MISSION: THE AI AND THE COMMANDER

[ximilian]

● ● ● M I S S I O N   1 4 . 0

SOMEWHEN • PRESENT DAY • FYI

// SOMEWHEN  

The hum of the teleportation platform is familiar, filling your ears as the bright light dissipates enough to safely open your eyes. You feel something solid beneath your feet, and the lack of scent from the asphalt and dirt in Nuhiri and Deumia marks a departure from anything resembling a planet, the space around you giving you no reason to think anything of it. You're on the Ximilia once again — finally. Another mission successfully accomplished, for whatever other hardships you and the rest of the team have endured. Hot food and hot showers await, and Newt will surely be scurrying off to prepare for the team’s usual post-mission movie night.

You’re back and you can’t wait for Viveca to greet you, and for Degar to take the orb away, back to the North Wing to join the other ones.

Except … the station’s walls appear to be peeling, and some of the equipment looks a little older and unpolished. There’s even a layer of space-dust on one of the control boards. And most importantly: no one is here to greet you. As you turn and look to your fellow crewmates in confusion, even now some of you might start to wonder at the change of routine. Ivy, who had just been handling the orb, will be empty-handed, but surely there’s nothing to worry about. The station is peaceful and still. Nothing feels amiss … yet. And then:

// 0-L1V-14

Oh, hello. You are not the team I know. Yet you are here for the orb … Good.

The sound of 0-L1V-14 — or 'Olivia' as many have come to call her — voice springs to life around you. She almost seems to sound confused for a moment, clearly recalibrating her systems for this strange occurrence, before the gentle tenor of her voice regains its composure and she recalls her mission directive. The lights in the teleportation platform seem to glow just a little brighter, as though the arrival of the crew has buoyed the AI's spirits.

// 0-L1V-14

I've located one within the station, but it seems to have fractured. The air around them appears to have some sort of temporal disturbance that I can't quite pin down. Be cautious, but bring them to me before anything happens.

Well? You heard the AI. Best to start looking.

1.0   The first thing you might think to do is return to the sleeping quarters, either to clean up and change into another set of clothes; or to take a much-deserved nap; or maybe you just need a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts. The doors to the sleeping quarters seem to stick for a moment, which isn’t worrying in and of itself, but as the doors slide open you realize that you’re looking into a dark and empty carved out space that resembles a place for storage more than anything else. The walls and doors that used to make up your individual rooms are absent, and the floors are stripped bare, with rows of perforated grates allowing the cavernous space to remain relatively well-ventilated. It’s clear that no one has visited this room in quite some time, and perhaps there had once been plans for it, now abandoned to hold a stock of random items in its place.

There are boxes stacked against the wall, and a shelving unit that holds miscellaneous supplies: cans and boxes, batteries and wires, old bound notebooks made of paper. Rolls of rough tarp are haphazardly leaning against the wall to one corner, and thermal blankets are scattered amongst scraps of loose-leaf, a sketch of a cluster of spherical shapes in different colours, and other foreign knick-knacks that seem to have no place on a space station. If you decide to explore this space you’ll have to provide your own source of light as none of the lighting above seem to work though the row of fixtures that you’re used to seem, at least, to have been installed. They’re just not currently online.

Investigating the room a little deeper might draw you to a simple metal box sitting in the middle shelf next to what looks like a half-broken lute, its strings missing. There is no lock on this box, as though it wants to be opened, and lifting the lid will reveal a bright rosy-coloured light. Reaching out towards the small sliver of light in the shape of an elongated teardrop will recall a memory of your childhood so vivid, you’ll think you were back in that time, in that exact moment, to relive it again. Whether it's a good memory or a tragic one is left up to random chance. Only someone entering the room to talk you through your memory will remind you that you aren’t actually a child any longer.

2.0   Perhaps you decide to forgo the sleeping quarters entirely, and want to revisit one of your favourite simulations in the simulation room. Familiar oceans, the futuristic bar, or the room filled with adorable puppies might be your first choice — but every preset you’re used to scrolling through seems to be different now. There are the standard, familiar pre-mission training simulations, and even the Lodgen Mountain Mines mission appears to be here, but everything else has either been deleted … or it was never here to begin with.

You might decide to go ahead with one of the already existing simulations anyway, or you might want to start rewriting the one you’d come here for in the first place. It will depend on your luck, and it will depend on the success of your mission-training, but a small shard of bright, silvery coloured light may suddenly reveal itself to you. It appears like a thin tear-shape that hangs suspended in the air. The faintest whisper beckons you close; it’s familiar. Will you reach out to touch it? Doing so will colour the simulation room around you with a memory so real it might as well be — suddenly you might recall a happy moment in your life, or perhaps your greatest victory or adventure. This can be shared with whoever enters the simulation room with you or after you, and will fade when you manage to locate the right door and leave the room.

3.0   The sunlight room that you may have walked through on countless occasions is missing the familiar bridge, the river that runs beneath it, and trees that surround it. Instead, the vegetation around you appears to be far more deliberate and practical, thick foliage like bushes planted in rows, their large leaves covering most of the ground and soil. Several small metal boxes with wires and buttons can be found planted across the space, each with a thin rotating disc that whirs and spins quietly. Each of these boxes appears to give off readings, each screen displaying a continuous green wavy line scrolling across it and text that displays the quality of the air with a percentile grade, the amount of it being produced, and that particular box’s designation zone: Mess Hall, Storage, Living Quarters, and Teleportation Platform among others. This isn’t just a room that simulates nature, but if you were to approach any of the small bushes and saplings here, it’s clear that the plants here are real and they’re currently working to provide the rest of the station with oxygen.

Further to the back of the sunlight room, a bright sliver of colourful green light seems to glitter and glint between the leaves. It feels familiar in the way that it whispers faintly, and if you concentrate you can make out the sound of your name in a voice like that of someone from your past: a friend, perhaps, or a family member. Maybe a loved one or an enemy. Or perhaps it’s a voice you can’t actually recognize. It might compel you to reach out for the light, but will you listen? Or will you turn away?

If you embrace the light and call out in answer to the voice, you will re-experience the action, the conversation, or the thought that you attribute as being the reason you are who you are today with that most important person being the key piece in your memory.

4.0   Looking for your usual snacks? Feeling peckish for that bowl of instant spicy space-ramen you saved for post-mission? You might head into the kitchen expecting the familiar foodstuffs that you’re used to only to find that the room has been rearranged, with far fewer cupboards and appliances, and more of what looks like typical space-fare: freeze-fried items and nutrition-focused meals sealed into silver foiled bags. What ‘fresh’ ingredients exist are even less, and there are a stack of dirty plates and cutlery in the sink that don’t look like anything you or your crewmates might have used. You may already suspect that this whole station isn’t the one you’re used to, or you might still be in denial. Either way, you may find through your rummaging the call to a little sliver of coppery-coloured light located behind the freezer door.

If you decide to touch the fragment of light here, you’ll feel a ghostly burning as though the glint of the light has cut your skin, almost cold enough to feel sharp — but it’s just your imagination, isn’t it? What you remember now as it comes back to life around you (and the team member or members who may have joined you) is the best meal you’ve ever eaten, whether it is something you made for yourself, something made by your loved one, or the meal that leaves your heart feeling empty and aching.

5.0   You may have become so accustomed to seeing the North Wing doors sealed that it’s your curiosity that draws you forward to the wide expanse beyond the now open wing, your feet testing the threshold as if you’re expecting an invisible wall to keep you out. Nothing happens when you step into the North Wing, though you might immediately notice the large tank that holds all of the team’s successfully captured orbs is very clearly missing. And not only that but the space appears to be well lived in, a small cluster of worn chairs and a table set to one side, and data pads and drawings on white-boards in plain view. They don’t seem to be much more than a couple of crude strategy diagrams (and a couple of silly stick figures in one corner) and as you move towards the crew quarters, some of you might instantly recognize the familiar room with its rows of beds and a scattering of personal effects assigned to each bunk. Photos are pinned to walls of a twenty-person crew, pillows and blankets are left in disarray by unfinished knitting projects, a diary written in a language you can’t quite translate, and a stuffed elephant-shaped plush doll lies at the head of one of the beds in the middle of the room. By the door is a neatly made bed. An analogue paperback novel sits on the nightstand, a bookmark set in the middle to note its progress. On top of it is a well-kept watch stopped a little after the sixth hour and a medal of service in the now recognizable insignia of the Ndiera Complex’s Federation.

By the far wall of these sleeping quarters is a bright golden starlight that seems to illuminate that side of the room as though someone had turned on a torchlight to the highest setting; it’s almost blinding. Moving closer to it, you’ll find that it’s like all the other slivers of light scattered across the station — a broken shard, like a piece of a large puzzle. Touching it may pull you — and whoever might be in the room with you — into a memory from your time with the Ximilia crew, whether it happened over a year ago, or it happened only on the last mission. It might be a happy memory, or it might be something you regret, which is poignant considering your initial raison d’etre for being here at all. It’s a vision that appears from your perspective and while you relive it, you feel outside of yourself.

6.0   The rest of the station still appears to be intact, with the infirmary, the training room, and the armoury in the same locations that you remember. Those of you who have been here for quite some time, you’ll find your way around by muscle memory alone; but even if you’re a newer member of the crew you’ll have wandered the halls enough to know what feels familiar to you … and what doesn’t.

The infirmary looks to be a little out of date, though it looks as if it’s seen its fair share of use. And it’s smaller too, the more recent addition and surgical area missing from the cozy space. The training room and the armoury share similar qualities of seeming a little older, a little more lived in, and with well-used equipment and weapons to boot. The training room is still padded with firm padded flooring and benches for sitting. Some of the racks and hooks (all empty) that had been against the wall have fallen now, and similar to the teleportation room, you’ll find that some of the paneling in this room has since peeled away, revealing some of the bare structure behind them. In the armoury, you won’t find your favourite knife or preferred staff but there are still a few choices in weaponry to arm yourself with.

Wherever you decide to explore, you might once more happen upon a bright bluish light that seems to whisper and call to you in soft, hushed tones. No specific words can be picked out through the murmurs but the feeling is all the same — it draws you forward like a moth to flame, but whether you decide to reach a hand out to touch the sliver of light that hangs suspended in the air is entirely your choice. If you do, you might succumb to a vivid memory of a significant injury you or someone important to you had suffered once, reliving that moment with too sharp clarity. Those feelings of fear or threat or maybe even satisfaction seem to come to you again as though you were there again — only this time you may not be alone as you witness this memory, and someone else has entered the room with you.

● ● ●

Present Day.

The teleportation platform hums quietly in a clean, well-maintained room. No walls or floors appear to be even the least bit dented, and now the Commander of the Ximilia stands behind the control board, staring at the screen as though doing so will bring their crew back by some wild form of magic. Degar knows magic — he’d come from a world so full of it. This, however, is something different.

Beside him, Viveca scans through the data that had sent the crew into the Ndiera Complex, as it should have brought them back the same way, with the orb in tow.

// VIVECA

“I don’t know how it happened… they should have arrived here. Everything seemed normal! But I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

// DEGAR

“They could be anywhere, right? Except we can’t even help them if we don’t know where that might be.”

// VIVECA

“I know. The strange thing is that it seems that we’ve located another orb… only, it states that it’s here. On the station. So even if the platform sent them straight to it… why aren’t they here?”

The Commander and the AI both turn their gaze towards the still empty teleportation platform before exchanging worried glances with each other. Degar finally heaves an exhale but the frown in his features deepens.

// DEGAR

“Keep working at it. I’m going to see what I can figure out in the station’s systems. Maybe we can trace back to the team somewhere. Or somewhen.”

Viveca nods, her voice sounding complicated when she responds next.

// VIVECA

“Yeah. We’ll find them.”

TOP

F Y I

• The events in this log take place during the first two weeks of June.

• For this mission, we have decided to run the search request mechanic a little differently. Depending on whether your character decides to touch or grasp one or any of the slivers of coloured light that can be found throughout the station, you will have the opportunity to participate in a search request. More on this is explained HERE.

• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.

• Any in-character questions to 0-L1V-14 can be asked HERE.

• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪

TOP

▶ NAV

Comments

1.0 Sleeping Quarters | rose

[deaddrop]

[It's clear already that this isn't their version of Ximilia; Natasha doesn't expect to find any of her things when she ventures into what she knows as the crew quarters. She's both over and under dressed, though, and less armed than she likes, her shoes a lot less practical than she likes. She figures there will be something there, at least.

Something they can use.

What she finds isn't exactly encouraging. That doesn't stop her from searching though. At some point finding something useful becomes secondary to trying to figure out what's going on here. Even if this version of the ship belongs to another crew, surely it should be in better condition than this?

As she searches, she happens upon the rosy light, clearly suspicious but considering their current situation? Also worthy of investigation—

Then everything around them shimmers out as though part of a rippling heat mirage, and the space around her dissolves into something else. Cuba. The family deboards from the tiny plane, Natasha scrambling down from the pilot's seat and onto the tarmac.

The memory plays out, Natasha trying to protect Yelena again, and failing again. Alexei's betrayal. The return to Red Room...

It fades out just as her consciousness does, leaving her wobbly as it passes, her throat tight and a shine in her eyes. For three seconds she can only stand there, processing the experience. Then she scrubs her hand across her face, wiping away tears before they can fall.]

[recklessenough]

[ Lockwood wasn't about to admit it, but truth was he didn't exactly remember which room was his. He'd been on the station for such a short time and sleep had always been an uneasy companion so he'd spent most of that time in other areas of the station. Finding his way back to the room that had been assigned him was a hit and miss proposition to begin with, let alone given their current situation.

He didn't mean to intrude on Natasha's privacy, let alone her memory and he would never have done so deliberately. He simply opened the wrong door at the wrong time and stepped into a scene that made no sense. By the time his mind processed what he was witnessing, everything had unfolded and there was no going back.

The bright light of the Cuban airfield faded to the dark shadows of the uninhabited store room, leaving Lockwood to blink a couple of times before his eyes adjusted. Once they did and he saw the adult Natasha standing off to the side, regathering herself, Lockwood balanced between two urges. The one to step over and offer comfort, the other to play it casual and allow for them both to pretend he hadn't just seen what he'd seen.

It would make sense for him to go the way of avoidance. They didn't know each other all that well and avoidance was perfectly sound tactic. Lockwood was leaning in that direction, opening his mouth to say something casual like 'oh, wrong room' when he heard entirely different words come out. ]

You're a good sister, Natasha. Even if the outcome wasn't in your favor.

[deaddrop]

Not good enough.

[Natasha mutters, more to herself than to Lockwood. They're on an abandoned station with an orb acting up. It's not the time to feel sorry for herself.

It's not so easy to shake off her regrets though.

Taking a second, she stands taller and closers her eyes.]

Sorry. That was a long time ago. Not anything you have to worry about now.

[recklessenough]

[ Lockwood's lips twitched. Her response is one he's used on many occasions. Not the exact words, but the sentiment: it was a long time ago, nothing you need to worry about, I don't remember details.

If he didn't have a hypocritical streak running through his core, Lockwood would have taken the hint and left the situation alone. The problem was, he's been around her just enough and in the right sort of circumstances to understand that she does not allow her emotions to overwhelm her without good reason. True, no tears had fallen, but Lockwood's done that very same action -wiped his eyes before the moisture could escape- often enough to recognize it from another.

He won't play with patronizing words of comfort. There will be no 'of course you're good enough' or 'you're too hard on yourself, no one could have withstood those odds'. He'd rather not get her fist in his teeth. Instead, his voice remains it's measured, deep and warm timber, but the words are spoken with the carefully cultivated, detached sort of professional curiosity.

It isn't done to be cold or unfeeling, but rather as a way to provide her with a respective bit of distance, while still inviting words that maybe need to be spoken. Least the memory settle in with a chokehold. ]

Who was that man?

[deaddrop]

[It's a smarter reaction anyway. Comfort would have rolled off of Natasha like water off a duck.

Facts, however, she responds to.

Her lips press together, tongue wetting them.]

The one who spoke to us?

[It seems most likely. He's the one who looms the largest for her.]

Alexei. He was—is—the closest thing I had to a father.

[recklessenough]

Huh. [ Lockwood makes a thoughtful noise. He genuinely weighs his options more carefully than his next comment might suggest, balancing between the expected social conventions of a conversation like this, and his gut instinct.

In the end, with Natasha at least, he goes with gut instinct. He speaks to the girl he saw in the memory, rather than his usual polite tones to the adult standing in front of him. ]

Rather sad to learn that adults are just as disingenuous and unreliable in your reality as they are in mine. Was hoping my reality was the odd one out.

[deaddrop]

[That gets a sort of humorless laugh out of Natasha, accepting the sentiment for what it is while at the same time wondering if that somehow excludes her from being an adult now?

She'd never really felt like a child. Not outside of moments stolen here or there, or when she forgot herself. Usually with Yelena.]

Alexei is absolutely unreliable, and delusional. I think he convinced himself he was telling the truth.

[He was also complicated. For three years, he'd been a source of love and approval. He'd taught her skills that kept her alive when she was cycled back through the Red Room.

She can hate him, but she can't not love him a little still too.]

Maybe you're not wrong about adults, even if I'd like to believe it's not entirely universal.

[recklessenough]

[ It was complicated. She was still an adult, but in witnessing this Lockwood had been reminded that she hadn't been willed into existence as an adult. Any more than Barnes, Flo or ... oh alright, even Kipps hadn't been willed into existence as their adult selves.

It was easy, back home, for Lockwood to paint with broad brushstrokes. But unlike Peter Pan, as Lockwood aged he slowly marched towards acknowledging that those broad strokes were not fair and he needed to do better about his judgements. It was still a work in progress, no body break out the champagne yet. Baby steps.

For this moment, at least, he listened -actually listened- to Natasha as she spoke, lips twitching in a humorless smile of his own. ]

It's a fine line, between convincing others you're telling the truth, in order to get a difficult job done, and convincing yourself that you have the answer. One is sometimes a necessity, the other is delusion.

[ He latter comment earned a wry huff of laughter and a shake of his head. Winkman, Fairfax, The Golden Blade flash through his mind's eye, but he swiftly beats them back into their boxes with a cheeky wink. ]

I'm sure I'd be the universal constant, in stirring up the adults. Come on. Too many shades in this room, and I'm honor bound to feed you tea and a plate of biscuits; if we can find any.

[ He'll move then, for the first time, taking a step back towards the doorway. She might reject the tea, which is fine. He suspects she has a lot of matters to check on, but if she takes him up on his offer, he knows the kitchen is relatively safe.

The goal is to get her moving and away from this particular room. ]

[deaddrop]

Well, I'd hate to besmirch your honor.

[Lockwood's attention doesn't exactly help. Natasha's not sure at this point there's much to help what happened then, and she's always guarded about her past.

She prefers not to make it anyone else's problem.

But it doesn't hurt either. It's a distraction, at least, and it illustrates something she was rather beginning to suspect: Lockwood is a good kid. Giving a little nod, she allows herself to be lured out of the area.]

I don't know if we'll have any luck with tea and biscuits if the rest of the station is like this, but if this is going to be something that pops up, probably better to be prepared.

[doooooog]

[ Many of the crew went to check their quarters first, chasing the vanishingly slim chance they would find something familiar where their rooms once stood. Jake doesn't think to say anything to Natasha as he passes her on the way to he and Finn's room, regarding her with a quick wave on his way past.

Now, Natasha wasn't always the warmest person in the world, but she and Jake had developed a friendly rapport over the past few months. Equal parts antagonizing and conspiratorial, Jake had come to expect some acknowledgement. A middle finger at the very least.

So when she gives him nothing, standing frozen, it sticks in Jake's mind. Momentum takes him a few steps past her door before that nagging feeling slows his paws to a stop, doubling back to peer more directly into her room. The strange heat and scent of jet fuel hits first, followed swiftly by a vision as potently real as the ship itself.

Nearly everyone he sees are strangers to him, but his nose knows better. The two girls in the center of the fray, confused and frightened and desperate, their scent sparks a memory of Jake's own. Two adult women, both withdrawn in their own unique ways, reflected back to the dog as shadows of these two little girls.

When reality returns, it's in pieces. The airfield gives way to smooth walls, the man kneeling down with the girls (their father?) slowly walks into nothingness, and Jake gets to watch in real time as the terrified girl with the blue hair grows into Natasha before his eyes.

Jake is silent for a long moment, watching her attempt to collect herself, before he pads carefully into the room. ]

Hey. [ He begins, voice as careful as his approach. ] Nat?

[deaddrop]

[It's disorienting shaking off the memory of being sedated. For a few seconds, her body doesn't want to believe she's not about to drift off, and it wants to fight, her heart racing and her adrenaline spiking.

There's no drugs in her system though.

She rubs her face, first her eyes then her mouth, shaking her head slightly. She's not sure what to say.]

It's all right.

[doooooog]

[ It's impressive, how convincing her voice might be if Jake couldn't see her. The rattled look in her eye was a strange mirror of the little girl from the memory; bridging that young face to the grown one he knew now. ]

C'mon. [ He offers, voice a perfect blend of skepticism and kindness. ] Don't do that.

[deaddrop]

[She starts to say that she's not doing anything, or to ask what it is that he thinks she's doing—something like that. She's not quite sure what shape the words would take, but they're absolutely reflexive. Like she needs to make her own feelings as small as possible, the dismiss and minimize them.

She catches herself, though, taking a slow breath as she steadies her nerves.

Instead she asks,]

What do you want me to do?

[doooooog]

[ Heaving a sigh, Jake pads over to her with an exhausted expression. They'd only been back, what, a couple hours? How did this day already feel a week long? ]

I dunno if I'm really allowed to tell you that, but. Maybe we can start with not minimizing some creep drugging a little girl? [ He holds a beat, sticking his hands in pockets of his own flesh. Look, a little levity never hurt anything. ] That blue haired kid, that was you, right? And the other one, Yelena?

[deaddrop]

Yup.

[Her and Yelena, that is. It's hard to relive it like that. In Natasha's mind, she's always an adult. In her memories, she's a child with an adult's consciousness—but this throws the lie of that into sharp contrast.

She was a child. Whatever she'd been through already by that point, whatever would come after, she was a child.

Natasha licks her teeth, not sure what else to say to that. Jake's not wrong.]

I wasn't minimizing.

[She knows Yelena would disagree.]

[doooooog]

[ She's not the only one. But unlike Yelena, Jake doesn't have the familial bond that makes it okay to tread too far past the bounds of politeness. There was a fine line between frankness and cruelty when it came to these things. ]

Is that how you really feel about it?

[ An opportunity. Double down on the lie or be honest, Jake had officially tossed the ball firmly into Natasha's court.

Whether he's talking about "minimizing" or "all right" or both is left unclear. Perhaps deliberately. ]

[deaddrop]

[Natasha rolls her lips between her teeth, not entirely sure how to answer that. She doesn't want to lie.

But she also doesn't want to tell the truth.]

Sometimes. [It's the best she can do.] Mostly I try not to think about it one way or the other.

[oiorpata]

[ andy had heard a little bit about natasha's early life - stolen away from her murdered mother, missing that piece of her origin - but it's different to witness elements of it play out. to see the smaller version of her, as a smaller but still nonetheless threat. ]

[ when it's over, the temptation is there to reach for natasha's hand in comfort, but instead she drops hers on the woman's shoulder, squeezing. ]

How old were you?

[deaddrop]

Eleven, I suppose.

[That's pretty likely. She doesn't know her actual birthday is, but she's fairly confident of the year and it seems like it was late in the year. This was probably earlier.]

[oiorpata]

[ she'd known natasha was taken as a child. it makes sense too that she wouldn't know her birthday, and it's just another thing she finds herself having in common with the other woman. ]

[ she's seen a lot of fucked up things children and child soldiers go through, and this only feels like the tip of the iceberg on natasha's part. ]

What kind of mission was it?

[deaddrop]

Infiltration. Deep cover. My "parents"— [The quotations around parents is, in fact, audible.] —Were infiltrating an American intelligence agency. Yelena and I were part of the cover.

Until the mission ended, then...

[The escape in the night, the armed pursuit, the flight to Cuba. Natasha had to fly while Melina bled in the co-pilot's seat.]

[oiorpata]

[ she can infer. until the mission ended, until it was back to whatever fucked up facility natasha had been taken to as an infant. ]

I'm guessing you knew it was a mission. [ the way she'd reacted, the way she'd handled the gun, it all speaks to some level of training, already. ]

Was this the end of your first? Or were there others?

[deaddrop]

Not my first, no. Though it was the longest.

[The only one she really had an opportunity to get lost in.]

Though most of it was proccessing.

[oiorpata]

[ it's not hard to picture an even smaller natasha being thrown into a mission given everything she knows about her. and who suspects a child? for some, a child is just a small person who can be weaponized. natasha had been, from infancy. ]

Processing what? Data? Or you?

[deaddrop]

[Awful useful for a spy. Children can be curious in ways adults can't be, are forgiven for odd or pushy behavior more easily.

Underestimated constantly.

Natasha licks her lips.]

Primarily the latter. Though debriefing was part of the process.