Echoes of the Mockingbird’s Song
20 Jul 2024Haraldsen
Cassia Verda reclined in her pilot’s seat, the ship’s dim lighting creating ghostly shadows on her face. The instructions from ABEL were clear: eliminate Dr. Whiteman, a former engineer of theirs turned whistleblower. The engineer had been a thorn in ABEL's side, leaking sensitive information that threatened their operations. They wanted him gone, and they were willing to pay handsomely for it. Cassia wasn't the least bit interested in ABEL's cause, but the credit for this assassination job was too good to pass up. Reconstructing the NMLA demanded resources, and this task would supply exactly what was needed. Besides, she delighted in the exquisite irony that ABEL, in their utter shortsightedness, was paying her. They were unwittingly funding someone who was deftly weaving plans to undermine their very foundation. The sheer brilliance of their obliviousness was almost too good to be true. She couldn’t help but savor every moment of it. Interestingly, the Doctor hailed from a system Cassia knew all too well: Mudhrid. It was either a twist of fate or a sign of her destiny.
Docking at the remote outpost where Dr. Whiteman was hiding, Cassia’s lips curled into a sinister smile. She enjoyed the hunt, the thrill of the chase, and the twisted pleasure of toying with her prey. The place was a labyrinth of corridors and security checkpoints, a testament to its turbulent history and the war that once raged here. Yet, she navigated it all with ease, her stealth skills honed from years of guerrilla warfare. As she approached the engineer’s quarters, she could hear the hum of machinery and the occasional clink of tools.
She approached silently, her footsteps masked by the hum of machinery. Dr. Whiteman was hunched over a terminal, oblivious to her presence. Cassia watched him for a moment, a predatory grin spreading across her face. She stepped forward, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.
"Dr. Whiteman, I presume?"
The engineer spun around, his eyes wide with fear.
Cassia smiled, a twisted, mocking grin. "Oh, Dr. Whiteman, don't be so scared. We just chat a bit about the good old days in Mudhrid..."
"Zara Verda...?" he stammered, his voice trembling with surprise.
That was unexpected. Whiteman had clearly mistaken her for her sister, Zara Verda. Cassia’s voice turned cold and sharp as she replied, "Zara has been dead for a long time. She died on the Sacrosanct." She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with intensity. "Did you know her?"
Whiteman looked around frantically, as if searching for an escape. "No... not the way you think," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I never supported the Far God Cult. I just needed to see the wreckage of the Sacrosanct for myself… to find closure after the horrors of the Battle of Mudhrid and its aftermath. When I flew to the destroyed ship, which was floating in a dissipating green caustic cloud, I was shocked to hear a repeating SOS through my radio transponder."
Cassia’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "Interesting," she purred, "Tell me more, Doctor. Every detail."
Whiteman swallowed hard, his hands shaking. "Zara... she survived in an escape pod, but was poisoned… because of the Thargoid enzymes," he stated, his voice barely audible. "She told me she's one of the cultists, and I rescued her but… but she never recovered from this."
Cassia’s eyes bore into him, unrelenting. "And?" she demanded, her voice a low growl.
Whiteman hesitated, then continued, "Zara heard of a program by Azimuth. They were researching ways to heal Thargoid disease symptoms in some remote experimental lab. She thought… she thought they might be able to help her."
Cassia leaned in closer, her interest piqued. "And did they?" she asked, her voice dripping with curiosity.
"I... I don't know. After all that Hothis has achieved with ABEL - shocking, terrible but incredible things that I have witnessed with my own eyes - I believe it is possible. I... I really thought you was Zara, you look so similar," Whiteman stammered.
Cassia advanced, her movements graceful and predatory. Dr. Whiteman stumbled, knocking over a toolbox in his haste to back away.
Cassia laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "I’m Cassia, Zara’s sister. What you told me is quite intriguing. However, I’m here on behalf of ABEL - they send their regards, by the way. They’re annoyed about your whistleblowing, and they’ve sent me to ensure your silence… permanently."
Dr. Whiteman backed away, his hands shaking. "You don’t have to do this, Cassia. Think about what you’re doing!"
Cassia let out a cold, humorless chuckle. "Oh, I’ve thought about it. And you know what? I don’t care about ABEL or their mission. But I do need the money for my own little project…"
Dr. Whiteman's face paled. "Please, I was only trying to expose the truth. People need to know!"
Cassia grinned mockingly. "Truth? You wanted to expose the... truth? Such a noble, dying concept. Even my sister lied to you, but she was always good at manipulating others. Zara, the woman you rescued, was never a cultist, she belonged to the inner circle of the NMLA. And truth doesn't pay my bills, does it?"
She circled him like a predator, her eyes gleaming with a fiendish delight. "Tell me, Doctor, do you believe in mercy?"
Dr. Whiteman shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "Please… don’t…"
Cassia’s smile widened. "Good. Neither do I." With a swift motion, she drew her weapon, the polished metal glinting in the dim light. She relished the terror in his eyes, the way he cowered before her on his knees. "Any last words, Doctor?" she asked in an amused tone.
"You're making a mistake," he gasped.
Cassia shrugged. "Maybe. But for now, I need the credits. And thank you for helping my sister."
Dr. Whiteman’s voice broke as he pleaded, "Please, Cassia… spare me…"
Cassia tilted her head, feigning contemplation of his plea. Then, in a swift and unexpected motion, she pulled the trigger. The silenced shot was executed with clean precision and Dr. Whiteman crumpled to the floor, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
Cassia holstered her weapon, shot a picture of the corpse and tapped her comms. "Target eliminated. Payment as agreed."
Then she turned round and walked away without so much as a glance at the lifeless body. The credits from ABEL would help rebuild the NMLA, and that was all that mattered. As she returned to her ship, a profound sense of satisfaction washed over her. It wasn’t the kill or the substantial credits soon to be hers that brought this feeling, but the slim hope that her sister might still be alive.
Leaving the hangar, she found herself whistling a familiar tune her sister used to sing, the mockingbird’s song resonating in the darkness…