damned_institute | Day 58: Lt. General Charles Berg's Office [Second Shift]

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Day 58: Lt. General Charles Berg's Office [Second Shift]

Upon hearing the shift change, and Harrington's subsequent announcement, Berg fought the urge to rub at his eyes. While he understood that neither himself nor Aguilar had the time to do something like work the intercom system during the day, sometimes he thought Harrington enjoyed his new responsibility a bit too much.

Well, no matter. The issue didn't bother him enough to look into a replacement. Harrington did his job, and that was the most important thing.

In the meantime, Berg was slated with four more meetings today. Second shift would likely prove just as interesting as yesterday's discussions: a death god with a flair for the dramatic and a thirst for blood, as well as an android (or would "former android" be more accurate?) with a combative personality in every sense of the word.

Berg glanced at his watch. The first subject would arrive at any moment. Two cups of steaming coffee were waiting on his desk -- one for him, and one for his expected guest.

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"Get your hands off me!" Even if he felt sick from the sudden topsy-turvy whirlabout that came with whatever had just happened, Grell wasn't about to stand for being manhandled. After leaving breakfast, Grell had been escorted out of the Sun Room and abruptly blindfolded. At first he'd struggled, but when the world had pulled away and the voices from before began taunting him, it was like the rug had been pulled out under him.

"I said, get--" The hands holding him back suddenly let go and Grell stumbled forward. Once freed, Grell ripped the blindfold off, crumpling it in his hand. Even after replacing his glasses, it took time for his eyesight to adjust as well. This place was unfamiliar - an office of some sort with few frills. Much like William's little corner of bureaucracy.

And at the head of this all? A rather nondescript but authoritarian figure, glancing at his watch as if Grell were late. In a huff, the death god threw the blindfold down and stalked over to the desk. "Just what is the meaning of this?!"

The moment another voice entered the room, Berg looked up from his watch. Once again the subject had been sent to his office at precisely the correct the time. (If only last night's mission reports could arrive so promptly, Berg wearily thought to himself, but there was no helping that right then.) The officer rose from his seat. If he was startled by the rather demanding question, he certainly didn't show it.

"Ah, Grell Sutcliffe," he greeted with a slight nod. "You prefer to be addressed as 'Miss', correct?" Better to establish such formalities in the beginning of their meeting rather than muddling through them later.

"Please," he added with a gesture toward the chair closest to the redhead, "feel free to sit. I'd like to discuss some things with you." While he could understand why subjects might grow angry at the sudden change in surroundings, Berg figured civility was often the best way to diffuse an unnecessarily explosive situation.

Grell Sutcliffe.

How strange that something so simple as his real name could stop him dead in his tracks. Grell had become so accustomed to the officers and soldiers and nurses and orderlies here adhering stubbornly to the Geoffrey Burnett falsehood that having someone drop it so casually was something of a shock. The god straightened, giving the uniformed man before him a cautious stare.

"Yes...Indeed." At least he had manners and knew better than to try calling Grell a "mister." Carefully, he stepped forward again, easing himself into the offered seat. He's here to kill you. These men are all here to kill you. Grell started at the sudden appearance of Madam Red's voice, glancing over his shoulder but finding nothing but air. Trust him and you'll die, Grell. Betrayed as you betrayed me.

"I know," he hissed as the voices melted back into the ether. With a heavy sigh, the redhead turned back to this stranger before him. "And? Discuss away if you must, but answer me one thing: if you know who I am, you know how very cross I shall be when I get my powers back and how very much in danger you shall be, yes?"

When Miss Sutcliffe calmed down and took a seat, Berg sat as well. He placed his hands on top of the desk's surface, lacing his fingers together. Although the subject seemed to hiss something, the Lieutenant General didn't get the chance to ask for clarification. Instead, the redhead pursued their current line of discussion -- with an added threat, no less.

There was no doubt that the being in front of him usually possessed powers most mortals could only dream of harnessing. That was one of the reasons Miss Sutcliffe had been brought to Landel's in the first place, after all.

"I can certainly imagine," Berg replied with a politely neutral expression. "You'd have a lot more people than just myself to take care of if you're after revenge, though. This project involved the effort and expertise of many talented individuals over a lengthy period of time. You'll have your work cut out for you, particularly if you hope to get your powers back."

He didn't doubt what Miss Sutcliffe was capable of under normal circumstances. Thankfully, they had solid means of keeping their subjects under control -- and without Dr. Landel's assistance, at that.

"I apologize," Berg added. "I haven't introduced myself, have I? I'm Lieutenant General Charles Berg. It's a pleasure to finally have the opportunity to speak with you face-to-face." He gestured to the steaming mug in front of Grell. "Help yourself to some coffee if you'd like. I understand they don't serve any during mealtimes." A pity, really, though he understood why they couldn't afford to needlessly indulge everyone.

Bureaucracy was, as always, one giant mess of bosses and subordinates and far too many people doing useless things. Grell gave an exaggerated sigh and threw up his hands. If only he'd thought to take that plastic spoon-fork abomination, he could shove one into this man's eye and be done with him at least. Sadly, all he had was the pin on his beret and his glasses which, unfortunately, were much harder to stab through people's chests than some media might lead one to believe.

"Never underestimate the tenacity of a woman on a mission," he shot back, flopping back into the chair. It was well worth knowing that this man wasn't the head of it all. Not that Grell hadn't figured it out. He wasn't the tall dark statuesque Spaniard that Grell had been imagining after that spiel last night and the god somewhat recognized his voice from other announcements. Not the top dog and perhaps his words were a hint that between Aguilar and whatever it was that took away their powers was another level they hadn't even dreamed of yet. Good to know. Very good. Grell would have a lovely time chopping everyone's heads off and painting the walls with their pretty blood.

The thought of this Lieutenant General grabbing his throat after having his jugular slashed, the red spray decorating the walls as he flailed and clung to the last few seconds of life brought a smile to Grell's lips. He relaxed and crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in the seat with his hands folded in his lap. "I'm English, dear. We don't drink coffee. Although the gesture is appreciated."

And interesting. Charles Berg was being most amicable for someone in charge of keeping them all imprisoned here. "So? What is this all then? Looking to have a little 'how are you faring, why aren't you dead yet' chat or is there something more to this?"

Ah, those English. Given the fact the very nation itself had declined his offer yesterday, Berg shouldn't have been surprised by Ms. Sutcliffe's response, but it was still strange to him. How did people in that country even function?

"Fair enough," the officer responded, taking a sip of his own drink. "I don't keep tea in here, unfortunately, but I can pour you a fresh cup if you change your mind." While he could have considered getting some specifically for instances like these, Berg simply didn't drink the stuff. He'd much rather brew a pot of coffee for the both of them and leave it at that. This wasn't some cafe, after all.

Regardless, Ms. Sutcliffe's questions were reasonable enough. Berg gave a small chuckle at the death god's wording. "Nothing all that exciting, I'm afraid," he said. "I mostly wanted to take the time to discuss whatever you wanted, answer whatever questions you might have -- well, to the best of my ability, at least. Obviously, I can't divulge any confidential information."

After setting his coffee down, however, he fixed the redhead with a polite smile. "But before we get into any of that, I'll admit I do have one question for you," Berg added. "Is there anything you can tell me about the man named Marc? He's currently the individual who's been broadcasting radio messages at night, and I'm curious to know what others may have heard about him."

Grell wasn't one to change his mind when it came to coffee so he waved a hand dismissively, settling his elbow onto the arm of the chair. Charles was being a proper gentleman about this whole thing other than the blindfolding bit. Odd that the military would take such interest in them after pretty much ignoring their well-being for so long. The timing was just too convenient and, while Grell didn't mind basking in the glow of attention, Charles Berg was not the Spanish hottie she'd been expecting. Tilting his head to the side, Grell propped his chin lightly on the back of half-curled fingers, watching Charles closely.

No confidential information, just answers to any petty useless questions Grell might have. And--? There it was. A much less polite smile grew and spread across Grell's face as she watched Berg play his first hand. Marc, the radio man, helping people out in the forests and woods, supposedly now working with Landel of all people. A rebel out to bring this precious Institute down about Berg and Aguilar's ears. That was information worth having and worth the military's time to bring a death god in here to play some ridiculous game of information pseudo-exchange.

"So that's what this is about, hm?" Grell had never met the man himself, but the death god was smart and he knew how to listen in. Given the right incentive, he might even betray the others here and help the Institute grab Marc and end this stupid tug of war they had going. But the right incentive? Was not a few measly questions being answered. "I might know something, but your offer of information is not appealing enough for me to give him up. What else do you have to give me, Lieutenant General?"

Power, freedom, privileges. Grell would turn his back on everyone here if it gave him what he wanted. Now it just remained to see if the military was willing to play the death god's game. "I could be a most fantastic ally, or a most deadly foe, you know."

It appeared he had piqued Ms. Sutcliffe's interest. Perhaps she would be more willing to share information than some of the other subjects he had met with so far. From the way the death god spoke, they would need to negotiate a price. But that was perfectly all right with the Lieutenant General. Making a small investment now could potentially lead to better rewards later, after all.

Leaning back in his seat, Berg folded his arms over his chest and paused for a moment. His polite smile never dipped.

"Yes, I'm quite aware of your talents and abilities, Ms. Sutcliffe," he said. "The fact you're here at all says a lot about yourself. I'm willing to discuss options." Some officers preferred brutal interrogation, but Berg found that, under the right circumstances, certain alternatives were far more effective.

"We know a great deal about Marc already," Berg continued. "But there are still some things we'd like to investigate further. That's why I'm interested to hear about anything he might have done under Martin Landel's watch, before General Aguilar assumed command of the institute."

Leaning forward now, Berg rested his arms on the desk. "Naturally, we're willing to reward you for your assistance. I have the authority to make your stay a bit more comfortable during the day -- by arranging a cup of your favorite tea with every meal, for example."

While he didn't keep the stuff in his office, he could easily provide Ms. Sutcliffe with such a luxury in exchange for her cooperation.

Time to haggle then, was it? Grell leaned in his seat, chin resting on the backs of his fingers as he continued to study the man in front of him. They knew of him and what he could do - even knew the honorific he preferred - and yet they weren't afraid. They had to have some way of controlling the powers of the patients here and Grell wanted that. He wanted something big, but she also knew she had very few cards to work with right now. One lured in more flies with honey and sugar than oil and vinegar and now was the time for honey-coated words.

The death god smiled slowly. "Very well then. You have a deal."

A cup of tea was a start. He would certainly appreciate that, of course, but further rewards down the line? That was what he wanted. Giving away information wasn't a single-shot sort of deal and there were certainly other ways of getting back at the people he despise here other than simply chasing them down the halls with a chainsaw. Here was a spectacular opportunity to absolutely ruin a certain boy's life.

"So~ What shall I tell you then, hm? What sort of cryptic messages he sent, his relationship with that ugly woman Jill? Or perhaps something else?" Grell sat up, shifting so he could be more comfortable and still keep Berg in direct line of sight. "Is Marc the only person you're interested in? Or shall I let you in on other secrets I pick up along the way?"

Edited 2011-08-28 09:09 (UTC)

Judging from Ms. Sutcliffe's reaction, Berg very well may have secured the help of an informant. While he knew that such help would come at a price, he was willing to offer rewards for efforts to keep the military several steps ahead of the institute's subjects.

"Our records concerning some of his activities during Landel's term are somewhat lacking," Berg admitted. "I'd be interested in hearing about any messages he gave during that time, as well as places he may have gone in order to make contact with patients. The names of those he spoke with would also be of help."

As for further "secrets", he'd be foolish to only fixate his efforts on Marc. The man was only one of their current concerns, and Berg couldn't even say he was extremely high on their list of priorities these days.

"Any information about patient activities, especially what they plan to do at night, would be rewarded," he informed Ms. Sutcliffe, his dark-eyed gaze never wavering. "The better the information, the better the compensation, of course. But our interest isn't limited to Marc by any means."

"Well, let's see..." Messages Marc had sent while Mr. GodComplex was still on the throne? Grell hadn't been around for too long, but he did remember some. The more interesting ones, especially. Grell leaned back in his chair now that he had a specific set of questions to answer, relaxing as he twirled a few strands of hair around his index finger. "He has access to the town as I remember some people talking about meeting him there. And once, after a particularly nasty something or other, he called for help over the radio. Unlike that unhelpful dolt Jill - who, by the way, I hope you know about - he stayed on the quieter side, preferring direct contact with us. He did ask us to help that useless woman, but I don't see why. She was double-crossing him and us, so really she wasn't much help at all. Once he came in, he chose to work on the technology side of things - hacking into the systems, removing barriers, that sort of thing."

As for who he spoke with...? Grell wasn't privy to that information, but he could vaguely recall people asking over the bulletin or was that hearsay he'd picked up wandering about before? Whatever it was, he knew one thing. "The clubs are looking for him - those absurdly named associations that still hang about. They say he's outside somewhere, but I haven't heard them drop the name of where yet, but if you like, I'll keep my ear to the ground for it."

Because screw that man. He never did a thing to really help Grell anyway. "It's rather easy to find what people are up to, so just let me know how to tell you and I'll slip you people a few extra things for a few payments my way."

They did, in fact, know about Jill, but some of the other matters regarding his contact with certain individuals hadn't been confirmed. Berg had suspected it, of course, but all of that mostly took place under Landel's watch. It was refreshing to find a subject who was willing to discuss these matters.

"Yes, if you could get locations for us, we'd certainly appreciate it." Pausing, he took a sip of his warm coffee. "Specific names of anyone he made contact with would also be good. But, like I said before, our interest isn't limited to only Marc, either. I'd like to hear more about what these 'clubs' intend to do with their nights ahead of time."

Unlike many of the other subjects he'd met with before, it appeared Ms. Sutcliffe could recognize a good opportunity. "All you need to do is write a note addressed to me and hand it to one of our people," he said. "It should find its way to me soon enough. You'll be rewarded for your efforts, of course."

The officer reached for a pad and pen. "What sort of tea did you want, by the way? I'll make sure you have a cup waiting for you with every meal." True, the information from today wasn't as specific as he would have liked, but Berg looked on it as an act of good faith for future information.

"I can find that out." It was a simple enough thing to imitate someone's handwriting or to pretend to be someone else and ask for the right information. People here were so stupidly trusting after all. Grell smiled, raising a hand to inspect his nails. The red polish still looked good even after a day or two. Thank goodness for that.

The club activities were even easier. They were practically spelled out on the board everyday. All it would take would be for Grell to copy those things down and pass them off to someone on his way to dinner. And how exciting...passing love notes with the higher ups seemed almost obscene. He liked that. It would be their little secret as long as no one else decided to try it out. "About the clubs, I can show you that before dinner. As well as any other activities of the populace here. There are so very few with whom I feel any sort of affection at all. It shall be interesting to see how they scramble when their nights get worse."

And maybe more of them would die. A vast number of people dying at once in a single point in time and space would definitely catch the attention of the death gods. Unless the American bureau was full of slackers, which, considering America's death toll, he highly doubted that. "Rose hip, if you would. There's just something so relaxing about the scent, don't you think?"

"Excellent." While he could easily send his own people to pull information from subjects, it was far better to have a source who lived among them. "If you could be as detailed as possible in your notes, I'd appreciate that. I know some subjects discuss plans over the bulletin, but a few show some prudence about their precise locations and plans."

As for the tea request, Berg made a quick note of it. "Rose hip, got it," he confirmed with a nod. Upon being asked about the scent, he offered a dry smile. "I wouldn't know, since I've usually got a mug of this with me instead." To emphasize his point, he lifted his coffee up off the desk. He wasn't much a tea person, and it had never occurred to him to seek out any herbal blends.

"At any rate..." Lifting his pocket watch, Berg glanced at the time. "I think we may be running out of time soon. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?"

"Certainly. I'll be as detailed as I can in our little love notes," he said, winking at him. There were some that used codes and some that liked to keep their rooms a secret, but uncovering room numbers was easy for the Institute. All that remained was to tell the guards where the patients were going, in how many numbers and what they were planning on doing. Easy enough.

Easy and profitable. Grell liked that idea wholeheartedly.

"Yes, yes, it does seem to be the time, doesn't it? I have nothing else-" Except-- No, asking after Aguilar here would be pointless. After a few more favors paid and some backstabbing in the right directions, Grell could ask and possibly get Harvey what he wanted. And if not? Well, that would simply be the unfortunate way the dice fell. "-to say. Although I do recommend tea. It's lovely and doesn't leave one's breath smelling quite so... strong."

Nor was it as tasteless.

With the meeting over, Grell was about to ask what would happen now - if he would be blindfolded and taken away again or if things would simply fade to black accompanied by music and candlelight - when the strangest sensation hit him. Before he could do much else, the world did fade to black and he slumped over in his seat.

By the time breakfast was over and a trip to the showers had been announced, the worst of Sechs' dizziness and nausea had faded. He would have looked forward to drenching his cold, sore back with warm water in the shower, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to see the rest of his afflicted arm. Just the pain in that limb and the discoloration of his hand was bad enough; he didn't want anymore flashbacks triggered by the sight of his bare arm...

Exiting out of the cafeteria, Sechs' troubled thoughts were abruptly cut short by the sudden presence of two soldiers, marching in purposely from behind like a pair of predators. Before Sechs could react, he was surrounded on both sides by the uniformed men and sternly directed towards the exit of the Sun Room.

"Crap! What did I do wrong this time?!" Sechs growled as the two soldiers silently directed him out into the hallway, their stoic demeanor resembling heartless factory robots pushing a piece of scrap metal down the converter belt to make room for the next pile of rubbish to be processed.

The lack of answers flared up Sechs' temper and with a growl he shoved himself away from his escorts. He wasn't putting up with this! The soldiers would have none of that however, each one grabbing Sechs' arms with swift and unforgiving strength before pulling him back into their controlling hold. As soon as his sore arm was tugged into a vice-like grip, Sechs let out a yelp of pain and broke out into a furious struggle between the soldiers. "HEY!! LET GO!" he snapped, his anger building as the fight only twisted up his arm even more. "THE HELL YOU DOING?! GET OFF ME YOU CHICKEN SHITS--"

Then out of nowhere, a strip of cloth fell over Sechs' eyes and was tied firmly around his head. Infuriated as a captured beast, Sechs snapped his head back and opened his mouth to holler out every swear he knew at his captors, but a large hand clasped tightly over his lips and chin, turning his cursing into muffled grunts. Again, Sechs was forced to shuffle onward between the two men.

"We're not letting you cause any trouble now, you got that?" rumbled a deep voice near Sechs' ear, "So shut your mouth and keep walking!"

Next thing Sechs knew, a familiar sensation of spinning in midair came over his senses, bewildering him in his blind and muted state. The voices of his fellow prisoners in the Sun Room were silenced, replaced only by the dull thuds of the soldier's boots as they continued to roughly push him forward into the unknown.

Another moment of struggling, shoving, and angry mumbles later, and Sechs was brusquely forced into a chair before the blindfold was pulled from his eyes. As soon as the soldier's hand withdrew from his mouth, Sechs went right back to his tirade of cursing and snarling.

"The HELL is this?!" he demanded, blinking furiously as he took in his new surroundings. He was in an office he had never been in before, and sitting before him was a man he did not recognize. By the extra accessories to his uniform and that commanding, no-nonsense vibe he was giving out, Sechs was quick to assume that he was dealing with one of the higher-ups of the military.

How high this man's rank was did not matter to Sechs however; his right arm was throbbing even more now after his struggle, and the familiar sensation of traveling through the institute's portals hadn't done his queasy stomach any good either. Sechs had no one but the man before him to blame for his recent troubles!

"And just who the hell are you?!" Sechs barked, glaring at the man with the fancy watch, "If you're that Aguilar guy--" The Replica attempted to rise from his seat, but his unwanted escorts were standing guard close behind. They swiftly bore down on the furious android; their hands clenching into his shoulders and pushing him back down into the chair to keep him firmly seated.

Subdued by the soldiers for now, Sechs could only slouch beneath the weight of their hands with visible discomfort on his face, shooting hateful glares at the men surrounding him as he unwillingly waited for whatever they had in store for him.

Edited 2011-08-23 08:43 (UTC)

The moment his next appointment arrived, Berg looked up from his watch with a mildly put-out expression. He normally didn't like to keep soldiers in the room while he met with subjects, but he'd been informed it might be necessary with this one. If they knew how volatile he could be, why hadn't they approached him with a bit more subtlety? Yet, here they were, shoving him into the chair like some kind of animal.

Maybe he would have to ask his people to change their approach during fourth shift.

Regardless, he had an angry man on his hands now, and Berg supposed he couldn't blame him. "Actually, no," he answered. "I'm Lieutenant General Charles Berg." Berg offered a dry smile. "It's good to have the opportunity to meet with you, Mr. Sechs, although I'll understand if the feeling isn't exactly mutual." None of the subjects were here of their own free will, after all.

"At any rate, I didn't bring you into my office to play games or to do anything to you," Berg continued. "For what it's worth, I apologize for the abrupt way my men grabbed you earlier. We have security measures, and they can be a bit rough in how they implement them."

Sechs returned Berg's smile with a toothy scowl of his own. So this guy was just one of Aguilar's lackeys, huh? That was a big disappointment. If he had been dealing with the Head Honcho himself, Sechs would have been no more than happy to tear himself away from the soldiers and kill him with his bare hands over everything that had happened so far, particularly the night before...

Yet so far this Berg guy was coming across as a more diplomatic type than the rest of the military personnel Sechs had dealt with. He hadn't been expecting that. Sechs was even shocked to hear Berg address him with his true name. Despite all that, the Replica firmly kept his guard up, his instincts still wary of the situation. Yet even though the Replica's eyebrows remained furrowed, his widened eyes betrayed his surprise.

"So you're calling me by my real name now, huh? No more of that stupid 'Cody Sasaki' crap?" Sechs growled, grabbing his dog tags and jangling them in front of his chest. "That's the first thing you've done right so far! Good for you!" he snapped with obvious sarcasm in his voice, and allowed the dog tags to drop back down upon his uniform with a soft clatter.

Even with the General's polite stance and correct use of Sechs' name, the android still wasn't going to relax and trust the man anytime soon. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat against the soldier's grip on him, Sechs kept his eyes locked on Berg with a suspicious frown. "And if this whole thing isn't a game, then what is it?" he asked, his voice gruff with irritation and distrust.

While the soldiers still had to maintain their hold on Mr. Sechs, it appeared he'd calmed down somewhat. Hopefully he could steer the conversation into smoother territory from here, but Berg would simply have to see how things played out. Considering the circumstances, some people were bound to act in unpredictable ways. That was part of what made them so interesting.

"Well, I can't make any promises about what people call you outside of this office," the officer responded, apparently unshaken by that nasty bit of sarcasm. "But I decided it's only fair to loosen those kinds of restrictions for the duration of our meeting. Like I said, this isn't a game or an experiment."

Even so, he didn't expect that alone to ease all tensions...not by a long shot. But at least it was one of the easier compromises he could make.

"It's simply a conversation -- nothing more, nothing less," Berg answered once he heard Mr. Sechs' question. "I'm willing to discuss whatever you'd like. Although, I should say upfront that some things are confidential, so I may not always be able to go into detail." As lax as he was about the name thing, he couldn't budge an inch on those kinds of matters.

"But you're free to ask whatever you'd like," the officer added. "The only thing I ask in return is that you answer this: do you know anything about the man named Marc?"

"Just a conversation?" Sechs scoffed, crossing his arms and giving another nasty glare at the two soldiers behind him. "Why do I have trouble believing that?"

Despite the General's declaimer about keeping confidential information out of reach, it dawned on Sechs that this was probably his only chance to get some straight answers from the people responsible for his entrapment. His body tensed up slightly from a shot of adrenaline at the possibility. He had so many questions and demands for the General sitting behind the desk, yet could he really trust him to speak the truth?

And then came the catch; Berg wanted information about Marc, the man on the radio whom Sechs had recently lost precious trust on. The Replica barely knew anything about the man, just that he was on the outside and likely part of that "Second World" group. Ever since Sechs began taking his radio with him, he had only received bits of information from Marc, all of which barely satisfied the Replica's need for answers. Marc's instructions to find that note hadn't come without consequence either, leaving Sechs with the burden of doubt and guilt over whether he had done the right thing or not. To top it all off, the last time Sechs had heard from the radio man, he had been in cahoots with that damn Martin Landel himself! The resentment and distrust Sechs felt towards Marc twisted and throbbed inside his chest like a ball of barbwire. All of it was enough for Sechs to rat that bastard out, but...

Sechs' frown worsened as he contemplated the situation. He may have lost his trust with the radio man, but he considered the military to be a far greater foe. Giving up information to General Berg could cause worse things to befall Sechs and his fellow prisoners. Sechs felt bad enough over his possible failure to protect the secrets of Marc's note as it is. The radio man may have betrayed everyone by siding with Landel, but Sechs wasn't going to do the same thing by siding with the military!

Still, there was a chance that the military already suspected Sechs of knowing more than he was willing to tell, Berg could call him out on that and end their pleasant conversation. This whole meeting may appear to be some harmless little interrogation, but Sechs viewed it as a battleground for answers. Berg had made his first move, but Sechs planned to counter it with a question that had burned inside him for over a week.

"Ah, I get it! This is just a trade of information, huh?" Sechs said, narrowing his eyes at Berg. "Well, let me ask this first: Tell me where Alita is, and don't act all stupid about it!" he demanded with a snarl. "She 'visited' me awhile back, calling herself 'Yoko' and mistaking me for someone else. Where is she? What are you doing with her and where do you have her locked up? Tell me that!"

One could certainly call it a "trade of information", but Berg didn't necessarily require answers from Mr. Sechs to continue their chat. That didn't seem to be the case for Mr. Sechs, however. Berg wasn't surprised. Dr. Jones had been particularly concerned about receiving visits from his father, and it was easy to imagine that there were others with similar worries.

"I can understand why you'd feel upset about what happened," Berg said, "but we haven't locked her up. We're not 'keeping' her anywhere, either. She came here to visit you on her own, and I presume she safely returned to her current place of residence once she was finished."

Leaning back in his chair, he calmly regarded the subject across from him. "It may sound difficult to believe, but you have my word as an officer. If it were a matter of confidentiality, I'd simply say so rather than lie about it."

General Berg's reply came as shock to the Replica, like a sudden strike from behind that sent his mind reeling with confusion. Sechs could only stutter for a moment before he could counter that verbal attack with an angry lashing of his own.

"C-came on her own?!" Sechs exclaimed. He tried to jump to his feet again, but the silent sentinels beside him grasped his upper arms and kept him seated. Another pained grunt escaped Sechs as his sensitive right arm came under fire again from the soldier's grip, forcing him to halt his struggles. Resisting the urge to fight back, Sechs forced his attention back to Berg. This battle wasn't over just yet!

"Don't tell me she went through all the trouble of getting down from Ketheres just to visit me and treat me like I'm someone else! Hogwash!" he loudly snapped, "You got her brainwashed, didn't you?! Either that or you got some Alita look-a-like who thinks I'm some brother named Cody!" Sechs accused the General. With the pent-up anger Sechs had, Berg should have been glad that the two soldiers were keeping the furious Replica a safe distance away from him!

"All of that is just sick!" he snarled, angrily spitting at the floor to show his disgust. "And I bet you got some crap story about the experiments that go on here too, huh?!"

As expected, Mr. Sechs wasn't satisfied with Berg's response. One would think he'd at least be glad she wasn't trapped in this facility, that she was living a normal, productive life somewhere. But people often became touchy whenever matters like personal identity were involved.

"If she visited you, then I would imagine she's been integrated into society and is freely living her life," he answered. Brainwashed was such a harsh term, after all. "Wherever she is, she's safe, and is not being mistreated or harmed by us in any way."

Of course, the subject's grievances didn't seem to end there. He appeared quite upset about some of their methods, going as far as to spit on the floor. That was hardly surprising, considering he wore both the SC and MU pins.

"You're free to vent your anger and frustration all you'd like, Mr. Sechs," he stated with a politely neutral expression, "but please don't dirty my office in the process." Berg had no intention of derailing the conversation, though, which was why quickly moved onto his question concerning experiments.

"As for our other activities," he continued, "they're necessary for the continuation of this project. That's why we've tried to recognize and reward your achievements, rather than adopt Martin Landel's approach."

Now the soldiers had to really fight to keep Sechs down. The Replica was nearly spitting with fury as he struggled against the guard's grip. "WHAT?! Whaddya mean she's integrated into society and freely living her life?!" Sechs demanded, not wanting to believe what he just heard. It made no sense to him! The stoic General sitting behind the desk had to be lying!

"Why is it okay that you call me Sechs, yet you think its just fine and dandy for Alita to live a fucking lie as someone named Yoko?!" Sechs demanded, "Make up your damn mind!"

Sechs let out a brutish snort at Berg's request for cleanliness, fluttering some hairs away from his face as he glowered at his host. He would have been no more than happy to add more of his personal touches to the office, but the guards had roughly pulled him back against the chair. Offending the General too much could end their discussion as well, leaving Sechs with little answers. "What does kidnapping and torturing people have to do with all this, huh?!" he growled at the General's cold statement, "Just what kind of sick science project do you have going on here?!"

With his arm throbbing painfully from all the struggling, Sechs tried to squirm out of the soldier's clutches, but after his offense against General Berg's immaculate office, they were not keen on giving Sechs any space to move. Sechs' head was beginning to spin from his rage and pain, but he managed to keep the conversation on track. He was far too enraged with the General to give away any helpful information about Marc. For now, the more he could get out of Berg, the more likely Sechs could get something sensible out of him -- hopefully...

"If was more comfortable here, I'd be showing you the scars I got from one of your crazy doctors! What he did to me has been tormenting me since!" Sechs snarled, his breaths burdened by the growing mass of agonized emotions raging inside his ribcage. "What is the point of putting us all through this shit?! I know a few people who sure as hell don't deserve it! Your 'rewards' mean NOTHING!"

"That's what you'd like to be called, isn't it?" Berg asked. "In your friend's case, she wants to be called Yoko now. That's what it boils down to for me. Unfortunately, I personally can't speak for the rest of the program since I wasn't the one who designed it in the first place."

Besides, as things stood, their success rates were too high to change those sorts of regulations. There was no practical need for it.

The officer patiently listened to Sechs' furious barrage of questions, his arms folding over his chest. His men were keeping him tightly in place, something Berg would rather they not have to do. But in the subject's case, it was better to hold him down, rather than let him face the consequences of an attempted attack on a commanding officer.

"Don't misunderstand me," he calmly answered after a moment. "I'm not sitting here because I enjoy this project. It's costly to maintain, and, quite frankly, taxing to run." Sitting locked in their offices, twirling their proverbial mustaches, and playing the part of a wicked, mad scientist -- that was more Dr. Landel's style than their own.

But, his own personal feelings toward the institute aside, Berg knew what he and General Aguilar had to do. For a soldier like himself, that was more than enough.

Expression growing more stony, he gazed across his desk at Sechs. "I'm curious. What lengths would you personally go to in order to protect everything you knew and cared about?"

General Berg's answer did nothing to ease Sechs' cravings for answers about Alita; it only troubled the agitated Replica even more! If Alita was really out there living as "Yoko", then all of Sechs' efforts to find his Original in the institute had been fruitless. What was worse was the finality to General Berg's statement, it seemed everything he had said on the matter was all Sechs was going to get about Alita...

Gritting his teeth against his growing despair, Sechs was forced to drop his nagging questions about his Original's fate. The Replica's furious posture slumped beneath the guard's hands, but his wolfish eyes remained furiously focused on Berg. "Hmph! Try being one of the guinea pigs for your taxing project!" Sechs bitterly scoffed, "Then come back and tell me just how difficult it is to maintain your little institute!"

Sechs yearned for more answers; he wanted to demand the truth behind the reasoning of the institute's existence. He badly wanted to ask why, why was all of this happening? What was the point of it all? Yet the next words to come out from the stone cold officer left Sechs feeling taken aback. The Replica could only sit there, his scowling face briefly flickered into an expression of surprise. "I..."

"What lengths would I go to protect everything... everyone I know and care about..." Sechs pondered to himself, his face shadowed by brooding mask. "What do I have that is worthy enough to do all that? What would a true warrior do...?"

It was then that a series of memories rushed through Sechs' mind like the sudden arrival of a whirling sandstorm. Sechs relived a stark memory back from his time in the space colony of Leviathan 1. Perched upon Alita's shoulder in the tiny robot body Sechs occupied then, they were following Zazie in the midst of their journey to end a war game that used children as target practice. Sechs had seen Zazie as an impressive fighter, and piped up an important question: "Hey know-it-all! What's the essential quality of a true warrior?!"

"Loyalty to one’s master," was Zazie's answer.

Sechs had scoffed at the reply, but Zazie continued, "...A master does not have to be a person, but a cause worth dying for. It is an idea that never wavers in the face of death..."

Sechs returned to the present with those powerful words echoing within his consciousness, and he refocused his gaze back towards Berg with an expression just as reserved as the General's. The Replica mentally pieced together his answer. Ever since his fight with Whophon and his experiences in the institute, Sechs was slowly beginning to grasp the sort of master he would fight for... A cause worth dying for...

Trembling slightly, Sechs thought of his companions and everything he learned from them; including the support, strength and sorrow he gained through their friendship. He recalled his first experience of a new sort of anger he had never felt before, one which flared up at the sight of seeing innocents put under the mercy of tyrants. He was no longer fighting just for himself, but for others as well. Was that what a true warrior did?

Another moment of silence dragged by before the Replica clenched his fingers into his crossed arms and readied himself with a deep breath.

"I'd... I'd give my life," Sechs finally answered, his voice quiet but steady. It was a question which Sechs thought he could never answer until now, and his reply reverberated throughout his entire being. As his personal revelation nourished his warrior spirit, the trembling in his body gently eased off and his posture straightened up against the soldier's hold.

Following his answer, Sechs' eyes narrowed dangerously at General Berg as his combative mind realized the reason behind the man's question. "And it wouldn't involve causing hell for innocent people like what you and Landel have been doing!" he added with a snap, flashing his teeth through an open scowl at Berg. "Was that what your question's about then? What I'd do if I were in your shoes or something?" he snorted with contempt. "You still haven't told me what the whole point of this institute is..."

It took the subject a moment to give his answer, but Berg patiently waited and listened. He could understand the sentiment behind his answer all too well. But that wasn't to say they were necessarily cut from the same cloth. There were too many differences between them and their experiences.

"Spoken like a true soldier," Berg said with a nod, faint approval coloring his tone. "Of course, for some there comes a time when they must contemplate the possibility that their life simply isn't enough to keep such things safe. If it were a matter of sacrificing our lives to successfully perform our duty, there wouldn't be any question of what we should do, and this institute wouldn't exist."

But the world was seldom so black and white. Sometimes choices had to be made -- difficult ones that made the more faint of heart cringe in horror and disgust.

"Unfortunately, that's not where we're at," Berg quietly continued. The remainder of his coffee had cooled by now, but he wasn't in any hurry to pour himself more. "Simply put, this facility is helping us protect our future."

...Like a true soldier... Sechs couldn't help but let out a soft, hollow chuckle at that, yet no smile came upon his lips. It was sickeningly ironic that he would finally be called "true" of some sort, not just a lousy copy, by someone who he considered to be a great enemy. He would have rather heard words like that from someone he admired or had a strong rivalry with, like Zazie and even Alita... But no thanks to the tyrants running the institute, they were far out of Sechs' reach, and he was no close to fighting on even grounds with the powers which had entrapped him, including the General sitting across from him.

The Replica slowly shook his shaggy head, refusing to accept that rare little gem of a compliment from the General. His pride may have been badly battered, but no amount of praise from enemies like General Aguilar's men and Landel would ever ease his injured spirit. Sechs was a warrior, not a soldier who mindlessly followed orders, that was what struck the solid line between him and Berg.

Sechs felt a painful jab at his heart when the matter of one's worth was brought up. "What is the worth of my life...?" Sechs thought to himself, his words echoing the same ones he cried out in a dream he once experienced during the Z.O.T Tournament, one filled with rage and despair so intense that he almost lost himself in its agonizing depths. That question still haunted Sechs since, and the effects of his M-U quite favored that particular insecurity. Sechs still had no solid answer to that question, as he was still constantly reminded of the fact that he was "just some Replica"... He could only glower at General Berg, wishing to make the man eat his own words and then some.

The former android could sense that they were nearing the end of the conversation. Another small shot of adrenalin entered Sechs' system, and his fury eased off into desperate frustration. "Protect your future?" he asked, his angry scowl twisted with confusion and even a hint of apprehension. "Protect it from what? What's so bad about this threat that's gotten you to stoop down to such sick levels? Why?!"

Edited 2011-08-31 08:01 (UTC)

The further their conversation progressed, the more emotional Sechs became -- that much was obvious. However, he'd at least contained himself well enough in order to keep their conversation going. Given all he'd been through within the institute, Berg privately considered his efforts quite admirable. Then again, it was only natural he'd want answers. Anyone would.

"That, unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to say," Berg answered. There was a tinge of regret in his voice, and it was sincere. "It is, however, necessary, which is why we're sitting here today. If the initial plans had been up to me, perhaps things would have been different, but..."

They hadn't, so it was useless to speculate now.

"As things stand now, our success rate here is too high for anyone to suggest changes," he calmly added. "This program works, and we need it. That's all I can say on the matter."

If he'd been younger, he might have apologized for the grief and pain Sechs had suffered. But he was experienced enough to know that such sentiments were hollow words so long as nothing could be done to change the situation. Besides, that was of little consequence now. He had a cause, and there was no use for sorrow or pity.

No minute amount of regret, pity or sympathy that came with Berg's answer could ease the Replica's agonizing hunger for answers. Sechs could only sit helplessly beneath the soldier's grip, glaring at Berg with all the hatred he could muster in his yellow eyes. His entire body visibly cringed against the rage that howled for release from his heart.

Sechs was forced to accept that it was just no use to get anymore answers from Berg; like trying to break down that one metal door on the second floor of the institute, Sechs had no access to what he needed. After all Sechs and everyone he knew went through, they were all just as lost and oblivious as rats in a maze; the General might as well had thrown salt into Sechs' deepened wounds!

Bowing his head slightly but keeping his eyes locked on Berg, Sechs released a beastly snort at his opponent. He saw no other end to this battle than in a begrudged draw...

"Fine," Sechs said, his low voice barely steady against his boiling rage. "If you're not gonna tell me about the purpose of your sick little project, then you can forget getting any information about Marc from me!"

With a defiant scowl, Sechs delivered his stubborn statement as a final strike against the impassive General. Sechs didn't care what could happen next, he was done with Berg's mind games! According to Sechs, their conversation was over, and yet he was barely any the wiser from it...

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Day 58: Lt. General Charles Berg's Office [Second Shift]

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