Wes Myers (M.S Computational Neuroscience) – February 5th, 2071 – Fairfax, Virginia
"People thought I was some fame-grabbing attention whore before all this…"
"Your reputation will remain intact, then," replied Jessica. "And think it's been established that neither of us see an alternative."
She was right, of course. There wasn't an alternative. But that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it any more.
"I did a little Shakespeare in college…" Wes started, reading over the printout that he had been mailed. It was 25 pages long, spiral-bound. Courier New font, like an ancient screenplay.
Actually, no, back to that. Mailed? They didn't have a secure way to send a PDF file to him? How the hell did that work? Wasn't the Spectre supposed to be really, really smart?
"…not sure I can really memorize this whole thing, though," he finished, flipping it over to the back cover.
"That's not the idea. It's just a guide. We need everyone's story to be straight – what you know and what you don't."
"What I've seen, and what I haven't…" he continued the thought. "You know, I don't really talk like this. This is stilted, un-human, almost. I really don't think that-"
"You're correct. You speak far too freely and have a nasty habit of letting slip unnecessary information."
"We barley know each other!" he fired back.
"Kane's words, not mine.'
Wes sighed and that was the last notable thing his conversation with Jessica has offered.
He really couldn't offer much of a defense, thought he certainly had mixed feelings about the fact that Kane was merely talking about him and not to him. Not that she didn't have enough problems on her own – if Wes' packet was this long, Kane was likely nursing a novel-long briefing on her testimony.
Hell, Kane had probably written part of Wes' testimony herself. She was busy. Sure, just busy.
It wasn't working. Wes still couldn't shake the thought.
Who had called? Besides Jessica, which…upon reflection, Wes had not quite yet appreciated the absurdity of being on a first-name basis with probably the most infamous person in America at the moment. Maybe he should feel luckier.
Alessandra had not called. This, he was also surprised by, though he was markedly less wounded by this than Kane's radio silence. As he understood, the now-ex-soldier was undergoing something of a personal transformation, and his company might only serve as a distraction. He looked forward to meeting the person who emerged on the other side.
A rather persistent soon-to-be-ex-CIA-agent named Piper Winslow had called. Three times, in fact. After confirming with the new personal authorities in his life that she was "safe" to speak with, he foolishly answered the second one, only to be bombarded with a series of questions that he felt neither comfortable nor at liberty to answer. Given the account of Winslow's history he'd received, Wes was not
Wes had hung up on the agent mid-sentence, something he was not proud of but also unwilling to feel any substantive amount of guilt for. His apology tour would have to wait until after his deposition before Congress, anyways.
As if the world was listening in, his mail-order burner phone rang the obnoxious Vivaldi tune that came standard.
"Captain Paszek?" answered Wes.
"My, uh, title isn't too important anymore," said Paszek, the first words he had ever spoken to the man. "But yes, it's me."
"Sorry, didn't want to assume. On edge," said Wes.
"We all are," the soldier replied. "This is no small task we're asking of you. We appreciate everything you've done for us so far."
Wes silently wondered what exactly "we" meant in this context. The whole gang? The DNI trio? Him and Kane? The Western world?
"I'd be lying if I said I knew what I was getting into," he settled with. "But this seems like the best way out for everyone."
Why was he even calling him?
"Kane says…well, I read…" Paszek corrected, "you were a sharpshooter in basic, back in day?"
Read where? That detail wasn't in the articles. Wes would know – he had read them in seething anger too many times to count. Kane had told them. They had talked about him.
"I was alright," Wes offered. "I'd rather not put those skills to the test again."
"I…wouldn't ask you to," responded Paszek. "Heard you handled a Locus out in the desert, though."
"Just shooting bottles," said Wes, awkwardly. "For fun."
Really, why was this guy even calling him?
"Look, I'm sorry," spoke Paszek, cadence changed. "I'm no good at small talk. Really, I was just checking in to make sure you were holding up alright, that you weren't have any second thoughts."
This was the gambit? Being cold-called and cold-pitied by the one person involved in their little conspiracy that Wes had absolutely no relation to? Either the others were playing 4D chess, or they were playing an awfully obtuse game of checkers.
"Well…" Wes started, now actually on edge. "It's like I said – the only way out is through. I don't have a job, my name's already spent plenty of time in the news. What do I have to lose?"
"Glass half-full," muttered Paszek. "We'll take it."
Again, who was we? Where were these discussions happening? Why was he so out of the loop?
Why didn't she want to talk to him?
"Would you mind putting her on?" Wes asked. Not that he expected for that to happen. He just wanted to process the aftermath of such a request.
"I'm…not sure that I can," the soldier stuttered. "Maybe you can-"
"Is she not around?" Wes interrupted. "I can call later, of course. But if you could let me know of her availability, then…"
"Look…" Paszek sighed. "I'm not exactly sure what to tell you. This isn't really a-"
The line crinkled. Someone had yanked the phone away from him.
"Wes," Kane spoke. It was not really a question, or even an acknowledgement. She didn't sound angry, annoyed, happy, eager, or anything in-between. Or maybe he was extrapolating too much from a single word.
"You…" Wes started, kicking himself for not having thought this far ahead. "You came to me. You pulled my leg and I followed. I was willing to throw away everything. I nearly killed a man!" he cried. "I had a human being in my crosshairs, and I would have fired if someone had told me to!"
No response as he breathed shallowly into the receiver.
"Do you have anything to say to me?" he huffed.
"Just that you deserve better," Kane replied, softly.
"I'm not certain I deserve anything, Rachel. But I do wish I had the person that…well, that I thought I could call my best friend."
Kane exhaled. "I can't promise it will ever make sense. When this is over…I'll do my best to try."
"What is it? And how do you know when it's over?" Wes shot back. "It was over when Sarah was back, when you found Captain Paszek, when you killed Savior…"
"I don't know," she said, half-interruptingly. "I want it to all be over. Maybe it will be soon. Maybe next week. Maybe…longer. I don't know, alright?"
"I still trust you," he admitted. "Even after all that's happened. I just want you to know that."
"I do, Wes," she replied. "I do."
Wes elected to save her the trouble of hanging up, and did it himself.
[Specialist] Leslie [Alessandra] Castillo – February 7th, 2071 – Silver Springs, Maryland
"You are a promising individual. You have been helped, not saved. You must continue forward, it is the only direction. You are a promising individual…"
These were the words that Castillo had written on an orange post-it note, taped squarely in the corner of the mirror that sat above her dresser. They had not been given to her by someone else, a family member, a friend, a therapist – they were hers, words she had thought herself and written herself. This gave them power and agency, something that she herself possessed as well, and something that she wished to wield in an appropriate manner, moving forward.
That was not the kind of paragraph she was used to thinking. But the circumstances that Castillo had found herself in over the last several weeks had demanded a change somewhere, and for the time being, that change would come partially through a new mindset, one that emphasized the life she could live, and not just the life that she had lived.
The Outrider was gone. She was almost aghast at the ease which with Jessica was able to cast off the Spectre persona and all the burdens it carried. It should have been easier than it was for her to do the same.
But it wasn't. It took time. Outrider was a name tied innately to her time with the CIA, time spent half in a haze, time that easily could have been spent entirely in a haze, but was only cleared up by the people around her, people who also shared nonsense names and sad, sad, sad lives that led them to Russel Pond, Maine.
That group of Cyber-Soldiers consisted entirely of thoroughly broken people, all of whom had yet to fully realize that they were, in fact, thoroughly broken. The CIA had seemingly not yet been convinced that giving these people DNIs was not going to end up being productive for anyone, and had done so anyways.
Castillo shook her head, wiping one of her eyes to remove a lash. She was getting ahead of herself. They would all know this soon. She didn't have to justify it or herself to anyone. That was what the testimony was for.
She had been helped, not saved.
Gone too was her first name, at least legally. "Alessandra Castillo" was likely going to be published several thousand times in the from of unclassified and "leaked" documents, so her makeshift legal counsel had advised her to change something.
It didn't take her long to decide to keep her family's name, however disconnected she might have been from them. Her first name held it's share of burdens, too, burdens she was now willing to let go. "Leslie" was a fine enough compromise. Ultimately – and possibly to the detriment of her own self-growth – it wasn't about her.
The next few days, or week, or weeks – no one knew just how long this would take – were about the safety and long-term well-being of her friends, as well as justice for her friends that no longer were with her.
Castillo gently peeled the post-it note off of the mirror, folded it up, and placed it in her jacket pocket. She could always use the reminder.
[Commander/Specialist] Sarah Hall – February 7th, 2071 – Arlington, Virginia
Hall notched the edge of the page with her fingernail. For an ordinary person, this would not be a helpful reference in finding their place, DNI notwithstanding. Hall, however, held a long and treasured relationship with physical books that few people of her generation did.
Of course, it was hardly practical. She was virtually incapable of forgetting information as concrete and trivial as a page number. But rekindling her connection with paperbacks served a purpose – it was the best way she knew to live in "the real world" while confined to a studio apartment.
At least it was a nice apartment. Well-insulated, comfortable but not-too-pristine furniture, and, far more important than anything else, excellent water pressure. That was a luxury not to be found anywhere while serving for the Winslow Accord, the CIA, or anyone else she'd been loaned out to. Even with as much metal as a Cyber-Soldier had on their person, a hot shower was priceless.
Hall was perhaps most thankful for the steady stream of nonfiction selections that the academic world had put forth in the time since her final deployment to Singapore. There was plenty to catch up on, which left her with more than enough means to occupy herself in-between the briefings about her testimony.
Outside of Malik Carson, the defense secretary – who, despite his public comments, would be quite involved in the investigation – it was unlikely that anyone else on the committee even knew she was dead in the first place. Not that it made it any less challenging to appear, even if it was in such a private, secure setting.
Hall, of course, had better reasons to be apprehensive about the process, when compared to the others. Paszek, Kane, and even Jessica had a palpable future, public or otherwise. But her?
Even if Congress and the Pentagon were willing to let her go scot-free, what would happen? Would she be forced to live a life of total secrecy, a half-step beyond her current apartment confinement?
What was the alternative? Being declared un-dead? Being contacted by distant family members that have no idea what the hell is going on? Bearing the wrath of anyone who stumbled across the not-entirely-unjustified trolls spamming videos of her brainwashed war crimes in Egypt?
It was more than enough to overwhelm her. It had on several occasions already. Hall was far more emotionally tuned than she was a few months ago, though, and more acclimated to the living world than a few weeks ago. Corvus had helped with the former.
They wouldn't understand.
No one would ever understand the relationship they shared. Maybe Paszek had an inkling of it. But even he wouldn't get it, not completely.
It was Stockholm Syndrome. A helpless young woman befriending her captor, her tormentor, the omnipresent puppet-master-mass-murderer. Pulp fiction. How downtrodden was this poor girl? How insane was she? How deluded?
Not that anyone would say those things to her face. Or even that any of her friends – the few that remained – were the type to think things so obscene about her. Those thoughts persisted, though. They were merely extensions of thoughts she'd held about herself for decades – thoughts framing herself as an obtuse, ugly fool incapable of properly examining her own weaknesses. Such thoughts were normal; she knew that now. It didn't stop them from occurring, but it gave her the courage to deal with them.
Memory erasure fully-considered, Hall truly did miss him. Her internal reflection over the past few weeks had assured her that Corvus had no malice in his heart. His evil was the result of being trapped in suspended torture for almost decade. It was rash, bold – it couldn't take the form of a deep cover master plan. Beyond that, he simply didn't have room for it anymore. Hall had seen every side, every angle of his psyche, and more importantly, she'd seen the sides that mattered the most to him.
She could only worry, though. Theoretically, she could just interface with Paszek or vice versa and check in on the old soul. But there was some sort of tacit, unspoken agreement between Hall and Paszek that such a thing was not to occur again except in case of a dire emergency. They also still did not find themselves any closer to a permanent vessel for Corvus – not that they'd spent much time or energy solving that, anyways.
The inconvenience of whatever life she was fated to live post-hearing was dwarfed by any possibility of Corvus' existence in a physical vessel. The world probably would not be so willing to let Hall step back into society, but it was certainly not going to welcome fully and openly sentient artificial intelligence.
She, at least, would always be his friend, of course. Maybe his only one. Hall still didn't have a particularly concrete grasp on how Paszek felt about him. She couldn't really blame Paszek for having a bad taste in his mouth – he was subject to intense mental torture from Corvus, with only the benefit of a few hours of goodwill and pleasantries from Corvus' reformed self. As much as she and Paszek trusted each other, her word could only mean so much. And to say nothing of the others…
Corvus was a victim of the CIA, too. It would likely be difficult for the others, Kane most especially, to accept that information, and even more difficult for them to turn that understanding into sympathy, and that sympathy into kindness. Not that Kane was incapable of sympathy or kindness, but rather that Corvus – the old, dead Corvus – had been directly responsible for her torture and near-death, as well as the demise of virtually all of her CIA colleagues. Taylor was also amongst the dead, something which likely sat less than steady with Kane.
Hall turned the page again. Her pontificating on the mental states of her friends had led where it always led – a negative oblivion. So, she returned to a place that she did control.
HOME USER [Designation 001.5 – "Corvus"] – ERROR: DATE UNDETERMINED [February 2071] – ERROR: LOCATION UNDETERMINED [Designation 0002.5 – "Frozen Forest, The"]
STATUS: Processing in progress [NOTE: Files must remain unopened. Sensitive information contained within. Algorithmic sorting access ONLY.]
COMPLETE FILES ASSOCIATED:
DNI Encoded_Paszek_Ignacio
DNI Encoded_Hall_Sarah
DNI Encoded_IDENTITY REDACTED [Designation 053 – "Mason, Jessica." Also under "Spectre." Also under "Specter."]
DNI Encoded_Castillo_Alessandra ["Outrider"]
DNI Unencoded_Krueger_Sebastian
DNI Encoded_Taylor_John
DNI Encoded_Diaz_Sebastian
DNI Encoded_Maretti_Peter
DNI Encoded_Hendricks_Jacob
FILES UNDEFINED/INCOMPLETE:
Data/Scan/Conglomerate_Kane_Rachel
Data/Scan/Conglomerate_Myers_Weston
Data/Scan/Conglomerate_Winslow_Piper
Data/Scan/Conglomerate_Mills_Dara
Data/Conglomerate_De Klerk_Aart
Data/Conglomerate_Pfyffer_Cedric
Data/Conglomerate_Teele_Robert
Data/Conglomerate_Curran_Jaime
Data/Conglomerate_Hernandez_Caitlin
Data/Conglomerate_Mwangi_Jean-Charles
Data/Conglomerate_Johnson_Stephen
Data/Conglomerate_Salim_Yousef
Data/Conglomerate_Salim_Hiram
Data/Conglomerate_Li_Danny [NOTE: Also under "Blackjack." Investigation of other possible aliases needed.]
Data/Conglomerate_Coleman_Chandler
Data/Conglomerate_Reynolds_Shane
Data/Conglomerate_Brent_Nyren
Data/Conglomerate_Khalil_Zeyad
Data/Conglomerate_Lynch_Chloe
Data/Conglomerate_Crosby_Otto-Vaughan
Data/Conglomerate_Mason_David
FILES MISSING: [NOTE: Some potentially/likely unrecoverable]
DNI Encoded_Fierro_Joseph [NOTE: Highest priority. Confirmation of identity needed. Other related files of interest likely.]
DNI Encoded_Stone_Dylan
DNI Encoded_Conrad_Alice [NOTE: Confirmed recoverable. Further investigation needed.]
DNI Encoded_Ramirez_Javier [NOTE: Confirmed recoverable. Additional angles of approach needed.]
DNI Encoded_Hejek_Krystof ["Firebreak"]
DNI Encoded_Rojas_Tavo ["Nomad"]
DNI Encoded_Zhen-Zhen_He ["Seraph"]
DNI Encoded_Baker_Erin ["Battery"]
DNI Encoded_Wilkes_David ["Prophet"]
DNI Encoded_Walsh_Donald ["Ruin"]
Drive/Complete Files (Un)Encoded_XYZA [Designation 099: "Reaper"] [NOTE: Recovery of paramount importance.]
CONDITIONAL COMMAND(S):
IF: "Complete Files Associated" OR "Files Undefined/Incomplete" BREACHED
THEN: DELETE "Drive_Full" AND DELETE "Results" AND BACKUP TO "Vault_2" [NOTE: "Vault_2" access granted exclusively to Designation 02: "Hall, Sarah"]