Mortis: Reflection

Recorder on.

Mortis sits, looking thoughtful in the Screen Room.

Haven't made a log for some time. Paranoid that she would hack into it, and I'd have made some slip. Now she's gone.

He idly taps a control, bringing a report into focus before dismissing it.

I don't know whether to be glad or depressed. The Masque made life hard, but she was the best assistant I've ever had. I will miss her, I suppose.

He prods a databank nestled in a recess.

Not that she's truly dead, of course. But she might as well be. Now she's just a clever program, not a true AI. Coredeath stripped away personality and memory and sentience. I swore to leave the matter, put it behind me, but King's interference borders on unforgiveable. Although studying the alterations she made to Ashley has proved interesting, the nanotech psuedo-cybernetics that rebuilt the destroyed sections of the brain has helped me while away the quiet hours...

Still, even if I wanted revenge, she's gone to ground somewhere, and I don't care to chase her down. More hassle than it's worth. Let sleeping dogs lie. I've had to put in more work to keep things ticking over, but that's no bad thing.

In other news, Elysa's come back to PRETA. We've avoided each other mostly, which suits me fine. I've got better things to do than work out that minefield.

Oddly enough, we seem to have swapped jobs almost. She's been turning broody and reclusive, and I've been exploring wormholes.

He laughs.

Finally found a use for the Impious Judgement ever since the POS operation fell through. I don't think I'll use her again, though - the Chirurgeon and my newest acquisition, Ixtilton's Altar, will prove more useful, I think. Logistics ships are marvellous things. Not operated a Guardian properly since the Digital Assassins days...

And then there's my dear sister.

He scowls.

I still can't believe she did it. It's her life, and I'm damned if I'm going to go marching in to deal with Inara, of all people, but... selling herself into slavery. Stupid girl. She never could think long-term. In a few years she'll be regretting it, mark my words.

And Rathnon's gone. She just didn't fit it, I suppose. Wound up a few too many people, got into one of her tempers, and then was stupid enough to leak information. I'll happily kill her myself for that last part if we ever meet again. Sad, I suppose, but I'm not the forgiving type. At least the other Twisted are settling in comfortably.

So now my current problem is boredom. I've been playing with statistics, considering some of the more unusual warships on the market, and considering the Exequror class - or more particularly, the Navy variant. As fast gunships go, its second to none considering the price. Perhaps a little expensive, but it's not like I'm poor. What's the point in money if you can't treat yourself?

He smirks.

Look at me. Back in Molden, I had about four ships in my hangar. Now I've got more frigates than that. Including a Succubus that Rath let me have before she left. A somewhat fragile ship, but the damage output is staggering - inferior to my Enyo, but with far more flexibility of range. Still haven't tested her in combat, but I look forward to the results.

He pats the organic-looking wall gently.

But Astaroth continues to be my home and my comfort. Even with one of us self-lobotomised, the union of myself, the cruiser and the Masque are something I look forward to...

His eyes grow distant for a moment, then he shrugs and turns off the camera.

Recorder off.