Play of Shadows

3.15: Know Thyself

Ann had done well.

Maya Barton assured her of the fact repeatedly as she led Ann deeper into the broken house that had once served as the town's headquarters. They walked up a staircase that curved onto itself like a snail's shell and deposited them a floor below, gravity shifting under their feet so that up was down and wrong was right.

The ceiling above them was cracked open. Rooms hung on either side of the narrow hallway like rib bones protruding from a spine. Barton led Ann to a door that hung halfway from its hinges. She opened the door and courteously stood aside, waiting for Ann to enter.

Ann crossed over the threshold. She stepped onto uneven ground that gave under her heels, cracking apart with a sound like breaking bones. Ann looked down. The remains of a familiar face lay in pieces under her feet. A fragmented green eye looked up at her, startlingly vivid.

It was A. Or what remained of him.

Ann felt Barton's attention like a knife in the back. She had faltered in her shock and Barton, watching for a reaction, had not missed the misstep. The woman said nothing, and neither did Ann.

"Take a seat, please," Barton bid.

They were in A's office. Ann recognized the desk and antiquated chairs, the gramophone-like contraption sitting quietly in a corner. Everything was neat in its place save for the shattered remains of A's face.

Ann picked her way across the room. She sat down obediently and did not flinch when Barton came to stand behind her, the woman's looming presence a hanging guillotine.

Barton walked around the desk. She sat in A's chair, the bright sunflower dress at odds with the stiff leather upholstery. Her eyes were thoughtful as she looked at Ann.

The porcelain mask Barton wore smiled benevolently, its lips painted sparkling gold. To Ann's new sense of sight, the mask was scattered code, ever-rearranging in new geometric shapes. It did not so much as hide Barton's features as it consumed them and made them its own.

"Do you feel sad over that broken thing at the door, Miss Sufort?" Barton asked.

"Yes," Ann said simply.

The nonchalance was only partially an act. Ann's emotions ran shallow since the loss of her soul disk; Ann couldn't muster much care about that, either.

Barton watched her, gone so utterly still that she looked lifeless – a porcelain doll in a pretty summer dress. She let out a sigh at last and spoke in warm tones.

"I'm so glad. Not to scare you, Miss Sufort, but you are in a rather precarious state. So close to becoming one of those things, lacking even a shred of human emotion – but do not fear! I have promised to save you, and I will not go back on my word."

"Save me?" Ann repeated.

"Yes, save you. You realize that you are dead, do you not? Your mortal body, that is," Barton said.

Ann couldn't help a startled flinch. Barton looked on, unmoved save for her eyes, which shone with delight.

"We all are. But death matters very little – it is necessary, in fact. We've cut the chains that bound us to our rotting shells and can now live in endless freedom. This is what VELES was built to achieve."

Ann's mind turned like wheels in a clock. "But the project failed," she said, her confusion unfeigned. "Kellan said –"

"He lied!" Barton cried, a shrill screech of a sound that left Ann's ears ringing.

The woman rose from her seat in a clatter. Ann watched her take a step forward then back again, too restless to stand still.

"He lied," she repeated, calmer, "The project was nearly finished, and we were on track to a working prototype. Still rough around the edges, plenty of bugs to work through, we could all tell that we had it right, at last. A miracle of our own making."