Chapter Text
"Ah, Ireland! Finally! I'll try all the beers they have in here!"
"You still have a mission to complete, Lilya. Weyerhauser Estate isn't far from here; I'm sure you'd accomplish your mission before the day ends."
"I'll find a pub after delivering the letter. Perhaps, fuck a woman or two before the night ends!" Her smirk of mischief made her companion frown. "Hm! Tell you what, Semmelweis, why don't you and Pavia join me in the pub after your investigation? He and I could find you a lady you can share the night with. It's time you get fucking laid."
"Oh, I'd leave this mission I could! But no, Madam Z said she'd unfreeze my bank account once I finish this mission."
"Ah, right. If only didn't you piss off Constantine the other day, they would've been more lenient!"
"And really, Lilya? Two ladies in one night?"
"Maybe at the same time, even."
"I can't wait to see you get humbled by one woman. Who knows? You might even meet her today."
Fortunately for Lilya, she had already finished her task just a few hours later. Unfortunately for Semmelweis, she was just about to begin hers, having just arrived at the Uluru Qualifier's stadium. She could faintly hear the announcer's voice from the entrance—drowned out by the endless chatter of the crowd—reminding people of the day's games.
She already knew the assigned games before she even landed in the country—Gymnastics—and Madam Z had brought in Semmelweis on this specific day for this specific reason.
"A Floor Ritualist's coach plans to sabotage the Qualifiers," Semmelweis remembered her announcement, just one week ago. "Investigator Semmelweis, I would like you to fly to Ireland's Uluru Qualifiers and seek out Caroline Bartley's coach. She is a participant in the Qualifiers, and her coach is the one I want you to investigate. Pavia will assist you."
Sabotage the Qualifiers? But how? By breaking the athletes' limbs, or something even more sinister? For now, Semmelweis could only guess as she let the crowd of people push her inside the stadium in its currents.
People surely crowded the small stadium, filling the whole place with noisy chatters and excited conversations about the anticipated performances the Gymnasts would showcase. Semmelweis even heard a few athletes' names that people were betting on.
Semmelweis knew no participant, only her target named Caroline Bartley. The Foundation had shown her photos of her target, which she held in her hands as she roamed around the stadium. There wasn't any athlete on stage yet, as the Foundation staff did last-minute preparations before the performances began; Bartley and her coach, as well as the other athletes, must be hiding somewhere further inside the stadium.
Caroline Bartley. The photos in the investigator's hands showed an innocent young woman who had made a name for herself in the field of Gymnastics. No one would suspect anything suspicious in that peaceful, happy smile of hers as she held a medal and a trophy. All of these, however, bore a hidden truth, as The Foundation found suspicious evidence of alleged cheating and tampering of results, all pointing towards Bartley and her coach.
And that's what Investigator Semmelweis was here for.
The inner corridors were the perfect space to breathe as she escaped the crowd of sweaty and musky people. Athletes and delegates came and went, passing by her lonesome figure in the corridors; some Foundation members even found her, and they recognized her as one of the respected members of Madam Z's elite team.
As she stepped foot inside that corridor, the search immediately began. She still has plenty of time; in two hours, the Rhythmic Gymnastics will take the stage—still a lot of time to search for Bartley and her coach, hold them in place in the name of the Foundation that owns the Uluru Games, and interrogate them on the spot. Ah, if only Pavia were here, they could haul them to some private place for the questioning. But alas, the bastard was still on his way.
Her current outfit bore no signs of the Foundation, unlike how she usually presented herself—none of that badge bearing the Foundation's logo, nor the checkered patterns on her clothes. No one must recognize where she belonged, or Bartley and her coach would take notice and flee before she and Pavia could even catch them.
Today, she was a civilian on a secret mission.
Alongside the memo Madam Z gave her for the mission was a floor layout of the stadium. Just a few twists and turns would lead her to the waiting area where the Floor Ritualists stay before the competition, but there might be a chance that Bartley wouldn't be there, perhaps planning how to sabotage the performances with her coach or—
"Just flush that thing to get rid of it!"
"I want her to see us flush it!"
"And risk suffering the punishments?!"
Hushed chatters? It all came from the restroom on the right, an estimated number of three people. By the sound of it, they're planning their own sabotage. There were still two hours before the performances, anyway; might as well just take this little side quest while she's at it!
A silent peek inside the restroom revealed three women, dressed in tight clothes hugging their figures, hair flowing freely down their backs adorned with accessories. Their attention was held by a notebook in one's hand, sneering and giggling at every turn of the page.
"'Mom, my coach told me I wasn't good enough, so I lost to Caroline again. I will train harder and get the world record from her!' Ahah! Oh really, Charlotte? What an insecure, she is!"
"But she did get the world record, didn't she?"
"But look at her now! She hasn't even replaced this old journal for what, nine years? I can't believe that that world record holder has turned into some—"
"...excuse me?" She thought of listening for a little longer, but the mentioned names had caught her attention. These people might be Floor Ritualists as well, just like Bartley.
Shocked expressions turned towards her direction, but eased at the sight of an unknown individual looking nothing like their fellow athletes—not like a coach, even! Just one, random young individual seemingly lost.
"I heard you mention Ms. Bartley. I am a fan of hers!" Semmelweis continued, more cheerful than she normally presented herself; voice high-pitched, and a fake smile plastered on her face. Her colleagues often tell her how her adorable face could be a perfect tool for deception.
"Oh, aren't you quite handsome? What's your name?"
Handsome?! Now, that's interesting.
"Call me... Regulus, please!"
Hah, Regulus surely wouldn't mind! Nobody's gonna know...
This distraction brought Semmelweis closer, from the doorstep of the restroom to their group of three, a hand behind her back preparing to reach out to the old journal. For an old journal to be kept for years only means that it carries sentimentality, but it seems these athletes care little about the feelings of its owner as they prepare to flush the poor thing down.
"And I believe that Ms. Bartley deserves the world record." In truth, Semmelweis knew nothing about the sport at all; her words were merely validations of their feelings and to further distract them from her plans.
"Right?! With the performances that Charlotte shows the world, it's just right to think that Caroline deserves the title more than she does!"
"Maybe Charlotte cheated back then! Maybe she used whatever witchcraft her family did to win the gold and the world record!"
Hm? How strange. Did the Foundation mistake their target? Or were these athletes pointing their fingers at the wrong person? Whoever this Charlotte was, she's had it rough!
Ah, no matter! The journal has found her hand anyway, carefully taken from the athletes who completely lost their mindfulness! The journal found the safety of her shoulder bag, and it was time for her to vacate the area before they even noticed the hidden theft.
It's time for her to leave—she had taken what she needed—but not without...
"Do you know where I could find Ms. Bartley?"
"I have no idea where she went, but she was just in the call room before we left."
"Perhaps she went somewhere else, like the warm-up area. Sometimes, Caroline can be secretive."
Warm-up area. Got it.
A small nod was her cue to leave, and she quickly vacated the restroom with the journal the athletes unknowingly lost. Perhaps this Charlotte could help her in the investigation on Bartley; she'd surely give her more information than she needed as her rival.
For now, perhaps a quick scan of the journal would give her the information she needed—nine years' worth of information about the owner's rival. The owner wouldn't know that she peeked inside, anyway.
She had seen a few photos of this Charlotte as well from Madam Z, but only from a few years back. Heh, if she weren't so impatient about getting the hell out of there and finally unfreezing her bank account, she could've asked for more photos of her back at the headquarters.
"Blue eyes and purple hair. Such hair color is rare; I'd know it's her when I see one."
And in the warm-up area, a few distance away from the restroom, she found that purple hair swaying with each graceful moment. She was all alone in that room, dancing without a care in the world—or maybe because her eyes tightly closed had failed to see her lone spectator behind the doorframe, admiring the dancing swan in the middle of the room.
Was this Charlotte, the youngest gold medalist in Floor Ritual? Was she the one her competitors from a while ago called a witch? The undeserving of her achievements? She, who cheated her way to the top? Semmelweis couldn't see all that in her; in front of her was a graceful swan about to fly, her majestic movements mesmerizing her lone audience like hypnosis.
Never did Semmelweis think a mere dancer could freeze her in place, completely forgetting the reason she was here. It was admiration, yes. Curiosity, as well. But there was something in those movements that broke the beauty of the performance—one that the regular audience wouldn't notice: overexertion, exhaustion, the forced movements that took away the grace in her dance.
And it all manifested in a fall. Her palms fell first, and her thigh caught the rest of her weight as her body slumped to the ground.
"Ugh, damn it!" Her complaints echoed around the vast, empty room.
Indeed, Charlotte O'Hagan had it rough. She knew the rumors from her fellow athletes, and her journal perfectly recorded the rumors her fellow athletes made about her: undeserving, a cheater, a witch.
A beautiful girl with the weight of perfection and hate in her existence.
Unfortunately for Semmelweis, she could only stop and stare, completely ditching the thought of squeezing information out of her about her rival whose plans on sabotaging the games were the sole reason the investigator came here for.
Charlotte picked the ribbon up, once again performing her routine, oblivious to her lone audience behind her. Semmelweis still held her journal, thinking maybe she could leave it here for her to see. She peeked through the journal for information about Bartley, and—unsurprisingly—she had taken a peek into the life of Charlotte O'Hagan, and there she saw passages and stories that could make the Foundation's Psychiatrists rich.
"Today, children tried to harass me for being a witch. I had enough insults for today! My fellow competitors called me a cheater for using witchcraft in my performances. I am not a witch, nor my father and mother, or my grandparents, or even my ancestors."
"I lost to Caroline again. She tried to rub it in my face with those kind words, but I can see through her lies and deception. She would never fool me; I know she wanted me to envy her achievements."
"Coach gave me coffee and bread for dinner, then forced me to practice until sunrise. I had to continue, despite the dizziness and drowsiness I felt, or Coach would find the ribbons I use and punish me with them. The coffee itself was already the punishment; Mom said I must not be drinking coffee at my age."
"Everyone said I don't deserve to be here, Mom. The judges, my competitors, Coach... Should I just join you there in London and help with the family business? I couldn't see a future for myself in this sport."
"I stood there in the middle of their applause with the medal in my hand. They crowned me the Youngest Gold Medalist in Floor Ritual, taking over Caroline's record for good. I strived for it; bled for it; traded my sleep and sanity for it; spent my nights questioning my choices and decisions.
All those efforts led me here, so why does it feel so quiet?
I finally got the record, Mom.
Now what?"
Now what? Her journal spoke of degradation and late-night practices for the world record she now held, but now what? She has gotten the title, but not the respect and attention it deserves. It's as if it all faded into obscurity as years passed by. Semmelweis could also see it with the way she moved—despite the elegance and allure, there was overexertion, and the drive for a perfect performance.
Charlotte O'Hagan was beyond beautiful in the eyes of Investigator Semmelweis, so it was hard to imagine the bitter life she had recorded in this journal.
But aside from all of that, there was another thing constant in the journal—one that Semmelweis wanted to offer Ms. O'Hagan along with the journal stolen from her.
Her other hand found her comms, and a buzz brought it to the person she needed to contact.
"Pavia, please pass by a pastry shop on the way and purchase a Raspberry Cheesecake. With chocolate drizzle, please. Thank you. I will pay you once we meet."
"Hurry up with that, Sunshine. I have found Bartley's coach." Pavia's static voice announced from the comms, "I will keep an eye on him, and you'll keep an eye on his little pet."
She trusts Pavia wouldn't ditch his post and keep his eye on the coach. Semmelweis, on the other hand, had assigned another side mission to herself: deliver the journal back to Charlotte O'Hagan. Caroline Bartley can wait, as long as Pavia is there to watch over the coach.
The call room showed no signs of Charlotte O'Hagan, even though Caroline Bartley was there. Hah! Semmelweis was already hot in Madam Z's eyes for her treasonous streak, anyway; might as well just ditch the mission for an unrelated thing! Caroline Bartley can wait. There will be no way in hell that Semmelweis would pass on this chance.
She found Charlotte O'Hagan just outside the call room, alone and exhausted from her last-minute practice. No one dared to stay by her side, as all of the other competitors surrounded Bartley instead. Perfect, Semmelweis could give the journal without alerting those people who wanted it flushed a while ago.
"Ms. O'Hagan?" Semmelweis made her approach, towering over the woman sitting on the bench. Charlotte did not raise her head, nor flinch at the greeting, yet she stood up, eyes downcast to the ribbon she'll use in her performance.
"State your purpose."
Oh, damn.
"I have your journal."
That, alone, brought Charlotte O'Hagan's eyes on her—a beautiful shade of blue, and Semmelweis could see herself reflected in it as the pause had them stare at each other in surprise.
Oh, how beautiful.
Her bewildered eyes squinted in scrutiny, and annoyance coated her expression. "Why do you have it?"
"I stole it back from some of your competitors who stole it from you. They almost flushed your journal in the restroom."
Said journal found the space between them, waiting to be grabbed by its dear owner. Its owner deserves to know what almost became of it, mainly for her to teach its thieves a lesson. Maybe Charlotte would use this as motivation to defeat her opponents later? Or maybe Charlotte would flush them in the restroom instead after the competition?
If Semmelweis decides, to the Foundation they go, stripped of their freedom to participate in the games forever.
There was another pause between them as Charlotte gazed down on her journal, unaware of the heated gaze from her companion. The most selfish part of Semmelweis wanted Charlotte's eyes on her back again, but she's merely a stranger in passing who does not deserve the attention of someone like her. She wasn't even the reason the investigator was here, yet she stood before her target's rival, watching as her face morphed into a frown.
"Is this why you were watching me a while ago like an absolute creep?"
...oh?
"Ah, you noticed me! I wanted to return the journal to you, but I saw you in the middle of practice and decided not to interrupt."
The journal found the safety of Charlotte's hands, which she cradled in her arms with all the care in the world. It looked adorable on the surface—like a child cradling her dearest toy—but knowing the underlying reason for the behavior made Semmelweis frown.
If Kakania knew of this case, she would've been absolutely furious.
"You're beautiful, Ms. O'Hagan..."
Their third pause was more painfully awkward than the last, neither of them yielding for a response to the confession. In all honesty, that wasn't part of the plan—she'd just give the journal and go—yet it slipped past her lips and now a part of Semmelweis wanted to run away and flush herself in the restroom instead to hide from the growing scowl on Charlotte's brows; but the other part of her stayed on the spot, ready to accept whatever she'd say in response to that.
Her journal had shown how badly the world treated Charlotte O'Hagan, and she deserves more than just one compliment. And that's why Semmelweis raised a pastry box next.
She's already deep in her compliments. Might as well continue what she started.
"...and even until now, as I stand before you and grace me with your presence."
Pavia "braved the winds and storms, crossed seven mountains, and swam through the eight oceans" just to get that pastry from a shop just a few blocks away from the stadium, and he bought the most expensive cake he found there. As promised, Semmelweis paid for the pastry, as well as the separate delivery fee that the bastard demanded from her that costs just as much as the pastry itself despite knowing her bank account's current status.
She'd get her money back in no time, anyway.
"I did not read your journal; the journal thieves did. They mentioned something about Raspberry Cheesecakes, and I thought I could give you some, just to cheer you up before your performance."
Despite the hints of surprise in Charlotte's expression, she lets out a frown. "You speak as if I'm nobility. You even brought me an offering! What are you doing next—kneel before me and kiss my feet?"
Semmelweis grinned. "Would you like me to?"
"What are you—?! Ugh! Air-headed... twat!"
"I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable, Ms. O'Hagan. But what I said is true: I am enamored by your beauty."
"Sh—shut it, you."
"No, truly. I am serious!"
"Really? Even if I kill you right here?"
"I will die a happy woman, Ms. O'Hagan."
"Tsk. Indeed, an air-headed twat."
Still, Charlotte took the cake, and it felt like an achievement for Semmelweis. It was, of course, an achievement to soften the grumpy Charlotte who had shown nothing but hostility since the start of their conversation.
But it seems Semmelweis had taken too long, as her comms started buzzing with a call from Pavia, whom she asked for a few minutes just for this interaction.
No, she wouldn't want this interaction to end! She wanted more of Charlotte; annoy the hell out of her even more; hear her call her a thousand different insults; have her attention solely to her alone. But alas, Semmelweis still has a mission to accomplish and a bank account to unfreeze, and Charlotte still has a performance to conquer.
"May I invite you to a meal after the event? My treat, don't worry." All the boldness in her had been unleashed in this offer, and Semmelweis didn't mind a few more losses in her wallet. "I will find you later—"
The distance that they had maintained had suddenly closed, and it felt like a mere gust of wind. A lingering feeling of soft lips against her cheek had her frozen in place, and the cause of it had moved away, slowly retreating toward the call room with the cake and her journal in her hands, her pretty face a shade of pink.
"I will wait for you here, then." She uttered, as her back had turned away from the frozen Semmelweis. "Don't keep me waiting, stranger."
"It's... It's Semmelweis, Ms. O'Hagan."
"Keep up the pace, Sunshine!" Despite the audible huffs in his run, Semmelweis could hear Pavia's playful tone, as if this were a mere game of tag. "I thought you were the faster one between us!"
Two Foundation members cut through the wind, their gaze fixed on the figure in front of them in a chase. A turn to the side to avoid trees, and a leap to avoid fallen branches and rocks. Even small puddles saw the two jump across them, all in the hopes of capturing the man they were tasked to apprehend.
The forest had stretched for too long, and Semmelweis feared they strayed too far from the stadium. Still, this was a chance for them to interrogate the suspect for this alleged cheating incident.
And clear Charlotte's name as well, and prove that her victories were earned by real talents and efforts rather than cheating her way to the top.
Pavia's shotgun aimed for the suspect's foot—one clean shot could stop this chase and begin the interrogation—but both of them knew they must never hurt the suspect; keeping the suspect in one piece was a crucial part of the mission.
A wide river ended the chase, and the suspect—gasping for air—had stopped and stared at the gentle stream. The duo kept their distance, shotgun still aimed, and the silence was filled by birdsong, the river's currents, and the crunch of branches and leaves with each small step Pavia took closer to the target.
"Surrender to the Foundation!" Investigator Semmelweis ordered. "You are under arrest for the suspicion of cheating, tampering of results, bribery, and malicious mischief. You have the right to remain silent and—"
"Your ways of achieving glory are shit, bastardi!" Pavia sneered, his grip wrapping tighter around his gun. "Bribing judges, poisoning other athletes, burning houses. What's next—breaking their limbs off or what?"
"You got it right, Wolf!"
The clear view of their forest had been filled with a smokescreen at the flick of a wrist. Visibility had gone extremely low, and Semmelweis stepped back, as fast as she could, to avoid the gray smoke blocking her sight.
It dissipated as fast as it came, and what was unveiled behind the gray smoke was a flying shotgun, straight towards her way that she caught with ease as its owner found the gentle stream with a splash from a strong body that tossed him on the water.
Next came a knife, towards her this time. One slash, and another, and another, and Semmelweis blocked each attempt with the shotgun's sturdy body, all while waiting for Pavia to recover and help.
"You've..." A slash, and a successful block. "...gone mad!"
Breaking athletes' limbs? Does that... does that include Charlotte?
"The Foundation had taken my bribes! You are no different from me!"
His knife had found an opening past the shotgun's body. It wasn't the blade, but the handle that met the hard skull of Semmelweis' left forehead.
And that distraction had the target running back where they came from, leaving a drenched Pavia and a bloodied Semmelweis. Water coated Pavia's whole body, his heavy clothes sticking to his skin. Semmelweis had it worse; the cut on her forehead that trickled blood down her cheeks had her head spinning.
But there was no time to rest.
"I'll have you beat up, break your bones, and play you like a motherfucking marionette when I catch you!" Pavia's rage rang throughout the forest as the chase continued. The water on his skin, heavy and cold from the chilly Irish breeze, slowed him down.
Pavia had completely forgotten about her, aiming to catch their target once and for all. Despite the stinging pain and the trickling blood, Semmelweis followed closely behind, the shotgun strapped on her back, whispering in her ear to be used and have its bullet lodged deep inside the bastard's heel, spilling out his blood like how he drew out hers.
The taunting laugh from their fleeing target echoed throughout the forest, until his voice got drowned out by the faint screams that erupted after a loud boom that made even the ground shake, followed by smoke rising in the same distance.
Their target, a laughing maniac, resumed the run towards the explosion, while his two pursuers watched the whole mess on their spot.
The faint screams intensified, just as another explosion closely followed the first.
"Pavia..." Semmelweis trembled, the pain in her head long forgotten as her eyes watched the smoke rise into the sky with each sharp heave of her exhausted chest.
"Semmelweis." Pavia's wide eyes turned into horror, from his companion to the smoke in the distance. He, too, had frozen in place, and the usual boisterous Pavia was gone in a snap. "It's... It's the stadium."
The stadium... packed with excited spectators and athletes for today's events.
And Charlotte.
Charlotte!
"C—call Lilya for backup! Now!"
It was once a lively stadium, now filled with debris and blood seeping under those massive rocks from the humans that it crushed. People rushed on all sides, as desperately as they could to find an exit, and the stampede created a path of more unfortunate bodies crushed by those who wanted to survive.
A massacre. What was supposed to be a celebration had turned into a graveyard, all caused by the selfish hopes for success and fame.
The Foundation will take care of these people. Semmelweis must find Charlotte.
Screams of panic and fear drowned out her desperate calls as she fought the tide of people leaving the stadium, rushing back inside the call room, or the warm-up area, or even that damned restroom! Anywhere, anywhere her panic would bring her. She needed to see Charlotte alive; in one piece; her beautiful pale skin unscathed, not a single drop of blood or gash in sight—the complete opposite of the distraught Semmelweis. To hell with the blood in her face!
All those searching and screaming had gone futile, and the call room, once filled with Floor Ritualists waiting for their anticipated performance, had become their site of death. Bodies lay broken; disfigured, and dismembered from the explosion that began in this very room, and the hollow gaze of those dead, broken women would forever haunt her deepest nightmares.
But no sign of Charlotte.
Where has she gone? Is she safe? Has she left the venue before the explosion? But she said she'd wait for her here...
Her gaze found the sky through the open ceiling blown by the explosion. She promised her dinner, which she would follow with an introduction about herself, and perhaps another meal in the future, and a late-night walk, and then she'd kiss her on the cheek, just as Charlotte had surprised her with one a while ago.
Great! Did the blow to her head make her mad—thinking of a future with a woman she couldn't even find?
The Foundation member who found her among the dead and rubble begged for her to vacate the area, yet she stayed, not when Charlotte was still missing somewhere in the ruins of the stadium. Her panicked questions to her colleague did not help either, as they did not see even a glimpse of her anywhere.
It couldn't be. She's still alive, right? She couldn't have left the stadium before the announcement of the qualifiers! She—
For the last time, her gaze scanned across the room, hoping for that strand of purple hair hiding behind the rubble or blue eyes staring back at hers, but what caught her attention was pale blonde guiding the cause of all this death and rubble on the ground away from the massacre that they created.
The shotgun in her trembling hands leveled her eyes, aiming for a shot. All she wanted was their deaths—the perfect revenge for all the lives they took away in this anticipated competition.
Revenge for taking away the beautiful girl Semmelweis badly wanted to protect from the world that treated her harshly.
"Semmelweis! He must be kept alive!" Pavia's screech pierced through the air, but the bullet had been fired, straight towards the bastard's head. Her shoulder absorbed the recoil, which she endured with a pained hiss. "No, no no! No!!"
There was no scream from him who caught the bullet, only the sight of his blood and flesh splattering on the people who surrounded him. The first to scream was Bartley, as her headless coach dropped dead to the floor. She hadn't even had the time to wipe a piece of his brain in her skin when she fled the scene, Foundation members chasing after her to detain her.
She was supposed to be the next receiver of the bullet, yet the shotgun flew to the side before the reload, slapped away from her hands by Pavia.
"Pavia—!"
"Get a grip! The Foundation wanted him alive!"
Semmelweis fought back from the pull, knowing full well what awaited her at the Foundation for this action. She couldn't leave, not until she found Charlotte alive and well.
"Pavia, I still have to find—!"
"And he's fucking dead now, Semmelweis! You killed him!"
But she knew, at that moment, that they needed to leave. The target has been dealt with. Their investigation ends today; there's no reason for them to stay.
No reason for them to stay, as Charlotte was a mere distraction that Semmelweis indulged herself with in the middle of this mission.
She never found Charlotte again, breaking the promise of another meeting and a shared meal as Lilya sped off with her and Pavia in tow away from the stadium.
"I am certain you are well aware of what the Foundation does to insubordinates, Investigator Semmelweis. This is not the first time we've had this conversation."
"Y-yes, Madam Z. I'm... I am aware of this disobedience—"
"—that you have done countless times in the past. "
"—and I... I'll—I'll do better, Madam Z! Just one last chance. One very last chance, Madam! Please..."
"You disobey because you disrespect The Foundation and their rules. This is already your last chance, Investigator."
The younger version of Semmelweis—she who had been hot under the Vice President's eyes from her countless insubordination—would've laughed at her present self for this pathetic begging. She would've already left the Foundation right there and then, only if it wasn't for her desperate need to find Charlotte again.
She can't leave now; she can't let go of the only means and connections she has that would help her find Charlotte O'Hagan.
But unfortunately for her, this mission was her very last chance.
"I will see what I can do. You're too precious to lose, Investigator Semmelweis; no one in the Foundation could match your skills and expertise. However, the decision still lies with the Vice President, but I don't think it will come in your favor."
Madam Z no longer wore her glasses, which made her scrutinizing stare towards her even clearer. Semmelweis knew that gaze—she knew she had no chance of changing her mind.
"Forgive me, Madam Z..."
"I wish you good luck. May you accept the Vice President's decisions with your countless treason."