poly_chromatic | ♦ ♦ 26th Contract

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darker than black - hei

♦ ♦ 26th Contract

[ Anonymous Text/Unhackable ]

Imagine an imaginary menagerie manager managing an imaginary menagerie.

[ It reads like total gibberish. But it's a code -- recognizable to any soldier from his team in Heaven's War. If old faces (Amber, Pai, Carime) are here, at least they'll get the message. I'm here where you are. ]

Here we go again. It's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood. And the tourists are scattered out like maggots with half the brains. Even under 'new management', the City never changes.

As for me, I have time to kill. A ton of it. The City's a waiting room, and life here's a waiting game, but I'm getting good at it. Who would have imagined? Probably not those I knew before. But if they're not about to confirm or deny, I guess you'll have to take my word for it.

[ Come on, guys. Take the bait. Let him know you're here. ]

[ Options For Run-Ins: ]

[ ∰ Xanadu (Li): It's late evening, and the first stars twinkle in the sky. He's found a good spot on a grassy hill. A telescope rests on its stand beside him, a few small books and tools scattered nearby, along with the remains of a picnic on a checkered cloth under 'Li's reclining form: scraps of bread and cheese, a few tumbled apples, a thermos mostly empty of tea. Just an ordinary young man, out for a night of stargazing. ]

[ Come join him, why don't you? The skies couldn't be clearer. ]

[ ∰ Underground (Reaper): His clash with the six tusked demons has ended. The final monster has dropped -- decapitated, oozing blood. Masked and armed, Hei lies sprawled on the grime-slippery ground, not too far off, a blade still in his hand. The hilt feels hot, and molded to his gloved fingers. But it's quiet now, and that has to be good. He has a few scrapes and bruises that ache from the brawl, but it's nothing serious. The rest of his muscles are singing, the high-pitched song of the battle well-ended. ]

[ If you recognize the masked man, step forward -- carefully. If you don't? Keep your distance. ]

[OOC: Have at him, one and all. Just please be aware tags will be slow, so backtagging is mightily encouraged<33 ]

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[It's a near-perfect night for lounging in the park and admiring the stars, which makes Hei's presence in Chekov's intended lounging spot wholly unsurprising. Pavel attempts to hide his nervousness as he approaches. The Russian has been doing his best to avoid Hei since the furniture-on-the-ceiling incident. In spite of the vodka peace offering, he has opted for wariness in the wake of that disaster.]

Hei, hello.

[ Hei's reason for stargazing tonight isn't just an excuse to scout the parameters of Xanadu, or to keep an eye on the visitors. Like his nocturnal excursions to the Underground, the activity soothes an anxious-prickly part of him. Especially tonight. While realistically there's a slim chance he'll run into enemies or allies, he's unused to living with the suspense of a small quotidian hope. ]

[ And that puts him on edge. ]

[ Hearing the rustle of familiar footsteps, he flicks a glance over his shoulder. Hearing his codename -- Hei -- spoken so casually, he fights a spasm of annoyance, and disguises it neatly as a half-smile. ] Hello. [ The tone is ambiguous, neither welcoming nor cold. Chekov may not bring up the furniture-on-ceiling incident, but it hovers around the younger man like a cloud of skittishness. ]

[ With effort, Hei tries to be polite. ] Want to sit down?

[Skittishness is, in Pavel's opinion, warranted. Driving an assassin into a near-homicidal rage with a stupid, childish prank was not one of his cleverer moves. Having more shipmates in the City makes him nervous, too. Maybe it would be wisest to keep edging away from Hei...

But Chekov has only had a handful of friends, and even fewer friends with interests similar to his. Severing ties? Easier thought than done.

Hei is hard to read, making it next to impossible for Chekov to determine where they stand. No one is bleeding, though, and that shadow of a smile on Hei's face doesn't look like it hides any real malice; that's all promising.]

If I wouldn't be interrupting...?

[ Friends. It's a word Hei still has trouble comprehending. His life is generally a study of mathematics -- add subtract divide multiply with a question mark tagged to the end result. Is the person/action/object worth it? That's a simple and safe framework. That's something a Contractor can understand, not leverage to be used against him. Pragmatically, Pavel is an asset. But like Korra, he's also a wild card. Not because Hei believes he's capable of compromising his own safety. Rather, it's the fact that Korra and Pavel have both somehow bypassed Hei's Contractor's persona -- and accessed the person beneath it. It's a closeness Hei's uncomfortable with. ]

[ After all, in his world, Friend can easily make the transition to Liability. Or Enemy. ]

[ To Pavel's question: ] There's nothing to interrupt. Sit down. [ A lie, but a small one, as far as Hei's history goes. He hasn't forgotten the furniture incident, any more than Chekov has. But despite the awkwardness, it's easy for Hei to be in the same vicinity as someone he's brutalized -- or vice versa. He can compartmentalize like a pro. In the Syndicate, everyone has a history -- often full of lies and double-crossing. Breaking bread with the opposition is nothing new. ]

[ (Pavel is an asset, yes. And it's good business sense to be friendly with an asset. But maybe Hei is doing this simply because he wants to.) ]

[Try as he might, Pavel will never be capable of seeing the world or relationships with the people who inhabit it as Hei does (nor does he particularly want to). He can't even bring himself to mistrust the other man as much as he thinks he ought to--not, at least, where he alone is concerned. Hei may be cold, dangerous, and even cruel, but he isn't always that way. There are enough redeeming moments, enough stargazing and enough gestures of friendship, to feed a that the Contractor can be a decent person if he's exposed to enough kindness and forgiveness.

It's a naive way of thinking, and Chekov is sufficiently self-aware to acknowledge that, but it's all he can do.]

Thank you. [Pavel sits, tries a smile, and finds that, illogical as it is, he has missed Hei. Maybe thinking that indicates some kind of deep-seated problem or masochism. It's more likely that habitual loneliness and a relatively gentle homeworld have made it hard for the eighteen year-old to dismiss a former friend as a very real danger.] Have you been visited by anyone interesting today?

[There's no real expectation of an honest answer. With Hei, honesty and openness are rare gifts instead of givens.]

[ In the end, it comes down to experience and weltanschauung. ]

[ Taking into account just how much of Hei's profession deals with secrecy, it's not surprising that he has trouble building genuine relationships. This isn't to say he's incapable of it, no. He wasn't in South America. Or in Tokyo. There was recurrent friction between his teammates. But, over time, they'd grown to trust each other implicitly -- both on and off the field. What made these occurrences unique, however, was how incongruous they were -- especially in the Syndicate's backdrop of ruthlessness and one-upmanship. Trust and loyalty weren't rarities. They were anomalies. Add to that the way Hei's personality is programmed -- switching emotions on and off depending on his objective -- perhaps it's better for him to maintain a distance. ]

[ Then why are you inviting Chekov to sit with you? ]

[ He tries not to think about it. While he hasn't missed the younger man, Hei doesn't find him abhorrent company either. If anything, he finds it remarkable that Pavel can smile at someone he knows is a killer. Someone who has, repeatedly, hurt him in the past. Ordinarily Hei finds such recklessness in the face of all contrary facts suicidal. But he recognizes that Pavel is simply projecting his own good sentiment on everyone around him. ]

[ If only he knew. ]

[ To the question, ] No one so far. [ Not a lie. He's left an anonymous text for teammates on the Network. But maybe it's better that he sees no old faces? No triggers to breach the comfortable nullity he's grown accustomed to. (Immediately, he hears an inner-voice sneer: Coward.) He shakes it off and focuses on Pavel, ] You've had several arrivals from your world, though.

[Pavel would like to imagine that Hei is, in his way, at least vaguely fond of him. Fond enough to not murder him, at least, and to have no real objections to his company. That's a little like friendship.]

Maybe tomorrow. [Ah, so Hei has noticed the arrivals from the Enterprise. Of course he has.] Yes; my captain and the doctor have just arrived, and Nyota returned. Most of the crew is here this weekend. [It should go without saying, but:] You won't need to worry about them. You will be Li, as far as they know.

[ He dismisses the remark -- Maybe tomorrow -- with a faint shrug of one shoulder. Granted, Pavel doesn't mean it as an appeasement -- like a bonbon for a put-out child. But, in its own way, it irks. While Hei's trying not to hope he'll run into well-known (welcome) people, the attempt feels pretty thin. However he isn't pining for reminders of home, either. He's learnt years ago that those who are quick to hope are easy to deceive. And Hei has given up on hope -- in that bright-eyed, solid sense -- a long time ago. ]

[ On instinct, he files away the details Pavel offers. Captain. Doctor. More people from a world more advanced than Hei's own. More people -- likely highly skilled and well-trained -- to monitor as potential assets. Despite Pavel's touching assurance, Hei knows there's a number of ways the young man could compromise his cover. He even admits, in many ways, Pavel might be more of a problem than a convenient link. To his surprise, the realization depresses him. Tsk. You've gotten so sentimental. ]

[ To Pavel, he says only, ] It's good that I can depend on you. [ Quiet and unsmiling. But there's a softness in his gaze, as if there's a Thank you tied on a string to those words. Both are a lie, of course. But there's a lot of truth in them too, which makes them easy to express. ]

[Hei would find the others from Pavel's world, however well-trained and skilled, to be less inclined to cooperate with someone of the Contractor's sometimes-cruel nature than the navigator is. Kirk and McCoy may not even tolerate Li's bumbling with the same grace and good humor as Nyota.

It's good that I can depend on you. Lie or not, it's dangerously close to a compliment coming from Hei. Pavel chooses to take it as such, aware that he's probably fooling himself but no less pleased for that.] I'm glad that you know you can.

[ Hei isn't interested in anyone's tolerance or grace toward him. Perhaps Pavel hasn't yet realized -- 'Li' is more than a hologram of comically inept boyishness and sugary good-intention. He's a blank slate, a special mirror of refracted light that catches the projections of everyone around him. If you want capable, he can feign capability. If seriousness is your bag, he'll be serious as a heart attack. All under the blanket of 'Li's core personality -- benign and well-meaning. ]

[ He'll let the Contractor aspect of himself -- BK201, the Reaper, the Iceman, whatever he is -- out only if it suits him. ]

[ Pavel's pleasure at the remark is obvious. Hei glances away, as if embarrassed after the impromptu, almost-emotional confession. (It's not embarrassment. It's all part of the act, to solidify the lie. But inside something almost like sadness bubbles up. He'd tell Pavel it's dangerous to be so trusting. Especially around him. But Hei has handed out enough empty nothings for one day.) ]

[ Instead, he segues into an interrogation. (Pavel will be smart enough to guess it's one, of course. But in Hei's defense, he is curious.) ]

What are they like? Your Captain and Doctor?

[It's difficult to think of Li as a tool when, to Pavel, he was a person and, to a degree, is some kind of (exaggerated, insincere) facet of Hei. A fiction with some semblance of truth. Maybe he's just too attached to the idea of Li to let go of it entirely.

Chekov lays back on the grass to look at the sky. If Hei is going to interrogate him, then he's going to be comfortable. Truth be told, he's quite happy to talk about his shipmates.]

I know outdated versions of them... they are both ahead of me and have no intention of telling me what I've missed. [Pavel isn't pleased about that.] The captain seems wiser now. He's intelligent--both the Captain and the Doctor are--but I think he's often underestimated because he doesn't act it. He's brave, confident... he cares about his crew as individuals, not only as soldiers, which is not something I would say about all captains.

Dr. McCoy... [an expansive shrug] He doesn't have much faith in my calculations or theories. I don't know him well. [Which is odd since McCoy was in the City before. The doctor wasn't in the habit of giving up much about himself, and Pavel hadn't been inclined to press.]

Edited 2013-07-14 04:24 (UTC)

[ Pavel isn't too far off. There's a kernel of fact to every fiction. The same is true of 'Li'. Hei would've denied it once. But with time he's come to view the matter with a grudging acceptance. Where Hei's emotions tend to outstrip their capacity for fluent expression, Li offers them an aperture of sorts. A stilted, diluted type -- bare lip-service -- but better than nothing. ]

[ That said, Pavel would be wiser not clinging to memories of 'Li' so closely. It's very much the All thumbs are fingers, but not all fingers are thumbs dilemma at work here. ]

[ While Pavel lays back, Hei remains seated, hunched forward, arms going around his knees -- still operating by 'Li's body-language. But his eyes remain sharp -- sensitive to every tiny flicker of reaction in Pavel, while his steady flow of words is absorbed and tucked away. No intention of telling me. If there's any personal resonance in that admission, Hei doesn't let on. ]

[ Instead, flatly, ]

Maybe you missed something that isn't worth talking about.

[Pavel's guard is remarkably relaxed, the furniture incident not forgotten but, since it's not currently affecting his conversation with Hei, tucked away for the moment. Being around his crew has been more stressful than it has any right to be, due mostly to the element of uncertainty. How have they and their relationships changed in the year that he has yet to experience? What aren't they telling him? How is he expected to behave towards them? Chekov is confident--confident to a fault, sometimes--in situations where he knows the protocol. There's no protocol for this.

In a way, Hei is easier to be around. He's one of few people that Pavel doesn't feel a need to impress or perform for, and that matters a great deal.]

No, I missed something that was unpleasant. They think that they are protecting me.

[He indulges in a moment of petulance before sitting up and hugging his knees, subconsciously mirroring Hei.]

I wish, sometimes, that I was more like you.

[ They think that they are protecting me. The words leave a disconcerting echo. Hadn't that been Amber's rationale, and Pai's, for not sharing their plans with Hei? They'd been comrades, killers-in-arms. All for one and one for all. An absurd concept for Contractors, but one that'd applied to their team -- an exception for the exceptional. By that logic, Hei should've been the first to know. Instead his sister and his lover had built an elaborate pillow-fortress of silence and evasions around him. Its purpose had been to buffer him. But it had collapsed and slowly suffocated him instead. ]

[ Hei regards Pavel from the corner of his eye. His chin rests on his knees, shoulders rising and falling on a quiet exhale. His reply, when it comes, is plain, ] Do you want help finding out what they're hiding? [ Knowledge can be a burden. But ignorance is never bliss. It's a three-headed monster of self-doubt, paranoia and resentment, gnawing at you from the inside. ]

[ There's a flicker of a smile at the next statement. I wish, sometimes, that I was more like you. He marvels briefly at how innocent a life someone would have to lead for such words to emerge credulous and intact. Especially given how much Pavel already knows about Hei's background. Still, he doesn't rebuff the boy with coldness or sarcasm. ]

[ Quietly: ]

There's a price to pay for what I am.

[ The extinction of truth and intimacy. The absence of trust. Each word is an escape hatch, each gesture a masterful misdirection abetted by a trapdoor smile. Pavel may find it freeing not to perform around Hei. But for Hei, performance -- deception -- is all he knows. His entire life has unfit him for honest dealings with people. ]

No, but thank you. [As much as he wants to know, the answer comes without hesitation. Pavel's loyalty and sense of rightness won't permit any of the subterfuge that discovering what his superiors are hiding might involve. The offer is appreciated, regardless--taken as a kindness regardless of its true intent.

He divines Hei's train of thought and shakes his head in enthusiastic denial.] No, no, more like you, and only in some ways. Very little prevents you from doing what you think is, tactically speaking, most in your interest, correct? I like that. Nothing keeps you from being intelligent.

[The ruthlessness that Hei demonstrates is admirable in its way. It doesn't take a genius to know that compassion, fairness, trust, and a host of other high-minded sentiments impede progress and encourage clever people to do things that aren't at all clever. Pavel can't imagine living the morally spartan lifestyle that he imagines Hei does without hating himself, but that doesn't make the idea less appealing. Morality and sentimentality feel like vices as often as virtues.]

[ The offer was motivated by curiosity, not kindness. The truth is, there's very little Hei does without purpose. If he wants details on Pavel's shipmates, he wants to gauge Pavel's loyalty to them in equal measure. There's a tiny twitch to his mouth at Pavel's refusal. With that No, but thank you, innocence practically defines the young man. It'd be a liability, if they were both Syndicate agents. But here, Hei can afford to be indulgent. He can even ensure, in his own way, that Pavel's innocence remains intact. ]

[ His eyes carefully take in the nuances of the boy's expression. There: ambivalence, as if for good billed too high, but coveted all the same. It's a mindset Hei's been familiar with in his childhood. A balancing act of self-interest vs. sentiment. (Does BK201 still struggle with those concepts today? Is it possible for him to enter a roomful of people -- to chart everything as a network of valued lives, not victims and bargaining-chips? No, most Contractors would say. But Hei has always been an anomaly in that respect. In the matrix of his thoughts, some muscle, overlooked by anatomists, is always discolored by a bruise of emotion.) ]

[ Following Pavel's bright notes of honesty, his own reply hits a polyphonic flatness. It's not threatening, but there's a cautionary edge there. ]

Nothing keeps me from being intelligent. But you would be full of condemnation, if you knew the whole side of that coin. [ Revulsion. Fascination. They're two edges of the same knife. But unless you're careful, you can cut yourself on one of them. ] Morality keeps you from acting in the name of self-interest. But 99% of morality is based on comfort, anyway. [ Massacre a million people from thirty thousand feet aboveground, and you sleep like a baby afterwards. Kill one man with a switchblade and your dreams will never be sweet again. ] That's why governments and organizations offer concepts like patriotism. Rank. Medals. It's an illusion. A drug fed to monsters to anesthetize them after they've crossed the line.

[ On a tired exhalation, Hei lifts his chin to study the stars. ] What I do is no worse than what goes on all over the world. The difference is, I'm honest about it. But any honesty comes with a price. You have no illusions to justify yourself by. No buffer. You either learn to compartmentalize, or go insane.

[ Ideally, a Contractor shouldn't suffer either choice. They have no consciences. They get over everything, resilient creatures that they are. (Except Hei isn't a real Contractor. He never was.) ]

[Being told that he doesn't know something--however true it might be--is grating. But Hei is right. He usually is.

What is most important is this inference that what Hei does is no different than anything else--no different than what Starfleet does when it becomes necessary to fight. No morality, only comfort; no heroism, only government-sanctified murder.]

Then you would claim that we are already similar. [Pavel's focus moves from the stars to Hei, watching his inscrutable face for a ghost of emotion, a tell-tale twitch on conscience, something human and relateable.] The only significant difference is that you are honest, and I am protected by a lie. [His tone isn't accusative. Chekov is getting better at taking Hei's words as philosophical suggestions rather than statements of truth.] Where is the line? When does a person become a monster?

[ Hei's expression is blank, not by decision but default. It's how his life is, pared down to the starkest rudiments. He's seldom in the mood to waste energy by letting emotions show on his face. If he senses Pavel's scrutiny, he doesn't let on. His gaze remains on the stars. So many twinkling at this early hour. So different from home, where he has a decade's worth of calendars, their dates KO'd by black Xs to mark each night he's seen false skies. How do you explain what that does to you? How do you explain, that with starlight snuffed out, the sky loses its magic glow? You search for glittery substitutions everywhere. The ugly sparkle of asphalt. The gaudy strings of fairylights. Your life becomes a strange mix of homelessness and homesickness. ]

[ He doesn't bother to deny it when Pavel says they're similar. There's no need to. Instead: ]

It's different for everyone. But once you've crossed that line, you'll know. What you learn about yourself when that moment comes -- it isn't pretty. You learn the person you thought of as yourself -- an indivisible core -- is just window-dressing. Useless and fragile. Circumstance strips away the façade. And seeing what lies beneath makes you different from everyone who hasn't been similarly tested. You feel old. They stay children. You have ugly clarity. They subsist on illusions.

[ His voice isn't cold. If anything, it's disarmingly mild. ]

Some go crazy. They can't accept what they know about themselves. They die a living death. Others... [ A thoughtful pause. ] For them, it's like being reborn.

[Chekov knows that they're not similar--at least not in the way he was inferring. (That isn't to say that Starfleet and the Contractors are entirely dissimilar. Pavel isn't aware of it--doesn't want to be aware of it--but Starfleet does have an ugly side.) Hei's words are chilling nonetheless.]

And you?

[ A beat, then two. Hei tips his chin and shifts his weight, eyes still on the stars. He's lived in largely critical and jaded circumstances. Enough to know that his innate anti-authoritarianism isn't a knee-jerk kick against the pricks. Nor does he harbor any hope that, in most cases, institutions and people with authority are basically benign and well-intentioned. The truth is: authority almost always serves itself and the perpetuation of its position of authority. It doesn't matter what ideals they hide behind. The Syndicate and Starfleet are two variations of the same theme. ]

[ His reply to Pavel takes a few seconds too long, ]

That's still something I'm figuring out.

[ Wry, not hesitant. It's not something that can be explained. Hei has done things that most sane people can't imagine doing. Things he can't talk about afterward, not even with the men who acted with him. In that state, the things that make him human, his empathy, even his fear, dissipate. It's like he's died already, and it's true. Part of him has died and will never come back. But at the same time, remembering Heaven's War, reliving the atrocities in the place that swallowed his innocence, he can't help but think, No, I didn't die there. ]

[ The war was where the monster in him -- the Reaper -- was born. And he's never left. He's traveled all over the world. But the creature resurrected in South America never grew up, never fundamentally changed. His body has wandered, but his mind remains in the place that had formed him. ]

[That answer isn't surprising. Pavel has come to expect a certain amount of ambivalence from Hei, who absolutely refuses to click into his largely black and white moral worldview.]

I'm sorry--that you were made to cross that line.

[ Hei hitches a shoulder in a shrug. No longer watching the stars, but not meeting Pavel's eyes either. It's not acknowledgement and it's not dismissal. (If anyone understands the concept of black and white, it isn't Hei. To him, it's spurious at best, a form of mind-control at worst. Hei understands self-benefit, understands practicality, understands that growing up in a warzone means his mind has been reconfigured to reject or distort certain moral codes in order to survive. Right and wrong are just pretty words. He's more interested in navigating that big no-man's land that exists in between.) ]

While I'm here... at least I don't have to re-cross it. Not unless it's necessary.

[ The City is a prison. But it also grants Hei something he doesn't have back home. Freedom to choose. It's why he can afford to be lenient with Pavel. Why he can indulge in picnics and trips to stargaze, for no reason but because. (Although he rarely does so. He might've shaken off the Syndicate's chains. But it's still an effort to remember that words like Easy and Open don't always lie parallel with Ambush. ]

What side of it are you on?

[Man or monster? It's an honest question, again asked with nothing but curiosity.]

Whichever offers better retirement-plans, [ is the reply, dry and smooth off the tongue. Because the answer to that would be -- he isn't sure. It's a struggle to understand the breadth and depth of both sides, everyday. He's alternated back and forth across that line too often for a single lifetime -- enough that it's left him with an acrid aftertaste of conflict, and an exhausted sense of ambivalence. He knows the reply is more of an evasion. But this isn't a Q&A session. ]

[ Pavel has come dangerously close to prodding enough sensitive spots for one day. ]

[Pavel's social skills might leave something to be desired. Regardless, he can tell when he's pushing his luck; Hei's snippy answer is a fine indicator that he should stop while he's ahead.

He lets the silence following the dismissal hang.]

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mortemscintilla - 2013-07-23 09:43 (UTC) - Expand

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candothat - 2013-07-23 23:27 (UTC) - Expand

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