Armand Le Muet
[…] So what you really are is a triple agent, a mute Tohaa ('le Muet': the mute, in French) not able to speak the pheromonic language, who roams the Human Sphere and will murder for any side. Your sole distraction is music, and mangling a harpset performance is your way to keep the stress and paranoia from driving you insane.
By now you're wondering whether this whole thing is OK. All these lies within lies, all this killing and harm. Let me put you at ease: it is. It is the right thing to do. It is necessary. Your race needs you. This is the only way to save our civilization, and you are a key component of this masterplan. Even if it takes messing with your memories like this.
To recap: your name is Armand le Muet. No, it isn’t. Your name is Armaan Leemue, or so you think. You are a hired assassin who will work for any side. But that is not entirely true, either. You are a traitor, infiltrated into the Human Sphere in service of the Evolved Intelligence. But that, too, is a smokescreen. You are a double agent working for the Tohaa Trident who has gained access to a clandestine Combined Army network. And you aren’t that at all. The truth is, you are an undercover Triumvirate operative furthering an agenda so secret that you can’t even remember it because I’m here editing your Cube memory every time you start piecing it together. All you need to know is that you are one of the most dangerous individuals in the Sphere. You are a professional and a virtuoso, and your impeccable skills are on offer for anyone with the money to pay for them. You also happen to love music, and you are the only person in the universe who thinks you can play well that blasted harpset.
Your name is Armand Le Muet, at least as far as humans are concerned. Your actual Tohaa name would be Armaan Leemue, if that wasn't a fake ID too. But you have been undercover so long that it might as well be your real name at this point. Plus, the fact that you cannot remember your true identity makes it easier to slip into this fabricated character. Induced selective amnesia is not a burden or a punishment, it is just a means to an end, and that end is being the best at what you do. Anyway, you may not re- member, but you've been through this before. So, no reason to be anxious. That, and you've got me to walk you through everything you need to know. I will be your contact, your handler and your only friend. The only one in this sector of the galaxy who knows the truth about you. No, don't Strain yourself trying to recall my name, trying to picture my face. We're not that close, mind you, and there are procedures and protocols that need to be observed in this line of business.
To recap: Your name is Armand le Muet. You are an independent tactical asset, that is, a professional murderer de- void of scruples. You are a mercenary who doesn't care who he's working for. Yesterday it was the humans, today it's the Tohaa Trident, and tomorrow it might be the Combined Army. Whatever. Ever since the incident you haven't been the same, and you're finding it harder and harder to give a shit. You were one of the security officers for the Tohaa diplomatic delegation aboard the EveningStar orbital when it was blow out of the sky and crashed onto Paradiso, but somehow you survived, barely. Against all odds, emergency surgery saved your life, but nothing could be done to repair or regenerate your sensory organs responsible for Corahtaa articulation. Your injuries were so horrendous that leading reassembly and bio-reconstruction specialists were power- less to restore your ability to communicate via pheromones without killing you in the process. You can't speak Corahtaa, and that makes you a pariah among your own people. You can't commune with a Triad, but none would take a cripple like you anyway.
Even worse, in this backward corner of the galaxy your injury isn't a big deal. And you aren't such a big deal either, for that matter. Not so they would let you kill yourself and give you a new body. You'll have to earn that yourself, and it will cost you, Brand-new Tohaa hosts are hard to find in the Human Sphere, and they can fetch a steep price, very steep. To pay for it, you would need to take on the jobs that nobody else wants, no matter how well they pay. It would mean betraying your own race, but they have already turned their backs on you, haven't they? So if an undercover to offer you an assignment,
Speculo Killer were reason would you have to turn it down? Doing high-risk high-reward operations for the El would be a fine way to take advantage of your freedom of movement in the Human Sphere.
I'm not being glib: the risk really is high, and the danger is tangible. If the Tohaa Trident catches on to you, you will be executed at once. You know there is no amnesty for turncoats; you wouldn't even get a trial. If it's the humans who get their grubby hands on you, they will torture you in one of their secret prisons; extract as much information from you as they can before you die. This is a shit gig, and that's why it pays so well. And that's the whole point, right? Anything for a chance at enjoying a full life again, in whichever side will take you when this is over.
It sounds compelling, doesn't it? That's exactly what your superiors in the Intelligence section thought when they read your medical report. They had chanced upon the perfect operative with a plausible motive for infiltrating the covert Combined Army network as a double agent. It seemed al- most ordained by fate.
What your superiors ignore, and you can't remember, is that we are the ones doing the ordaining around here. We, the Triumvirate, steer the fate of the Tohaa race from the shadows. They had no idea that you already were a double agent infiltrated in the diplomatic mission, working for us. They also ignore, and you can't remember, that you survived the orbital crash unscathed-turns out you're one tough bastard. We mutilated you ourselves-with your consent, of course-to lend credibility to your story so the Combined Army would take the bait... And there it is, that face you make every time we get to this part.
So what you really are is a triple agent, a mute Tohaa ("le Muet: the mute, in French) who roams the Human Sphere and will murder for any side. Your sole distraction is music, and mangling a harpset performance is your way to keep the stress and paranoia from driving you insane. By now you're wondering whether this whole thing is OK. All these lies within lies, all this killing and pain. Let me put you at ease: it is. It is the right thing to do. It is necessary. Your race needs you. This is the only way to save our civilization, and you are a key component of this masterplan. Even if it requires messing with your memories like this.
To recap: your name is Armand le Muet. No, it isn't. Your name is Armaan Leemue, or so you think. You are a hired assassin who will work for any side. But that is not entirely true, either. You are a traitor, infiltrated into the Human Sphere in service of the Evolved Intelligence. But that, too, is a smokescreen. You are a double agent working for the Tohaa Trident who has gained access to a clandestine Com- bined Army network. And you aren't that at all. The truth is, you are an undercover Triumvirate operative furthering an agenda so secret that you can't even remember it because I'm here editing your Cube memory every time you start piecing it together. All you need to know is that you are one of the most dangerous individuals in the Sphere. You are à professional and a virtuoso, and your impeccable skills are on offer for anyone with the money to pay for them. You also happen to love music, and you are the only person in the universe who thinks you can half decently play that blasted harpset you take with you everywhere...
Armand Le Muet: cold and deadly, hired killer, assassin, mercenary, flawless and uncaring… but that’s not really the truth.
Scarred, with his Tohaa tendrils irreparably damaged, he is unable to communicate by pheromone like the rest of his species. His personal aim is to earn enough money from clandestine Combined Army operations to buy a new body, recover his tendrils, and rejoin his people. No. That’s not quite it, either. He could have his tendrils regenerated at any time. But their loss prevents his comrades from knowing if he’s telling the truth, and that is a vital advantage which—combined with his reputation and current occupation—allows him access to Human Sphere in order to further secret agenda of the Evolved Intelligence.
Still not the truth. A lie —a half-lie —built to infiltrate the Combined Army network. Armand is a triple agent working for the Tohaa Trident, spying on Combined activity by posting as a spy posing as a mercenary posing as —Is that the truth? Or just a step closer to the shadows in which Armand’s soul lies hidden? His true remit—his true objectives—lie buried deep within the edited pastiche of memories that form his blurred past. Ultimately even he is uncertain of the truth. Every time he manages to step a little closer to those shadows, to see a little further into the dim edges of his fleeting memories, to make out shapes in the darkness, his Cube is edited again, and whatever order and form he managed to make of the mess in the blackness is gone like smoke in the wind.
There are things he knows. Functional things. How to break down a MULTI Sniper Rifle and piece it back together is a muscle memory, no thought involved. How to smuggle high-grade weapons through scanners. How to find a target that is working hard not to be found. How to find cover and bury himself so deeply in it that even passing wildlife won’t pause for a second glance. How to ignore the build-up of aches and pains and cramps and bodily functions as he lies still, waiting. How to judge distance and elevation, wind speed and direction. How to plant a slug in the brain of a target at 1,500 metres. How to count and time the shots fired from his dual breaker pistols so one can be reloaded while blazing away with the other. How to field stitch a wound and stem blood loss. How to fill a room with blood and pain and death. How to melt away, like smoke in the wind.
He also knows how to lose himself in music, love it to the core of his being, like it’s the only stable thing running through his life, like an arrow shot from the dimmest part of his mind to the waking visceral immediacy of now. How to play his harpset. Armand Le Muet’s past is a kaleidoscope of memories, some real, most false. He can recall several childhoods, a mess of conflicting and confusing contradictions deliberately planted in his mind to obfuscate the truth.
The one constant—the truth to which he clings —is his harpset. This is his psychosomatic key, and he doesn’t even know it: musical refrains, chords, and melodies —each of those most cherished by him; relished by his fingers as he plays —trigger associated memories that cascade and climax, ringing truth and shape from the shadows and contradictions of his past. He hasn’t finished his autobiography yet. His composition is incomplete and some chords he knows do not belong, do not ring true. He hasn’t found all the right notes, yet. Armand’s Cube may be edited; his memories rewritten and snuffed till they remain only as a glimpse of swirling smoke before the wind pulls them away in tatters, but his greatest secret is the one he has kept from himself: that through his fractured mind, he is communicating with himself through his music, and the songs he plays unconsciously awake and tie memories he doesn’t know he has. As his songs develop so too is he finding his own song, his own memories, and one day they will finally ring true.
Before becoming a tabletop wargame, the Infinity universe was created for an RPG played by various founders/employees of Corvus Belli. Armand was one of the player characters.
"Just give me the name. The only reason to contact me is because you want someone off the board, and being seen together is as damaging to you as it is to me. So let's make this quick, for caution's sake. You already know my fee; just give me the name and don't bother to say goodbye."
-Fragment from holo-file 003845 in the Barrington Case. A scrambling device present in the area prevents the conclusive identification of either party. Seven days after the date of the recording, Colonel Barrington, assigned to the Hexahedron's Strategic High Command, was assassinated, presumably by free agent Armand Le Muet. The case remains open.
|ISC: Armand 'Le Muet', Freelance Killer
|Skills and Equipment: CC Attack(+1 Dam),Forward Deployment(+4"), Natural Born Warrior, Mimetism(-6), Stealth, Transmutation(W), Immunity(Shock)
|ISC: Inactive Symbiont Armor
|Skills and Equipment: CC Attack(+1 Dam), Natural Born Warrior, Stealth, Immunity(Shock)
|Weapons and Equipment
|MULTI Sniper Rifle, Nanopulser, Shock Mines
|Breaker Pistol(+1B), Shock CC Weapon
|Multispectral Visor L1
|MULTI Sniper Rifle, Nanopulser
|Breaker Pistol(+1B), Shock CC Weapon