I don't own Death Note.
The Scrap of Legends
She could hear the obtrusive beeping resonating from beside her sleeping area. It hadn't disturbed her since she hadn't been sleeping, but it was still awfully late for any contact. Turning her head just to her left, she took note of the time on the clock bolted to the wall above the door.
3:25am
She sighed. It was better than lying here in the small, dark room with nothing but her thoughts to accompany her. She reached over slightly to the same left, and with a slight click gave her caller their desired audience.
"What is it?"
"Did I wake you?" The voice of a young man, innocent and unassuming, inquired of her.
"Yes." She lied for no particular reason, pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly.
"That's regrettable, but I think you'll be glad that I did." He said no more, waiting for her reaction. But her reaction was one he couldn't see, her slender body bolting upright off the gel bedding in one quick movement.
There was only one reason she could think of that he would be calling her in the dead of night, and it was a reason she'd been waiting months for. Had he found the perfection she'd entrusted him to search for?
"You're serious? You have it?"
"Don't get your hopes up just yet. I've found . . . potential. Valuable potential, I think, if it comes to fruition. But nothing sure yet. I think you should come have a look. How soon can you be here?"
She was already up, throwing the pale blue of a blouse and the smooth gray of slacks onto her bare skin. "Twenty minutes."
"Understood. I'll be waiting outside."
She made it in fourteen minutes, hurrying up the few steps towards his waiting form right outside the main entrance. He turned at the sound of her approaching, pinning pleased eyes onto the lovely woman not much older than him.
"Excellent timing, as usual." He moved his hand to a keypad just beside the door, his fingers dancing across the numbers with ease. The door slid open, revealing a small stainless steel entry point – a security check that needed to be bypassed in order to gain access to the rest of the steel and concrete of the facility.
"What's the catchphrase for today?" She'd forgotten to check in her rush to get here.
"So far, so good."
He went first, submitting himself to a fingerprint scan, a voice print scan, and a retina scan. Once beyond the checkpoint, he turned to wait for her.
"Please rescan retina, and repeat today's code phrase in a normal voice," the system demanded of her, having failed to register her information. She complied, albeit a little annoyed.
"Oddly enough, that only happens with you." He commented when she turned a raised eyebrow to him.
She followed two steps behind him as they exited the elevator now on the ground floor, the clicking of her heels coming in a faster succession than his own long-legged strides. It was chilly down here, underground, and the lighting in such a place always gave her the creeps. Bright white bounced off shiny steel and blue synthetic marble. And the smell . . . she'd never quite gotten used to the smell of constantly recirculated, treated air. It gave her the impression of too much ionization, not that she knew what that would smell like exactly.
Another keypad tap, and they turned off into a door on the right of the corridor.
"This is . . ."
"Yes. That's why I called you as soon as I had the information." He didn't turn to address her, instead continuing to maneuver her through an impossibly large maze of plexiglass and titanium divided into rows upon rows of pod-like pedestals. "Here we are."
He spoke just before slowing down, and finally stopping in front of one titanium cubicle, his body turned towards the contents.
"There's no label." She examined the outer shell before leaning down to look inside the glass.
"I know. You are here because of my suspicion. I said potential, remember?" He stuffed his hands in his pockets, sharing her interest in the object.
Rising and crossing her arms, she gazed at him now curiously. "I'd like to hear your reasoning now, if you please."
He smiled at her, not the least bit intimidated. "Of course. As you said, there's no label. So when I came across it, I sent it through a preliminary scan. I couldn't figure out much since there's damage that needs to be repaired. But . . ." He touched his finger to the small screen attached to the front of the pod just below the glass shielding, bringing up values from the scan.
She bowed slightly, her eyes darting over the numbers as if she were in an REM cycle before freezing on two of the lines.
"How is that possible? Screening should have caught this."
"That data is from my own scan. Look at the older record." He tapped something else on the hair thin plastic, and waited for her to digest the information.
"An error?"
"That, or someone tampered with the results on purpose. I'm not sure, honestly. An error is possible though, since it's a transport from an older facility. You know how careless MSI can be with these older ones."
She pushed a fingernail against the screen on her own, navigating back to the correct data. "Any information on it at all?"
"Not much. It's a new arrival, having been discovered at a facility in England. White male, mid-twenties . . . looks like oxygen deprivation. As I said, there is a great deal of damage, mostly due to inadequate preservation from what I can tell. But that aside, it's a fantastic specimen. Haven't seen one like it in a long time." He was giddy with emotion, clearly enamored by it. "I think it's a genuine Class XII."
She turned sharp eyes to him. "Class XII?"
"Given the preliminary markers, I'd say so. But there's something else."
She waited expectantly as he pulled up a new cluster of information on the screen.
"Do you know this man?"
She looked at what he pointed to, recognizing the name only. "Quillsh Wammy. A famous inventor of his time, wasn't he?"
"Yes. You could even say some of his work has made what we have today possible."
"Is he here?" She don't know why she asked, unless there was another error.
"No, he was one of the first to go. A highly sought after Class X. Anyway, he also came from the same English facility. And guess who he was paired up with?"
She looked down at the hunk of meat suspended in clear blue stasis fluid, both of which were enclosed within a glass sphere, and listened intently while he continued to explain.
"They came together, and most likely got separated due to the scanning error on this one."
"Any info on Wammy?"
He shook his head. "Nothing that would indicate who this is. All his family was proper buried, and he never married or had children."
She sighed. These unknowns almost never ended up with any good results. Still, a Class XII was extremely rare – so much so that there were waiting lists for them.
"How extensive is the damage?" She leaned into the glass for a closer look, her eyes following the pale trails of brain matter, wondering at what the electricity that once danced within had created.
"Well, considering how old it is – it could be worse. It probably suffered in one of those cryo-prototypes of the Twenty-First century, back when we were still freezing them. There's synapse degradation, and the pathways have deteriorated somewhat. But it's still repairable."
"Twenty-first? That's a long time, Lieutenant. Date of death?"
"I'd put it at around," he looked at the scanning record for a moment, making a small humming sound in the back of his throat as he calculated. "Beginning of the twenty-first century, actually. No later than 2010." He straightened, turning his attention back to her. "So, what do you think?"
"I'm not sure. How much time do I have?"
His face turned solemn, almost heart-broken. He was one to take his job very seriously, and he hated to see the end-result of an unwanted. Especially one of such caliber.
"None, Doctor. It's scheduled to be destroyed at 0900 today."
Less than five hours away. Either she was incredibly lucky, having caught it just in time; or she wasn't meant to have even come across it in the first place. Really, she'd wanted something that was a little more of a sure thing. Taking a chance on an unknown, no matter how impressive, would be expensive and time-consuming if it failed. She only had one last shot at this, and her chances of success were already slim. It would be illogical to add anymore defeating factors to the equation.
"I'll pass, I think."
"But Doctor–"
"Lieutenant," she snapped at him before softening her tone. "I appreciate your effort very much, but I don't feel that this is the right choice for my project."
They both knew she had no authority over him, but that didn't stop him from acting as though she did. He respected her immensely, almost fearing her a little, given her record.
"May I speak candidly?"
She looked almost as if she would hesitate before nodding. "Go ahead."
He took a step closer to her, leaning in a bit. "I don't know what this project of yours is, exactly. I'll admit I've heard rumors, and some of them are pretty out there if I know you at all. It's really none of my business, to be honest." He looked down at the remains before continuing. "But something tells me that this should be your choice. Even if you don't feel it, then you should consider that it will most likely take years for you to come across another find like this. You aren't high priority, Doctor. Anything over a Class VII will be out of your reach for a very long time."
She read his eyes for a moment more before turning back to the object of their discussion. He was right. Not only was she not high priority . . . she was downright on the edge of losing her support and funding for this. The brass had never liked her research, and had only grudgingly granted her resources for it because of her relationship with a now deceased Admiral. With him gone, the chances of being refused a renewal on her contract were increasing exponentially.
And even if they weren't, would she be willing to wait years? She was already on her fourth month, and even that length of time had her ready to scrap the entire thing in defeat.
". . . Doctor?" He hadn't meant to offend her, but he thought it best to give it to her straight. Besides, he didn't want to see this brain destroyed, and she seemed like a better option for it than incineration. A real live Class XII? Well, sort of. Such a Genius Level was practically unheard of, at least in his time. He couldn't help but let his imagination run away with him in the possibilities.
"Alright," she found herself agreeing with a sigh. "But you will put in the formal request, initiate the Cease and Desist order, and schedule it for an in-depth analysis. Understood?"
He smiled at her, more than happy to do her grunt work. "Absolutely."
"And get that damage repaired. I want this thing tip-top."
He nodded. "I'll do it personally. He'll be good as new. Well, not–"
"I got it, Lieutenant. Just notify me when you have the results." She turned on her heel, retracing her steps back toward the entrance. Before she left this particular row, she turned back to him. "Thanks, Shep."
He was already popping the release to move the glass housing off its pedestal, so immersed in his work that he paid her no attention. With an admiring grin, she sauntered off back to her office.
"I was wrong." He burst into her office in a rush, slamming the palm reader down on the desk she currently occupied. "It's not a Class XII."
"Well what is it then, damnit!" She snatched the reader, expecting an answer before she could read it. He complied.
"Perfection." He said the word with such reverence, she forgot the device and jerked her gaze up towards him. He was smiling stupidly at her, and moving around the desk to hunch over her as if he had the secret of the Universe to tell.
"It's like nothing I've ever seen, Doctor," he spoke low, with a quiet awe. "I can't even describe it to you, other than to say that it's so intellectually stunning, it's almost inhuman."
She looked over the results now, noting what it was he saw. "This record . . . have you stored it into the database?"
"Not yet."
"Good. Don't. Stick with the original faulty record you showed me last night."
"Are you asking that I falsify records for you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
With a turn of her head, she slid intense blue to his unsure brown. "That's exactly what I'm asking you to do. You offered it to me, and I've decided to accept. If you enter that record, one of the Archive AIs is sure to pick it up. If that happens, I'll lose this," she dangled the device between them, indicating the results still scrolling in electric blue. "Then, you will have broken your word and I'll no longer be able to trust you. Is that what you want?"
He straightened, seeming to shrink just a bit beneath her penetrating gaze even though he towered over her sitting form. He'd heard the stories about her . . . shrewd, cunning, and willing to manipulate anyone within her ability to do so to get what she wanted. And he'd always discounted them as jealous gossip, because his friendship with her had never indicated there was any truth to them. But now, with that fierce look in her eyes that told him - in no uncertain terms - that she would have it her way, Shepherd was sure there was truth to be found in those sewing circles.
"There are serious consequences for something like that."
She nodded. "There are, if you get caught. I'll take full responsibility, and you have my word on that."
He still wasn't convinced, reaching a casual hand out to reclaim his data pad and then shuffling his feet a bit as if waiting for something more.
She sighed. Didn't this fool boy know she could read him like a cluster of code? "Fine. I'll go to dinner with you."
He jammed his free hand into her face with a little too much eagerness for her tastes. "Deal," he sang happily. With a shrug, she shook it before indicating that he sit in the chair on the other side of her antique desk.
"Pandora." She called to no one in particular. Not a split second later, a small crystal holopad set within the synthetic wood of her desk glimmered to life to her right. Standing on the pedestal was a tiny, fourteen-inch tall holographic representation of a woman. A vision of perfection, she wore a shimmering silver gown reminiscent of those worn by ancient Roman women, and a matching veil. Long, dark curls cascaded down her back, and on top of those sat an intricate gold crown. At her feet lay a small chest, the promise of hope escaping its opening in soft golden light.
Even with her size, her high-definition brilliance lit the dim room with something akin to starlight.
"Yes, Doctor?" she inquired politely in a siren's voice.
"I need all references to file number . . .", she held out her hand for his palm reader. ". . . 10311979-25L removed except for the original preliminary analysis, including all footprints. Also, please reroute the request through one of the unused terminals just in case."
"Working . . . "
"I figured she would have been expired by now." the Lieutenant commented quietly, staring at the hologram.
"I suspect this will be her last year in service." She shrugged. "If this guy pans out, I'll no longer have a need for replacements anymore."
"Process complete. Will there be anything else, Doctor?"
"No. Thank you, Pandora."
With a flash and a whisper, she dissolved into silver glitter and the crystal octagon was dark once again.
She turned her attention back to Shepherd. "Has it been repaired?"
"Yes. Seven hours and 43 minutes." He rose from his chair, ready to leave. "All that's left is for you to work your . . . magic." Something in him had wanted to say Voodoo, but he didn't know precisely one way or the other.
"Excellent. You've done such a good job, I'd like to extend an invitation for your assistance, if you'd like."
"To watch you work? Absolutely. How's three days from now?"
She thought for only a moment before nodding. "Sounds good to me."
With a smile and wink, he was out the door, and she was left to her own thoughts.
Three days, and she would finally prove all those cynics, who believed that a human brain wasn't a viable choice, wrong. Three days, and her life's work could very well end up as more than just a theory, and she would turn modern science on its ear.
Three days, and she would finally know who this long dead, immaculate genius was, and she would see just what he was made of.