"I want to know⁠—"

A voice said, beginning as a weak rasp.

"I want to know what Hex saw."

Withered biological machinery lurched back to life, rusted cogs rattled into motion, and the voice became an audible whisper. A shroud of midnight drew closer. A figure cloaked in black stepped into the light. The void was a mirror that reflected the faces of the gathered heroes. It watched them. It lingered. Indifferent, unmoved, and unafraid. Strangers. Faces from pixelated screens. Names splashed across headlines. Radical anarchist painters engaging in artistic terrorism beyond modern art. Poorly drawn pictures plastered across the seedier parts of the cyberspace. Something about British twins and private commissions. Rumors traded for digital credits. Conspiracy stories about cops with super suits and sentient AI. Badly written fan fictions involving love quadrangles and Stardust. 

She did not know them. She had never known them. Save for one.

"You."

The voice said.

A hand formed into a gun with the barrel pointed at Eli. A thumb moved like a hammer, sending an imaginary bullet racing into his skull with only a modest recoil. The phantom nodded, satisfied.

"I know you."

The voice said growing stronger.

"I know your black heart."

It had been an unpleasant death she remembered. But it was a distant memory. Fragmented, faded, and corrupted by pain. She had been different then. So much wisdom had coursed through her. So much experience. Now she could not remember all the things that she had known. She could only remember that she had once known them. She had been so much more. 

She remembered Hex, though. He had killed her. She felt a stirring in her stomach. Butterflies. Dull sensations she had long since banished. Feelings. Embers of emotion glowed dimly within her, slowly thawing the ice that surrounded her heart. Sorrow followed. Unbidden memories escaped past a soul too weak to contain them. She saw his eyes. She saw his smile. [i]Harrison[/i], she thought, wishing that she could forget. She had allowed herself the smallest ration of hope. She had trusted him. She had believed in him. Now she was a prisoner of their dreams, living in a world of ghosts. She would return to the ice. She would kill Hex. She would banish his spirit. She would be free. She would rest.

She remembered the old man standing in front of her, too. He had been younger then. He had killed her. He was cruel. Impassive. He had played a bloody game with her. He hadn't flinched. It was the first time that she had burned in a chemical fire, her own flesh used for fuel. Blood turned base decomposed proteins, deconstructed lipids, and dissolved her. He had melted her into a puddle of boiling blood. There was no joy in his eyes, only purpose. Cold determination. Then he had screamed. He had cowered. He had run. He had lost. She had destroyed the [b]item[/b]. She had protected Autumn Hills. A mortal would have cared, would have wanted vengeance, and would have reacted. She did not. Eli looked old. He looked haggard. He looked weak. The memories of her past made no demands. Remembered pains were only curiosities. Reminders that she was no longer alive. 

"But no matter. Best not to think on the past too much."

The voice concluded fading into focus. 

She buried her memories. She kept the voices at bay. She willed herself to breathe. To move as they did. To care. To feel. To live. 

"Tell us what you know, Agent Reynolds."

The voice said, alive again and full of lies.