Chapter 199 - The Price of Happiness

Deep within the unnaturally inconspicuous headquarters of the Department, past the eldritch labyrinth that served as a proving grounds for Aspirants, a single lonely figure traversed the murky blackness of Xibalba. 

Even though fearless Agents worked here, few dared to trespass where this mysterious specter had marched into.

It was an area of ardent contention, for it supposedly held some of the Department's deepest secrets. There were whispers in the wind that it was the place where the Chairman of the High Committee had incarcerated the most dangerous individuals in the world. 

That it was where the late Dreaming Council now slept, imprisoned in an unimaginable hell as punishment for their unforgivable crimes against Mulia. Others still hypothesized that the bottommost layer of the Department Headquarters served as a playground of sorts for the Chairman's rumored pet projects that could end the world a hundred times over... 

In a world full of highly-guarded secrets, it was the one place everyone in the Department knew about... and nevertheless did nothing to pursue them. 

The specter in the dark, of course, cared not for the mysteries that the foreboding place offered because he was already acquainted with them. There was nothing in the bottommost layer that he had not already seen as a part of his job. 

He was a member of the Department's most important branch, one that held such enormous influence and responsibility that not even the High Committee knew about its existence. They were not on any records and did not answer to anyone other than the Chairman himself... 

They were the Specters — the Chairman's special inquisitorial Agents, tasked not with hunting the Infestation, but rather... their own kindred. 

Being an Agent was a tremendously difficult job, one that demanded much, sometimes too much from those who had been granted power befitting that of a god.

The missions Agents undertook were excruciatingly difficult and more than often, incurred heavy losses on them. Worse still, the conditions of those missions sometimes required deep exploration of areas not patrolled regularly or even areas not yet explored.

There was no telling what lurked in these untouched ruins and sometimes it was their unfortunate job to find out... 

Even the most hardboiled Agents could only handle so much time out in the Shadowlands, which was why every Agent was required to undergo periodical psychological examinations. The duration of shifts in the Shadowlands was also dramatically reduced, with the Department favoring shorter rotating shifts instead of having its Agents remain for extended periods.

But even these conservative measures were not enough to stop cracks from developing in the frontlines. On rare occasions, the demands of the work that Agents were assigned to... broke them. 

When an Agent reached a point where she or he could no longer competently perform their duties, they were usually expected to return to headquarters for a mandatory memory wipe along with the removal of their Alma.

In return for their cooperation, they would have fabricated memories installed to replace what had been expunged, so as to not warrant any suspicion. A generous send-off package, typically a new home and a sizeable sum of credits would be given to them and that would mark the end of their distinguished service to the Department. 

"But sometimes, we get people like you... the mistakes," muttered the specter, speaking to himself. 

He appeared to be talking to someone, even though did not seem to be accompanied by anyone as he moved toward a heavily armored door. It was his office, so to speak...

"Not to worry, though. I'll have you sorted out by the end of the day," said the Specter as he pulled out something from underneath his cloak. A tiny crystal that held a small, flickering light within it — a soul. 

"Just had to put a fight, didn't you? Now I've gotta make an order to get you a new body," said the specter as he began to make a request for a cloned body to be made. 

Once he finished scrubbing the soul he had captured of all unnecessary memories, he would be done with his part of the job. The trapped soul would be handed off to Specters who specialized in the creation of fabricated memories to be given a new life, and then be put back into a cloned body of themselves. 

Afterwards, they'd be shipped off to their new home, somewhere in the middle of nowhere to live their new lives under temporary supervision for a time. 

Although incredibly rare — small enough to be counted on a single hand — there had been a few notable incidents when not every confidential memory was erased as intended in certain former Agents.

The result of such of a grave blunder always led to the development of severe mental illnesses in the affected victims, something that reflected poorly on the Specters and had the potential to become a dangerous liability to the Department. 

But most importantly, it represented a lack of responsibility and effort in the special duty they had been tasked with by the Chairman. They had been specially selected for their incredible discretion with s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e matters, exceptional abilities, and extraordinary resolve, far beyond what required of them. 

Unlike regular Aspirants who applied, these individuals had been specifically searched for and personally invited by the Chairman himself. 

They were Mulia's finest men and women, such that every Specter had the strength to match the former Soveriegns that once divided the continent for themselves.

Such an unusually high affinity for Anima was through the voluntary modification not only their original bodies, but even their souls. It was a secret path from which there was no return, as the transformation process would irreversibly change them on a fundamental level. 

But not all felt the same way, especially not the first Specter to have been created by him. 

In fact, the relationship between the First Specter and the Chairman was so volatile that many wondered why he had been offered such a tremendous honor first...

When the First Specter appeared out of a spatial tear into Reed's home at the bottom of the sea, he knew that trouble had come to visit him again. Nevertheless, he kept his feelings in check and greeted him as neutrally and curtly as he could manage. 

There was no point in exchanging plesantries with the man in front of him, since they were both long past the stage where they could falsely act out a friendship. Their relationship was one of pure business and nothing more. 

Reed needed his talents to keep the integrity of the Department in check, and the man needed his unique expertise and abilities for something in particular. 

"How is she?" asked the First Specter. 

"She's doing fine at the moment. I have not detected any abnormalities in her behavior or memory since we have moved on to the second stage. She has not responded to any of the mnemonic triggers in our conversations, though further testing is required before we can be assured that she is completely stable," said Reed as he handed a holopad to the man. 

The man took the holopad and before he said, "And the extraction of her previous memories?" 

"I've already gone back and retrieved them as promised. Up until the day of her... death," said Reed before he added, "They're ready to be inserted once we can safely confirm her mental stability and the compatibility with the artificial soul." 

Reed paused for a moment before he said, "You do understand that if we do this... it won't be her, you know? It'll be a perfect copy, but it still won't be—" 

A venomous face glared at him, forcing him to stop speaking. The twisted fury in the man's eyes held such a terrible poison within them that Reed doubted he would ever be forgiven. 

In any case, Reed had promised to fulfill his wish, even if he detested the idea. To him, there was no replacement for her in his heart, nor any of the people he truly loved. They were all unique and irreplaceable to him, and even though he would weep, rage and curse Fate for taking them from him...

Reed would've never thought to create a replacement for them. He would've gone to any lengths to bring them back, rather than be content with a... simulacrum, no matter how beautiful or accurate it was. 

But it was pointless to reflect about what he would've done, or whether it adhered to his morals or not. He was a man of his word and would grant the troubled soul his wish, even if it was something he did not want to do. 

Everything he did was to give the people of Mulia what they had asked of him — to make Mulia a heaven for them, regardless of the cost. 

After everything that had come to pass, all they had asked of him was to make the pain go away. 

It was then that Reed finally understood how brittle their spirits actually were, how weak the people of Mulia were at heart. 

They could have asked him for anything and he would have labored endlessly to grant it to them, but all they wanted was to be happy. 

And why would they be? They had all been born and raised in a world of artificially constructed peace, the vast majority never having experienced the pain and suffering he had endured. In fact, their souls had not been tempered by great adversity, loss, or despair until very recently with the Twilight War. 

They had no drive to change and were content living in their bird cage, so long as it was well defended. 

Reed considered this great apathy for progress the worst curse that the Dreaming Council had created. They had coddled an entire world into a state of dependant babyhood...

A world that he was now responsible for. 

The poor man in front of him was no different than the masses, desperately searching for a spark of happiness in the cold dark of a bottomless pit of despair. 

...And as Reed had promised them, he would fulfill their wish. 

With each passing day, week, and month, he felt himself transforming into something else. His precious humanity, which he had struggled so hard to keep, had begun to slip away. 

He wondered if this, too, was a cost that would have to be paid in order to fulfill their wish. 

But he would, nevertheless, make all of them happy... that much was for certain.