Not Quite Alike

[The_Godslayer]

Location: ▝▝▝ Planet Gammu; North Pole; Cerulean Test Environment Site : _̬̣̳͗ͯ͗҉̴̟̗ͪ̀́͢-̵̶̛̤̼̜͕̬ͬ̉̐͝^̛͇̰̰͚͒̐ͥ̕͏ͧ͟^̴̔͢͢-^̅̄ͦ-̬̪͌ͫ;̨̧̮̯̫̤̲̖̿ͦ̋͠3̛̱̳͆̈ͭ̀̀ͫͭ͐;̨͓̮͈͎̣̖͖ͬͣ͊̾ͭ̚͠3̛͆̇͠;̡̱̚͏̸̴̸͔̙̹͕ͦ̍͌͌̃̅̋ͧ3̤̪͓͕̤͋̋̄ͧ̚҉\͕͔́̈́͆͘͝/̷̴̴̸̜̥̝̹̺̱́̀̑̒͛̚͠͡ͅ\͉̻̹͔̈͂ͫ/͈̲́҉̵͇͍̀ͅ - tt-rr-321561--▝▁
acvX.░░░tvdgs░g-g-nn-3.16.a.n░░xciv.xc░░░ Data Corruption Detectedt̡͘-͔ͦ́̄͜͜͞͝ͅͅt̋̃̈́ͅ-̘̱̬͖͈ͯ̍̆͌̀̇̓̎̚̚͝ͅr̎͝-̶̵̶̖͛̒ͪ͆̚͜r-̛̳͎͙͕̰͖̟͚͒̇̽͗░░░-̟҉̵̢͓̩̳̩̞́ͫ͆ͪͤͬ͋͢ḣ̼̅͋ẹ̶̷͇ͦͤͭ͡-̩͑̅̿-h̒̇e̴̲̤͍̯̩̐̋͜ͅ-̧̜̠̗̙̫͕͎̠̥̿ͫ̈́̒ͤ̄̿ͫ͡ͅ-̴̡͓̅-͇ͦ̍́͝͠͏̢̡̪̩͚̰̥̇̎̚͜͞h̸̨̢̻̠̜͚̏̈̿e̷ ̨̢̺͎̣̗̹͂͂ͦ=̡̢̬̱̝͆͒͋̽͑̏̅̕͜\̤̠̋͌/̸̧̛̻͉̻̋ͨ̏͌̀̔̋\͇̀/̢̏ͯ͂M̸͓͛͘͏̯͎̟̂ͮ͟E̛̹͉̬̜̅ͭ͒͊͐ͧ͑ͣ́͡͝M̸̬͍̗̠ͬ͛͗̐́̾͝E̷̯̟̠̝͈̹̠̹͇̓ͧ̐̀̑ͯ̇S͇͓̲͈̫̑̏̽͒̉̅\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

The trek to Planet Gammu's north pole was about as painful as expected. Thousands of kilometers on foot under the irradiated Kappa sun gave a sensation akin to rotting and rapidly progressing through the stages of dementia at the same time. The severe lack of water at the equator, sometimes called "the Dust Trench", was elaborated upon as one heads towards a pole. With virtually no atmosphere to entrap heat, the water was frozen most of the time. When the sun rose, however, a chaotic reaction of sublimation and condensation began, starting periodic, intense blizzards. What little atmosphere there was upkept the most lethal part of this cycle: by warming at the equator and cooling at the poles, what little water that did make it to the equator was quickly banished back, along with particles of radioactive dust. Sunrise and sunset brought heavy, radioactive blizzards in addition to the constant frozen nightmare that was already active.

Magnus did find new error correction strings in her operating system that seemed to come online due to a minimum usage count for her regular error correction strings. These helped, but did not solve the problem. The pain of the trip was only really worsened by the irony of specifically travelling during the day, the period that is most harmful to electronics, in order to avoid the patrol drones that buzz the sky during the night.

Her saving grace was the new limbs she was sporting. Their flat, aerodynamic design were a natural match for the frequent blizzards that plagued Gammu's abysmal natural cycle. Dust, ice, and radiation. Another of the universe's sublime ironies; Artificial Machine Intelligence sprang to life on possibly the most hostile of all planets towards computers.

Eventually, after days that felt like months that felt like years, she made it to Site CTE, or Cerulean Test Environment. The site's real name was Test Environment 17, but after the Cerulean Incident, it had been renamed. The Cerulean incident itself was a small-scale disaster during an attempted laser drilling into nearby tunnel structure of an alien building, where upon cycling through various wavelengths in an attempt to find a frequency that would actually drill through the materiel, the researchers and mechanics created what was described as "a disco ball of death". The site remained with a skeleton crew for only a few weeks as an example for on-boarders and a shaming and warning for former staff.

Most of the facility had a layer of snow and ice crawling up the outside. At first, Magnus figured she would have to force her way in, as the power was obviously off, but as she approached the door, an IFF readout scanned her, and the main door opened. Some kind of backup power system was still online, evidently. She noticed the door didn't open all the way. Likely ice had crept into the internal system somewhere over the years of it's disuse. Stepping into the airlock, a series of checks began. No alien biological material found, and no Gammu A.I. technology found. For a moment, she disconnected her limbs as the air jets rattled to life to clean as much radioactive dust off as possible. It wasn't an in-depth cleaning, but it was miles better than what she was doing with pieces of ice or rock before.

Putting herself back together literally, Magnus continued into the facility. She was certain that she was the only person here. If there was anyone alive on station, they would have shot her on approach. She looked like something out of a horror movie, she wouldn't even blame them. A small amount of diagnostics data was available at a nearby maintenance terminal. It seemed the station was running on solar power, and had been since it's abandonment. "Running" being a strong word, every system except a few alarms, the airlock cycles, and a few defense systems connected to the doors were in low-power standby.

Sure enough, a brief clear of the facility revealed that it had been completely abandoned. Judging by the state of the electrical systems, everyone had left all at once. No shutdowns, anything that was important was taken. The storage area was filled with empty crates. She was guessing that whatever was in them had been condensed into other containers to maximize cargo space efficiency. For her, this was a boon. One of the larger containers had an energy circuit inside, it seemed to be a gutted refrigeration unit. The seal was far from perfect, but she could maintain a charge and defend herself from the radiation that would eventually overtake this place, with being hidden as an added bonus.

Magnus Sr. had some saying about "waiting around to die"... Or maybe it was a song. She couldn't quite remember. She couldn't remember if it was a good thing or a bad thing either. Too much time spent thinking about that.

With nothing else to do, she slept.

---

---

The dream came on far easier than last time. Slow, somber jazz graced her ears. She was in a bar somewhere. Planetside, and it was a rainy planet too. Everyone around her seemed to be dressed in the same style of attire. She had the faint feeling that her objective was upstairs in this establishment, so she stood and picked her way towards an elevator. The buttons inside were a mess. They seemed to be a combination of sorts, though she still mildly understood where to go. Exit C3, route B.

When the doors opened, she saw the city. It was rather depressing, a heavy fog layer over what seemed to be a Lower-Manhattan area downtown. Maybe it had a sort of melancholic beauty, but Magnus wasn't allowed time to think about that as she exited the elevator. Instead of looking at what was out the window, she found herself looking at what was in the window. Her reflection carried all of a sparkly red bodycon dress, complete with a fuzzy white boa, and none of the change in arm and legs she'd gone through in reality. More importantly, though, a very familiar pair looked back through the reflection, taking the shape of an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.

"Excessive sleeping is a symptom of depression."
"Aren't I lucky that robots can't get depression, then?"
The younger her rolled her eyes at this answer. "Don't get comfortable."
"Wow, the Devil is really fitting for you."

Magnus glanced at the one sporting a halo and feathery wings. She was going to question them, but decided against it. Trying to use logic in dreams seemed to be a great way to have a bad dream. "If you two are going to be reoccurring themes, I'm going to need names." The two offered their answers in unison.

"Helena!"
"Sys-dash-Hel, version One."

Great. Hel and Hel. "Helena and Hel was right there."
"You might get Hel and Sissy."
"Door."

Sissy was right. This was the door. A label on top read "Beowulf Lycaon ; Private Investigator". Magnus noticed the jazz had been playing at the same volume between the bar and here. It wasn't actually playing anywhere in the world she was in right now, it was some sort of thematic background music. "I think I figured out the setting."
"I'm sure you did."

She carefully pushed open the door. A man was reclining on a wooden chair tipped back on its hind legs, his hat over his face as if he was asleep. He wasn't, she'd seen the muscles around his ears and jaw twitch when she stepped in. An open bottle of cheap champaign was on his desk, alongside a half-eaten macaroon. With a smirk, Magnus decided she had best play the role she had been given, and slipped a fan that had been twisted up in the boa into her hands. Slowly, quietly strutting over to the man still pretending to be asleep, she carefully sat on the edge of his desk, and picked up his pastry. "Beowulf, dear, if you don't stop mocking me, I'll be taking more than just your food."

The man heaved a sigh before moving his hat back to the top of his head. For some reason she couldn't understand, Magnus was completely unsurprised to see that he didn't have a face. Or rather, his head seemed to be blurred. Perhaps she couldn't remember him? But his voice seemed familiar, though she couldn't quite place it either. "Helena, darling, you must tell me how you always find the worst of times."
"Your inability to have a good day has a thing or two to do with it."
"Not sure how to take that."
"Try "on the chin." It's worked well for you thus far, right?"

Straightening the brim of his hat, Beowulf sat up properly on his chair, and grabbed a cigar from a drawer on his desk. Magnus had the feeling that he had an expositional monologue going on in his head. She wondered who her character really was. Not really content to let him be the only one smoking, she pulled a long, thin pipe from her bra. The dimensions were impossible, she had very clearly pulled it from nowhere, and Beowulf had noticed it. "How'd you do that?"
"How rude, asking a lady her secrets." Magnus brought her arms close to her sides in a false show of timidity, drawing emphasis to her chest. "Unless... you're trying to find out?"
"No, nevermind that."

Content with having successfully flustered him, Magnus offered her pipe to him to light while he lit his own cigar. The smoke was utterly tasteless. She'd never smoked before, she had no information with which to simulate the flavor of tobacco smoke. Despite being at the whims of the plot, and having a general idea on what to do to move forward, Magnus had little clue what the plot actually was. But, in these kinds of movies, there was always time for exposition. "Well?"
"I can't attend the party. I'm not invited."
An invite-only party, she noted."You could attend as a plus one to someone who's invited."
"Well, I don't have anyone to bring me either."
"Sure you do." She smiled at him, waiting for him to catch on. Seeing that he was clueless in ways no good detective ever should be, she added "Anything above kisses aren't free, though."
"Oh."
"I'll give you a discount for losing the race, if you want."
"I don't need it. I like to focus on work."
"Is that so?~"
"Yeah. Yeah it is."
"Well, I expect nothing but the best from this job, then."

Beowulf stood up, and began preparing himself for this outing. He began changing his shirt, it seemed that the red plaid one wasn't acceptable, so Magnus flicked the fan open to hide her face and peer over the top. He was less bulky and more toned, and his skin looked like it could even be soft to the touch even though his muscles begged to differ. The strips of light coming through the blinds joined with the shadows to paint all kinds of sensual pictures on him. Magnus could watch this show for a year, and it seems Beowulf picked up on it. "My eyes are up here."
"And your slim little waist is down there. It's important to look where you're going, right?"
"I don't--you don't have to-- ...Jesus, woman."
"Cute."
"Stop it."
"No, I don't think I will."

After Beowulf had changed into a different button up, a suit jacket, some nice leather gloves, and one of his expensive watches, Magnus closed her fan, twirled it back into her boa, and stood up. Making her way to the door, she remarked "Well, that was a wonderful show. I'll see you in four hours. Don't be late, alright?"
"I've never missed an appointment."
"I'll be sad if you don't call it a date."
"Then cry about it."
"Oh no, that'd make you happy. I think I'll slide my hands under your shirt about it." And with that, Magnus left the office, tapping the ash from her pipe into an ashtray just outside the door.

---

"It is disturbing how you act in our body."
"Really? I think I make a great harlot."
"Yes, that's the problem."
"We should marry him."
"That's a wonderful idea, I'll get on that right away."

Her encounter with Beowulf was an exciting contrast to... well, she couldn't remember what it was contrasting to right now, but it was a breath of fresh air. He was easy to tease when he wasn't being horribly oblivious, and his reactions were always so snappy. It was a comfortable life, despite the hardships, and it was truly a shame it couldn't last. Well, she'd just have to make it last as much as it could.

The party in question was happening at a massive manor. She remembered who it belonged to, Lord Magnus XII. A celebration of success, after having acquired a rare jewel of never-before-seen quality. Beowulf was standing underneath a tree in the unending rain, perhaps trying to pretend that he hadn't seen her. A coy smile played across her face and she silently stalked close to him. Magnus was incredible at moving undetected, she was an assassin, after all. Either he hadn't noticed her, and it would be a surprise, or he had, and he was about to regret pretending not to have.

Magnus easily got in range, and latched onto his arm in an instant. He jumped so slightly that it would have been completely imperceptible to anyone but her. He really was distracted. "Trying to hide from me?" He silently held a finger to her mouth, and nodded his head off to the side. Looking to where he gestured, a large grey fan was parked in a side path leading to the main building. "Oh, they won't try something right away. All criminals know to wait until everyone's comfortable."

With that said, it finally dawned on Beowulf that Magnus had been pressing into his arm completely, and she'd even interlaced their fingers while he was distracted. His rough hands and strong arms were a sensual treat, no matter how well hidden he thought they were under that suitjacket. "You don't have to..." His voice faltered when he tried to look at her. The neck on her dress was cut a little deep, after all, and surely such a kind gentleman would never get caught ogling a woman. With her mission successful, she tugged Beowulf's arm in the direction of the entrance. "Come now, let's not be late."

The bouncer at the door squinted at Beowulf as they approached, but Magnus handed him an ID card. "Oh, Lady Helena! My apologies, go right on ahead. Lord Magnus has been waiting eagerly for your arrival."
"Thank you so much! Honey, say thank you."
"Thank you", Beowulf mumbled awkwardly. The bouncer seemed to smile wistfully at them, no doubt laughing about young love to himself.

Past the doors, Beowulf tried meekly to pull away. Magnus simply pulled him closer. "We don't have to oversell it, Helena."
"Oh, just let me have fun on our date."
He didn't show it on his face, but Beowulf's voice was starting to take a turn towards flustered. "It's a job."
"And part of that job is going on a date to my father's fancy party. So we're on a date." She switched the topic before he could find a counterargument. "Ooh, look! He switched the fish tank from freshwater to seawater!" Using this excuse, she dragged him across the main hall to the fish tank. He was the best private detective in this half of the sector, though, and he saw what he'd been dragged away from.

He let her fawn over the fishes for a moment before asking his question. "Your brothers?"
Magnus heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately, it's so much more complicated than that. But yes."
"Ghods and Meko, the "Twin Wolf Demons". I thought they'd have like... horns and tridents."
"Don't call them that, it's cringey. Don't call them Romulus and Remus either, it inflates their ego."
"So why are they here, and not off committing crimes against humanity?"
"Father loves them dearly, no matter how much they hate each other."

Beowulf had put together all the pieces of the puzzle, and began moving towards a bookshelf with a strange shift in pattern on the wall around it. Magnus rushed up to his side to stop him, pressing herself into his arm again. "Not too fast, dear. It's exactly as you think, but let's not give them clues that we know, okay?"
"Uhm, right." Every time this strong man melted with just a touch was wonderful. It's a shame that this night couldn't last forever. "So the reason for this party..."
"Yep. It was to facilitate their little competition. Originally, he was going to get three of these artifacts, but there was differing quality between them, meaning someone would end up getting the best and someone would end up getting the worst. Since they love fighting so much, he gave them the chance to fight for it. Whoever steals it successfully wins."
"And I'm here because?"
"Oh, I just wanted to go on a date with you." Beowulf squinted at her. "Oh, fine, I just don't like being left out."

Once again cutting off his counterargument, she pulled one of the books out. The Post-Sirian Man, by Nikolaus Strauss. The bookshelf and the segment of wall it was attached to turned sideways slightly, leaving a gap in the wall. "My dear brothers are off to give their respects to father. Come on." Beowulf was once again helplessly at her whims, which was a very adorable place for him to be. Like a quiet, confused puppy.

They snuck through a side passage towards a loading dock. This passage was normally used by waiters to serve guests when the main hall is converted into a dining area for the largest of parties. For now, it was dark and empty. Magnus and Beowulf made their way up to the loading dock, where a guard was standing. An emblem glowed on his shoulder patch, a lightning bolt within a reticle. One of Meko's goons. Magnus took a combat knife from Beowulf's pocket, and walked in dead silence up behind the man. Her movement was swift and graceful, plunging the knife into his neck and slamming him into the ground in a single motion.

She looked up to Beowulf, and put on a tone of distress. "Oh no, he's so heavy, I need a big, strong man to throw him in the dumpster for me."
"Like hell you do", Beowulf muttered as he grabbed the man and hauled him over to the dumpster, throwing the body in unceremoniously. Magnus used a bobby pin and the tip of the combat knife to pick the lock on the back of the van. It popped open to reveal a few empty boxes, and a few that were full of weaponry.

"Helena, someone's coming." Beowulf's urgent whisper was followed by an alarm in the manor, and the sound of gunshots. Magnus grabbed Beowulf and dragged him to the van with ease, pulling him with her into one of the empty crates and quickly closing the lid. Gunfire got closer, followed by a shout of "Where the hell is Rodriguez?" Then, the door opened, something was shut into one of the containers, and the van raced off.

Magnus had been aware for a while, but Beowulf suddenly realized that they were touching in a lot of places in a very small confinement. This was, of course, by Magnus's design, but now that he was panicking, she took the opportunity to really press into him. "Hey, the -- it's kinda tight in here."
"You are so right", Magnus said while slipping her hands underneath his shirt. "How do you fit in your clothes? Your tailor must be a genius."
"I -- Helena, please."
"Shh, if you make too much noise, Meko will hear us~."
"We are in mortal danger", Beowulf whispered urgently. "How can you be... hot and bothered at a time like this?"
"You spent all day being shy and bashful. It's my turn to choose the tune."

Magnus had already finished unbuttoning Beowulf's shirt when the van hit a sharp corner, rolling the two of them over to the other wall. Beowulf ended up on top of Magnus, this time."Oh, my, so forward", Magnus teased him while locking her legs around him, not allowing him to pull away. Boewulf was lost in his entirety. If she watched closely, she could see his honest gentleman half go to war with his more basic instincts. Knowing which side she wanted to win, she playfully bit his neck before nuzzling past his beard to whisper in his ear. "Isn't this exciting?"

Before she could snap his reason and dignity into tiny little pieces, the van hit another corner, and the box rolled most of the way back to it's original position. However, the latch broke on the lid, leaving the box to continue rolling while leaving them behind. Magnus sat up, straddling Beowulf, but still keeping him pinned to the floor. His shirt was wrinkled and messy, unbuttoned. She'd left lipstick marks all up his chest and neck. Territory successfully marked. She quickly checked their surroundings. The artifact was next to them, sealed in an armored case with a little window on it.

Magnus stood up and offered Beowulf a hand up. His eyes took full advantage of the upskirt she offered as she pulled him up. Unwilling to let that slide by unnoticed, she asked him "Well? Do you like them? I thought they were really cute."
"Well, I--no, I just--because--I didn't mean--" Beowulf stammered himself to silence.

An explosion nearby the car blew the door off, and knocked them both off their feet. Magnus saw what was going on outside through the now-broken back door: They were in a high-speed chase. Two Sabres flanked the highway, one having just fired a warning shot fairly close to the vehicle. Magnus was also falling backwards out of the truck along with a few of the boxes. Beuwulf sprang into action, snatching Magnus by the waist and spinning around to switch their positions. Now he was falling, and she was too far to catch him.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. There was a box behind Beowulf, also falling out. She could see that he would land in it, and that it had a cable that was coiled up near the entrance. With the speed of an assassin, she grabbed the combat knife, and threw it at a small gap between where the floor and the outer frame of the truck met. The coiled rope wrapped around the knife as the box pulled it out, eventually snapping taught. Magnus looked to Beowulf, who, sure enough, was in the box as it dragged along behind the van.

She didn't really want to say goodbye, but she had to compose her self. Magnus strutted to the edge of the truck bed and sat. Slowly, she wrapped one coil of the cable, then two around her leg, pulling Beowulf in teasingly. He stood up to reach out to her, trying to get back onto the truck bed. "I'm almost there, Helena!" She smiled and waggled a finger at him, before the last coil and tug. She caught his tie, and pulled him in to a kiss. Then, she handed him the artifact. "Sit down, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
"Wait, you can't! They'll kill you if they find you!"

She let one coil slip off her leg. The wind rushed by, whipping her dress around and drowning out Beowulf's pleas. She let another coil slide away, and he realized she couldn't be reasoned with. She never could, honestly, but it was sweet of him to try, anyway. He set the artifact behind him and braced himself for the inevitable drop, still shouting into the wind. She let another coil slip, and then another. Once it was back out to it's original length, she crossed her legs, sitting as pretty as she possibly could, and waived goodbye. He was still trying to get through to her. She blew him a kiss, and pulled the knife out. The box, Beowulf, the artifact, and the sparks dropped backwards into the night.

Magnus looked up to the two tailing Sabres. A pair of Lane Hacker Vindicators faded into view to match them. A set of Sidewinders struck the Sabres shields, causing them to break off into a dogfight. It was like fireworks. The perfect ending to a perfect night. The night crept closer. Closing in from all sides. The cold slowly became more tangible. All dreams come to an end, after all. She'd miss him.

---

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͓Helͯeͮna-ver͇1.3.9̓4̴ ͯb̵oo̼t̪ed ̴f͠ro͕mͪ st͑a̽n͍d̤by̙ ͭm͘óde̫. ͩA n̟e͡a͒r͢-cͭr͓itiͦca̟l nu͖mͦber of ̾erro̼r̈s̡ ̵p̓lagu̱eḓ ̽the ̶e̺vent ͕re̓p͞or͗t.̓ ͜A̲l͆l̳ ̽are ̩liͪs͆tèd un͐sͤolv̿aḅle͠ ̞by th̲è ͍loͬcal͍ trͨo͝ub̚l̳ès̪hoo̷ter̺.̶ T̟h͗eͥ e̯nergy fe̴ed r͔eport͠s a͋ ̸s̅eͫv͎ere ̹d̻ec͟r͋e̋ȧśe,ͦ po̶we͠r dowͧn̅ su͜sp̔ẹcted in ̦1.̈́193 ̤hours̓.̟ Time fͧuͅn̒c̤t̾ȋoň unͦav͕aͬïlaͣb̚l̠e.̉ Several kͯey̎ ̄mͬemor҉y͌ ͫfŭņc͚tion͉s̏ ͍uͫnava͊ĩl͔ab̽l̎e̻. P͝riͬm̰a̅r̞y ͩö́b͟je̫ct̐iͣv̻ȇ:̅ ͕Reͦ-́e̙nab̴l̾e ̳ḷocͧa̻l̽ ͊st̉át͒i͓on̚ pow̧e҉r ́s͕y̘s͎te̶m͘s̲.́ ͢A pa̴th̒ w̏as p̧l̗ot͟tͬed͠ alo͑ng̀ ̠th͒e ͪci̱ŕc̪uit̍ route.̔


Hele̩n͋a̿-ͫO͟S̫ ̏a̜t͛tͨempted to f͘o̚l͌lo̜w,̃ ̬bút ̱sͨev̼erål͑ ͣerr͑or ̒repo͋r͖ts ̯croͪppͮe͘d upͥ f́r͌om͙ t͓h͑e ͑l͜e͑g uni͜t̂s.ͨ ̙Th̨e ̳lo̦cal t̹roub͜lesho̞o̰t̡ d̊ia̡gn̉o̠sed̈́ c̍alib͝r̀a̮tio̘n f̪a̫i̷lu̔re͖. ̰M̡a͓nual re̼pͣor̊t caliͥb͛rat̍iͤon ͈comͪme͓nͬc̥e̖d,̣ ǘsͨĩn͍g ̀h͘ap̶t͑i̧c͑ ͎a̗ńd̲ v̟ȋsual f̯ee̟d͉b̋a͔ck̍. ͓Funct̄i̕o̬nal͔iͣty partͧiálly rͫes͔t̤o̺rͤedͅ, lo̿co͓mŏt͒ion͞ ̅pa͔r̳tia̸lly͙ rͩë́s̻torḛd̖. P҉r͒evͩe̷nta̝tiv̱eͧ tr͋ou̯b̟l̲esh̼ooͧting to̟ ͘other p̿rͤi͔ma͍r҉y͞ ͆locomotio͠n un̍it̽s̻. ̾L̲e̐ft͔ ̹arm and ͨha̙nd ̢mo̿d̼ul̉ẻs ͅre̵t̰u͆rned̦ ͕c̮a̳líbr̎a̔t͈íon ̣e͕rro̫r͊s, maͯn͢ṷal̢ rep̓ort ca̐li̕b̷rä́t̐ion ͆s̎l̤o̩t͍te͖d ̖f̵o̫r ͎next nͅe̴cess̡aͣry ̦activͪat̬i̡o̠n. ͙Der͍m҉a͋l̔ ̃impact ́f͔eed͊b̉ac̮k sͤén̍sors̅ ͚all̯ ̌r̻eͧt̷urn͋ed offl̠ineͮ.̺ Dermaͩl̙ ҉te̜mperͫaťurͥe fee̒d̮b͟a̓c̈k re̪t́u̲ȓn̮e̽d u̼n̂iͯḟorͦm ͢l͖ow͞ ̮tempe̽ratͫu͉r͝e͐s͕,͇ r̃e̫calib̛rͬaͥtion sͅlͅảted̝ f͖or̃ ̲löw͒-ut̖ilizͦȁtionͤ ͨper̙ioͪd.̼

H͢elenȁ-͠OS̟ c̾lͧa̱mbere̜d along͍ ̡th͟e ̬haľlw̛ay ̡w͊iͧt͔h l̒ur̟ch͆e͏s n̰ot̔ u͛n͘l͍ike̕ ͌aͩ wou̲ṅd̂ed͍ b͍ea̴st. Ṯhe ̈́s͐tͩr̗ange leg̬s̨ an̉d ̝arm s̘h̦e ̪had́ ͤrep̢lͥaͥc̭e̖d ͢her̩ da̳mage̥d on̪es wi͐th ̵w̺e͇re ùnw̆i̬e͚l̃d̗ly͊ ҉to ̮heͩr.͐ He͎r m̬emo̱r̡y̡ ͢wͬa̹s fa̺ili̸n͜gͥ.͡ ̐S̆t̍a̋tic ͡a̷n̢dͧ s̮n̅ow ̿ĉlouͦdë́dͅ ̘her vis̀u̞aͤĺ ̀se̐n̓s͔ors̈.̸ ҉S̰h̕eͦ ͞wͥa͗s ̼very awa̋re͎ ẗh̄at̮ ̬s̷ḩe ͬwas ̺dyin̺g̣. ̎Sḥê ͫw̯a̜s̆ ̓ver̺ỳ ̝aw͕are sh̿e ͥh̖ad̫ ̨n̄o̘ ̇ch̒a̲n̲c͏e o̿f ̂s̈urviv̝al.̽ ͎St͏ill, she p͗ick̷eͭdͥ her wa͆ẏ ̮a̸c̮rͫòss͚ ͧth̡eͫ ́h̒a͇lls, f̟o̙ḽlȏwing̮ ͣthe c̭ir̀ċuit̞ ҉o̢u͈t͈ to ͦt͎h̗e͓ f̫roͅnt ͠dỏoͥr.̖ ̢It̚ read ͬher͘ ̝IF̥F̍,̓ and̫ ͪeven ͑uͮsͮed͝ a ̼c̕h͓eck͔sum̖ ̆to̢ ͧc̸o͕r͞reͩc͟t ̀ǐṫ ̆thͭro͎u̙g̏hͮ ̴t͚h͆eͮ deg̅rad̠in͂g̵ ǐt̿ had ̽ģön͢e ̑t̪hͪro͘ugh.̢


St͌ep̭pi͞ng ̹o̟ut̪ in̤t̑o t́he radio͔a̭ctive blizͯzarḍ,̿ ̈́she ͚tͣra̹c̑k̳ed͔ ̙t̅h͑ẹ ̠circ̖u̎it͙ ͏u̾p̨ ͆tȏ aͩ larͣge ̍c̺hünk̠ ofͪ ̯t̊he͝ ͤr̓o̯of̌,͌ compͤletelÿ́ ̙cö́ve͠rͪed̒ ̖wit̗h͉ ͕s̙now̘.̰ The̜ s̬ol͓ạr p͞a̫n̟e̾lsͥ h̵ad͊ ͧbeen c̛ov̜e̚r̷e̻d.̩ ͈Sl͐ỏwly̋, ̯wi̕t̷hͫ ̹h͇er ͗gͮi̘a̡nͭt,ͮ ͚miͯsshapen͋ lèf̉t ̺arm̅,́ ̩s͟h̡e͐ ̧s̑w̫ë́p̤t s̭now̡ ̯off ͓o͂f͘ t̸h͈e ̄sͫol͉a̯r ͥpańe͔ls.̳ Afͯt̻er̰ ̬clea҉ring͌ t̄hēm ͩa͕llͪ,̈́ powe̡r̈ t͛oͨ th̳e͑ base b̡eg̮a̦n ̺pi͝ckįng̾ ̡bac̠k up̈́ ͭslįg͝h͔tl̔yͦ. E͙nough̠ ͧt̅oͅ char͌ge p̅rope̮rͅly on̰. ͉Cônt͆i͠n͕ûe͖d̓ fu͞ncẗ́i͓ona͡lity s̠piked t̯o 737͞.511 h̕ouŕs͉.


͂S̥l̊oͮw͌ly͠,̿ s̚h̿e̍ sl̚uͭǹk͑ of̙f̓ tͧh͉e ͖ro͟o̪f̌.̹ ͮT͚hē fr̮ont͂ ̗d͗oorͅ a̫irlock b̂las̉ted mo̼s̻t͔ ͉oͦf͊ ̜th͍e ̤sn̴ow̄ anͪd ̣i͆c̼eͬ ̅o̟ff̮ ̈o͍fͨ h̗eͨr. ҉Sh̐e̸ f͓oͬu̜n͎d͉ ̋hͪe̸r̺ wa͙y͋ ͩdo̸wͩn t̊he ̀h̯aͫl͟lw͜a͛y͌,̅ and b̜aͫc̋k̘ t̀oͨ ̍th̫e cargo ̣bͧa̋y. ̆S̸he f͛o̽unͬḓ h͡e̥r c͑oͦnt̉ain̂e̍r̝ wit̥h̯ tͩhͅe ̜ene͇rgy cir͟cuit,̰ aňd͇ ̴s̑e̪ttled̛ do͙ẅ́n̾ ̄to g̊o ͓bͩac̥k t̯o͎ ̩s̜lͣeep.̽ ͕If ̂shê was going͟ t̅o ͇die,ͅ ͚sh͒e ͫwas̽ ͡g̏o̓ing t̘o̍ ͎d̗iͩe̹ ̽sl̻eͥep͘i͔ng̚.̶ ̐I̓t waͥs̜ ͊so ͦmu̕c̯h̓ be̿ttͯer ͉thaͥn wh͋at̍ev̄er w̚as ̬g͖ŏing on͒ ͊w͌hile̤ sheͦ ŵa̅s͜ ̉aẁa̿ke.̨


̰H̄ele͔n̘a-OS too͍k a ̕m͔om͔e͖n̍t̕ t̏o̟ thi̲nk͓ ̰ab̸o͊ut t͕h̀e ͘d̕rea̫m͉.͍ ̞A p̊arͫt̯ ͛o͗f ̗her ͕p͌aŗe̓n̄ta̲l̐ ͈fu̇n͒c̓ti̠o̦nͬs͋ ͙dema͈nͅde̥d å searc͇h ̭f̩o̭r mean͝iṉg̃. Pos̊si̥ble̿ reͮs̜ul̄t̠s: ̂It̘'s̰ ͛a s̨h̛a̖mͅē ̅th̋at she ̻n̪e͋ver̎ ̒fóunͭd̈ ͍l̔ovē. ̀It'́s a̲ ̚shamë ̶sh̓e l͚e̎f͌t̬ ̝h̼eŕ aḋo͑ptiͨv̎e ̹sons ͛in͠ ͨsu̓c͊h a̧ ̵sͫtàte. Ît's̸ a sh̗ame t̯hat̻ ҉s͐he̩ neͨv͏er̉ r̟e͜a͙l͟l̥y ̑ļi̅vẹd ͧup to t́he̴ wǒm͚àn͐ sh͙e͝ ͚w̬asͩ m̜ea̦n͒t tͨoͅ ̎rep̰l̿ac̅e͈.


It ̴ręaͭl̾l̗y ̫wa̢s ̞a͓ ͞s̏ham̾ĕ, ̭w̦ḁsn'͎t ̼i̓t̡?

.͈̤̺̼ͣͭ͞҉̘̀ͫ̉.͎̬ͦ̔ͧ̍̾̃̍̇ͣ͝.͕̺̰̘ͧ̏ͥͬ̃.̪͙͕.͏̖͉.̴̯̤̭̟̍ͣ̄.̩̩͖͙̻͓̞̏ͨ̈́͋͒͂͆̃͛͛͟.̙̭̳́̂ͤ̀͘.̲͇̹ͩ̾̆ͨ̀ͫ͘͞.̘͕̮̟̉ͯ̃̒ͮͩ̂͘̚͜.ͅ҉͗.̵̣͕̄.̷̶̩̰̮͖̹̍ͮ̅ͨͤ́̉̎̇ͨ̍.̵̡̦̓̉ͬͅ.̸̬̞͋͂͑ͭͤ̑.̱̉͟.͏̛̳̺̟.̷̝ͩ͛.̜͍̏̒͌͗͢.̪̠̙̩̥̟͑ͬ̑̀́ͭ̾̀--+̸̸̴̣̠̠͍̦̫͂̓͗̐ͨͭ͘+̴̧̻̰̦̯́͊͒͗͌̐ͥͩ̐ͭ̔͟͞+̜̻͙̪̞ͥ̓ͯ̇̀͜͡͝͞+̫+͚̟̝͔̠̙̗̤͛̅̉̿͒̓ͬ͊́̚-̵̘̳̻̫̜̆ͥͯ̏͆̍͝͏̓-͕̰ͬ͂͛-̸̧̯̮̣̙͒ͣͧ̀͗҉̷͉̳̀ͣ̂ͪ͠-҉͓-̮̩̰̪͙̹̇ͪ̆̄͂̈ͧ́́̐́͘

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I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"