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Post by The First Doctor on Apr 14, 2011 20:43:42 GMT -5
The Fox and Anchor, LondonIt was a quiet evening in the pub. Most of the tables were filled with friends or family, eating dinner and having a few drinks. BBC World News played on the television sets scattered along the walls. Several of the patrons were now watching with interest. "What is this?" one asked, "I thought the new season of The Stranger didn't start until next month?"
Specters
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Post by The First Doctor on Apr 26, 2011 21:13:49 GMT -5
Aberdeen Proving Grounds, Maryland
A half dozen men in fatigues and one man in a grey suit watched from an observation tower as a platoon of US Army Rangers worked through a training exercise.
"I don't care how good you say these Specters are," one of the men - sporting two stars on hat and shoulders - remarked, "There's no way they'll take an entire platoon."
"You've seen the Afghanistan reports for yoursef, sir," replied a second man, who only wore one star on his hat and shoulders. "They're very good."
"Good against a bunch of towel-headed camel jockeys," sneered the man with two stars, "But against a real military force? I doubt it."
The man with one star shrugged. "Well, we'll see sir."
"That we will." The two-star man turned to glare at the man in the grey suit. "What do you think?"
The man in the suit tapped his fingers idly on the silver head of his cane, and smiled broadly. "I think it doesn't matter what I think," he replied, "I'm just an observer, and I'm only here to make sure there are no technical issues. What you do with them is entirely your own concern."
There was an explosion from the training area, and the sound of simulated automatic weapons fire. This was followed by a roar of collapsing masonry as a Specter burst through a wall, firing a M-16 in one hand like a pistol and dispensing electrical bursts from the other arm. Several Rangers went down without a chance to respond, stunned by the sudden onslaught.
The rest recovered quickly and returned fire. The MILES sensors on the Specter armor determined that no damage would have penetrated the armor, and the Specter continued to advance. Four more Rangers went down.
The visible Specter suddenly lept high and clear, landing on a rooftop. As he did, the other two opened fire with heavy machine guns. The training exercise was over in minutes.
"What do you think, Sir?"
The two-star man gaped for a second. "Are these... this is a fair assessment of their capabilities, isn't it?"
"Within the limits of the simulation, yes."
The two-star man shook his head. "Your boys have revolutionized ground warfare. You know that, don't you?"
"This is the twenty-first century," smiled the man in the grey suit. "This is when everything changes."
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Post by Sarah Jane on Apr 26, 2011 22:25:51 GMT -5
She never watched the news while she was eating. It was a rule that suited her, and kept her appetite delightfully functioning.
It was a good thing, for otherwise she may have missed that brief moment of footage. Now she was standing in front of Mr.Smith. She'd taken to watching the telly on it since Luke had set it up.
"Run it back, and play it again. There. There." She took a step closer to the screen. "Play it again and stop right. . . .right. .now."
She frowned at Mr.Smith, then blew out a deep, slow breath.
"There. That one." She pointed. "Do you see what I see Mr.Smith?"
"A cybernetically augmented soldier?"
"Yes." She said in a low sigh. "Americans. Mr.Smith, can you recognize any particular Alien technology in the augmented soldier?
"Sarah Jane, I cannot tell from this video clip. There is not enough information. There are over four hundred and fifty species that have created similar technology."
"Lovely."
It wasn't her job. She couldn't keep an eye on every country on earth. Certainly the United States must have their own version of Torchwood that would keep a close eye on such things.
What she feared, though, was that no on but herself understood the dangers of melding man and machine so closely. She mulls this over, pacing slowly around the room and sipping at her hot tea.
Well, it couldn't hurt to keep an eye on things. It's not like she'd have to go to America. This was the 21st Century. She could just call someone. She wasn't sure who yet, but surely, there would be someone.
"Mr.Smith, dig up every reference you can find on this 'New weapons platform' by the Americans. We'll start there. Don't omit anything, and organize files style 'Free Fall Beta'. I know that only gives us what they want us to know, but from there we'll crack it in cross references against your over four hundred and fifty alien races."
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Post by The First Doctor on Apr 30, 2011 22:44:51 GMT -5
San Francisco
A man and a woman sat on a third story balcony, looking out across the bay. The woman was older, apparently in her sixties, with iron-grey hair and blue eyes only lightly concealed by bifocals and an expression of mild irritation. She wore jeans and a cream-colored blouse, and a turquoise pendant on a silver chain.
The man was younger, maybe in his thirties, with auburn hair and brown eyes and an expression of sheer delight. He wore a charcoal-grey suit and black patent leather shoes, and an ebony cane with an odd silver head rested nearby.
"It's spectacular!" he exclaimed. "They had so much of the ground work already laid that I hardly had to do anything. And the results! You should see them!"
"I have," she replied, looking away from him. "I've seen the news. You've just made more weapons, more ways for us to kill each other."
He jerked his head as if he'd been slapped. "That's not it at all," he protested. "Those boys can walk now. They can see. They can hold their wives and children."
She turned on him. "Then why is it all military? Why is all the news about them showing how easily they can kill, how bulletproof they are? There's no wives or children anywhere!"
He rolled his eyes. "Of course they'd militarize it. It is a DoD project, and they are soldiers. Volunteer soldiers, I might add."
She started to say something, but he continued. "What I did was make it cheaper. We've already got civilian models in beta test now - affordable civilian models - that you can recharge from a wall socket. Think what this will mean!"
She glared at him for a moment longer. "Why are you doing this?"
He looked taken aback. "Why?" he said, a note of surprise in his voice. "You asked me to help them," he answered, sweeping his arm in a gesture that took in the city. "Five years ago. And I am."
The glare faded to hurt. "I asked my husband to help the people in our community," she whispered. "Not you, and I certainly didn't mean anything like this."
He looked frustrated. "But there's no di..." he began.
"Please, don't," she said, turning away again. "Just, just don't."
They sat, silent, as she fought to control tears and pain and sorrow twisted his face. Finally, he stood and snatched his cane. "You wnat to know the real reason?" he asked.
She said nothing.
"I want to see you smile at me again," he said, helplessly.
Still nothing.
"I want to see you happy, again."
Nothing.
"I want," he said, half-raising a hand and taking a tentative step towards her, "I want you to love me again."
No response. He let his hand fall. Silently, he turned and left the balcony. A wheezing, groaning sound rose, fell, and vanished. As it did, she covered her face with her hands and shook with deep, gasping sobs.
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Post by Sarah Jane on May 1, 2011 0:53:06 GMT -5
Mr. Smith, having followed all logic paths logarithmically, delivered a huge electronic report quite shortly. Sarah Jane stood before the computer, scrolling through information.
Sure. Her greater goal was to save Earth from accelerated warfare brought on with the advances of stolen Alien technology, but heart directed her research first to the men, wondering what torments they may experiencing. She found, to some relief, that the cybernetically-enhanced soldiers seemed to be volunteers. All twelve of them were US soldiers crippled in the line of duty in Iraq or Afghanistan. It didn't say much, but Sarah Jane hoped that she could rule out the worst possibilities in her unfortunate imaginings. After all, it was all over the US news, and it would be just common sense to treat them well, considering the possible exposure.
Development was being was being done by a collection of scientists from MIT, DEKA Research and Development Corporation, and the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency starting in 2007. That last name triggered a fuzzy connection for her that was not in the report. Something she'd read a long while back. A time that she had been taking a little clandestine peek into the United State's Alien response team, the Majestic-12.
It was uncertain how long past the US had started the Majestic-12, but after the events of 2008 (when the Daleks moved the Earth to the Medusa Cascade), their existence of the Majestic -12 was been made public as a proactive move to show the citizens of the United States that their government was taking the alien threat seriously.
"Mr.Smith, show me the file on funding we found in the United States Military budget. The page on Majestic-12's funding."
"Yes, Sarah Jane." Said that soft voice, and the screen immediately switched. She scanned the list intently for a few minutes, then she smiled fiercely to find what she thought she had remembered.
"There it is! It must be." She pointed."DARPA, 'Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency'! Mr.Smith, can you verify that those two companies are one in the same?"
"Sarah Jane, my records show they are the same company."
She tsked her tongue at the US Government. "Using your Alien Response team as a larder for your military. For shame." She whispered, truly aghast to see the connection between the Majestic 12 and these new cybernetically-enhanced soldiers so clearly linked by the trail of money. Did the people in charge think that Frankenstein's monster, regardless of all it's enhanced abilities, enjoyed being a monster?"
Next she looked through acquisitions, knowing they must need special heavy metals and the like for such complex interfacing between man and computer. That, she could not find, but there was a reference to one "Patricia DeMêler" DeMêler, DeMêler. She'd seen that name before.
Sarah Jane started scrolling backward through her pages. There it was again, but not Patrica DeMêler, here was Charles DeMêler.
"Vietnam vet and small business owner who went missing and is believed to have died during the "Year of Ghosts" invasion." She read aloud, then went on with her own words in speculation. " And why is DARPA paying your 64 year old widow Patricia so much money?" She tapped a few keys, then let out a low whistle "Quite a bit of money." The woman lived in an extremely high-class assisted living apartment in San Francisco.
Sarah Jane tapped a few more keys. She was looking at flights to the United States. Her finger hesitated over how many passengers. Of course. She would have to take the girl with her. She closed out without buying anything.
Lately, she'd been thinking more and more about back up, now that her young friends had become busy. This caper stank of Alien technology, and with the power of the United States government behind it, she might need more than the teenager-who-was-not-a-teenager who was downstairs. playing with her Ipad.
"Good night Mr.Smith." She said wearily.
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Post by The First Doctor on May 1, 2011 16:28:15 GMT -5
The Oprah Winfrey Show, the green room
"I can't believe you talked me into this, Mr. Mesler" said Captain James Hayes. He was a handsome man, with close-cut black hair, dark eyes, an aquiline nose, and skin nearly the color of copper. He wore dress greens, with a chest full of medals, and black kid gloves over his hands.
The man in grey set his magazine down and smiled. "Relax, Jim," he said. "You're perfect for this. And please, you can call me Chris."
"I'm going to go out there and make a fool of myself. I'm just a soldier."
"Nonsense. You're also a husband, and a father, and that's why you're perfect."
Jim tried to roll his eyes, but the cosmetic lenses didn't respond properly.
"Think about it," Chris continued. "We need to put a human face on the Specters, right?"
Jim nodded. "Right..."
"So, I can't send Howaloaka, or Price, or Chesney, or Freeman, or any of the others. They just won't evoke the same level of pathos."
"But..."
"No buts. You don't have to go perform, go put on a dog and pony show or anything like that. You're just going to tell them about how you were crippled and disfigured in action, and how the project and the Specters have let you see your wife again, and pick up your daughter. Oprah will work the crowd for you, and you'll be seen as the bravest man in the world, overcoming staggering odds to take care of your family and serve your nation."
"But I'm not the bravest man in the world."
A man with a headset opened the door. "Captain Hayes? You're on in five minutes."
"Thanks," Jim said.
Chris stood and clapped his hand on Jim's shoulder. "No, you're not," he agreed. "But you're brave enough, and that's what matters."
They looked at each other, warm brown eyes meeting artificial black eyes. Finally, Jim nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
"Of course I am. Now get out there and knock 'em dead."
Captain Hayes rose smoothly on twin artificial legs and strode through the door to thunderous applause.
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Post by Sarah Jane on May 1, 2011 19:19:46 GMT -5
The Attic had become her brainstorming place. She's had to make quite a few print outs so she can move things around. There are stacks of paper here and there, the cork board wears a flurry of paper with arrows on post it notes guiding the way through her logic.
For the past two days, skinny jeans, a draping shirt and her silk mules have been her research uniform. A parade of sandwiches and tea cups had kept her going.
Christopher Mesler. kept popping up in references to the project after 2009, but all her other attempts to track down any information besides the basis she had were stonewalled. That, for a moment, was a dead end. Also a dead end were any reference to what sort of Alien technology was being used.
It was turning out impossible to simply phone a friend who lived closer to the trouble to go have a look. Obviously the Majestic 12 would be anything but help. There seemed few other resources who might be sympathetic to her cause.
"Sarah Jane?'
"Yes, Mr.Smith?"
"One of the cybernetically-enhanced soldiers is about to appear on the Oprah Winfrey Show."
Sarah Jane looked at her watch and took a deep breath. It was later than she thought.
"Put it on please, Mr. Smith. And tell me, can you get me medical reports on the soldiers? I'd like to know just how badly injured they were. How many body parts would need replacing to create a viable soldier?"
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Post by The First Doctor on May 1, 2011 20:09:01 GMT -5
"Of course, Sarah Jane."
A window opened on Mr. Smith's display, showing an enthusiastic Oprah Winfrey hugging an uncomfortable-looking man in a military uniform. She made small talk as they sat down on stage.
Mr. Smith didn't whistle while he worked, not really. But he did the cybernetic equivalent, enjoying the simple pleasures of doing a job and doing it well as he trawled the data seas of the world wide web, locating and assembling the information Sarah had requested.
"I have the medical reports you requested, Sarah Jane. Shall I summarize, or do you want to look at them yourself?" He paused. "Some of the photographs are fairly... graphic."
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Post by Sarah Jane on May 1, 2011 23:42:22 GMT -5
"Shh- quiet." her voice not much more than a whisper, her eyes gone wide. "Wait."
She took a step back from the screen.
The kindest thing that could be said was that he almost looked human. Quite a fit of heebee jeebies took her as Oprah, who she'd always thought kindly of, hugged the construct.
Alien influence or not, she felt deeply that something terrible was going on. Why? Because whomever had designed this melding of man and machine could not see how repulsive his results were. Whomever the designer or designers were, they were the sort of people inured to death and decay. Oblivious they must have been to the near zombie like effect of his face, regardless that his skin was healed. Where he had actual skin. Oblivious, or they never would have thought their design was complete.
If you could make a mechanism that would raise a hand and shoot a gun accurately, why not finish the job and give the man a smile, a frown. eyebrows that had something to say? Why not? Because they didn't care, perhaps did not want to know what the soldiers were thinking. They only needed them to jump tall buildings with a single bound. And shoot people.
She wrapped her arms tight around her, Sarah Jane braced herself and continued to watch, almost hoping there was an Alien influence involved. Terrible to think humans could do this to their own kind. Well, they'd certainly done horrors before, and would again.
One thought continued to run in the back of her mind on it's own quiet loop, on she wished she could entirely ignore. For the moment she would, for her plan was the same whether this one thought was right or wrong. It was in regards the image she could not get out of her mind. A single moment when the camera was well focused on the soldier's head when he'd been armored for battle. A moment not obscured by the shaking camera, or debris. A clear image that hadn't lasted more than a few heartbeats.
They look like Cybermen. They look like Cybermen. They look like Cybermen.
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Post by Archetype2 on May 2, 2011 1:18:11 GMT -5
Green eyes scanned the downstairs living area, not finding any sign of their intended target, one Sarah Jane Smith. The figure the eyes belonged to knew where she would be, where she had spent large amounts of time for the past few days, the attic.
She nodded to herself "I know." she told herself confidently before moving ahead toward the attic. This girl was the Archetype Mark Two, a human created using compound mixture of allot of other people's DNA by the Bane, a really annoying alien race that she disliked very strongly. She was...now at least, Lutessa Smith, the girl with many nicknames she hadn't explored yet. These nicknames included Tessa, Tess, Lucy, and whatever else someone could come up with...hopefully she wouldn't have like twelve by the time she got into the next year of school. The next week, Lutessa was going to start school at the local highschool and she was nervous about that.
She walked up the stairs, making almost no noise at all as she did. She was clothed in a grey T-shirt, blue skinny jeans, white socks. Her long red hair trailing down her back, she hadn't done anything with it yet.
Entering the attic, Lutessa began to take notice of it's condition, papers everywhere, a cork board with more papers with post-it notes or arrows on them, several empty cups which had probably held tea in them at some point and several other things that weren't normally there. Remaining silent, she began to move around, clearing up the scattered pages into piles and putting all the empty cups in one area.
Sarah Jane and Mr. Smith were doing something involving a television show with a women called Oprah...that was an odd name; Oprah....
Lutessa glanced up at Mr. Smith's screen and the cup she was holding slipped from her hand, clattering from the floor but somehow not breaking...she didn't notice though. she was too busy staring at the screen, eyes wide with a mix of emotions, unable to react completely or in any other way....there was a man and he looked partially fake.
She'd read about this man, the soldier with the unreal armour from the so called *Danger Zone* area. He had been covered in a shiny metal body or suit and this had frightened her a little, still did. She'd never seen many people yet and certainly hadn't ever thought she'd see a freaky zombie looking man on TV, and now he was being hugged by the Oprah women and zoomed into by the camera.
She stared at the freakish person with his fake body parts, he had no expression....he had a family too, did they understand what was wrong with him? did HE understand what was wrong? Lutessa surely did not, it confounded it, alluding her in every way and intrigued her more then anything else.
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Post by The First Doctor on May 2, 2011 7:36:46 GMT -5
The montage continued, cutting to pictures of Jim in a tuxedo at a wedding ("...married his high school sweetheart, Amanda...") and holding an infant ("...their daughter Jasmine, born only a few months before his first deployment to Afghanistan in 2002...").
As the broadcast continued, Mr. Smith arranged the medical files in the order he calculated Sarah would be most likely to want to see them in.
In the "Oprah" window, music turned slow and ominous as the pictures changed from photographs of Jim in desert fatigues to stock footage of a desert roadside explosion ("...when an IED he tried to disarm exploded, crippling and nearly killing him...").
The image returned to the studio. "What was going through your mind when that happened?"
Jim twisted his reconstructed features into a frown. "It... it's hard to say. Nothing really, not when the IED first went off - that knocked me out cold. But afterwards, in the hospital, all I could think about was what was going to happen to Mandy and Jasmine. I couldn't walk, couldn't see, could barely hear... I mean... even if..."
His voice broke with emotion, and one hand rubbed at his eyes - a reflex gesture, really, since his tear ducts had been lost with most of his face.
"Daddy!" called a voice from the audience, and an eight year old girl raced onto the stage and threw herself into Jim's arms, followed quickly by a short, slightly overweight woman with red hair and wide-lens glasses. As he held his family and fought to control his emotions, the camera lingered for a moment then cut to commercial.
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Post by Sarah Jane on May 3, 2011 1:37:30 GMT -5
She rarely found day time talk shows riveting, but this one had her full attention. She didn't hear the Archetype Mark 2 enter. The girl was quiet, she'd give her that. It was the slide of paper on paper that alerted her. That snapped her around quick enough. "Tessa! Don't!" She almost shouted the first to words, then caught a breath. "I need them just the way they are. It's a puzzle." She explained, very quickly containing her outburst. "Thank you, just the teacups, please." She went back to her study of a daytime Diva, and a man who was the poster boy for the principal of the 'Uncanny Vally' *. It wasn't long before she heard a cup thump to the rug. If she thought the Archetype Mark 2 had dropped the cup accidentally, she never would have bothered to acknowledge that she'd heard it. It did children no good to ride them about every bumble. Things would get broken and they'd learn. Something she'd realized about the Archetype Mark 2 was that the girl was very careful. Especially careful with Sarah Jane's things, perhaps to a fault. The teacup was dropped because something was wrong. Sarah Jane turned to her, instantly went to go watch with her, standing beside her and taking the girl's left hand in her right hand, scooping some long red hair out of the girl's collar with her other hand. By the look on her face, the reconstructed soldier was as distressing to her as Sarah Jane found him. "It's not his fault he's like that. He just wanted to survive. He feels emotion, look at him crying. . . .he just can't show it with his face right." She looked back to the screen. "He wanted to live for his daughter. See? He's not the problem. The people who made him like this is are the problem." Even as she said it, she was beginning to feel so torn inside. Without his armor on, was he not just a wounded man? Perhaps the robotic technology was not the problem. It was those darn Cyberman-like suits of armor. Perhaps. Perhaps. She watched the metal man with the little girl and hoped that it was so. My goodness, her mind was being swayed by Oprah. Who would have guessed. She clutched at Lutessa's hand, and caught the girl's far shoulder in her left hand and held on. She found herself thankful for the company. * Find the definition of the "Uncanny Vally" here. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncanny_valley |
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Post by Archetype2 on May 3, 2011 9:38:05 GMT -5
Lutessa's eyes remained glued to the screen, the man and his family. Her breathing was a bit ragged, hard to get out, it was very shocking. She felt Sarah Jane's hand take hers and felt her hair move a little.
Lutessa didn't move for several seconds before her head moved over to Sarah Jane's shoulder, resting it their as she stared at the man and Oprah. He wanted to survive....that was understandable. She knew though, that no one else did something unless it benefited them, or judging by the things she'd read in history books they didn't. She had read something from a few years earlier, not history but still.
A man had claimed to have a machine that would make him younger, it had worked too. According to eye witness statements that were taken later however; it had turned him into some kind of creature. All the things that people weren't ready for, or that did something miraculous....it all had a catch to it. So what was the catch to this one? It had to be bigger then just not being able to express emotion.
She swallowed hard, trying to get words out of her mouth that wouldn't evacuate her mind and go into the world. "How..." she finally managed, almost chocking on the word as she said it. There had to be a price, something that would happen to mess everything up, this discovery was too perfect, too...lacking in the aspect of danger, it just didn't seem right.
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Post by The First Doctor on May 4, 2011 17:47:30 GMT -5
The inanity of daytime commercials ended, and the window returned to the Oprah show. Jim - who by now had managed to regain his composure - was holding the girl on his lap, and the red-headed woman was sitting next to him with his right arm around her shoulders.
Oprah looked into the camera, her face serious. "Captain Hayes had survived the explosion, but only barely. I want to warn you that some of the following images are extremely graphic..."
The program faded to black, to be replaced by new images and soft music. The first picture showed the wreckage of a man laying in a hospital bed, hooked to IVs and monitor cables. The image didn't last long, being quickly replaced by an exterior shot of the Walter Reed Army Medical Center. But it was long enough to see that the figure in the bed had skin (where it could be seen under gauze dressings) the texture of overcooked pork. His limbs were mere stumps, and his head resembled a used pencil eraser.
"I don't remember much of anything between the explosion and waking up DC," Jim said in a voice-over. He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "Actually, I don't remember much after waking up in DC, either."
Cut to pictures of the redhead and the girl in a hospital waiting room, and of an older couple with them.
"Did you ever hear that Metallica song, 'One'?" he asked. "That was me. The blast left me blind and deaf. I didn't have legs and only had half of one arm, and I could only eat and drink through a tube."
Cut back to the studio. The girl's face was buried in Jim's chest, and the redhead was looking away from the monitors. "How did you... how did you hang on?" Oprah asked.
Jim was silent for a moment. "I don't really know. I'd love to say that it was my faith in God, or my love for my family - and I had both of those - but..." his voice trailed off. "But I wasn't under any illusions that I would somehow magically get better. I was pretty aware of what kind of condition I was in, and the doctors had filled me in with Morse code."
"Morse code?" Oprah asked.
"Yeah. I could still feel, so they'd tap their messages on my shoulder. Then I'd sort of thump my arm to respond. I think that helped, knowing that they knew I was conscious and being able to communicate. But still..."
He hugged his wife and daughter tight for a moment. "There were times I still wanted to die. Make it easier for the people I loved."
Oprah asked Jim's wife a question. As she did, Mr. Smith interrupted. "Sarah Jane? I have the medical records ready, if you still wish to review them."
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Post by Sarah Jane on May 4, 2011 23:11:13 GMT -5
Blasted Americans and their sensationalism.
"Turn around. Close your eyes." Sarah Jane avoided questions by simply reaching out and turning Lutessa into the crook of her arm. She herself watched the footage through half lowered lashes, not interested in subjecting herself to the rigors of detail in this case.
When the little girl showed up in the hospital footage again, Sarah Jane turned the girl back around. After a sidelong glance and a smile, she said, "You can open your eyes, Lutessa. Mr.Smith, I'll take that report in printout form. No graphics. Just a laundry list with name tags, so to speak. Ahh! And turn off the telly. Tevo this show for me Mr.Smith.". Dear Luke had gotten the Tevo all worked out as well. She gave a relieved sigh as the room grew suddenly quiet and Mr.Smith's large screen went back to its soft glowing, random flowing. crystalline patterns.
"Mr.Smith, ring up the Majestic-12 in the USA. Nothing clandestine, call through the front desk, and tell them to put someone of authority on who knows who I am, even if they have to take the look me up and study. Give them our Skype number and ask them to contact me that way as soon as possible. Give them Secretary Voice Number One, snootiness factor two. Put it on hush until the Skype comes in, then hold until I tell you to open the line. "
"I can't possibly learn what I need to know from Oprah. This is too complicated." These first two realizations she told to the screen, frowning at it as if she could manifest classified information to come through, just by willing it so. No luck. Now she turned to the girl. "I have to see this up close, Lutessa. I can't read it from here. I have to go to the USA. Will you come with me? I need someone to come with me." the honesty of that hurt her a little.
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