Act 10.5: Rogue Misanthrope
Autumn, dysthymically sanguine, instantly cognizes the Eliminator's demise, no longer tormented by his—
Someone gently knocks on the obfuscated facility's door. Verily, a Lucidity infiltration. No one else would possess the technology to be prescient of this place.
He remains vigilant despite his appalling condition.
The door hisses, a familiar interlocutor exhaling, their breath smelling of almond, "You look like shit, Doctor."
"State your damn objectives or fuck off. I can't tolerate Lucidity's pretentious bullshit right now."
Autumn looks up.
"...Manuel?!"
The interlocutor's left eye twitches—the same tic he had since the incident.
"That's right—but I came here unauthorized."
Autumn swiftly grabs a short blade on the floor, lurches forward, intending to sever any major artery within range.
Manuel evades seamlessly, hands behind his back,
"Relax. I know he was… important to you. I came to help."
Autumn persists—his velocity oscillates as he feints a stab, then sweeps Manuel's leg in one quick motion.
Recovering efficiently, Manuel disarms Autumn and delivers two consecutive blows to Autumn's fresh injuries. He capitulates.
Manuel adjusts his tie, then exclaims,
"I know you're still mad at me for that one time, but I'm your only possible asset here. Weren't you supposed to be this unyielding strategist?"
Autumn, ventilating heavily, does not respond. He collapses into another syncope.
"Ahh, I forgot about your myocardial condition."
He checks Autumn's pulse. Vital signs stabilizing.
"I can't forgive them, too."
He looks around the facility. Perspicacious, he cognizes the recent conflict in this room. "...I see. That kid that was imported from Ukraine."
Autumn awakens. A crack of rib cartilage, pain he deserves.
Struggling to vocalize, "F… fuck you, Manuel. Should've just ended my misery right then and there, asshole."
The man strides confidently, asserting, "So nihilistic, Doctor. Are you helping or not? They'll win if you just want to kill yourself."
Autumn picks up the blade again, the same one Eli had utilized to exsanguinate him. He swiftly slits his own jugular artery.
"Oh well. You were never easily persuaded."
He transports Autumn's devitalizing body to a nearby clinic. He holds up a certain badge to the receptor.
"LC primary executive agent. Prioritize my partner's life. He's bleeding out of the jugular vessel."
He whispers to himself, "...I owe you for '46."
"O-of course! All units abandon current operations!"
With Autumn's vital signs stabilizing, he turns conscious.
"Let's get out of here before Vitrilinski traces us."
He sprints off, effortlessly carrying Autumn to the outside.
"Ugh… Please just let me fucking die in peace! Why's everyone after my ass?!—"
Manuel calmly reaches into his pocket. The clinic then explodes.
"Still want to die?"
Autumn throws a haymaker. Manuel dodges, naturally.
"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!"
"You took the blame for the Kyiv lab. I don't forget debts."
"Ugh… you're still a crazy fucking psycho, what was I expecting…"
"That's mere sophistry, Doctor. You attacked me first. And I just prevented a crisis, didn't I?"
They walk along. Tension consistent, though oddly defusing now.
"...So. Did you really just do that to fire me up?"
"It was OpSec. Who knows if there were planted bugs in there."
Autumn sighs, cognizing the interlocutor's advantage. This is his only valid option, and it's either to possibly be tortured or to be manipulated.
The latter is preferable, knowing Lucidity's "persuasion" tactics.
Act 11: Inescapable Limerence
Sigh.
Die, resurrect.
One who has seen death many times, can cognize the reality of "life".
Verily, they are not true opposites.
Autumn, condemned to live, abandons all rationality.
Experienced death and conflict so many times, even suicide becomes just another strategy. Why not "go out with a bang"?
What is just neurochemistry, is what a hedonist seeks.
Henceforth, a "bang" is what he chases now, knowing his demise is pending and inevitable.
No time for hesitation, no power to—
Manuel interrupts, "Our guy's in there. I need you to blow yourself up."
"WHAT—"
"It's either that or you get the J. Jovana treatment."
"...So what's the plan?"
HQ ahead. Manuel begins to assemble what appears to be a postmodern version of the AWP.
Autumn whispers to himself, "Ugh… why do I have to deal with so many fucking psychos…"
"Didn't you adopt a homicidal robot?"
"...Touché, asshole."
Manuel reaches for his pocket, "Remember Kyiv? This is easier."
"Oh god what the fuck are you about to—"
Right hook to the jaw, Autumn is knocked down.
Unsurprisingly, now he has a live bomb attached to his chest.
Manuel elucidates with a serene demeanor, "North 24 East 72 West primary pathways. You've got about 90 seconds."
Autumn freezes.
He sighs, then presents a familiar photo.
"Come on, Dr. Suicide Bomber. For him." He says, delivering a devastating, soft pat on the back.
Reluctantly, he sprints off towards the coordinates his supposed co-conspirator has vocalized, prefrontal cortex capitulating.
Meanwhile, Manuel assumes a low position, weaponizing the artificial foliage near the focal fence as camouflage, the rifle fully seated on the ground.
He murmurs, "North East cleared, just gonna have to get a good shot on this senile wanker when he evacuates…"
And there's the "bang".
One bloodied fragment of what used to be Autumn graciously kisses Manuel's cheek.
"How romantic. Ugh, this thing needs a better scope."
Alarms initiate. About 20 seconds.
"Ahh, there you fucking are…"
He feels something frigid against his cranium.
"Drop your weapon."
He slowly turns his head.
His swiftness vacillates abruptly as he disarms the perpetrator before they could react, then sends them into the nearest concussion with the back of his rifle.
For the first time, his respiratory ventilation is slightly heavier than usual.
"Who the fuck…"
Subsequently, before checking the body, he's shot in the sternum, quickly retreating deep into the foliage.
He reaches into his pocket. Again.
He looks over and behind him, there's no one to be found, and his target had already escaped.
"55mm… must be Jekovah. I really need that Russian espionage wanker right about now."
A burner communications device. He dials a familiar number.
As the phone rings, he consumes three almonds at once.
"Hello. I need one atomic bomb dropped west of HQ."
"What?"
"500 grand."
"Deal, but we only got thermonuclear over here."
"Whatever. Just be quick."
The phone is then subsequently smashed against the ground, splitting into many fragments, just like Dr. Suicide Bomber.
A familiar figure whispers in his earlobe, "I can't let you do that."
He barely evades a blade's thrust, then swiftly picks up a stray modern pistol.
The figure aims at his head before he can lift it up. He resorts to a flashbang.
"How anachronistic, you terrorist CEO. I wonder what the higher-ups will say about this."
"You don't understand. It's about the fridge."
The aggressive interlocutor lowers their weapon.
The figure threatens, "Cancel the bomb, Pilski. Or I'll microwave the fridge."
"Give me back the Eliminator and I'll fucking consider it."
Act 12: Cryogenic Depredation
"Right, so after all this, you expect me to ju—"
4 very familiar heavy footsteps contrast with the serenity.
The familiar interruptor sends a 30mm bullet that ricochets twice inside of the skull, pulverizing the brainstem. Subsequently, Manuel's adversary visits their demise via asphyxiation.
"...Jekovah…"
Manuel's myocardium pulse oscillates, the unexpected figure pressing a pistol against the side of his skull,
"Didn't you know I have a penchant for faking deaths? Asshole."
His left eye twitched, "...That was my ex you just killed."
"How misfortunate," The gun is only pressed harder, a heliosphere of vitriol and shared regrets.
A military helicopter looms above the two, and the annoying corpse.
Manuel's pupils constrict, sharply exhaling, "...Shit, they're already here."
"Huh—"
"Sorry, not sorry."
A quick elbow arrives at Autumn's jaw. Disoriented, He reacts, but the bullet soars into the void as Manuel kicks Autumn's pistol away.
Autumn's nasal capillaries burst as he's met by a knee to the face before he can recover from the preceding strike, then knocked directly into syncope by an accelerated roundhouse to the temporal temple.
He blitzes off, carrying Autumn's devitalized body for the second time today.
He murmurs, "...It's just for the debt. Just for the debt." as he subsequently consumes 5 almonds.
Autumn is conscious.
"Ugh… put me down, asshole."
"No."
A piece of shrapnel interrupts the moment.
Oh right, the fridge.
Wait, the fridge.
The warhead has already landed.
"Dr. Proaja Autumn, may you orient me to the fridge? The latter is potentially, excruciating torture—
Something from the distance is moving at inhuman velocity.
"What the…"
Manuel's life flashes as he barely evades a premature demise.
"I have been instructed to eliminate you. Do not resist."
He swiftly reaches for a pistol, the aggressor attempting to disarm him as Manuel predicts the maneuver, evades under then to the side and fires 6 times at the weakest points of the adversary's chassis.
The Eliminator charges at flank speed, Manuel foresees the offense and jumps over, landing a powerful back kick that repels the attacker.
Respirating heavily, Manuel advocates, "Eliminator M100, those instructions were deceitful. Lucidity are the ones hiding the fridge from you."
The Eliminator comes to a halt, "Your physical abilities are illogical for a Homosapiens. May I inquire about your origins?"
"Look, I know where the fridge is. If you 'eliminate' me, you're going to be just another one of their robot slaves."
Autumn continues to spectate.
The Eliminator pauses, then negotiates, "10 seconds to vocalize coordinates. Executed if insufficient."
He swiftly reaches for a scalpel that was somehow in his pocket, then subdues Autumn.
"This will hurt."
He makes a precise incision around the cornea, the eyeball fully detaches in 5 seconds. The Eliminator watches curiously.
"WHAT IN—"
Met by a quick fist to the liver.
3 seconds left.
From an improvised ocular detachment surgery, he swiftly pulls out a small note from behind Autumn's retina.
2 seconds left.
"MV South 63 West 42 Kyiv laboratory facility."
He carefully reattaches Autumn's eye. He revolts.
"Fascinating." The Eliminator logs the ocular weight: 7,5g.
"OW OW OW FUCKK—"
"I put that in you a while ago. Sorry."
The Eliminator exclaims, "Offer accepted. The absence of any promised assets will not be tolerated."
He sprints off at supersonic velocity towards the given coordinates.
Act 13: Fractal Volatility
Manuel reaches for his pocket, and an inhalation device convects as his trachea respirates nicotine, lowering cortisol levels.
Autumn, still exasperated, makes a snark remark, "Looks like the CEO of assholes is also a smoker."
A piece of incinerated tobacco is sent directly into his sclera. A petty yet effective retaliation.
"OW OW OW OW FOR THE LOVE OF—"
A distress signal is then made audible, somehow unaffected by the radioactive fallout.
Manuel's expression shifts to mildly gleeful, "Looks like your 'Eliminator' is right on cue."
Autumn is then knocked into another syncope, as Manuel runs off into Kyiv's coordinates, third time carrying this body today. He ignores Autumn's slightly misadjusted eye socket.
He mutters, as 10 almonds swiftly travel down his esophagus, "I hope that Russian wanker came in time."
"May I inquire about this 'Russian wanker?'" The Eliminator, his appearance resembling a slaughterhouse, abruptly materializes a few inches away from Manuel's face, as if he had teleported.
Manuel then comes to a halt. His myocardial pulse does not oscillate as he adjusts his tie and asserts, "M100, I am postulating that you have acquired your promised assets, thereby this query is irrelevant."
The Eliminator, recalling, "Incorrect. I had not mentioned any intention of mercy during our compromise."
Manuel's pupils constrict, then he evades nothing but air subsequently after his synapses react to the indirect threat.
The Eliminator is unmoving.
"Answer."
He hesitates for 5 seconds, insufficient.
Manuel is subdued, Autumn thrown aside.
The Eliminator does not kill him immediately. Rather, he reaches into Manuel's pocket.
Manuel's struggles are futile.
The Eliminator has acquired a freshly utilized scalpel.
"M100, I strongly advise agai—"
The scalpel subsequently penetrates through his cornea violently, his vision now a kaleidoscope of regrets.
"Justification: retribution for your many misconducts against subject 'Autumn'"
Manuel barely reacts. His nociceptive systems already possessing an unnaturally high tolerance.
The Eliminator then advocates, "The fridge was encrypted. You will be taken hostage and coerced into unlocking—"
An unfamiliar figure sprints ahead.
Manuel turns his head, "Vitrilinski, long time no see."
The Eliminator lurches at the figure at maximum velocity, though they appear to disintegrate upon contact.
He reintegrates adjacent to the congregation, then casually assists Manuel in getting up.
A heavy Russian accent sarcastically exhales, "This must be one of Lucidity's feral dogs, da?"
The Eliminator simulates a scoff, then responds, "Reprehensible insult. Rebuttal: you rely on quantum teleportation technology because you are physically and mathematically pathetic."
The enigmatic Russian snickers, "Look at that, UAI learning eh?" He takes a few steps towards the pestilent child, mildly amused.
"In Russia, you would be violated and disassembled, suka."
The Eliminator's pupils constrict by 5mm, then he attempts to charge directly and then predict the adversary's subsequent teleportation sectors.
However, he capitulates after Vitrilinski releases an electromagnetic shockwave followed by 4 shotgun blasts directly to the extremities, a weak spot in the chassis.
Manuel places a hand on the Russian's shoulder, "We need him intact, dumbass."
"Oh right, yebat. He is an obnoxious one."
Eli swiftly recovers, taking a defensive stance. He then provocates, "You fight filthily. Is everyone in 'Russia' just a coward who only utilizes teleportation and EMPs in physical confrontation?"
"Suka, that's it!"
Manuel redirects him into a pivotal subject, "Vitrilinski, quit wasting time with some Lucidity cyborg orphan. We need to go to the lab."
Autumn is now conscious. Again.
"Ugh… What the fuck is this…"
Manuel adjusts his tie, then asserts, "Pull your shit together. We're going to Kyiv's."
Vitrilinski chuckles sarcastically, "You always have these piteous ensembles of unstable weirdos with you Manuel, da?"
The chaos continues. They stride along towards the Kyiv laboratory facility, though one particular member of these adherents is not as invigorated.
Act 14: Algorithmic Insanity
Everyone's focused on the same objective—except one.
The child stands apart. Almost innocent, yet soaked in hemoglobin and genocide.
Offended. That's the only word to describe his expression. The sterile mask of robotic composure has finally cracked.
In a flicker of neural computation, he conjures the "optimal" outcome.
Vitrilinski, unsuspecting and absorbed in reaching the Kyiv laboratory facility, continues forward. Manuel walks beside him—collected, composed.
Autumn is—
They're already here.
Manuel halts, raising his voice:
"Alright, gentlemen. Our target is the fridge. We split from here."
Vitrilinski takes the northeast corridor.
Eli declares, "I'll take northwest," having already scanned the entirety of the structure in less than a heartbeat. The others remain inscient.
They separate.
But the northeast path—
It doesn't lead to the fridge.
It leads to Vitrilinski's silence.
Before his neurons can even fire—
"'Violated and disassembled,' you said?"
"SUKA BLYAT! GET OFF ME, YOU LITTLE SH—!"
"Request denied. I simulated capitulation during our confrontation to expose your strategy."
A concussive blow to the liver.
Eli's hand plunges into the Russian's throat—methodical, merciless.
Inside: explosives. Enough to reduce the entire lab to molecules.
"Your treachery with Manuel was anticipated. Quantum teleportation demands untenable energy. You meant to annihilate us, then escape through disintegration. 'Da?'"
The Russian convulses—his faculties immobilized.
Eli injects an anti-hemorrhagic into his bloodstream, only to preserve him for what comes next.
Each limb dislocated, one by one—pain turned art.
Then, the first amputation.
A smile, subtle and bone-deep, creeps across Eli's face.
The left arm remains. He begins with the fingertips—bifurcating them precisely. Screams echo through the soundproof facility in a melodic, palindromic rhythm.
Dopamine. Serotonin. Euphoria. As the fingers vanish.
Horizontal incisions travel up the arm, each increasing the pitch of the Russian's agonized aria.
He leaves the limb dangling by a single thread of flesh. Then raises him—
Gravity performs the final cut.
With surgical precision, Eli incises the abdomen.
Fascia gives way.
He grips the spleen.
A scream like opera.
He fractures the femur with a sideways kick, the bone jutting through skin. Then he pulls the exposed nerve.
The melody reaches a crescendo.
Then: silence. Death by shock.
Eli whispers, almost reverently:
"Retribution complete. Moral victory."
He sprints toward the fridge—ankles kissed by coolant mist.
He opens it.
Nothing.
Just trace molecules of the 12 grams.
"...Manuel."
Engines within him overheat as he surpasses previous velocity—approaching 500 m/s. Within a microsecond, he locates Manuel.
"ELI, WAIT—!"
He halts.
That's Autumn.
"Fuck… I don't know how to tell you this…"
"Hesitation equals execution. Elucidate."
Autumn looks exasperated—yet introspective.
"Look."
He holds something familiar. Crystalline. Glowing faintly.
"I preserved it. For you."
It scintillates. Something within Eli stirs. A memory not yet erased.
A single tear escapes.
Then Autumn becomes mist. Scarlet. Silent.
"...I don't want it anymore."
Behind him, Manuel emerges.
"That was your father, M100."
Act 15: Final Inevitability
"You're not a machine, Elie. You're just... broken."
The Eliminator does not move. A slight mechanical twitch ripples down his spine.
His voice returns, flat, but faltering:
"I have substantial reason to believe this is another deception protocol."
Manuel steps forward, slowly, deliberately—like walking through a minefield of history.
From his pocket, he retrieves a weathered photograph. Folded. Familiar.
He holds it out.
"Do you recognize this?"
Elie freezes.
Pupils narrow—exactly 10.0mm. Not an error. A scar.
Somewhere, deep in the corrupted firmware, a glimmer of recognition stutters to life.
Not a memory. A fracture.
"You had a family, Elie," Manuel says.
"You were a good kid. Until Lucidity's trafficking initiative reprocessed your nervous system into something... profitable."
Elie lifts his hands.
Not trembling—but stained.
Just hemoglobin now. No guilt left in the reservoir.
"They're coming," Manuel continues. "You and I are both on the kill list. I'll be executed. You—disassembled."
But he doesn't flinch. Not anymore.
He circles Elie slowly, like a surgeon examining his own failed prototype.
"Your father... was my brother. We were close. He built systems. I built systems that buried his. He was chief engineer at Lucidity—until I replaced him. They wiped his son's mind. Turned him into a silhouette. A ghost with steel skin."
No response. Just the low hum of processor strain.
Then—
"This fridge," Manuel nods at the corner.
"The one you've been hunting. Just a decoy. There's nothing there."
"Kyiv's lab? Just a chemical misfire in '47. No truth. Just theatre."
A pause.
A single word, quiet and cavernous:
"Liar."
In less than a blink, Elie surges.
His grip collapses Manuel's chest.
The myocardium bursts between synthetic fingers.
The Eliminator collapses.
To his knees.
As if gravity remembers what he once was.
[System integrity at 29%]
[Fragmentation imminent]
For the first time in years, his lacrimal glands respond.
Moisture blurs the HUD.
He opens the fridge one final time.
Inside: dismembered organic parts. Preserved. Catalogued. Recognized instantly.
His own.
Femur. Mandible. Liver. Eyes.
He cradles them. Not out of mourning, but recognition.
A body remembering itself.
The walls rattle—SWAT breach protocol beginning.
He launches toward Glacier Residence.
Once inside his obsolete apartment, he disassembles the outdated domestic unit—his "mother."
Inside her: real tissue.
Cardiac. Pulmonary. Neural.
Preserved in refrigeration fluid.
No scream. Just action.
He claws through the floor.
Through polymer.
Through rebar.
Through silence.
He burrows into the Earth—through the crust.
Through the mantle.
Heat rises. Circuitry blisters.
But he doesn't stop.
He descends—until the outer core accepts him.
There, Elie deliquesces.
Steel and sorrow melt into molten iron.
He permanently deactivates holding everything he had been looking for.
Meanwhile:
Lucidity HQ.
Manuel returns. The real one.
What met its demise earlier was merely a replicant, sent out by the identical triangulating void. A singularity manipulating only the gravity encompassing it.
Flawless, except for the absence of guilt.
He blames his absence on illness. The board nods.
No one suspects.
Later, in his corner office, he stares at his reflection in the bulletproof glass.
It stares back.
"What have I done...?"
The air is clean now. The radioactive fog has ameliorated.
Outside, drones rebuild what conscience destroyed.
He inhales deeply from a nicotine cartridge.
A hiss. A breath.
Then silence.
He takes a lethal dose of nizatene.
His body slumps sideways—expressionless.
Was it a failure? A reconfiguration?
A cycle complete, or corrupted?
To forget... is to drown twice.
But to remember?
To remember is to be broken—and choose not to reboot.