Direct Selections

Scenario:

At the moment of Jenni's death by a firing squad in the failed fall timeline, Nect creates a perfect copy to analyze and toy with.

Jenni was on her knees staring down the barrel of a gun. She could see the bullet traveling towards her but everything was slow and when she looked at the shooter's her mother, father and a small child behind the guns.

She faced her demise all with a proud smile. No one could deny her success- She, a mere human- with no powers, no incredibly advantaged disposition, and no special resources- had altered the course of human history- perhaps, even the history of the earth. And though this was but a single world, in a single solar system, in a single galaxy... it felt meaningful to her due to just how tragically small her own existence and understanding was, and she seemed to always be half accepting of this.
She had overridden- as best a creature bound to its own biology edged on by evolution could- the primal fear of death, allowing a means of escape to simply knowingly pass her by, all for putting on an incredible show, for denying answers, for being frustrating, for being remembered by at least someone or something...
Time seemed to warp, slow, and allow her thought.
Those individuals… Her parents...
How proud they were when she finally began doing well in school…
How worried they became when she refused to interact with people…
The effort they put into her… A love, half crafted by biology…
How she manipulated even them to her own will, forgot them as if to spite the biology that binds her to them, to spite the setup of society, and what was expected, what was moral…
But this did not alter her state of mind as much as the third figure.
An image of herself, armed with one of the guns, wearing a lab coat, a collared shirt, an unnecessary bow- all typical...She seemed hesitant. Hadn’t fired. Didn’t want to kill…? Seemed bothered by it all…?
This all began raising questions. Curiosity; of course, a very human trait, especially in such strange circumstances, and especially in an individual such as herself.

“You Think you are above the others?” a disembodied and strange perversion of her voice asked her.

Jenni could do nothing but look on and reply, as she was restrained to a metal pole- understandable so.
“...No.” Her tone was flat, seemingly emotionless, confident, under control… it was not fully representative of her state of mind, for faking control cannot grant it to her. She kept her eyes trained on the image of herself. Nothing seems to have changed.

 ”We’ve always been nothing more than petty liars.” The voice mocked her and really struck a nerve.

The voice... it was most definitely her own...”Lies responsible for countless deaths do not register as 'Petty' in the eyes of the public... and either way…” she smiled somewhat and closed her eyes for a moment, “Isn’t the control, the information, the outcome...all worth it…?”

“And yet, we failed. We are petty.”

”We failed to shape earth in the way that Dr. Reheir had envisioned. We failed one individual, failed to carry out one plan. But we did not fail in leaving our mark on existence, despite how pointless such a goal is. Our actions, though small, occurred, and altered the lives of countless individuals.  How many were killed due to the conflicts we crafted? How many of those innocent researchers will be wrongfully killed? How many will be forever changed, monitored, riddled with guilt? And of course... Our actions and the actions taken against us will forever remain with our favorite president, who will likely in turn influence the world we left behind. So, perhaps, in the grande scale of existence which I know fully that neither of us can truly begin to comprehend...yes, our actions and lies and beliefs are, indeed, petty...but by that very logic, even the actions that shape the universe for unimaginable expanses of time would also be nothing more than petty actions of mere mortals- perhaps, even those of supposed gods, for as far as existence is concerned, we have no say in how it began, or how it will end...I’ve gone on a little long, haven’t I…”

Suddenly Jenni was in a classroom. The teacher was lecturing about The Fall Attempted and the damage it caused. He mentioned a fuck load of names. All the big names and even a janitor who tried to hit a button when President Thomas had stopped the happenings. But when he moved on she realized. She wasn’t even mentioned.

She waited for a moment as if patiently expecting him to go back, add something.
How foolish I thought it was, how frustrating to remember these desires, to backtrack on her own ideals… A name was unnecessary to speak for her actions that remain obvious. She should have always expected this- history is written by the victors, often warped to their desires…
“I do not need proof of my relevance in history.” She recognized her own lie and buried it in that cold, uncaring tone of hers, all tied together with an emotionless expression, scanning the classroom, noting the children listening to the lecture.

** That's when she saw a girl politely raise her hand. “Yes, Jennifer?”
The class gave a unanimous snicker at her name. “You Forgot a name.”
“No Jennifer That is everyone of note at the water plant that day.”
“But what…”
“Quiet Jenni.The prof. was there.” Jane doe said
It was then that Jenni noticed the professor was Zepherin.

She tried to stand but was held down, a reminder of reality, she remembered the guns, Thomas’s last response- but only for a second before she was pulled back down into the sequence.
This bothered her. Gah, it did, it bothered her- This momentarily shattered the lies she became so accustomed to believing, tampered with her self-created images and falsehoods, bringing back a time of uncertainty in which she remained plagued by a less than favorable disposition.
She closed her eyes, trying to establish her image, her lies, her confidence.
She didn’t care. Her name is not remembered. She didn’t care…
You will not care, you will not be manipulated by mere emotions…
You do not need proof of your involvement...

When she tried to build her wall of lies all she got were those names that history remembered and that promise Thomas kept: “... You wouldn’t be remembered...”

That doesn’t matter…” She muttered. Does anything? No, but she's human, unable to truly ever come to terms with such a fact,  pitifully so, bound by biology, emotions, instinct, all despite her best efforts- all fruitless, impossible, but does it not hurt to strive? To have a goal, a desire, as twisted as it may be?

Jenni found herself looking at a much happier version of herself. One where she was genuinely happy.

She once again could not move from her spot, and could only watch or close her eyes, which didn’t help nor did turning her head.
Jenni was greeted with images of herself, her hair cut short- not even to her shoulders, wearing a light layer of makeup as well as a short skirt and a flower patterned blouse.
She had made a name for herself in her field, working with other top scientists to gradually improve the world by crafting cures to varying diseases.
She enjoyed her work, enjoyed helping others. Went to church with her parents, ate dinner at their house afterward, met a young man at work who was just as passionate about his job as she was.
She married him, had a child, a daughter…
She took her to school, taught her to ride a bike, raised her to be a good person…
Jenni was happy. Kind. Successful. She loved- genuinely loved. Never questioned emotion, never feared it, never hated it...
An existence she never had- can never have.
All for what…?
Proving a point…?
Failing…? To be remembered…?
Trading that happiness for fruitless endeavors…
Using her skills to kill and create chaos rather than heal the world around her…
“...Why...?” she asked under her breath, somewhat weakly.
She began doubting the reasons for her very existence, her goals to completely bypass biology, evolution, emotion, and instinct. Perhaps it was all for naught, all preventing her from truly living- not just for herself, her own selfish endeavors- which is sure as human as human can get- a life of her own.