Chapter 176: Erasing Number Seven
Xiu processed Number Seven's telepathic explanation, a faint, unreadable smile playing on his lips. The memory leak was an unexpected complication, but her choice upon knowing about it... was interesting. He didn't rush to question further, simply holding her gaze, waiting.
Sensing his silent skepticism, Number Seven elaborated, her mental 'voice' carrying a detached quality. "The... process... you used on me that night. It was painful, invasive. But it also seemed to... disrupt something. The conditioning. The mental blocks the Organization uses. Afterwards... memories started returning. Fragments. Little of my past before the training camp but more of the training itself, the missions, the... methods used."
"Realizing the extent of what they've done to me... I knew I couldn't go back. Failure on the mission simply provided the reason. They would cut contact, assume I was captured or dead. When they couldn't confirm, they would activate contingency protocols." Her mental tone remained flat, relaying horrific events as simple facts. "Send another asset to eliminate me. Standard procedure."
"And that asset," Xiu interjected smoothly, gesturing towards the darkness near the warehouse entrance, "would be him?"
With a subtle exertion of Abra's telekinesis, the unconscious figure of Number Seven's pursuer floated silently out of the shadows, bound tightly by invisible psychic restraints. The figure was dressed similarly to how Number Seven had been, confirming their likely origin.
Number Seven looked at the bound figure, her expression unchanged, but a flicker of surprise registered in her mental 'voice'. "You captured him?"
"He showed up shortly after I brought you here," Xiu explained casually, though his eyes remained sharp. He tilted his head slightly. "You didn't use your Pokémon against him? Why engage directly?"
Number Seven's reply was chillingly practical. "Pokémon are... inefficient for assassination. Too much noise, too much unpredictable energy. We are trained for close-quarters work."
"I see." Xiu filed that away. Specialized assassins, but considering No. 7 is but a disposable asset to them, the higher ups should possess Pokémon specifically bred for assassination.
"So," he continued, circling back, "knowing the Organization would hunt you, knowing you were injured... why come looking for me?"
The question seemed to stump her for a moment. She looked down at her hands, then back up at Xiu, her gaze strangely direct. "You... are the only person I know outside the Organization." Her mental voice faltered slightly. "And... the memories... it tells me you can be trusted."
Xiu felt a distinct sense of unease. Trust? This is getting complicated. "Careful," he warned softly. "Don't mistake the memories you've seen as reality."
But Number Seven seemed fixated on the concept. "We were selected for training due to our unique physical traits. Then brainwashed. Conditioned. Previous memories erased. We were 'born' in the training camp."
Her mental voice remained eerily calm, devoid of self-pity. "The process strips away unnecessary emotions. Fear, empathy, attachment... For years, I forgot I was even human. Just... Number Seven." A faint ripple of disturbance touched her mental signature, then smoothed out again.
"But the memories you shared... they contained feelings I've never... processed. Suddenly, the training, the missions, the obedience... none of it made sense anymore." She seemed lost in the internal conflict, her 'new' memories and lifelong conditioning at odds.
"Enough," Xiu interrupted firmly, sensing her spiraling into potentially dangerous introspection. He needed focus. "That device I removed from your neck earlier. What do you know about it?"
Number Seven reached up, touching the small, freshly bandaged incision site, her expression blank. "Device? I... don't know."
Hmm. Xiu had suspected as much. She was merely a tool, kept ignorant of the finer points of her control mechanisms. "Alright. This pursuer," he nodded towards the bound figure, "do you recognize him specifically?"
"From the training camp, yes."
"Mission failure," Xiu pressed. "What were the standard consequences? What if you were captured by authorities?"
"Failure itself wasn't punished severely, if unavoidable. Missions carry inherent risk. Capture, however..." Her mental tone became flat, absolute. "Capture meant death. Suicide if possible. If not, the Organization ensures silence. Protect the Organization above all else. That was the doctrine."
"Did you ever... ensure silence yourself?" Xiu asked bluntly.
A flicker of something – perhaps buried guilt, perhaps just ingrained reflex – crossed her features before being suppressed. "We were taught... that life has no inherent value... outside its utility to the Organization."
The evasion was answer enough. Xiu didn't push further on that point. She's killed before. "Doesn't the Organization try to retrieve valuable assets? Surely training someone like you is expensive?"
"Assets are replaceable. The Organization has many training camps, many candidates. If one fails, another takes its place. Loyalty is paramount; compromised assets are liabilities."
Xiu absorbed this chillingly pragmatic philosophy. Ruthless. He glanced at the unconscious pursuer. "So, this one," he asked casually, "he holds no significant value now? To you, or the Organization?"
Number Seven looked at the bound figure impassively, offering no reply.
Xiu understood. The pursuer was expendable, his mission failed. He changed tack. "So, what are your plans now, Number Seven?"
"I... don't know." For the first time, genuine confusion and uncertainty colored her mental voice. "I only know the training camp, the missions. The outside world... it's unfamiliar. These... feelings... are confusing."
"Right," Xiu said after a moment's thought. He looked at her, an idea forming – a calculated risk, but potentially beneficial. "Here's an offer. I can help you disappear. Erase 'Number Seven'. Create a new identity for you, completely clean. Help you integrate into normal society and find your own way."
Her head snapped up, suspicion warring with a desperate hope in her eyes. "What... what do you want in return?"
Xiu leaned back, adopting a casual air. "Nothing," he replied easily, waving a dismissive hand. "Consider it... fate. We crossed paths. Let's just say I'm interested in making a new friend."
"Friend?" The concept seemed utterly alien to her. She frowned, tilting her head. "I... feel I can trust you. Because of the memories. Is... is that friendship?"
"You'll figure it out eventually," Xiu deflected smoothly. "Make other friends, see how it compares. Don't worry about it now." He stood up. "Get some rest. Heal. I need to deal with... this." He gestured towards the unconscious pursuer, then dragged the figure effortlessly into the warehouse's deeper shadows.
Number Seven watched him go, her expression unreadable. She subconsciously touched the bandage on her abdomen, then looked around the dim, unfamiliar warehouse, slowly taking in her strange new reality.
After a few minutes, the accumulated pain and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her fragile consciousness, and she slumped forward, falling back into a deep, troubled sleep.
Sometime later, Xiu returned to check on her. He nudged her shoulder gently. "Hey. Wake up."
Her reaction was instantaneous, reflexive. She exploded upwards from her seated position, not with a shout, but with terrifying speed and precision. Her hand snaked past Xiu's instinctive block, faster than he could react, heading directly for his throat.
Just as her fingers brushed against his skin, capable of crushing his windpipe in an instant, she froze. Her eyes, wide and alert scant seconds before, now seemed clouded with confusion as she recognized him. She stared at him blankly for a moment, then slowly, hesitantly, withdrew her hand, opening her mouth in a silent apology. "Ah... Ah..."
Xiu forced himself to remain calm, though his heart hammered against his ribs. He managed a shaky smile. "It's alright," he said, his voice only slightly strained. "No harm done. It's understandable."
Damn. He had deliberately woken her abruptly, wanting to test her ingrained reflexes, see how deep the conditioning ran. However, he had underestimated her speed, her lethality. She truly is a weapon.
But she stopped. That was the crucial part.
He knew Abra was nearby, ready to intervene if necessary. He'd thought he had the situation under control. But the sheer speed of her attack... psychic intervention might not have been fast enough.
A sobering reminder of the woman named Death he is courting. He hid the flicker of fear behind a casual facade. "Good to see you're recovering well, though. Looks like you'll be mobile soon."