**Restaurant - Netherlands Coastal Town - Late Afternoon**
The plates had been cleared away, leaving only the residue of a meal that most of them had barely touched. Coffee cups sat cooling, their contents untouched or forgotten. The afternoon light streaming through the restaurant's windows had taken on that golden quality that preceded evening, painting everything in warm tones that should have felt comfortable but somehow didn't.
The table had that peculiar quiet that came after eating not peaceful exactly, but the kind of pause where people were processing their food and their thoughts simultaneously, deciding what to say next or whether to say anything at all.
Angela broke the silence with characteristic bluntness. "So tasteless, this shit was."
Her voice carried that flat quality it always did when she was disappointed, when reality had failed to meet even her lowest expectations. She pushed her plate away slightly, as if distancing herself from the offense it represented.
Carmilla looked up from her phone, where she'd been reviewing something maps, intelligence reports, the constant stream of data that occupied her analytical mind. Her remaining hand moved to tap ash from her latest cigarette into the small tray the waitress had reluctantly provided after Carmilla had simply ignored the "No Smoking" signs.
"Because of your synthetic skin, isn't it?" Carmilla's tone was clinical, observational, the way a doctor might note symptoms without judgment.
The question hung in the air for a moment before Angela responded, her jaw tightening visibly. "You don't have to remind me."
The words came out sharp, defensive, carrying weight beyond their literal meaning. It wasn't just about the food. It was about the constant awareness of her body's artificiality, about the ways her synthetic components created distance between her and normal human experience, about being reminded
again and again that she wasn't quite whole anymore.
Tess, who had been sitting quietly beside Rens, her tall frame making the restaurant chair look somehow inadequate, spoke up. Her voice carried genuine curiosity without any apparent judgment. "Synthetic skin?"
Carmilla glanced at Tess, then at Angela, clearly calculating how much to explain and how to frame it. "Oh, I believe I didn't explain, did I?" She paused, organizing her thoughts with that same analytical precision she brought to everything. "So basically, Angela has synthetic skin. Her entire body, actually
synthetic construction housing her biological brain. The result of severe trauma that destroyed her original body."
The explanation was delivered matter-of-factly, clinical and detached, as if discussing interesting medical technology rather than a teenage girl's catastrophic injury and subsequent reconstruction.
Before the conversation could continue, before Tess could ask the obvious follow-up questions, Eve's voice cut through from across the table.
"Miss Carmilla?"
Eve's tone was careful, measured, carrying that particular quality that suggested she wanted to discuss something privately. Her crimson eyes were fixed on Carmilla with unusual intensity.
Carmilla looked at her, one eyebrow raised slightly. "Yes?"
"Could I speak with you for a moment? Outside?" Eve gestured vaguely toward the restaurant's entrance, her synthetic features arranging themselves into an expression that was hard to read concern, maybe, or uncertainty about something.
Carmilla's analytical mind immediately began running through possibilities. *What does she want to discuss privately? Is this about the surveillance device Angela found? Has she discovered something else? Or is this about Aetherion about whatever triggered that violent reaction when she saw him?*
But outwardly, she just nodded, stubbing out her cigarette and standing. "Of course."
They moved toward the exit together, Eve leading, Carmilla following with that careful gait that came from still adjusting to having only one hand, her balance subtly different than it had been before Vera's attack.
At the table, a different dynamic was unfolding.
Rens had been sitting quietly throughout most of the meal, his pink hair falling into his eyes, his nervous energy contained but visible in the way his hands fidgeted with his napkin, folding and refolding it into increasingly complex patterns. But now, with Carmilla and Eve gone, he seemed to gather courage or at least enough concern to override his usual anxiety.
He looked at Angela, his soft features carrying an expression that mixed terror and sympathy in equal measure. When he spoke, his voice emerged broken by his severe stutter, each word requiring visible effort.
"F-fake skin." The words came out barely above a whisper, as if saying them too loudly would make them more real, more hurtful.
His voice carried genuine distress, the kind that came from imagining someone else's pain and being overwhelmed by the empathy. His eyes were wide, already beginning to water slightly with tears that he was trying very hard not to let fall.
"I-I am s-sorry f-for w-what happened t-to you."
The apology tumbled out in that stuttering rush, sincere and desperate, as if he could somehow apologize on behalf of whatever cruel universe had allowed Angela to suffer such catastrophic trauma.
Angela's response was immediate and cold. "I don't need your sympathy."
The words were delivered with sharp finality, cutting off Rens's concern with surgical precision. Her expression hadn't changed—still that same flat, controlled mask she wore constantly, protecting whatever genuine emotions might exist underneath.
Rens flinched visibly, his shoulders hunching, his hands gripping the napkin tighter. He looked like he wanted to disappear, to fold into himself until he simply ceased to exist and stop being a burden on everyone around him.
Tess's hand moved almost unconsciously
to rest on Rens's shoulder. The gesture was brief, lasting maybe two seconds, but it carried weight. Support. Protection. A silent message that he hadn't done anything wrong by showing compassion.
Then Tess turned her attention to Angela, her scarred face showing professional interest rather than the emotional response Rens had displayed. Her voice emerged measured, careful, the tone of someone gathering intelligence.
"Well, kiddo—" The term of address was casual but not dismissive, suggesting Tess saw Angela as young but not necessarily weak. "—so why are you going to Valenora?"
Angela met Tess's gaze without flinching, her synthetic eyes so perfectly crafted they were nearly indistinguishable from biological one
showing nothing beyond surface attention. "To recover my body."
The answer was simple, direct, leaving no room for elaboration. Four words that contained years of trauma, desperation, and single-minded purpose.
Tess studied Angela for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. Her internal monologue ran with tactical assessment, the kind of analysis that came from years of evaluating people and situations for threats and opportunities.
*I can understand she's going for her body,* Tess thought, her gaze moving subtly to where Eve stood outside with Carmilla, visible through the restaurant's front windows. *And I believe Eve is her older sister. However, I'm not sure, since she didn't eat food. Synthetic being, obviously, but the dynamic between them suggests family connection or something approximating it.*
Her thoughts shifted to Carmilla, to the scientist with her missing hand and her constant cigarettes and her enhanced analytical abilities. *What about Miss Carmilla? And even S.O.W. suggests that she is psycho the reports on her behavioral patterns, her emotional detachment, the way she treats people as variables in equations rather than actual humans.*
*Then why is she going with them? What's her actual goal? Because I don't believe for a second that she's just helping out of kindness. Carmilla doesn't do anything without calculating cost-benefit ratios and determining optimal outcomes for herself.*
The analysis took perhaps three seconds of real time, Tess's trained mind processing information with remarkable speed.
Angela noticed the prolonged stare, the way Tess's eyes had gone slightly distant with internal thought. "Any problem?" Her voice carried an edge now, defensive. "You seem lost in your thoughts."
Tess blinked, returning her full attention to the present moment. "Well, no." Her tone was carefully neutral. "I was wondering about your older sister."
"She's not," Angela said immediately, sharply, the correction automatic and forceful.
Before Tess could ask for clarification, before the conversation could continue down that path, Eve's voice cut through from near the restaurant's entrance.
"I'm Eve." Her voice carried across the space with unusual clarity, drawing attention from several nearby tables. She stood in the doorway, her synthetic frame silhouetted against the afternoon light, Carmilla visible behind her looking confused about why they'd suddenly returned.
Eve continued speaking, her tone taking on something formal, almost robotic, as if reciting information from a file. "I'm code name UNIT 108."
She paused, and in that pause, her crimson eyes focused directly on Tess with uncomfortable intensity. Then she asked the question that had clearly been building in her since they'd met.
"How do you have emotions?"
The question was delivered with genuine confusion, with the tone of someone trying to understand a phenomenon that violated everything they thought they knew about how the world worked.
Tess opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, clearly not understanding the question. Her scarred face showed bewilderment rather than offense.
Angela, seeing that Eve had directed the question at the wrong person or perhaps that the question itself was being misunderstood
intervened. "She means me. My emotions. I'm synthetic like her, but I feel things. She wants to know how."
Understanding dawned on Tess's face. "Ah." She looked between Eve and Angela, connecting pieces. "I see. You're both—"
"Because of synthetic soul," Angela interrupted, answering the question before Tess could finish formulating it.
The words hung in the air, loaded with implications.
Tess took a visible pause, her expression shifting from understanding to confusion. "Synthetic... what?"
"Synthetic soul," Angela repeated, her tone suggesting this should be obvious. "It's technology that allows artificial consciousness to develop genuine emotions, genuine self-awareness. Creates something approximating a human soul in synthetic substrate."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice taking on an edge. "You're S.O.W. members. You should know about it."
The accusation was clear: if Tess was really part of S.O.W., if she really had access to their intelligence networks and research databases, she should absolutely know about technology this significant.
Rens's voice emerged nervously, his stutter intensifying with confusion and concern. "Uhhh, M-Miss Tess, did i-it c-contain in o-our information?"
The question was delivered with that particular quality of someone hoping their superior would confirm that yes, this was known information they'd simply forgotten, rather than revealing a significant gap in their intelligence.
Tess went silent for a moment, her mind clearly racing. Her scarred face showed nothing, but something shifted in her eyes
calculation, perhaps, or the rapid construction of a plausible explanation.
"Of course, Rens," she said finally, her voice carrying confidence that might or might not have been genuine. "I think I forgot to tell you, but yeah, there was information. Even I forgot about it." She made a gesture of mild self-reproach. "I need to see those files again. Refresh my memory on the specifics."
Angela visibly relaxed slightly, some of the defensive tension leaving her shoulders. "You got me scared for a moment."
*That was too easy,* Angela thought immediately after speaking, her internal voice sharp with suspicion. *She accepted the explanation too quickly. Didn't ask follow-up questions. Didn't show any real curiosity about revolutionary technology that fundamentally changes our understanding of consciousness.*
*She's lying. She has no idea what synthetic souls are. Which means either S.O.W. doesn't actually have this information, or Tess isn't as connected to S.O.W.'s intelligence networks as Carmilla thinks.*
But outwardly, Angela just nodded, accepting the explanation at face value.
Tess's gaze moved to the restaurant's entrance, to where Carmilla stood with Eve, the two of them apparently looking at something on the ground near the doorway. Her internal monologue ran cold and analytical.
*What are you plotting, Carmilla? I never trust you. Nor will I.*
The thought carried weight of history, of past interactions and observations that had built into certainty about Carmilla's fundamental nature.
*I still remember you and William. I know you manipulated him, made him your puppet. So inhuman you are, Carmilla. Using people like tools, like equipment to be maintained and discarded when they stop being useful.*
*Whatever game you're playing with these girls, whatever your real purpose is for going to Valenora, I don't believe for a second it's what you've told them.*
But like Angela, Tess showed nothing externally. Just professional interest and mild concern, the mask of a competent S.O.W. operative gathering intelligence.
---
**Restaurant Entrance - Simultaneous**
Outside the restaurant, just beyond the doorway where afternoon light painted the sidewalk in golden tones, Eve had stopped suddenly. Her attention had been caught by something at ground level, something most people would have walked past without noticing.
Ants.
A small colony of them, maybe fifteen or twenty individuals, moving in that purposeful way ants did, following chemical trails, communicating through touch and pheromones, working together with the kind of unconscious coordination that made them seem like a single organism rather than individuals.
Eve had crouched down, her synthetic body folding with perfect precision, bringing her face close to the ground to observe them. Her crimson eyes tracked their movements with fascination, watching how they navigated around obstacles, how they worked together to move a crumb of bread someone had dropped, how they touched antennae in what looked almost like conversation.
Carmilla had followed her outside, confused about what had suddenly captured Eve's attention so completely. She'd been expecting some serious discussion about Aetherion, or the surveillance device, or some other crisis that needed immediate attention.
"So, uhh..." Carmilla's voice carried bemusement. "What did you call me for?"
Eve looked up at her, and her synthetic features arranged themselves into something that might have been embarrassment at bothering Carmilla for something so trivial, but beneath that was genuine wonder. She pointed at the ants.
"Aren't they cute?"
The question was delivered with such earnest enthusiasm that Carmilla felt her initial annoyance at being pulled away from the table for *ants* start to evaporate despite herself.
She almost snapped something sarcastic. Almost said something about how they had more important things to worry about than insects, about how Eve needed to maintain focus on their mission, about how this wasn't the time for childish distractions.
But then she paused.
She looked at Eve's face at the genuine wonder there, at the simple joy in observing something small and living and complex. At the kind of innocent fascination that children showed before the world taught them not to care about tiny things.
And she remembered, with uncomfortable clarity, that Eve had just gained the capacity for emotions. That everything she experienced now wonder, joy, curiosity was new and precious and still being discovered.
*She's like a child in many ways,* Carmilla thought, something uncomfortably close to actual affection stirring in her chest. *Discovering what it means to feel, to care about things beyond programmed objectives. And she chose to be delighted by ants.*
"Yeah," Carmilla said, and her voice came out softer than she'd intended, more genuine. "They are."
She crouched down beside Eve, her remaining hand bracing against the ground for balance, joining her in observation of the tiny colony.
Eve's smile widened, brightening with the particular joy of having someone share an experience rather than dismiss it. "They are so tiny, yet they work together."
Her voice carried that same wonder, that same fascination with the cooperative behavior, with the way individual weakness became collective strength.
Carmilla nodded slowly, watching an ant carrying something three times its body size, assisted by two others. "Yeah. They really care about each other."
The words came out automatically, but as she said them, she realized they were true. Or at least true enough ants didn't "care" in any emotional sense, but their behavior suggested something like it, something that approximated care through pure instinct and chemical communication.
Eve's smile grew even brighter at this confirmation, at having her observation validated by someone whose opinion she valued.
Inside the restaurant, Angela watched this interaction through the window. Her expression remained neutral, but her internal monologue ran sharp and cold.
*Eve, either you're trying to manipulate her
getting close to Carmilla to better understand her plans, to position yourself as someone she'll protect or you're trying to redeem her, to bring out whatever humanity might still exist under all that analytical detachment and manipulation.*
*Either way, you will fail miserably.*
The thought carried certainty born of Angela's own experiences with Carmilla, with her understanding of how the scientist operated, how she viewed people as variables and relationships as tools.
*Carmilla doesn't change. She adapts her approach based on calculated outcomes, but the fundamental coldness at her core never shifts. You can't manipulate someone who's always aware they're being manipulated. And you can't redeem someone who doesn't believe they need redemption.*
But Angela said nothing, just watched as the two of them crouched by the ants like children discovering something wonderful.
The moment was interrupted by Tess's phone.
The ringtone was professional, generic, the kind that came default with S.O.W. issued devices. Tess pulled it from her jacket pocket with practiced efficiency, glancing at the screen before answering.
"Yes, Tess speaking." Her voice had shifted into professional mode, crisp and attentive.
She listened for several seconds, her scarred face showing nothing, but something in her posture changed tension entering her shoulders, her free hand clenching slightly.
"Oh really? Is it?" A pause, more listening. "Oh I see. Alright, it's interesting."
The words were deliberately vague, giving nothing away to anyone listening, but carrying enough acknowledgment to confirm she understood whatever information was being delivered.
She ended the call with a simple "Understood" and lowered the phone.
Rens immediately leaned forward, his nervous energy ratcheting up several notches. His voice emerged with that characteristic stutter, but carrying genuine concern. "Uhhh, w-what happened?"
Tess turned to him, her expression carefully neutral. "Well, Nazi troops have already left the Netherlands. We're safe for now."
The words should have been reassuring. Should have been good news. But something in her delivery suggested otherwise.
Rens paused, his soft features showing confusion mixed with growing alarm. "It s-seems like s-something wrong."
"Yes, idiot, it is." Angela's voice cut through sharply. She'd been only half-listening to their conversation while watching Eve and Carmilla outside, but this information had captured her full attention.
"I don't think they did it for nothing," Angela continued, her analytical mind working through implications. "Yet someone told them. But who? And why?" She paused, her jaw tightening. "I believe perhaps something bad is going to happen."
The assessment was delivered with certainty, with the kind of paranoid pattern-recognition that came from surviving multiple conspiracies and learning to trust nothing at face value.
At the restaurant entrance, Carmilla had stood up from observing the ants, some sixth sense or just trained awareness of her team telling her that something had shifted inside. She moved back toward the table, Eve following behind her.
"What happened?" Carmilla's voice carried that analytical edge, already processing possibilities before anyone had explained.
Tess looked at her directly. "Well, looks like the Nazis are gone. We can go in peace."
Carmilla took a visible pause, her remaining hand moving to light another cigarette a reflexive gesture when her mind was racing. "Why is that?" She exhaled smoke slowly. "Interesting. Most interesting. I think something with the storm, perhaps."
Her voice carried that particular quality of someone connecting pieces that others hadn't seen yet, drawing lines between apparently unrelated events.
She turned back to Tess, her analytical focus sharpening. "Well, Tess, what was that storm? Did S.O.W. or scientists found out what caused it?"
"Yes, they indeed did," Tess confirmed.
"What is it?" Carmilla leaned forward slightly, her intensity visible.
Tess pulled up something on her phone, apparently referencing official reports. "Sir Aetherion and—"
The name hit like a physical blow.
Eve, who had been standing near the entrance still holding one hand cupped as if protecting something, suddenly clenched her fist. There was a small, wet sound almost inaudible, but distinct if you were paying attention.
When she opened her hand, an ant fell from it. Crushed. Dead. Its small body broken by pressure that Eve's synthetic hand could apply with devastating precision.
She had killed it in anger.
The reaction was so visceral, so immediate, that it took everyone by surprise. Rens actually jumped slightly in his chair, his eyes going wide with shock and something like fear.
"W-w-what h-happened?" His voice rose in pitch, genuine distress cutting through his usual nervous baseline.
Angela's response was flat, matter-of-fact. "We don't know. Neither does she. She just hates him."
The explanation was delivered without elaboration, without any attempt to make it make sense. Just stating the observable fact: Eve hated Aetherion with intensity that bypassed conscious control.
"Huh???" Rens's confusion was evident, his mind clearly struggling to understand how a synthetic being could hate someone she'd apparently just met with such absolute conviction.
Tess's analytical voice cut through, her tone carrying that same professional assessment she'd applied to Angela's synthetic body. "Looks like something wrong with her. She is a robot. Then why does she feel this way?"
The question was directed more at Carmilla than anyone else, assuming the scientist would have theories or explanations.
Carmilla's response was dismissive, her focus already elsewhere. "Don't know, and it's not important for now." She gestured for Tess to continue. "Continue what you were saying."
Tess nodded, returning her attention to the phone. "Oh yeah. So basically, they said they verified this storm and—" She read from what appeared to be an official statement. "'Researchers say a rare combination of fine industrial dust and iron oxide particles from nearby construction sites colored the rain red. Nothing harmful—just an unusual atmospheric reaction.'"
The explanation was delivered in that particular tone that official statements always had confident, scientific-sounding, designed to be reassuring while providing just enough technical detail to discourage further questions.
Eve's voice cut through, and it emerged completely different from her normal tone. Cold. Flat. Carrying an edge that made even Tess pause.
"Then why did it happen for so many days? And why was it aggressive?"
The questions were delivered like accusations, like someone cross-examining a witness they knew was lying.
Rens noticed immediately, his fear response triggering. "Uhh, y-your v-voice is c-cold."
The observation was delivered with genuine distress, as if Eve's tone had physically hurt him somehow.
Tess, maintaining professional composure, continued reading from the official explanation. "'Meteorologists say a rare atmospheric disturbance is keeping the particles suspended longer than usual. Strong winds from the North Sea are recirculating the same cloud mass over the city, so the rain keeps coming red for several days. It's unusual, but not dangerous.'"
Carmilla nodded slowly, her cigarette forgotten between her fingers, ash growing long. "Okay, I can believe them for now."
But three minds at that table were thinking the same thing simultaneously, arriving at the same question through different paths of reasoning.
Angela: *Then why did it vanish? Atmospheric disturbances don't just stop. Weather patterns don't disappear retroactively.*
Eve: *If it was natural, why did I feel it stop? Why did the entire storm cease to exist in a way that felt deliberate rather than natural?*
Carmilla: *The energy signature was wrong. The way it appeared and disappeared suggested control, not chaos. Someone made that storm. And then someone unmade it.*
All three of them wanted to ask. Wanted to voice the inconsistency, to challenge the official explanation that satisfied exactly no one with actual analytical capabilities.
But none of them did.
Angela caught Carmilla's eye. Something passed between them unspoken agreement, shared understanding that pressing this point now would reveal too much about what they knew or suspected.
Carmilla gave the tiniest shake of her head. *Not yet. Let it happen. Let's see where this goes.*
Eve saw the exchange, understood it despite not being included. She closed her mouth, swallowing her questions, trusting that Carmilla and Angela had reasons for not pushing.
The silence stretched for several seconds, loaded with things unsaid.
Then Carmilla broke it, stubbing out her cigarette with decisive finality. "So, enough talk for now. Let's go then."
The suggestion carried weight, shifting them from discussion to action, from analyzing past events to moving forward toward Valenora.
But before anyone could stand, before they could begin gathering their things, Tess spoke up again. Her voice carried that particular quality of someone about to drop significant information.
"Well, Miss Carmilla, I have something about Blessed that will shock you."
Everyone at the table froze. Even Rens, who had been nervously folding his napkin again, went still.
Carmilla turned to look at Tess directly, her analytical focus sharpening to laser precision. "What is it?"
Tess's scarred face showed something complex not quite satisfaction, not quite concern, but something that suggested she'd been holding this information and was now choosing the optimal moment to reveal it.
"Where should I start?" she asked, the question rhetorical, her mind already organizing the information into coherent narrative form.
Outside, the afternoon continued its slow transformation into evening. The golden light grew deeper, longer shadows stretching across the town. Normal people walked past the restaurant, completely unaware that inside, dangerous individuals with powers beyond human limitation were gathering information for a journey into unknown territory.
And somewhnot perhaps in mountains, perhaps in basements, perhaps in offices or through the eyes of creatures that watched everything others observed. Others waited. Others prepared their own moves in games that these pieces didn't fully understand yet.
The pieces were moving. The board was set. And Valenora drew closer with every passing hour, ready or not, understood or not, safe or not.