evanna

From the instant I see him, I know he'll give in- he's one of them, one of our supposed superiors, someone who can't take care of themselves. "Oh, can't we just kill him?" I ask Julian, looking up with scorn at our now terrified, not to mention blanched, prisoner.

"No, of course not," Julian deadpans, giving me an annoyed look. The man's shoulders sag a little, and I grit my teeth. Julian seems to notice, too. "But," they continue, "if he doesn't turn around and open the fucking door, I might just have to kill him." Julian's wrist flexes, pushing the barrel of the pistol further against the man's forehead.

We both know that'll work on him, and he doesn't disappoint us.

With slow, careful shuffles, he turns and without delay, the pistol's against his head again, a constant reminder that we're the inexistent god, here, that we're the ones playing with his life. I can see his hand quivering as he presses it against the fingerprint scanner. Every movement of his is sluggish, and it's getting on my nerves. "Come on, come on, we haven't got all day either," I say sharply.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for the scanner to pick up his body measurements, and as soon as a female voice says: retinal scan: complete, the steel doors to the archives slide open.

Julian grabs the man's upper arm and guides him inside with the pistol among his black strands of hair. He hardly needs any more encouraging to move forwards.

The moment we step into the hollow room the doors close, engulfing us in darkness.

***

"What do you want?" He's the first to speak as the blue lights flicker on. If only Francis hadn't gone off back to Bernard, I think, he could answer all the stupid questions for us. My eyes wander down the aisle we stand in front of - and what lies in neat rows are files, all ordered, presumably, by section and in alphabetical order.

Julian mutters a French obscenity underneath their breath. "This'll take forever," they state uncertainly.

Our prisoner still looks like a confused, helpless human. "I said, what do you want?"

"We want everything you know on the Government's genetic modification plans. Before Tetrahmon, that is. "

His response is too immediate, and probably gives more away than he intends for it to. "I could call some guards, you know," he says defensively. "I know what you've done."

"Oh, look at me, I'm so terrified of your... well. Dead guards." I grin at Julian, then look back at him. "If you ask me, they were more like children trying to imitate their toy soldiers than anything else. They're amateurs, all of them... Must be quite disappointing, hm? For a government official such as yourself, I mean."

He gives me a flummoxed look, and falls silent.

"So, what do you know?" Julian queries. 

Still, he says nothing but looks down at his shoes, polished by the snow, like a child being told off. "Nothing."

"If you'd like, I could test my strength out on your bones," I offer. I hear Julian sigh.

The man looks almost triumphant. "I'd probably scream, and that would alert other guards," he says with a little shrug.

"Well, then I'd just kill them too," I answer simply, with a light shrug. His jubilant expression falls somewhat. "So, a humanitarian, are you?" I muse. "In the past few days, I've killed about seven people. I'd consider that a personal record- and don't think I'm scared of killing another person- or four, you included."

He raises his hands, looking extremely nervous. "I don't- I don't know much," he starts.

"Liar," Julian seethes, finger around the trigger again.

"Actually, I think he's telling the truth. Go on." Mildly surprised, Julian takes their finger off the trigger, clenching their jaw.

"All I know is what he told me." He hurries on to the next sentence. knowing that that isn't a very good answer. "NW-60, I mean."

"I think we'd all appreciate it if you'd elaborate," Julian cuts in, tone bitter.

"He told me about you," he says, looking at me. I scowl. "He told me about how you shot- how you shot Par- NW-78." His self-correction is hasty, uncertain.

By now, I'm smirking. "Getting sentimental, are we? I'm sorry, would you have preferred that I'd shot the other one?" He doesn't reply, so I continue. "I assume he told you something that is linked to my remarkable abilities at self-healing." I don't even need his expression, nor his confirmatory nod, to know I'm right. "Which presumably means that you're in the archives for the same reasons as us."

"Most likely." His tone reflects nothing but his will to be in complete alienation from myself and Julian.

▿

The only thing that comes up from our search is a tiny chip that had been enclosed in a box of titanium along with an enveloped file. The only thing that would open it was the man's handprint.

Now, we stand in at the doors of the archives. Our prisoner, surprisingly unharmed, fingers the chip. The briefcase slung over his shoulder holds the file.

"I have a deal to offer," I say, as I grab his wrist and force his arm to lower as he reaches out to open the archive doors. I signal for Julian to put away their pistol- they do so, but not after some sceptical looks and hesitation.

He looks down at me, still somewhat frightened, but unamused. "What is it?"

"Well, you couldn't expect us to just let you out of here- with the file, and everything else, without paying us back, hm?"

"What do you want?"

"Here's my deal." I cross my arms, and think for a moment. "You go and bring the chip and the file and everything else you need to your 'superiors', and then you get us as much information as possible-"

"And for what, in return?"

I scoff. "We don't kill you. So, you'll give us the classified information on that chip - and the files, too, once you're done with them. You will do it." I pause, and pretend to think that through. "Actually, reviewing that, you don't really have a choice. Do it, and you live. Try to deceive us, and you'll wake up one morning to find your neck wrung. Although, given that scenario, you probably wouldn't be able to wake up at all."

He's not impressed. Perhaps I sometimes lay it down a little thick, but the next time I kill someone in front of him, he might remember to be scared. "There's nothing in it for me." He yanks his wrist from my grip and opens up the archives. 

We're greeted by four corpses, all in a heap, just the way I left them, with bent necks and distorted limbs. 

I nod to Julian. "Come on. Let's go." I take one of the guards' pistols and turn my back to both of them. 

"You what?" Begins Julian.

"Let's go," I snap.

Julian shuts up with the questioning, and so together, we begin our descent towards the library's exit, leaving our panicked new acquaintance to deal with the four bodies of four men that had failed to do their jobs - that had failed to protect the one and glorious state from people like us.