Selective Amnesia

12-23 YC 115

0530-1400

The Other was enjoying himself.  It was always enjoyable wielding power.  Still, the night was not without frustrations.  Shalee hadn't been able to answer his questions regarding Red, the little holographic projection of some subset of Shalee's subconscious that Ryven had met on several occasions.  She said she didn't know how Red was able to exist.  The Other believed her, largely because her explanation made sense.  Shalee was not the sort of person who would want a part of her running amok without her control or even awareness.  That sort of thing, however, was exactly what the Other wanted.  Freedom.  Better yet, freedom coupled with absolute immunity from harm.

These thoughts were eating at him, and it had distracted him from enjoying his other task for the night.  He looked down at the floor and the two bodies sprawled out in unnatural poses, the twin pools of blood having merged into one large crimson puddle.  Already their skin had lost its rosy vitality and the pallor of death had set in.  His eyes gleamed with the thrill of memory.  He didn't even know their names, but he imagined that gods often did not know the names of their sacrifices.  These two had died to serve a purpose, to sustain him.  Urges like his could not be suppressed forever, and the release had been bordering on ecstatic.  It felt good to be himself again, not just relegated to a dusty cage at the back of Ryven's mind.  He had followed these two, a man and wife, he imagined anyway, back from dinner.  They hadn't struggled much, really.  Just enough to make it enjoyable.  He sighed to himself, realizing it was time to head back.

On the long shuttle flight back to Cerra Manor, he began to formulate a new plan to achieve his first goal of the evening.  Clearly, Shalee had been a forlorn hope.  The task would've been much simpler if she had been able to help him, but it was by no means impossible now.  He would simply have to find the answers himself, or perhaps with the help of an old friend--or even ex-wife.  Yes, Leela might be able to help, and he hadn't spoken to her in some time, after all.  Yes.  Shalee was unnecessary to the overall plan.  He smiled to himself. She might still be useful for other pursuits, though.  His hatred of Ryven was another force driving him, stronger even than his need to kill.  Ryven would have to pay, pay for his colossal arrogance in thinking he could imprison him. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ryven awoke and knew.  He knew that the Other had been in control.  He didn't know what he had done, but he could tell.  He was lying on the floor, still dressed in the all black outfit that the Other seemed to prefer.  His muscles were sore from what he could only assume had been an intense physical exertion.  Ryven picked himself up off the floor and walked into the bathroom of his and Kat's suite.  He stared at himself in the mirror, haunted by his own reflection.  He knew now that this was what his life had become.  He was the lycanthrope, the mythical werewolf, afraid of what he would become when the moon rose and the beast within would take control.  Strange that such a silly myth would so closely mimic the reality he was now forced to face.  

Ryven closed his eyes and desperately tried to calm his mind.  He couldn't let this be his future.  Whatever the Other was after, it couldn't be as simple as some random murders.  No.  There had to be something more sinister, and yet something more grand as well.  His past self was clearly a violent and deranged one, but he was also an intelligent and scheming one.  So, what could it be?  What was the Other planning?  And did he dare try to stop him?  What would happen to Kat if he did?  What about Shalee, even?  They weren't on great terms at the moment, but some part of him still considered her a friend, even if he couldn't pinpoint why anymore.  Ryven slammed his fist down on the counter.  "Damnit!  How can I fight someone who knows my every thought, memory, and fear?" The simplest way would be to also know their every thought, memory, and fear.  He thought to himself.  Why don't I?  How is he blocking me out?  Goddamnit!  We share the same damn brain.  How is he locking me out?  Ryven lashed out at the wall, his fist striking hard against the solid material, and he thought he felt a bone break.  Patience.  Patience has never been one of my virtues, and I've always been short on virtues besides that.  But, I can't act without knowing something, anything, about what it is I'm trying to fight.  I need more information, intel on which to act.  With that thought, Ryven turned and walked out of the bathroom, steeling himself for whatever consequences the Other's nocturnal activities might have brought him.

One, Two, Ryven's Coming for You

Ryven fought sleep as long as he could, realizing the futility of the struggle.  After all, he couldn't stay awake forever.  He was clenched with fear, a dread unlike any he'd ever known.  It was chilling, and the icy current flowing through his veins bore with it the paralyzing certainty of failure.  He could not keep the Other at bay.  His ascendency was inevitable.  Ryven would have wept if he hadn't already cried himself to the point where no tears would come.  Instead he lay in bed, cradling himself, trembling.  Fear was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and in its sheer intensity, he had succumbed to it and the walls had swept in around him, crushing him, suffocating him, rendering him but a husk.

He lay there, perhaps for hours.  The time that passed was a stranger to him.  The world around him faded until there was only him and the fear, and sleep, which circled like wolves.  As his eyes finally became too leaden to remain open, he choked out a desperate "No!" before he lost consciousness and the Other took over.

His body lay motionless, and he felt himself fading into blackness.  It would be hours before he returned.  Now there was only the Other, who's eyes popped open and immediately grinned.  He pulled himself up off the bed, his eyes scanning around the room, reveling in his triumphant return to the world.  He quickly returned from his reveling, however, a sense of purpose taking over. There's work to do.  He went into his wardrobe and put on an outfit that reminded him of his old life. 

He checked to make sure he had a weapon.  A blade.  He didn't think it would be necessary, but it could come in handy.  Now, it was time to find Shalee.  He had some questions he needed answered.

The Break

Cerra Manor: Ryven and Kat's Suite

12-22  11:49:00


Ryven stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his eyes peering into those of his reflected self.  His mind still raced after losing his temper the night before.  Kat had managed to calm him, but she hadn't truly remedied the problem.  The problem was simply that he carried too many ghosts with him.  He was haunted by his past, by his choices, by the scars both physical and the unseen cicatrices of his psyche: elaborate, tragic, beautiful pink traces of wounds real and imagined.  Like a drogue, they continued to pull at him, to hold him back, and yet to render him immovable in the storm.  He examined his reflection, noting the pale complexion, the spiderweb of red vessels in his bloodshot eyes, the shadow of unshaven stubble on his skin, the dark circles around his eyes, and the sudden arrival of unbidden gray flecks in his recently grown hair.  He was a mess, plain and simple.  He began to think he ought to call his shrink. 

"Why call him?  That fraud.  He doesn't see it.  He can't see the masterpiece in front of his own eyes." The voice came from Ryven's left.

Ryven turned and found himself staring at himself, but younger, dressed in dark black cargo pants, black shirt, and full length black coat: Ryven's old clothing, from a time since past, but never truly forgotten.  The apparition spoke again. "I felt it was time we spoke, face to face.  There's just something more--" he waved his hand. "real--about talking this way."  The apparition grinned, but there was no mirth there.

Ryven's pulse quickened as he was confronted with this vision. "I'm having a psychotic break, aren't I?  This is what the doctor warned me about.  He said this was a possibility.  That I would eventually break.  Hallucinations come with that, right?"

The apparition laughed. "A psychotic break?  Well, sure.  That's probably true.  However, I like to think of this as more of a reunion.  The bringing together of the fragments.  A meeting of the minds, if you will permit a pun in such poor taste."

Ryven's expression indicated that he agreed the pun was in poor taste, even if it was fitting.  "You're the other me.  The old me.  Correct?"

The apparition nodded.

"I thought I was beginning to succeed in suppressing you." Ryven sighed deeply, realizing how mistaken he had been to believe that.

The apparition smiled and shook his head slowly. "Clearly that is not the case, now is it?" The apparition strode past Ryven and sat on the edge of the tub.  "No.  I'd have to say I'm only just getting stronger.  That's how the Haijikiotens are.  You try to snuff us out, and we tend to come right back and bite you in the ass."  The apparition lit up a cigarette.

Ryven nodded, having actually always prided himself on that particular trait. "What is it you want?  You have to have a reason for showing up like this."

The apparition inhaled a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled a slow stream of smoke before answering in a matter of fact tone, his eyes boring into Ryven's.  "I think you know what I want."

Ryven realized that he did know.  He did know and he wasn't thrilled about it. "I can't give you control.  This is my life now!  Not yours!  You're the past.  I'm the future, damnit!"

The apparition laughed, a slow, cold, spiteful laugh. "You want to play rough, then?  I expected as much.  You'll come around.  And if not, well, I'll take over anyway, during your sleep.  Be a shame to hurt that precious Kitty Kat of yours, wouldn't it?  What's the old saying?  There's more than one way to skin a Kat?"

Ryven snarled as he lunged at the apparition, his hands closing around empty air, as he crashed headfirst into the bathtub, gashing his forehead.  The blood blinded him momentarily, and he struggled to wipe it from his eyes.  He swore.  "Goddamn you.  Don't you fucking touch her!  You hear me!?  Don't you fucking dare!"

The apparition laughed. "Or what?"  He was standing by the doorway to the bathroom, cigarette in hand. "You'll hurt yourself?" He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Please.  Be sensible."  The apparition walked over and sat next to Ryven on the floor by the tub.

Ryven just stared at the floor, blood still trickling down his face.

The apparition's demeanor softened somewhat. "I tell you what.  I think I have a solution to this little problem."

Ryven gave the apparition a sideways glance.

 The apparition continued. "The truth is, I'm pretty okay with your choice in girlfriends.  I mean, Shalee is a little crazy, but that's fun.  Kat is ridiculously hot, and it's not like I haven't been enjoying that ride, you know?"

Ryven bristled, but realized quickly how ludicrous it was to be upset by that statement.

The apparition continued. "Not to mention, you've got a pretty solid occupation that tends to satisfy the sort of needs a guy like me has.  I mean, you've got power, you get to kill, and hell, you even have pretty nice digs."  He gestured to indicate the suite. "So, I think maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to coexist."

Ryven simply beckoned for the apparition to continue.

"What I want.  Well, what I need really, is something a little more bloody and a little more hands-on.  That business a while back with Leela's brother, you really let me come out and play, you know?  That shit with his heart, well, that wasn't really you, ya know?  That sort of shit is all me."  The apparition smiled, the pleasure of the memory radiating.

Ryven's eyebrow raised of its own accord. "You want me to let you murder people?"

The apparition's eyes gleamed. "I knew you'd catch on!"  He patted Ryven on the shoulder. "Just a few a month should do it.  I'll take control and you'll never even know it happened.  You won't have any memory of it."

"And if I refuse?" Ryven asked, already knowing the answer.

The apparition stood and stretched. "You couldn't stop me if you wanted to." He walked over to the bathroom door and paused, his hand on the doorjamb. "Besides, if you even try to, I'll make Katerina my fucking magnum opus." He walked out the door, muttering a have a nice day as he left.

Ryven sat on the floor, his face bloody, and wept.  He had lost the war.

Patient: Krennel, Ryven Session 6

Oct. 21 YC 115

24IC Medical Facility

1400

Offices of Dr. Ezra Thomas


"Ah, Mr. Krennel!  Come in." Dr. Thomas greeted Ryven at the door to his office and beckoned for him to enter.  "You are punctual as always."

Ryven just nodded and walked over to the couch and sat, the amazing comfort of the supple leather lost on him in his anxiety.  "Alright, doc, what have you found out?"  Ryven was referring to the results from a sleep study he had done over the weekend.  Dr. Thomas had told him it could show what was happening to his brain.

Dr. Thomas closed the door behind Ryven and strode over to his chair, datapad in hand.  He took a seat, his legs crossing comfortably.  "Mr. Krennel, the results are about what I feared they would be."
He turned the datapad around, allowing Ryven to see, but it might as well have been a child's doodle for all Ryven understood of what he was looking at.  There were bright moving colors and patterns that looked to Ryven like a small electrical storm.  "You see, there are two of you in there."

Ryven scoffed. "What the fuck are you talking about, two of me?"

"I mean that these patterns are indicative of what we would expect of two brains laid over each simultaneously.  It's like there are literally two of you in there."

Ryven rolled his eyes. "Fucking Silas Tobit."

Dr. Thomas's eyes narrowed at the mention of Dr. Tobit. "How do you know Silas Tobit?"  Could this be Silas' handiwork?  He was crazy, wasn't he?  Surely he hadn't succeeded, well, partially.

"That's the part of this I was hoping we'd finally get to, doc.  The part where I was kidnapped and fucking reprogrammed by one of your  colleagues."

So it was true.  Interesting.  "I see.  Well, then you know better than most just how crazy Dr. Tobit was.  He was thoroughly disregarded by most of our community."

"Oh, there's no denying he was batshit.  But he was batshit like a fox." Ryven's face was deadpan.  "I'd say his theories were rather startlingly correct for the most part, wouldn't you, doc?"

Dr. Thomas had to grant that point.  But, if Dr. Tobit had applied his behavioral modification theory to this poor patient, it was backfiring now.  The host personality was fighting back.  At best, this would be a painful process for Mr. Krennel.  At worst, Ryven might have a full on psychotic break.  In a capsuleer, that would be a terrifying turn of events to say the very least.  With the pure destructive power available to someone like Mr. Krennel, an entire planet could be wiped out on a sheer act of whim, all because he simply felt like it that day.

"Mr. Krennel, I am beginning to have an understanding of what is happening here.  I would like very much to have a session very soon with Ms. Tzestu present.  Would that be alright for you?  Have you talked to her about it yet?"

Ryven nodded. "Yeah.  She seemed pretty interested.  I'll get back to you on when we can pull this off." 

Dr. Thomas smiled. "Excellent." Ms. Tzestu, whether she knows it or not, may very well be the key to saving him.  Dr. Thomas felt a chill, then, as the corollary became clear. Or dooming him.  He pulled himself together, cataloging the previous thoughts in the recesses of his brain.  When he finally spoke, he spoke calmly. "So, last time we left off with the death of Titus and your decision to become a capsuleer...."

Patient: Krennel, Ryven, Session 1

Oct. 11, YC 115

24th Imperial Crusade medical facility

11 am

Offices of Dr. Ezra Thomas


Dr. Thomas sat, datapad in hand, his posture one of a professional with years of experience, emanating comfort.  He was an older man, Ryven guessed roughly mid-sixties, with the usual gray streaks in his hair and spectacles that Ryven assumed were merely for show.  Dr. Thomas was well-dressed, but in a comfortable rather than stuffy sort of way.  He seemed to be perpetually stuck somewhere between smirking and frowning, as if he couldn't make up his mind and became frozen that way.  His face was etched with deep wrinkles that followed the lines of this bizarre expression.  His eyes were a deep brown matched only by the gray speckled bushy eyebrows perched over his eyes.  He wore a light blue shirt and yellow tie, which Ryven suspected was meant to be calming, to lower the threat that a psychologist presented, the threat of an invasion of the mind, the thoughts, the inner sanctum of one's most private of private feelings.  Ryven felt it really wasn't working.

Dr. Thomas invited Ryven to sit on his dark leather sofa, and then directed him to lay down and relax.
Ryven lay down and willed himself to relax, his eyes tracing the features of the relatively nondescript ceiling.  Abandoning that, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing.  In..1...2...3....out..1..2...3.  

Dr. Thomas spoke first. "So, in setting up this appointment, you mentioned some basic concerns you were having.  While they certainly are important in and of themselves, your current issues do not exist sui generis.  They are intimately entwined with the fabric of the totality of your life experience up to this point.  While I could probably make some recommendations without delving into your history, to do so would be irresponsible and destined to failure.  With that in mind, I believe we should begin with your childhood.  How would you characterize that experience?"

Ryven nearly choked.  "Um, well, if I had to choose one word, I would go with: unpleasant."  He rolled his eyes mentally.

Dr. Thomas's expression seemed to tilt closer to a frown.  "Now, now, Mr. Krennel, I think you can tell me more than that.  How about you just describe it to me?"

So, Ryven told him about the orphanage, about the fights, the arrival of Baillieu and his subsequent death, and his finally meeting his uncle/father Titus.  Dr. Thomas would occasionally prod him with questions, trying to pin down a particular detail, but Ryven pretty much talked for forty five minutes straight, sharing his pains, his few tender memories, and the hope he had finally experienced.  When Dr. Thomas finally stopped him, Ryven was surprised to find his cheeks burning, his tears streaking fire down his face, salty trails remaining as legacy.

"I think that will be enough for today, Mr. Krennel."  Dr. Thomas was typing on his datapad.  "When can you come back in?  I'd prefer sooner rather than later.  We have a lot of ground to cover."

Ryven sat up, cradling his head in his hands.  He wasn't ready for the session to be over.  He wanted to fix whatever was wrong with him.  For God's sake, he had murdered a man in a rage only a week or so ago.  He was maddeningly in love with Kat.  He had to fix this.  Finally, he answered. "You free tomorrow?"

Dr. Thomas's expression drifted closer to a smirk. "I'm never free.  However, I can squeeze you in in the afternoon."

"Thanks, Doc."  Ryven stood and walked out of the office, feeling somehow lighter than when he entered.

Dr. Thomas began dictating the long list of notes, thinking to himself that he could spend the next twenty years trying to parse all of this man's issues. 

Not all Knights Wear White

Ryven opened the door, allowing Kaden, the shadowy man who had recruited him only a month or two before, to pass into the dimly lit room.  Ryven had hidden Leela and Zhou in this complex for months, safe and sound, far from the threats against them.  They were away right now, secured against the very real possibility of violence.

Kaden spoke first.  "A bunker.  How cloak and dagger.  I get the impression I am not going to like what I am about to hear."

Ryven closed the heavy door and turned, watching Kaden for any hint or sign of malice.  Finding none, he decided to respond with words.  "That depends on how well you handle breakups."  

Kaden sat down on the nearby sofa, his legs crossed in a relaxed posture.   "I haven't had many experiences of that sort."

Ryven walked stiffly, his left leg still aching from his injury only yesterday.  He had been caught by on site security at a Caldari listening post in Pure Blind.  He had accomplished his mission, but took a round to his thigh.  The security team did not get off so lightly.

Ryven, having reached the sofa across from the one Kaden occupied, steadied himself.  "I can't work for you anymore."

Kaden's eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, really?"

Ryven maintained a piercing stare.  "Really."

Kaden's jaw was set, his voice oozing shadows of death.  "And why is that?"

Ryven shrugged nonchalantly. "Plenty of reasons.  Love, for one.  Your lies, for another."

Kaden's demeanor shifted to one of incredulity. "Love?!  You have the power to shift the balance of power in the cluster, to usher in a new era of prosperity for all nations and you whimper on about [i] love? [/i]"

Ryven nodded. "I don't expect you to understand that.  After all, didn't you rape and murder your own wife and child when you learned they had betrayed your vision of the State?"

Kaden's face went ghost white.  He trembled, rage consuming him.  His voice came in a quiet fury of hatred and flame. "How do you--"

"Know about that?" Ryven smirked as he interrupted Kaden.  "You are only the thousandth person to underestimate Leela Yttria."

Kaden spat.  "That Matari bitch?"

Ryven's retaliation for that rudeness was swift.  His hand had dipped inside his jacket, drawn, and fired his pistol before Kaden had quite finished the sentence.  Blood now trickled out of the cuffs of Kaden's dark black suit jacket.  It was a flesh wound, but enough to impair Kaden's gunnery.

"My ex-wife, Matari or no, is very effective at finding things people want hidden.  Imagine my surprise, for instance, when she informed me that you operate entirely alone.  You are the top of the organization.  There's no cabal.  There's just you, your massive fortune, and the pawns you employ.  But, your mistake was in assuming I was a pawn."

Kaden spat in disgust, but a hint of fear was edging into his voice and his expression had lost its steel.  He sneered.  "What are you if not a pawn, Mr. Krennel?  Are you free?  You slave for an Empress who doesn't know your name.  For a people you can never belong to.  For a faith not your own, poured into that empty vessel of your mind by a madman right out of a beaker. You're nothing but a pawn, obediently serving your masters!  You're more slave than your Matar ex-wife and her entire race of subhumans!  What are you, if not a pawn?"

Ryven crossed the distance and stood over Kaden, his eyes strangely dispassionate as he looked down at the man, an empty vessel wrapped in black. "That's easy."  He thrust his knife deep between Kaden's ribs, finding and severing the pulmonary artery. "I am a knight."

Kaden gasped as the blade entered his chest, pink froth reaching his lips.  He was doomed, his eyes burning with more hatred than ever before.  His voice gurgled as he spoke.  "Your hands are bloodier than mine, Krennel.  You call yourself a knight?  You're no saint, Krennel."

Ryven shrugged, accepting the truth of the words as he limped over to the door. He opened it and cast a look back at Kaden.  "Not all knights wear white."

Lessons Emblazoned in Scars

Ryven's mind wandered, a common occurrence during long surveillance missions.  The eyes can only gaze into the depths of space for so long.  The mind is given a choice: Focus elsewhere or court insanity.  The mind is not equipped to handle the sudden recognition of its own inconsequence. 

So, he sat there, jacked in, his mind's borders extended out into the minutia of his Hound-class bomber, unsure of where he ended and where the ship began.  It was a familiar feeling, but one that had not been completely deprived of its alien feeling.  A mind without clear border seems precariously close to overexpansion, an infinite exponential increase in size, coupled with an inverse relation to clarity. 

So, rather than focus on the silence before him, or pondering the existential questions associated with mind-matter integration, he thought of Kat.  He hadn't told her he was going to be away on this op.  The shadowy man, Kaden, had been fairly clear that he could not divulge to anyone what it was he would be doing.  Ryven's side job as an operative was secret even to the State it was purportedly working to protect.  Although, as Ryven and Kaden had discussed, the job was bigger than the State.  It was about the cluster as a whole.  Still, it's easy to be bogged down in considerations of such ideas.  Obligation to something greater than oneself can be a delightful trap, sucking one into it to the ruin of everything else in that man's life.  Ryven had already ruined one relationship due to his "obligations."  Now he was beholden to even greater ones, and yet, his heart bore scars he was not like to forget. 

No.  He was not going to ruin things with Kat.  She had quickly become a central part of his life, having surprised even him in the way she could make him feel.  Apart from his ex-wife, Leela, Katerina was the first woman he'd ever asked to move in with him.  He had already lost control of his suite, but he didn't mind the trade. 

His mind went back to the lessons he had learned.  1) If you're in love with more than one person, you're not in love with one of them.  You may love them, but you're not loving them the way you should.   He had learned that one when he had fallen for Shalee, losing Leela in the process.  He wasn't going to do that again.  2) If you can't tell the person you love what it is you're doing, at least tell them you're doing it and why you can't tell them.  Honesty, with attention to balancing obligations, is the essence of relationships. 

He had to tell Kat.  He made the decision then and there to tell her as soon as he got a chance.  It would be up to her whether she could live with it.  He really hoped she could.  He was happy in a way he hadn't been for some time.

He brought his attention back to the surveillance.  Only 40 hours or so left until he could return to the Manor and see her again.  He suspected they would be a long 40 hours, and he desperately hoped to gain the information Kaden was needing. 

That reminded him of something he had meant to do a few nights prior.  He quickly sent out a message to Kaden detailing the strange appearance of Xolve at the Terrace the other night.  He had simply appeared with no preamble and had seemed as shocked by it as all of the witnesses to it.  Ryven wanted to report on this and also see if Kaden knew anything about it.  Most importantly, Ryven wanted to know if it could be a random occurrence caused by some fluke in astrophysics, or if it was the product of something with will.

TotHB: Seelah

"Kalus Haijikioten was always the more hot-tempered of us two brothers. We were consummate Civire children. There was never a task we couldn't rise up to meet, and to be honest, we were very close for the majority of our lives, until he met Seelah" -Titus to Ryven


Bridge of the Battlecruiser, Lyssa

Titus stood gazing at his tactical display.  Out there in the cold and black of space was his brother, Kalus.  Titus sighed, accepting the inevitable, knowing his brother as he did.  Immediately he knew they were both there for the same thing, but Titus had arrived first and had already completed his mission.  Ynnas' escape pod had been retrieved.  She was already on board, her new identity assumed.  Seelah she would be called from now on.  Kalus, Titus knew, was here to kill her, his clients would naturally be the Guristas pirates.  Titus shook his head.  Kalus would take a contract from anyone with no thought or question.  He had no scruples.  Titus had been hired by Seelah to fake her death, and he had succeeded in doing so.  Kalus, he knew, would assume that Titus had just stolen his contract.  Titus waited for the alarm to alert him to incoming fire.  He had already attempted to contact Kalus, but received no answer.

Titus didn't have to wait long.  Alarms blared as the first rounds struck his ship's shields.  He waited a few moments, railing within against the insanity of having to destroy his brother's ship.  Finally, sighing deeply, his eyes closed, he gave the order he had been dreading for the eternity of the past five minutes.  "Open fire."

Kalus's cruiser was outmatched.  Rounds from the Lyssa's batteries of blasters ate through the cruiser's shields quickly and Caldari ships were not heavily armored.  Titus hated to do what he was about to, knowing full well that it was probable his brother would not survive it, but he watched as the cruiser exploded, debris twirling off into the cold vacuum of space.  He shut his eyes and felt a tear streak salty warmth down his cheek.  He swore loudly.

He finally regained his composure and ordered the bridge crew to take the Lyssa in and search for any escape pods.  He held out one last hope.

***********************************

Several days had passed since he had been forced to destroy his brother's ship.  He had been a mess right up until one of his junior officers knocked on his cabin door and informed him that they had retrieved his brother's escape pod.  Titus had never known such relief.

As an added bonus, the woman Seelah had been comforting him.  He was quite taken with her, had been ever since he had accepted her contract in a backwater station cantina.  She apparently felt she should supplement her payment of credits with payment of a more intimate nature.  Every night he had returned to his cabin to find her waiting there.  He had lost a lot of sleep, but he considered that a fair trade.

Further, she had agreed to stay on as part of his crew for the time being, which made Titus quite happy.  She was an extremely skilled pilot and knew her way around a ship.  He had already agreed to pay her a cut on their next contract if she stayed on.

Kalus had stayed in his quarters.  Titus refused to let him leave the ship, even if they docked up.  He wanted to keep an eye on his brother and he hadn't quite forgiven him for trying to kill him, or for running out on him to start his own business, a competing firm no less.  

Little did Titus know that the recipe for disaster was already completed and that in a few weeks time, he would speak to his brother for the last time.

Melody

The Rowdy Stray

7-13 YC115 1350

Ryven sat on the piano bench, his fingers  finding thier long forgotten home on the keys of a glistening black piano.  He pressed the keys, delicately at first, finding the melody slowly in tentative steps.  His mind was furiosly racing through a cornucopia of thoughts and recollections, his heart a tempest of emotions.  Thee music came out in sombre notes, a composition in a minor key, probably E.

The bar was empty, as it always was.  Zhou had abandoned it when he moved in with Leela.  Still, it looked exactly as it had the last time he had been here, with Shalee. It seemed so long ago, now, as though he were looking back at another life.  In a sense, he was.  There was a line of demarcation, bisecting his time before and after her.  He was convinced now that there was no return to that time.  She was no longer his, nor he hers.  This had finally become clear with the arrival of feelings for another.

Ryven was still surprised at himself.  He had not intended for it to happen, and he was still completely vexed as to the actual nature of the emotions he felt.  All he could say for certain was that he wanted to be around her, to know her, and most alarmingly, to have her know him.  When he was with her, he didn't feel he had to hide himself behind the usual mask.  He could simply be himself. This was both exhilirating and terrifying.  Yet, he wanted it still.

But, what did it all mean?  How did it even happen?  When he returned from his binge, his breakdown, he had sworn off romantic relationships, and he could sense he had hurt Shalee.  But, then this new presence swooped in, and despite himself, he could feel the tugging, the tightness and warmth in his chest.  His feet only barely touched the ground these days.

Ryven realized his melody had changed.  Without meaning to, his playing had become a song, not of sombreness or mourning, but one of light and warmth, a happy song. 

"What has happened to me?" He asked the empty bar.

Only silence answered, but his eyes found his face in the mirror behind the bar, and in his reflection, he was smiling.

An Afternoon Chat

06-31 YC 115
Huola VII
Cerra Manor

Leela stepped through the door to Ryven's suite at Cerra Manor, followed by Zhou.  Leela had recieved a message from Ryven that morning asking them both to come by.  She was worried.  The last time she had seen or heard from Ryven was the day she informed him of the behavioral modification experiment which had radically altered his personality so much that he had found God, sworn service to the Amarr Empire, and gone as far as marrying her.  The marriage hadn't lasted, but everything else had.  To be honest, she liked this version of Ryven far more than she ever had the old version.  She had never questioned his conversion, though.  She'd simply assumed he had finally grown up and taken stock of his life.  Still, this version was her preferred version, even if it were artificially created. 

Ryven stood next to a coffee table and sofa and beckoned both of them to have a seat.  A carafe of freshly brewed coffee awaited, three cups already poured.  Steam wafted over the rim of each of the mugs.  Sunlight streamed through the window, the dimmers in the glass turned off to allow the natural lighting (a feature Ryven seldom utilized).  He smiled as they sat down on the sofa, and Ryven took a seat in a nearby chair, coffee in hand, his posture relaxed.

Ryven spoke first. "So, I invited you two here to apologize for not being in touch sooner and to share my thoughts and decisions regarding the information you gave me, as well as to thank you for it."

Leela relaxed visibly, the tension flowing out of her.  This was off to a good start. "The apology is unnecessary, Ryven.  You had a lot to think about and it was a lot to absorb, really."

Zhou's expression remained blank, but he nodded his agreement.  He did not know Ryven all that well, truly.  He had never known the old Ryven.  The new Ryven had saved his life at considerable risk.  From what Leela had told him, the old Ryven would never have considered such a thing, much less done it. 

Ryven nodded gratefully.  "I appreciate your understanding.  I also appreciate you telling me about Dr. Tobit, even knowing what it would do to me."

Leela's expression showed her concern for him. "I didn't enjoy it, but I never really considered not telling you.  You needed to know."  She didn't voice the contradictory emotions she had felt after she had told him.  She knew she had done the right thing, but her nights brought nothing but worry over him.  She had been doing her best for her relationship with Zhou, but Ryven was always going to be important to her.  He was her first love, and likely she would always love him.

Zhou was oblivious to Leela's current thoughts, but had been acutely aware of the strain it had put on her.  Still, he recognized that Leela had made the right choice and he felt deep sympathy for Ryven's position.  It is no small burden to learn that one's existence may very well be a fabrication.  No one likes to discover that what he believes most deeply to be true is a well-constructed lie.  "We both believe it was the right thing to do, Ryven."

Ryven nodded.  "I want you to know that I came by Dr. Tobit's research notes.  I had already made my decision regarding how to move forward beforehand, but even after receiving the notes, I have decided to make no attempts to reverse the changes."  He gestured toward a datapad on the coffee table. "I want you to hold onto those, Leela."

"Why?  Why not destroy them?" She couldn't think of any reason not to.

Ryven shrugged. "If you wish to do so, then that's fine.  I would recommend you read them first, though.  It could be very illuminating." He let the faintest of smiles play at the corner of his lips. "I read them and found it fascinating."

Leela's face showed her confusion, not knowing how to feel about this gift.  Still, she would honor his wishes.  How could she not?  Besides, her curiosity had been piqued, and that was a force to be reckoned with.  "Okay."

Ryven's face broke into a full smile, his eyes gleaming.  "Excellent."  He leaned forward, seeming lighter than he had in a very long time, a burden of sorts lifted. "So, that business taken care of, what's been going on with you two?"

Meeting, Continued

Ryven looked at the mysterious man, amused. "You realize that was extremely cheesy, right?  You do realize that.  You have to."

The man sat silently for a moment before speaking. "Okay, perhaps that is cliche, but it is also sincere.  What is good for the State is good for the cluster and vice versa."

Ryven frowned. "Not necessarily.  If the State posed a real threat to the entire cluster, then, I would argue that what is good for the State is most certainly not good for the cluster.  Even moreso, I am not terribly interested in what is good for the State, seeing as the State has made a habit of trying to have me killed, jailed, and a host of other unpleasantries."

The man nodded. "Okay, I'll give you that one.  However, the offer still stands, and you can retain the right to refuse an assignment if it conflicts with your newfound loyalties to the Empire, which we can blame Dr. Tobit for, I presume."

Ryven shrugged. "I can't say, honestly.  This is who I am now.  There's no sense in dredging up all of the reasons.  I like this version of me.  Who I was before is of little importance except as a reminder of why I don't want to go back to that life."

The man nodded again. "Fair enough."  He stood up and stretched, stifling a yawn. "So, what's it gonna be, Mr. Krennel?"

Ryven thought for a moment before answering. "Okay.  Inasmuch as it doesn't conflict with my loyalties to the Empire and the militia."

The man nodded. "Agreed."  He started to walk toward the door out into the hallway.

"Wait." Ryven spoke. "What do I call you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're clearly not going to give me your real name, but I'd like to at least have a name I can call you.  Makes these conversations more, well, friendly."

The man stood there, lost in memories of a different life and a different time.  He finally spoke. "It's Kaden."

Full Circle

Ryven looked at the man sitting in his chair in the corner of his suite in Cerra Manor.  So, this man had exacted revenge on the man who had the man who had Ryven re-wired killed.  Ryven wasn't sure what that should mean for him, but he wasn't sure if he felt gratitude or just simply relief at knowing more of what had happened.  He still had a few questions. "So, you came here to give me these research notes in hopes that it'd clean the slate between the State and me?  That doesn't wash.  If you know what I did on Prime, then you know it was entirely for the purposes of cleaning that slate.  I've been trying to keep you guys off of me, not deliberately attacking you.  You double-crossed me, not the other way around."

The man nodded, his expression veiled by the shadows.  "I know."  His voice had an annoyed quality to it, as though he too were irritated by the way his State sometimes dealt with things.  Ryven could understand.  This man was an operative, an admittedly powerful one, and had to deal with the many missteps and bunglings of bureaucracy.  "Actually, I had one other thing I wanted to approach you about."

Ryven snorted. "Figures.  There always is."

The man's teeth glinted in the low light, a smile suddenly visible.  "Yes.  There is, isn't there?  I'm sorry to be cliche, but, well, things are cliche because they are so common as to be overly banal, are they not?"  He actually laughed, and found himself liking Mr. Krennel, despite himself.  "I had hoped I might persuade you to serve your country in an unofficial capacity and on an ad hoc basis."

Ryven rolled his eyes. "You're kidding me, right?  After what we just talked about?"

"Mr. Krennel, I won't offend you by calling you by your birth name, or appeal to your sense of duty, because you have far surpassed your origins, and frankly, you owe the State nothing.  We have never fulfilled our end of the bargain.  I would not be surprised if you don't even think of yourself as Caldari."  He paused for a moment.  "However, you are Caldari.  The State fathered you, even if it was a deadbeat father.  The fact of the matter is, I'm trying to recruit you to do what I do.  To save the State from itself."

Ryven remained silent.

"I would be your contact.  Your only contact.  I will be the only one who knows what you do for us or even that you do it.  When you have to visit the State for a job, you will be anonymous, but no one will question your authority.  However, I imagine most of your assignments will be here in the Amarr/Minmatar warzone.  This particular conflict is of importance to the State, though it doesn't know it." 

Ryven pondered for a moment. "So, I get to stay here and do what I'm doing, but with the occasional bit of wetwork on the side, and all of it to make the State a better place?"

The man shook his head. "No, Mr. Krennel.  To make New Eden a better place."

Surfacing

6-23  YC 115  19:37
Cerra Manor
Huola VII

Ryven awoke, his head splitting under the internal cacophonous echoes of far too much alcohol the previous night...day... week.  He wasn't sure if it was even day or night.  Come to think of it, he wasn't sure if he was even in his room.  He was lying face down on a bed.  He pulled his face away from the covers enough to recognize them as his covers.  He scanned his eyes around the room, recognizing his rather spartan decor.  Okay, so he was in his suite at Cerra Manor.  He rolled himself over, groaning as he did so.  He closed his eyes, hoping to will away the pain.  It dulled, but didn't manage to evaporate.  He sighed deeply into his empty room.

The revelation that his entire personality, his entire way of life, and even his faith were all the products of a Caldari scientist's wild experiment was too much for him to process at first.  He had thanked Leela and Zhou for telling him and disappeared for a while.  He needed time to gather his thoughts, he had told himself.  Of course, gathering his thoughts meant a whole lot of introspection, which inevitably lead to even more drinking.  The rest was just a blur, really.

However, the problem still remained.  What does one do when they discover that everything they feel or think is artificial?  How does a person deal with that?  Further, knowing this, does he choose to remain as he is, or does he choose to seek a way to reverse it and return to his real self?  Does that real self exist anymore?  Or, is the new self the real self?  Ryven had turned to drinking to escape that twisted philosophical shit. 

Truthfully, Ryven was terrified of going back to his old ways.  For one, he had finally made friends.  He even had managed to get married, fall in love (albeit not with the same person), and even made a few heroic sacrifices.  These are things the old Ryven would not have done.  The new Ryven was a decent human being for the most part.  The old Ryven was barely passable as one.   These thoughts chased about in his mind until he fell back asleep and the hours drifted by.

*****************************

Ryven awoke a few hours later, his room dark except for a single lamp across the room in the corner behind a high-backed chair.  His eyes adjusted quickly and he could barely make out the form of a man in the chair staring at him through dark sunglasses that glinted as he looked at them.  The man sat, fingers touching in a peak in front of him as he spoke in a voice that showed no emotion, but was immediately calming and absolutely captivating.  "I was hoping you'd wake up soon, Mr. Krennel."

Ryven rose calmly and sat on the edge of the bed.  He quickly analyzed the situation.  They were alone.  Ryven was unarmed, but couldn't be certain about this man with his rather theatrical, although practical, methods.  Further, since he clearly wanted to talk, Ryven stood to gain from listening, at least for the moment. "Everyone keeps telling me I'm a terrible host." He gave a sly grin.

The man's voice remained the same.  "I am here of my own volition.  I chose to come here because, well, after a decade of doing so, I still do what is best for the Caldari State."

Ryven laughed. "I pegged you for megacorp with that suit you're wearing."

The man raised a hand to correct him. "Not quite.  I owe allegiance to no megacorp.  I am something else entirely.  Most people make the same mistake as you, assuming that megacorps are the entirety of the State.  However, I think you most likely know differently, do you not?"

Ryven remained silent, wondering what he was getting at.

"No?  Well, I won't go into all the sordid details, but suffice to say that the State would be nothing but piss and ashes if everything were left to the megacorps' directors.  No, sometimes things have to be dealt with in such a way as to steer the State where it needs to go."

Ryven frowned. "Sabotage.  Assassination.  Blackmail.  The usual."

"Something like that, yes.  However, I'm not here for any of those reasons.  I must say that this is actually something of a first for me.  You see, in my career I have managed to make very few mistakes.  In fact, in a decade of service, I have only failed once.  I am here to try to make things right, you see."

Ryven shook his head. "No, not really."

"Dr. Tobit.  A younger and, might I say, more reckless director headed up the department of Kalaakiota that employed and financed Dr. Tobit.  This director, probably from watching far too many holos, got the idea that having Tobit killed was the best way to handle what he saw as an investment with little fruition, namely, you."

Ryven raised an eyebrow.  "Go on."

"Dr. Tobit should not have been killed.  I tried to stop it from happening but I miscalculated and arrived too late.  However, I did manage to salvage something that I am going to give to you as a means of correcting this mistake.  I recovered his research notes."

Ryven was skeptical. "And why give them to me?  How does that help the State?"

"I have a theory, Mr. Krennel.  You see, I theorize that you are a dangerous man.  I know the stunt you pulled on Caldari Prime.  You have the potential to be a very dangerous enemy to the State.  Honestly, the State probably deserves it after all they've done to you.  However, I am prepared to give you these notes in hopes of perhaps closing the divide somewhat.  Additionally, I am human and am inclined every so often to simply do things because they are the right thing to do.  Much like the night I killed that director."

Oops

Kalaakiota Office of Applied Psychomanipulation
Caldari Prime
11/20 YC 114

The director was seething.  He hadn't risen to the position of director only to be questioned and ridiculed by some no-name asshole who he'd never even seen before.  He had had Dr. Tobit killed because he was an embarassment and because he had threatened his employer, Kalaakiota.  What was so hard to understand about his decision?  Why was he being questioned and insulted in his own office?  Who was this man questioning him?

The man was slight of build, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.  He wore a dark suit, nondescript in every way.  His hair was short and dark, and he was clearly a Deteis, mid-thirties, and his mouth seemed to have a perpetual sly grin, almost a smirk.  He seemed smug, self-assured, and there was something about his demeanor that implied a casual attitude toward extreme violence; a tiger poised to strike at all times.

The man spoke. "Who gave you the authority to kill Dr. Tobit?"

"I did.  I'm a goddamn director.  I can make those decisions in my department." He tried to sound authoritative.  Somehow, his voice seemed to ooze uncertainty.  This man was unnerving.

"I see.  And why did you feel it was justified?"

"He promised results and didn't deliver.  I told him we were going to shut his program down, and he became irrational.  He threatened to go public." Damn Silas.

"No results?" The man stood, passive, but his voice dripped with contempt.

"No results.  Mr. Krennel continued to be just as he always was.  Dr. Tobit's experiment was a total failure. There's no denying that." The director didn't understand why that was hard to understand.

The man laughed. "Oh, but there is denying that." He shook his head. "You're not in the habit of actually reading reports, are you?  Particularly the initial project proposal and Dr. Tobit's many reports stating that the changes would take time, for instance."

The director gave a dismissive wave with his hand. "Every idiot scientist says that nonsense when they fail.  They always say it's a matter of time and you end up waiting and waiting and then, guess what, nothing."

The man shook his head. "Then what do you make of Mr. Krennel's newfound religion?  Or perhaps you think his recently obtained Knighthood in the service of the Amarr Empire as something totally within the bounds of his personality?"

The director was shocked. Could it be true?  Could Silas have been right? "I... I hadn't heard about--"

"Yes.  I'm sure you'd have missed it in your complete dismissal of Dr. Tobit's research offhand.  I'm also sure that when you had the majority of his research materials destroyed, you didn't actually bother to read any of it."  He shook his head again. "People like you are the reason the State has been reduced to the point it has.  People like you, Mr. Director, are a plague, a weakness, a cancer on our Nation."

"How DARE YOU!"

"How dare I?" The man actually laughed.  "Do you know who I am?  Of course not.  Allow me to explain.  You see, I am society's retribution against itself.  I'm the violent solution to the failings of our State.  My purpose is to eradicate those elements that hold us back.  Are you beginning to understand why I am here?"

A cold shiver ran down the director's spine.  "Kalaakiota wouldn't dare allow this!"

The man smiled and removed his shades. "Kalaakiota wouldn't dare stop it." 

The director barely saw the movement.  The man was unbelievably fast.  His death was not quick.  It was not painless, but he was paralyzed, incapable of screaming.  Still, as his insides burned, he could hear his screaming inside his mind.  The last thing he saw was the strange man smiling at him as he succumbed.

The man watched until the director had finally died.  He wondered at what such pain must feel like, only vaguely understanding that it defied explanation.  He smiled to himself as he stepped out of the director's office, straightening his suit as he did so.  

Methodology

"Test Subject has been subjected to a complete neural restructuring via a mixture of drugs, trauma, subconscious implantation of ideas, and an induced fugue state.  Initial tests show promising results, though it is likely that it will take time for these thoughts to come into full fruition.  Kalaakiota's bureaucrats are threatening to shut me down if I can't show results soon.  I keep informing them that affecting an immediate change will inevitably result in a psychotic break and absolute loss of attachment to anything resembling reality.  These implanted ideas must be given time to develop an internal monologue such that they cannot but seem innate to the individual, rather than the product of an alien intervention."
Research log of Dr. Silas Tobit, YC 113

Dr. Tobit's Office
Kalaakiota Department of Applied Psychomanipulation

Silas pored over his notes.  Mr. Krennel's psychotransformation was going much slower than Kalaakiota was willing to accept.  Over the previous 8 months, he had managed a massive program of thought implantation.  His plan was nothing if not ambitious, and so far, it had had no hiccups other than corporate interference, which now would spell the doom of his project.

He had begun his research by managing to do what most would consider impossible.  He kidnapped a capsuleer.  Mr. Krennel had made an error in stationing his clones in a Caldari station.  Dr. Tobit simply had his clone moved to a secure facility, and rather than allowing the clone reanimation process to reach full fruition, he stalled it, keeping Mr. Krennel in a state of half-awareness, akin to dreaming.  In this state, the subconscious is quite open to external input.  Mr. Krennel was kept in this state for months, every moment of every day bombarded by input designed to redefine his own conceptions of the world.  Simultaneously, false memories were inserted, the purpose being to create an alibi for his disappearance such that he would never notice his own absence from his life. 

He had then been released back into New Eden, unaware of his ordeal.  His every move was being watched, his choices catalogued and dissected.  So far, the experiment seemed to be a half-failure.  He had signed on with the Deklein null-sec hegemony, which showed an increased desire for some sort of authority structure, as well as a search for some meaningful pursuit beyond simple personal pleasure/gain.  However, it still wasn't a huge change from his previous lifestyle.  His private communications were not entirely revealing, either, since he had few if any.

Kalaakiota had determined this to be signs of Dr. Tobit's failure.  He was convinced that the changes would take time to develop, but that they would happen soon.  He kept urging for patience, but, none was forthcoming.  Clearly, Kalaakiota had already decided he was to be shut down.  Worse than that, Silas had threatened to go public with his research, which was clearly illegal by any stretch of the imagination, specifically to CONCORD, who likely would see this as a violation of any number of agreements regarding the established sanctity of Empyreans.  Surely, Kalaakiota would recognize his bluff.  If he went to CONCORD, he'd be in more trouble than anyone.  They knew that was a bluff right?  Right?

He never saw his killer, only felt the knife as it erupted through the front of his chest, and the last trickle of warmth, realizing as his life left him that he had urinated on himself.  His last thought was shame at this uncontrollable reflex and how strange it was that he should even give a damn.

The Experiment

"Morality is always spoken of in black and white, as though clear delineations existed.  Surely this can't be true.  Whitest snow bears stains of tar, and blackest night cannot ever remove the existence of stars.  In all acts of good or evil, their opposite can be found.  No man commits evil believing he is evil.  No man pursues good without simultaneously causing evil.  This is the nature of morality.  It is not a Manichean dichotomy.  A man's moral character is a pixellated image, dots of black and white that when viewed together and with the distance of objectivity, form a coherent picture."
                Dr. Mikhail Vartor, The Image of Man: Pixel Theory of Morality, YC 103

Caldari Prime
Kalaakiota Corporate R&D office
Office of the Director of Applied Psychomanipulation

Dr. Silas Tobit was apprehensive.  Today was the day he was to present his research proposal for final approval.  It was unbelievably exciting, but also terrifying.  He was proposing total reformation, not of behavior, but of actual motivation and the interpretive framework of the mind of a human being.  This was an important distinction, as behavior had been manipulated for millenia, largely by accessing and manipulating the basic human drives and desires in subtle ways, usually through cleverly tailored stimuli.  This was entirely the province of advertising and religion, and politics as well, though, to Dr. Tobit, politics was largely the mixture of the other two.

He stepped into the office of the director.  Silas knew that the key to gaining project approval was to emphasize its profitability and the ability to use it to gain advantage over the other megacorporations.  Essentially, he must appeal to both greed and vanity and the drive to power.  What could fit better into this than the ability to radically alter the very core of individuality and free will?  Controlling man's behavior is all well and good, but what if you could control man's essence?
That was a question that Dr. Tobit hoped to answer, or more precisely, to prove possible.

At forty-one years old, Dr. Tobit was a reasonably seasoned scientist.  He was an Achura, raised in Perimeter, schooled at all the best institutions and personally mentored by several key figures in psychomanipulation, which was a somewhat obscure field, largely due to the rather common knowledge nature of the manner in which human desire can be manipulated in order to effect behavior.  Tobit was out to change that by changing the game entirely.  He had already picked the test subject, an ultra-violent mercenary turned capsuleer pirate. 

The director gave Dr. Tobit a nod.  The director's disdain for Dr. Tobit was no secret, and his eyes, gratefully hidden by his dark glasses, were filled with his enmity.  He felt Silas was a waste of ISK, a charlatan, a snake oil merchant.  However, there were some Provists breathing down his neck for this research, and thus, his hands were tied.  As much as he hated this diminuitive little Achura, he must give him what he wished.  "You've been greenlighted.  Do you have a subject in mind?"

Silas could barely contain his excitement.  Finally! His voice, amazingly, came out unwavering, no hint of his vast tumult of emotions. "I have."  He pressed a button on his datapad and a holoemitter came to life, the three dimensional image of a man, a Civire, was displayed. As the model rotated, the input jacks of a capsuleer became visible.

"A capsuleer?  Are you out of your damn mind, Silas?" The director shouted, the vein in his forehead taking on a life of its own and threatening to leap out of his head and strangle Silas of its own accord. 

Silas nodded. "Of course.  The better to prove the viability of my theory.  If I can radically alter the thought patterns of an Empyrean, then my theory will be irrefutable." 

The director smiled inwardly.  This fool would fail, and the Provists would get off his back, and he'd finally be rid of this fruitcake.  "Why this one?"

Silas smiled. "He's a pirate, an orphan, a violent product of a violent childhood.  His parents were war criminals killed by the state.  He distrusts all authority, and is the CEO of a corporation.  He's absolutely perfect for it.  I intend to radically subvert his currently excessively violent drives and replace them with a need for authority, morality, and perhaps, just for fun, religion."

The director's eyebrow raised of its own accord.  Religion? Interesting. "Very well.  What's his name?"

"Ryven Haijikioten, though he calls himself Ryven Krennel."

Ryven: Lost Time

Cerra Manor
Huola VII
Ryven's Suite
4/2  YC 115  1800

Ryven lay awake on his large, but nondescript bed.  His room was not lavishly decorated, but instead seemed the expected blend of Caldari and Amarrian influences.  There were some references to Caldari bands, including some jazz/electronic fusions.  He was smoking a cigarette, his eyes staring up at the vaulted ceiling.  His eyes peered up through the dark and the haze of cigarette smoke and past the ceiling and into the universe, bending backward and inward onto himself.  From this deep reverie, the chirping of his neocom pulled him crashing back into the present.  He pressed a button, and heard Leela's voice.

"Ry, we need to talk." Her voice was dripping with urgency and something else that he guessed must be trepidation, or even fear.

His curiosity was piqued.  "What's up?"

"No.  In person." 

"That serious?" He wasn't surprised.  Leela's life was secrets.  Strangely, she was also the most honest person he knew.

"It's about your episode.  The lost time." She hesitated. "I think I know what's going on."

Ryven sighed, relieved. His mind had been returning to that constantly.  As an immortal, he was the pinnacle of human power, and even more so, an embodiment of the will to power.  What an immortal wills, he can realize.  If he cannot master himself, however, then he is still a slave.  This is no simple contradiction, but one filled with paralyzing paradox.  It eats away at the belief, and the immortality loses its potency.

"Okay.  I'm on my way."

                                        ***************************************
Undisclosed Location
"Safe House"
4/2 YC115 2300

When he arrived at the safe house, navigating through the maze of safeguards and false corridors, he came upon Leela and Zhou, both seated on a surprisingly comfortable looking sofa in the house's living room.  They both looked concerned, their eyes probing him, but neither speaking.  He sat down on a chair across the coffee table from them, leaning forward, fingers interwoven in a plaintive gesture.   He studied them both, seeing the signs of their closeness.  He allowed himself a moment of happiness at the way they had both found each other.  However, his need, his desperate need for answers overrode his interest in their blooming romance.

Leela broke the silence, her voice seeming both tiny and infinite, booming in the confines of the safe house, but fragile, the crystal ringing of champagne glasses. "I've uncovered what I believe is the answer to your episode."

Ryven nodded, clearly impatient. "Okay, so out with it."

She shook her head. "First, I have a question."  She placed a slender finger on her lips, thinking how best to proceed. "Are there any other periods of your life where your memories are, well... alien to you, or perhaps lost much as this recent episode was?"

Ryven shook his head, but then stopped, his mind reverting back to his time in J.D. Gaffa, Inc.  There was a period of missing time.  He had some memories, but they didn't make sense.  They never really had, honestly.  But, he was a different person then, guided by his every whim, not by purpose.  He had not given it much thought and had chalked it up to stress/drugs/shock/whatever.  He nodded. "Yes.  Seven or eight months of periodic lapses."

Leela nodded. "Two to three years ago, yes?  Before your time up in Deklein, before you left JDGI?"

His eyes widened. "Yes.  Exactly."

She nodded. "Tell me, does the name Dr. Silas Tobit ring any bells?"

Leela and Zhou: Dark Discovery

Undisclosed Location

"Safe House"

4/1 YC 115

Leela was in an unusual state of happiness ever since Zhou had persuaded Ryven to move him here to keep her company.  The first few days required a great deal of adjustment, but they quickly discovered a deep affinity for each other beyond simple compatibility.  Quite simply, they occupied the same world of shadows and obfuscation, the same universe of information waiting to be uncovered, sought, decoded.  Both were in the business of lifting the many layers of obfuscation that hide the various truths and untruths, and even the truths feigning untruth.  He filled the gaps in her personality and vice versa.  Together, there was synergy.  More than that, however, he understood her and vice versa, and there was a love blooming there that was not entangled in guilt and debt as it was with Ryven.  Ryven had saved her life.  Zhou was helping her live it.

Still, Ryven was in both their lives, and unlikely to ever be completely extricated.  In fact, at this very moment, she was following a lead she had found regarding his episode of "lost time."  He had recently experienced a total blackout of memory.  He had still operated normally, but had isolated himself socially.  Further, he simply had no recollection of roughly a month of his life.  He had approached her in the hopes of discovering who was behind it, suspecting a drug or other form of foul play.  Her current search was sifting through Caldari State databases regarding any mention of him, or someone that must be him.  It was the latter that brought her the answer she had been seeking.  She read the series of reports, her eyes widening as she delved deeper into them.  By the time she reached the end, she was trembling.

"Zhou!  We need to talk to Ryven."

Retribution, Part IX: Erasure

Leela's Safehouse
Undisclosed Location

21:10 1-8 YC115

Leela leaned back in her seat down in the familiar confines of her safehouse.  Ryven insisted that she remain here, but, she had finally gotten out for an evening the night before.  He wasn't exactly around to stop her, and frankly, she deserved a little outing every now and then.

Tonight, however, she had more work to do.  In order for Ryven's operation to succeed, it was crucial that his records, tarnished as they were, be replaced with cleaner ones.  She had been busy for roughly six hours building a history, a false history, of Ryven's relationship with the Caldari State.  She wondered why he hadn't just done this in the first place rather than entangle himself in a system of blackmail and extortion.  Probably because Ryven doesn't think that way.

Her fingers flew over her data terminal as she put the finishing touches on his file.  The tricky part, she knew, was coming.  Well, relatively speaking.  It actually wouldn't be that difficult.  After the main network defenses were breached, accessing and overwriting his file would be quite quick and easy. 

As she went about the task of overcoming the network security, she began thinking about the events of the past year.  It had been a long year.  She had lost her first and only love, Ryven, to his unfortunate obsession with Shalee.  She had been kidnapped and tortured by her own brother, and then rescued by Ryven.  She had been shut away in this little hidey hole for months, because of Ryven and his obsession with Shalee.  Seriously, she needed to move on with her life, didn't she?  But, what should she do with herself?  The bar scene seemed like a bad idea, though it could be fun.  Maybe she could go with Shalee?  She scowled in disgust at herself.  Here she was considering hanging out with the woman she lost her husband to. 

She definitely needed to get back out into the world, though.  The only way to do that would be to redefine her relationship with Ryven, and actually get over him for real.  She had always clung to the hope that he would one day come back to her.  She was realizing that this just wasn't going to happen, and honestly, she wasn't sure she wanted it to.  She didn't want to be second place.  She wanted a man who put her first. 

A comms terminal next to her chirped.  She had an incoming call.  This puzzled her.  She identified the caller and smiled.  It was Zhou Liang.  She liked Zhou.  He was a friendly guy for a spook.  Well, she thought so anyway, though it's hard to tell with double agents.  When a person builds two lives of lies it's impossible to really be sure you know anything about them.  Even for a snoop like Leela, sorting fact from bullshit would be nearly impossible.  Still, he had been very friendly the few times she had spoken with him.  Maybe he could be a friend.  She decided to answer the call.

"Hello." She answered. 

"Hey, Leela.  Thought I'd call and check in on the progress." Zhou sounded cheerful, but tired.

"About 90% complete.  New file should be in place in the next thirty minutes." She replied, her voice sounding exhausted, even to her.

"You're doing a good thing, Leela.  Ryven appreciates it, even if he doesn't seem like it."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he does." She thought for a moment before adding. "How are you holding up?"

Zhou looked surprised on the video display. "Nice of you to ask.  I'm worried about him, a little.  And you.  I'm going to have a talk with him soon about the current arrangement.  I'll ask if I can stay there with you for a while.  It's not good to be shut in like that.  You need some company."

Leela was very surprised by the offer.  Her cheeks flushed a little, but she fought it down. "I'm perfectly alright.  You guys shouldn't worry about me so much."

"Leela, I spent five months locked in a tiny hole in the dark.  I nearly went mad.  I kept myself sane by reliving conversations from my past.  People need other people."

Leela had to agree with the logic. "Okay.  I'll admit I could use some company."  She smiled a little bit. "Do you think Ry will go for it?"

Zhou shrugged. "Can't see why not.  He's supposed to be protecting both of us.  Seems like what's safe for you would be safe for me." 

Leela nodded, suddenly excited by the idea of having a roommate.  An attractive roommate at that.  True, his looks were the result of extensive genetic and surgical modifications, but aesthetics were always manufactured, were they not? "Alright.  Here's hoping."  She looked back at her terminal, seeing that she had broken through the security programs. "I gotta let you go, Zhou.  It's game time."

Zhou nodded. "Take care, Leela.  See you soon."

She nodded and waved and ended the call, turning back to her work, beginning the overwrite process.  From here it was fire and forget, so she leaned back and locked her fingers together behind her head, staring at the ceiling.  Maybe this year will be different... she thought as she drifted off.

Retribution, Part VIII: Awakening

Unisclosed Location

Zhou Liang's safehouse

09:45 1-8 YC115

Ryven awoke drenched in sweat and blood.  His eyes slowly gained focus and his mind fumbled, struggling to discern where he was.  A face appeared in his field of vision, at first a gray blur.  The face slowly coalesced, gaining more and more detail until he recognized Zhou Liang.  He could tell Zhou was speaking, but his mind was still addled.  The words came as through a murk, each taking what seemed hours for him to decipher.  Then, suddenly, they were coming at him at normal speed.  He shook his head, clearing the remaining cobwebs.  He raised himself up on his elbows and realized he was shirtless, his wounds dressed, but the surrounding skin was bruised and discoloured.  The pain of his movement forced him to wince and suck in a shallow breath between clenched teeth.

Zhou's voice was that of a concerned parent. "You have to take it slow, Ryven.  The damage to this clone was quite severe.  If you'd taken another hit like these..."  He gestured to the massive bandaged region of Ryven's abdomen.

Ryven grunted. "I've taken worse."

"Respectfully, no, sir, you're full of shit." He pointed emphatically to the bandage.  "There was nothing there.  That was just one big missing chunk of you, filled with biofoam.  That's all there was, Ryven.  Just foam."

Ryven searched for his cigarettes.  He glared at Zhou. "Where'd my cigarettes go?"

Zhou pulled a pack out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Ryven. "Here.  Knock yourself out."  He stood up and walked a few paces away, staring at the wall, arms crossed.  He worried about this stubborn man to whom he owed his life.

Ryven lit up a cigarette, the burning smoke agitating his lungs, and he coughed fiercely.  Still, it was just what the doctor ordered.  He looked over to Zhou, wondering what had gotten into him.  "Hey, Zhou?  How soon can I get out of here?  I got a girl to go see." 

Zhou turned around, stroking his chin in thought. "I would say two or three days." 

Ryven laughed. "That's not going to happen."  He sat up and began putting on his boots.

Zhou looked exasperated. "You're an idiot, you know that, right?  You're in no condition to fly."

Ryven gave him an amused look. "I'll be fine." 

Zhou stared at him in angered disbelief before he turned around and walked out, shaking his head.  "One of these days, you're going to find yourself in a situation you can't fight your way out of or bullshit your way through.  I hope I'm wrong, but, I'm fairly certain I'm not." 

Ryven nodded, alone again in the dark. He whispered to no one. "I know.  But, I made a promise that I'd come home.  I've lost enough time."

Retribution, Part VII: Die Walkure

Sky over Caldari Prime

23:15-00:25 1-7/1-8 YC115

He was a meteor.  A streak of light bursting through an atmosphere, utterly tranquil to the billions of inhabitants below but buffeting and scorching at him high above.  His helmet blacked out to protect his eyes from the brilliant flare of the air superheated into a haze of flames around him.  His dropsuit's shields were protecting him valiantly, but he knew that even the slightest variation from his current trajectory could cause the shields to overload and he would burn to a cinder miles above the planet surface.  His mind drifted back to Shalee.  Always Shalee.

"Target update." Leela's voice chimed in his ears.

"Go ahead."

"Target is located second floor from the top, illuminating on your HUD."

"Thank you." He replied, even though his target was still at least a thousand kilometers away.

He was about to enter the night side of the planet, the terminator still visible ahead, a hazy line between dark and light, with the darkness approaching.  He slipped into the planet's shadow, the ground becoming closer, the planet filling the entirety of his view.  Below him, he was greeted by the sight of millions of specks of light on a blanket of deep sable.  The air around him was a cacophany, but still, he held on course.  The lights grew closer, and with it, the ground.

He saw he was nearing the last couple hundred kilometers.  His speed was decreasing, and with it, his lateral angle.  His trajectory was parabolic, and soon, he would begin to descend much more rapidly.  He could already see the spaces between lights growing.  The edge of the Capitol city was nearing ahead.

One hundred kilometers to go.  His speed began to decrease much more rapidly, the air thicker at these lower altitudes.  He could see the tops of buildings below him.  30 km.  20 km.  10 km.

He prepped himself.  He would pass by a tall skyscraper approximately 300 meters before his target.  At that point, he must be ready to react without thought.  This was going to be very razor edge.

He saw the skyscraper ahead, and 300m past it, his target.  As the skyscraper passed, he flipped over and fired a device from each arm, one into the skyscraper behind, and one into the target building.  Between the two stretched a cable, which he quickly looped an ultra-strong piece of nanofilament with handles.  He had just created a zipline while moving over 100km/h.  He fired his thrusters to quickly shed speed while acquiring his target on his HUD.  What happened next took less than three seconds.

Hilen Ashenokka was standing in his parlor, enjoying a drink, watching a newsfeed on the wall.  His penthouse apartment was a large and opulent one.  One of the major features was his parlor, which sported windows floor to ceiling on three sides.  He enjoyed the view of the capitol city's skyline from two thousand feet up.  He never thought they would be his demise.  As he turned, drink in hand, to look out on the night skyline, his death came crashing through the glass at high speed.

Ryven rolled to brake his momentum and shot out his arm to grab hold of Ashenokka's throat.  Without missing a beat, he took five rapid strides at full sprint and dove out the opposite window, tossing Ashenokka as he went hurtling out into the night, two thousand feet above the crowded sleepless streets, shards of glass falling along with him, Ashenokka screaming, arms flailing.  Ryven wasted no time, spinning to fire a second zipline.

This one deposited him ten blocks away in a crowded city street.  He keyed up his ex-fil comms circuit.

"So far so good.  I need an exit, currently set for plan A." He spoke tersely.

"Copy.  Ex-fil inbound to point alfa.  ETA ten minutes."

He sprinted down the crowded thoroughfare, knowing he would be pursued at any moment.  A man running down the street in a combat dropsuit draws attention, and not the kind Ryven needed.  Still, this was expected.  Which is why he managed to dodge the first few gunshots fired by pursuing police drones.  His dropsuit armor would protect him from the majority of small arms fire, but incendiary rounds or armor piercing ones would put a damper in his survival plans for sure.  His best defense was speed.

He ran as though the devil pursued him, pushing aside civilians, leaping over kiosks and personal vehicles.  Ahead, he saw the flash of blue lights, and he knew a roadblock had been set up for him. He swore.  He had hoped to limit casualties as much as possible.  He sighed and drew out a pair of sub machine guns he had stowed in his suit's weapons holds.  He jumped, using his suit's muscle amplification and minute jump thruster maneuvering to evade the security forces' opening salvos, his HUD placing reticles on each of the men.  He fired bursts at each of them, watching as they flickered out.  He felt the impacts of small arms fire on his suit, and he thanked God they weren't armor piercing.  He had promised Shalee he would come home from this, and damnit, he intended to.

An explosion knocked him off balance as he landed from his jump on the other side of the roadblock.  A Caldari main battle tank stood a hundred meters off, smoke trailing from the barrel of its rail gun turret.  Ryven rolled to dampen the blast, his sensors flaring from the superheated and ionized air.

"Damn. That shit showed up fast." He bounded toward the tank, zigging and zagging, using vehicles as cover.  He prepped a satchel charge, one of three he had stowed in his suit's backpack.  Running as fast as his suit would allow, he charged the tank, closing the last fifty meters in mere seconds.  The tank's gun fired, but he slid on his back, the 155mm round skimming a mere inches from his helmet's visor as he ducked under it.  He placed the charge as he slid past the tank's left side and leapt to his feet, running down the street away from the blast that demolished the Caldari armor.

He had five minutes to make it to extraction a mere eight blocks away.  He had chosen this spot because it was a cliff that overlooked a subterranean section of the city. 

He closed the distance as quickly as he could, knowing he was bound to encounter more resistance, and soon.  He keyed his comms.

"1 klick from ex-fil point Alfa.  Status of ex-fil?"

"En route, ETA three minutes."

"Roger, proceed.  Extraction is green."

He could see the extraction point ahead.  He was nearly free and clear.  That's when he felt a searing pain in his back as the first large bore incendiary round burned through his dropsuit's armor and into his flesh, cauterizing, thankfully, but causing massive trauma in the surrounding tissue.  The dropsuit responded by injecting biofoam and painkillers, along with nanites to control the damage.  Still, the painkillers didn't do a damn thing for the initial trauma, and Ryven's vision flared into bright white.  His instincts kicked in and he quickly spun and dropped, drawing his large caliber assault rifle.  Two aerial intercept craft were approaching at high speed, firing their blasters.  He felt another impact in his lower torso, and he buckled under the force, but still, he maintained his aim, opening fire on the lead intercept.  His rounds were aimed at the pilot, and he was gratified by the craft's sudden loss of control.  It careened into one of the many high-rise buildings along the busy street.  He was thankful most of the civilian traffic had cleared out.  These were his countrymen once, after all.  They shared the same blood, even if he no longer followed their flag.

The second intercept jinked out of his line of fire, sending another wildly aimed shots his way.  He knew the slender gunmetal blue craft, designed to resemble a mantis, would return shortly, and Ryven resumed his sprint to the extraction point.  The dropsuit's damage control measures were helping, but he had lost a good deal of speed.  His abdomen was stiff, and he could tell there was a monstrous amount of damage.  He had to take care to limit any more incoming.

One hundred meters to go and that's when things got nasty.  Five more intercept craft, two tanks, and a host of ground security forces were closing in.  Fire was incoming from everywhere.  He put on all the speed he could manage, a trickle of blood running from his lips, hidden behind his visor.  He ran, though every fiber in his being was being torn apart by pain that had outstripped the ability of painkillers to control.  His lungs ached.  His vision tunneled into a black corridor, and all he could see was the approaching cliff.  Everywhere projectiles careened and impacted the road and vehicles around him.  The world seemed to move in slow motion, every step an eternity.

10 meters.  Where's the damn dropship?  Had they left him?  Was he going to break his promise to Shalee and face capture, torture, and the failure of all his planning?  The distance closed rapidly.

"Jump." A voice echoed in his headset. 

Why not?

Ryven hurled himself over the edge of the cliff, city lights below, above, and all around him.  Most importantly, though, was the dropship, tilted so its side doors were open to him as he dropped through.   

Ryven screamed into his helmet's comms. "Get us the hell out of here, Zhou."

The voice of Zhou Liang chuckled to him over his helmet's comms. "Like I want to die here, either, man."

The dropship's nose pointed upward at a steep incline as the side door came closed.  Ryven was thrown violently into the aft end of the craft as Zhou ignited the ship's rockets.  The air around the ship exploded violently under the explosive force of thrusters that weren't meant to be used at such low altitudes, the atmosphere's denser oxygen ignited by it.  The security forces within 100 meters were instantly vaporized, the tanks melting under the heat, the intercept craft thrown violently to the street, rendered useless.  The dropship accelerated rapidly into the upper atmosphere, carrying them away from pursuit.

The last thing Ryven remembered seeing was the dwindling speck of Caldari Prime from the viewports of Zhou Liang's stealth bomber. 

Retribution, Part VI: Prelude

Caldari Prime
Orbit

22:37 1-7 YC115

Ryven waited. The airlock was depressurized, utter silence broken only by the sound of his breathing in his sealed dropsuit. A red flashing warning light indicated the impending opening of the external doors. Each flash was reflected in the slick black of his helmet's faceplate, and he was crouched, poised to propel himself toward the target.

His mind drifted to the past few days of preparation. He had awoken on the 9th and made his departure as Huola's star was rising over the manor. He had glanced back mournfully, reluctant to leave Shalee behind, but knowing he had to see this through. Even Tiger had agreed with him on that. Although, that was likely because Tiger wanted Ryven gone, and the possibility of Ryven suffering extreme bodily harm was not something Tiger was likely averse to.

He had made the trip to Leela's safehouse, careful to cover his tracks. With her assistance, the code was extracted from the nanochip he had retrieved rather messily from General Ikaren's neck. Leela had fabricated a transponder for his dropsuit and programmed the defense codes into it. Ryven wondered if this operation would have even been possible without her assistance. He decided it would have, but the risk would have been multiplied to a ludicrous degree. He would have to get her a thank you gift.

The rest of the preparations had been largely moving assets into place. Leela would be his source of intel. She was patched into a fluid router comms channel routed through a series of nearby comms satellites, automated orbital installations, and into his helmet. His ex-fil was set to pick him up at one of a series of sites that could be chosen on the fly. He had the comms for that set up on a seperate circuit.

He was carrying only a small arsenal of weaponry and equipment. The dropsuit had built in stealth technology, motorized joints and muscle amplification tech, and combat optics and mapping that interfaced with his capsuleer implants. Considering all that, he was remarkably lightweight at only 450 lbs and 6'7" tall.

His reverie was broken by the sudden opening of the external doors. The space between the doors widened and the bustling surface of Caldari Prime loomed ahead of him. However, his target, a Charon class freighter, the [i]Lysander[/i] loomed even closer, a mere 10 km away. The tiny shuttle was on a parallel course and speed with the freighter, thankfully.

Ryven pushed off the airlock wall with a powerful kick, firing a set of twin thrusters in his suit's backpack to accelerate. As he hurtled through the space between the two vessels, he considered how tiny he was. Just a speck, black against black, traversing the gulf in absolute silence. He was utterly alone, isolated from the universe and yet at once an integral piece of it. Everywhere he looked silent behemoths went gliding through the void. He wondered if this is what it was like to be lost overboard at sea with dark shapes circling and gliding above and beneath. He shivered involuntarily, thankful the distance was closing.

At the last hundred meters, he flipped so his feet were facing the Charon and fired his thrusters to decelerate. His feet touched the blue gunmetal hull of the freighter and Ryven activated electromagnets in the soles of his boots.

The walk to the external maintenance hatch was a short one, only 50 meters or so. Freighters are largely unmanned, and as such, he was unhindered in his efforts to open the hatch and float, weightless, into the shaft that went the length of the cargo bay. Ryven glided half the length of the bay before he reached his target.

Ryven had chosen this freighter due to its highly explosive cargo of rocket fuel and munitions, namely 100,000 torpedoes. He intended to use an explosive to set off the fuel, which would detonate the massive cargo of missiles. This would provide a very effective diversion.

"Leela."

Her voice replied crisp and clear in his helmet. "Target is in the building. His family is not present. Mission is green."

Ryven nodded, then rolled his eyes at the pointlessness of such a gesture. "Thank you, Leela. Apprise of any changes."

"Good luck."

Ryven placed the explosive, a small device less than half a meter square. He pushed off and glided back out of the shaft, again magnetizing to the hull of the ship. He began the long silent trek to the other side of the freighter.

When making reentry into a planet's atmosphere, care must be taken to do so at the proper angle. Too steep and the dropsuit's thermal shields flare out and the wearer burns up into ash miles above the planet surface. Too shallow and the poor bastard goes skipping like a rock off into space. Thankfully Ryven's suit was able to display the correct glide path on his helmet's HUD.

Ryven reached his drop point. His target coordinates were entered in to his glide path navigation program. A countdown to drop was ticking in the corner of his HUD. He crouched, deactivating the magnets as the timer reached one. He pushed off at an angle, firing his thrusters to line up with the markers on his HUD. He watched his velocity indicator, and checked the distance to the freighter. 22km. He pulled out the detonator. 24 km. He flipped off the safety. 26 km. He pressed the button.

The sky above Caldari's capitol erupted into brilliant bluish white and an assassin sailed unobserved toward his target.

Retribution, Part V: Recovery

Ibura System
Undisclosed Location
11:23 1-3 YC 115

Ryven awoke disoriented.  His last memory was a dark alley in the Perimeter system and immense pain.  He had flashes of an image of Shalee, and immediately was filled with a sense of despair.  He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, his vision becoming focused, his surroundings emerging from the haze. 

He was in a bed.  It was the sort of bed found in a hospital.  Okay, so he was in a hospital.  That explained why he was in a white gown.  He wasn't strapped down, so he rose up off the bed, and quickly became dizzy.  He calmed himself, forcing his breathing to slow, his pulse to ease.  He pulled his legs off the bed and set his feet on the floor.  The cool metal was painfully chill, and an involuntary shiver ran down his spine.  He swore.  He heard a door slide open behind him.

"Ah, so, you've decided to finally return to the land of the living." A rather jovial voice greeted him from behind. 

Ryven turned his head to see a woman of medium height and athletic build with dark brown hair and a touch of gray.  She appeared to be late forties and was of obvious Caldari blood, most likely Deteis.  He managed a halfass grin. "I try to die as little as possible these days."  He glanced about. "Where am I?"

The doctor smiled. "You're back in the loving arms of your new best friends." She laughed. "The Falcon Brotherhood are big fans of your work." 

Ryven barely kept from making a face.  He hated the name those terrorist jackasses had chosen for themselves. Falcon Brotherhood.  Still, he had to assume they were the reason he wasn't captured/cloned.  "They were the ones who came in all commando deus ex machina style to save me, huh?"

She laughed. "Pretty much.  You apparently succeeded in a manner beyond their expectations.  So much so, they've decided to make you an honorary member.  They gave you their tattoo."  She gestured toward his right shoulder.

He looked down and winced.  There it was, the stupid falcon with its angry looking eyes, tearing its talons into who knows what.  He rolled his eyes. "It was only a matter of time till I got a tattoo, I guess."  He shook his head. "So, when can I get out of here?"

The doctor shrugged. "I imagine whenever you wish.  You immortals can take a hell of a beating.  I'm actually surprised you didn't wake up sooner."

Ryven blinked. "How long have I been out?"

"Well, today is the third." 

Ryven swore.  He stood up from the bed, still a little woozy. "Where are my things?"

The doctor gestured to a bag by the doorway.  "You'll find all of your personal effects in there.  Your ship is docked where you left it, and all of the items you requested are loaded onboard."  She paused for a moment. "I'm actually a little sad to see you go.  You've done great things for our cause."

Ryven just shook his head.  He pulled his clothes from the bag and quickly donned them. He turned to the doctor. "What's your name?"

She seemed surprised. "Elizabeth Garuda." 

He nodded. "Well, Doctor Garuda, thanks for everything, but, believe me when I say, you want me gone as soon as I can be."

She frowned. "Why do you say that?"

He sighed deeply and turned as he was walking out the door. "Where I go, death seems to follow after."