Jenni [Outdated]
Jenni's conversation with Michael Thomas shortly after the successful fall. This was written before her character was stabilized into what it is now, and I am fairly confident that Thomas would no longer forgive her due to other unrelated changes.
The once overly stubborn scientist kept up her streak of silence with a reverse resilience. Her knees were held close to her body as she stared blankly at the TV mounted on the wall in front of her. It was the only thing illuminating the guest bedroom and was running the same news clips. They highlighted Jenni's unsung triumph, as well as her crimes against sentience of all sorts living on earth. Just as everything else around her went unnoticed, she seemed to not care about the broadcasts. Just watching the news because it was on because she had asked... No one really understood why, and they couldn't get an answer out of her, let alone a few words. Not since the helicopter ride where she went nearly silent.
It was deeply troubling and rather mysterious.
Back in the research facility, she was so confident, so very sure of her actions. Every word and every little moment was so defiant; even more impressive, deliberately so. It was all thought out, all crafted with the intent of frustrating her aggressors, or even just amusing herself. This artful usage of words continued, even when she was being led off to meet with him. She asked how she would be killed, as if it were a joke to her, despite believing it with all her heart. She walked into that office fully expecting to die for her crimes.
Perhaps... It was when she realized that she would not be executed that she began acting like this... But to this extent...? It seemed terribly uncharacteristic, and Michael couldn't allow her to leave in such condition. She would stay here until that fiery woman from just hours before was once again with them.
He entered her room to check on her at around 9 PM. She did not acknowledge him. Didn't even look over to investigate, Jenni just kept watching the same horrible news. What did she get out of it? A sense of success? Does she feel guilt? It was impossible to tell. Her expression gave nothing away.
"Miss Livingston..." The president began, seemingly with genuine concern, or care. Strange, that he has forgiven her, and even now cares about her welfare. Or at least, it seems as such. How much of it was his natural charisma, gifted to him by genetics and perfected by his own practice?
After a moment of an expected lack of a response, he continued, "I know that something is terribly wrong. What happened to that fire within you, present not even two hours ago?" he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, facing her, hoping that she would at least acknowledge him.
Eventually, she did, though not once did she turn away from the TV.
As to be expected her response was precise and well thought out, displaying her intelligence. Her tone was incredibly monotone, far from the emotion it once held.
"For twelve years I have worked on this project. A gruesome solution, but the best solution. Now I see it all coming together. Twelve years of work. Twelve years of my life. This is my greatest accomplishment. My only accomplishment. The world will be born anew by my hands. My efforts made this possible. I was in charge of crafting the virus. Every decision came down to me. The future of Humanity, and thus, the future of earth and anything sentient on it... all influenced by me. The death of billions, all my fault, completely and totally... and you know what, Mr, President...?" She finally turned to him, emotionless, staring blankly at him with her cold, brown eyes.
"I feel nothing."
She shook her head slightly as the news filled the gap in conversation. More of the same talk. The dangers, prevention, hopefulness, strange occurrences. Anything humanity can do to keep itself together; all in vain, of course.
"I should feel something. Triumph, for succeeding where no individual has before. Guilt, for the billions dying by my hands. Remorse, for the deaths of those that should be close to me. Appreciation, for you, Mr, President, who has forgiven and pardoned me. Above all else... I should be afraid. It is ultimately human to fear death. Perhaps, not even that; but rather, the mark of being sentient. I am not immune, Mr. President. If I am not killed by another force, then my own creation will spell my end. My own horrid solution for the broken state of the world will be my own solution and I. Feel. Nothing."
Jenni looked into his eyes and continued. "I don't think I ever wanted to live in the world I would help create. I don't think I ever cared at all for the consequences or the outcome. Mr. president...This is me. The determined, stubborn human that laughed in the face of death and authority does not exist. She is merely a character derived to put on a show for the end of days. Perhaps, she is made of remnants of what I wish I could be. What I should be. That human being only existed to enjoy life and give existence something to look at. With the play over, the character dissolved. She has no more use. You asked what happened to me. What happened to her. I realized that I had no more script to read off of. There is no need to continue the act, Mr. President. The character has done her part. An encore would ruin what she originally provided."