Database: Haywire
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He who increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow. This article contains spoilers, meaning it has information and facts concerning Animus Hub. If you do not want to know about these events, it is recommended to read on with caution, or not at all. |
+++DARKANIMUS_DATAINTERCEPT: "timestamp": "2096-12-12T08:45"
"intercept_type": "Abstergo Internal Report"
+++DECRYPTING
Who is the first to fall?
Footage of yesterday's incident at 0955hrs from security drones stationed in the north balcony of King's Cross identifies the victim as Erin Warwick, female, 33 years old—a quick death, knife clean into the jugular, gone before she hits the floor and paints arterial spray across the grout lines in the marble.
Tally markings from the terrorist organization self-styling themselves as 'the Watchers' dispute this, recording the only kill from the hunt as Arlan Ospanov, male, 67 years old, claimed at 1003hrs.
Bodycam playback from the Watcher insurgent team, however, suggests that the first casualty is a Watcher known only as A1. She has her hood up in the vidfeed, which conceals her features. Sifting through the peopled throngs of the magplex station, her breath has turned ragged, coming short as her body temperature spikes suddenly.
This indicates that she is already lost. Playback continues. Three other hooded Watchers stalk the station—A2, male, short of stature and brusque of voice, identified as hunt leader. A3, female, impassive. A4, male, well-built but skittish. A2 is agitated as they jostle through the crowd; playback transcribes his messages to a remote figure whose voice patterns match the person of interest previously identified as Aed.
A2: Target is deep in the station now.
Aed: Do you have eyes on him?
A2: Yes. [beat] He’s not supposed to be here, he turned into the station instead of walking down the canal like usual. He’s moving fast. Does he know?
Aed: It doesn’t matter now. We have to gut Mnemosyne. Ospanov must die, whether quietly or publicly.
A2: I don’t want that kind of attention. My team—
Playback shows A4 grabbing A2’s arm suddenly. A1 is keeled over, convulsing. A crowd is gathering.
A2: Oh, fuck.
The sick crack of joints dislocating and resetting. A1 rises. Purposefully, staggering no longer. But it’s not entirely her own stride, nor her own voice.
A1: A Pox on you, Traitor! You sold us down River!
Flecks of spittle. The crowd pulling back. The Watcher pulling forward. Glints of light on a protracted blade. Screaming.
A2: She's lost to the effect! Fuck!
Cam visuals blur with frantic motion here. The Watchers draw back towards the far end of the station, while the morass of terrified commuters disperses like a fibrous seed splitting apart. A1 is tearing through them, seeing something that isn’t there.
A1: Damn you, Hornigold!
Blood blossoms across the floor. A3 starts, as if to reach out and restrain her berserk comrade, but A2 pulls her back. He’s screaming now too, hollering into the comms.
A2: Aed, a Watcher is lost. It’s going to shit. Do we get out of here? Aed, advise.
Aed: Do you still have eyes on Ospanov?
The bodycam trembles violently, but retinal pairing shows it scanning the stampeding crowd, locking in on a man in a chequered shirt and slate grey trousers. He’s fallen in the mad press of bodies. He drags himself in the direction of the restrooms.
A2: Yes.
Aed: You have to complete the assignment.
A2: [beat] What about Siobhan?
Aed: A1 just bought you the distraction you needed. Leave her. Get after Ospanov.
The Watchers peel away from the wall. Moving hunkered and low, they look like hounds in the vid capture, hunting dogs twisting through a dark wood in some medieval tapestry. The bodycam is shown to turn back, ever so slightly, in the direction of A1 as she continues to run amok through the station.
Aed: Leave her. Damn it! Leave her.