Useless to Me
| Useless to Me | |
|---|---|
| Date of Cutscene: | 07 May 2021 |
| Location: | A Dark Room |
| Synopsis: | Jemma's double decides she's no longer useful |
| Cast of Characters: | Jemma Simmons |
How long has it been?
I have quite forgotten. A week? Two? Perhaps a month? She knows perfectly however long it has been. She, who keeps me in the dark, leastwise figuratively if not literally. In this room without windows. Without sunlight. Without any sense of the passage of time. Not even the simple allowance of a singular timepiece. Not even a clock.
She is clever, this one. Extremely so. Of course, I would be highly remiss if it was not the case. It would be a poor reflection of me if she was any less methodical. Any less meticulous.
For she is me. At least in a manner of speaking.
A mirror's reflection. Identical on the surface. She would have to be, in order to ingratiate herself. But appearances are not enough. She knows this, just as well as I. It is not enough that she physically resembles the role. She needs to know the part completely. She is so much like me in that respect. She understands that she needs to prepare. She needs to do her research. I quite suspect that is why I am still alive. Why I am locked away, in some dark forgotten corner. She already knows so much, this one. And yet, there are certain nuances. Information not readily available in journals and dissertations that those who know would immediately grasp on to.
That is why I am here. She needs access to the source.
I hear her now, coming for me. No doubt to ask me yet again for some small trinket of information, to cross reference with her vast research. What is her goal? To replace me? To assimilate my life, my existence? Surely she has to know that it is impossible, no matter how alike we must be.
The door opens. There she is, walking towards me. "And how are we doing today?" Her voice...it's mine, but yet not. The compassion, the essence that make me who I am. It isn't quite there. So close...but still missing. She must know this. She regards me with those brown eyes. "Not talkative today? A shame. I was going to ask you about your friends. About May. About Daisy. Is May always so suspicious? I use a paper notepad one time and I suddenly have to defend my reasoning. Why is that?"
I don't answer. I just watch her as she wears my clothing. My labcoat. My face. But, already, my mind races. May suspects! My captor must have made a misstep. Why else would May be on edge? This other self...she doesn't know. Perhaps her emotions gave her away? Oh, then there is a chance!
She continues. "And Daisy. Must she be so touchy-feely?" The words seem so odd, coming from her. My voice, but not my phrasing. "I mean, really. Hands on my shoulders, on my knees. Always so concerned. She thinks you are working too hard, the poor thing. It is almost amusing." A pause. I see that she is trying to process a thought. "Could have warned me about that talking horse, too." Talking horse? The Asgardian steed! Oh, I wager that threw her for a loop! "You are supposed to warn me of such things. It is why I keep you around."
I find my voice, finally. "You...cannot possibly expect me to prep you for every eventuality. I cannot predict the future, as you are very much aware." My voice cracks. It is rare that I have used it in recent memory. Not much call for it other than to talk to her. "You act as if it is my fault that I did not relay to you the possibility of a talking Asgardian stallion making a house call." I grow bolder. "If Agent May is on edge, then perhaps you are not as thorough on your research as you believe yourself to be. I suspect that if you were truly successful, she would not be as wary."
Oh, was that too much? I see the expression on her face before me. One I have worn many a time. That of displeasure. Though, there is more there. Anger, perhaps? I must have struck a chord. She speaks...and that British tone is laced with simmering hate. "Perhaps it is you that is purposely withholding information. If you are not going to be completely forthcoming with me, then you are useless to me. Have you considered that?"
Her question is not unexpected. I had considered it. I often wondered why she kept me isolated but alive. And, the only logical conclusion was that I had served some purpose. That I was helping her in whatever machinations she was devising. And, I oftentimes have considered what would happen had I stopped assisting. Would there be any regrets involved? Would there be anyone that would catch on to her plot if I stopped helping, or if I gave false information? Giving false information was hazardous. She is much too good a researcher to not catch the falsehoods and I was never much of an improviser. But, if I withheld information, would that have any impact? Judging from the reactions of my friends, as my other self described, the answer is a resounding yes.
Did I want to continue to help this false version of me? I found that I did not...and I take courage in that.
The words escape from me effortlessly. "I have. And I decided that you will simply have to muddle on without my assistance." The confidence there surprises even me. It certainly surprised her. That shocked expression I have seen in the mirror before. But, then it morphs into amusement? And a laugh...mine in tone, but certain not from my throat.
"Then, you leave me little choice." Her hand drops into the labcoat. Into my labcoat. I know the pocket well. It is one where I keep my tablet. But, what she pulls out is not a tablet. Instead, it is a .38 pistol. I certainly have never seen that before. It is no weapon that I have ever owned. The confusion must have been evident, for she offers a brief explanation. "Oh, this? I, or should I say we? We acquired this in Denmark. Part of an operation to acquire a Hydra head. I should say, you are a wanted international criminal now. Suspected for kidnapping." A pause. "A shame, too. I really did try to win my way over. Your friends just considered it a rather brilliant ploy to get their target out in the open. You should be proud of yourself." With that, she levels the gun at my chest. "You really are brave. I will give you that. But, your usefulness has expired...and I have no further need of you."
The gun fires. I shift, just enough to catch the bullet more in the left shoulder rather than in the chest centrally. Hopefully, it is enough. The pain is excruciating. I fall to the floor, the blood already starting to flow from the wound. And...she once again proves that she is not me, for she forgets one final act.
She does not ensure that the job is complete.
Instead, as I try desperately to stop the bleeding...to fight for consciousness, she turns and walks for the door. I hear her voice as I cling to life. "Goodbye, Dr Jemma Simmons. We will not be seeing each other again."
I hear the door close, then lock, as the world spins. I...start to fade, even as I resolve myself for one purpose.
I will make her regret those words.
