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(Fictional Short Story) The Echo amongst the Shadows
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Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#1 - 2013-05-05 02:48:38 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

The following piece of fiction is the second installment in the 'feuilleton' series called "La Comédie Immortelle" (The Immortal Comedy) – The unending, interwoven lives (stories) of the EVE Universe…

The Echo amongst the Shadows

---

Whispers of discovery create a silent cause awakening the shadows from their darkness in space. It was to begin as a slow and steady ringing, emanating ever outward from the source. The sound of rumor was reverberating throughout the vast emptiness of the universe, waiting for its light of day. Questionable unknown words were forming flowing waves of curiosity, like tiny droplets of information penetrating a calm body of water. The unsolved mysteries of the past few weeks had started a buzzing amongst the intelligence communities of the various empires with the sounds of secrets. For that brief moment in time, what was once unknown and hidden, was to be touched by the light of the outside world. Born from the most unlikely source, an unreliable medical report detailing the incoherent ramblings of a man once lost from the realm of reality. Owing its validity only to eagle eyes ever watchful for whispers of his name; such a brilliant man was known and envied for his past deeds and accomplishments. The shades of black have grown hungry for this knowledge in the dark; intent on the lingering scent of a query. Each one was newly a thirst for news of the truth in the tales, now re-hidden amongst the thickets and brambles of space.
As befitting a citizen of the Caldari Nation, those disabled or injured from their loyal duty to the State are entitled to the full care made available to them through modern technology and medicines. There is no greater reward one can receive, aside from honours for valour, then a complete and comprehensive care package for services rendered. A guaranteed insurance plan against risk based on the amount of patriotism one has to give. The typical care facilities, inhabiting all terrains in the regions, range in size and shape depending on their purpose and the level of care one is to receive. The untypical ones exist in sections of isolated space devoted solely to privacy; entire stations highly secured against the normal rigors of life and the populations of ever prying eyes. One such hideaway in particular bears an extensive specialty psychiatric facility devoted to curious ailing bodies bereft of their mind. Once admitted, the personal stories of these guests are discreetly woven into the background of space, now denied to the public. Aside from the occasional transport ship delivering supplies or groups of doctors and technicians to and from the facility, there is rarely any other traffic. Being of two minds, part for the study and exploration of theory, another for comprehensive medical care, an entire network of labs, research areas and habitation wards honeycomb the entire structure. Two philosophies mirrored in their embrace of obscurity, left alone and quietly waiting in the dark.
A man silently treads down the hallways, making his first rounds of the night in one of the closed habitation wards. The lights illuminating this section of the station have all been dimmed for power saving during those long hours of the night when there is no activity on the floor. The smell of disinfecting chemicals permeates the outer hallways, maintaining the aura of medical sterility inherent to all hospitals. Most patients by now are fast asleep, either by their own accord or through the use of sleep inducing drugs. Occasionally the low wailing sound of a tormented dream can be heard echoing down the empty hallways, floating like an invisible spectre brought to life by madness. It is here hidden among the lost minds, that the body of Eric Lyndon maintains his nightly guardianship over the mentally infirm. Some would best describe him as a Medical technician, as opposed to the often incorrectly used generic label of Registered Nurse. This was something Eric had always preferred to be called, mainly because it reflected his ability to service and utilize the AIMED units should there be any problems that were to arise. While his feet softly pad through the last of his scheduled routine, he measures a slow and steady step in symmetry with the rhythmic beating of his heart. Calm and sure, the single thought occupying his mind was of determining if the floor was entirely secured against the night. Once assured, he would then be afforded the privacy to complete the rest of his work uneventfully. Upon reaching one of the floor's security checkpoints, he accesses the mini holo-terminal through the use of a DNA and retina scan and brings up the security logs. The system is fully automated eliminating the need for added security personnel to physically monitor the floors. The terminal registers the last persons to pass through any of the checkpoints as being the remnants of the evening staff leaving the floor into his capable hands for the night. Eric then proceeds to realign the other checkpoints to enter into a state of complete lockdown, allowing the system to deter any unexpected traffic for the remaining deepness of the night.
Meanwhile, in yet another part of the ward, a patient lays prone on his bed, mired and restless in the bindings of his white cotton straightjacket; a solitary resident of some importance owing to the fact of him having his own double occupancy room. No recognition registers in this poor man's eyes, his broken head left bobbing in unison with the unseen currents flowing from his thoughts. Bound to the sane world solely by his restraints and wearing nothing else but his pajamas and bare feet. His case was an unusual one, baffling to say the least, yet lending a most peculiar plausible

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Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#2 - 2013-05-05 02:51:39 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

Seated in the chair is a friend and former colleague of Kyle's; a silent observer who has just spent the past few hours sitting patiently in the shadows. He is a concerned visitor, and a very careful interlocutor, weary of saying anything that would send this poor man into another spinning cycle of undue violence. So instead, for the past few hours he has chosen just to listen to the occasional rambles and mumbles of the bedridden man. He grudgingly admits to himself that excessive words for this fallen comrade have already failed him. Yet even just sitting and observing the muted actions of this ill headed man is a painful task for him to watch. Knowing that here in this hospital, his friend was to live out his days in sadness, forever numbed by the legally acquired 'beep'; he has become a blue slave to his only paradise. A broken man cast adrift on the haze of his own mind; continually drowning in the fear and paranoia of his own delusions. Confusion plagued by painful clouded memories raining down torrents in shed tears. At least now Dr. Emmerson has finally settled in his new life, for the time being he has found some iota of peace and quiet from the storm raging in his mind. The beginning weeks of his illness were to be his worst, yet never again would he ever regain a semblance of normalcy. His mind was just too far gone, touched with madness to an extent beyond hope in recovery. Dr. Emmerson's one true friend, a man by the name of Rowan Deckerson, was here to check on his progress, and maybe if possible to ascertain any useful information from this bound and derelict man.
"Hang in there Kyle. Never give up fighting, do you hear me?" Rowan whispers to his friend in gentle tones, yet in his heart he knows such encouraging words are falling on deaf ears. Never would he have guessed that he would be wishing these last words upon the man now being restrained before him. Deckerson lets out a long slow sigh, he had always held the belief that brilliant men like Kyle were born to become immortal. His current state was no way for him to live, and what was more, it was the universe that was to suffer because of it. He shakes the errant thought from his mind and then turns his attention towards making his departure. At least for tonight, there would be no more information to be gotten out of his docile friend. Why can't I find an answer for this-- His thoughts soon become interrupted by a strange individual quietly entering into the room. Even at this hour of the night, it seemed unusual for a person to be sneaking around so quietly, especially considering that most patients on this floor are under heavy sedation. Or what was even more puzzling, the reasons as to why he was entering into this room at this time of night in the first place? For the past few hours, Dr. Emmerson has been under the effects of his special "medication", something that his caregivers would have readily known. Rowan soon recognizes the individual as the medical technician from his last visit and so he decides to watch his actions from the safety of the dark. What is he up to?
Upon entering the room, Eric Lyndon stops briefly in the doorway, just long enough to obtain his bearings of the room. He can see the patient clearly amongst the shadows, all thanks to a nightlight framing his bed in a soft glow, but very little else. It was for this reason alone that his attention became indirectly fixed solely on the patient and nothing else.

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#3 - 2013-05-05 02:55:12 UTC

"Its Eric Lyndon, isn't it?" Rowan questions from the darkness, a sudden interruption causing the new visitor to momentarily stumble in his task, yet just as quickly, he is soon able to coolly regain his composure. It was a behaviour that catches Rowan's attention and peaks his intrigue. "You're the medical technician correct?"
"Huh?! Whoa-- you startled me. I didn't know Dr. Emmerson still had any visitors." The stranger collectively responds, peering into the darkness for a better sign of the familiar danger now facing him. "That's right, I'm medical technician Lyndon. I'm sorry sir but the visitors' hours are over. You're really not supposed to be in here right now. I going to have to insist that you immediately leave the floor." Eric adds regaining his position, ending with a slight note of authority. "Who exactly are you anyways?"
"I'm sorry if I startled you." Rowan says feigning an apology, a slight unseen grin framing his face in the dark. He briefly flashes the orderly his security card imprinted with his credentials, as he steps into some better light. "I'm not sure if you remember me from the last time I visited. We didn't really talk then. Don't worry, I'm all finished paying my respects here. I was actually just on my way out before you arrived. Though I am a little curious about something... What was that patch for that you just applied to my friend's neck?"
"Oh that epidermal..." he says not wanting to draw any more undue attention to it. Continuing, he shrugs it off with, “It was just his dosage of nightly sedative, a little something to help keep the patient docile and it allows them to sleep through the night. Don't worry it’s perfectly safe." Technician Lyndon responds very matter of factually. Intending to change the subject, he recalls as if from a faraway place, "Right? It was Mr. Deckerson wasn't it? You know I'm really bad with names and faces."
Hmmm, I can't quite tell if he is lying. "Yes, its Rowan Deckerson, mister was what they called my father." He charmingly quips, in the hopes that adding a bit of brevity to the conversation will help him find what he is looking for. With no apparent success, he tries a different tack, "Though I tend to prefer doctor myself."
"I was just in the middle of my nightly rounds, finishing up some of the last minute details." the young orderly says, slyly tucking the activation strip from the epidermal patch back into the pocket of his lab coat. "Here, let me walk you to the entrance to the floor. I didn't know anyone would still be lurking around this late, so I had just locked everything down for the night. I'm going to have to disarm the security to let you out."
He seems to be trying to hide something. "I'd really appreciate that. Please?" Deckerson says, raising his right arm towards the door, offering the lead to his host. "Lead the way Eric." He follows him out into the hallway, laying a last reassuring goodbye hand on his friend before he leaves; at the same time taking a quick final glance for the spot where the mysterious epidermal patch was left feeding on his neck.
"So what exactly is your discipline Dr. Deckerson? That is if you don't mind me asking?" Eric asks him curiously as he reaches the hallway; all with the appearance of a faux innocence. "Something tells me that you're a little more than a doctor of medicine."
This man seems very perceptive. "Me? Ah, well, I guess you can say that I like to dabble in a little bit of every discipline at the moment. It keeps me young." Rowan chuckles a little to himself at that final passing thought. He then tries to redirect the questioning. "So how long have you been working in this Navy psych ward?"
"Not long really, I actually just got transferred to this section very recently. It was a bigger pay raise sure, but now I get stuck with all of these unwanted graveyard shifts. Fortunately most nights are quiet so I can catch up on my reading... " Eric quickly replies, while the two of them continue on their walk down the empty hallways towards the entrance to the ward. "I read through the medical report on him. It’s a real mystery what happened to Dr. Emmerson there, tragic even. Were you two close? I mean, did you two work together or something?
Another leading question. "No, Kyle was just an old friend from school." It was a half-truth since the research project they worked on together was what put Dr. Emmerson here in the first place. "It was really tragic what happened to him. Unfortunately, accidents do still happen in this day and age. One minute you're here, the next minute..." Deckerson trails off as if foreshadowing some future thought.

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#4 - 2013-05-05 02:56:49 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

"So do think it’s true what they are saying about his accident? That Dr. Emmerson was working on some sort secret project that made him lose his mind?" The technician continues with his questioning.
And still another leading question. It’s almost like I'm being interrogated. "You know, it’s best not to speculate, it will only further spread invalidated rumours which could be harmful to his reputation." Rowan responds a bit disapprovingly, “I’d like to remember my friend for what he was, not for hearsay."
Their intermittent dialogue soon becomes interrupted by the sight of one of the security checkpoints coming into view. Medical technician Lyndon signs for Rowan to hold back, while he accesses the user interface panel of the security holo terminal to temporarily disable the lockdown. "Hold on a second, this should only take a moment or two... " Eric informs the visitor, in which he continues his trawl with an apology, "I'm sorry for what I asked earlier, I wasn't trying to pry. Though you can't really blame me for being curious about such a farfetched story right? I mean, isn't that what scientists do? Delve into a mystery to get to the truth?"
That's what I intend to do. "I wouldn't worry yourself about it. After all, unless I'm mistaken, you're not a scientist. You really shouldn't let things like this bother you Eric. Life is too short." Rowan half teases the technician, more out mockery than anything. He decides to try something a bit rash because he knows that making an accusation against a fellow citizen without having proof is not how the Caldari obtain justice. He faces his opponent and simply outstretches his hand gesturing for a handshake.
"There you go, the security system should now allow you to pass--" Eric starts to say something more as he turns away from the panel, then acquiesces when he notices the gesture. Firmly and in silence, he grips his hand returning the handshake, albeit a bit hesitantly.
"Thank-you for your assistance tonight." Rowan continues, while reaching up with his other hand, he grips Eric's right shoulder for more of a vigorous shake and as a sign of familiarity. Looking him straight in the eyes, he briefly pauses before he asks, "I don't know why I never noticed this before but has anyone ever told you that you have a striking resemblance to Anvent Eturrer?" He was lying of course, but for that very brief moment afterwards he managed to catch that little glimpse of sheer hatred burning in his eyes. It was an ever so slightly flicker, which was all the convincing that he needed. Rowan, while still holding onto the man's hand, then uses it to pull him in closer until they were nearly cheek to cheek. Letting his other hand fall from his shoulder, he hoarsely whispers, "Take good care of my friend. If anything happens to him, I will hold you personally responsible." Smiling as he draws away from him, Rowan lets go of his hand.
"Just keep heading down to the end of this hallway and you should reach the ward entrance. Just be careful though, once you pass that last security check point the system will automatically relock the floor down after you. You don't want to get caught in its grips. Goodnight Dr. Deckerson." Eric Lyndon offers this final warning rather coldly before they part company, then he turns around and starts walking back towards his station to complete the rest of his night's work.
"Good night." Rowan responds back, though by this time it was more to himself. Then he too heads off in his intended direction, guided towards the entrance doors to the psychiatric ward. His new task now gently cradled in his closed hand, urging him to hurry his pace towards the banks of mag lifts. Upon passing the last of the scanner checkpoints to the floor, he enters into one of the awaiting magnetic lifts. The doors close tightly behind him, allowing him to speedily move to his next destination. His last thoughts are of puzzling the pieces together of the hidden conspiracy now set before him. At least now he'll see what a scientist is capable of doing. I only hope I'm not just being paranoid.
Slightly frustrated by this unexpected intrusion, Medical technician Lyndon tries his best to shake off the anger seething through him at the moment. Only by recalling the years of training he painstaking endured to get to where he is now, is he then able to refocus his attention back to his work. Training used to repeatedly fortify the resolve of his mind over maintaining full control over its body. By now, the nanobots from the epidermal patch would have already established themselves in careful position around the patient's brain. Once activated, waiting too long to complete the entire process would cause a severe degradation of the intended result due to the nanobots slowly losing cohesion. A crucial element of this procedure was the timing of each step. The concept behind their development was simple, a multitude of individual parts functioning in complete unison as a single unit; an idea borrowed from the Sansha Nation. This highly advanced piece of medical nanotechnology was specifically designed and programmed for a dual role. One part offers a bit of stability to the mind by regulating the brain's chemical imbalances; the second to act as a nano-collective transneural burning scanner device. A prohibited device that could not be normally smuggled past the security sensors at any of the checkpoints in this ward. Fortunately, it was something completely undetectable in the individual, inactivated nanobots contained in the epidermal patch. This fact alone was allowing him to not only enter, but to move freely through the ward carrying them in his pocket. Too much time had been wasted already dealing with the

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#5 - 2013-05-05 02:59:25 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

Upon entering the medical drone quarters, he quickly surveys the room and then secures the automatic doors behind him. This control room houses all of the AI medical drone units for the ward; a room also acting as the service and repair workshop. In order to conserve power most of the drones are offline, while still others are merely resting in a standby mode awaiting their next scheduled shift or a possible impending medical emergency. Once firmly locked away in this room, Eric begins enacting the second step to his plan and starts indiscriminately looking over the various occupants, trying to quickly determine which one was his. Every one of them looks exactly the same as the one beside it, each being the top of the line, carefully screened and selected for their use in this secure Caldari Navy Hospital. The AIMEDs themselves look similar to smooth, painted, metallic cylinders, having rounded tapered heads embedded with a set of high tech scanners/cameras for eyes. Overall, they have an esthetic appearance, being unobtrusive and soothing for the patients they treat. They were designed to have no legs or noticeable appendages; instead they hover through the use of a mini anti-gravity engine which also allows them to be used in the field with little or no obstruction to their movement. There are a total of four rectangular panel doors located on each of the units. The two on either side, running nearly the vertical length of the drone, open to allow access for the three mechanical utility arms fitted inside each. Four of these arms allow the unit to perform a great number of tasks requiring extreme physical dexterity and steady hands, while the last two arms are fitted with a wide range of detachable clamps, sutures, scalpels and needles. This was facilitating replacing the need for a team of medical personal during surgeries and other operations with the versatility of just one drone. The two parallel panel doors located in the middle of the unit open to allow access to the chest cavity and the various utensils held within, from syringes to spools of cotton gauze bandages, held there for immediate use during medical procedures. As a victim to his own paranoia, he pauses to take one last listen to the silence emanating from the empty ward outside, exhales and then proceeds with his mission. Looking over the room, Eric takes notices that the service area has the appearance of a mechanical shop of horrors; a multitude of robotic arms and hollow torso hang with orderly precision from the specially crafted rafters. In the center of the room, there is an operating table occupied by a lifeless corpse of a machine, the eyes are completely empty. Quite literally, it has no eyes in its sockets; the machine is waiting for a replacement for the ones damaged by the destructive actions of a hysterical patient no more than a few days back. A mélange of fluids arraign themselves in pools on or around the operating table, in varying amounts. Aside from this tiny mess, the room is completely neat and tidy. The body of the victim is badly beaten in, the outer casing and panel doorways being shattered or bent up in a few spots. After closer inspection of the room, Eric can see that a majority of the units have scrapes, scars or dents plaguing each of their outer shells. Already knowing that it would be nearly impossible to physically distinguish which AIMED unit was actually his, Medical technician Lyndon, hoping that it wasn't the one lying on the table, enacts verbal protocols for the unit, "E.C.H.O. Alpha One Zero Tau Five - Activate. Authorization code Delta Alpha Niner Zero One Zero Gamma Seven..."
E.C.H.O. Alpha One Zero Tau Five active... initiating covert Gallente AIMED override program, standby... System override complete... installing Espionage/Covert Hospital Operations operating system, standby... Operation complete... AIMED E.C.H.O. awaiting agent directives. Responds an offline unit on the back wall opposite the control room main doorway. Upon activation, it moves itself to stand at attention in front of the Gallente Black Eagle officer, authorization being its only need for instant recognition. This AIMED unit is just one of many of such drones planted as sleepers around the universe in various foreign hospitals; each hijacked at some point in their lifetime with the addition of a nearly invisible packet of coding embedded into its AI functions. This one in particular has been altered and asleep for nearly a year. The Eagle philosophy behind such a bold move, 'You never know when a drone might come in handy.' If there is one thing a Gallente knows, it’s how to control a drone.
"Echo, your orders are to delicately interrogate patient number One One Three Six -- Dr. Kyle Emmerson. You are to gather as much information concerning any of the research he was previously working on just before his accident. There is some need to hurry... The nanobots have already been implanted for some time now, so upon entering the room, immediately activate the control link between them and your memory data processor. Your parameters are to ask him a battery of questions regarding the incident of his project and then use the nanobots to scan and record markers for specific memories, as well as to where those memories are located in the brain. When all of this has been completed, you are then instructed to take a burning scan snapshot of his brain. Is this understood?"

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#6 - 2013-05-05 03:00:31 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

Orders confirmed... initializing Interrogation protocols, standy... Interrogation protocols completed.
"Good, and Echo, try not to kill the patient in the process before we get what we need from him... You infiltration drones have never been known for your tack for this sort of work. Make it quick, we want to be long gone before these Caldari realize what has happened. The doctor can be found in room number 138, once you leave this room that's down the hallway to the right. Report back to me once your task has been completed for your next set of instructions."
Orders confirmed. The medical drone whizzes up to the door way and unlocks it, quickly leaving the room to attend to the nefarious business at hand. Finding the room was an easy task for the machine, being already programmed with the schematics for the entire station. If it were human, by now it would be questioning why its instructor was giving information that had already been contained in its memory banks. It surmised that the reason was because humans were such inefficient creatures, logged the thought and continued on with haste to complete its directives as instructed. The AI found Dr. Emmerson securely fastened in his bed, seemingly by the drool spilling from the sides of his mouth, in a dazed state slowly rambling on to himself. Its first task was to securely fasten each of the bindings from the bed around the various parts of the patient. While its four utility arms quickly and effectively complete this task, Echo's AI syncs up with each of the millions of individual nanobots inhabiting the patient’s brain, immediately obtaining all the necessary data on the patient's current health and status. Simultaneously, it commands them to facilitate the neutralization of any inhibiting drugs and/or chemicals in his system as well as the stabilization of any chemical imbalances that would prohibit interrogation. Once all of this had been achieved, the covert infiltration drone gets down to its primary assigned task, using the best of its programmed abilities to interrogate the bound and newly awakened doctor.
Meanwhile, situating himself at a computer terminal in the control center of the ward, Eric Lyndon, after first determining the transport schedule, busies himself by trying to access the secured personnel files located on this facilities computer system. A burning curiosity has been gnawing away at his insides, taking the shape of an unseen fear. His suspicion was trying to obtain validation by obtaining any more information regarding this Rowan Deckerson and to maybe ascertain his real relation to the patient. So far with very little success, obtaining any access to sensitive files above this body's security level is near impossible to accomplish; even with his expert knowledge of Caldari encryptions methods. Rowan's true identity, at least digitally, being heavily shrouded in secrecy and a maze of incomplete directives ends at this terminal. Yet this doesn't deter him and he continues his computer search for another fifteen minutes before he gets suddenly interrupted by another intrusion.
Interrogation process complete... Awaiting new agent directives.
"Echo, were you able to retrieve any useful information regarding what he was working on prior to his accident?"
Negative... Patient was non-committed to interrogation.
"All right then. Give me a brief summary of what you have found?"
Affirmative... Accessing memory logs, standby... Patient displayed resilience to verbal interrogation... Cranium data salvage protocols employed... initiated nanobot virtual sensation abilities... Hidden project goals incoherent... Routines unattainable, achieved data salvage regarding spacial manipulation and hyper Euclidean mathematics... Enacted 141 memory markers... Brain scanner burning protocol initiated... Brain scan completed... Uploaded data to memory core ... data saved... Gallente encryption storage protocols enacted... End log.
"Damn these drones, can't seem to follow the simplest of instructions. What exactly did you find?"
Consultation summary, standby... patient maintained discretion over project goals... displayed symptoms of paranoia and severe delusions... goal directives indiscernible... ascertained key theories involve divulged complex hyper Euclidian mathematical equation... Recommend further analysis of 141 memory markers to determine and/or extrapolate project goals and directives... End process.
"Alright then Echo, here are your new directives. There is an Ishukone Badger class transport ship making preparations to leave the station, it will be delivering medical relief supplies to refugees on Caldari Prime. You should not have any difficulty blending yourself right in with the rest of the supplies. The name of the ship is called 'The Peregrine', docking section C, sub-level 25, stall 12, which will then deliver you and the data you carry to another operative. Activate your security mode now. You are to run in stealth mode and utilize your avoidance protocols until you reach this programmed destination that I am now inputting. Should you encounter any problems in conflict with achieving this new directive, then you are to deliver the data you are protecting to a suitable Gallente consulate or military institution. Is that understood?"
Affirmative. On that final confirmation, the medical drone turns and leaves the agent to finish his work on the Caldari computer systems. Echo starts winding its way through the security checkpoints of the ward, quickly and eventually finding its way to the docking bays of the station. Once there, it finds the target ship with ease and establishes itself as a

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#7 - 2013-05-05 03:03:29 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

With the advent of the Gallente Executive Order 81042, allowing this secretive organization unprecedented control over Duvolle Laboratories and the resources of their subsidiary acquisitions, they have developed secret technologies redefining how the human brain was mapped and in turn, the ability to easily access the information it contains. The SDII now only needs to freely navigate the "brain" of their subject in order to obtain any information they may need through the added use of a network of virtual sensation devices. Yet for any mission there still remained a single, pressing difficulty, the herculean task of gaining access to the original mind. To facilitate this, the development of a unique variant on the corporation's 'Final Soldier' program was thus adapted for use in covert infiltration. Best demonstrating how the considerable length to obtain the mind in question was something that the agency had absolutely no moral difficulty with.
Gaining a renewed vigour, the agent controlling the clone body of Eric Lyndon again turns his attention to the computer terminal to determine any more information about the mysterious visitor whom he had previously asked to leave the floor. A grim determination has since replaced common sense. His ego bruised by the encounter, lulls him in his duties and stalls the last action for the successful completion of his mission, his flight. Gripped in the claws of distraction, sudden inspiration strikes him with an unorthodox solution, to recheck the logs from the floor's security checkpoints. Security scans are much more accurate and discriminating when it comes to entering and leaving a secured area, automatically making a temporary detailed record of everyone passing through them. It would only take him a few minutes more to reroute command access to this current terminal and then search through the pattern buffer for his identity signature before the system can purge the data. Unfortunately for him, exactly ten minutes after the now rogue medical drone was safely escorted off of the station, his thoughts and actions again get interrupted by an unexpected intrusion.
Thuck. Crunch. The sound of the needle penetrating through the back of his skull is a mix between a bone snap and an odd metallic crunch. Caught completely unaware as the plunger, in that same instant the syringe entered into his brain, was being depressed quickly releasing its liquid contents into the wound. The liquid itself being a mixture of unconductive synapse inhibitors and contact paralytic toxins; an abnormal concoction used to completely incapacitate the higher functions of an infected mind. This poor unsuspecting victim's brain was now unable to perform any other action outside of instinctually maintaining the minimal bodily functions needed to sustain his life. The strike was quick, his approach was silent, landing the point of the needle with enough force to puncture the base of his skull in one fell motion. It was this action that causes a slight trickle of blood to continually run from Eric's nose, a noticeable side effect of the added pressure pushing on his skull. There was certain haste in the assailant's actions; the tightened security of this untypical station had been unknowingly breached. Though not apparent from the start of their confrontation, fate had wanted these two to meet again and again...
When they had previously parted each other's company, Rowan Deckerson immediately made his way to the closest available laboratory. His intended task, accessing its resources in order to perform a little research of his own into the conspiracy spread out before him. His thoughts were firmly set on conducting a thorough scan on the recovered activation strip he had lifted, for any unusual trace elements. More through sheer luck than by any real scientific reason, his first discovery was to be a few scattered and activated nanobots embedded in the adhesive material. His second discovery was to be the technology's creators, further impeded by the Gallente encryption used in protecting their intricate programming. The fluid concoction was just a little something Rowan threw together while awaiting the results of the decryption algorithms being run against their programs' firewalls. The physical scan of these things revealed how the actual design of these nanobots was pure genius, being something entirely new to him or any of the Caldari databases. Sustaining and self-sufficient, each one of them acts as both a transceiver and scanning device, relaying constant data to an unknown uplink source in real time, and able to work in perfect symbiotic unison with one another. The one peculiar distinction built into these tiny machines was a specially designed capacitor system, meant for building up and dissipating a resonant charge of some sort. Yet their true intended purpose was still to remain another piece of the puzzle, urging him on in the capture of their one and only link. Fortunately for Deckerson, due to his security rating and the secret research he conducts, to the vast majority of networked security systems in the Caldari nation he didn't really exist. This meant that he could come and go to most places in the empire at will without being detected or deterred by the automated security. It was this reason alone that had allowed him to strike so efficiently and effectively against his unsuspecting, preoccupied prey.

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#8 - 2013-05-05 03:04:36 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

Pushing the occupied chair aside, Rowan does a quick sweep over the computer terminal to better determine what sort of secrets that this man might have pried from their computer systems. At first glance, he can tell that the man was a gifted hacker but was fortunately far from obtaining anything of any real importance. Using the terminal, he then opens a communication channel to the station's security task force, informing them of not only the breach but of the captured man responsible for it. It would only take them a few minutes to make their way to the ward from their section of the station; response time being a critical aspect in their line of work. Upon further scrutiny of the system, Deckerson's investigation reveals that he alone was the object of this agent's unheeded search for information. Chuckling to himself over this last discovery, Rowan throws one last insult at the wounded pride of the prone man, who was now rigidly paralyzed in his chair. "Foolish man, caught chasing shadows I see." He says slightly shaking his head as if in disbelief, but then finishing with a grin, "Huh, I guess I should be touched that you care so much. Looks like I really got under your skin." On a whim, he decides to pull up the scanner logs for this enemy in his midst, already knowing that it would only register the DNA of Medical technician Lyndon. The reason for Deckerson's sudden inspired curiosity was a nagging intuition that he might be carrying some sort of self-termination device on his person, like a subcutaneous tablet of neural toxin or poison. Upon finding absolutely nothing in the scan results, he then performs a quick hands on physical search of the body and the contents of his pockets. Once again he doesn't seem to find any evidence to support his suspicions. Secure in the knowledge that there could be no further trouble out of this man, Rowan Deckerson leaves him uncomfortably rooted to the spot and heads off to check in on the safety of his friend and former colleague.
Upon entering Kyle's room, Rowan becomes overwhelmed by the stillness and is soon filled with a sudden sense of dread. The thin trail of blood and bodily fluids leaking from the patient's eyes, ears and nose are a sure enough sign of his death. With only dead blank eyes staring back at him, he can easily speculate what was really the cause. At least the mystery behind the purpose of the nanobots contained in the epidermal patch could finally be put to rest. There was now nothing more that he could do for his friend, aside from the last act of respectfully closing the dead man's eyes; his final goodbye to him muted only by his grief. With a deep breath, he shakes the forming tears away, instead choosing to remember what he still had in hand. Gaining this bit of refocus, his full and undivided attention directs his more violent of emotions towards the captured agent that was now firmly in his grasp. Deckerson didn't exactly know who or what this man was, but he had the extensive arsenal of a psychiatric hospital at his disposal and the searing ambition to find out. Time was waiting for him to obtain some answers; so says the ancient Terran saying, 'A bird in the hand,... '
Rowan returns to the ward's control center, the last spot where the station's 'special guest' was last seen a few moments ahead of the security team's arrival. The latter arrives to find him inspecting through a puddle of foul-smelling fluid located on the floor, testing out various spots with the use of the toe of his shoe. The individual's hospital scrubs, lab coat and shoes lie in either a pile on the chair or in the mass of the puddle itself, all also covered in the same biomass goo. It must have occurred so fast, that during the period of two to three minutes that he was left here all on his own, he was effectively melted down on the spot. Nano disintegration was truly one of the most horrible and extremely painful ways one can die in this modern age, but it was also to leave our own agents with absolutely no clues as to who this man really was, or any further information regarding the man he was trying to impersonate. The fact that he voluntarily chose this way to escape was a truly fearful measure of this agent's resolve; though it comes nowhere near to explaining how he managed to activate them in the first place. It was this fact leading Deckerson to the simple conclusion that he must have had an accomplice with him, immediately prompting him to institute a complete security lockdown of the entire station, barring anyone or any ship from coming or leaving. Upon which the waiting security team now had their current orders redirected and so began a room by room search of the floor, then the rest of the ward, echoing outward to the rest of the areas in the station; actions mirrored by other security teams starting in other areas.

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...

Enya Sparhawk

Black Tea and Talons

Likes received: 80

#9 - 2013-05-05 03:05:42 UTC | Edited by: Enya Sparhawk

Once again, he was to find himself alone with nothing but a puddle of foul-smelling fluid at his feet and the articles of clothing dripping from the seat of the chair; the glint from a strange looking implant floating in the chair goo draws his attention. Picking the unusual implant out of the liquid biomass for a closer inspection, he easily notices that it was unlike any implant that he had ever seen before. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have the vast expertise or knowledge with this sort of technology needed in order to properly reverse engineer its purpose. The implant itself has a very striking appearance, with an odd signal receiver built into it, a function that he was to make careful note of. Rowan only recognized the function in the first place because of similarities to other implants he had studied over the years; mainly the ones that the Sansha Nation use for controlling their 'volunteers'. At first, thinking that it was curious something this important wouldn't have also self-destructed with its host, he is soon to realize the puncture hole through one of the corners. Whatever it was being linked to it had to be really close by, but not necessarily on board this station, leaving a vast area of space outside as a search perimeter. This could also explain how the nanolysins were activated, being already floating inactive in the subject's body until they would be needed, thereby eliminating all trace of their intrusion. For such a high level of brazen infiltration into such sensitive areas, Rowan Deckerson accesses a secure channel to the Provists command in order to make a full report to his superiors of the implications now being thrust upon them. With one final nagging and intuitive thought now plaguing his mind; if there was one thing that a Gallente knows, it was how to control a drone.

Fíorghrá: Grá na fírinne

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Bíonn súil le muir ach ní bhíonn súil le tír.

Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir.

When the lost ships of Greece finally return home...