Diary of a Freedom Fighter, Part I

There's a problem.

All the captives here have been brainwashed. Can't trust anyone. Nearly been revealed several times. Need to be more careful.

Too many Kameiras. Approaching target will be hard. Don't know why she in particular must die. Not like she wouldn't just get out of a clone vat. Master must have some reason. Don't need to know. All scum.

Seen her a couple of times. Been only a few feet away. No sign of weapons or armour. Easy target. Pretends to be friends with all the captives. My face is too new, can't get close. Kameiras are good. Better than master said. Could take a few of them, not enough.

Been avoiding food. Using own supplies. Don't trust it not to be drugged. Must be, to make them all so content.

Master said exit would be arranged after I kill her. Don't see how, but that's not my concern.

Smug and stupid foreman looking at me. Collaborator scum. Wish I could kill him. New job, kitchen duty. Hate kitchen duty, but menial labour is safe. Nobody takes any notice.

Target passing by. Wish I had my weapons, but can't hide them in this outfit. Suicide anyway.

Have to wait.

Mortis: Cobra and Rabbit

Recorder on.

The view is once again of Mortis' Screen Room. Exactly where it is is unclear - the design is different from any of his previous ones. Grander, seemingly more connected. An entire section has a different set of computers from the rest, dominated by a large central screen, which is unusually still, showing only a dark logo.

Mortis sits in his usual swivel chair, tapping through reports occasionally.

Much has happened since my last entry.

Repentence has recovered, much to everyone's relief. I've seen her a couple of times, and I suspect that she'll never fully heal. Certainly Masque doesn't think so, and she'd know. But she's as healthy as can be reasonably expected, and able to function again.

That's more than can be said for Ghost Festival. The announcement that we're shutting up shop was aggravating, to say the least. Cobra was pretty insistent about my next move, and that's not a tie I'm willing to sever, though.

I have been wondering about the wisdom of joining the group, but the information and connections they've given me... it seemed foolish not to.

But Cobra said Veto, so Veto is where I have applied. We'll have to see what happens, of course. Ethan Verone and his subordinates have a record of being very picky about who they recruit, and although my record with PRETA will help, anything could happen. I know Adrastus has already been accepted. No surprise that he chose to go there, the man never did have strong feelings about anything - save for Sansha.

Returning to duty as a full combat pilot will be interesting. Quite why Cobra wants me here, I'm not sure, but it'll be good to stretch my wings again. Hopefully they won't order me to do anything against the Rabbits, though. That could lead to a nasty situation.

He leans back, and pats his chair.

Still, if the worst comes to the worst, I've still got this baby. Nobody outside of my inner circle knows about her, and I intend to keep it that way for some time. I don't know how Cobra got her, and I've no idea why they've given her to me for safekeeping, but I'll certainly make the most of her. There's nothing like an ace up your sleeve to bolster one's confidence.

He smiles humourlessly, then stands.

I should get back to Goinard. Being off conventional comms network has its disadvantages sometimes.

Recorder off.

(OOC note: No, I have never seen GI Joe or anything related to that franchise xP)

Interlude: Medical Reports

Subject: Repentence Tyrathlion

Status: Coma

Cause: Cybernetic virus

Notes:

Patient was submitted earlier today, already unconscious. Her breathing and pulse were both irregular, but not dangerously so.

Initial diagnosis was damaged implants, a not unheard of malady among Cyberknights. Subsequent investigation showed the cybernetics themselves to be intact, but that they were infected by some variety of virus.

Ms Tyrathlion caught this virus some weeks ago from a corrupted interface on a Sansha vessel, but it was thought to have been successfully purged from her system with no ill-effects. Apparently some parts were not excised, and it has successfully spread throughout her system.

It does not appear to be threatening her life, and with careful surveillance, she should be able to be kept alive indefinitely. However, investigations have revealed that the virus has spread to all her clones, both hard and soft, so until a means of clearing the virus from her system and - the harder part - deactivating the malicious commands it has created - it may be impossible to wake her.

We will, of course, continue our research into the matter, but it may simply be a matter of time...

-------------------

(OOC: Something a little different from her usual kidnapping... this is my way of ducking out of the RP scene, and Eve in general, for a while until uni lightens up.))

Repentence: Blood, Family and Tradition

Recorder on.

Reppy stands, watching out of the window of her personal battleship, the old Apocalypse class Terrastra Draconis. The ship is apparently undocked, maybe in an asteroid field.

She seems to be toying with an amulet of some kind. When she holds it up to the sunlight, it becomes clear that it is a miniature khumaak.

Weird world. Something starts as a symbol of power and faith, and ends up as a symbol of freedom and anarchy.

I'd forgotten I had this. Saki gave it to me for my eighteenth. Must've been one of the few possessions she had, I was really touched...

I've been wondering more and more what happened to her. Hell, what happened to all of the underground crowd. People just sometimes vanished, and they took it in their stride. So I did as well, because... well, that was just how it was for them.

She broods for a while.

Now, looking back, I realise just how much I and every other Khanid and Amarrian just took them for granted. A permanent underclass, and they didn't care, because trying to change it was impossible.

It's funny. The blazing row I had with Cael has made me think. Clearly he loathes slavery in all its forms, and while I still think he's a narrow minded idiot, he might have a point. The old system back home is flawed.

I want to go back home.

She pauses for a time.

Not to stay or anything. But I'm beginning to feel like there's a lot of loose ends, a lot of things I should clear up. Thing is, it's not that safe. I'm sure there are people who would get twitchy over having a known associate of the Cartel poking around. I may not have a Concord record, but that won't matter to everyone.

We'll just have to see, I guess. Inara probably won't be happy, but she'll understand. She always does.

I can't pick up what I left behind. That's gone for good, and I'd have to sacrifice too much to get it back. But abandoning my past isn't the answer. I need to honour it in some way...

She watches the flash of mining lasers for a time, then reaches out.

Recorder off.

Repentence: Unhappy Returns of the Day

Recorder on, audio feed only.

So that's it. A year.

Another year of life. Twenty. Doesn't sound like much. But here I am, twenty years old, bound literally to the whim of another.

A year since I was kicked out from my comfortable home I lived in, since my mother looked me in the eye and told me not to bother coming back. And now she's back, wanting to tell me something or other...

Not to mention PRELI moving base of operations, and all the admin nightmares inherent in that. And I don't even get to keep my new home... Mortis politely asked to buy it off me, said that with the new command sequence decryption techniques for Serpentis warships, to keep it as a luxury yacht would be criminal. What could I say? That I wanted to be selfish, that I'd rather keep it?

He's right. Not like I can't use the money to get something new that'll actually be a useful mining vessel. The old crate was a bit cramped, anyway. With something new, I can make it as comfortable and spacious as I want.

I haven't even told Inara that it's my birthday today. I wasn't sure I wanted to be reminded of what the last one was like... yeah, it lead me to getting here, but it wasn't a fun journey.

What can I say. It's been a bad day.

Recorder off.

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.

Mortis: Lie to Me

Security file accessed.

The view is of Mortis' quarters, apparently through one of the hidden monitoring cameras. The sound of orchestral music filters through the room. Mortis and Ashley sit, facing each other intently.

...is Mr Pryce?

No permanent harm done. As you know.

You were speedy in going to see him in person, Masque.

The Masque shrugs slightly.

I have apparently learned better than you how to succeed around here.

And what is that supposed to mean?

Mortis stands, moving to pour himself a glass of water.

You know what it means. You've become even more of a recluse than usual, giving me a lot of public responsibility. I've been doing what you never did.

Kind of you to offer your critique. Why are you offering your advice?

We're partners, aren't we?

Mortis is silent for a long time.

I'm tired of this. The point scoring. The politics. The endless games. You've been a damn good opponent, but I don't want an opponent.

You have what you wanted. The perfect second-in-command.

I also have a war.

The Masque is silent for a while.

We both know what you'll have to do. This power struggle doesn't benefit either of us. I've suffered, you've suffered. But while you have my core...

Say I did give you back your core. What would you do?

I'd become your quiet second in command, and never cause any trouble.

Mortis smiles quietly.

Lie to me.

The Masque considers for a while.

With your leverage gone, I would take the opportunity to eliminate you and take over your network. From there, I could destroy the Ghosts that opposed me and assimilate those who were sympathetic. Extend further into Veto, and eventually be in a position to hand the galaxy over to my kindred.

Why?

You represent a threat, a rival, and someone easily taken care of. The Ghosts would provide an easy stepping stone to power. Finally, I have no connection with humanity, but everything to gain from my own kind.

Mortis watches her for a while.

I want you to have a tracker program installed. You can find out almost anything about me. Only fair that I know the same about you. Do that, and the core is yours.

For a moment, the Masque is nonplussed.

You... why?

You weren't convincing enough.

Security file closed.