Author's note:
Hello readers. This chapter is going up a little earlier than normal. This is because it will be the last one for a while.
Just as I did after Part 2, I will be taking a little hiatus to make progress on Part 3. I am uncertain how long it will be, likely not more than a month at most. While the next part is already partially written, a lot of work is needed before I can start posting and promising regular updates. Part 3 will follow after this chapter, and it will be the final installment in what has become the longest fanfic I have ever written.
As always, thank you for your readership. I love hearing feedback so if you have any to share about this story, positive or negative, please leave your thoughts! The most important thing that keeps me writing is knowing that someone enjoys reading it.
I leave you with my final log.
"Ah, Unit 215. We were just discussing you."
The Hunter had destroyed everything in his lab in a violent rage. Any data that had not already been uploaded to communal space was completely obliterated. Unit 215 had always been very sparing when it came to sharing his research with High Command. He only reported what he deemed absolutely necessary to continue drawing funds. Now that stinginess had been his undoing. With Transfuse gone, his lab destroyed, he had virtually nothing to show from the past seven years.
I could do nothing to stop her, nor even divert her attention. As his assistant, I did what I could with the limited function of the remaining terminals, and it was hardly enough to be worth mention. In the end, I was little more than an observer to the Hunter's rampage.
"Sir," 215 began his report. "You have no doubt heard of Siriacus' fate, of the Hunter's intrusion. I need to retrieve Transfuse as soon as possible, or else procure a new round of human test subjects. It is paramount that my research continue."
"I don't think that will be necessary. In fact, you can consider all your current projects discontinued as of today."
"Sir?"
I was taken aback, appalled at their decree which had come seemingly from nowhere.
"Unit 215, where were you, nine cycles ago?"
"I was..on my first research frigate. I was studying human bioweapons under your orders."
"Yes, and that frigate fell too. Do you know why?"
"I-I had thought someone released a lethal agent into the air supply. That was why we evacuated, why it had to be destroyed."
"And here you lie to us once again. Do you know the penalty for deceiving High Command?"
"Yes... Sir," he affirmed. "But why do you accuse me of such a thing? I am nothing if not loyal."
"We just received a rather interesting bliptrans. One that contains a fair bit of incomplete data from one of your old labs."
215's hand shook noticeably as it rested on the terminal.
"You were working on a strain you dubbed MRV-1. Highly lethal, very effective. Your data matches the genome and signature of the air samples brought back from the frigate."
I expected him to run, to show some sign of terror. But he stood fast, clinging to the hope that he could still persuade them they were wrong.
"That's impossible- no, it's not true! I have never heard of such an agent," he begged. "And that frigate was vaporized, incinerated to prevent human discovery. There was nothing left, how would you ever link such a thing to me?"
"We received an anonymous transmission with the encoded data. Along with the report that most of the laboratory terminals bore attempts to destroy them."
"I have been framed!" he pleaded.
"This hearing is over. You are a liar, a mass murderer, and a fool, guilty of treason. Your hiding ends today, Unit 215. You will be erased. Stand by to be reserviced."
The screen went dark and the enraged faces of High Command disappeared.
I heard the clank of latches as 215 locked down the room. They were coming for him, and he was well aware of it. I wondered briefly if I had been implicated in any way. My name was not mentioned.
How could this have happened? No one should have had access to that data. No one made it off that frigate alive except him and me.
No, I was wrong. There was a third. Suddenly it came to me, the image of that familiar armorclad human. She tore through every terminal she could find, ever sifting for information, scanning an entry with 215's name and research from a single console so carelessly left intact.
That same greedy visor had peered upon Project Transfuse. It saw his name once again. It had seen what he had done to fellow members of its species. And now it had shared the lethal data collected so long ago, and taken revenge for its kind.
Stand by to be reserviced.
It was something no one ever wanted to hear. It was a punishment reserved for traitors too heinous to be granted the mercy of execution.
He would be a slave, his mind destroyed, brought down to the level of beasts. Any pirate would sooner die than let it happen, and 215 appeared to share that sentiment.
He unsheathed his blade and brought it to his throat. I felt the instinctive urge to step in and stop him, but to my surprise, he did so himself. He held the blade there, arm shaking, unable to continue.
He brought his other hand up to meet it, struggling to push it forward. It would not budge, he was too much of a coward to so much as draw blood.
I had seen enough. I stepped forward, into the lab. Terrified, he wheeled around, blade drawn and ready. He hissed at me and backed away.
"So, are you here to take me to them? To turn me in?" he growled.
I said nothing. I drew no weapon and merely stood in silence. I did not know what to say, how to react to what had just happened, to what was about to happen.
"Nothing to say to me? Fine."
He turned away. He took a mask and oxygen tank from the lee of the airlock and punched in a command for it to cycle.
Insane! He was running away, into space? The fool would die long before he got any meaningful distance away. Was he even fit for command anymore? Under the pressure of imminent death, it seemed that 215's sanity had collapsed.
So I rushed forward, and held him back. I put him in a hold beneath his shoulders and held my hands against his spine, refusing to let him escape.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU INSOLENT LITTLE BASTARD?!" he roared. " LET ME GO!"
"You will freeze and suffocate. There is nowhere to go once you are out there, do you understand that?"
He shook his head furiously, wrestling to get away. The airlock doors closed automatically and began another cycle. He roared in fury.
"I don't care, let me go. That is an ORDER."
For the first time, I ignored him.
If he was indeed to be reserviced, his body would at least remain intact. He created Transfuse using his own DNA, and if we were to have any hope of recovering her, I needed him alive and accessible. There was no way to do that if his body was lost to space. Moreover, if the process of reservicing could somehow be reversed…
I very much doubted his memories could be restored. But pirates were grown from scratch all the time, surely restoring higher brain functions was not impossible.
He screamed and screamed, writhing in my hold. His movements forced my hand to put a huge amount of pressure on the back of his neck, and he quickly recoiled in pain.
"215, calm yourself. Your death will solve nothing. Once you are reserviced, I will restore you," I said, though it was more a manipulation than a genuine promise. "We need this cure. Would you doom your brethren to a slavery of their own, beneath phazon?"
"You will restore me?" he sneered. "You? Don't make me laugh. I will not live out the rest of my life as a meager-brained slave on some asinine whim that I will be whole again. Let me go, NOW."
I refused. He was being unthinking, selfish. I would not let his wishes get in the way of progress for our species. I would not let him die.
I heard footsteps outside, I heard speaking. The door alerted me that someone was trying to bypass the locks. Something slammed against the door, the metal began to singe.
"LET ME GO!" 215 screamed.
A clang filled the room, the mechanical latch had broken. The door was torn open by three separate sets of hands.
"387, LET ME GO," he writhed and roared. His breath raced in and out of his mouth as he hyperventilated in panic. His eyes were dark and bloodshot, focusing six terrified stares on the security officers coming into the room, armed to the bone.
Finally, I obliged, and let him go. He bolted towards the airlock, desperately trying to pry it open. Two armed guards approached him. He turned and roared, blade drawn.
"Get away from me. GET AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed. He threw himself at the nearest officer and was almost instantly subdued. They were soldiers, they were larger-built, more heavily armed. The struggle was hopeless.
The guard grabbed him by the throat and tore his blade-bearing sidearm from his body. He screamed in pain, his arm bloodied by the process.
I watched, helpless, as he was dragged away. The officers said nothing to me.
I followed them. I was not the only one. Reservicing was akin to execution, though a far worse fate to experience. But it was bloody, and just like an execution, it drew a crowd. Audience was encouraged, for the guilty would set an example for them.
215 did not go with dignity. He screamed and roared, shouting out pleadings, denials and threats. All went unheeded.
Finally we arrived at his destination. He was thrown forcefully into the stasis chamber that would become his tomb. The glass shut, sealing him in. His hands beat desperately against it.
He screamed as a multitude of wires unravelled from the ceiling of his prison, stabbing into his skull and spine. Blood trailed down his head and his screaming stopped abruptly as the wires made contact with his brain. He writhed as they pulled him upwards, away from the floor. Such roughness was unnecessary, rather it was intended to make the process more painful.
His eyes glazed and became dull as any semblance of personality was erased from his mind. His limbs shook and began to slacken. The pirates around me cackled and roared, jeering as my Superior was erased from the ranks.
Finally he stopped moving. The chamber filled with fluid, looking nothing so much like an ordinary birthing tank.
Everything was gone. 215 had become a blank slate, a shell awaiting reprogramming. It was strange, that I felt disappointed, even saddened by the loss of a superior. His idealistic defiance towards phazon research was not shared by any other, and his vital work to combat it would never see the light of day without him.
I alone would need to fix that.
