He let the water spray over him. A few months ago, Shawna would be in here and they would have figured out how to make this narrow shower their playground. Given that she’d changed her hair to the same sea blue as that first vacation to Cancun, and…..well, there had been a lot of firsts that week, the alley, the beach. . . . . They had shed a lot of clothes in Mexico. He loved the purple, but of all the times she changed her hair, she knew the sea blue had been his favorite. He was trying real hard not to read anything into that right now. Had the kiss yesterday at the zoo meant anything? How could it, she said she had found multiple replacements over the last months.
He needed to get a grip. The long ass day had begun so well. After last night’s….emotional outburst, Amelia had held him and he had slept…..all night.
Except, he’d been, well, over the edge since the briefing. His terror at the thought of that virus, inert or not, within the security of the base’s security perimeter and near Livy and Amelia while the team left horrified him. Coward that he was, he took comfort in Amelia’s embrace without giving her any warning before he left. Shame flooded him as he exited the shower.
To compound his feeling, he couldn’t stop looking at Shawna all day, the whole flight he watched her in the reflections from the cockpit. Siding with her in every discussion, watching her exit the limo. Watching her walk and then being completely surprised by the discovery of everything the research facility had contained. All the bodies that were to have been disposed of, live virus, the insanity of these scientists thinking they could control something alien that they did not understand. His panic at the signs of the experimentation on the infected woman, alive or dead or mutated, it reminded him too much of the hint of memories from Eyes Open. Which lead to anger and guilt, anger at those involved, anger at Brant for resisting exploring these memories, looking for Bridgett, guilt for not looking for her, guilt for knowing that if he insisted, the team would help and that it could endanger Amelia, but especially Livy. His brothers could take care of themselves.
He longed for the beginning of therapy sessions now that he had acquiesced. He was tired of hurting everyone……and for once he was tired of hurting himself. So tired. So tired.
After the shower, he’d debated internally about calling Livy and Amelia, just to put his own mind at ease after the attacks at the university’s research building. Given that it was early afternoon at this beautiful house south of Tokyo, the time difference meant that neither his daugher or her mother would probably appreciate being woken in the middle of the night at home. So he clamped down on his worry, and returned to the living room, where four….attendants waited with clothing. None of it really mattered so he found some that fit and then slipped on his shoulder holsters to play his “role.” Henri was having her old friend over, and Whitley had invited the head of the research program, and frankly he didn’t want to see Shawna or his brothers at the moment, so security sweep it was. Something was bothering him, and inane chatter never let him think.
It didn’t take long before he spotted it, as most of the back of the estate had been turned into a very large zen garden. He walked slowly through the stone pathway that led to the stone bridge over the pond. He breathed deeply, it had been a long time since he’d meditated to calm himself. Somewhere in the last two years, he’d gotten out of the habit. He hadn’t stopped the routines that calmed him, not completely, but he spent far less time on the range, running, practicing Do Kwan. Sex had become his meditation, and while it had proven a great release, his idiocy recently had complicated that. Shame again washed his system as he could admit to himself how much he needed the violent sex and exhibitionism that Shawna and he enjoyed, and he couldn’t quite ask Amelia to do certain things.
Even more, something about today was screaming at him to wake up. They were missing something about the attack.
He knelt down onto the stone bridge, settling into the seiza, taking several deep breaths and letting the peace of the garden settle onto him. He let his mind settle, he could still hear, and more importantly scent/taste his family inside. The weird mix of metals and organic materials from William, the dust and death overlayed with herbal washes from Henri, the toxin of Bryce’s spikes, lavendar and pain from Whitley, and the evolving scent of his brother, still the sand of his mutation, but….changing. Shawna, the ever present whiskey, cigarettes, weed, and clover, but changing….reminiscent of when she had her full teleportation powers, but also combined with the lubricants of her armored system….he shied away before he delved too far because this was meant to relax him and he didn’t want to know if she carried the scent of others on her. Not like Brant did, or Whitley, and even William’s tasted slightly of Stacey. That really wasn’t what they all smelled/tasted like, it was far too short, but….its how the human part of his brain translated the olfactory sensations the snakes gave him.
Habit allowed the worries to drift over him in his normal pattern of evaluating his pain, but he needed something different. He needed to feel different. Sweat poured off of him as he fought an internal struggle, although a visible observer would have seen a motionless kneeling supplicant.
Flash of color, an amazing finish, whipping the purple helmet off and seeing his 
daughter for the first time in the flesh in over ten years. Seeing her for the first time and knowing she was his daughter. Shock but 
joy, pride in her accomplishments, a burst of love in his chest. Her celebrating with her fans. The first hug he ever got from her. The first “Dad.” Snowboarding with her and her mum.
Amelia grabbing his hand to cross the street. Her promise to help him with his memories, long before anything else after they came to Tempest 
Point. The night they made Livy. Her dancing on the beach, swinging around him over and over the year they met. Last night, her love and acceptance of the monster he had become.
Holding Shawna’s hand when she came out of the coma in her new body. Holding her through the initial panic. Welcoming her into his his room three weeks later. Watching her re-learn the guitar he 
bought her that first Christmas. How she had thanked him for that gift. The sadness in her eyes and the hope when muscle memory began to return. Cancun, Tampa, Tampa, Tampa. She loved that club in Tampa. The joy in her eyes as he watched her at the vinyl store in Port Hedland, rampaging through the Australian ska and punk records. The last day she had looked at him like that.
For once, good memories triggered more good memories, and he shoved aside any of the pain that came after each one. Bryce, back from the time vortex or whatever his mind had been caught in. Brant – alive, even if he had Brett chained to a pillar to kill, eventually letting him go and helping him escape. Bridgette’s commissioning, being the first to salute her. Mum making pea soup for his birthday the year Bryce was born. His first lesson with Dad in Do Kwon, maybe aged four or five.
Peace……happiness…..the reasons he once wanted to be a soldier. To protect others. The silent and unknown protector. The Ghost.
Something riggled across his mind. Whatever he had been designed for, deep down he’d been a protector, a violent protector, a pro-active guardian. Not a reactionary stuck in paranoia and afraid to act.
Something in his gut was yelling at him for his attention. Instinctually, he had blamed the research institute for the attack on them earlier today, and given offense to Henri’s friend. He knew he was right, but she offered plausible alternatives, but they were missing something, he could feel it.
He let his mind play at the details, a pattern that felt familiar. One he didn’t remember. Did that make it a technique he’d known before the Project or one from its trainers? Did it matter? Brant would say it didn’t, to use what worked, but he distrusted all of the taint of the Project. He knew he’d been to Japan before, but had no memory of it. Fluency in the language, and understanding of the culture, knowing that he spoke with the accent of the lesser, even if not with an accent of the gaijan. He knew many Asian languages, and with the limited insight of the Project Brant had been willing to share, he knew he’d been assigned to the vast continent. He pushed the spurt of anger down that spiked at the memory of Brant’s unwillingness to pursue the Project. What really drove it though were the scents. The scent/taste woke enough memory to convince his body, without enough to break through the walls of whatever conditioning they had imprinted on his mind.
Not important. Unless it was? He’d reacted badly to the research facility in general. Scientists, including his friends, always thought they could control and dig into what they didn’t know without consequence. Arguments abounded, including Whitley’s snide remark of how did we defeat it without studying it. He didn’t know, but he’d seen the aftermath of when scientific “breakthroughs” had to be cleaned, purged, New Guinea and Solomons, but deep down he knew there were more. Some of those memories he still had. The live “virus”, the bodies that had been on display and testing. The human body that was still evolving. The fact that they had been doing this since Canaveral, three years ago. If their containment had truly been breached/compromised, how far had Experion’s reach actually go? He couldn’t speak to the tech behind the containment, and no one from the facility seemed willing to actually let them discuss the security.
So – what had everyone witnessed. Three attackers. The first attacking him…..or if based on the ending, probing him. Attacking Whitley. Then another showing up to attack him. Why? What had Whitley said? That she was attacked after casting? He needed to ask her again to make sure. Did that make him the target of all three? Why? Why did they not divert to attack the obvious Silver Spider and Rook until later? Titan/William? Even White Wraith? He hadn’t seen Gleam Shimmer the entire fight…….she needed evaluated again in case she had been targeted/infected.
The discussions Henri had with her former friend or lover or whatever. How much was deception? Attack the big brains….understandable, and we couldn’t tell him that he was full of crap because the primary attack had been on Oliver Smith and Whitley Ferrero. Why? Brett first, and only after he reacted, then Whitley. Not William. What had they triggered? They had not been seperated until the brunch. There was no obvious ties between the two. Except the doctor had seemed surprised about the brunch. Some distant memory said this was not normal culturally. Planning and organization. Why would he not have known about brunch if he was expecting us?
He needed to quit thinking about this like a bodyguard. Or even a target. He needed to remember what he was good at. What his specialty was, not the limited and different role he had taken on as part of a cover job, even of the limited use of his experience over the years in the Alliance. Long before he was Ghost Venom, he was Ghost. He moved quietly, infiltrating, eliminating. Never seen until it was too late. Using distractions if necessary….but rarely.
Who was the target? Oliver Smith or Brett Anderson/Ghost Venom? Whitley Ferrero or Brujeria? If Alliance, then that means their cover identities had been blown and the UDP either had or would have knowledge soon that gave up Ghost and Bruneria. But if that was the case, why now? Seemed strange. Why Ghost’s powers? Yes, he could heal, but the infected bodies could anyway, that really wouldn’t be that important? Would it? Camoflauge, maybe, but there were other ways to accomplish that, especially for advanced technological beings. Brujeria’s magic? But only if they had known that at the start. It didn’t really seem to make sense, Ghost was not the most powerful of the Alliance, not really. Infiltration, maybe…..only maybe. If the implants being in him had given them a taste, but then was he compromised entirely, or only because he got close enough again?
What if they had been after Oliver Smith? 
Sonofabitch. His eyes snapped open. He didn’t know if he was right, but he needed to talk to the team now. If he was right……..
Last Dreams 