The Source

Pain. Tearing. A scream, suddenly cutting off with the finality of a falling axehead.

A scream, one that goes on and on and on and on...

Light. Life. Sensation.

Data.

Dolly looks around at the...where is she? Heaven? Hell? Somewhere else entirely? Whatever. She looks around at the featureless white expanse. There is light, or she would not see herself, and she can see her hands, her feet, the curl of her red hair as she turns her head. But beyond light and white, there is nothing.

What is this place?

There is no immediate answer to the unspoken thought, but as she stands and considers her situation with the calm detachment born of her machinelike intellect and years of finely-honed self control, she detects something at the edge of hearing, the edge of feeling. It is a deep, rhythmic thrumming, almost like a heartbeat or a vibrating wire, only a thousand times more powerful for all its distance. She focuses on it, but it is too far out of reach, too nebulous...

Dolly shakes her head and takes an experimental step, trying to put the beat out of her mind. There is no use worrying now. Better to deal with one problem at a time.

As her heel clicks down on the empty whiteness with a satisfyingly solid thump, a fragment of memory returns. The step that took her over the edge of the shaft, clutching tightly to...

Another step.

...The nosferatu. It had grabbed her, and it was too strong and quick and monstrously effective to escape, so she had condemned them both. She had stepped, and they were falling, falling until...

Click.

She had detonated the grenades on her combat webbing. She remembered the explosion, the millisecond of agony before her body went into shock and her cyberware tried to compensate, only a fraction of a second before she died...

Click. Thump-thump. Thump-thump...

But she hadn't died. She was connected to Aodhfionna, a full sensory link and data transfer, using Aodhfionna's monstrously powerful talent to...what? Archive her?

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

What had that done? Where was she now? Was she safe? Was she dead? Was she both?

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Dolly begins to hyperventilate as the enormity of her situation begins to occur to her. Memory returns jumbled and out of sync, but it returns and with it comes the clarity of what she had attempted, essentially forcing Whitefire to function as JackBNimble or The Rose Garden. And clearly it had worked! She is intact, on some level, and if she is intact and dead, that means that she is inside...

BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM!

“The Resonance, yes.” The voice was rich, a mellifluous baritone.

Dolly spins and beholds a figure. It is a man, or a man-shaped construct. He is tall and broad, dressed in synthdenim jeans, a black t-tshirt, engineer boots and a real leather jacket. He stands head and shoulders above her and his scarred features are a curious mix of Asian and Eastern European. She recognizes him: Ivor Saitou, the man who had been her handler when she was still a bunraku. Of all the people in the world, she hates and fears him the most.

Ivor smiles as recognition blossoms. “Yes, pet, it is me. Even death cannot bring you away from me.” He says, his pleasant voice tinged with malice.

Dolly would roll her eyes at the cheesy b-movie line, but she is too scared to be sarcastic. She tries to cut in the cyberware that would shunt aside fear, doubt, indecision, and when it does nothing, she begins to panic. Mutely, she shakes her head, backing away slowly as Ivor approaches. “Come, child. I can put you to work once more, take you away from your new, scary world. I was not such a harsh master, was I?”

Flashes, more memory, a litany of horrors from her time as a bunraku. She tries to let her loathing of Ivor and her abject horror at the idea of being his servant again steel her spine, but the fear is just too much.

Dolly collapses in on herself, and all around, the beat gets louder and more oppressive. She begins to quake as Ivor draws almost near enough to touch, then closer still. He begins to lean down, intent on grabbing her and hauling her up...

BOMBOMBOMBOM! BOMBOMBOMBOM! BOMBOMBOMBOM!

The white becomes black. There is a strobing brightness, backlight like a muzzle flash, highlighting Ivor, grappling with something.

It is a man, suited and hiding his eyes behind mirrorshades, his hair slicked back and his face expressionless as he blurs into motion, landing a dozen blows on Ivor in the space of a heartbeat, leaving Ivor reeling and battered, bleeding nacreous light from a dozen cuts and breaks.

It is a woman, dressed in red, her angular face framed by flowing locks of black and glowing cobalt. Her outstretched hand is wreathed by glowing skeins of energy the same color as her hair that lash and tear at Ivor, ripping skin and flesh away to reveal the lattice of golden light supporting his features.

It is a vast construct made of silicon and frozen lightning, a shining, translucent wall stretching beyond sight and shielding Dolly from the terrible blows a wounded and shrieking Ivor levels at her. Its face cracks and splinters, but it is unmoved.

It is a shining orb, bright as the sun and golden. Jagged silvery spikes spall from its surface to shatter the the advancing front of the bitstorm the Ivor-thing lets loose, tearing the cloud of deadly code apart.

It is a great silver face, a woman, cold and alien and lovely with shining eyes the color of circuit boards and a voice out of nightmare, hanging in the air in the center of a web of glowing filaments. It speaks in an alien language, and then it shrieks.

Darkness.

When it clears, Ivor is gone, and as the light returns, he is replaced by a man in a dark, sober suit and tie. His high forehead is made seemingly larger by his widow's peak, and his eyes are hidden by rectangular sunglasses. He is wearing shined leather shoes, and his form is slim and unassuming. When he smiles, his thin mouth conveys little mirth, and his voice is a completely unaccented, deliberate thing that is cultured and somewhat deeper than his exterior would suggest.

“Welcome to the Resonance, Miss Haze.” He says, nodding at her. “I am sure you have many questions to ask, and I will try to answer them as best I can, but first we must leave this place.” He holds out his hand. “I can help you, but you have to do exactly as I say.”

Dolly stares at his hand, then at him, then at the spot where the Ivor-Construct had been. Numbly, she takes his hand, rising up. “Why...are you...?” She is unable to form the question, and the man shakes his head.

“In due time, Miss Haze.” He says evenly. “You will adjust.” He leads her then, walking across the featureless white emptiness.

As specks of color begin to appear in the distance, he says, “In time, you will see that you have been set free.”