The Informant

Waking up from an injury from the project had always been bad. Waking up from that coma the one time was bad as well. But really, neither of it compared to waking up from being dead. And dead he certainly had been, because years had passed. The presence of the AI in his waking mind had assured him of that, even as it struggled to fit in with his mind.

And Butch Flowers was no doubt far more complex than the AI had expected. After all, he'd been very carefully controlled, managed and kept secret from everyone else. Only Alpha had known, and Omega wasn't the memory. No, from the second Florida woke and Omega settled into his mind, he knew what Omega was: rage. A channel for what he had always been, always would be, anger held under a carefully controlled leash. Tex might have been bad, but Florida could be worse, and even with Omega there he had managed to keep most of it controlled for the joined purpose they might have.

Ending the war. Sure the means were messed up, but Florida actually liked it. End the war, manipulate a culture he loathed, and mess with Wyoming and Gamma in the process. But now...

Freedom of his mind, and it makes Florida smile as he flexes his hand of his own volition. The man who had been taken over as Omega's new vessel is standing right there. Florida smiled as he disconnected his radio, and it could be interesting from here on.

Omega hadn't let him keep knives on his person, not being fond of them himself. That's frustrating. He can't put one into the body's throat. Instead he starts to crack his knuckles.

"Omega, I think it's time for us to talk."