The End of an Era

There was something inherently wrong about looking yourself in the eye without use of a mirror.

Of course, the identical figure standing before Rita was not actually her. It didn’t even have a soul; it was a shell, made to resemble her and constructed for one very specific purpose. It knew this purpose, and did not rebel against it—it could not, it had been constructed with its reason for existing encoded in its very DNA. Still, it was strange to see the expressions you recognized as uniquely yours cross the intimately familiar facial angles and planes. To hear your own voice, cultured and elegant, responding when you spoke.

Rita had retrieved the clone herself, jumping to the top secret Andressi laboratory, located fifteen stories beneath the bustling infrastructure of New York City and cloaked with technology not even she fully understood. She had spoken with the scientists there, who had been informed of what was happening and understood it all. They had been prepared for just such an eventuality. Everyone who worked within the Andressi inner circle had. When you fought the beast from within it, it was only a matter of time until you paid the price.

In a few short hours, as the morning of December 11th dawned, this lab and a number of other facilities like it would close their doors for the last time. The Andressi dynasty, such as it had been, was over. In a few short hours, at 8 am Eastern Standard Time, the World Bank would open, and its New York City mainframe would load up, reclaiming its portion of the incredible data load which the bank’s multitudinous financial transactions created. That was zero hour, and it would mark the end of an era.

When Rita arrived at the laboratory, it was 3:27:44 am, and the countdown clock stood at T-4 hours, 32 minutes, 16 seconds. She left the lab 15 minutes later, having spent a portion of the night’s rapidly waning time to speak individually with each of the physicists, neurobiologists, chemists, and other brilliant minds who had stood shoulder to shoulder with her, fighting the good fight over the past several years. She thanked them for their contribution, made sure each had received their generous severance package, and suggested to a number of them that they inquire for potential employment with the Terenzios. This would not, she hoped, be the last time she saw many of these familiar faces. Then, the fully prepared clone’s hand (eerily identical to her own, as it was meant to be) clasped in her own, she had jumped back into the penthouse. There, the empty shell of Antonio Andressi which had already been in circulation for quite some time waited. He, too, knew what was to happen this night. He, like the Rita-clone, was fully accepting of it. As Rita completed her own final preparations, the two clones began setting the stage in the penthouse. Any evidence Rita did not wish the WMT to find had already been removed or destroyed. All that remained was to make it look good, and they would do so.

Rita’s final, meditative preparations were interrupted only once, this time by a phone call from a source who brought unwelcome news regarding the DeMarcos. She was on the phone only a short time, and when she hung up her heart ached for both Alexandro DeMarcos, as well as the rest of their family. There was no question that the sacrifices they all made were worth it. That didn’t necessarily make the losses suffered any less profound. There was simply no time to dwell on it, however. Rita made a mental note to call Alexandro Sr. once all was said and done and she had landed on Phoenix Isle. She needed to offer her condolences to what must be a grieving father (even if his son lived, Alexandro was not likely to see him again for quite some time, if ever). It was prudent in any case to let her old friend, the Governor of Louisiana, know that all was not as it seemed in New York City, either. After the phone call, she spent a few precious moments on one final task.

They had no soul, these perfect copies of Rita and Antonio, and yet they lived, they breathed. Rita took a little time when her preparations were complete, to speak with them. Thus it was that, at T – 3 hours, 16 minutes, 14 seconds, she stood gazing into the identical dark eyes of another Rita Angelique DeVallie Andressi, one whose sole purpose in existing was to die.

“Thank you,” Rita told herself, “For what you’ll do this morning.”

The other Rita looked back at her and smiled, serenely. She did not speak. The real Rita turned to the figure standing beside the other Rita. He was tall and broad, his prematurely lined face as familiar to Rita as her own, and even more beloved. This clone of Antonio Andressi had stood beside her for over a year now, the final model in a series of them which had improved steadily, culminating in this. This creature was totally indistinguishable from the real thing, except to Rita herself, who could literally feel the lack of a soul within it.

There was no love between them. The clone was incapable of really loving, and Rita had none to spare for it regardless. She had loved the real Antonio Andressi with every fiber of her being, but he was gone. He had been gone for some time, and the copy of him which existed to fool the world had neither earned nor received any of that which was the original’s due. Still, he had spent his entire short life in service to the same ends that Rita sought. She owed him, too, a debt of gratitude, if nothing else.

“And thank you. You’ve served us well this past year, and this morning is the most important thing you’ve done by far.” The clone, created to embody the same quiet gravitas as the man he was modeled after, stepped forward and leaned down, brushing a kiss across Rita’s cheek. She smiled faintly at him, nodded. He stepped back and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the other Rita.

“Very well. You have your instructions. Everything should be ready. Once you receive final confirmation that the virus has been activated, you are a go. Your final objective must be completed by 8:05.”

The clones both indicated their agreement, as calm as if they were discussing a dinner party rather than their own, extremely violent deaths. Turning their backs on her, they moved off through the penthouse which had been home and refuge to Rita since Tony had built it for her. With 13 minutes and 48 seconds left until her plane was scheduled to take off, Rita did not waste time revisiting the rooms in which she and Tony had shared a life. Instead, she ventured to the nearest window, overlooking Central Park, and gazed out across Manhattan. She had said goodbye to Antonio Andressi some time ago. As she looked out, Rita was preparing to bid farewell with similar finality to New York City. She had lived here for over 12 years now. It had been home.

Rita was not a melancholy woman. She saw no reason to linger over the goodbye. This was farewell to her home, yes, but a new home awaited her, and it promised to be far more welcoming than New York City had been when first she and Caylie arrived, two young women fresh off the boat from Jamaica. At T – 13 hours, 12 minutes, and 31 seconds, she turned her back on the window and walked over to her desk. Retrieving her purse, she slipped the strap over her shoulder. She had jumped everything else to the airfield already, placed it on the plane herself. With a faint smile staining her lips, Rita looked around her one final time and then stepped into and through the fabric of reality, reentering it at the airfield, just ten feet from the plane. The pilot and co-pilot were waiting for her. They, too, were clones, the pilots they were modeled after totally unaware that their DNA had been stolen. The men who would fly her out of New York City did not officially exist. The aircraft she flew in was not her own; there could be no evidence. It was small and nondescript. According to manufacturing records, it, too, had never existed at all. Money and power bought incredible things.

They got moving slightly ahead of schedule. It was T – 3 hours, 2 minutes, and 19 seconds when the plane that didn’t exist, with a flight plan that had never been filed, took off. It rose quickly above the sprawling city beneath it, a special air traffic controller who was tapped into the official system instructing the pilots how to avoid visual contact and potential hazards from the scant few aircraft in the sky. Gazing for just a moment out the window, Rita DeVallie (no longer Andressi) and New York City bid farewell to one another for the last time.

Just over three hours later, the World Bank New York opened for business, and all hell broke loose.

_________________

It was terribly difficult to predict the future.

Over the course of human history (which was far longer than the majority of the humans thought it was) the Anunnaki and the Bloodlines had become adept at predicting human nature based on Astrological patterns, the position of the Earths magnetic field which directly affected human thought and emotions, and of course studying the probabilities that fluttered in and out of existence in the Quantum Field.

In a nutshell, predicting human nature and manipulating it accordingly was far easier than predicting actual events. Most times, too many probabilities existed and just by observing the waves you had the potential to create another new string of potential. Additionally, on occasions higher forces of universe would block the Anunnaki Magi's sight completely.

Such a thing had happened in the months leading up to the awakening.

The sudden monetary 'crisis' that now plagued the nations of the WMT had been predicted, semi. The virus that followed had not been, but it had almost been avoided. Nim (human name, one of them, Charles Hamilton) had ordered that nothing be printed anywhere about the Andressi murder-suicide until he arrived in New York. Of course, there was a leak. Something was printed. The Virus was triggered. Evidence pointed to some off handed terrorist group that he doubted had the technology know how to pull it off. A stunning coincidence of timing that he did not, for a second believe.

Charles Hamilton, newly appointed Defense Minister of the World Management Team was in the Penthouse suite at the Plaza, squatting in front of the two red stains that marked the death of Rita and Antonio Andressi. He did not, believe that either. It was comical to him that an Ascended Being could have fallen prey to her husband. The billions of dollars that had simply vanished due to a very impressive virus hiding in the World Banks Mainframe included Andressi monies. This, didn't surprise him. The Virus that had hit a day later after that article was run and attacked the financial records of the fortune 500 companies, were those primarily owned by the Bloodlines. They, of course, were in a tizzy.

Charles smiled faintly. Clever being.

He stood up, dusting off his hands. Behind him the Vice Minister, in effect his bitch, but a very capable human who commanded the respect of those Charles needed him to command, waited for instruction.

The Anunnaki Delegation had placed this in his, capable hands. Charles walked out onto the balcony and closed those very hands around the railing and looked over New York City. "Martin, schedule a press conference. One for the WSA Regional Director. He will tell the press that after a thorough investigation we believe that Marcello Terenzio murdered both Mrs. Andressi and her husband in a fit of rage. Demons, still occupying New York City helped him get in and commit this nefarious act. He is to reiterate the importance of the MicroChip program so this never happens again, and encourage citizens to due their duty and report anyone who they even suspect may not have a microchip."

Martin had pulled out his PDA device and was taking notes in short hand. "Yes, sir."

"Tell them, we believe Antonio Andressi to have been the unknowning saint in all this, unaware of his wife's immoral actions. May his legacy live on. Then, schedule a press conference for myself." He looked down at his watch. "In two hours. All News Outlet eyes on me at that time." Charles turned from the balcony and smiled at Martin. "Got all that?"

Martin smiled back. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you Martin." Charles released the railing and turned around, walking back through the penthouse of the Ascended.

He would enjoy the day he got to meet Rita Angelique DeVallie Andressi. But unlike his predecessor he would not be so foolish as to fight her without the proper precautions. He would bring her before the Anunnaki Magi instead, and see how long an ascended being in a weak human shell could withstand their assault.

He'd brought one to them only yesterday and they'd lasted twelve minutes. He bet Rita could go at least fifteen.

_________________