2013-03-06 Reaction To An Action

The sound of dripping water is nearly deafening, making Fern wince as she drifts up out of a drug induced sleep. Her head is slow to clear, thoughts as fuzzy as her vision, but both sharpen in time and Fern can see her surroundings in dim light. It looks like she's woken up in some mid-rate hotel room. She's on a queen size bed, on top of the quilt, still dressed. The light is creeping through a cracked door, as if it's trying to escape the confines of the bathroom it illuminates.

She lays still for a minute, listening, but only hearing the drip, now down to a more tolerable volume. Rolling, she pushes herself up and is immediately hit with a wave of nausea. She's up at once, staggering into the door frame as she rushes into the bathroom, falling to her knees as she hastily gets the toilet lid up. When her stomach is finally emptied she slumps to the side, pressing her cheek to the cool porcelain.

There's a careful probing at her memory as she tries to sift through the fog, body still as she lets her mind wander and try and piece together where she is and how she got here.

"But... We really don't--" Nine sighs into his radio and gives his head a single shake. "Very well."

The clone lets his finger off the earpiece and takes a step closer to Fern's cell. The steel door is new, so new that he can study his reflection in it. Now that he's no longer posing as One, he's changed into a severe, slim-cut black suit, a matching tie, and a white shirt. He straightens the knot on his tie, clears his throat, and knocks politely at the door before letting himself in via a swipe card.

"Hello, my love," he says, the words coming out icy and harsh. He pauses in the middle of the apartment and tips his head to the side at the sight of Fern hugging the toilet. "Feeling a bit ragged? We're not surprised. That dose of sodium pentothal was meant for him, not you. Probably a bit much for your wee lil' system to take in."

The knock and then the opening of the door barely get Fern's eyes to open. She's pieced together most of what happened, although there are still one or two jumbled bits, and she knows she's probably not in a room at the Disney resort. The voice makes her stiffen, words that she would treasure from the lips of another, but from Nine they only sound mocking and cruel.

She pushes away from the toilet, turning her back against the bathtub and facing the doorway. Her eyes raise slowly, taking the clone in, her brows drawn together in a scowl. Fern's lip curls as she says softly, "Wonderful to see you again. I feel spiffy. Never better."

"Fantastic," Nine replies without missing a beat. "We can get right down to business."

While he speaks, Nine paces his way to the bed and takes a seat at the edge. He gives it an experimental bounce, then 'hmmms.' "Huh. Not bad. So. Your situation is logical. Quantifiable. The reaction to an action. Your comfort level will be dictated by your level of cooperation. Right now you're our guest. You have a room. A cage, yes, but your accommodations could be worse. Like One's, for example." The clone stops fingering at the comforter and meets Fern's gaze squarely. "He's not being very cooperative, so we've been forced to make him very, very uncomfortable. We plan to use you as a part of that process. As leverage. You understand, yes?"

Fern is going to take the whole getting up thing in stages, starting by pushing up from the floor to sit on the tub's edge. She braces her hands next to her legs, elbows locked straight, and gives up looking at him to let her head hang, studying the floor. When he brings up One her head snaps up, jaw clenched as she listens.

He's like a snake, and she can't look away, but her lips press together as he lays it out for her. The question seems destined to be ignored, judging by the stubborn look that settles on her face. Even though her heart is pounding like a rabbit's she's breathing slowly, not wanting to show how terrified she actually is.

Nine takes this as a sign of assent. His eyes, at once familiar and totally foreign, narrow as he keeps Fern fixed on the point of his gaze. "Good. Now. Here is my first offer. We will take you to him. You will tell him that you want him to stay with us. Because you don't want him to be harmed. You won't be scripted, but you'll be closely monitored. If you deviate from our plans, you will be brought to a cell. A real cell. You will be forced to remain conscious and alert while we pump low-frequency noise into the room for one hour. The longest a subject has ever resisted this treatment is three hours, at which point he experienced a complete psychological breakdown."

He goes from seated to standing very near Fern in a half-second. He's so fast that the eye can barely follow him. Now he leans low, only a few feet from his victim. "Trust that it's very unpleasant. If you're not feeling cooperative after an hour, we will be forced to make you even more uncomfortable. You understand, yes?"

Fern is stoic as she listens to Nine's offer, and she probably isn't as afraid of it as she ought to be. When she was twelve, she had to get braces on her teeth. And that required 'spacers'; little rubberbands between each tooth, to create room enough to get the bands on. What it amounted to was excruciating pain for nearly sixteen hours. She doesn't understand the threat fully, so three hours sounds like nothing after that. If she could stand the spacers, she can take a little noise.

The young waitress-slash-captive draws in a sharp breath as Nine is suddenly there, but she doesn't flinch back physically. This time the question gets an answer, of a sort. "I won't do what you want." She shifts, sliding toward the wall farther from Nine and pushing herself to standing with it as support.

"Yes, you will," Nine replies. He seems genuinely saddened. It's probably the first emotion he's displayed that's reached all the way to his eyes.

Another flash of motion, then he's gripping a fistful of Fern's hair and twisting her head around until she's eye-to-eye with him. Now he's less than an inch away. His lips hover very near hers, but there's nothing sexual about his presence. He's a predator. A monster. A reluctant one, but a monster all the same. "One way or another, you will comply. We have our orders, including a contingency plan for that exact response."

Caught by surprise, although there wouldn't have been much she could have done if she'd seen it coming, Fern yelps at the pull of her hair. Nine is so close, she doesn't struggle, but her hands come up to find purchase on his jacket lapels. "Why are you doing this?" The question is all but whispered but even in it's softness the fear can't be hidden entirely. She tips her head back, trying to ease the yank, her eyes staying on his.

This is the first time that Nine has been caught off his guard. He leans back a fraction and studies Fern intently for a few seconds. Then, finally, he responds. "Programming. Garbage in, garbage out. We each have a purpose. A thing we have been programmed to do. One has managed to exceed the sum of his software. We are very curious as to how he managed to accomplish that. We... No, I am curious--"

Nine's voice is cut off by a squawking from his radio that's so loud even Fern can hear it, though individual words can't be discerned. Nine reaches up to touch his ear. "No-- Yes, but there's a great deal of risk in-- Yes. Understood."

Now the clone turns back to Fern. Slowly, his hand unclenches from around her hair and he unfolds his long, lean body. "Get up," he instructs her.

Fern didn't expect an answer to her question, and she takes in what Nine says, and the falter between 'we' and 'I'. She winces at the noise from the earpiece, and when she's released finally she shrinks back against the wall again. Although she straightens when she's ordered to, she still has questions and presses her luck. "What is your purpose? What was One's? Who's that giving you orders?" Her hand comes up without thought, rubbing lightly at her scalp, several strands of hair shorter than when this all began.

The voice in Nine's ear can be heard again. He seems surprised. When he responds to the questions, it would appear that he's being honest. "We are the embodiment of immortality," he explains as he moves to unlock and open the door. Fern is ushered out into the hallway and guided down it by a hand at the small of her back. "We're designed to survive. All of us. Even him."

It's a very short distance from Fern's room to where One is being held. His cell has stout concrete walls and bars along the side facing the hallway. The only blemish in the otherwise seamless surface of the room is a ring set into the ceiling. There's a rope strung through it that has him dangling by his wrists.

Mercifully, he's unconscious. That much becomes obvious when Nine and Fern approach. He's being lowered to the ground by one of the uniformed guards, who departs as soon as the rope is removed. When he hits the floor, he lies there in a boneless heap. Bruised. Covered in electrical burns and superficial cuts. Left eye now swollen completely shut, and a single red tear leaking from the corner.

There is some resistance to the guidance, but Fern pads along the corridor, half turning to look at Nine, her eyes darting around, seeking some way out. She's about to ask another question when her attention turns back ahead, and she sees the form being lowered to the cell floor. "One!" The cry is anguished and she runs the last few steps to the bars, dropping to her knees again. "One," she says, much more softly, hands wrapped around the cold steel. After holding it together for this long, the sight of him brings her tears.

"We believe he'll listen to you," Nine says. "If he wakes up. We attempted to access his data storage unit via a direct link and he created some sort of feedback loop. Very intriguing. Crashed his systems and those of another clone, who doesn't look like he'll recover."

Close behind Fern, Nine reaches around her to place his hands on the bars to either side of hers. "You may be able to put a stop to this. Will you stand idly by? Forget what we might do to you. Think of what we might do to him."

This is the tactic that would garner her cooperation. Fern can be cavalier about her own danger, not thinking of herself over One. But seeing him like this is more than she can bear. She straightens, pushing back against Nine, then turning to strike out at him with small fists. "Bastard! Leave him alone!" She might as well be beating against the concrete walls for all the effect her blows have.

Nine doesn't react to Fern's thrashing until it dislodges his ID card. Then he catches her up, holding her in a relentlessly tight embrace. "Wouldn't it be kinder if he were to give in to our demands before the damage became permanent? We've been patching him up as we go, but even our medical technology has limits."

Yes. This is what One looks like when he's been "patched up."

Nine gives Fern a little squeeze. "Well?"

Fern thrashes until Nine speaks, and she stills, her head turning so she can look at One, laying on the cold cell floor. The fight seems to have gone out of her as she goes limp. "Let me in there," she says, the words heavy with sadness. She gives another jerk, attempting the pull free from the clone's iron grip.

Nine looks up at a camera mounted above the door and nods his head a single time. Activated remotely, the door swings outward until it CLANGs back against the bars.

Nine releases Fern and turns to leave. "You can have five minutes. We'll arrange for the guards to take you back to your room afterward."

As soon as she's released Fern is gone to the door, Nine no longer existing in her world, all her focus on One. She drops down next to him, pulling his shoulders off the floor and scooting her legs under to try and support him as she wraps her arms around him. "One? Sweetheart? Baby, please wake up," she whispers frantically, voice cracking. Her fingers move to stroke his face softly and she sniffles, barely aware that she's crying again. "Please don't leave me, One."