Chapter 3: Confession

Earlier that morning

The sun was yet to rise over the watery horizon when the ship came into view. From her seat in the van, Nori had been watching the clock and watching the choppy waters in equal measure. As the ship pulled into the dock, Nori zipped her black raincoat, pulled its hood over her head, and stepped out of the vehicle. The salty spray of the ocean wind chilled her as the foaming surf roiled beneath the docks. Though she heard no thunder over the swish of the tide, a storm was surely on its way. There was a time she would have overseen such a voyage herself, but her duties had changed with the years. By the time the ship was secured, and the ramp was laid from the deck to the dock, Nori was ready and waiting for the man who crossed the gap with solemn steps.

"Welcome back, Master Copen," she said.

When they had loaded Copen's equipment in the back of the van, they took their seats inside. After the thunk of the doors closing, the tossing of the ocean was muffled and replaced with the murmur of the engine and the heat running. Copen looked at Nori.

"I could have handled this myself, you know," he said.

Nori's hair had grayed significantly, and her features were more wrinkled than they used to be, but her eyes were just as firm, and her strength had not diminished in any noticeable way.

"I'm well aware," she said. "As a young man, you were capable, but even now, much of what you can do, I can still do better for you. Besides, you handle too much on your own these days."

As if proving her point, Nori shifted the van into gear and began driving them back to the city.

"You never filled me in on how your mission ended," Nori said once they had driven a ways.

Copen was staring out the window at the cloudy sky. In the semi-darkness and fog, waving grass, shifting trees, and stout buildings all blurred and blended together. His gaze remained fixed on this apparent time-lapse as he spoke.

"It was like I thought," he said. "South America was ground zero. When the first adept emerged there, he was worshiped as a god, but to Sumeragi, he was just another means to become gods themselves. It's the same now as it was then. Septima harvesting has become its own form of human trafficking. Those butchers…. Sumeragi will have one less supplier; I was thorough. There was a place they called 'deep storage.' It was an old mining site turned into a dungeon. They were packed in the cells like livestock. Starved to their bones. The smell of it…."

Copen stopped to gather himself. Nori waited for him, her expression unchanged.

"A monster deserves nothing," Copen resumed, "but not even a monster could deserve that. Death was mercy to them."

"I see," she said.

"Even so," Copen added, "I couldn't deliver it to them."

"Then, what did you do?" Nori said.

"I got them out," Copen, almost ashamedly, said. "I made sure the rescue would make it and got out."

"Well, that is new," Nori said, "but not quite surprising. You've changed since the fight with Eden."

"I thought researching the place it all started would give me answers," Copen said, "but it's only left me with more questions. This could be happening all over the world. The adept sickness: some contract it, some die from it, some spread their contagion, and some breed it. We're the only ones fighting it."

Copen sighed.

"We're losing this fight, Nori. It's happening just the way he said."

Copen's last statement hung in the air for a moment, circulating like a paper in the wind.

"Whatever you decide to do," Nori said, "I remain in your service. Win or lose, stay or leave, I follow your word."

Copen turned toward Nori and surveyed her rigid posture.

"Why are you still here, Nori?" he said. "My war is a lonely one. You were the family's maid; I cut my ties with them. You don't owe me anything. Besides, a woman with your skills could have found excellent work in several fields by now."

"Just before this all started," Nori began, "I made a promise to Master Kamizono, to your father. He told me that you would be no ordinary man. When he stood against Sumeragi, your father chose a path of defiance. He wanted to be sure that you could choose your own way: a way that would not cave to legacy, not bow to oppression, and not fall to ignorance. He made me promise that whatever man you were to become, I would ensure you became it to the fullest."

"What kind of man have I become, Nori?" Copen said.

"Yourself," Nori answered. "A man in defiance of all."

Copen nodded. It was an answer not entirely satisfying, but it was an answer he could accept.

"As for me," Nori said, "I chose a life of service. There is satisfaction in knowing one's station. Everyone serves, but most do it blindly. They serve their greed, their gluttony, their pride, their lust, and their envy. Rather than any of these things, I chose to serve the Kamizono family."

"I notice you didn't mention wrath," Copen said.

"Why would I?" Nori answered.

Copen looked back at her. As with many things Nori had said to him over the years, Copen had no idea whether she had meant the question to be rhetorical, sarcastic, or genuine. As she looked straight ahead, her face, stony as the sphinx, gave no elucidation. Copen looked away and pondered.

When they were driving into the city limits where the skyscrapers stood over the horizon's throat, Nori opened her mouth once more.

"There is something you should know," she said. "I assume you're aware of the holiday."

"Day of the Dead," Copen said. "What about it?"

"Mytyl expressed her intentions to make a shrine for you," Nori answered.

Copen's only reaction was a slight pause.

"She should know better," Copen said. "Departed souls don't hear prayers."

"Is that so?" Nori said. "I thought your soul was more precious to you than that."

Copen tilted his head to give her a sidelong glance. She wore a smirk this time.

"Why does she even care?" Copen said. "It's been decades. She's successful in her work and living a happy life. Why should her dead brother matter?"

"She misses him," Nori answered.

"That's silly," Copen said. "She developed amnesia after Eden. She never met me."

"On the contrary," Nori said, "Even orphans from infancy cling to the idea of their parents. She may not remember those days, but she knows she had a brother, a brother who loved her, who was kind to her, who took the time everyday to sit with her and pray with her and braid her hair and look at her drawings even when he was so busy carrying on his father's work. How could she help but love him?"

Copen couldn't deny Nori's point. Illogical as the idea was, it was accurate to human nature.

"Do you still love her, Copen?" Nori said.

"Of course I do," Copen answered hastily, "and that's exactly why I can never see her again. She's been safe since the Muse vanished. She's been able to live a life free from that sickness. I understand now that dad gave his life to cure her. Now, I have too."

Nori was silent in the face of Copen's resolve. Conflicted, Copen sighed.

"So," Nori said, "what should I tell her her brother would think if he could see her now?"

Later, Nori dropped Copen off at his base of operations in the city. It was a machine shop owned by the family but kept quiet for his purposes. Machine development had always been Copen's specialty. He was a man who believed things should have purpose, as should people. To that end, Copen wound the broken clock on the wall to reflect the month and date of his birth. The mechanism revealed the hidden switch to open the trapdoor to the basement facility. Down the stairs, he flicked on the lights. Though the underground bunker lacked the cutting-edge polish of his old facilities, the walls of his lab were lined with custom built stations and terminals for his specialized work.

Copen rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and laid it on a bench next to a terminal. He locked down his forearm with two clamps and, using a screwdriver, opened a panel on his wrist. He hooked a cable from the terminal to the inside of his arm and ran diagnostics on it. Copen's left arm was the first part of his body he had replaced with cybernetics after a particularly feral adept had bitten off one of his fingers. Satisfied with the performance of his new appendage, Copen had replaced his other arm willingly. Once the diagnostics were complete, Copen moved to another station with a mirror to check on his eye. Copen had been more hesitant to replace his eye than he had been to replace his hands. After all, changing one's perception can be quite frightening. Copen had decided, however, that his body was only a tool to his will. Thus, he had replaced his eye with an identical camera linked to his optic nerve. He saw no reason it couldn't still be a window to his soul, but he was yet to replace the other eye.

In his living space, Copen turned on the tv. Before he had even sat down, he saw news of an attack on the parade. He shook his head in frustration and moved to throw open his armory. However, once he had taken his gun out, he heard news of the Dragon Saviors' deployment. He stopped and watched. The Dragon Saviors had made his work both easier and more difficult. It was true that their work was a great help in both neutralizing rogue adepts and minimizing casualties. It was partly because of them that he was at peace with leaving the country as he recently had. However, they were also another factor he had to consider on a mission. Copen knew Gunvolt's abilities firsthand, but even without him, the Dragon Saviors were Sumeragi's most capable hit squad. Ironically, the fact that they weren't killers was particularly irksome to Copen. Any adepts they "saved" were back under Sumeragi's thumb. He favored a more permanent solution. In any case, he was sure to avoid them.

As Copen laid his gun down, he saw the flash of a yellow cloak on the screen. As with any adept threat, Copen had studied the Dragon Saviors carefully. Information on most of them hadn't been very difficult to find. Most of them had, after all, been recruited in the wake of a major incident. Kirin, however, was a mystery. He had gathered that she was team leader and that her septima was the key to their operations, but as for who she was, she remained a complete ghost to Copen. Despite her role, she stayed out of the spotlight; no reporter had ever reached her with a mic. Moreover, it was as if she never existed before the primal dragons appeared.

Copen switched off the tv. High profile attacks were no longer his main concern. Sumeragi, with their inflated power, had gotten better at policing such crimes. Copen had switched his focus to those adepts who eluded the law or committed atrocities in its name. It had once been obvious to him that all adepts were deserving of death, ticking bombs best defused with a bullet, but the rise in their population had forced him to focus his attention on the truly deserving. Of course, Mytyl's situation had affected his thoughts on the matter as well, but had he been able to carry out his work unrestrained, his stance might have remained just as draconian.

These things on his mind, Copen considered bringing Lola out of sleep mode, but thought it better to be alone with his thoughts. He often found it hard to believe he had programmed her to be so cheery. Perhaps he had made some miscalculation. Maybe it was some kind of Freudian slip. However she had happened, Copen didn't dare to entertain the first notion of changing her. She was his partner, and she kept him going in multiple ways. It was a strange life he had chosen. Just recently, Lola had expressed how she missed seeing Mytyl. The muse shards had made their connection almost familial in its warmth.

Copen sat with his elbows on his knees. The room was quiet as a grave. His chest felt tight. His head felt heavy. In his mind's eye, he saw his path splitting into a hundred dead ends. He turned his head to a framed photo. Copen must have been five when it was taken. His eyes were wide with wonder, and his open smile was missing a couple of teeth. He was on a stool raised as high as it would go to let him gawk over one of his father's machines. Dr. Kamizono, beaming warmly, sat next to him, his arm around little Copen's shoulders. Copen gazed into the frame as a prisoner gazes beyond their fences.

"Dad," he said. "Were we always destined to fail?"

Destiny. Copen wondered what his life and what his father's life was really worth in the end. Copen shook his head. He hadn't reached the end, and he didn't know it. He stood up and changed clothes: a red jacket with a white hood and a white shirt beneath. He also put on a necklace with a silver cross. If there really was a plan for him, he needed to know it.

Though raised in the Protestant faith, Copen often found himself visiting Catholic churches in his travels. The grand cathedrals and intricate chapels were the work of master craftsmen. They stood like beacons to point the wanderer back to God. Perhaps, they represented Copen's own hopes of legacy. Perhaps it was simply a comfort to Copen to feel that sacred spaces remained in a world nauseatingly profane. Once he had stepped inside these places, however, the experience that affected him most was the practice of confession. Initially, he had been ashamed that he felt the need to speak to a priest rather than being able to speak directly with God. In time, however, he found himself craving it. Secrets were heavy, and Copen was ever laden with them.

Thus, Copen found himself standing once more before a stained glass window. The church was mostly empty when Copen stepped inside and removed his hood. Within the sanctuary, rainbow muraled windows and a great crucifix depicted a Savior's sacrifice for man's redemption.

"And what have we done with your sacrifice?" Copen thought.

If only Dr. Kamizono had returned on the third day. Soon, a robed priest recognized Copen and called his name as he approached with welcoming arms. Copen had visited the church before but given a false last name and explanation for his "business" travels. Father Michael, the priest in question, was a man in his upper thirties with an expressive face.

"I would have liked to be at mass," Copen said after greeting him, "but I've only just returned."

"I wish you could have been here," Father Michael said. "It was an excellent mass, full of the Spirit."

"I don't doubt it," Copen said, "but, um, are you available to hear confession?"

Copen took his seat in the confessional, and the curtain closed. Like a rainy day reflects a heavy heart, the darkness was a comfort to him.

"So," Father Michael said, "what weighs on your soul?"

"What I'm about to tell you is no recent transgression," Copen said. "I've carried it for a long time. I thought I was justified, but I…. I haven't been honest with you about who I am, and I risk a lot by revealing it now."

"This is a safe place, Copen," Father Michael said. "I could never reveal what's said here, and my judgment is nothing to fear."

"Many years ago," Copen said, "in the days of the first adepts, my father worked as a researcher for Sumeragi. He opposed their approach to adepts and spoke openly about the dangers of septima. They murdered him for it."

Copen stopped. He felt his mouth being pulled downwards and his eyes quivering. He had been resigned to the fact for decades, but it had been so long since he admitted it like this. He ran his hand down his face.

"He left his work to me," Copen continued, "to protect us from septima. Have you heard of the Luminous Avenger?"

"The vigilante?" Father Michael said. "The adept hunter?"

"That would be me," Copen said.

Father Michael exhaled in disbelief.

"Please," Copen said, "just let me talk."

"Right," Father Michael said. "Go on."

"I thought I was doing a good thing," Copen said. "It wasn't just my father's work; I thought it was God's will. I saw adepts as inhuman: monsters, but God tested me with the truth. I have a sister. She was always ill and weak, but she was the closest family I had. One day, I discovered the reason for her illness. She was born an adept, and my father removed her septima. I haven't seen her for a long time. The rest of my family thinks I'm dead."

Copen was silent for a moment.

"I'm not here to indict you, Copen," Father Michael said. "The Spirit convicts cleanly. Where has it convicted you?"

"There's so much I don't know," Copen said. "There are times I still think I was right, times I protected people, but I've done so much in hate. It was like they all took him."

Copen could no longer deny that he was crying. Father Michael was silent. Copen took a tissue: that's clearly what they were for. He composed himself again.

"I still believe the world would be better without septima," he said. "I still call it a disease, but hating the sick has left me alone. I guess that's what I'm confessing. I've held so much hate, and in it, I've made myself a murderer and abandoned my family."

In the wake of his final statement, there was utter silence. Copen leaned back and closed his eyes. For a moment, he felt empty, and it was the best he'd felt all day.

"It's been a long time," Copen said, "since I asked anyone else what to do."

"Well," Father Michael, clearly perplexed, said, "that is quite the story. I would suggest you turn yourself in, but I suspect that isn't an option for you. You've taken the right step today; of that, I can assure you. The first thing is to let go of your hate. It separates you from God as it does from your family. Beyond that…."

"Let me ask you this," Copen said. "When is it too late for someone?"

"The optimist in me would like to say never," Father Michael replied, "at least, not while they're alive, but only God knows a man's heart. What I can say with confidence is that it's not too late for you, Copen. You remind me of another man who was once a murderer, convinced he was serving God. Saul of Tarsus, the apostle Paul. We now know him as one of the greatest heroes of our faith."

"And yet," Copen said, "I've read of another man named Saul from whom God withdrew his love. Where do I stand?"

"It will be your heart that decides," Father Michael answered.

After leaving the church, presumably for the last time, Copen got on the subway. Though the train ran in the direction of his hideout, Copen did not know where he was actually going as he sat with his hood over his head and his hands in his pockets. Nori had called him a man in defiance of all, but he felt like nothing more than a failure in every way he turned. He couldn't carry out his father's will, he may have never been in God's will, and he was a ghost to his own family.

"Oh, God," he prayed silently, "where do I go? What do I do now?"

As Copen leaned his head back, he felt like it would be just fine if that train carried him to the terminus of his fate. The train, however, began to slow unexpectedly until it came to a halt. Copen opened his eyes and looked around. He hadn't fallen asleep, and they hadn't reached the station. He waited for some explanation to come over the speakers, but there was nothing. A murmur spread across the car as the other passengers began to raise their complaint. Another sound came to Copen's ears. It was the sound not just of confusion but panic. He rose from his seat and started to squeeze his way through the crowd. When he had almost reached the door between cars, he saw people running in his direction. They were screaming. He had to squeeze into the corner, causing his hood to fall, to keep them from knocking him down.

When they had passed, Copen leaned around the door and saw what they were running from. The seats of the next car were already lined with the dead. Amidst the carnage, black, twisted monsters like mutated corpses were sinking their feral fangs into the dead passengers. They looked in the direction of the next car and shrieked. They started crawling toward the other passengers. Several shots rang out. The zombies fell and disintegrated.

More shrieks echoed from the cars further up as the other passengers looked in bewilderment at Copen. He stood steady, one arm forward, white revolver in hand. His white hair hung around his red eyes. They were unclouded, focused, sure: the eyes of a hunter.

"Get behind me," he said.

[Hold on, Kiddo-Watch Dogs ost]

Copen put both hands on his gun and stepped forward. He saw the glow of their eyes first: plutonian purple as they staggered and skittered to devour him. No sooner had their dead eyes locked with his burning ones than Copen had raised his handgun and let loose several more precisely targeted shots, his steps still pushing him forward. Though his weapon was modeled on a revolver, Copen's Border II handgun was more of a photon gatling. The zombies fell as they funneled through the doorway, but more trampled their ashes as they came toward him like one ravenous maw. Copen's own advance was halted when one of the mangled bodies suddenly reached out and grabbed his leg. As Copen looked down, the dead woman's head began to transform into one of the twisted monsters. Copen wasted no time perforating it.

Before Copen could take another step forward, a zombie flung itself through the air to tear his throat. In response, Copen grabbed the zombie in the air and slammed it on its back behind him. He stomped in its teeth, turned, and fired more shots. The tide of undead was now too much for him to stem as they came rushing. As they entered his personal space, Copen activated the energy bayonet on the underside of his gun. The first zombie swung at him, but Copen, holding his gun close, dodged the strike and countered with a single shot to its head. He downed two more before the next zombie reached him. It swung wide from Copen's left, but he shot its arm to parry the attack and swiped its throat with the bayonet.

The zombies began to reach Copen's flanks. His cyber eye tracked the threats as he weaved, twisted, and shot through the onslaught. He dispatched four more zombies before one laid its hands on his shoulders and unhinged its jaw to bite him. Copen shoved his bayonet between its teeth and fired through the roof of its mouth. Just after that zombie's head exploded, another lunged from Copen's left and chomped into his forearm. It snatched its head like a rabid dog, but Copen pressed the barrel to its stomach and pumped it full of photons. He pushed the zombie forward as he shot, and the beams felled more zombies behind it. Copen shook his left arm. It still worked.

He had cleared some space to his front, but more zombies crashed through the windows. They now threatened to crush him from both sides. Keeping track of the most pressing threats, Copen fired from side to side. When they came too close, Copen jumped onto one of the seats and, kicking off the wall, grabbed one of the support poles to swing around. He kicked one zombie and straddled another as he punched a shot through its temples. Now crouching, Copen double-tapped a zombie to his left and swept the legs of one to his right. He chained his sweep into a roll and, from the prone position, blasted the two zombies he had just knocked down. He swept another zombie as he rolled on his back and eliminated it along with the zombie behind it.

With one side now clear, Copen sprung back to his feet, but before he could turn around, a zombie grabbed him from behind. Copen thrust his gun over his shoulder to jab the bayonet through the zombie's eye and blind fired a few shots. Now free from the zombie's grip, Copen swiveled and dispatched another zombie with two shots. The zombie next to it, however, staggered forward and wrapped its arms around Copen's waist to tackle him. Copen slid back but kept his footing and simultaneously raised his knee into the zombie's chest and hammered his elbow onto its back. The pincer force of the blow ruptured the zombie's heart and disintegrated it immediately.

Copen raised his weapon and downed another zombie before the next swung at him. He ducked under its claws and twisted into an elbow strike which he chained into a roundhouse kick to knock the zombie's jaw clear off. Before Copen had fully regained his footing, another zombie reached out and caught hold of his cross necklace. Enraged by the demon's touch, Copen sliced off the zombie's hand with his bayonet, leaving the severed hand dangling from his neck. He slashed back and forth across the zombie several times before shoving the blade into its throat. He then stepped to its right, twisting the blade further through its neck before he fired a single shot to finish both that zombie and another behind it.

Copen, breathing heavily but ready for more, looked around him, but it seemed he was victorious. He snatched the severed hand off his necklace and threw it down into the ankle-deep ashes around him. The surviving passengers were staring with both eyes and mouths agape at him.

"Come on," he said and motioned with his hand.

As Copen led them to the engine, he made a call through his watch.

"Lola, respond," he said.

"Yo, boss–" Lola answered as she came back online. "Holy crap! Have you been fighting zombies?"

"Yes, actually," Copen said. "I'm patching you into the subway controls. They're mostly automated. Can you operate them remotely?"

"I get to drive the train?" Lola said. "I always wanted to drive the train!"

"Lola."

"Right, right," Lola said. "Conductor Lola is onboard! Coming back to base?"

"That's the idea–" Copen started to say.

An alarm began to go off from Copen's watch and flashed information into his augmented reality display.

"Oh no," Copen whispered.

It was Nori's emergency transponder. She was with Mytyl.