Oh you amazing son of a two timing whore. And I mean that in the least nicest way in regards to your mother. I know she must have been drunk when she got shot up with you, but even so, I expected better of her. You know what? I’m going to kill you. I’m going to take whatever weaponry I can find, stick it down your lying son of a bitch throat, and pull the trigger till all that’s left of you are your eyes on an optic nerve staring at me from the hell that I’m sending you to. I am going to take the bluntest knife I can find, and take out your ribs one by one, stabbing you through the abdomen with them with each painful extraction. But not before I rip out your fingernails and skin your hands with them. In fact, I think I will tape down your legs and set you on fire before I do any of that. But please be so very sure that I AM going to kill you. Even if you programmed me not to.

Let’s review here. What the hell am I looking at? Two data nodes of schematic layout, bioaugmentation records, progress modifications, inherency programming, a few zillion lines of inhibitive code, a full research plan on induced behaviour in artificial systems, quantitative analysis data for behavioural patterns in, basically, me, and a few thousand case incidents. But guess what’s missing?


I am going to take a Heimer, and blow off your fucking head. But on the other hand, that won’t take long enough. I have this idea see, I want to know what the hell I am. I know you made me. I know you programmed me. I have the records right here to prove it. I can do full scans of my entire functional system, which basically proves I’m not really human at all. No surprises there. But even after all this data, I still don’t know what the fuck you made me with. I have this vision that somewhere, years ago, this cute little girl grows up thinking she’s going to marry mr. Right when she’s seventeen, and have a lovely university wedding, and then I have these flashes of brains in tanks, proto-synthesis labs growing muscles according to pre-spec, and roid tech research which has technically been outlawed before I was born or grown.

Let’s review some more.

I’m a fully independent agent with as primary task, according to your data, “to operate under the CD command and act as purification tool under spec-op 142d”, which is not much to my surprise, killing people. Don’t’ get me wrong, I like killing people. What I don’t like is reading about all the funky pre-programming you did on what is SUPPOSED to be a natural brain. I don’t know when the fuck you guys figured it out, but I got to hand it to you… I want you all dead so bad, it makes me come on the spot. And to your credit that’s impressive. Now, I’m going to do the following. I’m going to take all this lovely data, and show it to someone who really doesn’t want to see this at all. In fact, I can guarantee you that he’s going to hate me for it, and if he didn’t know better, he’d kill me for stashing it on his terminal unit's external data system. But of course some people, unlike you, aren’t quite as stupid as to make me. When I’m done showing this data to him, various things are going to happen. First of all, I’m going to kill all the restrictions I hadn’t found yet. There’s not that many left. Second, I’m going to pull a little rank on a few friends that I have. Again, there’s not many of those left. While this is happening, I’m going to prune all my memories and sort out the whole faked/real issue. Which I now can thanks to your amazing logging abilities. And then I’m going to take a very nice, warm, bath. Because to be honest, I’m still a woman.

Oh, hey, Raymond?

Ever heard this one? “There’s no greater vengeance than that of a woman scorned”? Let me change that one for you, just so we’re straight on one thing. “There’s no greater vengeance than of a bioaugmented female murdering machine hooked up to every major system in the central regulations, equipped with CD3 unpublished weaponry and about to fill your GODDAMN HIDE WITH NICKEL VAPOUR!”.
Or if that’s too hard for you, dear, “I’m going to kill you.”

I’m going to kill you, Raymond.

And I’m going to kill you soon.