Haunting a Ghost

*Video feed begins.

Celia is sat at her desk, amidst a hanging cloud of smoke bathed in the soft orange light of her apartment. An overflowing ashtray, several empty nerve-stick vials and an unopened bottle of brandy stand on the smooth black marble surface. Celia herself looks terribly distraught; beneath the lank strands of hair her eyes are swollen, red-rimmed, streaks of her dark make-up betraying the recent tears. She regards the camera with a burning stare for long moments before speaking in a broken voice*

So now I know the truth. Or rather, recalled the truth; I've always known it. It's in everything I do, everything I say. Even in the way I kill. It's haunted me for twenty years and all I could do to keep myself going was to block it out, along with every other shred of human emotion. I took every measure to ensure I didn't remember. And now, I see it all... so clearly, as if it was yesterday.

*She sighs and lights another cigarette*

I can see my father's body, lying in the mud, his throat torn out. I can still feel her hands... my mother's hands... slick with his blood, stroking my cheek. I can hear her words... so determined, so courageous in the face of what was inevitable. Then she was going... dragged out into the night by the SecTeam... then gone. And I have never seen nor heard of her since.

*Celia bows her head, choking back a sob. She looks back up to the camera, her eyes livid and burning with passion*

Why did they take her? Why?! The only person to have ever shown me love... genuine love. She was trying to defend me from him... What gave them the right to take her away from me and put me into the care of the Clan? Self-righteous bastards, all of them!

*Her speech becomes steadily more aggressive, a hiss through gritted teeth. She absently begins toying with an empty vial, flipping it over and over in her hand as she continues*

Thinking the rest of the cluster owes them something because they were enslaved and mistreated? Forever backward-looking, stuck in archaic tribalism. No wonder they don't make any progress. Slavery is too good for them.

*The vial breaks in her hand, glass fragments sinking into her flesh. Celia does not flinch, oblivious to any physical pain.*

They condemned her as a criminal, just as they have condemned me. No wonder then, I couldn't access her file. I have the know-how to crack the encryption now and I plan on doing just that. I can't rest knowing she could still be alive...

*Celia looks away, choking again and blinking back tears, her lips attempting a faint smile*

She used to sing to me. She'd tell me how much she loved me. Despite our stark poverty, she made every effort to make it bearable for me. She called me... Angel.

*She suddenly grabs the ashtray and flings it out of camera-shot, a resounding crash as it hits a wall. Her head sinks into her hands, her shoulders quivering. She remains silent for long moments, before re-lighting her cigarette and continuing her monologue with the camera*

If I were to find her and see her again, she would despise what I've become. Maybe Milo was right, maybe I should've just let this lie. But if I carried on I the way I was going, I would've ended up like the drunken wretch my mother left in the mud that night. Destitute, insignificant and prematurely dead.

No, I've got to find her. I need the closure. She will undoubtedly hate me, but I've learned how to deal with hate. It comes with my job. It's love that scares me most...

*Celia falls silent again, looking down at her bleeding hands. She concentrates not on her cuts, but on the two rings on her left hand. She gently twists them round and round, her own blood allowing them to slide off her finger easily. She places them on the desk, giving them baleful look.*

Why did I hold onto these for so long? I told myself a dozen reasons. Told others a dozen more. I can see the simple truth so clearly now... this was the closest I got to feeling loved again... and I killed them both.

*Celia shakes her head angrily, as if trying to clear it, unhappy with her train of thought. She sweeps her arm across the desk, sending the empty vials and rings to the floor. Only the unopened bottle remains. She fixes her weary gaze on it and continues to talk, as if to the bottle.*

Where do I go from here? I'm confused and this hurts so much. It would be so easy to drown it all out, feel numb and happy again...

*She caresses the side of the bottle with a black-varnished fingernail.*

Camera off.

*Video feed ends*

Temperance

*Video feed begins.

The camera drone pans down from a clear starlit sky, across a desolate shuttle terminal, to finally settle on Celia as she leans against a gantry railing overlooking the low silhouettes of a small, planetside complex. She finishes a cigarette, flicking the stub out over the railing and onto the tarmac below in a shower of orange sparks. A breeze catches her hair and the folds of her long leather skirt as she turns to the camera.*

I think my time here is done. I have what I wanted... and more.

*She sweeps her hair back from her face, fixing it behind her ears as her lips curl in subtle suggestion of a smile*

I'm no longer a slave to the bottle and what's more - I found my hacker. And what a find! Not just any hacker, but Mr Cole was a former cybercrime detective. He claimed that CONCORD had put an implant in his head that was re-aligning his neural pathways; interesting theory, but it earned him a full-time place here as a patient, so the quack meds and psychologists could make notes and justify their ridiculous paychecks.

Persuading him to share his knowledge was easy. They clearly don't have many female patients here.

*Celia looks away from the camera for a moment, a pang of discomfort passing over her face*

He gave me a datapad containing his tricks of the trade - thirty years of hacking knowledge and experience. I was quick to put it to good use...

*Celia begins to walk slowly along the gantry, her hand caressing the cool metal of the railing. The camera drone adjusts, moving backwards to keep her in focus*

I successfully hacked the computer of Dr Geveart, the useless quack shrink who's been counselling me. It was a good place to start; firewall was easy to disable, virus was easy to install. Within minutes I'd downloaded his personal logs on me. And a good job I did, too. He knew far too much, was getting far too suspicious.

*A distant rumble becomes a roar as a Gallente shuttle tears across the night sky, coming about to circle the complex. The camera drone shakes a little from the blast of the shuttle's thrusters as it makes its final decent and touches down on the pad. Celia pauses to watch, waiting for the noise to subside before turning back to the camera*

In the morning, they will no doubt find the bodies of Mr Cole and Dr Geveart. So I will take my leave now. I'm looking forward to catching up with my colleagues; it surprises me how much I've actually missed them... Vince's humour, Kimochi's outfits, Milo's eyes...

*Celia sighs wistfully, her face softening with a gentle smile as she leans over the railing, watching ground-crew scurry around the shuttle.

She reaches into her PRETA flight-jacket, takes out a small crystal hip-flask and tosses it from hand to hand thoughtfully. After a few moments she lets the flask fall over the railing, down fifty feet to the tarmac, shattering on impact.

The wind picks up, whipping her hair back across her face; through the glossy black tresses, her eyes narrow, glittering in the dark like the fragments of broken crystal on the tarmac below. She smiles, self-assured.*

I have work to get back to. Camera off.

*Video feed ends*

AWOL

*Data transfer begins - file 7740901086dekc.doc
From: seb.geveart65
To: unknown user*

Dr Sebastien Geveart
Paix de l'Esprit Private Rehabilitation Clinic
Goinard III
Nadire

***CONFIDENTIAL***

Patient: 7740901086 DeKline, Celia

111.16.05
New patient today; a capsuleer. She has submitted herself voluntarily, claiming she has severe amnesia and a drink problem. And she's going to be paying us handsomely for telling her what's wrong with her? Capsuleers obviously have more money than sense. This should prove interesting.

111.17.05
First session proper with Ms DeKline. Very amiable at first as we went over the pleasantries, but she became evasive and hostile when I asked her about her employment. It became apparent she was no longer willing to co-operate in the session, so I recommend she spend some time to herself around the facility. She agreed and spent the rest of the day painting in E-Block.

111.21.05
My patient is going through the most difficult stage of drying-out; her mood swings are extremely erratic, she has attacked staff and she is shaking badly. All part of the process. She has agreed to my recommendation that she does not board her capsule for the duration of the program.

111.29.05
Ms DeKline makes good progress; she has abstained from alcohol for nearly a fortnight. She has kept her mind occupied by learning to play the harmophone; this is very encouraging. Now she is more relaxed and her mind isn't fuddled with booze, I might be able to get some sense out of her.

111.31.05
Ms DeKline still refuses to indulge me with any details of her occupation, family or friends. I'm beginning to suspect she may be involved in the underworld and she is no doubt aware that many patients here are from the CONCORD stations in the system. Still, what she has revealed of her background has proven very interesting; most peculiar for a Brutor, she is in denial of her racial heritage and thinks of herself as Gallentean. It's as if she's trying to escape from something, but she can't because she doesn't know what she's running from. I'm beginning to enjoy this - she is far more interesting, and attractive, than those boring cops moaning about cabin-fever.

111.01.06
Just when I thought I was getting somewhere, she clams up again. I've established that she must have experienced some deep trauma as a child and her amnesia is a defence mechanism - she had the nerve to call me an amateur and that she had figured that out for herself. She refused to talk about her childhood; she snapped, saying that was a matter only Milo could help her with. When I asked her who he was, she just glared at me and denied saying anything. She is so frustrating.

111.07.06
My patient has now gone 22 days without drinking and appears to be coping well. She has been spending a lot of time in the facility gym and in her quarters playing her harmophone. Her temper has subsided and she is occasionally pleasant company. But she still has a passive, vacant look about her; unfortunately, I have made no further progress on discovering the trauma that haunts her.

111.14.06
Whilst my patient's progress with her alcoholism has been commendable, I have all but given up with her psychiatric evaluation; she simply does not trust me enough to open up. This week I noticed she has been spending time with another patient, Lance Cole. He's an ex-cop who spent too long working on the consoles in the cybercrime division. He's delusional, thinks CONCORD are trying to reprogram him. They talk for hours in the common room; if Ms DeKline is indeed a criminal as I suspect, they may have a lot to discuss.

111.16.06
It has been one month since we admitted the patient and I'm pleased to say that she has successfully overcome her addiction to alcohol. It is unfortunate that we can't help with her underlying issues, but we have done all we can; the patient's deliberate evasive attitude makes progress virtually impossible. Still, it is my hope that with a clearer head, a more positive outlook and her natural determination, she will discover and confront whatever lurks within.

Ms DeKline has expressed satisfaction with her own progress and the help offered by myself and the staff here. In fact, just this morning she told me confidently that she didn't need me anymore; something I can only take as a compliment!
She has stated her intention to discharge herself at the end of this week.

*Data transfer ends - connection terminated*

Progress

*Audio feed begins
Celia sounds a little out of breath, but her tone is upbeat and positive*

Ah, now that was a good run.
I've just taken Milo on one of my more demanding routes, the one that goes from top to bottom of the station. He kept up very well and I'm impressed; that run can be difficult, especially if you're not used to exercise.

*draws in air through her nose and out through her mouth deeply, regulating herself back to normal breathing*

But even more so impressive... Milo can help me with my memory. I told him about the trouble I've been having with day-to-day forgetfulness and the the more deeper concern I have for not being able to remember my childhood. I asked him about implant technology... I know he's used a suppression implant before and that got me thinking - surely an implant can be made to do the reverse and actively stimulate memories that have already been suppressed?

*Coughs heavily, followed a very un-ladylike rumble from the back of her throat and a spit*

Ugh... running dislodges some nasty shit...
Yeah, so Milo said he'd be able to put one together with relative ease, he just needed the parts. Now fortunately, I may be able to help with that... I'm pretty sure I have a capsuleer's body on ice in my storage hangar. Think I picked it up by accident when looting a wreck once. Any implants would obviously be inactive now, but Milo might be able to make use of the reclaimed parts.

*A console chimes out a sequence of key-presses, followed by a soft voice acknowledging the call. Celia converses briefly with her Quartermaster*

Bring Item...340091 out of storage and have it sent to my hangar study.
Yes, I know what it is.
Well, use your discretion, idiot! Put a fucking cloth over it!

*The console emits a final chime as the the channel is cut. Celia resumes her monologue in a pleasant tone*

Milo seemed a little cautious at the whole idea of delving into the past. I totally understand his concerns, but I've got to do this. It's like the desire I had to open my emotions; I knew it would be dangerous, but I had to learn out of necessity to keep sane. Hmm, maybe his caution is masking his own fear of his own past... I wonder.

*Console chimes again and jazz begins to play in the background. Celia hums along absently for a few moments*

Now I still have to find me a hacker for those locked files on my parents. Why would CONCORD put a restricted access on them? What interest would CONCORD have in a couple from an impoverished slum on Pator? Have they cross-referenced with Federal records and found that their daughter is a suspect for two murders and is now an outlawed capsuleer?

Hmm. Most likely. Still, considering the talent I keep company with in PRETA, finding an experienced hacker should not be a problem. I'll make enquiries at the 'Hook. It may not be the best place for dinner, but for everything else...

*The music continues to play; after a few moments Celia resumes humming along, occasionally singing out the odd line.
After several minutes, it is apparent she has forgotten that the dictaphone is still recording. An hour of humming, singing, a running shower and the whir of a hairdryer is recorded as Celia goes about her evening in her apartment.*

Shit, is this still recording? I swear, I'll forget to load the fucking autocannons one of these days...

*Audio feed ends*

Black Water

*Audio feed begins*

I've just returned from the MedBay after updating my clone. Despite this body being disposable, I've kept it safe from deep-freezing in the void for several months now I'm proud to say. I insisted upon a full medical examination; I thought it best to make sure everything is working as intended.

*The faint sound of music can now be heard; the swing beat and meandering harmophone solos of Gallentean jazz provide a gentle background noise as Celia continues*

Well, I first told the doctor what I know that he should know; I'm an alcoholic and a booster abuser. At this, he looked understandably concerned, but once my physical exam was done he seemed quite surprised. Apparently, my fitness regime has compounded the worst physical effects of abuse and indeed I am still well above the average fitness for a twenty-five year old female capsuleer.

However, neural scans picked up something else that concerned him and confirmed what I had feared for a while; my memory's deteriorating. I've noticed it getting worse lately. I even forgot my gun - my fucking gun! - leaving the 'Hook last week. But I've never been too good with memories; never saw the point of holding onto them, most of my life experience being rather unpleasant. The only memories I willingly keep are those that have taught me something. Neccessity demands it.

Of course, the doctor attributed it all to the sustance abuse and recommended I go into rehab and seek psychiatric help... Hah!

*laughs contemptuously*

...But I know it's a little more than just that and I don't need a shrink to tell me. The drink, drugs and emotional isolation have been my first defence for years now.

*Celia's tone becomes more serious*

So what do I have to defend myself from? My life is good right now... isn't it? I have wealth, a position of respect, good companions... I've even learned to recognise my emotions and enjoy them for what they are... and yet there's still something holding me back. Something that goes much deeper than just a penchant for brandy and boosters. Something I need to address before I literally lose my mind.

*A long pause, broken only by the wailing harmophone on the jazz track*
I don't remember anything of my childhood. Nothing. It's like... a span of black water; impenetrable, cold, deep. My first memory I can recall is... the day I was signed into the RMS, I was... ten?

*a datapad chimes, sounding strangely in-keeping with the almost random notes of the music*
 Yeah, according to official records it was year ninety-six; I was indeed only ten. Nothing much on the records before that though, apart from my place of birth. Medical Facility Theta, North Reach Mining Outpost, Pator. Born to Matila and Habikuk Katan.

My parent's names. They have never been anything more; just names. I cannot remember them at all.

*Sighs*

Did they send me against my will to RMS? Is that what I've been trying so hard to block out? That kind of betrayal would explain a lot about how I've grown up, why I walled up my emotions for long, why I've never bothered to give them a second thought...

*The datapad chimes out again; the timing of the key-tones follows the music uncannily*
Hmm, that's interesting... Matila and Habikuk's files have been locked by CONCORD... I can't access them any further.

Bah, I need facts. I need my own memories rekindled for a start. And I'm going to need greater security access, or a hacker, if I want to find out more on these two.

*The background music fades out, to replaced by the familiar theme tune of an ACN bulletin. During the last headline of the bulletin, the volume is suddenly turned up.*


What the fuck?!


*Audio feed ends with an abrupt click*

Brisk Thoughts

*Audio feed begins.
Boots on a steel floor can be heard at a quick pace*

How many times did I try telling him? The woman is fucking dangerous and unhinged... I don't fear much in this world... but I fear her.

Still, he did the smart thing and left without fuss. I hope his rehab goes ok. Must remember I told him I'd visit.

Oh yeah, reminder to call Milo some time in the week. Man's a genius. Need to run some ideas past him. Arrange a run round the station too. And oversee a maintenance on the Delilah. And... I'm sure there was something else...

*the ringing echo of footsteps continues for a while before a click.
Audio feed ends*

Lessons One and Two

*Video feed begins.
Celia is sat in her usual seat at her desk. She wears an elegant dress made of black mesh that shimmers in the orange light of the table-lamp. She runs her hands through her hair, ruffling her sleek tresses and drawing her fingers down across her face with a deep sigh.
Looking to a point behind the camera, she takes out a tissue from a drawer and begins to remove her eye make-up.*

I've learned two valuable lessons tonight. One; The Skyhook is not the best place to go for a quiet dinner. Two; Embracing emotion might not be the best idea.

*throws the tissue down and pours herself a drink from a decanter. She takes a large sip before continuing*

I met Milo for dinner this evening. On the whole, it was an enjoyable experience; we chatted for a while, keeping the subjects light and had soup. I can't remember what it tasted like, everything tastes the same to me these days, but Milo appeared to enjoy it.

*finds a fresh tissue and takes it around her mouth, removing her lipstick*

He sometimes gets nervous around me; Given what I've told him of myself, maybe that's to be expected. But I'm hardly intimidating... am I?

*Leans forward to look closely at the mirror behind the camera, tilting her head left to right; with her hair ruffled and face devoid of dark make-up she has a more natural, gentle look*

Hmm. And he is always so humble; the man has great skills, but continually plays them down. He also seems evasive sometimes and it's difficult to judge what he's thinking. Not that this bothers me too much, I'm not one to pry and certainly not one to go chasing people. I tell him things about myself 'cause it makes me feel better. If he wants to do the same, I try to listen and take interest.

*shrugs, leaning back in her seat and taking another drink. She smiles contently*

So we whiled a couple of hours away like that, chatting and enjoying each other's company. I was just starting to feel the warm buzz of happiness and too much brandy when...

*throws her hands into the air in exasperation, frowning*

...Vincent, Kimochi and Kelsy cause a scene, making my date very nervous and ruining the whole evening! How fucking inconsiderate!

*snatches a cigarette from her drawer and lights it, clearly annoyed*

So, from what I saw, Vince and Kimmi were chatting at the bar for a while, then Kelsy shows up. Vince kisses Kelsy, right in front of Kimmi, who promptly stalks out looking livid and real upset.

*Celia pauses, watching her cigarette smoke. A corner of her mouth raises ever so slightly*

She had that coming, fucking around with Vince's head like she did. You live by it, you die by it.
I don't know what to make of Kelsy, to be honest. As long as Vince is happy with her and she doesn't fuck with his head I can't see there being any further problem.

*Frowns, shifting in her seat restlessly. She stands and disappears out of the camera's view for a few moments before re-appearing in a black night-shirt.*

Still, after that whole debacle, Milo and I were in no mood to continue our evening, so we finished up the brandy and left. I stayed back a while longer before coming home, thinking about the dangers of letting emotion control you like that. I mean, how would I have handled being any one of those three?

*pauses in thought for a minute, then sneers to herself and finishes her glass of brandy*

Hah! I wouldn't be so fucking stupid to get myself in such a mess in the first place!

*Exhales and extinguishes her cigarette in an ashtray. She opens her drawer again, taking out a small blueish capsule and a vial of Vitoc antidote and places them on her desk. Celia swallows the pill, loads the antidote into a booster-shooter and punches a series of buttons on her coms console. She snaps sharply at a tinny voice acknowledging her call;*

Chamber-slave to my quarters, immediately.

*She gives herself an assured smile in the mirror before deactivating the camera.
Video feed ends*