[XenahortCharybdis]

Ahem.

Here goes nothing.

Re-post (not really, actually) of first attempt at fanfic, GO!

Xena

The ZENITH Project
~Act One, Scene One~

Spoiler for actual text:

A lone figure sat in a darkened room, its vaguely masculine outline cast in a state of contemplative repose. Sporadically silhouetted by a glowing light at the end of the room, its rapidly scrolling figures and charts revealing it to be one of the TSAB’s standard issue in-office interface pads. It spoke naught, and moved little, save for the brief heaving of the chest as it breathed slowly, thinking, reflecting.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Since I’ve been in this room…it almost feels as though it isn’t mine anymore. Running around the known administrated galaxy on the orders of others and whatnot, doing really crazy things that no one with any good sense would do, laughing and having a good time while I’m at it…And there’s always my obligatory report to whoever it was who asked for the services of someone they most likely don’t even know in the first place.

Lifting his head, he stared rather blankly into space.

This, though, is a novelty. I rarely get requests for light chats from those higher-ups for my reports. I usually offer to write the official dossier whether I led the mission or not, so in general the leader of the mission should get the honor of the meeting, and not me. I wonder how they got wind of my existence in the first place, actually…

[You’ll forgive me, master, but just how long do you plan to sit there and act like you have the weight of ten planets on your shoulders?]

The formal, but admittedly comely female voice of his system’s AI reminded him just in time to cease his impertinent mental revolt before it got out of hand, even if ‘she’ didn’t realize it. And turned his attention to the matter that had been the main issue, at least until he began to drift off into his own world of anti-construct sophistry.

“Well, if their data is anything to speak of, I did, my dear.”

The AI in question materialized herself right beside his desk, taking the lithe form of a young lady about half his height, dressed in the tight corset, long sleeves and graceful frills of the Victorian era, her long skirt flowing all the way to the ground in voluptuous folds, trailing a little behind her as she leaned forward to scold him for his apparent misdeeds.

[Well, I find it encouraging that you’re still very fond of me, and that you’ve have been on task while I’ve not been around to nag you and remind you every other day to do those things that keep you alive-]

“You’ve forgotten your manners.” He lifted an accusatory finger at the semi-corporeal female in front of him, stopping her short mid-sentence?

[I…did?] Some shock registered on the usually perfectly composed face of his personal Artificial Intelligence.

Absolutely perfect.

“Yes, you did. I haven’t heard you greet me in like fashion for years.”

[Ah…I-I’m sorry, master…] Gathering herself rapidly, she straightened up before giving as regal curtsy as any red-faced lass could give. […Charlotte D. Aulin, at your service. How might I abet you?]

“Heh. I wasn’t being one hundred percent serious when I asked you to give me a more appropriate greeting, but anyway…you could start abetting me by booting up my briefing interface. I’m expecting a couple of higher-ups to come and give me a quick rundown of what they think of my last assignment.”

[No problems here, Master. Consider it done.]

She turned to the screen behind her.

[Comms Interface, Activate. Set channel type to Secure, Channel “Tome”. Master, I detect a sum total of two peers on the same zone. We have company, and by their credentials…I’d say they’re just the right rank for you.]

The voice of the unknown figure sounded much gladdened by this. “Excellent.”

Now all we need to do is wait for those bigwigs to start our little chat.

He didn’t have long to wait, though.

“Operative Surgeon, are you present?”

He twiddled his thumbs for a moment, and tapped a button on his link to the secure communication ‘room’, causing his avatar, a pair of long scalpels engraved with a set of arcane runes on their gilded hilts set against the TSAB’s crest, to be joined by another pair. Each of them bore also the same crest as his, but also sported their rank designation below, unlike him.

And expectedly so, since full-blown admirals have less need for secrecy as compared to the real on-site agent. But Charlotte was right, judging from their rank I can’t crap around this time like I normally do.

Still, two admirals is one too many if my memory can be trusted to keep my ever-changing roster of bosses in mind…the other one’s probably an observer. Still, they both deserve my respect whether due to their rank or not, and therefore, I shall give them their dues.

“Admirals,” He stated with his well-honed flair for the semi-melodramatic, “here am I.”

The first avatar spoke first, the voice coming out sounding mechanically crisp, a synthesized tapestry of sound waves. “Special Operative 012, codename "Death's Surgeon"…we’ve read through your mission report. Flawless work, as always. We have no objections upon any point inside it, although I must say that your methods were as questionable as they were honestly put.” The “machine” vibes it gave him were somewhat unpleasant, much more than the laughable sting of being criticized, but he knew that his own voice would have sounded the same on the other end: detached, cold and robotic.

Ah, but to hell with the Golden Rule. So what if I’m the epitome of what I denounce?

“Nothing to it, sir.” Not as though he really cared for what others thought of his ways and means of completing missions. Booby traps, use of minor conventional albeit improvised arms and a certain level of deviousness, after all, saved one countless precious seconds on the job. And that’s not considering the fact that it allows one to keep one’s combat effectiveness with magic in optimal condition for a longer period of time, so of course I don’t give a damn if my methods are a little off-the-book. “But what, may I ask, might you want of me since there seems to be little or no error in my report?”

“Alright then, to the main point. I simply have something simple to ask about this comment of yours. ‘An unknown gunman was detected at 1905 hours’. I would then like to refer back to earlier reports of yours. Out of 4 prior reports on missions of a similar caliber, you have reported an unknown, as yet un-apprehended gunman 3 times. And in all three, this gunman played the role of a third-party sniper, it seems, attempting to take out units from both sides.”

“That’s correct.”

“Therefore, I have come to suspect that perhaps you have something else to say, some things that remained altogether unstated in your reports, about this gunman. And therefore, I would like to hear your views upon said subject.”

The Surgeon laughed and shook his head, getting and ignoring a rather peeved “didn’t-yo-mamma-teach-you-any-manners” look from his AI. “You refer to my random speculations, sir? I am afraid that it would be quite a little bit of time wasted for the two of you should I expound on those groundless hunches of mine.”

“Still, we’ve had some favorable word of the accuracy of your so-called ‘hunches’, so just go ahead.” the second voice spoke in a similarly distorted, but nonetheless not genderless tone. Its source was female, unless that too were a disguise. “We’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“Alright then. The reason why I featured the ‘gunman’ in my reports is because I would suspect that his role is not a third party, as could be suggested from his general course of action in combat, and also that the three gunmen featured are in fact the same person. However, as yet I have no solid proof upon this matter, nothing but logic jumps and speculation.

However, of note, as you said before, are the similar roles and the caliber of the mission. The three missions in which the gunman was featured are dangerously similar in type and in objectives, as you said.

I noticed, too, that in all the missions, while we were able to complete our mission objectives, I somehow feel that in those three especially, there was a feeling of ‘that’s not all there is to it’ to their endings, which I would attribute to the presence of the gunman. There was an undercurrent of activity in those missions that I fear due to our limitations in number and in time we could not discover, and since the only factor changed was the presence of that gunman, I say there is much more to him than we can currently see.

Also presently to show are the casualty lists. You’d think that if he were any old sniper, more of our people would be dead and screwed by now…” Pausing to marshal his thoughts, he slowly picked up a piece of paper and started to fold it. “But no, that doesn’t happen, and instead what we have is that the enemy suffers much greater losses than expected, and than what the troops we had on hand at the time could inflict even with a lot of effort.”

The first voice again. “Fascinating, I did not consider the casualty lists. Your conclusion?”

“My conclusion? He was probably there to silence whatever witnesses we might attempt to take in for happy-happy time. More to come, perhaps, should I get any more evidence to back my as-yet baseless statements. I will post it in my next report, proper evidence given, but don’t mind me for now.

Still, I’d like you to know, that if my speculations prove correct…”

Lifting his hand at the completed paper airplane, he tossed it into the air.

“…I believe that we will have no less than the workings of a veritably big op on our hands soon.”

He waited for his words to sink in, while entertaining himself with the strangely pleasing sight of the plane’s graceful flight, flitting in and out of the illumination of the light, before coming to an abrupt stop, blasted to ash by his slightly annoyed AI. [You are getting more and more informal by the moment, master. Please keep yourself under control.] In reply, he shot her a rather miffed, nonplussed look.

Surprisingly, it was the second voice who replied to his statements though. “Rather grand ideas, for something blown out of thin air.”

“Yes, ma’am, I enjoy drawing castles in the air whenever I am at liberty to do so.”

The admiral chuckled softly, betraying her amusement at his ability to return fire so easily. “Indeed, indeed. Still, rest assured that we will take what you have said with all due consideration. As a matter of fact I personally am looking forward to hearing from you on this issue…I think it is just about right, I guess, that you be allowed to have a nice break after this rather heavy slew of missions.

In short, we are hereby dispensing of all your responsibilities as a Special Operative. You will, however, keep the privileges of your former office, just so we can facilitate certain actions that you may have to undertake even when not bound by those duties.”

Not really. I enjoy my missions, although it’ll be a little variation at the very least.

He tried to sound cheerful, though.

“So I’ll be using my real name from here on out, as per normal?”

Her avatar glowed rather warmly, in keeping with the lighter subject matter in question. Her voice was, while less heard throughout the meeting, somewhat easier on the ears. “Yes, you may do so as of the time you leave this room. It’s probably a nice change from the one you’ve been using for this while, isn’t it?”

Well, it’s a hell of a nice change until you kind lot of high-hats decide to give me another novelty for a name.

“Indeed, ma’am. My real name never felt so foreign.” A sardonic scrunch of his lips brought his expression into something quite rare for him, an expression he hadn’t been at liberty to show for a longer time than anyone would have bothered to remember: a laugh. And laugh he did, for just a few moments, enough only to vent a moment’s amusement. “A name like ‘Death Surgeon’ was a rather fitting way to describe me, but nonetheless sorely unappreciated, I believe.”

“And before you leave, let me just advise you not to get too carried away with your short break…it won’t last long.”

Of course not. Since when did paid leave ever last long?

The young man in white known up till now only as the Surgeon grinned even as he sorted out the documents before him with the deftness only a seasoned slave of one’s paperwork would possess. Quite a lot of his break was about to be spent on clearing some of said things which various people would require, and when added to his more personal appointment, his break was as good as burned whether he liked it or not.

But still…I will have to give a more diplomatically suitable answer that will neither cut the bone too much nor make no impact at all. Otherwise stated, I’ll have to make a politically correct exit. That is the rule of public relations, no?

He put on his best smile for that reply.

“Of course, ma’am. Of course.”

The first voice spoke once more. “Then, Operative 012, this meeting has officially ended. Enjoy your little holiday, hmm?”

“Definitely.” Turning to address his system’s AI, the unknown operative spoke with a little less officialdom this time. “Charlotte, initiate shutdown.”

[Comms interface, Channel “Tome”, Initiating Shutdown in 3…2…1…Shutdown is complete, Master.]

“Thanks.”

The lights in the room dimmed, and soon the room was pitch black again, just like before, the only source of visibility having died on its master’s command. Without turning to any alternative source for illumination, he walked over to the entrance to his room. Facing it, he gazed steadily at the door as a small beam of light from a hitherto unseen source played over his eyes.

[SCANNING…SENIOR INVESTIGATIONS, TACTICAL ANALYST RAVENHOLM RECOGNIZED. SECURITY INTERFACE, DEACTIVATE.]

The door slid open, flooding his rather austere working place with light. There was no sign of any fanciful decorations to it, not even any sign of having been modified in any sense, like a brand new room. However, in a rather remote, though now visible corner of the room, hung a pair of engraved daggers, their crystalline facets shining in the invading swaths of light.

It also enlightened him to the fact that he had an unexpected guest.

“Hello, old fruit. I see you’re back from your long term assignment…gonna have any fun this week?”

“Hello yourself. And anyway, long term assignments are the bane of paperwork, and thus my friends.”

Acous Verossa shook his head in mock dismay at his one-time partner and oft-distant friend’s, as put in their words, “dismal” attitude. “There you go again. What happened to us, and everyone else you talk to around here? The fellows in the mess, in the cafeteria, you mean you don’t enjoy talking to them?”

“Well, we mostly talk trash, so minus the danger factor, they’re more or less equivalent to the average person I take down every other mission I take…” The younger man did his best to sound less nonchalant than he had originally meant to. It didn’t work out very well.

Verossa just sighed this time. “Ahhh. Same old you, as always, Surgeon…I wonder why I never gave up on changing that habit of yours, of demeaning most of the things that others would logically find valuable.”

His eyes narrowed almost instinctively.

“Don’t call me that. I’m off assignment, and so I can now use my real name. Oh, Hallelujah.”

“You don’t sound glad, Su…” Taking a death gaze from his old friend with his usual healthy dose of savoir-faire, Verossa continued smoothly in spite of him. “…Ashcroft Ravenholm. You don’t sound glad at all at being freed from the oppressive weight of a false identity at all.”

The Investigator known as Ashcroft Raveholm rolled his eyes in mild disgust at the mere thought of being glad at a change of identity, the two crimson jewels set in the centre of them lolling rather joyfully around, reveling in his sarcasm. “What’s in a name? It makes no difference anyway. I’m still sardonic, shameless and irreverent, aka in top form, so it doesn’t matter what name I’m using.”

Shrugging, Acous decidedly brought the short, but nonetheless vitriolic exchange of caustic verbal juice to an end. With some more of it. “Glad to know that. Rather nice reunion the two of us had here, honestly, and more productive than it was nice…Anyway. You must excuse me, but I have matters to attend to right now, and I believe that without a doubt you have some too. So if you’ll excuse me-”

So you say you have lots of work?...

“-I’ll let you off the hook?” Ashcroft jerked his index finger towards his former boss, indicating his agreement as much as he did some form of condescending flourish at his opponent’s general retreat from the battlefield of words. “Of course, on account of common suffering, that is.”

…Oh, come on. Don’t we all? After all, that is where the lines of rank get blurred. We all get our fair share of bullshit, so deal with it, boss.

“Yeah right. Maybe one of these days I should wipe the floor with you in training, just for a bit of payback for all those times you…heck, nevermind. See you later, old fruit.” Perishing the wishful (though obviously satisfying) thought of receiving some sort of remuneration for the multiple thrashings he had received in earlier times, pitiful as it might have been in paling comparison to the crushing overall scoreboard, Acous successfully dismissed the rather awkward reunion with a wave of his hand.

As Verossa passed, Ashcroft brushed his left shoulder lightly, as though clearing off some trace debris off said part of his body.

“So I’ll see you around, then?”

“Definitely. Take care of yourself. Don’t get killed.”

The usual stuff.

“You too.” Stealing a rather furtive glance in Acous’ direction, the younger Investigator raised an rather pleased eyebrow at the dull specks of dust that had settled lightly on his old partner’s blazer. Turning to go, he tapped his left temple in what counted as a rather sheepish muse on his part.

Ah, me and my little random thoughts. I hope he wouldn’t mind if I dropped him some fairy dust, just for kicks…and for my entertainment in raining on his parade.

Before allowing the door to shut, he decided to give out some last orders first.

“Charlotte?”

[Yes, master?] The miniature female looked up, her arms akimbo.

“Get my old pupil for me. I heard she’s in town…”

[You…have an offer she cannot refuse, I believe?]

Ashcroft could only grin at that one.

“Stupid question. I always call people with offers that they cannot refuse, and this time is not an exception. Just call her. I’ll dictate the message, and you’ll send it. Consider this my first appointment of my little holiday.”

Charlotte D. Aulin paused for a moment, and a less-than-prudish smile crossed her lips for once, revealing a side of her more open to her master’s madcap antics.

[Very well.]

Character Guides Eventually (I hope.)