[VVI 5389-4 Profile]
Person of interest (Victoria/Vancouver Island) 5389-4, also known as Clarice Alora Pendleton, was born at Saxe Point Hospital on June 15, 2029. The youngest of two daughters of Robert Pendleton and Isabelle Renault, Clarice became a person of interest along with her family in 2033 when they found themselves in the middle of a merge event with R-091. Her mother and father were designated 5389-1 and -2, respectively, while her sister, Alice Marie Pendleton, was designated -3. Unfortunately, Isabelle was killed during the merge with R-091.
In the aftermath of the R-091-23 merge, Doctor Adam Smith worked with her after multiple rounds of amnestics proved ineffective or were rejected. When the five-year-old realized she was being manipulated and misinformed, she immediately stopped interacting—a highly mature decision for such a young child. After some discussion, the family was released, and false memories were planted in Clarice, her father, and her sister. Doctor Adam Smith distributed the amnestics.
Both Robert and Alice Pendleton were removed from the POI list after three years without anomalous contact, but Clarice encountered potential merges at a much higher-than-normal rate, and surveillance continued on her throughout her life. Even once it became clear that her encounters were accidental, SHOCKS continued observing throughout her elementary and middle school careers and into her first year of high school.
Clarice has developed an acute interest in mathematics as a discipline, an anti-authoritarian attitude toward most of her teachers, and a very small, tight circle of friends. At fifteen, she’s grown increasingly aware of SHOCKS surveillance, including direct eye contact with agents at least twice; as such, she is to be observed remotely or with passive security systems carrying the Sketchbook protocol virus.
Direct contact with Clarice Pendleton should only be made in the event that she directly interacts with SHOCKS or a merge zone. There is a possibility of recruitment when she turns eighteen, as her paranoia, interest in truth-seeking, and close contact with multiple anomalies lend themselves well to potential SHOCKS employment. However, her anti-authoritarian attitude makes her more of a potential risk.
- Doctor Adam Smith
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[Update - Class Three Clearance Required]
As of May 24, 2043, employment with SHOCKS will no longer be considered an option. Any indication that VVI 5389-4 is interested in SHOCKS beyond curiosity and apprehension should be met with extreme discouragement.
- Doctor Paul Ramirez
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[Update - Class Three Clearance Required]
As of May 26, 2043, Clarice Pendleton should immediately be considered for employment as Level A personnel. Give her what she wants, have her replace the missing Lambda-Four agent, and let’s get this mess under control.
- Director Adam Smith
[Back]
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Location Unknown, May 28, 2043, 4:30 AM
- - - - -
The alarm goes off, jolting me from my too-few hours of sleep. I’ve spent most of the night bouncing from one nightmare to the next—swarms of thinlings climbing the basic living apartments’ walls, Sora under the bleachers looking like Mr. Roberts, or Alice running down an infinite hall—so I’m not well-rested. But then again, I rarely am. The recent nightmares are a nice change of pace from the old ones. Something fresh.
“573-V-1/IO, orientation and training for your role with Lambda-Four begins in twenty minutes.” Doctor Twitchy doesn’t sound less nervous over the intercom, and I see him at the door, holding down a button. “We’ll release you into L4-5’s custody in twelve minutes. Breakfast is provided. Eat quickly and get dressed.”
He steps away as I drag my sorry, exhausted butt out of bed. I catch him punching in the code to unlock the Revolver’s box, and it doesn’t look different, but it’s hard to tell. I’m distracted by the scrambled eggs and warm pop-tart that I’ve just noticed on my desk, and by the twelve-minute timer ticking down. They’re okay—better than cafeteria breakfasts, but not as good as homemade ones when Alice used to make them.
I eat and get dressed, then wait a painfully slow two minutes until the door hisses open. A black-armored man steps through—he looks like one of the guards Smith had…yesterday? Was it just yesterday? Like one of those guards, but unarmed. No, not quite unarmed. He’s got a pistol on his belt, but he’s not carrying a big gun. Without a helmet, his buzz-cut dark brown hair and goatee look almost friendly. Maybe that’s just because I’ve been trapped in here, or maybe it’s because he’s smiling and it seems genuine.
I don’t think Dr. Twitchy or Smith smiled once. Not real smiles, at least.
“L4-5, but you can call me Strauss if we’re not on a mission. Glad to see you made it,” the soldier says. His smile wavers. “You’ll be L4-3.”
There’s something there, but I ignore it. He hands me a name badge. ‘573-V-1/IO, Clarice Pendleton, Level A, L4-3,’ it reads, in a row. I stick it to my hoodie. It’s nice to see I’m a name, not just a number. “Claire.”
He gestures toward the door, and I step out of a cell for the first time since the experiments—and into relative freedom for the first time since my sister’s graduation. We pass down a long, sterile hallway filled with cells labeled ‘Geren,’ followed by a number. Each one’s window blacks out for a few moments as we go by. Clearly, I’m not supposed to see inside, and also clearly, SHOCKS is tracking me.
Strauss—I’m not calling him L4-5—notices and nods as we jog down the hall. “Your augs are wired into the SHOCKS intranet now. The building won’t let you see anything you’re not meant to see. Any time you’re out of containment and over fifteen feet from an approved chaperone, the building will get a warning. Chaperones are L4-1, L4-2, L4-4, the Director, Doctor Ramirez, and me. Same thing any time you try to access information outside your clearance. Tracking is on in the building, but L4-1 will have a remote setup when we’re in the field since the big wigs broke our internet connections.”
“Ah,” I say between breaths. My Endurance hasn’t increased, and I’m not running for my life, so I’m not giving this my all. We duck through a door into a wide cafeteria, and I let Strauss take the lead.
The second I do, he stops, and his hand drops to his hip. I keep moving, reevaluating. The friendly smile at my door? That was genuine. So’s his defensive motion. So Strauss likes me for some reason, but he’s…afraid?
That doesn’t ring true. He doesn’t look afraid, just serious. I’ll come back to that later, too.
We keep jogging, through the all-but-empty cafeteria. A handful of doctors and a pair of black-garbed soldiers sit at a few tables, eating breakfast. If it’s really 4:45 in the morning, I don’t envy them for keeping this schedule. Are they finishing the night shift, or are they the morning shift coming in? No one looks well-rested except for Strauss. In fact, most of the faces in the cafeteria look even more tired than Doctor Twitchy and Smith.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing.
“Geren/Staff cafeteria, eighth level. For the less dangerous humanoid anomalies, like you, having scheduled social interactions with other, approved anoms while under observation helps you out more than the risk of information leaking or danger. We’re supposed to protect society from you, but that doesn’t include throwing away the keys completely. Usually.”
Strauss is a fountain of information. I ask him questions about every room we pass, from cells to the cafeteria to a locked, unlabeled door. “That one’s past your clearance,” he says about those. I make a note to figure out what’s behind door number one as soon as I can. They’re hiding some sort of juicy truth in there.
Then, suddenly, he turns through another airlock and launches a salute at a 20-something woman with dark, curled hair in a ponytail. Her skin’s the color of natural beach sand, and she nods at me and holds something in her hand.
A pistol, grip out toward me.
“Welcome to Lambda-Four,” she says. Her voice is clipped, restrained, and serious. Is the whole squad serious? I guess so—it must be a boogeyman soldier thing. “You’re…L4-3 in our comms. I’m L4-1, Lieutenant Olivia Rodriguez. Today, we’re working on basic tactics and comms. That’s all we’ll have time for. The Director needs our asses out there, so let’s get to it.”
I take the gun. It feels warm in my hand; I’m not sure if that’s Rodriguez’s hand or the weapon itself. It’s not the Revolver, but it’ll do. “Thanks. Am I supposed to be fighting?”
“Yes. As an anomalous human signed up during the Gutenberg protocol, you’ve waived your rights as a minor. For our purposes, you’re a Level A SHOCKS employee, with the same responsibilities as any other Level A.” She points to a locker room. “Let’s get you fitted.”
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I don’t recognize myself in the mirror.
The hoodie and cargo pants are still on, but I’ve got knee pads on each knee, an oversized military-style armored vest strapped around my chest, and a helmet that makes my head look twice as big as it should. Olivia—‘Lieutenant Rodriguez on duty, Pendleton!’—couldn’t find anything my size. That’s not surprising, somehow. I’m getting the impression that the whole place is hanging on by a thread.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Whatever. The point is that I look like an ill-fitting suit of riot police armor on top of a high school misfit’s baggy clothes, which is accurate.
“Only have time for a few lessons. Smith’s moving our timetable up.” Rodriguez says as I emerge from the locker room. The new room’s a waiting room—there are a half-dozen chairs, all empty, muzak on the speakers, and a coffee smell so strong I wrinkle my nose.
Strauss rolls his eyes. “What does he expect us to do with a greenie?”
“What we can. Pendleton, ever played a shooter?” Rodriguez stares at me with intense brown eyes.
“Yes, but I’m more used to Knights of the Apocalypse,” I say.
“Good. Let’s see if you have any bad habits. The training course is set for novice difficulty. You’re going in with Strauss. Opposition is Type-Two Incomprehensibles. We pulled you out of that high school, so we know you’ve seen them. Strauss, she’s got point. Don’t shoot your teammates.” Rodriguez presses a button, and a door opens on the room’s far side. “You’ll use that pistol, not your anomalous weapon.”
“Ladies first,” Strauss says, gesturing with a submachine gun.
The second I’m through the door, my helmet’s visor flickers, and an overlay covers the wood-and-steel mock-up buildings inside the huge, concrete-and-steel hangar. I’m in an upper-class residential block—I can tell from the distance between doors and the lack of inappropriate graffiti.
“L4-3, you’re point. You go first. I’ll talk your ear off as we move,” Strauss says. “First lesson. Radio silence. Keep comms clear when we’re on a real mission unless you have mission-important information. If you do, call-outs by designation. Your helmet’s got a little map with L4’s relative positions. We’re leaving L4-1 behind.”
I watch as, sure enough, the dot labeled L4-1 moves farther behind the L4-5 and L4-3 dots. I nod, my helmet flopping a little.
“This is Simulation One-I,” Strauss continues. “There’s an Incomp inside—“
“Thinling.”
“Negative. We don’t use nicknames that don’t refer to SHOCKS database entries. An Incomp’s inside the building to our left. I want to see how you handle it, so you’re up.”
The simulation is fake, but I understand why it exists. I move up to the door, with Strauss shadowing me about five feet back. Then I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it. The pistol in my hand goes up, just like the revolver, and I spin into the frame.
The thinling stands/looms/crouches in the middle of the room. For a moment, it’s impossible to describe, an animal/monster/machine, but then my aug heats up. The words ‘Filter Engaged’ pop into the top right corner of my vision, and I see its six-legged, wolf-like body.
I pull the trigger. As I hold it down, a half-dozen pops jerk my arm up and to the right, and the recoil shivers up my forearm. It’s not like firing the Revolver; half my shots miss, but the first three hit the thinling square in its plated body, punching holes through the armor.
I pull the trigger again, putting a fourth shot into the thinling’s jaws, and it dies.
“Easy,” I say.
"What about the one in the hall?” Strauss asks.
The hall door explodes inward as a whirling/spinning/howling thinling plows toward me. I scream and unload the last four shots from my pistol. They all miss. A moment later, my aug filters the monster.
{Skill Learned: Pistol Mastery 1: Skill Merged with Revolver Mastery}
As the thinling’s blades scythe toward me, I use Slither, and the monster slashes the air where I was. I’m two feet back, though, out of its reach. It caroms off the floor, and Strauss’s submachine gun tears it apart. He stares for a second, and I smile, but it’s a short-lived one. “Lesson here. Check the exits as soon as the room’s clear.” The shells haven’t even hit the floor, and he’s already telling me how I’ve messed up.
My face burns. He knew it was coming, but he didn’t warn me. I nod once and reload the pistol, awkwardly shoving a magazine from my body armor into it. “We keep going, then?”
“Yep. You’re up front. I’ll be five to ten yards back. Tell me what’s going on up there.”
“Why are you so far back?” I step through the door’s wreckage, pistol wavering in my hand.
“Because if you walk into some nasty visual meme before your augs or helmet can catch it, or something jumps out of thin air and slaps you all the way across the room, your backup needs time to react.”
I nod. Then I step into the next room, gun up.
There’s nothing. I take a deep breath and relax. It’s a kitchen, complete with a sink that’s still running, a door that looks like it leads to a back porch, and a pie that I can’t smell. I remember that this is all a lie. No, not a lie. No one’s pretending it’s real. It’s make-believe.
“L4-3, is it clear?” Strauss asks from the hall.
“Yes.”
“That’s the kind of information you want to pass on.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me that before?” I ask, trying not to snap at him.
Strauss sighs, his gun pointed at the door. “This is all basic stuff, L4-3. L4-1, stop the simulation. We’re going to run it again from the beginning.”
Lieutenant Rodriguez’s voice fills my aug. “Do we have time for that? Smith wants us deployed this afternoon.”
“The alternative is going into Victoria with a greeny. Greenies either turn themselves into reddies, or someone else.”
I’m not part of this conversation, but I can hear it just fine. It’s just like Dad and Alice’s conversation last year when they’d finally had enough of me talking about what happened to Mom, before they teamed up to try to explain to me what ‘really’ happened.
Rodriguez says, “I’ll take over the crash course. You go talk to Smith.”
It’s just like that conversation. Dad got up off the couch long enough to talk to the middle school principal, Mrs. Lemons, about my outbursts, and Alice—perfect fucking Alice—had the ‘big sister to little sister’ talk, but I needed that when I was five, not fourteen. The two SHOCKS soldiers are even running the same plan. Send the guy to talk to someone else while the woman big-sisters me into listening.
I won’t let it work, though. It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.
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{Skill Learned: Urban Combat 1}
{Skill Learned: Endurance 3}
By the time ‘training’ with Lieutenant Rodriguez is over, I’ve decided I was wrong. She’s not playing the ‘big sister/little sister’ card. In fact, after the hundredth time the simulation stops and she starts shouting about my latest mistake, I realize that Strauss was the ‘big brother’ figure the whole time. ‘Left, then right, L4-3.’ ‘Clear all three rooms, L4-3.’ ‘Make sure your partner’s with you, L4-3.’
It’s felt never-ending, and I’m thrilled to see Doctor Twitchy.
The doctor doesn’t look any less nervous, especially when Lieutenant Rodriguez stares him in the eye. He clears his throat. “I’m supposed to take Subject Claire to the Geren cafeteria. You’re deploying in two hours, and Smith wants her acclimated for when you return.”
“She needs a breather before we deploy anyway. L4-3, dismissed.”
I glare at her, and she stares at me intensely, just like she’s been doing for the last three hours. My legs feel like Jello from running, jumping, and crouching, and I pull off my harness and helmet and look around for somewhere to put them.
“Keep them with you. There’s a spot in your cell’s airlock for them,” Rodriguez says, nodding. She does take the pistol, though.
I nod back, grudgingly. That’s another difference between Alice and Rodriquez. Alice would have lied to me constantly, but for all that the lieutenant didn’t tell me everything, what she did tell me was the truth. I doubt I’ll get the same treatment from Doctor Twitchy.
“How many other, uh, Geren-Danger people are in here?” I ask.
He looks up at a security camera, and I follow his gaze. Is he trying to tell me he can’t say because we’re being watched, or is it just him being twitchy? I don’t know. “That’s classified past your clearance. We’re keeping your contact to a minimum, though; the cafeteria’s mostly cleared, except for on-site security, a few researchers, and Li Mei. She goes where she wants.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means by that, but he holds up a hand. “Past your clearance. She’s Xuduo-danger and borderline uncontainable. She doesn’t discuss her anomalies beyond the basics and stays ‘contained’ in the Geren-danger and Anquan-danger wings unless we need her. In return, we don’t try to hook a URA to her, get half our security killed, and end up in a Qishi-breach lockdown for a week like last time, when she started opening boxes that shouldn’t be. It’s easier this way.”
From last night’s reading, Qishi is the most dangerous level of anomaly, and Xuduo is right behind it. Whoever this Li Mei is, she’s not to be messed with.
The cafeteria is still all but empty, just like before. A trio of black-clad soldiers stand at points around the room, watching two researchers eat. A third man in a lab coat sits with what looks like a mummy at first glance. Fresh white cloth covers every inch of the woman’s skin, so thick and tight I can’t see any skin below except for one charcoal-black strip where her eyes are uncovered. They stare at me, two dark pools with no whites, and I try to look away but find myself stuck. She could be sixteen or sixty. There’s no way to know.
“That’s Li Mei. Ideally, she’ll ignore you. If not, be polite. Don’t tell her anything about your containment, which anomaly you’ve bonded with, or your clearance. If she asks you any questions, don’t answer them if you can avoid it, and don’t touch her. She’s not supposed to know much about you, and, without telling you too much, she’s an infovore. Which means…” Doctor Twitchy shivers, and I can see a bead of sweat moving down his brow. “If she wants to know, she’ll learn it without our help.”
I blink, and Doctor Twitchy is gone. In his place sits Li Mei. Apparently, she can also teleport.
This close, there’s a scent—something citrusy but woody at the same time—that I can’t get out of my nose. A merge smell. The two eyes lock onto mine, and the mouth between her cloth covering moves. “Li-Mei. You’re Claire.” Her voice is melodic and light, with a hint of a Chinese accent.
“Y-yes,” I say, as Doctor Twitchy and the researcher who’d just been sitting with Li Mei both stand. Doctor Twitchy’s hand reaches for his panic button, and all three guards stiffen. I hold out my hand to shake. She might be a terrifying, charcoal-skinned mummy, but Li Mei doesn’t seem so bad.
“No thanks. I don’t do touch.” Li Mei recoils, pulling her hands back like she’s afraid to touch me. “And please don’t ask me any questions. I won’t answer them, and I won’t ask you any. It’s not a containment thing, just a survival one…for both of us.
I nod. Doctor Twitchy warned me about that. I don’t know what Li Mei can do, but she’s already teleported across the room, so she’s clearly disgustingly powerful. I file her requests away. The no-touching thing is easy. The no-questions thing is way more complicated; I have a million. I settle for making a new Inquiry.
{Inquiry: Li Mei and Infovores}
Doctor Twitchy hustles up, red-faced, with another researcher right behind him. “Claire, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect her to be interested right away. Subject - 043-V-23/IVTP, please return to your cell.”
“No, but thank you for the request,” Li Mei says. “I think I’ll stay here and chat. I’m not hurting anyone, after all.”
“Have it your way,” he turns toward me. “Since she wants to talk, here’s what you’re cleared for. Subject - 043-V-23/IVTP, aka Li Mei, is an—“
“Information vampire,” Li Mei says. “In the interest of disclosure, the short version. Don’t ask or answer questions. Don’t make direct physical contact. Volunteering information or listening to tidbits I volunteer won’t cause a—and I quote from my containment on this one—‘rage state.’ I call them hunger pangs, though.”
“So, you, uh…”
“Eat memories, yes,” the other researcher interrupts.
“And other information. I’m from Hong Kong Walled City. My parents left when I got to be too much to handle. They were looking for a place where people wouldn’t accidentally ask me questions. I’ve got over ninety deaths to my name, sadly, all from hunger pangs. We were fleeing when I got picked up at the airport. I’ve been here ever since—thirty years,” Li Mei says. She doesn’t sound like she’s in her thirties or forties, but she also doesn’t sound like she’s lying about it. “There. I’ve shared some information, and no hunger pangs. Your turn.”
I open my mouth to talk, but Doctor Twitchy steps in. “That’s not quite true. Claire, go get some food. I’ll tell Li Mei what she needs to know—within reason, Li Mei. You’ve got twenty minutes. Don’t waste them.”
As I nod slowly and walk toward the buffet-style lunch, I can hear his voice drop, and he starts rattling off things I’m not supposed to know about myself. I turn my head, and Li Mei waves.
I’ll figure out how to ask her what she’s learned about me later.