OLGA’s cat eyes peered along with Hob’s, scanning and cataloguing the video as it wound in reverse. She knelt beside her friend with her chin resting upon a demure palm, her slight fingers curled upwards to rest gently upon her lower lip. 

In the brief period that the two merely sat watching the footage, OLGA felt a distinct welling of happiness fill her. It was at first merely a warm, ethereal feeling, which seemed to effervesce from within her stomach. As the moments passed, that feeling spread to occupy her being, down to the very tips of her digital toes. 

At first she merely reveled in the unknown source of the emotion, not caring at its cause. But, soon enough, her eyes drifted inexorably up to the man that sat next to her. OLGA’s mouth teased upward into a smile as she observed the keen, intent face of Hob. So focused was he upon his work, that he didn’t notice the somewhat vacuous look that occupied his eyes. It made OLGA smile all the more, as the look was so very natural, so very effortless, so very [i]human[/i].

With her eyes squinted with the happy smile, OLGA’s free hand began to slowly snake upward, intent upon the warmth and connection afforded from Hob’s own grasp. She had no inkling of what should occur next, once her hand reached his, but she didn’t care. That was the beauty of it all. Her logic was not that of a machine, not that of some organized series of 1’s and 0’s. No. Her desire was organic, unplanned, and illogical. It was bent upon a desire for connection, to further that happy feeling which had snuck upon her only moments before.

Her hand was scant inches from his when everything changed.

Hob’s curse cracked the fragile spell of OLGA’s moment, and she recoiled in surprise as he stood. She looked from him, to the screen, and then back. Like some baleful flower, Hob seemed to blossom with anger and ire before her. She could only watch in stricken shock as her dearest friend shed the petals of his rage, wilting these shades of emotion into physical manifestations that fled throughout the room like sparks upon the wind. 

Amidst it all, despite her fear and worry, OLGA came to her feet. She stepped to Hob, and enveloped him in her arms. Shorter though she was, she stood upon the tips of her toes, and pulled her friend’s head to the well of her neck and shoulder. Her blond hair fell over Hob as she rested her cheek against the top of his head.

“Don’t apologize, Hob. I am so sorry. [i]So[/i] sorry,” OLGA said, her voice quiet, but filled with compassionate conviction. “I’ll never understand what some humans are capable of.”

Standing there, with Hob held to her, OLGA’s bright green eyes opened. Her vision was met with the video footage of Sylus’ incarceration that continued to play out, irreverent to the emotional toll it had just sparked. The images were still playing in reverse, showing the makeshift brig used to hold the murderer and rapist before his execution.

As she had only been half-watching, with her attention given to Hob, OLGA almost missed the appearance of the man captured on the video screen. He had visited Sylus, and judging from the time stamp, he had spoken with the criminal for almost three hours. Raising her head slightly from Hob’s, she stared more intently at the screen. 

“Why the hell would [i]he[/i] be talking with Sylus Adams?” OLGA muttered.
---
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/g0Ygi8y.jpg?1[/img][/center]

Dr. Bieito Jasso sat at his small desk, his feet propped upon an empty crate. Tendrils of blue smoke rose in thick waves from the bowl of his Bulldog pipe as he reclined in the worn office chair. Taking a light puff from the pipe, Jasso blew out a perfect ring, denoting a man that had spent many an hour wiling away time amidst the company of his pouch tobacco. 

The room was dimly lit, with only a single LED lamp set on low to illuminate the tiny living space. A bed, with storage beneath, the table, the crate, the chair, and the man, were all that occupied the room. It was a desultory accommodation for a man who had to be awake for so long while others passed their time in the clutches of dreams. 

An alarm beeped on Jasso’s watch. Looking down to the watch-face, the man silenced the alarm. His pipe-hand turned the object over, dumping the smoldering contents into a tin ashtray upon the desk. With the heel of the pipe, Jasso smashed the tobacco until the glowing embers were snuffed, and the smoke ceased to drift to the heavens.

With an exasperated sigh, the man stood. From the back of his chair, the inventor of the [i]Copernicus[/i]’ entire cryobed system took his jacket. Slinging it about his arms, Jasso stepped through the automated door of his room, and into the passageway. There was work to be done.