Chapter Text
Helena Eagan has been jealous before. In fact, she grew up in a near-constant state of jealousy under the ever-judging eyes of her father and his– and, soon-to-be, her– company. Under the eyes of Kier, she was quick to be reminded. A life served on a silver platter, much like the one on which she ate breakfast after monotonous breakfast.
From a young age, Helena harbored a cold, distant jealousy for normalcy… what little she knew of it, at least. She had once observed, at about eleven years of age, the intangible concept of a “normal family” at one of Lumon’s Bring Your Child to Work days. Of course, she was not participating in the festivities as the aforementioned “child.” It was certain that while she was still treated like one, she hadn’t been seen as a child for a very long time. No, Helena Eagan was an heiress. A CEO in-waiting, and until the waiting was up, an asset to her father’s ever-growing influence both in and outside of Lumon. Helena could recall flocks of children of all ages with the same awestruck look on their faces. Abundant adoration channeled into a desperation to grasp even an ounce of what their fathers and mothers did at Lumon for work. Strange, Helena had thought at the time. She had recognized only a few high-level employees, but none outranked her father, of course. And yet, their children beheld them with such pride it seemed irrelevant their rank or status– you would have thought they were gazing upon Kier himself!
And, what was most peculiar to Helena, was that it was the parents who wore that same awestruck look. Not at their superiors, not at her father, the mythologized CEO, not even at the expansive spread of Lumon-themed merchandise gracing each table, but at their children! It was a look she had never seen her father wear in her presence. A look whose meaning she did not know. Love, she came to realize. And it was then that a sudden fear came creeping in. A fear that she was not worthy of such beholding, of such adoration, and that having been unworthy her whole life, she would not ever be capable of it herself.
So, nearly 20 years later, when she watched the tapes from the Severed Floor of herself– her Innie– and Mark Scout, Helena Eagan felt that same jealousy well up inside of her. Deep and unbounded. Hot like anger and slow like honey. It was a jealousy, not for the kiss itself, though Helena had to admit it was a good one. Nor was it for the palpable chemistry she could sense between the two of them in her semi-voyeuristic scouring of the footage. What she was truly jealous of was the look on Mark’s face and, even more than that, the look on her own.
There it was again: Love.
Helena watched the kiss once, twice, three times over. She watched it until she lost count of how many times she had watched it, each time running her fingers over her own lips as if she could trick her brain and her body into remembering something they did not, and each time trying to memorize what her face looked like when she looked at Mark S.. She had tried to replicate it one or two times in the mirror before deciding it was a ridiculous endeavor altogether. That moment didn’t belong to her. And it infuriated her that she could not have it. That some part of her she could not access could truly be capable, be worthy of love. Yes, if she was being honest with herself, it was true that she saw Helly R. as exactly that… herself. A version of herself, at least. One she wished she remembered how to be. How was it that this other version of herself got to hoard all these memories, and she could only watch from 8 floors above? How was it that her Innie, who she didn't acknowledge was even a person, was funny and warm and fiery and though trapped on the Severed Floor, more liberated than she?
For the first time, she imagined this was how Helly might feel. Felt. Since the Friends of Lumon Gala, it was decided that Helena would not descend to the Severed Floor any longer, effectively pausing Helly R.’s existence. At first, Helena was relieved. She had to admit that while she trusted the severance procedure, it kept her up at night, the 8 hours of her day that suddenly became a quiet void. She was more unsettled than she cared to admit by the thought of her Innie carrying on completely independent of herself down there, and she was more than eager for the opportunity to end Lumon’s little experiment for good. Then came the guilt. And the sadness that perhaps the only part of her that held the memories of being loved and of loving may have died down on that floor with Helly, whom she was not too proud to admit she envied more than anyone she had ever met. And once more, she was furious that some arbitrary procedure, a procedure that her family name had spent a lifetime developing and defending to an outraged public, was the only thing that separated the two of them.
Is this what it’s like to be radicalized? Helena thought.
Maybe.
“Ms. Eagan?”
It was Drummond, and he was here to escort her to a meeting with The Board. Ever since the Overtime Contingency, it seemed Helena was entrusted to go no more than 3 feet in front of her without escort, usually by Drummond, if not some other interchangeable Lumon grunt. This was her goddamned company, yet here she was being treated as a child, a “fetid moppet” as her father had called her.
“Yes, of course,” Helena smiled, dead-eyed. Never too eager, never too disinterested. Tempered. Now that was a face she was capable of making.
She and Drummond walked in silence. Her heels clicked rhythmically, but her arms swung erratically when Drummond wasn’t looking. She was getting a great deal better at walking with such disregard for proper posture as her Innie did. Maybe it was all the footage she was studying. It was only recently that Helena started to think– rather, liked to think– that she and Helly were becoming more alike. That she was becoming more like Helly. And whatever else that would mean for her by the transitive property…
The thought was interrupted by the sudden imposition of Natalie’s over-wide smile as they turned the corner.
“Helena. It’s good to see you!” Natalie chirped, unblinking. “The Board looks forward to speaking with you.”
“Likewise, Natalie…” She paused, noting the shiny black earpiece. “...The Board.”
Without missing a beat, Natalie’s smile widened, if that was even possible. She rounded the corner and disappeared.
Drummond and Helena pressed forward towards a pair of overbearing brass doors. Helena sucked in through her teeth. She could taste the lingering chemical residue of the air freshener Lumon pumped throughout the building at all hours. Winter Breeze, it was called. She could taste the artificial cherry flavor of the lip gloss she had suddenly introduced into her morning routine “just because.” Then, the doors opened.
At a long conference table sat her father, the infamous Jame Eagan, stone-faced and ghostly, along with the Board. She could never memorize their faces, it seemed, as the people sitting before her seemed entirely like strangers. Drummond took his seat at the far edge of the table, and Helena was left alone beneath the doorframe in her dress, which suddenly felt like a straitjacket.
“Father. The Board.” Helena spoke with mastered diplomacy as she stepped forward, finding an empty seat across from her father. She dared not meet his gaze, so she fixated on the faces of The Board, whom she still did not quite recognize. A benefit of being an Eagan was the ability to stare back at whomever she pleased, but only a few times did it feel like an act of defiance. Now was one of those times.
A suited man with an unmemorable face placed a tape recorder on the table in front of her. He said nothing. No one did. Her father raised a wispy brow, daring her to speak.
Helena took a small breath. “I hear Mark Scout’s reintroduction to MDR has gone as plan–”
The Unmemorable Man pressed a button on the tape recorder. A voice she recognized as belonging to Mark S. emitted from the small device.
“I need my team back!” He had been shouting before Milchick’s reprimands, and the sound of static overpowered his voice. Click! Silence, once more. The Board dared her to speak again.
“That,” she cleared her throat, “is troublesome. I’m sure–”
“The Cold Harbor file remains incomplete. Mark S., it seems, is unable to continue working on it until his demands that other refiners return are met.”
“That’s not possible,” Helena said, almost to herself.
Another unmemorable face, this time a woman, spoke. “We’ve decided to take a different approach. We’ve already dispatched Seth Milchick to speak with Dylan G. and Irving B.’s Outies. Helly R. will be returning to the Severed Floor.”
Helena almost let out a laugh. Her cheeks flushed with rage. So she was to be Lumon’s puppet once again? I thought that part was over.
“I’m sorry? This is your solution? Helly R.,” she made an attempt to conjure as much venom in her voice as she could, “just undermined decades of Lumon progress during the OTC. I have been reprimanded, humiliated, and forced to atone for her missteps as if they were my own. I’m almost– no, I am certain that reintroducing her to MDR, to Mark S. will be disastrous–”
“I’m sorry. Maybe you’re not understanding,” the Unnamed Woman jeered. “For all intents and purposes, to the rest of MDR, the refiner known as Helly R. will be returning to the Severed Floor. However, it will be you, Helena Eagan– the Outie– in her place and acting as such.”
“How is that going to work? I’m severed. The moment that elevator descends, my inn– Helly– will wake back up.” Helena couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“There are ways to override the effects of the procedure.”
“Like what, the OTC? What do they call it? ‘Reintegration?’” she spat.
“The Board has not acknowledged the existence of reintegration.”
Helena swiveled over her shoulder to find the chipper voice. It was Natalie, as if out of nowhere. Helena didn’t even notice her walk in. “The program is called the Glasgow Block. It’ll allow your chip to be inhibited, therefore preventing the Severance procedure from interacting with the brain, even on the Severed Floor. You’d be you.”
“I’d be me, pretending to be Helly R., you mean.” Helena narrowed her eyes. But Natalie’s presence indicated that The Board and her father, who hadn’t even the decency to say one word to her, had already come to a decision on the matter. She wondered if they’d at least give her the dignity to pretend to elect into it.
"When do I start?”