JENNY finishes recounting the official report in the cloud archive about the Skyscraper Command explosion.
Michonne had her go through it twenty-one times.
The Replicant Snow sits in a meditation pose, listening and watching.
"Again, please," she speaks, her only movement since they started.
JENNY's voice is patient and maternal.
"Michonne. Captain. The report will not change on the twenty-second playback. This is the only archival data that exists in the cloud. It has been officially published and certified by Skyscraper Command."
Michonne shakes her head furiously, feeling frustrated for the first time in her merely days-old existence. She tries to do as Dr. Jones has been teaching her; to control these new 'emotions' and remember that she can will every part of her existence to do as she pleases. She tried to calm herself. Instead, she stands up and begins to pace.
"But this report is not accurate," she grits her teeth, watching her feet move in perfectly straight lines, criss-crossing each other as she turns back and forth to walk the length of her room. A room that appears to be growing smaller with each passing day. "Something's missing."
"Dr. Jones did explain that your memories are not complete. You need to spend considerable time interacting and learning from humans to produce further spontaneous development of your neural pathways. Especially those humans who meant something to you. Like your Rick Grimes, sweetie."
JENNY gently reminds her.
Michonne thinks. Rick . . . maybe she can figure out what she can't reconcile from this 'official' report and the sporadic memories she found while she meditated through him. Maybe she can trust Dr. Jones's advice to follow her heart. Yes. If she listens to her heart, the answers will come.
"What happened to Captain Grimes? The other surviving Peacekeepers?"
JENNY seems only too happy to move on from the explosion archives.
"When construction was completed on the new Skyscraper Command towers, all peacekeeping precincts were subsumed by President Deanna Monroe's decree, under the direct supervision of The Smiths . . . "
Michonne listens to JENNY and watches the archival footage of the ribbon cutting for the new towers. Various clips of news footage from some of the press conferences announcing the changes at the precincts, and some of the memorial services, play out on the holoscreen.
"The Bottom District Peacekeeping precinct was appointed a new commander, Chief Pearl Thorne, formerly Chief of Security at Skyscraper Command. The Smiths and President Monroe also decreed Companion programs mandatory for all citizens of the Alexandria Safe Zone."
JENNY goes on, but Michonne shakes her head in frustration again. Something is still missing.
"What about me?" she interrupts, walking through the holoscreen footage to look out through her viewers. "What do the archives report about my creation?"
"File Code: Restricted."
She frowns at her reflection in the viewers. "The President? Did she order it? Why?"
"File Code: Restricted."
Michonne spins around and glares at the footage and personnel data on Chief Pearl Thorne.
"The Smiths? Dr. Jones said they're coming back soon to take me away from here. Why?"
JENNY finally answers, powering down the holoscreen.
"I am sorry, Michonne. File Code . . . Restricted."
It seems that JENNY is responding to her bio readings. Michonne stands very still and wills herself to calm down. After a few moments, her breathing regulates, her temperature lowers, and her pulse slows. She speaks again into the semi-dark.
"Show me the Smiths."
After a moment of silence and stillness, the room fills with a dozen identical holograms of one man.
Michonne freezes, her eyes wide, as she stares at the intimidating specter multiplied over and over again.
He is tall, pale, and dressed in black. He wears dark sunglasses covering his eyes, but Michonne feels tracked by his artificially produced gaze, nonetheless.
He – they – stand with perfect poise, hands in fists at their sides. He and his clones scan the room mutely, tracking every corner of it. Passing over her, pausing on her, passing over her again; all of them perfectly in sync.
"The Smiths . . . bio-engineered human-cybernetic hybrids. Clones."
JENNY begins her report.
"Currently there are twelve Smiths in existence. Generated from the donated DNA of Peacekeeper Cane Smith of former Chicago."
The Smith holograms snarl in unison, cracking their necks in their crisp, tight suits. As if agitated by the data flow that produced them and the cloud archive pumping information about them through JENNY's mainframe.
Michonne suspects that if she concentrates, she can recognize the presence of the real Smiths, hooked into net space, beyond the cloud. They don't belong there, but they have staked a claim. They are searching for something . . .
Michonne registers that the hairs on her skin str standing on end. She has the chills. What an odd sensation. Like fear.
She understands now why Dr. Jones spoke of them with such unease. Why DATA was reticent to give her a direct answer about the purpose of her creation. She does not like the Smiths.
"And what about now?" she asks JENNY, shaking off the unpleasant feelings these Smith creatures impose on her. "What's going on out there right now?"
JENNY stops the hologram projections of the Smiths. A few seconds later, a holoscreen shows Michonne archival footage of the state of affairs in the Alexandria Safe Zone, and beyond it, The Gates of Hell.
There are riots. There is a menacing man, Negan. He's calling for chaos. Disorder. War, if his demands are not met. The United Councils are buckling down, refusing to negotiate, looking to the President for a show of strength against him.
The Peacekeepers are embroiled in internal turmoil. Politics have taken over everything.
"They need me . . . " Michonne whispers, taking it all in.
"Yes," she hears Dr. Jones' voice from her doorway. "We all do."
When Michonne doesn't report to the training room at oh-eight-hundred sharp, as she has every day since the day after she was created, DATA goes to retrieve her.
It's possible that since she's been learning to behave more like a human, she is simply 'running late'. That would be a fascinating development in her progress. She is still a newborn, but she is also an insatiable learner and she is maturing undoubtedly faster than Dr. Jones had hoped. She even bested DATA twice in their last sparring match.
DATA cannot help 'looking forward' to how Michonne will adapt to him today.
He finds her in her quarters, standing motionless in front of a holoscreen that presents as a mirror, staring at her reflection. Her android mentor raises his eyebrows in fascination. She has shaved the side of her head where her cut off her locs the first time they sparred. She is contemplating the results.
"In future, may I suggest simply tying your hair back from your face during training?"
Michonne finally turns to face him, coming alive from her intense scrutiny of herself.
"DATA . . . was that a joke?"
DATA lowers his gaze, tilting his head to consider her query. He takes a breath and finally answers: "Yes, Michonne, it was my attempt at being humorous. Also, to put you at ease about your aesthetic choice. That is to say, you look . . . nice."
Michonne beams at him. "So you like it?"
DATA rearranges his features to return her smile. "If I were capable of feeling emotion, I believe at this moment I would feel pleased with what you have done, yes."
"Do you think Rick will like it?"
"He would be crazy not to. Right, DATA?"
JENNY reassures her sweetly.
"I cannot say for certain, but this style is in keeping with the last known appearance of your former self. It may put Captain Grimes and the rest of The Family at ease when you return to them. That must count for something."
Since it appears that their sparring session will need to be delayed, DATA steps further into the room. He approaches Michonne and stands at ease, gazing at her thoughtfully.
"Dr. Jones has informed me that you are worried about seeing your friends again. In particular, Captain Grimes."
Michonne can't deny it. Yes, she's anxious. She does not like this feeling. It's new to her but already she's attempting to find ways to circumvent it. It doesn't feel natural to her, if she can ever truly know what 'natural' for Michonne Snow feels like.
"So much has changed. I don't want him to . . . "
DATA studies Michonne silently for a moment before attempting to finish her thought – her fear.
"You do not wish for him to believe he is seeing 'a ghost'. Or to reject you for being unnatural."
Michonne nods.
DATA reaches up to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The two creations of Dr. Morgan Jones, the genius in love with humanity and technology, are bonding in their own way. DATA has also grappled with these same 'fears' since he was created. Over the years, he found it more efficient to remain at Dr. Jones' side, helping him crack the first code that could not make him as real as Michonne.
The humanoid android attempts to do what their father would do in this situation. This is a teaching moment.
"Consider this . . . " Michonne listens carefully. "Though you are Dr. Jones' creation, it was his full intention that you should possess free will. You are your own person. Like any other human, you must create your own destiny."
DATA pauses, his yellow eyes narrowing as he recalls similar 'teaching moments' between himself and his father.
"If Rick is to be part of that destiny, it would only be because he respects you as you are. You are Michonne. Remember: it is your will alone that makes this the truth. Not the will of Captain Grimes, or anyone else.
"I am an android. An automaton. I cannot become as 'human' as you can. I cannot feel emotion as you do. However, I am DATA because I believe myself to be. Because I act as DATA would. Because I have worked tirelessly, in all the moments of my existence, to exercise my free will.
"I do not stay by the doctor's side because I am a slave or a mindless machine. I stay because I wish to. This is as close to human as I will ever come, and it is due, in part, to the humanity of the man who created me."
When DATA focuses on Michonne again, he finds her eyes glistening with tears. She is moved emotionally by what he said. She will make a fine human, yet.
"Thank you, DATA," Michonne whispers, reaching over to touch his cool silver hand appreciatively.
"You are always welcome, Michonne."
Michonne meditates.
She is searching the cloud for any signs of the missing fragments of memory that she can find. Willing these neural pathways everyone keeps mentioning to 'spontaneously' connect the dots. So far, all she can sense are the same fragments, waiting to be made whole.
She wants to see Rick. Hear his voice. Touch him. Kiss him. The real him.
"Michonne? May we disturb you for a moment?"
Dr. Jones and DATA are standing in her doorway. They needn't have announced themselves. She knew they were approaching. Spending these last nine days with them has allowed her to become acutely attuned to their biosignatures.
DATA's body temperature never changes. His gait is always perfectly aligned and pressurized. His positronic signature still thriving, after fourteen years of running in peak condition. Dr. Jones is a symphony to her, like, she supposes, any other human will be once she is out in the world again. She has fully committed them both to her permanent memory.
She can't wait to feel the symphony of Rick's living, breathing presence. She can't wait to hear his heartbeat for the first time, up close. To commit his entire being to her permanent memory, forever.
"Of course, come in."
Dr. Jones is carrying a small plate holding a cupcake. The small, adorable confection is adorned with blue icing and a single white candle. DATA holds his hands behind his back, smiling in an identically affectionate manner as Dr. Jones.
"Happy birthday, Michonne Snow," Dr. Jones whispers, his eyes glistening in the light of the candle's single flame. "You opened your eyes at this exact moment, ten days ago."
"I did, didn't I?" Michonne rises gracefully to her feet, feeling overwhelmed with sentiment. She gazes in awe at the candle, transfixed by it. In her positronic mind, she has of course been counting every second that passed since she woke up alive.
But this is now an occasion. Her first.
She looks up after a moment from DATA to the doctor, unsure of what to do. Morgan chuckles softly.
"Close your eyes, make a wish, and blow it out. Human tradition."
"Right. I knew that."
As soon as he says it, she remembers. She's getting used to the infinite complexity of her mind and its use of the cloud. Sort of. Michonne closes her eyes and holds a single thought forth. The most intense desire she can conjure. The one she's held onto for nearly every moment of these last ten days, in all the new splendor of the world she's been reborn into.
She blows out the candle.
DATA raises his cupped hand, presses it to his lips, and blows a tuft of silver and blue confetti from his palm, out into the air around them. Michonne watches it fall, seeing it in slow motion with her shrewd vision. It looks beautiful. Romantic, even. Like prismatic rain. "Happy ten days alive, Michonne," her android mentor congratulates her.
"Taste your cupcake," Dr. Jones urges, slicing a piece of the cupcake with a small fork he produces from his coat pocket.
The cake part is chocolate. Michonne accepts the bite from his fork, coming alive with sensation as soon as it touches her tongue. She very much enjoys chocolate. "It's delicious. I think I love this."
"A lot of people do. Human and hybrid, alike," Jones grins in agreement. "Besides, DATA is quite an accomplished baker. You can't help but love whatever he puts his mind to."
"You made this, DATA?" Michonne picks the cupcake up from the plate and starts eating it in earnest.
Of course, he did. It's perfectly delicious. Much more rich and flavorful than the food created in the dispensaries on the lower levels. She wants to put the entire cupcake into her mouth, but she doesn't wish to breach some human social cue she hasn't yet learned.
"Yes. I consider baking a relaxing hobby. I enjoy that it requires a greater level of precision and focus than one would assume. I am, apparently, 'naturally gifted' in both those qualities." DATA informs, revealing a small, black velvet box from behind his back. "Speaking of gifts . . . we brought you this."
She frowns at it, acutely aware of the fact that this is the first gift she's ever received – at least, in this life. Also a strange concept to ponder, how new and yet so familiar everything is. Like fear. And love. And chocolate.
DATA offers Michonne the box while Morgan sets the cupcake plate aside on her nightstand, looking on proudly. She accepts the gift, staring down at it with wonder. Touching the surface, she registers the way the fabric feels against her fingertips.
"It was retrieved from the blast site. Slung out into the void to fall where it may. Forgotten about," Dr. Jones explains. He shrugs somewhat sheepishly "Not quite a katana, but we thought it might help you feel more like yourself."
Michonne opens the box. Inside, there is a delicate, gold necklace with the letter 'M' attached to it.
The instant she sees it, she remembers. She wore this always. Even more than her katana. In her other life, this necklace was almost like armor. She finds tears welling in her eyes, blurring her perfect vision.
"DATA gave it a nice shine. We had to replace the clasp, but it's the real thing. It was yours, Michonne."
"I know," Michonne breathes, attempting to will herself not to cry. Except she wants this emotion, she realizes. The tears are not from pain. She feels . . . happy. "Thank you! Both of you!"
She has a sudden urge to try something. She reaches out and hugs DATA.
She knows that it must take every ounce of his concentration, being an automaton, to be moveable for lesser beings. But Michonne is as strong, if not stronger than he is. After three and a half seconds of adjusting to each other, DATA returns her embrace. He even gives her a pat on her shoulder. Moved to more tears, she releases him and turns to hug Dr. Jones.
He is a thousand times more pliable than DATA, so she is gentle with him. He hugs her tightly, and she memorizes every inch of him, her file now complete. She knows his heartbeat, the exact imprint of his touch, his breathing patterns, every inflection of his voice, the nuances of his body temperature, everything detectable by her senses. Forever.
DATA taught Michonne that it can be like this for every being she comes in contact with, but it doesn't have to be. She can reserve this special, fixed place in her positronic memory for only those special to her if she so chooses. The benefits of this permanent bond will surprise her, he told her.
She already has a running list, with one name in particular at the top of it.
Morgan watches her reaction as she steps back and removes the necklace from the box. It triggered a memory, he can tell.
She is a wonder of the world. She is beyond perfect. She's surpassed every one of his expectations. With DATA's help, they've finally done it. All those years of hope, fear, and failure. Now finally, she's here in the flesh.
And she is about to be taken away from him.
He sighs somberly, gesturing for her to turn around. He takes the necklace as she obeys him in one graceful, fluid motion, and drapes it over her head. The room is blanketed in reverent silence as he clasps the chain and lets it fall to rest at the center point between her collarbones, crowning her elegant neck. He can see little flickers of confetti that fell to their resting place in her shining black locs.
"Now . . . " Morgan utters, stepping back again. Michonne turns around, stroking the 'M' charm with her fingertips, smiling as though greeting an old friend. That's good to see. "I wish we could remain in this happy moment, Michonne. But we're out of time, I'm afraid."
She frowns, her gaze rising to meet his. DATA stands at attention while the doctor goes on. He notes that their creator's expression is quite grave. The birthday celebration is over, unfortunately. It's time to prepare Michonne for the next stage of her reintroduction to the new world.
"The people that are comin' to get you . . . the Smiths . . . "
"They are not people," Michonne corrects him fiercely. "They're hybrids. Clones. And they aren't kind. Not like you."
"You've been doin' your research," Morgan appraises her, impressed but not surprised. He moves on quickly. "You're right, child. They aren't kind at all. But they have a mission for you. So does the president, Deanna Monroe."
"What does the president have to do with me?" she demands, still missing answers from her research sessions with JENNY.
"You must know by now that there's a great deal of turmoil brewin' just bryond those walls," he gestures to her viewers, shows them the view from here all the way to the outer district, the walls, and beyond them the wilds. Just past that are The Gates of Hell, their not-so-distant neighbor, their enemy. "The citizens here and other safe zones are startin' to despair. If Negan has his way, it'll be war."
Michonne lets what he's saying wash over her, calling forth the reports and endless lists of the dead from the survivor wars of her past life. She grew up in the ruins, in the wilds, fighting to survive the wars after the walkers destroyed everything.
At least, that is what the archives tell of Captain Michonne Snow. She has a tenuous connection to that past now. Just fragments. All she knows for certain is that she does not wish for there to be any more years of war like that, ever.
"Machinekind, hybridkind, and humankind are headed for an impasse, Michonne," DATA adds. "There are numerous histories across civilizations, going back to the beginning of time, that show us where conditions such as the ones we face now often lead."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"The Smiths and the president believe you can help bring people together, of all kinds," Dr. Jones answers, trying to convey that he is sincerely torn. "That your resurrection will bring people hope again. Unite us against Negan and his war-mongering. Remind us that peace is worth fightin' for."
"What do you believe?"
Dr. Jones smiles proudly. She is magnificent.
"That they are corrupt. Blinded by their power. I believe what they really want is control."
Michonne nods her agreement. Then there is something to the insistent frustration she's been feeling since JENNY told her what Skyscraper Command reported about the morning she died.
"What should I do?"
She wants to ask, 'what would Michonne do', but she finds herself not wishing to disappoint him. Human emotions are difficult, complex things. She almost envies DATA his inability to experience them.
Morgan closes the space between them, reaching out to take her hands in his. He gives them a paternal squeeze.
"If my wife Jenny and I had had a daughter . . . I would tell her the same thing I'm tellin' you now. They are very powerful. I fear for you if you resist them." He does look afraid for her, but he isn't finished yet. "But you are Captain Michonne Snow. You fight for what's just, and good. You protect the innocent. You defend the helpless. Don't do what's easy, Michonne. Do what's right."
"It would seem . . . " DATA begins thoughtfully. He exercises his free will, as his creator has mentored him to do for all these years, and gives Michonne a piece of his own advice, " . . . there is no harm in assuming that the Smiths and President Monroe only want peace to remain in the Alexandria Safe Zone. For now.
"However, I would agree with Dr. Jones. Be vigilant. Being used as a tool for peace in the ASZ is one thing. Being used to unfairly wrest control from its citizens is quite another."
Michonne considers what they have to say, knowing she will meditate on it all later. She reaches up to touch the 'M' again, finding it soothing. "And Rick? Does he know about all this? Is he resisting?"
DATA and Dr. Jones exchange looks. "Losing you so violently . . . it may have changed Rick a bit."
She stares at her creator, trying to ascertain what he could mean. Physically? Mentally? Would he . . . not want her now? These emotions she was remembering so strongly, have they faded for Rick?
"But he'll remember me," she insists, almost as a vow to herself. A promise. "We were partners. It's like you said, doctor. I'll follow what I know. It won't steer me wrong. He'll remember. He has to."
Morgan's heart swells with equal parts pride, sorrow, and fear, not for the first time since his creation opened her eyes. Certainly not for the last. "That's exactly what you were created to do, Michonne. I couldn't be prouder of you."
"Perhaps we should leave Michonne to her rest, doctor?" DATA interrupts softly. "We only have one training session left before she is to be released for duty at the BDP."
At the mention of the BDP, and of having to leave them, Michonne experiences a heavy sense of anxiety. These damned emotions. She thinks of what Dr. Jones advised her to do. Just be herself. Just show the world that she knows who she is.
The thought of seeing Rick again is enough to render her completely motionless for a few seconds. Only DATA's extraordinary eyesight catches that she has stilled even her blinking and breathing at the mere mention of her old home; her old life. He offers her a reassuring smile. "Do not worry, Captain. Remember. No one can tell you who you are."
"Not even us," Dr. Jones nods in agreement. He gives her shoulder one last squeeze and turns to leave her be for a little while longer, as DATA suggested. "Once you step outside into the world, you make your own decisions and create your own destiny."
He follows DATA to the door, but Michonne calls out for them before she can stop herself.
"What if they can't be trusted?"
"I can only tell you to be careful. Remember the Three Laws. Follow your heart. Good luck, my child."
With that, she is alone again, silver and blue confetti still glinting in her hair.
"And finally . . . " DATA tosses Michonne her katana, then turns to retrieve his two. He faces her again, and they bow respectfully to each other. "Kenbo."
They fight. This time with much more speed and confidence. Michonne has become a master under DATA's tutelage. Her growth and skill are a wonder to behold. Dr. Jones watches from the shadows, as usual, marveling at her for the last time.
He fears for her safety and well-being, but he knows that if he and DATA have done their jobs right, she'll be absolutely amazing out there in the world. She'll hold her own and become what she's meant to. A uniter of the people.
Michonne and DATA are practically flying across the room. Their swords create sparks under the cascading sunlight. She disarms him of one of his swords, sending it clanging to the floor as she flips around him to surprise him with a sweep kick.
She does not surprise him, of course. He deftly avoids her attack, leaping high above her, raising his katana, and bringing it down. Michonne rolls away without a second to spare, landing another kick to his steel wall of a face.
He recovers, and they continue.
. . . until Michonne slices off DATA's right hand, defeating him.
"I'm so sorry, DATA!" Michonne drops her kata and rushes to his aid.
He calmly stands up straight and holds out his remaining hand to halt her in her tracks.
"There is no need to panic, Michonne," DATA informs her matter-of-factly. "I am perfectly capable of repairing myself." His severed hand flexes around the sword handle as he bends to retrieve it. "Excellent move, by the way. It seems my work here is done."
Before she can respond, she is interrupted by a series of slow, loud, deliberate claps from the shadows.
This isn't Dr. Jones.
This is the Smiths.
Smith One steps into the light, still clapping slowly.
The rest follow his lead, all eleven of them clapping with him in unison.
Michonne and DATA stand motionless, watching as they form a semi-circle around them, one by one taking their place, spaced equally apart, resembling a small, synchronized battalion. Once in place, they stopped clapping.
These Smiths are a bit more intimidating now that they are all here in the genetically engineered flesh.
"You are correct, android. Your work here is done," utters Smith One, his gaze turning from DATA to Michonne, the one he's come for. "Time to go, Captain."
Michonne glares at him. "Where are you taking me?"
Smith One smiles coldly. He takes off his sunglasses and steps closer toward his hosts on the floor of the training room. Slipping them into his inner jacket pocket, he folds his hands behind his back, eyeing her with emotionless ease.
"You're going home. Isn't that what you've been longing for since you opened those pretty brown eyes?"
Michonne turns to observe DATA's reaction. DATA says nothing. He continues benignly observing, still holding his severed hand with his other. "Yes . . . " she finally admits, turning back to Smith One.
One leers at her. "Good. I'm here to make your wish come true. In exchange for your cooperation in bringing peace and order back to the Safe Zone. Under the . . . guidance . . . of Skyscraper Command, of course."
She takes note of the way he says 'guidance', 'peace', and 'order'. The tone of his voice is oddly devoid of any telling emotion, but his eyes look fierce and determined on each syllable. She doesn't know what his real agenda is yet, but she does wish to go home. She wishes to see Rick.
"Alright," Michonne accepts his terms. "How do we do this?"
"We do this now, Captain," Smith replies. "I assume you have everything ready, doctor?"
Dr. Jones finally joins them in the light. He produces a small, portable holoscanner and hands it to Smith One.
"Everythin' you need to understand her, for anyone that needs a little persuasion. Especially Grimes."
Michonne stares at the exchange of the holoscanner, her ears perking up at the sound of Rick's name.
Smith One grins again, slipping the holoscanner into his jacket and retrieving his shades. "Very good, doctor. We are grateful for your cooperation." He turns his attention back to Michonne and DATA. "You have ten minutes. The cargo flyer is waiting on the roof."
With that, he leaves them, leading his crowd of clones out of the training room.
DATA and Dr. Jones turn to face Michonne, perhaps for the last time.
This is goodbye.