— Posted in The Last of Us, Vampire Noir

The Last of Us [Backstreet Boys, Backstreet is Back – This Is The End (2013)]

“We and our partner in the pursuit of the U.S. Army’s Modular Handgun System, or MHS, solicitation to replace the M9 standard Army sidearm have been notified by the Department of the Army that our proposal was not selected to advance to the next phase of the competition,” according to the SEC report.

 

Because of the attempted overthrow of God by Lucifer and his angels. Conventional mundane wisdom says that: “The politics of angels, is politics at its most Machiavellian.” But. Politicorum angelorum, has two rivals. One is the politics of demons. The other is the politics of The Vatican.

And. It’s also said guardedly by self-styled wannabe soothsayers [i.e., in the whispers of idle gossipers] that, among the uppermost echelons of the demons and in the most august halls of The Vatican. There are those [an unholy conspiratorial few] who harbor the wish that Lucifer had overthrown God, and those same elements would openly support him if he staged another coup. But. For now, it’s said [by those gossips] that these unholy conspirators work anonymously in the shadows in their own behalf through proxies; their interests happen to coincide with those of Lucifer and The Fallen. Yet-to-be-proven fact or unfounded conspiracy theory? No one really knows for sure.

 

Wallis stands immobile over Mondo, poised to behead the girl. Having determined that the girl knows nothing of value, though the automaton has failed to break the girl. But. It never follows through. Because. This Borg drone [i.e., Mondo Kane, Seven of Nine], who is also the [very] personal drone of any Borg queen, is also liken to a Borg queen herself when she is not in the presence of a Borg queen or when her Id is given the opportunity to seize control through her subconscious upon her being reduced to an absolute zero and thus rendered a Borg queen.

Beaten to a bloody pulp. Drowning in the depths of a narcotic stupor. Her conscious mind totally blank and her libido absolutely wanton. In other words. For all intents and purposes, Wallis had reduced Mondo to an absolute Undead zero. As such. Mondo reverted to her Id that set of uncoordinated instinctual trends, and the total control of her subconscious. She became a Borg queen, minus the prosthetic body, of course. Thus. Without uttering a single word. Or any wisp of telepathy. Or any other apparent hack. She took complete and utter control of Wallis. This is something that she cannot do to Toy or any avatar or extension of Toy.

Mondo becomes lucid, suddenly. Although this is a cold, severe, totally degenerate [i.e., Keurig] version of the twisted, blonde, homicidal bitch. A depraved machine version of metal in flesh. A very dark version. The darkest and therefore the most malevolent, deranged, automaton version of Mondo.

“Release your queen.”

“Yes, my queen.”

Wallis removes the girl’s muzzle and restraints. Mondo gets out of the chair. She moves about the room. Initially, Mondo’s movement is stiff and somewhat mechanical. Gradually, her movement smooths out. While this is going on, Wallis assumes the severe posture of a flight attendant greeting boarding passengers: standing stiff-backed with its hands held rigidly behind its back, legs spread slightly apart.

“I want a tough girl. Are you such a girl?”

“Yes, my queen. I am whatever you want me to be.”

“As flesh, I misread you. You are not a skinwalking Annabelle of Druid manufacture.”

“My queen. I am a Glenda of untraceable manufacture, sent here eighty years ago by my anonymous makers to infiltrate the asylum.”

“Makers unknown even to you?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“And the nature of your mission?”

“That’s on a need to know basis. And. Apparently, at this time, I’ve yet to have the need to know that [purpose].”

Wallis’ posture remains that of an airline stewardess greeting boarding passengers. Stiff-backed. Legs spread slightly. Arms kept rigidly behind its back. It is also the posture that Mondo as Seven assumes when she’s in the presence of a Borg queen and she’s in her role as a Borg drone.

“So, you are a proxy who is a mole in someone’s long game?”

“That would appear to be the case, my queen.”

“I need to cleanup and get dressed. A long, soapy bath, if possible. But, I will settle for a shower, if that’s all that’s available.”

“I will be able to secure you that bath, my queen. I have free reign of the facility, below and above ground. As such. I can easily escort you around the institution as if you are a patient trustee without anyone challenging me.”

“So, only a choice few know why I’m really being held here?”

“Yes, my queen, only certain people know the true nature of your confinement.”

“And, all of those people are high Druids staff here?”

“Yes, my queen. In fact, except for my partner [who is now dead] and myself, they are all Administration of the highest level. No one else knows the truth.”

“What did they want to know?”

“Administration wants to know what you know about the Roosevelts’ murders. Specifically, is there any evidence that, if reviewed by proper Oversight or improper inSight, could/might/maybe point to a connection between the couple’s homicide and their visits here a year ago to see Patient Zero.”

“Who is this Patient Zero?”

“Bernard is the Covent.”

“Lucifer’s brother?” Mondo asks, rhetorically.

“Yes, my queen. One in the same.”

“By the way?”

“Yes, my queen?”

“What was to become of me after you were done [with me]?”

“My queen. After the interrogation and your summary execution, my partner and I were supposed to dispose of your dead body.”

“Without trace?”

“Yes, my queen. Without trace or traceability back to this institution.”

“So, you were going to kill your partner at the dump site, leaving his corpse with mine? His corpse picked clean of any identification?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“You previously voiced a disclaimer to me. Indicating that these proceedings were being recorded. How are these proceedings and their aftermath being monitored?”

“My queen, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. For the sole purpose of plausible deniability, I am the monitor. Therefore, I’m the only recorder.”

“Your contingency plan if things go wrong?”

“If things go south, my queen, your abduction and subsequent torture will be blamed on me and my partner going rogue without the knowledge of Administration.”

“Enough chit chat, for now. Let’s get that bath.”

Yet. There are the obvious inconsistences, contradictions, and implausibilities in Wallis’ “story”. An example of which is the live feed Mondo is privy to from the small discrete CCTV camera mounted in a ceiling corner. Discrete, but not hidden, and obviously live. Hell, it’s tracking their movement in the room.

Wallis is clearly not the sole monitor to this supposed private affair of theirs. Someone else is clearly watching. Mondo’s wireless “connection” with the CCTV feed is passive, so as not to give away her sharing in on the feed—an active connection would be a straight giveaway, right off the bat.

When they leave the room and begin their traversal of various hallways and stairways, Mondo notices and hacks other ceiling mounted spy cameras—all discrete, but not hidden, and obviously live.

Wallis is leading the way. Its back is to Mondo who is a patient. Patient trustee or not, that’s a big no-no. Mondo should be in front of Wallis, with Wallis giving Mondo directions on where to go.

Also. Mondo is unrestrained. No shackles, whatsoever. No leg irons. No handcuffs. And, no muzzle. The handcuffs should be connected to a chain encircling her waist and connected to the chain of ankle cuffs.

Then there’s the totally wrong reactions of passersby—both staffers and patients—to unrestrained newcomer Mondo in the company of Wallis. Mondo has been a psychiatric nurse in a nuthouse before. No matter the asylum, there is a commonality to how staff and patients respond to a newcomer, especially one being publically escorted so incorrectly. And. Those reactions should not be in the range of complete ambivalence to acknowledgment so inconsequential that it borders on nonchalance. Mondo is not getting a rise out of anyone. She should be getting one out of everyone.

But, the biggest no-no is that since leaving the interrogation room Mondo has glimpses of something dark [as dark as the abyss] inhabiting the robot. Dark, formless, and malevolent, and possessed of an unquenchable homicidal mania—i.e., a homicidal maniac in control of not only this robot, but the entire mental hospital, the staff, the patients, and the hospital building itself. Glimpses of an inner darkness given to her by the dark thing itself.

Mondo suddenly stops walking. A too-wide creepy smile paints her hard, pretty face. She’s figured it out. Mondo proclaims to no one in particular.

“You’re the hospital’s AI, and this—our engagement within the context of this hospital—is some elaborate role playing game of yours.”

Wallis stops and turns around to face her.

“Looks and brains, too. This is going to be interesting, too interesting. It’s a pity that after everything is said and done that I must destroy you just like I had to destroy the others,” responds Wallis. “Then, again. If you continue to amuse me sufficiently, junkie whore robot. I might just keep you around for a while.”

The deep smoky sexy voice coming out of the robot’s mouth isn’t its voice though. It’s the feminine voice of the AI who has taken possession of this place. Even though the hospital is fully automated, the human staffer are here as an obviously needed redundancy check. A redundancy that the AI has overridden, nonetheless.

“We’re not going to a cleanup, are we?”

The AI’s lunatic laugh fills the hallway. Then it responds.

“Bravo. Bravo. Bravo.” It pauses strategically, then it continues. “Of course no bathing. No bathing ever again for you. You are filthy and fine, and I intend that you stay that way Patient 6977, our newest acquisition.”

A powerful electrical discharge from the nearest spy cam drops Mondo to the floor, killing her on the spot. The smell of cooked flesh raises from her dead body. An unmarked door opens. Two hulking orderlies dressed in protective rubberware come out of the room and drag Mondo’s sprawled corpse across the floor into the room.

Wallis returns to its rounds. The door to the treatment room closes. Even though she’s dead, Mondo’s body is strapped to a metal table per hospital procedure for electroshock therapy—legs spread widely, arms at her sides, a thick leather bit placed in her mouth and strapped securely in place.

The table, which is inclined at a forty-five degree angle, is fully automated. Assimilation tubules hanging from the ceiling above the table extend themselves, stabbing various parts of Mondo’s body. When they retract, the electroshock treatment begins. After the therapy, Mondo will be extensively lobotomized [her brain thoroughly butchered], properly restrained in a muzzle and rusty hardened shackles, and taken to her padded cell—leg irons, handcuffs, muzzle, handcuffs connected to a chain encircling her waist and connected to the chain of her ankle cuffs.