A total of seventeen Armed Forces guards were standing ready in a hallway. Twelve were positioned by a wall and the remaining five were on the opposite side. Their rifles and almost mechanical gazes were pointing at a metal door which divided the prior column into two of six. The door was hiding a tune, which managed to echo through it in a blunt form and haunt the corridor.
The Admiral's pale, somewhat bony, sterile fingers, were slithering over harpsichord keys. Its black casing of lacquered wood housed their reflection. No one else was in the room, except a woman who was lying asleep on a green divan with sinuous, gilded edges. The Admiral made a barely noticeable pause when he saw his guest moving in the reflection. He hid the minor gush of adrenaline well. The whole purpose of the scene was to make him look relaxed and without any fear.
"Good morning", he almost shouted, immersed into the melody which was intensifying, or at least he appeared so. "I hope that you don't mind Scarlatti." He continued twisting the vertiginous sound through the feebly lit chamber, while his guest was recovering from the effects of chloroform. "Please don't speak until I am finished. They don't make pieces like this any more."
The ceiling was decorated with arabesques. The wall facing the Admiral was painted a fresco of the Egyptian god Osiris. The woman's first clear glance met his eye.
The sound was confusing at first, a myriad of notes in her head. But as the grogginess dissipated, it became more and more clear. As well as her eyesight. Yet the melody was growing, a rise that the player was enjoying wholeheartedly. He greeted her and asked for silence until the end of music, which she would comply. She then noticed her eye was in place, as well there was finally movement on her right arm and leg. Not incarcerated or with restraints then. This sudden change triggered all sorts of alarms in her head. She quickly scanned the room, and the first thing her eyes focused on was on a fresco of Osiris, of all things. Turning her head, she saw that this room was clearly a place filled with art. Not one theme, though, but a mix of different ways of arts. An ancient bust representing a leader of a long past, still made in marble, actual marble, not the holo-statues that were the rage when she was incarcerated and thrown to jail, two long years ago. Her feet felt the luscious rug, made of the skin of a dangerous mammal of Planet Gaia. Her hands caressed the careful carved edges of the divan she was sitting on. The room, albeit poorly lit, managed to show the now enthralled musician, completely focused in his work. She studied his visage, and has she recognized his face, she recalled what had happened to her in these past two years.
New London System, Sector D7 - 821 A.S.
An Invincible, deployed all of its fighters, which hurriedly surrounded the target. A lone Sabre that was transmitting a Reaver IFF.
For twenty minutes, radio contact was tried, but to no avail. A close scan of the ship by a brave Lieutenant, showed that the ship was in perfect condition, and that it had one life sign on board.
After relaying the situation to the Admiralty, it was decided that the ship and its occupant should be retrieved, but with increased security measures on all steps of the process.
An hour later, a stone faced woman exited the cockpit, under aim from twenty Armed Forces guards, and relinquished her weapons.
As the first one tackled her to the ground from the back, one in front knelt in front of her. A Sergeant-in-arms. He voiced one question.
"What were you doing here?"
She looked up, with difficulty, and barely opened her mouth, deciding to close it before uttering a sentence.
They wouldn't understand. No one could.
"Fine. There are people eager to know you then."
He stepped aside, and two black-clad body armor guards, clearly special forces of some kind, appeared and started to restrain her in a most expedient and professional manner.
The music gathered a crescendo capable of raising one's soul. She slowly stood up, tentatively, since she was used to carry a lot more weight due to the restraints that were normally placed on her. The musician kept on playing like she was not even there. She walked towards the Osiris fresco, and stood in front of it, admiring its detail. For a few moments, it all seemed a dream, the last two years. But she was still on this universe. Alone. The music managed to pluck a string on her heart. Shaking it off, she turned to eye the musician, who kept on disregarding her. She scanned the room from this new viewpoint and more artwork appeared. A harp. A carefully carved circular table, with a tea pot and cup, alongside another divan, this one red. And books. An impressive amount of paper books, spread around, like they were common data-pads. She walked towards the divan and sat. Her eyes trailed the cover of one of the books. Ismael.
Her mother's favorite. Her mouth clenched hard while remembering her face.
The blunted climax of the chiming slowly disappeared in echos throughout the metal hallway. The marines were standing idle in front of the chamber, ready to storm inside if anything unintended happened. They were waiting in silence. It was being disturbed by the sound of the ship's ventilation system. Some of the air gushing through it wasn't very fresh, but they had been ordered not to cough or make any sound.
"Just some very old book", said the Admiral, used to people not understanding his passion. As the woman turned on his words, their eyes met. She moved to put the book back where it was, but the the Admiral added coldly: "Don't worry, it is not the original. I believe that one has suffered the same fate as most of our ships which met you, unfortunately." She inspired, apparently to say something, but he interrupted her. "The captain's quarters of the HMS Norfolk is the answer to what you've been wondering", he said as he rose from the seat and went towards a cupboard in a corner. "And I am Admiral Hall. Sir Hall", he corrected himself, having acquired knighthood only recently. He also accentuated that he preferred being called a Sir, by that restoring his family's former glory, but mostly just to inflate his already nebula-sized ego bubble.
There was a small box on the cupboard. Its position made Hall turn his back to the woman. No objects that could produce a reflection were nearby, meaning that he left himself completely vulnerable at that moment -- which was all part of a carefully staged script. He opened the box. The lock was small and relatively quiet.
Obviously unafraid to turn his back on her, she eyed the Admiral. She rose from the divan, which gave out a slight creeking sound. An almost imperceptible movement was made by the Admiral when it happened, but she continued and stood up. With a small bow, in the oldest Bretonian court fashion, she extended her arm with the grace of ballerina. Her throat was dry and her voice was hoarse. "Sir Hall. A pleasure to meet you." She straightened up, and breathed in. The air was stale, fitting and normal, since it was a military battleship, as the Admiral mentioned. Which meant, guards were nearby, without a doubt. An Admiral would not position himself alone with a Reaver. Much less a Bretonian Admiral. Their history was bloody as it was colorful.
Dublin System, Sector F5 - 820 A.S.
Silver Reaver, leader of the Reaver Mercenary Company, Scourge of Bretonia, Santa Muerte, Bitch Queen of Mercs and so many other colourful and meaningless titles, was sleeping loudly in the cockpit seat of her Mamoru. Slim and deadly, much like the pilot. Even if at the present moment, the piece of exquisite machinery had more grace than the snoring mercenary. Not even fifty meters to the side, a matte grey Nyx stood. Titanium, mostly known in Liberty, was keeping her composure. She never did like to be in Bretonia, and many in the company knew it. With a flick of a finger, her engines croaked to life, creating a small shockwave of dust that hit the Mamoru.
"Uhwha- Are they comin'?"
Silver's voice croaked in the comms.
Titanium sighed and reply.
"No, ma'am. I was just preforming a systems check."
"Uh-uh."
Silver replied and unleashed a yawn, with the comms still open.
"Don't you think i know that you hate huntin' in Bretland?"
With a raised eyebrow, she opened the channel.
"Then why i am here?"
She could swear she could hear the grin.
"'Cause..."
The sound of a lighter was heard.
"You won't be shootin' here, darlin'. I'm gonna put you doin' what you do best."
The sound of smoke being exhaled leisurely filled the cockpit.
"And that is, gettin' the intel i need, silently. Mollyland, darlin'. When the whole party starts, i want you to scan the ever livin' frack out of that place. Got it?"
Titanium nodded and before she could reply, the long range scanners gave a warning.
"Looks there are visitors in the area."
Silver's voice shifted from playful to business like.
"Go. I'll take care of them and call the Mollys. Don't eff it up."
"I won't."
Titanium replied, pushing the engines to the limit and disapearing into the dust cloud.
"I was know as Titanium of the Reaver Mercenary Company." Words that usually caused discomfort to many, an advantage she was keen on taking, since she didn't know why an Admiral of the Armed Forces would go for all this trouble. "I am truly sorry for sleeping so long. Drugs do not agree with me, and jail cells do not give much chance for a good night's rest."
"I know", Hall answered unamused. "And you don't have to apologize, at least not about that. I started from Z, the composers, but I don't know any of them with W, X or Y at the beginning of their surname either."
He was looking at the contents of the box, more hoping or praying to some personal deity of good fortune, than admiring. He did so for another moment, as if he was preparing for a stunt. "I have something to show you", Hall said as he took the box to bring it to Titanium.
It contained a multitude of orderly arranged tiny pellets tucked in a black, soft material. Each of them was of different colour. To someone naive or sandblind, they would look like candies, but one could gather that their outer shell was made of some alloy or plastics. They weren't exactly odorless -- they rather smelled like some sort of an empty nothingness, like a tin can just prepared to conserve food for many years to come. Perhaps like the feeling a mentally healthy person can sense in the air after evaporating the soul of another living being, for whatever reason that was done.
"Which one do you like the most?"
Taken aback by the weird flow, and train of thought ,of the Admiral, she was nevertheless intrigued. A change of pace in these two past years, blurred between interrogations and black cells. Not that it mattered after all. It was a small breath of fresh air in a stale stale room that was her life. She pointed at the grey one, seemingly out of place in so many colors. Neither black or white. Not really anything.
"The grey one, Sir Hall."
"Oh", Hall looked down and said casually, almost indifferent about it. A part of his lip that smiled barely noticeably on the mention of the word "Sir" relaxed. "Pity. I should have known." He carried the box back to the cupboard, took something from a drawer and opened a door beside it. A short flow of water was heard. He returned with a glass half-full of the liquid."They told me they had implanted you a pink one." He lent the glass of water to Titanium (tea was obviously too precious). She lifted an eyebrow in confusion. "A brainchild of the Core's malevolent mastermind from the Omicrons. You have the honour of carrying one inside your scull. Your eye has made our surgeons easier to install it." She contracted both her eyebrows, unequally due to the mechanical eye. "It is a small remote-control charge." The box was lying open on the cupboard. "Would you like the colour changed?"
She wasn't carrying a piece of explosive in her brain. The whole point of the show was to make her believe so. She did notice, however, that her eye felt a little different.
The woman stood there, unfazed by the revelation, and wondered what else was implanted in her during, what appeared to be, a very long sleep. "It was something I was expecting to happen when I was caught by your Armed Forces, Admiral. Either dead.. Or leashed. But pink is quite alright, thank you." She forced herself to remember what kind of remote it could be, but the information provided by the Admiral helped. She then drank the water, to satisfy her thirst and clear her throat. "A series One CERE, yes? I do remember reading about them and how the Core likes to keep their recruits in line." She then walked to the cupboard and place the glass on top of it. She looked at the box and caressed the pellets with her bionic hand."Although I do wonder if there is something in the water you just gave me." She then picked the grey pellet with her bionic hand, and after observing it, crushed it without a flinch.
Ellesmere System, Alert Station - 815 A.S.
The quiet hum of the ventilation system filled the room, yet her sense of smell was assaulted by the overgrowing stench of sweat and fear. Still with their uniforms, the recruits didn't even have the time to put down their bags and each one was sat in front of an individual table with a small box and a small laser-torch.
"THOSE ARE LIVE EXPLOSIVES, WET-EARS."
The voice boomed from the holo-screen in front of them.
A bald man with a set of the most angry eyes she has seen kept shouting.
"EACH ONE OF THEM IS PRIMED, AND IF YOU DO THE WRONG THING, THAT TABLE WILL GET SCORCHED AND YOUR HANDS AND FACE, VAPORIZED."
The gulping was synchronous throughout the room.
"AND I HATE SEEING MY TABLES SCORCHED."
The man closed in and with those angry eyes focusing on everybody, he asked:
"ARE YOU WILLING TO DO EVERYTHING FOR LIBERTY? ARE YOU WILLING TO GIVE EVERYTHING FOR LIBERTY? PROVE IT AND RISK YOUR LIFE TO DISARM IT."
The holo-screen shut off.
"He's kidding right?"
Someone asked in the room.
"Got to be. They wouldn't kill us in a stupid dare."
The man that was sitting in front of her, replied. He picked his laser-torch, turned it on and started to cut the box.
All she saw was a small explosion and his blood and remains hitting her, while she fell down sitting in her chair.
Screams, confusion, despair filled the room. For many, their world was turned upside down. For her, it was another test.
While some ran to the door, others kept in their seats, some shocked, some looking at the objects in front of them.
She, however, laid on the ground, covered in bloody remains, remembering everything she learned in the past years.
She had to be focused. She had an objective. And nothing would shake her from her path.
Wiping off bits of what seemed to be the jaw of the unfortunate man, she got up, almost puking, placed her chair in the correct upwards position, and looked where the contents of her table were. One minute later, she was now sitting and facing her current puzzle.
With a split second decision, she turned on the laser-torch and threw it against nearest wall. As it stuck in the wall, it exploded.
Not even a minute later, the door opened, and two armed guards accompanied by the angry eyed man walked in, stopping and splitting the crowd that tried to escape. He looked at them with disgust, and spat on the floor in front of them.
"That man was a fool, same as you. Leave this base. The Navy can take the whole lot of you."
He snarled, and one of the guards started to nudge them to exit. The angry man looked at the other two remaining people that remained in their places.
"Follow the other guard, he'll show you to your bunks. Welcome."
Those two, obviously sighing in relief, quickly grabbed their bags and left with the last guard.
The angry man walked towards her and looked at her from top to bottom.
"How did you know?"
He asked, giving her a tissue to wipe her face.
"In places like these.. Nothing is ever what it seems to be."
She replied.
She turned to the Admiral, with a soft smile. "Now, that our customary etiquette is out of the way, what all of this is about, Sir Hall?" The woman waved her hand, encompassing the whole room.
"Precisely", Hall answered. "You don't have to worry about the water, I have no reason to put you to sleep right after waking... wait, st... stop!", Hall cried out when he realized what she could have been intending to do. The marines in front upped their vigilance and braced to gush in, waiting for the mark. Hall ran towards Titanium and grabbed her healthy arm. "You are not allowed to..." A quiet pop sound interrupted him. He released her arm. "...do that", he said in a suddenly toned down voice. The whole scam collapsed over the box he had left open. Now, he was to either hold its ruins on his spine, or the blame. "You stupid woman!", his patriarchal crudeness emerged to the surface for a moment while he was trying to think of an excuse for the lack of a spectacular effect. "You could have blasted us all to pieces! We are lucky that it is a very stable plastic explosive." He prayed to his own deity of fortune for the lie to be swallowed, but this time to a different one.
His power over her had to emerge from the chest, because he was intending to use her as a deadly weapon. Titanium was his Pandora. But Pandora's chest was merely filled with little balls of cased putty, although of legendary quality. Even if he possessed a package of CERE, it could not be left in a room where he was alone with a contract killer. At least not one who didn't really have it inside her skull.
Eliciting a response out of the norm, Titanium was amused, but her face was serious as ever. "Very well, i am truly sorry for that." She took a few steps away from the man, and looked at a replica of the Walking Man, placed on the floor. Bronze as well. This room was littered with mixed sects of art, akin to a museum, but completely without a thread of continuity. But the problem at hand is that she needed to know more. More about him, more about everything. After all. When weaponless, arm yourself with knowledge.
"Rodin statue, old age books, gallic style furniture.. Is this your trophy room, Sir Hall?"