "Then this will just be between us." He watched Gordon give a discernible sigh of relief as he ran to the changing rooms.
"Thanks, John! You're the best!"
"Hey, hold up, Gordon." John halted his brother as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Remember that suit Brains created for me when I accompanied Lady P to the charity auction?" Gordon made an obnoxious face.
"I mean, I know I can totally rock a suit, but I was kinda hoping to change into my wetsuit for this one—"
"No, it's not about the suit. It's about an accessory Brains made for it that I never got to try out. He put together an earpiece that's designed with its own frequency so the channel can't be hacked. Communication is actually wired through a secure GDF satellite so it won't interfere with Thunderbird Five's chatter." John floated to one of his storage compartments and fished the prototype out. "I didn't get much time to practice with it, but I know Brains recently installed one in every Thunderbird. He was planning to test them out during our next training session."
The look on Gordon's face was one of mock betrayal.
"Are you telling me that Brains lets you know what our training sessions will be in advance? Is THAT why you always get the high score?!"
"Well, I mean, uh, that's not important right now," John fumbled, placing the earpiece in his ear. "Besides, this means that we'll be able to have a private conversation without interrupting Scott, Virgil, or Alan's comms."
"Then let's do it!" Gordon resumed his sprint and, within minutes, had changed into his Thunderbird attire and was launching his craft into the warm ocean waters that surrounded Tracy Island. It briefly occurred to John that the only one physically left on Tracy Island was a still-recovering Scott. He immediately cast aside any feelings of doubt. Scott was safe. He'd be fine on his own for now. By his calculations, Virgil and Alan would be finishing up with their own rescue within the next half hour. Hopefully in that time, him and Gordon would have eliminated any and all possibilities of security breaches to Thunderbird Four.
"Whoa," Gordon said as he fitted the earpiece in place. "There's an echo or something. Brains might need to go back on the drawing board on this one."
"Well it is a prototype. Plus the whole concept behind a military-grade, aeronautic, hack-free space radio really cuts down on the audio quality."
"Yeah. I can tell!"
Gordon approached the deep trenches located beyond the shallow reefs that surrounded Tracy Island. John kept an eye on Four's virtual stats, noting every blip and nuance that graced the screen.
"Everything's normal so far. But that doesn't mean we won't see something at a lower depth. It's all yours, Gordon."
"No sweat. Down we go," Gordon obliged as he began the descent. Ten minutes of relative inactivity passed with no substantial change. John debated calling it, as he figured it might be best to follow up with Virgil and Alan to see how their cave-in rescue fared, when an irregularity appeared on Thunderbird Four's scans. It was Gordon who noticed it first.
"John, check this out. I've never seen this error before. Hmm. What do you think?"
"I don't recognize it either," John frowned. He glanced at the AI and raised his eyebrows. "EOS?"
Her ring of lights acknowledged him with a flare of blue, but she remained silent. He gestured to the on-screen anomaly for emphasis. "Any ideas?" A pause, then—
"I do not see this irregularity you speak of, John."
"What?" This was spoken by both brothers in unison. John gaped at her.
"Are you sure?"
"There is no irregularity," she stated purposely. "All functions are performing at satisfactory levels."
"Uh, guys, this anomaly thing is getting stronger. I think it's trying to override my commands," Gordon said and John heard him give an audible gasp. "My monitor's freezing up on me. I'm losing control, John. Can you and EOS get it back?"
"Working on it," came the space monitor's response. He rifled through diagrams of Four's engineering know-how and addressed EOS as he eyed the floating figures and equations. "EOS, scan the entire system. We've got to figure out what's wrong." EOS's hesitation was unnerving.
"I do not sense any irregularities." Her voice wavered in confusion. "Thunderbird Four is operating within its established parameters."
"Yeah, tell that to the guy trapped in a sinking sub," Gordon remarked. "Hey, John, let's try to—"
A dozen alarms coursed through Thunderbird Five's interior and drowned out the rest of Gordon's sentence. John watched, in horror, as the overhead lights in the space station flickered and adopted a sickening crimson color his father had always warned him about. He had about a second to compose himself and take action.
A Class 5 catastrophe.
John didn't hesitate. He entered a manual code on his interfaced keyboard with cool detachment then slammed his fist against a button mounted on the wall. He hit the button a second time then braced himself as the gravity field took hold and dropped him to the floor.
John's knees buckled against the hard surface. He rolled to one side and clipped his elbow against a stack of secured equipment, biting back a silent cry. The red pulsing light withdrew, replaced by a blue haze that fell across the now silent outpost.
John's floating holograms and call logs had vanished along with the sounds of computerized beeping he'd long since grown accustomed to. EOS herself was a motionless shell of metal and plastic, and a sharp pang started to blossom inside John's chest as he realized what had transpired. The whole ordeal had taken less than five seconds.
And John, for all intents and purposes, had killed his Thunderbird.
"John? John!"
The panicked voice inside John's ear spurred him to action. He rose to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain from both scraped knees.
"Gordon. Good, you can still hear me." John was surprised at how composed his voice sounded, considering that his heart felt like it would burst from his chest. "Look, I've lost contact with Thunderbird Four. I'll spare you the details later. Right now we've got to work on getting you out of there. Have you managed to gain control back?" He unlocked a nearby compartment and unplugged a wallet-sized device from its bundle of connected cords.
"Something's got me, John," Gordon said between breaths. John paused in his antics to concentrate on Gordon's words through the odd echo interference from the earpiece.
"Who's got you? The sub?"
"Yeah. The same one from before. It deployed some kind of mechanical drones. About six of them have latched onto Four." John heard the sound of metal upon metal, which explained Gordon's labored breathing. "I'm gonna try to barricade the door. It might buy me a few seconds." John swallowed, even as that cool detachment coursed through him again like a soothing balm. The question wasn't an easy one, but it had to be asked.
"And your wrist comm?"
"I've already disabled it," Gordon replied, his voice gaining strength. "And I've wiped my Thunderbird's data stores."
"Good," John repeated. He fiddled with the object in his hands again. "Now that we've prepared for your untimely demise, let's make sure it doesn't come to that."
John hoped that Gordon couldn't see past his false bravado. Whoever had masterminded this recent attack on Four had attempted to hack into Five's communication brainstem at the same time.
And almost succeeded.
This level of cyber theft was beyond the realm of anything John had ever seen. And he had a sudden suspicion that perhaps this space station had been the target all along, with Scott and Gordon being the unwitting pawns needed to lure him into lowering his defenses.
Or, at least, lowering EOS's defenses.
John's mind created a half-dozen theories, some sensible, others outlandish, before his thoughts cemented around one theory in particular.
That Gordon had been right all along. The sub had tagged Thunderbird Four with a highly elaborate tracking system that somehow cloaked itself from both EOS and Tracy Island's security system. Which carried another problem, one John had been loath to consider from the very beginning: their new enemy knew the location of Tracy Island.
This attacker then simply waited until Four reappeared before striking again. At this part in his theory, John tugged at the frays of the obvious loophole. Why Four? Assuming that the tracker had been active for nearly twelve hours since Scott's craft had been shot down, their faceless nemesis could've attacked the island at any point in time. John didn't have an answer. He only knew that Gordon had been the next target as a way to get to Five. He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face.
Enough theories. John turned his attention to the cold hard facts.
He'd been forced to initiate Class 5 in order to stop the hacker from crippling his system from the inside out. It wasn't a pretty solution, but it achieved the desired result. International Rescue's most important Thunderbird was safe from falling into enemy hands…at a price.
John was now trapped in a space station with no means of receiving or sending communications. Five was under lockdown that rendered the orbiting hub virtually invisible, to both friend and foe. John recalled the QRC, which had described this exact scenario as "going dark". It was a last resort measure and, quite frankly, one that both Jeff Tracy and John had never thought would actually be needed. But John still remembered the talk he'd had with his father, a similar talk he was sure all of his brothers had received once they were fit to command their own rescue vehicles.
It was a talk about life and sacrifice and protecting those who found themselves in circumstances where they couldn't protect themselves.
"There's a reason why I call this a Class 5, John," his father had told him as the two men padded across the beach while the low tide lapped at their ankles. "Because there are five of you boys. Five men who know the risks that come with committing themselves to International Rescue." Even now, John could see the tired lines of Jeff Tracy's face. "If Thunderbird Five goes dark, I need you to understand the consequences."
In the end, those consequences had been simple. A Class 5 catastrophe was designed to shut down Thunderbird Five to the point where, even if discovered, it would be nothing more than a useless hunk of floating metal. It wasn't exactly designed for keeping its pilot alive.
John knew he had a healthy reserve of basic amenities and an oxygen recycling system that would keep him breathing for at least a week. But without access to any data, communications, a strong radio signal from Five for his wrist comm, or an automated log of his position in the sky, he could very well die out here.
Except he did have one Ace up his sleeve. It came in the form of a blonde brother named Gordon, who was currently trying to keep himself alive as well.
John opened the small box in his hands, revealing a weathered handheld gaming console. Or, more affectionately, EOS's personal time out corner. If he was lucky, EOS had holed herself up in the Pac-Man simulator when things went south. And if he was extremely lucky, she still had enough faculties intact for him to rebuild her from the ground up.
"All right, Gordon. Give me an update on that sub of yours. We're not gonna let it end this way."
