Snippet #1260467

Spectrum watched as the small yellow-orange dot that represented his own flesh and blood disappeared from its location and reappeared upon the front doorstep of the very building he now occupied. It seemed that Azure had at last puzzled out the implications of where exactly all those blades of his came from, and how to warp space.

Inscrutable eyes behind which lay the greatest, most logical mind in generations of humanity narrowed ever-so-slightly. In truth, the only thing that had gone slightly awry was the timing, but then, even this could be worked with. What Azure did not understand was that all of this had long since been accounted for. The understanding of those involved could not break the fourth wall, so to speak, but Spectrum had done so long ago.

"Computer, connect me to Level 0," he ordered, and the screen flicked to the image of a young woman, perhaps but a shade older than his own child, bound by restraints designed to keep her from harming herself or anyone else.

Spectrum spoke, knowing that the words would be piped into the cell of this particular prisoner. "001," he cut into her rambling smoothly, "I have a mission for you..." He debated having her deal with the obvious intruder first, but there were other people to put on that, and as soon as Onyx got back (which he hypothesized should be but momentarily) that would be his task.

******

Citrine had accepted the items Azure offered her, but not without suspicion. Whatever he was trying to tell her would in all likelihood make no difference. Still, the part of her conscience that nagged repeatedly at the little gaps in her knowledge of who her father really was would not afford her the opportunity to refuse such an offer, though she still had no intention of leaving without Sable.

She was about to point out that keeping her forcibly with them made the rebels in no way different from LIMIT, but Azure was too close for comfort. She might have moved away, but the hand on her shoulder produced a lurching sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she blinked only to find herself once again in front of LIMIT HQ, a very-unconscious Vermillion on the pavement beside her.

You know, she remarked, though she was fairly certain he could not hear, I feel like we've been here before. Turning the disk over in one hand, she placed it and the phone in her pocket surreptitiously before moving to the side of her fallen comrade. It was obvious from his condition that he'd overexerted his engine yet again, and she shook her head with frustration. Dammit, Vermillion, is it really so important to kill him? She understood, of course, that Azure was a rebel and needed to be dealt with as a danger to LIMIT, but there was nothing saying that it had to be done in single combat, especially not when you had explicit orders to the contrary. Vermillion was going to get himself killed one of these days, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Of course, one never liked to hear that one of one's comrades had been killed in action, but in all honesty she didn't know most of them too well, all things considered. Perhaps that was a fault, to privilege a few over all, but nevertheless it was one she could not help, and in the end it did not much affect the way she went about her job anyway.

Sighing to herself, she directed one of the perimeter guards, who was looking at the pair with a confused look, to help her transport him to the medical bay, where he was settled onto a hospital bed. Sable's blood seemed to have saved his life, but he would still need to recover the energy he had lost. For a while, she hung around the bay, just to make sure the doctors thought it was only a need for recovery, but eventually she grew restless and left, wandering about the halls as she had seen Sable do so many times before. Eventually her musings led her to the thirteenth floor, which was a sort of group rec area for the agents. One room therein contained little but a large grand piano, and it was this that Citrine situated herself in front of. Playing was a lifetime pursuit of hers, and one that usually helped her mood considerably, and it was not long before the mournful strains of a classical piece were echoing off the walls.