“I have no interest in mysterious summons,” Eve countermanded in her most authoritative voice. She wasn’t about to play the political games of Nova Roma if she could help it. “If someone wants to talk to me, tell them not to send lackies.” She then turned her eyes back to the sea. A gambit in many respects. But her ears were sharp, ready for the heavy step of someone who’d drawn a weapon. It was frightfully optimistic to send two men to fight a creature such as her. Even if she were still fleshy, the mods she sported would send both of them to the hospital.

“You watch your tone b-,” the more heavyset of the two began to demand, his tone eliciting a new sensation in Eve’s fingertips. Looking down, she saw the promised claws. They were dark, sharpened to an almost molecular edge.

“You will speak when spoken to!” the first man cut across his fellow, a light step from his heavy boots signalling a turn to his compatriot. Tantalized by the mystery, Eve took pains to cross her arms before turning to face them. She affixed them with a thoroughly unimpressed look as the more well-dressed of the two returned with some surprise to see the taller woman giving him a stare down. He cleared his throat, pulling his jacket onto his shoulders before the script reasserted itself. “It’s not far and it’s public. Nothing mysterious about it. She only wants five minutes of your time,” he weaselled, hands held out imploringly.

It was not his words that convinced her. It was his fear. His eyes were alight with it. The muscle he’d brought made a great show of bravado, but she’d seen plenty of big men in the throes of terror. The front could hide it, but the eyes were always a giveaway. Just as she’d felt upon her meeting with Isabelle, she felt drawn to any woman who could strike such an impression.

“I’ll start my timer,” Eve grunted, walking past the pair with her hands in her pockets. Much like a cat, probably, she could feel her claws extended. She could feel their sharpness against the cloth of her jacket. Even with their shortness, the lacerations they could inflict would be dire. And that said nothing of the monstrous talons at the ends of her toes. Or the inhuman strength that rumbled beneath her skin. A satisfaction built as she wondered what they’d do if they knew her true capabilities. How they’d cower and genuflect. Maybe their employer would too.

She stamped on the fantasy as she entered a restaurant presumably owned by their employer. It was a well-kept place that boasted a rustic feel, almost like a longhouse. Given the rapid Swedish the muscular man was speaking to the barman, Eve inferred it to be a Nordic food place. She wasn’t even sure what Nordic food was until a plate of semla buns passed under her nose. The altar boy, Eve supposed, led her to the back of the establishment where several booths sat arrayed for more private clients. A few tourists nattered away happily nearby yet the altar boy indicated to one with the curtains drawn. Their visitor somehow managed to convey a look of irritation through her sunglasses. Yet he persisted, pulling aside the curtain with a tight diplomatic smile.

Within was lit by a single, red-shaded lamp, Eve barely managing to fit onto the carved wooden bench that sat before her. As her guides attempted to squeeze in, they were dismissed by a deep, feminine voice across the table that drew Eve’s attention to her. It was only when she silenced the altar boy with a threatening question that he bowed out along with his Viking friend.

The woman before her did not seem overtly terrifying, which was somehow worse. She seemed to be an ordinary woman in her mid-thirties, possessed of a dark complexion and a tangle of wild curls held in check by a hairband. She wore a pair of glasses perched on her nose, a well-groomed smile in place as their eyes met. She wore a long dark coat, green striped long-sleeve and, by the sound of them, heavy steel toecaps. Much like Eve, her eyes were unusual. One was a startling light blue while the other was a more mundane brown.

“So, five minutes then,” she began with reference to her underling’s report. “AmTech interests me. Isabelle especially. She’s a very secretive board member. There’s nothing a woman like me loves more than secrets,” the bespectacled woman began with an ingratiating gesture. From the outset of her pitch, Eve affixed her with a suspicious glower. “I always ask her new bodyguards if they’d like to make some money on the side. Get me an in for a percentage of the take,” the woman offered with a congenial hand gesture. A hand that Eve noted was studded with all manner of minor modifications. Someone wasn’t a spendthrift then.

“Respectfully, I’m going to have to decline,” Eve replied with her most diplomatic expression. “I’m new to the city. The only thing I want out of it is enough money to leave it,” she asserted with a degree of uncertainty. Did her wife even live in Britain anymore?

“That’s a pity,” the other woman answered with the same charm she’d been employing since Eve had sat down. “The sunlight not to your liking? It’s pretty dark in here for the shades,” she teased lightly, reaching forward as if to take her potential partner’s glasses. Eve shied away, explaining that her eyes often made people uncomfortable. The smile came back, its owner batting her eyes comedically. “Mine too. I promise I won’t scream,” she winked. Realising she likely wasn’t getting out of the booth without sating this woman’s curiosity, Eve removed her sunglasses with an irate exhale.

The effect on her hostess was difficult to discern but there was the flutter of something behind the mask of diplomacy. She almost had a look of recognition in her eyes as she indicated for the shades to be returned to their home.

“Unique implants. Knew a woman working on those,” the woman purred, recalling fond episodes of days gone by. “Hope she’s doing well. If you see her again, please tell her Jean would like a word. That’s me, by the way. Jean Foucault, at your service,” Jean introduced herself with a mock flourish, looking off into the middle distance for a few moments before taking her phone from her pocket. With a smirk she slid it across the table. “That’s five minutes exactly so I’ll let you go. But not without my business card,” Jean stated firmly, brooking no disappointment as she slid the card of what was probably a front business, given the sense of unease Eve felt. She got up to leave, not keen on being seen speaking to Jean, though the woman did take a firm hand to her shoulder. “A word of advice if I may, Eve. AmTech likes you so long as you’re useful. Don’t become a liability,” she warned. Perhaps a contradiction of what she’d been inciting before. Then again, perhaps Isabelle was testing her loyalty. Eve didn’t put it past the machinations of her would-be partner. The clawed woman simply nodded in response, leaving the restaurant. Her heart, which hadn’t ceased pounding in her ears, slowed as she left Jean’s turf.

Her journey back to the penthouse was spotted with paranoia and derisive stares to every loiterer and kiosk vendor. Any one of them could be informant to the powers at play. The steel wires of conspiracy had been entangling themselves around her before she’d awoken within that infernal tube. And now they’d come with voices and invitations, with pretty faces and polite tone to make her dance to their designs. She’d gotten out of the army specifically to avoid the politics of the world, to become an engineer on something suitably boring like trains or the new clean jet fuels. It seemed no matter what choice she made, a leering bureaucrat or schemer was there to confront her. Not even death had stayed the hand of power from pressing down upon her back. Perhaps she should become consul, she reckoned through the irritation. At least she’d be commanding the schemers rather than their victim.

As Eve sat herself down on the train with her head in her palms, she felt the constriction of her body more than ever. The gym had been her salve for these troubles. Now, its design lay between Victoria and the almighty. Though which one of those had more input, Eve wasn’t exactly sure. At least she wasn’t made from a rib, she thought sardonically. As the train came to a stop in one of the poorer districts, the cybernetic woman’s rebellious mood almost made her escape. To take some small measure of control. To run through the groundswell of economic misery to find something real. Someone real.

The mood passed. She sighed and remained in her seat, looking to the passengers that surrounded her. Many of them were young, perhaps college students. Novaroma had long been a place of learning to those with citizenship. Eve remembered with some satisfaction the pains her father had gone through to get his. It led him to do the only thing she’d ever respected about the man. He was brave, she’d give him that much. For all else, she prayed there was a hell for him to go to.

Suitably soured, she left the underground with an agitated look to her hand. The claws were still there, bristling at the prospect of Jean’s toadies reporting on her every move. As they no doubt had done up until their meeting. It was surprising she hadn’t been threatened. But then again, what could she do to threaten someone like Eve? With a somewhat twisted satisfaction, she enjoyed keeping them all curious. It was only when she came upon the building in which Isabelle lived that she considered the gravity of that choice.

Before her, the building was swarming with Sentinel personnel and drones. Their sword and fleur de lis insignia had burned itself into the recollections of her service. Her memories were not kind to them. She approached with caution, sinking to the level of onlookers. The Sentinels were kitted out in the latest body armour, resembling machines more than people. Their helmets sported ventilators on each side, preventing even illegal attacks from connecting. If her memory served, their armour could stop most small calibre rounds and redirect some of the heavier stuff. The insurgents had eventually resorted to throwing any explosives they could to damage the soft human within rather than the armour. Their heavy boots thudded with metallic resonance as they pushed the crowd back, warning of a dangerous modded-up merc. Eve supposed that was half true. She didn’t exactly have access to her pension.

Amongst the mercenaries stood a tall woman, her helmet under her arm as she held a phone to her cheek. She sported a short bob of blonde hair, left eye replaced by an entirely black tactical implant. The flesh around it was burn-scarred, lending her a gruff affectation. She spoke with a firm voice and carried red lapels. Definitely at least a colonel then.

Taking stock of the situation, Eve’s eyes ran over their firearms. A few handguns, most of the infantry wielding rifles. BAR-22s if her unnaturally canny eyesight was correct. They really were splashing out after the Kurdish War contracts. Thankfully, they hadn’t drawn their weapons. Would they shoot her on sight? She was expensive. And rare. Tuning her senses to the colonel, Eve strained to hear what she was saying to her commander.

“No sight of her on the street below. Just sent them to the station,” she relayed with a placating voice. Eve breathed a sigh, happy to hear the tone of a diplomat. She was worried she’d be dealing with Colonel Jarhead. “All this tech and you didn’t spring for a tracker? Not that I’m complaining, giving fifty folks something to do and the Sesterces to boot. Seems like an oversight is all I’m saying!” She continued her complaints in the face of what was probably admonishment. Eve smiled. Isabelle had kept her word. She was half tempted to go hide in an alley for an hour or two, let the mercs earn their pay. But the rosy glow of her benefactor’s actions swayed her to mercy, causing her to stand to her full, imposing height head and shoulders above the richly dressed woman next to her. She placed her clawed fingers to her lips and let loose a loud whistle, attracting the Sentinels’ attentions.

“I go sightseeing and she brings out a brigade?” Eve questioned with a mirthful tone, walking toward the colonel. Her leg muscles twitched with anticipation of rifle fire. Fire which never came. The colonel’s eyes had widened almost comically, too stunned to give any orders. Eve gave her a funny look while passing the cordon. “I suppose I should be flattered. Shall we go in?” the synthetic woman suggested, pointing a clawed finger to the door before hiding her hands in her pockets once again.

The colonel recovered her wits, casting a suspicious eye toward her ward. She directed her mercenaries to break formation. And find something else to do. It seemed that this decorated officer, regardless of her actual talents, believed she could take a ‘dangerous merc’. The two of them traversed a lobby thronging with curious clientele and staff, entering the lift back to Isabelle’s apartment. The colonel reached across Eve to press the button, not trusting her to vanish again. The taller woman simply stood, giving her a serene smile in response.

“You’ll be paying for that one, Captain Haversham,” she asserted with a challenging glare. One that Eve met with befuddlement. The colonel smirked up at her arms crossed. “Did you think I couldn’t read or something? It’s in your file. Service history, medical history, personal…all of it,” the Sentinel rattled off indifferently. Eve scowled at yet another corporate stooge being allowed to rummage through her life, admitting petulantly to the feeling without much thought as to the audience. “I have to know,” came the irate answer. “I’m the one who’ll be putting that new body of yours through its paces. Colonel Lisa Reinbeck. Though for you I suppose ‘Ma’am’ will do,” she drawled with a teasing air, prodding Eve in the chest commandingly. The effect was lost somewhat by their height difference. Fighting against her desire to ask whether the rank was real or mercenary PR, Eve acknowledged the introduction before toying with her fingers in an attempt to push her claws back into their housing.

“Apparently I’m still enlisted even after being discharged and living as a civilian for three years,” Eve grunted through her frustrations with her instinctual weaponry.

“That ashamed of your service, are you?” Lisa needled, a taunting grin crossing her features as she watched the other woman’s struggles. Suddenly, Eve decided to concentrate all her efforts on the claw of her middle finger. “While yes, technically we’re not enlisted and I’m not your commanding officer, I do like to keep discipline. Especially when one of us is a blender in a fursuit,” she grumbled with her eyes set firmly forward. She left the lift as it dinged for Isabelle’s penthouse, leaving a frustrated Eve to stare daggers at the other woman’s back.

Eventually, the blender left the lift with an irritated gasp as her claws refused to move. One of Lisa’s underlings had propped the door open with his rifle, enjoying one of her expensive beverages in the antechamber. Lisa gave him a dirty look as she passed, which he gleefully ignored as his commanding officer made her way into the penthouse to meet the pacing, Isabelle. Surprisingly, Victoria had joined her employer, soothing her with all manner of technical explanations as to why Eve hadn’t gone AWOL. She shook her head almost aggressively. How quickly old habits and terms slipped into place. If they were even hers.

Whatever Lisa was about to report was interrupted by Eve sidling over to Victoria and demanding in an undertone how to fix her fingers. As the scientist brought them up for inspection, both were somewhat perturbed to see them begin to slide back into place. Her fingernails began to lighten as the Werewolf parts of her physiology manifested. Victoria gave her patient an apologetic look before vowing to find the cause of such unusual behaviour. Though Eve noted she didn’t even move to run diagnostics.

Isabelle interrupted any further interrogation of the scientist, giving her roommate a withering look as the other two looked on. The storm clouds of an argument seemed to be building, neither side willing to give ground. A look of righteous fury sparked in Eve’s eyes while Isabelle looked somewhere between relieved and at wit’s end. Though as her expression shifted from those conflicted feelings to one of hurt, Eve felt her well-prepared speech die in her throat. She enfolded Isabelle into her arms, cradling her head gently. All three of them were surprised, drawing back or flattening their brow in Victoria’s case.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the blue-eyed woman grumbled.

“You didn’t scare me,” Isabelle coughed, pulling herself free from the embrace. Her eyes flicked from colonel to scientist before resting meaningfully on Eve’s. “I was more scared for everyone else,” she added pointedly with an earnest look toward the mercenary that stood behind her. Eve momentarily scoffed before stamping on that petty, emotional response. Conflict rose within her to see Isabelle denying what had passed between them. But the sensible, kind Eve who was so often in charge of her baser instincts, reminded herself of the earlier shame.

“I’m not a nuke on a hair-trigger,” Eve sighed, passing off her exasperation as something more benign. Her surgeon was still in the room after all. “I got out, wanted to see the city, stood in front of the sea brooding for a bit then came back. I’d have done more but I still don’t seem to have a salary. Or an identity,” she recounted before the pointed final statements needled at Isabelle’s already frayed temper. Her nostrils flared in response, but her tone didn’t shift.

“Even if the government ever did anything quickly, it’s been two days. I only contacted the lawyer this morning!” the curly-haired woman argued back, hands gesticulating wildly. She then seemed to reel it in, Victoria clearing her throat loudly. “Whatever else you are, you’re still a person. I’ll set aside an allowance. But the next time, use your goddamn phone,” Isabelle relented before turning away. Though the other two, still looking toward their pet blender, noted the visible wince at the magnate misusing the name of the almighty.

Having had her fill of managing the emergency, their billionaire benefactor retired to the kitchen where she began decanting more of her personal collection. Victoria came forward, ensuring that her work had gone unsullied. She plied Eve’s fingers, tested reflexes and her eyesight all whilst Lisa sidled over with a confident look on her features. Eve, already struggling to contain her mood, suppressed a rebellious eye roll.

Lisa’s first test consisted of weapon handling. She drew her pistol and removed the magazine with a swift motion, drawing a spent one from her thigh. Once the weapon had been made safe, she passed it grip first to Eve, directing her to disassemble it. A stopwatch soon appeared on her phone screen, silent marker of the former soldier’s rust. Figuring that her brief didn’t include politeness, the larger woman swiftly ejected the slide and magazine. The trigger and frame came apart, all falling to the ground in sequence. With a pang of irritation, she noticed that she’d taken five seconds.

Victoria shone a light in her eye, sending bright white spots dancing as Lisa lectured her on sloppy handling. At the rate she was being tested, Eve was beginning to mentally beg for the shooting range. Her previous evening of binge-watching television seemed like a distant, pleasant childhood memory.

“Alright enough,” Eve grunted, pushing the pair away with a firm tone. Victoria seemed put out and began to voice concerns. Surprisingly, Lisa placed a stern hand on the scientist’s shoulder and shook her head. “Did you finish my guts yet? I really need a burger,” she continued to Victoria, her eyes imploring. The scientist rearranged her frizz, a shifty look taking over her features. Lisa looked distinctly perturbed as the implications presented themselves.

“I’ve managed to create a system that can break down carbohydrates, proteins and sugars into useable glucose, but the vitamins are proving tricky since you don’t, uh, need them.” Victoria explained casually, fingers twisting in front of her while recounting her experiments. “You’d need to drink a fortifier too since your body can’t produce enough of the Omnaze, as we call it,” the shorter woman added with exuberance as the subject turned to one of her many strange concoctions. Eve however, stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wasn’t the smartest woman in the room, not by a longshot. But perhaps the excitable genius had forgotten a few solutions in her obsession.

“Use the same solution my meat body did. And I don’t mind taking supplements,” Eve chided with a smile. It was endearing, even adorable how enthusiastic Victoria was. A stab of guilt passed through her. She deserved better.

The woman herself stopped partially through the mumbling ruminating she’d been doing. She sighed and crossed her arms, tilting her head against the suggestion. Her eyes were set against the notion, mouth pressed into a frown. Eve was beginning to worry that she’d offended the scientist’s sensibilities before Victoria shook her head once again.

“It’s not scalable. We can make enough for tens, not thousands,” the doctor mumbled, biting her thumbnail in thought. It was Lisa’s turn to look incredulous over the shorter woman’s head, her eyes meeting Eve’s strange blue orbs. The clawed woman shrugged noncommittally, unsure how that was relevant.

“You’ve only got one of her so far,” Lisa reminded the doctor, clapping a hand on her back. “Think of all the data you’ll get,” she added with an alluring tone, causing the victim of her cajoling to perk up considerably. Eve had concerns regarding that reaction, her face falling with mild disgust. Was that all she was? Perhaps there was a reason Isabelle didn’t entertain a relationship with her. “And she won’t get to use lack of breakfast as an excuse,” the colonel added with a leer, holstering her now-reassembled pistol. Of course, she’d be the one overseeing basic training. Whether CO or no, they all liked watching newbies struggle. And with twice as much limb as she was used to, her body felt far newer than it ought to.

“I’ll perform some iterations tonight and install it in the morning! Workable, an opportunity even!” Victoria answered, tapping away at her pad with an exuberant smile. Eve tried to raise concerns about potentially major surgery just before doing active combat. The fact she felt pain being her main concern. “Oh, no need to worry. Your brain’s a mystery but your nerves I can manage well enough. Knocking you unconscious however will be a challenge. Hrm, I’ll think of something,” she handwaved, beginning her journey toward the lift without so much as a goodbye. Lisa watched her go before sighing, looking to the floor with her hands on her hips.

“Rest up, Captain. You’ll be doing Sentinel training in the morning,” the colonel instructed before moving toward the door. Likely to spend the rest of her day inventing all manner of zany humiliations to put her through. She looked longingly toward Isabelle, who was nursing her drink on the sofa. Soon, she too could enjoy liquid comfort.