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</div></div><br/>The Spire could be seen from just about anywhere in the city, an enormous black monolith hovering in the sky. It filled the entirety of the opening in the troop transport as it sped toward the enormous floating structure.<br/><br/>Beretta smelled smoke, dust and the ozone of recent gunfire caking the skin and armor of all those present. The survivors of what was now being called the Janus Incident were being ferried to the Spire for debrief and medical care. Among the sweat and dirt she could spot red. Many of them were scraped up but a few had suffered some serious cuts, holding bandages over where their armor hadn't protected them. At her feet, a man lay motionless on a gurney lying down the middle of the row of seats with an oxygen mask over his face. His left arm was missing from the shoulder down, the wound packed with sealant that would chemically cauterize the wound and begin the healing process.<br/><br/>Beretta herself looked like a walking zombie. She'd been in the thick of it when the bomb went off and before that she'd been fighting her way through the complex against heavily armed Gemini terrorists. Her gray skin was pock marked from smaller caliber rounds and downright cracked and tattered from more powerful ordinance. Her left hand couldn't make a fist and her right knee wouldn't hold her weight. It was also hard to breath, pain blooming in her chest every time she inhaled. Even a Gray wasn't going to walk away unscathed after having a building dropped on them. She'd survived under the rubble for hours before they'd fished her out.<br/><br/>The troop transport's mag coils hummed in the ceiling above the compartment as they came in for a landing on one of the many extending platforms on the exterior of the Spire, the city's ever watchful sentinel of a security department. Each district had its own security force. The Spire was the big brother to all of them.<br/><br/>Those who weren't as severely injured were watching the gray. They didn't recognize her. The Spire employed the best of the best. It made them somewhat tribal. They didn't like working with outsiders and Beretta couldn't tell them why she was truly there. The truth was, she didn't entirely know. But her bosses wanted her on the ground to insure that none of the terrorists left the building alive. She could only imagine that they didn't want them talking once they were apprehended but she didn't know why. That was fine. She wasn't paid to know things.<br/><br/>The transport came to rest on the platform and it began to retract, the city lights outside disappearing, replaced with the harsh white light of the hangar. Beretta vaulted down from the compartment, leaving the others to offload their wounded buddies while she went to be debriefed, stumbling a bit on her uncooperative leg.<br/><br/>--------------------<br/><i>Day two of the Janus Corporation siege saw an explosive finish several hours ago. In a cooperative effort by Spire and the District Seven security forces, the terrorists calling themselves Gemini have been killed. However, before the situation was contained, their leader, Tobias North, a long time anti-cloning activist, was able to set off an explosive charge attached to the Janus building's main support columns. What was once a flourishing office park has been reduced to rubble, claiming the lives of many DistSec and Spire officers as well as all of the terrorists themselves. We go now to our terrorist experts to learn more ab--</i><br/><br/>The channel cycled as overlay technician Nathan Morris searched for a report on the Janus Incident that had more gory pictures of the disaster itself. His colleagues thought he was creepy, always having his news feeds turned to recent murder reports and other morbid incidents.<br/><br/><i>This is Salandra Jerrod from TerrorTalk here with psychologist Dr. David Harris. Dr. Harris, would you mind giving us some insight into the minds of the terrorists and their motivations in this case?<br/>
<br/>
Certainly, Sal. In the case of the Gemini terrorists, we have to look at the most recent advancements in cloning which caused them to escalate their actions. As you know, ten years ago, the Anyo Nine, a group of defective labor clones, began clandestinely sabotaging the construction projects they were assigned to. When they were caught, their autopsies showed a flaw in their neural nets. As you know, clones are not truly sentient. Their behaviors are a set of programmed impulses meant to simulate consciousness. They can take direction, perform basic tasks, they have rudimentary spacial reasoning, but steps are taken to insure that in no way can they perceive their own existences.<br/>
<br/>
What you're saying, David, if I understand correctly, is that clones are little more than biological automatons.<br/>
<br/>
That's right, Sal. And that's where Gemini's delusion comes in. They are adamant, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, that clones are sentient beings that should be afforded human rights.<br/>
<br/>
Correct me if I'm wrong, David, but wouldn't that be like giving human rights to a toaster?<br/>
<br/>
Basically, yes.<br/>
<br/>
You mentioned the Anyo Nine, though, David. Weren't they proven to be conscious and self aware?<br/>
<br/>
On the contrary, Sal. The Anyo Nine were the result of what was later found to be an unforeseen defect in their breeding vats that led to abnormal cellular growth in their brains. Had they not been caught and decommissioned, it was determined that they would have died anyway. The technology to make truly sentient, artificial life has never existed. You can be sure that those employed within our manufacturing and service industries are in no way mistreated and--</i><br/><br/>Nathan blinked twice, the display on the inside of his glasses changing again. He wasn't interested in psycho babble. He wanted to see the rubble, the bodies. His comm buzzed, signalling that a patient had arrived and needed his help. He sighed as he switched off the feed, brown eyes focusing in the door to his little cubicle as it slid open.<br/>"Daaamn. What happened to you, B?" Nathan said as the gray entered. "You look like a zombie!" He was grinning. It looked creepy. The guy enjoyed his work way too much.<br/><br/>"Tried to fight a building. It won," Beretta replied as she unceremoniously began shedding her tattered clothes once the door was shut behind her.<br/><br/>"You were at Janus right? What was it like? I was just watching some of the reports. How many people died?" He asked as he swiveled in his chair, fingers flying over his control board. A chamber began to emerge from the wall opposite him. It was see through with several metal scaffolds inside attached to some sort of articulating apparatus. There was also what looked like a shower head at the top and rows of reflective panels around the inside.<br/><br/>"You're a sick motherfucker, Nathan," Beretta said tiredly as she dropped the last few tattered scraps of clothing into the incinerator. "Just fix me, freak."<br/><br/>Nathan nodded, the chamber hissing a little as it opened to allow her inside. She stood facing him as the panels closed again, sealing her in. "Any pain?" Nathan asked in a clinical tone.<br/><br/>"Left hand and right knee are busted. I think one of my ribs punctured a lung too..." Beretta responded casually.<br/><br/>"Yeah. I'm scanning some internal damage. But I don't think you're lung's been punctured. The broken rib is just pressing against it. Man. Can you imagine what you'd look like without your mods after a building falling on you like that?"<br/><br/>"I try not to," she replied as the little arms attached to the scaffolds began zipping around. Their surgical attachments went to work on her hand, knee and ribs and Nathan seemed to be in heaven as his nimble fingers guided them in taking her apart before putting her back together.<br/><br/>Any un-augmented human would have been screaming to be let out but being conscious without anesthetic during three simultaneous surgeries was nothing compared to what she'd gone through during the augmentation process. Not only that, but her work required her to go into situations where she would suffer physical harm. It only made sense to dull her pain responses when they were turning her into a walking tank.<br/><br/>"Alrighty. That should do it," Nathan said as the little surgical arms retracted. Beretta looked down at her wounds, neat little lines of cauterized flesh the only reminder of the surgeries and those would fade quite quickly. "Now for the good part. Your overlay is... well it looks like Swiss cheese." Beretta cocked her head in confusion. "It used to be a country. They made cheese with a lot of holes in it."<br/><br/>"Why?"<br/><br/>"You know, I don't know. But we gotta get that skin off before it starts deteriorating. My records show you were about due for a replacement overlay anyway. Beginning acid wash... now." Beretta took hold of two grips on the inside of the chamber, knuckles turning white as she squeezed in preparation for what would happen next. This WOULD hurt. And she never got used to it.<br/><br/>The shower head in the top of the chamber let loose a flood of steaming liquid. It wasn't quite acid but a compound specifically designed to dissolve the outer layer of a gray's skin when it became so damaged that it needed replacing. Despite the augments, she was still human and the epidermis was the first line of defense against infection. Sometimes it just got too damaged to repair itself. Immediately, her hair and gray skin began to smoke and peel off, running down her body and leaving her a dark, charcoal gray, her skin's under-layer exposed. It rippled as she gripped the handles more tightly, a suppressed sound of pain leaving her as she was skinned. "Almost there, B. Almost there. Applying topical now." More, smaller nozzles on the inside of the scaffolding sprayed a fine pink mist over her body which now looked like some incredibly advanced android body, each muscle group covered in a protective layer of ballistic nano mesh that gave it its color. She visibly calmed as the mist touched her, another specifically designed compound to numb her pain.<br/><br/>She was breathing hard as the surgical arms extended again, this time beginning at her feet and weaving new skin over her body with mechanical precision. Nathan sat back in his chair, letting the chamber do its work as he popped open a bag of chips, crunching them as he watched the progress of the machine applying the new skin to her body. "Yep. All pretty again..." But she was too exhausted to hear him, adjusting to the new nerves in her skin's overlay. She always hated this process. It was a good thing they could stimulate her hair growth or she would live her life bald.<br/><br/>Once the arms were finished, they retracted. Her skin looked soft and new without a mark on it. It was even a little pink. It felt sensitive too. "Almost done, B. Just need the radiation bath to toughen the epidermal weave. As you know, it will weaken over time. Don't wait too long to come back or you will get progressively less bulletproof. Spire spent a lot of money making you indestructible. Wouldn't want to waste that."<br/><br/>"Yeah. I'm soooo grateful..." She said sarcastically as the reflective plating on the scaffolding turned yellow, angling toward her. She was bathed in the yellow light, her knew skin tightening and darkening to its usual gray, her muscle definition became more apparent as the new skin bonded with her under-layer of epidermal armor and the general discomfort of being momentarily skinless faded as she felt her strength return. The yellow light shut off and a small mechanical arm attached to her right handhold swiveled, pressing a pad over her arm. There was a hiss and she felt a myriad of tiny needles skimming over her skin, tattooing several bar codes on her inner wrist. They were her credentials and security clearance codes. The little arm retracted and she let go of the hand holds as the doors opened and she stepped out. "Thanks, freak," she said as she went over to the wall beside his desk where several jumpsuits were hanging. She slipped one on.<br/><br/>"No problem. See you next time," Nathan said as he turned back to his news feeds, crunching his chips as she left.<br/><br/>--------------------<br/>Thankfully, as Beretta wasn't technically a member of the Spire rank and file, she didn't have to go through the normally lengthy debriefing process the others would have to after such a colossal clusterfuck of an operation. Instead, she got yelled at for about twenty minutes by her current handler. He didn't actually think it was her fault that the operation ended in a massacre and the destruction of an entire building but he still felt like taking out his anger on her anyway. Frank was a good guy though. Just stressed and she took it with a stony expression, sitting across from him in his office in her nondescript jumpsuit. He eventually got tired, popped some antidepressants and made some joke about being late for dinner before letting her go. Late was right. It was almost midnight.<br/><br/>A quick stop by her locker and she left the spire looking a bit more like herself. She wore minimalist fashions. She didn't need to bring much attention to herself, given that she was almost seven feet tall and gray and looked like some sort of Olympic athlete. So a nondescript gray coat with a high collar to protect from the cold and frequent rain, heavy boots and trousers to match was enough for her.<br/><br/>She adjusted her shoulder harness as she went through the normal security checks on her way out, boarding one of the transports that would take her down to the city's main level. It was a short trip practically straight down, the transport landing on top of a transit terminal. Beretta disembarked with several other Spire personnel, mostly off duty officers and clerks going home after a double shift. Off the job, they didn't care who she was and that was just fine. They didn't get in her way either, moving aside as she made her way to the head of the small line and down the stairs to the main transit terminal area, boarding a tram that would take her to her home district.<br/><br/>--------------------<br/>The apartment building was nothing fancy. But it wasn't a complete dump either. It certainly wasn't like the squalid wrecks of the lower city. She stepped over Old Joe, passed out drunk in the lobby and went to the elevator, stepping inside. It was rather claustrophobic, especially for someone of her bulk. There was a slightly muffled and distorted chime and a voice that had once been female but now sounded like a robot having a siezure said "Select the desired residence."<br/><br/>"Vega," Beretta said as she unzipped her coat, running a hand over her bald head self consciously even though there was no one around. The chime sounded again and she began to ascend.<br/><br/>The elevator moved up, then horizontally. The building was divided into cubes like a 3D grid and the elevator could reach any one of the modular apartments. It definitely cut down on the awkward conversations with one's neighbors in the halls.<br/><br/>The chime sounded yet again as the doors opened on Beretta's little apartment and she stepped off, walking inside. The apartment was little more than a single room, the entire left side made up of restractable compartments containing her stove, oven, fridge, a counter, a dining area and even her bed. When not accessed, her apartment was basically just a living room with a large screen on one wall and one chair with a small table. The chair looked incredibly out of place in the modern architecture: made of wood, likely by hand, the cushion faded and tattered in places.<br/><br/>She kicked off her boots and went over to one of the compartments, pulling it open to reveal a stash of liquor. She poured herself something strong and then went over to the chair, sitting down and placing her drink on the little table beside it as she reached over and pulled open another panel. Inside were a series of tubes hooked up to a complex looking machine. She lifted off her shirt, leaving her in her white sports bra. She leaned back in the chair as she picked up several of the tubes. Her free hand felt around her abdomen, fingers pressing against her belly until a tiny opening in her skin's armored layer opened to reveal a tiny port, a shunt. She fit the metal end of one of the tubes into it before looking for another of the shunts, attaching the next tube. There were three in all, attached to ports up the left side of her stomach. Once done, she pressed a button on the machine and it hummed to life.<br/><br/>Beretta keyed a control on the wall beside her and it retracted, revealing a window, the lights of the city outside filtering through the glass and playing over her skin. She sipped her drink as the machine did its work. Her body, aside from many biological alterations, contained several cybernetic implants that needed to be maintained and regularly updated with new software. Nathan's dermal and physical repairs had been only half the process. The machine would also instruct the implants to stimulate her hair growth again.<br/><br/>It was a lot of work to maintain her body. She harbored a special kind of hatred for the people who had made her what she was but she supposed she should be grateful they allowed her to still at least LOOK human.<br/><br/>The gray fished around under her chair for a small notebook she kept there, placing it on her lap. It was worn, the edges rounded and boxed from use. She opened the pages, the paper somewhat brittle and stained from water damage and, in some cases, blood. She'd had the notebook many years, since long before she'd become a part of Spire. It had traveled with her everywhere. At first, it had been a journal, given to her by an old lover. Or abuser depending on how you looked at it. He'd exploited her but she knew, in some odd way, he'd had real feelings for her. Since then, it had turned into a consolidated compendium of her hopes and dreams. The first few pages were like diary entries, more than a few of them ranting about the stupidity of diaries or journals and psychology in general. Later, it became a bit more chaotic, random thoughts, chronicles of her battles, poems, even drawings, although they weren't very good. And later still, the entries became numbers.<br/><br/>She stared at the bottom of one of the pages, covered in calculations. Her bank balance. Back at Darkstar, she'd been indentured labor. Everything had been provided. She'd never been paid. But once she'd left and joined Spire, she'd begun to feel in control of her life. She turned the page. Taped into the notebook was an advertisement, old and worn like the book itself. It was for a boat. Small. Nothing like the luxury yachts that were almost their own districts, docked at the city's harbor. It was big enough for one, maybe two. She could sail around the world, rarely leaving the solitude of the sea. Maybe then, when there was no reminder of how different she was, she could start to feel human again...<br/><br/>She flipped back to the page before, comparing the numbers for the price of the boat alongside her bank balance. She had a long way to go.<br/><br/>The empty glass slipped from her fingers as the gray's eyes closed fully, slipping into slumber as the machine continued to hum softly in her dark apartment, the notebook open on her lap.