"I'm not sure I understand the question."
The water really wasn't all that cold. It made up for that fact with pressure and the fact that the man firing it was exceptionally good at making Ash fall on his face. With the room padded, this meant a lot of painful impacts with minimal marks.
The questions had stopped. That was the key part. Godfather had stopped coming, probably too interested in the bounties of his world and the damn Wunderwaffe. No longer there to insure the orders she had given were carried out. None of the other Magpies in charge, it seemed, were either interested in helping on that front, or were busy themselves. Or they were scared of Ivan. Lots of people seemed to be scared of Ivan.
No questions throughout the whole thing. Just constant blasts of water for who knows how long, and then back to his cell. Ash was pretty sure he spied a camera in the padded room on his way out; Ivan, it seemed, now preferred some distance.
"What is there to not understand?" The speaker, a young-ish fellow who looked like he would disappear in a Clark Kent impersonation contest, raised an eyebrow as he spoke, but otherwise didn't change expression. He, as well as the slim blonde woman next to him, were exactly the sort of people you shouldn't find here, which made all the stranger to Ash that they were. The man behind them looked more 'traditional', in size at least, but his
expression matched the other two's. He had a number of grenades clipped
to his vest that he kept fiddling with, a nervous tic that made Ash a
little nervous himself. Hopefully he didn't accidentally pull a pin.
Tracy Owens - Telepath. Codename: Babel.
Willis Powell - Persuasive Voice. Codename: Whisper.
Declan Leopold- Low-Class Telekinetic. Primarily serves as support role, using power to throw explosives great distances with greater accuracy. Prefers flashbangs. Codename: Blindspot
"Ivan is abusing you," Willis continued, "for his own twisted amusement, and yet you don't... do anything. You just let it happen to you, despite the numerous opportunities you've had to resist. Why be so... passive?"
Ash considered asking the obvious question, but a cramp of pain discouraged him. He closed his eyes, thinking.
"...why do YOU think I'm doing it?"
"Lost hope? Waiting for an opportunity?" Willis shrugged. "What amazes me is the lack of screaming and begging, personally. Most of Ivan's victims tend to break in half a week."
"Personally," piped up Tracy, "I think it's a coping mechanism. After all, stuck in a strange land, cut off from your friends and acquaintances, being tortured by a registered psychopath and criminal for no motivation other than-"
The man immediately elbowed her in the side, adding a sharp glare for good measure, and she petered to a stop.
"...I'm rather surprised about the lack of screaming and begging myself. I...don't like pain. Hate it, actually." Ash said. "...and Ivan seems to have enough of a brain to realize pain has limits..."
Ash was not exactly claustrophobic, but he didn't have to be. The mental force field box, as it closed in, would be enough to inject phobias into anyone, squeezing him down into the smallest ball of himself he could make, and then just...stopping. And letting him sit there, trapped with no room to move. Minutes, hours, time lost all meaning. It would only expand out when his muscles started to cramp, and no sooner had he massaged the cramps away when he was squeezed down again. Over and over. Until it finally just went away and he was dragged back to his cell, utterly exhausted despite any actual physical effort.
They'd cut his meals down to nothing, as well. At least they hadn't cut his water.
"...do you have dangerous plants in this world?"
"Yes." Tracy nodded. "First to spring to mind is the Giant Coffin Rose of our South America - some call it the Red Maiden. It's petals are lined inside with spikes and connected to a spring mechanism, linked to trigger sensors on the inside. Step on it and the petals snap shut around you, slowly squeezing the breath from your body whilst the spikes pierce you all over. The process can take anywhere from three to five hours, depending on the length of the spikes or the size of the victim. So you get to watch your own blood trickle down to its roots before blood loss, asphyxiation or both claim you."
Willis shuddered, swallowing back bile. "Lovely," he muttered in a voice dripping in sarcasm.
"There's a plant in my world. We call them Landvines...they're these long thick ropes that have these big blue-green seed pods...and what happens is if it gets too dry, the pods break off. And if you step on one...there's a chemical in the plant cell walls that mixes with a chemical held in the pods, and they explode. Rather violently. Not as bad as your Maiden, but still, they throw people head over heels backwards, wreck boots, some people call them Toecutters because they've seen people lose toes to them. I heard a story once...where a Blackbird, a magician of my world, worked out a way to talk to plants. Plants don't really have much in the way of conversation skills, but when asked if he talked to Landvines about why they were so damn vicious, the answer was basically 'I wish no harm...but you step on me and I do what I must then.'
More cramps.
"...ever encountered an abused animal?"
Aside glances.
"...more than once." Tracy spoke hesitantly, unsure. "I used to work for the Crows - Delia's section. You have to be a certain kind of person to join them - broken, yet made savage because of it. And when you're a telepath like me, the mixture of hopeless, bottled anger, just waiting to burst out... It was why I asked for the transfer to begin with. I wasn't the kind of person she wanted."
"Then you know the effect. The....coring effect. How humans and animals can make each other better...and instead all the person did was make the animal...nothing more than an animal. Hell, not even that. A false purity, nothing but the most aggressive, violent instincts, no balance...because the animal has learned that's what it needs to survive. It can't understand anything else.
"...either of you part of a religion?"
Willis shrugged. "Not much of a believer, myself. My mother was a devout Mantran, though. Always said Chakravartin put everything on this planet for a purpose, but I couldn't really wrap my head around that. I mean, did he make things like the Hollow Field as well? I think she just believed because... There didn't seem to be another explanation for all the bad things."
"It's a bit hard to separate myth from reality," Tracy explained. "Especially when we have things like miniature dragons alongside hoverbikes and lasers."
"...Let me tell you a story..."
Honestly, in retrospect, Ash was surprised Ivan was smart enough to consider it. Three gallons of water left in the room...and then the door locked. The lights turned off.
Alone.
No one came. No one spoke. Time to heal, to regain strength...nothing but time. And the dark. Isolation. Absolute solitude.
Had they not mistimed it so that Ash was sleeping when they finally stopped the 'solitary confinement', Ash might have actually broken down and begged for...something. It was strange how a complete lack of torture could, if directed properly, be torture in and of itself.
So Ash did. About his mother, the equivalent of a pope, and about Schwarze Spinne, the Black Spider, the 'anti-pope' who desired to tear down Diana's city and ways and replace them with his own.
"Wandering his army in disguise, listening to them talk about how my mother, her people...flawed but good, how they were blasphemers, how they deserved the most ugly things to happen to them, how righteous and good it would be when they, the holy chosen, brought those ugly, ugly desires to bear on the 'false heathens'..."
Ash shook his head.
"Cut away the personal issues, all the rhetoric. In the end, all of Spinne's 'true believers' wanted to hurt people, and they were willing to come up with whole libraries worth of justification for it. How they were noble and right and GOOD for it. Just like your boss. Too many people died for me to succumb to that...more than I already have. Because my friends...there's nothing courageous about such a desire. Just that blind desire to hit...or hit back. Nothing special, nothing accomplished, nothing HUMAN. A PLANT can do it."
A long silence filled the room at that moment, the other three letting Ash's words sink in at that point. Even Declan had actually stopped fiddling with his grenades, much to the relief of everybody present, and had shuffled a little closer to listen in.
When Willis next spoke, his voice was quiet.
"...so what should we do?"
"...Believe me, if I knew...even I can't always keep to that fact. My current treatment...it's because I lashed out blindly, gave into that urge to strike back...the easy way. The one that so swiftly becomes 'Do whatever you have to indulge this, because it feels so GOOD. Any reason, any justification, any excuse, any cover...just give in'. You see what happened because I gave in. Your boss..."
Ash worked his jaw. At least his teeth were still intact.
"I don't know what he wants...any more than I really knew what Spinne wanted. Put aside the personal again...if I had to guess...he wants a world where his way is the first way, and the only way, all the time. Where all you have to do is give in. He wants a world where violence reigns...so I ask you...is that what you want? Because here's the thing...whether he's hurting me because I insulted his honor, or his sense of accomplishment, or whatever, or I'm hurting HIM because he hit a woman...it's all just violence. There's no balance in it. I'm not any more right in the end than him, because all I did was add more violence to the world. I...always wanted to be a hero. I've learned that being a hero is about a lot of sacrifice...so I try not to crack. Ivan, on some level...probably wants just that. So I ask again...what do YOU want?"
Another prolonged silence, punctuated by the click-click of Declan compulsively fiddling again.
Willis looked to Tracy. She returned the look.
Then they turned back to Ash and spoke, one after another.
"We... We want to get out. We want to stop all... this."
"What Ivan... what Godfather's doing... It's too much."
"Then leave."
"Impossible." Willis shook his head emphatically. "No-one leaves the Magpies. They hunt you down if you try."
"What about-?" Tracy began.
"Her?" A humourless chuckle. "She got lucky. Not even Godfather would mess with a demon. Us? We'd be dead before we even crossed the threshold."
"...Why are you here?"
A roll of the eyes from Willis. "Usual story, at least for people like me. Fell in with a bad crowd. Ended up owing money. Got roped in to pay it off. Only my talents caught Ivan's eye, and he got me shifted here. Dunno why he'd want someone with weird persuasive voice powers on his team, when he mostly solves problems by punching them."
"I didn't have much choice, either," Tracy put in. "I needed a roof over my head, food in my belly and money in my pocket. And they - he, rather - promised them to me. At a price, of course - didn't think this price..."
"You never realize the price of your choices."
From nothing but sleep to no sleep.
Light. Noises. People coming into his cell to rouse him, all of it making sure he never slept. When had he last been talking to Tracy and Willis, those two who had been given so many questions? He didn't know. His brain was frazzled. Everything was warped.
Subject a man to violence, and the violence in him will bloom. On a long enough timeline, the survival rate of anything drops to zero...
And it's faster if someone wants to prove a point, as the door abruptly opened and she was thrown in.
Tracy and Willis gone...that conversation had ended who knew when...
"Hello again," grumbled Hannah, picking herself up ruefully and dusting herself down. "Don't rush to get the cake, I already ate."
"Guhhhhhhhhhhh..." Was she here? Was he hallucinating? The world as it was seemed so less clear...even the head blows hadn't made him this out of it.
"...oh, dear."
Even through blurred vision, Ash could see what was wrong with the hand waving in front of his face. It should have been coated in a fine layer of flinty rock, as well as driving itself repeatedly into his jaw, stomach and various over vulnerable areas alongside an equally-aggressive twin. Not... flesh and blood, and just waving at him.
But what if this was a trick? After all, the foul-mouthed-
"Yo. Earth to dork. You there?"
...Huh. No swearing. That meant something was definitely wrong with Hannah Vallis.
"...youuuuuu?"
"Yes, me. Do I have to strip naked in front of you to prove it?"
"Nooooo...hurrrttttt..."
"Ugh, fine. Lucky for you I brought this, then."
A shuffling sound, as if something was being pulled out of a pile of rags. Then a clicking, popping noise, and Ash found the lip of a plastic water bottle being pushed between his lips.
"Drink," ordered Hannah, shortly. "It's got a diluted Nightbalm solution in it. Might help with the whole 'fuckers won't let me sleep' thing."
Ah, there we go. There's the sweary Hannah that was known and... well, tolerated would probably be the best word in this situation.
Though it seemed like Ash was in the least tolerating mood he could be, on the basis that he immediately grabbed Hannah by the throat.
"NO MORE HURT!"
"Then you know the effect. The....coring effect. How humans and animals
can make each other better...and instead all the person did was make the
animal...nothing more than an animal. Hell, not even that. A false
purity, nothing but the most aggressive, violent instincts, no
balance...because the animal has learned that's what it needs to
survive. It can't understand anything else..."
"ACK!"
Hannah's immediate reaction was to start madly flailing, her fists hammering into Ash's ribs and shoulders. In a previous lifetime, it would have been enough to smash bones to fragments and organs to jelly, or send her attacker tumbling end-over-end backwards and give her time to retaliate. But when nothing in particular happened, her eyes, already bugging out from the shock and near-strangulation, widened even further as realization came roaring in.
Point One. Her power was gone.
Point Two. She was trapped in a room with a sleep-deprived, vengeful prisoner.
Point Three. He was nearly twice her size.
"Shit," she choked out. "Help! HELPPPPP!"
No one came. It took Hannah three seconds to realize no one was going to.
"...Where all you have to do is give in. He wants a world where violence reigns..."
The bill had come due.
Tuesday, 7 April 2015
Friday, 3 April 2015
Quite Contrary, Alpha
Drums in the deep.
The shared imagery was doubled. Mordor was a blasted hellscape, a land scarred and seething with blood, pain, and evil. Just like the Mines of Moria had become once the Balrog had been awakened, the legions of orcs driven before it, the warning of the dwarves of their coming. Drums in the deep.
Drums in the distance.
At least the Mines and Mordor had been solid underfoot. Here...
Mud. Lifeless, endless MUD. Mud and craters and befoulment everywhere, the sweeping drumbeat marking its way across the poisoned lands. A smell that reached beyond the noise and seemed to grip the stomach and lungs in claws of revulsion. Faint cries carried on the wind, sometimes heard before the drums resumed.
Sine stood without issue.
Daniel Ackermann, on the other hand, hit the mud and began sinking like he had just blundered into quicksand. His yells of surprise and general unhappiness just managed to reach above the drums, though the sudden joining of another voice, as Carol popped in and found the mud immediately trying to suck her into its grip, her legs going up to her knees almost as soon as she stepped down, helped.
"Daniel? Carol? Why are you in my simula...Daniel! Simulation! Say 'Reduce weight to one thousandth analysis!'" Sine said, grimacing and gesturing to the side. A hologram of dials briefly popped up, and the drumbeat lessened.
Carol was quicker on the uptake, shouting out the words before she sank any further. Instantly, her weight in the simulation lessened by several degrees, and she was able to yank her legs free from the clinging, sucking mud. Prior hazard training in the sim had prepared her for such sudden perils.
Daniel, however...
"-FUCKING GODDAMN SON OF A SHITBISCUIT FUCKSTICK-"
In the end, it took Carol running over and calming him down in order to get him to focus on what to say. And it also to Carol grabbing hold of both arms to help pull him free of the morass - his struggles had caused him to sink up to his waist. In the end, they managed to pry him loose, and the older mutant spent several moments cursing between his teeth as he clambered to his feet and scraped the muck off his trousers.
Carol had been lucky he hadn't drawn his spikes out of panic.
"Where the fuck are we?!" he growled at last, still obviously spooked.
"Paschendale." Sine said quietly. "It's a battlefield from the First World War. Sorry, didn't put up a sign. Didn't expect company."
"...Aw geez Sine..." Carol said, having pulled up her own hologram screen. "...Verdun? The Somme? Why th'heck are you hanging around recreations of such ugly places?"
"To remember what power does."
The drumbeat passed by. Daniel could see mud, the terrible sucking grey mud, being thrown up in the distance.
He grimaced, already picturing what was going on over in that direction.
"I remember reading about this," he mused as he looked around the awful landscape. "Had a load of old history books in Rutledge, that we managed to liberate from some libraries. Snuck a look in them sometimes, in my off hours."
He fell rather sullenly silent, as if searching for something to say. Something not irreverent or offensive, anyway.
"The things about war is that they're often pretty understandable. People want something, so they try and take it. Sometimes it's 'We don't like these people'. This war though...a comedy show put it best. It more or less happened because it was too much trouble NOT to have a war." Sine said. "The people behind this...they had all the power and had to bear none of the consequences. They stayed at the back with all their maps and all the constant lessons that technology had completely outstripped their ways...and those without power endured this."
The hologram simulation flickered a glove over Sine's hand.
"And I in theory have brief moments where all that power and all that came from it looks like nothing. Even with the self imposed limits. So I come down here. In the blood and mud and history. I need to be constantly reminded, you know this Carol...what power does. Is. Can do. Especially this. This is power as inertia. A meat grinder that basically exists because no one no longer has any clue on how to say no. You know?"
Carol nodded. "I know. And it's this that puts it all in perspective. You missed a lot, Dan, but trust me when I say she needs this."
A short pause as the group all observed the endless stretch of mud.
"...so how long do you usually spend in here?" asked Daniel, breaking the silence.
"Long as I really need to. And even I can't bring myself to make it fully...real. Like they had it." Sine said, indicating her standing on the mud. "At least...your Fears were...well, for lack of a better term, pure. They were absolutes in what they were. They were made that way, to be anything else would unmake them. Still beyond terrible...but they really had no choice but to be terrible. Humans do...but how easily we don't...well, evil's rare. Weakness isn't. I mean...you saw how eager I was to take Cauren and 'fix' her."
"Sure did," Daniel agreed, permitting himself a smirk. But he made no further comment than that.
"...But really Sine...you DON'T need this. None of us do."
"Beg pardon?"
"Okay, yes. You have responsibilities...but...you're not that good with dials, you know? You never seem to pick out smaller stuff. It's always lookit this vast plateau of human misery, to contrast the yoke I must bear."
"She's carrying eggs?"
"Yoke, Daniel. Eggs are yolk, y-o-l-k. You're kind of the same when it comes to fixy fixy, Sine. I will save this world made dumb. I will fix this broken universe. I will give this woman all these magic powers. You're no good at just being...middle of the road. You seem to forget there IS a road because you immediately run to go off it and keep going. Sometimes I think you like all the grand sweeping stuff because if it fails, you can just go 'Well it got away from me'. But the small stuff? That screws up, that's on you. That's also darn scary and you're notsogood at facing that. Even now."
"...I guess."
"I mean...if all you're going to do is huge things...you'll leave us behind. Just...is that what you want?"
"What? No! No!"
"Well then why are you hanging around horrible World War battlefields? When will you trust yourself to not abuse your power?"
"...I...really don't know."
"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Daniel suddenly burst out. "How about let's talk about me being dragged along on this?! I didn't come here so I could listen to bullshit philosophy about power and responsibility, like I'm in a rejected Spider-Man comic book!"
Daniel took two long strides forward, and then briefly paused. When he didn't start sinking again, he continued marching his way in front and put a hand roughly on Sine's shoulder.
"Listen to me, Sine, because you told me the same shit a long time ago when it came to my anger management. The next time you're gonna blow your top over something, or do something hugely over-the-top or jackass-y, ask yourself 'is this what somebody else in my position would do?' And if the answer is 'no', then tone it the fuck down or try something else! Simple as!"
"...do as I say, not as I do. Slippery phrase." Sine said, as she pulled out a hologram keyboard. Several keystrokes made the hellscape fade away to a white void. "I'm going to do a runthrough of our current inventory and deliveries before I get out. You can hang around if you want..."
Sine was not surprised Carol and Daniel immediately found a reason to leave. Losing herself in busywork, two questions failed to occur to her.
One was why Carol and Daniel had come into her VR simulation in the first place.
The second was when had Daniel overcome his immense distrust about technology.
The shared imagery was doubled. Mordor was a blasted hellscape, a land scarred and seething with blood, pain, and evil. Just like the Mines of Moria had become once the Balrog had been awakened, the legions of orcs driven before it, the warning of the dwarves of their coming. Drums in the deep.
Drums in the distance.
At least the Mines and Mordor had been solid underfoot. Here...
Mud. Lifeless, endless MUD. Mud and craters and befoulment everywhere, the sweeping drumbeat marking its way across the poisoned lands. A smell that reached beyond the noise and seemed to grip the stomach and lungs in claws of revulsion. Faint cries carried on the wind, sometimes heard before the drums resumed.
Sine stood without issue.
Daniel Ackermann, on the other hand, hit the mud and began sinking like he had just blundered into quicksand. His yells of surprise and general unhappiness just managed to reach above the drums, though the sudden joining of another voice, as Carol popped in and found the mud immediately trying to suck her into its grip, her legs going up to her knees almost as soon as she stepped down, helped.
"Daniel? Carol? Why are you in my simula...Daniel! Simulation! Say 'Reduce weight to one thousandth analysis!'" Sine said, grimacing and gesturing to the side. A hologram of dials briefly popped up, and the drumbeat lessened.
Carol was quicker on the uptake, shouting out the words before she sank any further. Instantly, her weight in the simulation lessened by several degrees, and she was able to yank her legs free from the clinging, sucking mud. Prior hazard training in the sim had prepared her for such sudden perils.
Daniel, however...
"-FUCKING GODDAMN SON OF A SHITBISCUIT FUCKSTICK-"
In the end, it took Carol running over and calming him down in order to get him to focus on what to say. And it also to Carol grabbing hold of both arms to help pull him free of the morass - his struggles had caused him to sink up to his waist. In the end, they managed to pry him loose, and the older mutant spent several moments cursing between his teeth as he clambered to his feet and scraped the muck off his trousers.
Carol had been lucky he hadn't drawn his spikes out of panic.
"Where the fuck are we?!" he growled at last, still obviously spooked.
"Paschendale." Sine said quietly. "It's a battlefield from the First World War. Sorry, didn't put up a sign. Didn't expect company."
"...Aw geez Sine..." Carol said, having pulled up her own hologram screen. "...Verdun? The Somme? Why th'heck are you hanging around recreations of such ugly places?"
"To remember what power does."
The drumbeat passed by. Daniel could see mud, the terrible sucking grey mud, being thrown up in the distance.
He grimaced, already picturing what was going on over in that direction.
"I remember reading about this," he mused as he looked around the awful landscape. "Had a load of old history books in Rutledge, that we managed to liberate from some libraries. Snuck a look in them sometimes, in my off hours."
He fell rather sullenly silent, as if searching for something to say. Something not irreverent or offensive, anyway.
"The things about war is that they're often pretty understandable. People want something, so they try and take it. Sometimes it's 'We don't like these people'. This war though...a comedy show put it best. It more or less happened because it was too much trouble NOT to have a war." Sine said. "The people behind this...they had all the power and had to bear none of the consequences. They stayed at the back with all their maps and all the constant lessons that technology had completely outstripped their ways...and those without power endured this."
The hologram simulation flickered a glove over Sine's hand.
"And I in theory have brief moments where all that power and all that came from it looks like nothing. Even with the self imposed limits. So I come down here. In the blood and mud and history. I need to be constantly reminded, you know this Carol...what power does. Is. Can do. Especially this. This is power as inertia. A meat grinder that basically exists because no one no longer has any clue on how to say no. You know?"
Carol nodded. "I know. And it's this that puts it all in perspective. You missed a lot, Dan, but trust me when I say she needs this."
A short pause as the group all observed the endless stretch of mud.
"...so how long do you usually spend in here?" asked Daniel, breaking the silence.
"Long as I really need to. And even I can't bring myself to make it fully...real. Like they had it." Sine said, indicating her standing on the mud. "At least...your Fears were...well, for lack of a better term, pure. They were absolutes in what they were. They were made that way, to be anything else would unmake them. Still beyond terrible...but they really had no choice but to be terrible. Humans do...but how easily we don't...well, evil's rare. Weakness isn't. I mean...you saw how eager I was to take Cauren and 'fix' her."
"Sure did," Daniel agreed, permitting himself a smirk. But he made no further comment than that.
"...But really Sine...you DON'T need this. None of us do."
"Beg pardon?"
"Okay, yes. You have responsibilities...but...you're not that good with dials, you know? You never seem to pick out smaller stuff. It's always lookit this vast plateau of human misery, to contrast the yoke I must bear."
"She's carrying eggs?"
"Yoke, Daniel. Eggs are yolk, y-o-l-k. You're kind of the same when it comes to fixy fixy, Sine. I will save this world made dumb. I will fix this broken universe. I will give this woman all these magic powers. You're no good at just being...middle of the road. You seem to forget there IS a road because you immediately run to go off it and keep going. Sometimes I think you like all the grand sweeping stuff because if it fails, you can just go 'Well it got away from me'. But the small stuff? That screws up, that's on you. That's also darn scary and you're notsogood at facing that. Even now."
"...I guess."
"I mean...if all you're going to do is huge things...you'll leave us behind. Just...is that what you want?"
"What? No! No!"
"Well then why are you hanging around horrible World War battlefields? When will you trust yourself to not abuse your power?"
"...I...really don't know."
"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Daniel suddenly burst out. "How about let's talk about me being dragged along on this?! I didn't come here so I could listen to bullshit philosophy about power and responsibility, like I'm in a rejected Spider-Man comic book!"
Daniel took two long strides forward, and then briefly paused. When he didn't start sinking again, he continued marching his way in front and put a hand roughly on Sine's shoulder.
"Listen to me, Sine, because you told me the same shit a long time ago when it came to my anger management. The next time you're gonna blow your top over something, or do something hugely over-the-top or jackass-y, ask yourself 'is this what somebody else in my position would do?' And if the answer is 'no', then tone it the fuck down or try something else! Simple as!"
"...do as I say, not as I do. Slippery phrase." Sine said, as she pulled out a hologram keyboard. Several keystrokes made the hellscape fade away to a white void. "I'm going to do a runthrough of our current inventory and deliveries before I get out. You can hang around if you want..."
Sine was not surprised Carol and Daniel immediately found a reason to leave. Losing herself in busywork, two questions failed to occur to her.
One was why Carol and Daniel had come into her VR simulation in the first place.
The second was when had Daniel overcome his immense distrust about technology.
Saturday, 28 March 2015
Fool's Gold, Part 2
Well, at least there wasn't a crunching noise. The dull meaty THWACK didn't sound or feel good, but crunching would have been worse. Though the chained wrists (As Ash was now chained to a wall) made taking the fist harder, moreso that it was coated in flint.
"...Never start with the head. The victim gets all fuzzy. He can't feel the next..." WHY THE HELL ARE YOU QUOTING THAT YOU MORON DID SHE ALREADY GIVE YOU BRAIN DAMAGE.
"Shut the fuck up."
The brunette woman was clearly in no mood to take any shit. If the first punch didn't clue Ash in on that, then the second one would. That one bounced his head off the wall.
"...so is'this what basses for entertainment nyo?"
Another thump, this time to the gut, forced an "Oof!" as the wind was knocked out of him.
"I said shut up!" snapped the woman, glaring daggers. "Or do you want me to go for your fucking jaw next?"
Ash actually did not reply, mainly because he needed to regain his breath. Instead, he just stared with bleary eyes. The woman was small, compact. She clearly needed her rock fists to do any serious damage: even if she'd had some training in boxing, she lacked the proper body type to really punch with any power. She'd be better off learning a defensive martial art, like aikido, though aikodo wouldn't let you beat someone up when they were chained to a wall. Why was she doing it? Had Ivan gotten bored and delegated? Or maybe he thought he was being clever based on certain things...
She snorted. "Thank Chakravartin, I thought I was going to go mad. Now, where was I...?"
She paced back and forth, eying the body on front of her. Ash might have appreciated it, had he not known she was simply scanning for a fresh place to hit. Then again, given his current condition, he might not have appreciated any of it at all.
"Hmmm. Maybe the liver next. The boss always aims for that..."
"Is your boss' boss pissed I told him the truth or...?"
PUNCH.
"Nooopppeeee...guess nottttt..." Ash said, sucking air between his teeth.
"I said," snarled the woman, "shut the fuck up! Can't you take a Mantra-damned hint in your life, or are you literally retarded?!
"...heh, wouldn't surprise me, actually." To Ash's immense relief, she stood back and away from him, out of punching distance, to admire her handiwork. "You'd have to have the IQ of a cowpat to try and fight us. That, or a death wish the size of a small planet."
"We have found something."
Another time. No chains, no punches, instead just a seat at a table, but perhaps worse in a way. Ash hadn't liked the look in Godfather's eye the second he'd seen it.
"There are mines in the chasm we came out in. Useless minerals, or so we thought...then one of our less...intelligent members became grossly intoxicated and decided to...nasally inhale some of them once they were crushed, on a dare. The results were...surprising."
"Are they still alive?"
"They have some injuries from when their wood control accidentally caused the building they were in to collapse when they accidentally pulled it out of the ground with a thought. An object-moving process sixteen times outside their previously assessed maximum weight limit."
"...purple and blue crystals? Almost wet to the touch, found in dark crumbly clay?"
"Yes."
"...It's best used...crushed and mixed with salt...and then mixed with distilled water...and injected right into the bone marrow."
"...and why should we believe any of this?" If you quirked Godfather's eyebrow any higher here, it would fly off her face. "After all the effort I wasted in getting you to talk, suddenly you're just giving this information to us?"
"Because that's not some random magic crystal. That's the basis for Wunderwuffe you just stumbled over. And the only way you can safely use Wunderwaffe is if it's purified. Like wine, that takes years, and no Blackbird in my world is going to trade that information or service with invaders. And I know you're going to insist on taking it, because like you said. It made your stupid experimenting minion several times stronger. Has he or she started manifesting psychotic tendencies yet? Because that's sort of what happens when you ingest a high grade combat steroid equivalent."
"Kou?" Godfather laughed, and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, whatever~! It's nice to see him be more assertive for once, instead of being a limp-worsted dork! Also, the way he threw his lab assistant through a window was funny as scheiße!"
Then her demeanor changed, as thoughts began to creep along her brain like a centipede on the prowl.
"...if it works for him, surely... Yes, I don't see why not...
"Is there any way," she asks, no longer muttering, "to speed that process up? I haven't got years to work with, you know! I'm a busy woman!"
"Please don't use it. I am asking you not just for my world's sake, but your world and your people."
In response, the Don of the Magpies cupped a hand to her ear.
"What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of money not being made! It sounds like a little blond-haired boy whining that the other kids are playing with his toys!"
"...I'm being quite serious." Ash said. "Wunderwaffe takes years to adapt to. It provokes excessive aggression, it destroys rational thought...I don't even know what it will DO to people like you. It might be poisonous. Do you want to play Marie Curie?"
"I don't know who that is."
"Do you want to hop up your people on drugs and then find them killing each other or keeling over dead of heart attacks?"
For a moment, Ash thought he saw something change in Godfather. In her eyes, the hazy cloud of self-obsessed, childish glee seemed to give way to what semblance of rational thought must have continued to drive her on the path of madness and law-breaking. She seemed to seriously ponder his words for a moment, not just casually dismiss them as though they were somebody else's problems. And, for a moment, it flared a spark of hope.
He might be getting through to her...
Then the raven-haired woman turned to an aide standing in a corner.
"Clerk," she snapped, "take a note, send it via InfoTube to Kou and Saguaro's divisions. 'Side effects of new compound reported by captive to be dangerous. Devote 50% of resources to finding a counter-compound to alleviate them. Also, broken window coming out of paycheck.'"
The aide did as told, scribbling out her message on a sheet of note paper before dashing off somewhere. After a pause, the woman turned back to Ash, clapping her hands together, and the selfish child was back in all her glory.
"So! Anything else you want to share? Or are we done with the whole 'doom and gloom forecast' routine?"
"If you start using Wunderwuffe on your troops, you will cause panic."
"You're no fun. Ironsides!"
In the corner, the sound of metal grinding against itself announced Ivan's standing to attention. "Da, madam?"
"Take the useless jerk back to his cell. Oh, and Ivan?"
Godfather's eyes flashed dangerously. Shadows swirled about her feet.
"No more 'private interrogations'. Understood?"
A brief scrape told Ash Ivan had clearly flinched or stiffened at this. Huh. So the big lug was afraid of something, after all.
"...Ponyal."
"Ma'am?" Ash said, having gone quiet. "May I ask YOU a question?"
"Stellen entfernt." (Ask away)
"What did your people tell you about my capture?"
"...that my forces overwhelmed you, despite the fight you put up. Lost a lot of good men, though. Why, is this important?"
"Is it?"
"I don't know," cried Godfather in irritation. "I thought you'd tell me if it was!"
"...just take me back to my cell."
Ivan's massive paw clamped on Ash's shoulder and began to drag him from the room. As he crossed the threshold of the room, though, the blond got a good last look of the black-haired leader turning her back on him, muttering audibly under her breath.
"What a spinös, honestly..."
And oh look, Ivan had taken that moment to enter the room Ash was currently in. His most recent abuser was apparently a subordinate of some sort. Ash just looked dully at Ivan, who towered over his female aide.
"Ash Marsello, Exa-"
Punch.
"...You suck at your job. Both of you." Ash mumbled, before hacking a glob of blood on the floor.
"Says the man with a bruised liver and maybe internal bleeding," Countered the woman with a sneer.
"Great if you just want me to suffer...oh yes, your boss doesn't want me to suffer. QED."
THUMP. That was probably the ribcage that bent horribly, there.
"Godfather isn't my boss," spat his assailant. "Ivan is. You think I take a direct order from that cuckoo? That's like if that sick fuck Muerto told me to drag you over to his place and feed you to one of his pets! And Morpheus knows I'm not doing that!"
"And Ivan's boss...is Godfather." Ash said, like he was stating 'the sky is blue'. "Ivan at least...I get. Why are you so mad at me?"
The woman looked at him as though he'd grown three heads.
"...okay, from the top." She lifted one rock-coated hand, the stone grating as she counted on her fingers. "One. You never shut up. Two. You're a fucking smart-aleck, and normally that's all the excuse I need. And three," she finished, clenching a fist, "Ivan's been getting cranky with this idiotic botch-job of an operation, and if I don't do this then he's going to take it out on me. And it's your fault for being the motor-mouth wiseacre with the mental capacity of slug shit who put him in that mood to begin with."
Analysis complete, she folded her arms and awaited whatever response Ash could devise. She honestly looked as though she thought that was enough to silence him.
"...Just let me go."
It was rare for Ivan to look goggle-eyed. Ash couldn't speak for the woman.
"I have pull in my world. We'll sign a peace treaty. We'll give you lots of supplies and treasure. You can take your people back and this can end peacefully, and Ivan can get the credit for getting what you want without wasting manpower or resources."
Hannah opened her mouth to speak-
"No."
-and was shoved roughly aside by Mr. Silver, bouncing off a wall as she went. The metallic form of the Russian loomed over Ash, glaring visibly beneath the faceplate.
"Do you think, little bastard," growled Ivan, "that we are stupid enough as to fall for trick like that? We cannot simply let you go on your worthless word! Where is guarantee you will not simply run off and bring back army to crush us?"
"But on the other hand," Hannah suddenly snapped back, picking herself from the floor, "how do we know he'd even do that?! He already got his ass kicked hard enough to bruise - he can't be stupid enough to risk open warfare with us!"
By way of response, Ivan rounded on her, fists clenched and an angry snarl building. The smaller woman flinched, but otherwise remained upright.
"I gave you my word." Ash's voice was tense.
"Word of dead man is worth nothing," snapped Ivan, rounding back on Ash. "You attack us and decimate our forces! And you think we let you go on just your word?!"
"Oh, be fucking reasonable!" Hannah moved, as if to intercept whatever the bigger man had planned. "Maybe he means it! We can beat anything he's got, surely we can-"
CRUNCH.
When Ivan's elbow retracted, Hannah was doubled over and screaming into the hands over her face. Blood dribbled from around nose level between her fingers.
"Forgive my assistant," rumbled Mr. Silver, almost casually. "She is new, and does not understand Magpie code."
It was funny that Ivan mentioned a lack of understanding just then. There were a few things he did not grasp himself.
One was the fact that Ash's cells were prisons designed to block the powers of Ubers. The Magpies had discovered that they seemed to work on Stream users as well, to a degree. After all, Ash hadn't tried to break out, had he? So surely he couldn't.
Another was the fundamental difference on how accessing the energy of the Stream affected people from Ash's world per how superpowers worked on theirs. The downside of excessive Stream use was Immersion, a condition similar to radiation poisoning...but the upside before you got to that point was a gradual increase in a body's strength and endurance.
The third was how a human body worked. Specifically, how it operated under a certain set of limits to prevent damaging itself. Crisis situations disabled those limits, which is how you had mothers lifting cars to save their children, as went the classic example. The body could function at three to five times its maximum capacity, at the downside of the fact that doing so would actively damage the body, and sooner rather than later. Hence, it was incredibly difficult to consciously disable those limits, which is why one often needed an outside source. Like alcohol.
Or overwhelming rage.
The end result was that when Ivan, having innately turned his head to look at his handiwork (or elbowwork, technically), turned back, he found Ash had broken the chains off the wall.
He also found that instead of Ash's punch futilely breaking his fingers on Ivan's faceplate, the end result was more like someone had swung a mace full on into his face. Not normally a problem...if Ivan had been expecting it. He had NOT been expecting that, and hence even he was staggered.
Ash promptly got around him, grabbing him by the head, his hand finding a fair grip in the various shifting indentations of Ivan's armor, and began smashing Ivan's face into the also-metal wall. Hard. Hard enough to leave indentations. And with every slam, a snarling word.
"MEN-DON'T-TREAT-WOMEN-LIKE-THAT!!!!!"
Alas, snapping in rage could only do so much for Ash. It did not help him when Hannah Vallis (Codename: Rubble) instinctively panicked and slugged Ash in the back of the head with her rock-coated fist. Ash's offensive cut off like a switch, as he slumped and then finally collapsed, knocked cold.As said, not seeing punches coming made them count for a lot.
Slowly, Ivan staggered back upright, looking as though he'd just woken up from a bad dream. His eyes were wide behind his mask, wide with an almost childish fear, and for a moment he simply stood there, breathing in ragged, rapid gasps. The front of his mask was almost caved in, crumpled and fractured in multiple places.
A long pause.
"...you alright, boss?" Hannah eventually piped up. "You look like-"
"Dismissed."
Hannah blinked. "Wh-?"
"You are dismissed," rumbled Ivan, almost like his old self again, "until further notice. Clean up here, but leave at once afterwards." And whirling on his heel, the steel-clad criminal marched from the room, his footsteps heavy with barely-contained rage masking his brief vision of terror.
Hannah stared after him, hesitating.
Then she looked down at Ash's unconscious form.
-------
When Ash next awoke, he'd have found his meal of the day on the bedside table, back in his cell instead of the interrogation room. Accompanying it was a note.
"I'll bring it up with the Council. It'll be something for them to chew on, at least.
- H."
"...Never start with the head. The victim gets all fuzzy. He can't feel the next..." WHY THE HELL ARE YOU QUOTING THAT YOU MORON DID SHE ALREADY GIVE YOU BRAIN DAMAGE.
"Shut the fuck up."
The brunette woman was clearly in no mood to take any shit. If the first punch didn't clue Ash in on that, then the second one would. That one bounced his head off the wall.
"...so is'this what basses for entertainment nyo?"
Another thump, this time to the gut, forced an "Oof!" as the wind was knocked out of him.
"I said shut up!" snapped the woman, glaring daggers. "Or do you want me to go for your fucking jaw next?"
Ash actually did not reply, mainly because he needed to regain his breath. Instead, he just stared with bleary eyes. The woman was small, compact. She clearly needed her rock fists to do any serious damage: even if she'd had some training in boxing, she lacked the proper body type to really punch with any power. She'd be better off learning a defensive martial art, like aikido, though aikodo wouldn't let you beat someone up when they were chained to a wall. Why was she doing it? Had Ivan gotten bored and delegated? Or maybe he thought he was being clever based on certain things...
She snorted. "Thank Chakravartin, I thought I was going to go mad. Now, where was I...?"
She paced back and forth, eying the body on front of her. Ash might have appreciated it, had he not known she was simply scanning for a fresh place to hit. Then again, given his current condition, he might not have appreciated any of it at all.
"Hmmm. Maybe the liver next. The boss always aims for that..."
"Is your boss' boss pissed I told him the truth or...?"
PUNCH.
"Nooopppeeee...guess nottttt..." Ash said, sucking air between his teeth.
"I said," snarled the woman, "shut the fuck up! Can't you take a Mantra-damned hint in your life, or are you literally retarded?!
"...heh, wouldn't surprise me, actually." To Ash's immense relief, she stood back and away from him, out of punching distance, to admire her handiwork. "You'd have to have the IQ of a cowpat to try and fight us. That, or a death wish the size of a small planet."
"We have found something."
Another time. No chains, no punches, instead just a seat at a table, but perhaps worse in a way. Ash hadn't liked the look in Godfather's eye the second he'd seen it.
"There are mines in the chasm we came out in. Useless minerals, or so we thought...then one of our less...intelligent members became grossly intoxicated and decided to...nasally inhale some of them once they were crushed, on a dare. The results were...surprising."
"Are they still alive?"
"They have some injuries from when their wood control accidentally caused the building they were in to collapse when they accidentally pulled it out of the ground with a thought. An object-moving process sixteen times outside their previously assessed maximum weight limit."
"...purple and blue crystals? Almost wet to the touch, found in dark crumbly clay?"
"Yes."
"...It's best used...crushed and mixed with salt...and then mixed with distilled water...and injected right into the bone marrow."
"...and why should we believe any of this?" If you quirked Godfather's eyebrow any higher here, it would fly off her face. "After all the effort I wasted in getting you to talk, suddenly you're just giving this information to us?"
"Because that's not some random magic crystal. That's the basis for Wunderwuffe you just stumbled over. And the only way you can safely use Wunderwaffe is if it's purified. Like wine, that takes years, and no Blackbird in my world is going to trade that information or service with invaders. And I know you're going to insist on taking it, because like you said. It made your stupid experimenting minion several times stronger. Has he or she started manifesting psychotic tendencies yet? Because that's sort of what happens when you ingest a high grade combat steroid equivalent."
"Kou?" Godfather laughed, and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, whatever~! It's nice to see him be more assertive for once, instead of being a limp-worsted dork! Also, the way he threw his lab assistant through a window was funny as scheiße!"
Then her demeanor changed, as thoughts began to creep along her brain like a centipede on the prowl.
"...if it works for him, surely... Yes, I don't see why not...
"Is there any way," she asks, no longer muttering, "to speed that process up? I haven't got years to work with, you know! I'm a busy woman!"
"Please don't use it. I am asking you not just for my world's sake, but your world and your people."
In response, the Don of the Magpies cupped a hand to her ear.
"What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of money not being made! It sounds like a little blond-haired boy whining that the other kids are playing with his toys!"
"...I'm being quite serious." Ash said. "Wunderwaffe takes years to adapt to. It provokes excessive aggression, it destroys rational thought...I don't even know what it will DO to people like you. It might be poisonous. Do you want to play Marie Curie?"
"I don't know who that is."
"Do you want to hop up your people on drugs and then find them killing each other or keeling over dead of heart attacks?"
For a moment, Ash thought he saw something change in Godfather. In her eyes, the hazy cloud of self-obsessed, childish glee seemed to give way to what semblance of rational thought must have continued to drive her on the path of madness and law-breaking. She seemed to seriously ponder his words for a moment, not just casually dismiss them as though they were somebody else's problems. And, for a moment, it flared a spark of hope.
He might be getting through to her...
Then the raven-haired woman turned to an aide standing in a corner.
"Clerk," she snapped, "take a note, send it via InfoTube to Kou and Saguaro's divisions. 'Side effects of new compound reported by captive to be dangerous. Devote 50% of resources to finding a counter-compound to alleviate them. Also, broken window coming out of paycheck.'"
The aide did as told, scribbling out her message on a sheet of note paper before dashing off somewhere. After a pause, the woman turned back to Ash, clapping her hands together, and the selfish child was back in all her glory.
"So! Anything else you want to share? Or are we done with the whole 'doom and gloom forecast' routine?"
"If you start using Wunderwuffe on your troops, you will cause panic."
"You're no fun. Ironsides!"
In the corner, the sound of metal grinding against itself announced Ivan's standing to attention. "Da, madam?"
"Take the useless jerk back to his cell. Oh, and Ivan?"
Godfather's eyes flashed dangerously. Shadows swirled about her feet.
"No more 'private interrogations'. Understood?"
A brief scrape told Ash Ivan had clearly flinched or stiffened at this. Huh. So the big lug was afraid of something, after all.
"...Ponyal."
"Ma'am?" Ash said, having gone quiet. "May I ask YOU a question?"
"Stellen entfernt." (Ask away)
"What did your people tell you about my capture?"
"...that my forces overwhelmed you, despite the fight you put up. Lost a lot of good men, though. Why, is this important?"
"Is it?"
"I don't know," cried Godfather in irritation. "I thought you'd tell me if it was!"
"...just take me back to my cell."
Ivan's massive paw clamped on Ash's shoulder and began to drag him from the room. As he crossed the threshold of the room, though, the blond got a good last look of the black-haired leader turning her back on him, muttering audibly under her breath.
"What a spinös, honestly..."
And oh look, Ivan had taken that moment to enter the room Ash was currently in. His most recent abuser was apparently a subordinate of some sort. Ash just looked dully at Ivan, who towered over his female aide.
"Ash Marsello, Exa-"
Punch.
"...You suck at your job. Both of you." Ash mumbled, before hacking a glob of blood on the floor.
"Says the man with a bruised liver and maybe internal bleeding," Countered the woman with a sneer.
"Great if you just want me to suffer...oh yes, your boss doesn't want me to suffer. QED."
THUMP. That was probably the ribcage that bent horribly, there.
"Godfather isn't my boss," spat his assailant. "Ivan is. You think I take a direct order from that cuckoo? That's like if that sick fuck Muerto told me to drag you over to his place and feed you to one of his pets! And Morpheus knows I'm not doing that!"
"And Ivan's boss...is Godfather." Ash said, like he was stating 'the sky is blue'. "Ivan at least...I get. Why are you so mad at me?"
The woman looked at him as though he'd grown three heads.
"...okay, from the top." She lifted one rock-coated hand, the stone grating as she counted on her fingers. "One. You never shut up. Two. You're a fucking smart-aleck, and normally that's all the excuse I need. And three," she finished, clenching a fist, "Ivan's been getting cranky with this idiotic botch-job of an operation, and if I don't do this then he's going to take it out on me. And it's your fault for being the motor-mouth wiseacre with the mental capacity of slug shit who put him in that mood to begin with."
Analysis complete, she folded her arms and awaited whatever response Ash could devise. She honestly looked as though she thought that was enough to silence him.
"...Just let me go."
It was rare for Ivan to look goggle-eyed. Ash couldn't speak for the woman.
"I have pull in my world. We'll sign a peace treaty. We'll give you lots of supplies and treasure. You can take your people back and this can end peacefully, and Ivan can get the credit for getting what you want without wasting manpower or resources."
Hannah opened her mouth to speak-
"No."
-and was shoved roughly aside by Mr. Silver, bouncing off a wall as she went. The metallic form of the Russian loomed over Ash, glaring visibly beneath the faceplate.
"Do you think, little bastard," growled Ivan, "that we are stupid enough as to fall for trick like that? We cannot simply let you go on your worthless word! Where is guarantee you will not simply run off and bring back army to crush us?"
"But on the other hand," Hannah suddenly snapped back, picking herself from the floor, "how do we know he'd even do that?! He already got his ass kicked hard enough to bruise - he can't be stupid enough to risk open warfare with us!"
By way of response, Ivan rounded on her, fists clenched and an angry snarl building. The smaller woman flinched, but otherwise remained upright.
"I gave you my word." Ash's voice was tense.
"Word of dead man is worth nothing," snapped Ivan, rounding back on Ash. "You attack us and decimate our forces! And you think we let you go on just your word?!"
"Oh, be fucking reasonable!" Hannah moved, as if to intercept whatever the bigger man had planned. "Maybe he means it! We can beat anything he's got, surely we can-"
CRUNCH.
When Ivan's elbow retracted, Hannah was doubled over and screaming into the hands over her face. Blood dribbled from around nose level between her fingers.
"Forgive my assistant," rumbled Mr. Silver, almost casually. "She is new, and does not understand Magpie code."
It was funny that Ivan mentioned a lack of understanding just then. There were a few things he did not grasp himself.
One was the fact that Ash's cells were prisons designed to block the powers of Ubers. The Magpies had discovered that they seemed to work on Stream users as well, to a degree. After all, Ash hadn't tried to break out, had he? So surely he couldn't.
Another was the fundamental difference on how accessing the energy of the Stream affected people from Ash's world per how superpowers worked on theirs. The downside of excessive Stream use was Immersion, a condition similar to radiation poisoning...but the upside before you got to that point was a gradual increase in a body's strength and endurance.
The third was how a human body worked. Specifically, how it operated under a certain set of limits to prevent damaging itself. Crisis situations disabled those limits, which is how you had mothers lifting cars to save their children, as went the classic example. The body could function at three to five times its maximum capacity, at the downside of the fact that doing so would actively damage the body, and sooner rather than later. Hence, it was incredibly difficult to consciously disable those limits, which is why one often needed an outside source. Like alcohol.
Or overwhelming rage.
The end result was that when Ivan, having innately turned his head to look at his handiwork (or elbowwork, technically), turned back, he found Ash had broken the chains off the wall.
He also found that instead of Ash's punch futilely breaking his fingers on Ivan's faceplate, the end result was more like someone had swung a mace full on into his face. Not normally a problem...if Ivan had been expecting it. He had NOT been expecting that, and hence even he was staggered.
Ash promptly got around him, grabbing him by the head, his hand finding a fair grip in the various shifting indentations of Ivan's armor, and began smashing Ivan's face into the also-metal wall. Hard. Hard enough to leave indentations. And with every slam, a snarling word.
"MEN-DON'T-TREAT-WOMEN-LIKE-THAT!!!!!"
Alas, snapping in rage could only do so much for Ash. It did not help him when Hannah Vallis (Codename: Rubble) instinctively panicked and slugged Ash in the back of the head with her rock-coated fist. Ash's offensive cut off like a switch, as he slumped and then finally collapsed, knocked cold.As said, not seeing punches coming made them count for a lot.
Slowly, Ivan staggered back upright, looking as though he'd just woken up from a bad dream. His eyes were wide behind his mask, wide with an almost childish fear, and for a moment he simply stood there, breathing in ragged, rapid gasps. The front of his mask was almost caved in, crumpled and fractured in multiple places.
A long pause.
"...you alright, boss?" Hannah eventually piped up. "You look like-"
"Dismissed."
Hannah blinked. "Wh-?"
"You are dismissed," rumbled Ivan, almost like his old self again, "until further notice. Clean up here, but leave at once afterwards." And whirling on his heel, the steel-clad criminal marched from the room, his footsteps heavy with barely-contained rage masking his brief vision of terror.
Hannah stared after him, hesitating.
Then she looked down at Ash's unconscious form.
-------
When Ash next awoke, he'd have found his meal of the day on the bedside table, back in his cell instead of the interrogation room. Accompanying it was a note.
"I'll bring it up with the Council. It'll be something for them to chew on, at least.
- H."
Thursday, 26 March 2015
The Eternal Recurrence, Part 2
"Do you believe in time travel, Sheena?"
"No." Sheena said, not even bothering to look up at Aria Cudjoists as she fed data into her Universal Pathfinding Lattice. The purple-skinned Teemer woman looked cross, knocking on the table with her three-fingered hand. "What? No, I don't. It's impossible."
"Right to impossible. Why are you so dull, Sheena?"
"I'm dull in imagination so I won't be dull in wits. It helps me know that time travel is just imagination." Sheena said. The alien adjusted her Pinpoints, special scanning glasses that were required whenever transport was being sent through the Subtle Folds. "And don't bring up lightspeed travel. That's not traveling through time, that's putting yourself in stasis, more or less. Backwards time travel is impossible."
"Why?"
"Well, for one, it violates every law of conventional physics."
"Said the woman standing next to the gateway to another dimension we use to transport cargo."
"We don't know WHAT the Folds are. I think if they were just another dimension, they wouldn't completely reject organic matter and we wouldn't have to spend so many Ours making sure anything we try and send through is free of it." Sheena said, using a slang term for 'man-hours' or as the politically correct business term was, 'organic hours', as not every species abided by the human concept of gender. "But I digress."
"You digress all the time. Your name is a slang term for rambling in the break room."
"Go figure." Sheena finished downloading the main data and began swapping in the programs she'd be using on this mission. "My point. We can't go faster than light, and traveling lightspeed means that if you want to get anywhere, by the time you get there everyone who wanted your stuff is long-dust. Sending people the long, slow way is even worse, if you've read our company's records."
"Yeah yeah."
"My point....again. The universe is DAMN BIG. We have so much trouble getting around it without building civilization ships, which, again, have some really big risks..."
"Yes, yes, Sheena. You are aware people overstate the risks and experiences of pandorum, right? People who feel safer are more likely to take risks, and our bosses hate risks."
"Overstatement or not, pandorum exists. And it's damn ugly. It's why we don't transport things the slow way any more. Eight times out of ten, the isolation of space got into their heads. And you can't just pull a Lightning Cage out of one's rectum, so going through the Folds is equally hard. Point being, the universe is BIG."
"What does that have to do with time travel?"
"Theories follow two rules about time travel. One's the paradox theory, negating your own actions. People have no idea what could happen if someone did that, some theories go all the way up to the universe completely being destroyed. We're not here, so either time travel is impossible or the theories are overstating things. And honestly, people understate the paradox theory. It's not just about large things like killing your own ancestors. You're still foreign matter inserting yourself into a time where you did not naturally exist. Just by going back you should cause a paradox, let alone trying to change the past. So that leaves the other theory. The multiverse theory. That going back in time and changing something just creates an alternate universe where your alteration played out."
"...And you think that's impossible."
"Look at the universe, Aria. How BIG it is, how much STUFF is in it, countless COUNTLESS processes over billions of years...and you're saying that if I went back in time and killed Be'Lunge, another universe that is almost an exact duplicate would just....spring into existence? All that matters and energy and STUFF, just...appearing? Grell...forget time travel. By the logic of that theory, everything that does anything with anything less than 100 percent success and devotion is creating new universes. I can't fathom ONE new universe just popping into existence, let alone TRILLIONS. It's too big, Aria. People just don't understand the SCALE. They don't understand until you're moving forward through the void to get somewhere and for day after day, week after week, month after month there's nothing but NOTHING...so no. Time travel is impossible. The basic laws of reality can't abide by it. Some things we figured out how to get around. Some things we never will. People don't understand impossible. They apply it to things like winning a Hensworth. That's not impossible, that's just HARD. Impossible is eating a star."
"Man, Sheena, if you'd been in charge your people would still be in caves eating bugs."
"I'm giving my opinion. Just because my ancestors thought fire was magic and lightning came from gods doesn't mean they could never understand the truth. Maybe there's still walls to push through. But from what I've learned to do our job, Aria...I think this is it. So speaking of, I have to actually DO my job." Sheena said, as she hauled a backpack out of her locker and began consulting the oval-shaped black carrying case she had been given by her unnamed employers.
"You really should tell the bosses what's in that."
"Why? So they can freak out and cancel the transport and muddy my name? Screw that. We got hired, they sent me, I'm using my best judgement and concluding I can transport it. Besides, I know what it is."
"The base scans came back with nothing."
"I checked what kind of nothing. Making an educated guess, it's antimatter."
"Antimatter's restricted."
"True, which would be a problem if I could CONFIRM it was antimatter. I can't, they wouldn't tell me what it was, just that it wasn't a weapon, a toxin, or a disease. The rest falls under our discretion guarantee. Beyond that is just me guessing and the fact I want the damn commission from this. Besides, why should I worry?"
"It's RESTRICTED. And antimatter can be used as a weapon."
"It's also forbidden for use as a weapon. EVERYONE follows the Cink Accords. Everyone. They might be twisting and breaking every other rule, but Cink's laws are damn near sacred. Anyone who steals it will be assumed to use it as a weapon, and hence they'll become an instant pariah even if they don't. This war won't last forever, and whatever the Psychopomps and Cornfeds think, they don't want to be the side that everyone hates when the war's over. I'm guessing some rich twit just wants a faster ship, or a Lightning Cage. What do I care if some idiot kid splats himself against the barrier of the Folds? I have a living to make."
"So ignorance is bliss."
"People who stick those noses into things end up with spited faces." Sheena said, finally settling on a side-bag. "We only get one trip around this life, and like I said, it's damn big. People who make up stories don't have the guts to go out and make the world into what they want. So I'll do my job so I can. I've followed procedure. You can pull up the reports and sign offs and check them if you want. I've got a green light and I have to go."
"Just go, boring girl." The alien said, turning her attention back to her work. "But don't come crying to me if you end up in trouble."
"Unlike some of our agents, I take our rules seriously. I don't even carry weapons on my person, because that's against the charter." Sheena said. "If I get in trouble, it's the universe being stupid, not me."
---
"It's amusing how the ones with a little knowledge and understanding always so greatly overreach."
"We didn't select her for her intelligence. She has sufficient talent and self-interest for this job and she doesn't want to know more details. All the same, we'd best provide some surreptitious assistance. The odds of this not having already leaked are non-existant."
"The shell?"
"Oblique Focus. She won't want the package to open, so even if the carrying case breaks, the shell will hold. Even if she dies, her desire will keep the Immutable sealed until we can retrieve it. Though it would be best if she DIDN'T die...the next carrier might actually want to ask questions."
"She was right, there. Asking questions brings nothing but grief."
"Unfortunately for her, grief is not so easily thwarted, I suspect."
---
Six Days Later.
If Sheena had had breath to spare, she would have run out of curse words by now. As it was, she had to focus her anger, and her breath, into flying.
She hadn't been too worried when she thought she was being followed. Even if she didn't expect trouble, anything in the life of a Twiddler that raised their hackles meant that they should treat it like incoming trouble, even if it just turned out to be paranoia. She'd invoked deceptive measures, and started popping Thousands to keep herself awake...
Then they'd come out of the star. Her transport ship was one of many generic space junks lugging more junk from here to there, her name wasn't on the transport listing for passengers, she'd crossed a few palms to ensure it...and they'd shown up anyway. Who was it? Reclaiments? Pirates? Stalkers? Maybe a Bulge or two? Whoever they were, they didn't give demands, they didn't try and board, they didn't say that their destructive acts were for one side or the other, or any of the score of sides in between. They'd just opened fire and turned the ship into outright junk. Bad enough...
But when Sheena had launched her escape pod, they'd ignored all the other pods that had made it and zeroed in on hers. Which pretty much said it all, even if Sheena had no idea at all what was going on. And who cared? They wanted her package, and she was stuck in a NS-900DI sphere-based vehicle. While the 'Nosedive' was technically a small spaceship and very much flyable in deep space and in atmosphere, it WAS designed to escape from disaster after all...disasters didn't chase you. For things that chased you, the Nosedive could have been a lot better.
Gods, the universe was so stupid.
"No." Sheena said, not even bothering to look up at Aria Cudjoists as she fed data into her Universal Pathfinding Lattice. The purple-skinned Teemer woman looked cross, knocking on the table with her three-fingered hand. "What? No, I don't. It's impossible."
"Right to impossible. Why are you so dull, Sheena?"
"I'm dull in imagination so I won't be dull in wits. It helps me know that time travel is just imagination." Sheena said. The alien adjusted her Pinpoints, special scanning glasses that were required whenever transport was being sent through the Subtle Folds. "And don't bring up lightspeed travel. That's not traveling through time, that's putting yourself in stasis, more or less. Backwards time travel is impossible."
"Why?"
"Well, for one, it violates every law of conventional physics."
"Said the woman standing next to the gateway to another dimension we use to transport cargo."
"We don't know WHAT the Folds are. I think if they were just another dimension, they wouldn't completely reject organic matter and we wouldn't have to spend so many Ours making sure anything we try and send through is free of it." Sheena said, using a slang term for 'man-hours' or as the politically correct business term was, 'organic hours', as not every species abided by the human concept of gender. "But I digress."
"You digress all the time. Your name is a slang term for rambling in the break room."
"Go figure." Sheena finished downloading the main data and began swapping in the programs she'd be using on this mission. "My point. We can't go faster than light, and traveling lightspeed means that if you want to get anywhere, by the time you get there everyone who wanted your stuff is long-dust. Sending people the long, slow way is even worse, if you've read our company's records."
"Yeah yeah."
"My point....again. The universe is DAMN BIG. We have so much trouble getting around it without building civilization ships, which, again, have some really big risks..."
"Yes, yes, Sheena. You are aware people overstate the risks and experiences of pandorum, right? People who feel safer are more likely to take risks, and our bosses hate risks."
"Overstatement or not, pandorum exists. And it's damn ugly. It's why we don't transport things the slow way any more. Eight times out of ten, the isolation of space got into their heads. And you can't just pull a Lightning Cage out of one's rectum, so going through the Folds is equally hard. Point being, the universe is BIG."
"What does that have to do with time travel?"
"Theories follow two rules about time travel. One's the paradox theory, negating your own actions. People have no idea what could happen if someone did that, some theories go all the way up to the universe completely being destroyed. We're not here, so either time travel is impossible or the theories are overstating things. And honestly, people understate the paradox theory. It's not just about large things like killing your own ancestors. You're still foreign matter inserting yourself into a time where you did not naturally exist. Just by going back you should cause a paradox, let alone trying to change the past. So that leaves the other theory. The multiverse theory. That going back in time and changing something just creates an alternate universe where your alteration played out."
"...And you think that's impossible."
"Look at the universe, Aria. How BIG it is, how much STUFF is in it, countless COUNTLESS processes over billions of years...and you're saying that if I went back in time and killed Be'Lunge, another universe that is almost an exact duplicate would just....spring into existence? All that matters and energy and STUFF, just...appearing? Grell...forget time travel. By the logic of that theory, everything that does anything with anything less than 100 percent success and devotion is creating new universes. I can't fathom ONE new universe just popping into existence, let alone TRILLIONS. It's too big, Aria. People just don't understand the SCALE. They don't understand until you're moving forward through the void to get somewhere and for day after day, week after week, month after month there's nothing but NOTHING...so no. Time travel is impossible. The basic laws of reality can't abide by it. Some things we figured out how to get around. Some things we never will. People don't understand impossible. They apply it to things like winning a Hensworth. That's not impossible, that's just HARD. Impossible is eating a star."
"Man, Sheena, if you'd been in charge your people would still be in caves eating bugs."
"I'm giving my opinion. Just because my ancestors thought fire was magic and lightning came from gods doesn't mean they could never understand the truth. Maybe there's still walls to push through. But from what I've learned to do our job, Aria...I think this is it. So speaking of, I have to actually DO my job." Sheena said, as she hauled a backpack out of her locker and began consulting the oval-shaped black carrying case she had been given by her unnamed employers.
"You really should tell the bosses what's in that."
"Why? So they can freak out and cancel the transport and muddy my name? Screw that. We got hired, they sent me, I'm using my best judgement and concluding I can transport it. Besides, I know what it is."
"The base scans came back with nothing."
"I checked what kind of nothing. Making an educated guess, it's antimatter."
"Antimatter's restricted."
"True, which would be a problem if I could CONFIRM it was antimatter. I can't, they wouldn't tell me what it was, just that it wasn't a weapon, a toxin, or a disease. The rest falls under our discretion guarantee. Beyond that is just me guessing and the fact I want the damn commission from this. Besides, why should I worry?"
"It's RESTRICTED. And antimatter can be used as a weapon."
"It's also forbidden for use as a weapon. EVERYONE follows the Cink Accords. Everyone. They might be twisting and breaking every other rule, but Cink's laws are damn near sacred. Anyone who steals it will be assumed to use it as a weapon, and hence they'll become an instant pariah even if they don't. This war won't last forever, and whatever the Psychopomps and Cornfeds think, they don't want to be the side that everyone hates when the war's over. I'm guessing some rich twit just wants a faster ship, or a Lightning Cage. What do I care if some idiot kid splats himself against the barrier of the Folds? I have a living to make."
"So ignorance is bliss."
"People who stick those noses into things end up with spited faces." Sheena said, finally settling on a side-bag. "We only get one trip around this life, and like I said, it's damn big. People who make up stories don't have the guts to go out and make the world into what they want. So I'll do my job so I can. I've followed procedure. You can pull up the reports and sign offs and check them if you want. I've got a green light and I have to go."
"Just go, boring girl." The alien said, turning her attention back to her work. "But don't come crying to me if you end up in trouble."
"Unlike some of our agents, I take our rules seriously. I don't even carry weapons on my person, because that's against the charter." Sheena said. "If I get in trouble, it's the universe being stupid, not me."
---
"It's amusing how the ones with a little knowledge and understanding always so greatly overreach."
"We didn't select her for her intelligence. She has sufficient talent and self-interest for this job and she doesn't want to know more details. All the same, we'd best provide some surreptitious assistance. The odds of this not having already leaked are non-existant."
"The shell?"
"Oblique Focus. She won't want the package to open, so even if the carrying case breaks, the shell will hold. Even if she dies, her desire will keep the Immutable sealed until we can retrieve it. Though it would be best if she DIDN'T die...the next carrier might actually want to ask questions."
"She was right, there. Asking questions brings nothing but grief."
"Unfortunately for her, grief is not so easily thwarted, I suspect."
---
Six Days Later.
If Sheena had had breath to spare, she would have run out of curse words by now. As it was, she had to focus her anger, and her breath, into flying.
She hadn't been too worried when she thought she was being followed. Even if she didn't expect trouble, anything in the life of a Twiddler that raised their hackles meant that they should treat it like incoming trouble, even if it just turned out to be paranoia. She'd invoked deceptive measures, and started popping Thousands to keep herself awake...
Then they'd come out of the star. Her transport ship was one of many generic space junks lugging more junk from here to there, her name wasn't on the transport listing for passengers, she'd crossed a few palms to ensure it...and they'd shown up anyway. Who was it? Reclaiments? Pirates? Stalkers? Maybe a Bulge or two? Whoever they were, they didn't give demands, they didn't try and board, they didn't say that their destructive acts were for one side or the other, or any of the score of sides in between. They'd just opened fire and turned the ship into outright junk. Bad enough...
But when Sheena had launched her escape pod, they'd ignored all the other pods that had made it and zeroed in on hers. Which pretty much said it all, even if Sheena had no idea at all what was going on. And who cared? They wanted her package, and she was stuck in a NS-900DI sphere-based vehicle. While the 'Nosedive' was technically a small spaceship and very much flyable in deep space and in atmosphere, it WAS designed to escape from disaster after all...disasters didn't chase you. For things that chased you, the Nosedive could have been a lot better.
Gods, the universe was so stupid.
Saturday, 14 March 2015
A Love That Crushes Like A Mace
-Then-
"Alright, here's the lowdown."
Sam never was that fond of the Kingsguard. Mostly, he just found their presence annoying - which was in itself an annoyance, considering they were literally everywhere across the globe. And whenever they turned up, they had a habit of trying to ensure he did things "by the book", which was even more annoying. But he had to admit, a lot of the situations he ended up in could have gone a lot worse, had they not been around, so in that respect they were a rather big help.
Right now, listening to the bristle-chinned sergeant in front of him would be an even bigger help.
"Regenerators," he was growling in a voice like Steven Blum ate too much pepper. "We don't know how they work, and we can't say if they're Ubers. All we know is that they're damn near impossible to kill - can grow back anything in mere seconds. Limbs, organs, bone, the whole shebang. And if one goes rogue, that's bad news for us."
He looked back and forth amongst the recruits, sitting at their desks in front of him. All of them were paying keen attention - looking, in Sam's mind, like a bunch of wax dummies in over-polished battle armour. If there was one good thing that the Destined Hero position granted, it was the position of not being a faceless mook.
Nobody spoke, so the sergeant went on.
"So I want to make this very clear to you all. The only way to kill them is by destroying the brain. If you get that, they die instantly - like zombies, although Chakram knows if these guys count. Anywhere else is wasting effort, lasers, spears and lives. Simple as. If you ever encounter one of these things, a clean shot to the head is the difference between life and death."
His voice raises as the class, disturbed by what they were seeing, began to murmur in apprehension.
"You hear me, lads? What do we do?!"
The reply comes in a roar. "GO FOR THE HEAD!"
"Damn right, you do."
---
-Now-
She'd said hold back and follow her when the shadows had come. Shadows with faces he hadn't known, but she had, ones she'd tried to deal with with a grim look...
Then the ground had cracked open under him, and the boiling steam had engulfed him. Not a huge issue with starfire-based heat resistance...but when he finally got the sense of solid ground back, he'd lost Christine.
Alone again, naturally.Lost on a place Christine told him no one went. A bad place that she was only gracing with her presence because she wanted to rescue a group that had been flying in an airship and had the terrible luck of crashing there...
"Cocking shit!" were the first words that left Sam's mouth when he realized the situation. This was getting to be more than a little aggravating, and he was starting to wish he'd never picked up the Grandius and responded to that distress signal in the first place. Ever since he'd got here, it had been a parade of cock-ups, misfortune and idiocy...
Well, minus one constant benefit. But she wasn't here.
"Christine?!" he hollered out, drawing that now-cursed blade as he scanned the area. "Where are you?!"
Silence, save for the constant low roar of a geologically unstable area.
"...fuck this."
Sam immediately turned and headed in a random direction. Outside, it looked like he was throwing an angry temper tantrum, but there was a shred of logic in this madness - hopefully, he'd run into the cause of this mess. And then he was going to ram his foot down it's throat for ruining what had already started as a shitty day and was getting even worse...
"Let's try to make it right...don't wanna start a fight..."
...Singing.
"And I'm so sorry if I give you all a little fright..."
There was absolutely no way with the background racket of Megan's Woe that he could hear quiet singing...especially since he couldn't pinpoint a direction. It seemed like the singing was coming from inside his own ears.
"I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight..."
Shame about the situation. It actually was a pretty nice voice...
Like a siren.
"I'll be so happy just as long as you survive the night..."
Still, fuck. Singing. That was just giving Sam flashbacks to the time he'd first encountered Dallas. The blond was sure he'd drank enough beer to forget that particular memory.
Biting back a groan of frustration, Sam tried his best to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. It was good singing, he had to admit, but in the current environment it wasn't doing much for his mood.
"Let's try to make it right
Just wanna start a blight
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night..."
There was no real surprise. Sam saw the shadow through a fog of mist for several seconds before it emerged. It was female, and at first Sam hoped it was Christine. Then he realized it was too short, and didn't have her weapons.
Then she stepped through.
The thing Sam recalled later was just how impossibly perfect the white of her clothing was, white that matched the perfect whiteness of her hair. It drew attention away from her face...and the fact that her outfit didn't look like cloth. It looked like flayed skin, covering everything save her face. Her normal face...
And the brilliant, happy, void of her eyes. Sam remembered a few of the female Kobbers when they were laughing, that bright glint in their eyes...a brightness gone terribly, TERRIBLY wrong here. The hairs on the back of his neck didn't just stand up, it felt like they were trying to leap off his skin and run away. Wrong, WRONG, bad bad BAD...
"Hey there! How ya doin'? Nice to meet you, are you new in town?"
Such a normal voice, on the edge between talking and singing. A friendly wave.
"Don't think I've seen you before. It's great to see new faces around!"
"Um... yeah. Good to see you, too. I guess."
Oh, Chakram above, bad vibes. Bad vibes crawling all down the neck and back like spiders. Keep one hand on sword, keep muscles tense, look for possible ways out... What do you mean 'ways out', Sam, it's a wide-open plain! She might be able to catch you, who knows what she can do?
Alright, here goes...
"So... who are you, anyway?"
"If you like it, I can give a tour..." Wait that wasn't an answer..."Of this enchanting wonderland, new and improved, without the moores!"
She was still singing. What she was saying was rhyming...
And she was now next to him, standing to his side, one arm draped chummily over his shoulders.
"There's no escape but then, who would wanna leave?"
He felt like he was embracing the floor of an abattoir. Sam jerked away, as a distorting fog rolled over the woman.
"It's a fantastical paradise..." Her hand plunged through the fog, waving it away and solidifying her person, as if condemning any concept this could be a mirage. "And it's not, make-believe!"
...yeah, this wasn't looking good. Better nip this in the bud now, before a chorus line of demons in Vaudeville hats showed up or something. Like Disney gone wrong.
"Okay, I've had enough. Grandius: Priority Two!"
PARAMETERS RECOGNIZED.
And with a flick of the wrist, the sword was sent shrieking like a rocket towards the woman, point first.
"I'm so glad to have another member of the band..." She wasn't even reacting to the incoming blade. "You're one of them now, so let me take you by the hand!"
An offered hand. Just as she'd said. Innocent lost, like even light could not escape a black hole.
The sword went deep, piercing right through her lower chest, impaling her like an insect under glass.
...She just smiled.
"But what is that I spy, with my all seeing eye?"
This wasn't like Diana. If Sam had witnessed that, he would have recognized that her injuries still hurt terribly; she was just enduring it. But this woman?
She was happy.
Then she started pulling his sword out.
Vertically. Up THROUGH her body. The flow of blood became a shower. Blood that was so impossibly, impossibly red.
"I think I see a bit of heart inside the new guy!"
The Grandius was called back to him. That was Sam's take. He didn't like the other idea, that the sword FLED the woman's hand once it was free. It shook off the blood on the way there, the liquid boiling and hissing on the ground. Due to the heat. Sam accepted it was due to the heat...
"Maybe he isn't everything that he seems..."
She was self-cleaved. It wasn't affecting her at all. Then she reached inside herself. The snapping wet noises as she yanked out pieces of herself all at once would have normally made him sick, except the sight of it rapidly pushed him past nausea, the bones and muscles retracted forming into a scythe-like axe as the woman's horrific wound closed up, all that remained that it existed was the blood covering her form and her smile.
"Time to investigate, WHAT'S UNDERNEATH THE SEAMS!"
"...urp."
No, Sam, not the time to throw up! Time to actually do stuff! if this woman wants a fight, then give it to her!
"...if you wanted a fight, you should have just said so."
The former Destined Hero quickly took up his traditional fighting stance. But as he did so, he yanked with one hand on the handle, drawing out the concealed knife with the over-theatrical snikt he'd come to completely ignore over the years. Could never be too careful, right?
There was a very brief moment of relief when she attacked him and he fought back; she was fighting normally. She might have literally yanked a weapon out of her own body, but she was just swinging it like anyone else Sam had ever crossed swords with, as she hacked and chopped and smirked her way through an exchange of blows...
("Let's try to make it right
Don't wanna start a fight
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright...
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night...")
No demon chorus line. Just the singing, in his ear, when he wasn't hearing the sound of his own breath...
...He was starting to tire.
Oh, he could still go for a while if he had to, Sam had excellent stamina (Chastity could attest to that)...but he was still STARTING to tire.
And she wasn't. In the slightest. Just as every wound he inflicted closed up. In the deepest coldest part of his stomach, Sam rapidly realized he was facing a perpetual motion machine. There was no end to this.
("Let's try to make it right
Just wanna stain the white
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright...
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night...")
She didn't want him to live through any period of time. She wanted him...to last.
For who knew what horrors lurked in those bright, consuming eyes.
Sam did not want to know what those horrors were, He just wanted this whole thing to stop so he could find Christine and get out of this wretched hell-hole. But he was going to tire himself out at this rate - it was obvious that a straight-up sword fight was not the answer here.
Okay, then. Time to cheat.
Parrying another swing of the axe, Sam leaped back to get some distance...
"Hey, how about you sing one of my favorites?"
Let the power flow...
"BURN, BABY, BURN!"
And let fly with as much solar fire as he could muster, sheets of blazing death...
Which she wasn't around for. In the moment of his declaration, she'd vanished and appeared by his side again...
Putting an arm around him again. This time, Sam felt like he was embracing a porcupine. His body didn't actually get hurt, it wasn't an attack, but his mind and soul revolted at her touch.
"Forgive me for being suspicious, mischief's not on my brain..."
An elbow to the face to drive her away. A jaw shattering and dislocating, cheekbone snapping, eye popping. He hadn't hit her that hard, he COULDN'T hit that hard...
A hand to pop the jaw back in, the damage fading away...
"I'm inclined to be dramatic, if someone messes with the frame..."
"What the hell are you?" Sam said.
"It's not that I don't trust you, I do! (I love you, too.) It's just that, as an Elite...We have a few rules."
"The hell is an Elite?"
Her response was to go for his throat.
Sam's response was to show she wasn't the only one who could pull the blink style dodging.
He also promptly demonstrated some of the tricks he'd learned since he'd ended up here. A month ago, one of his missed attacks would have been a waste.
Now...he'd literally slammed on the brakes with, leaving the sheets of fire burning in mid-air as soon as he realized he'd missed. There was a satisfying sense of release in his brain as the woman, no longer having him as a target flew into it and he could stop devoting extra effort to maintaining it. She burned...
She smiled, even as her flesh was ravaged under the fire...the fire that turned as black as her burning form, swirling around her.
"And if you BREAK them, we will have to BREAK YOU, like you broke our hearts." Oh god that SMILE..."SO WHY DON'T I JUST LAY YOU OPEN, AND PULL OUT YOUR DAMAGED PARTS?"
Damn it, quick, before she made another weapon or worse, in Sam's soul he knew she was capable of SO MUCH WORSE...
"Now, you wouldn't want that...and frankly, neither would I..." Her arms were open, like she was offering a hug, even as flesh sloughed off her form like candle wax. "But sometimes to do some good, you've gotta be the bad guy!"
The Grandius caught her right on the crown of her head. Sam felt his guts twist as the sword plunged down, through bone and gristle and burning, stinking meat, carving through it like a turkey, Sam only stopping from a full bisecting cleave due to a last second retreat. Brain cut, hacked in two...
...the corpse swayed like a snake...
"...In this world we play...I hope that you will stay..."
THE SONG DIDN'T EVEN STOP.
She was growing back. The rules didn't apply. She reaching up and literally pushing herself back together, and despite every trained instinct he had, Sam felt the chill go from his stomach to his knees.
"And we will throw a most electrifying soiree..."
She pushed her head back together. The line Sam had crossed her smile with faded away.
"Formal attire is required for you to take part..."
The flesh was peeling from her fingers, knives of bone sprouting from beneath the burned, ruined flesh, blackened wings of stabbing death peeling out from beneath her body, the black fire she'd tainted his power into settling on them, the ground hissing like a wounded, terrified animal as her blood dripped down onto it, poisoning it...
"YOU'VE GOT SOME SKIN THAT NEEDS REMOVING BEFORE WE START."
The hands grabbed Sam. Twisting his head around.
From behind him.
...
Not her. Christine. Though Sam nearly had a heart attack anyway, first from the shock of the surprise grab...
Then she kissed him, and his eyes nearly joined his heart in bugging out of his body, the sheer contrast and unexpected confusion slamming into his mind.
"Gurryyyhhyyyyerrrh?"
He twisted away, his eyes snapping back to the woman...
She was fading. The fog was washing over her. She looked...disappointed.
Yet the song...
"Let's try to make it right
Don't wanna start a fight
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright...
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night..."
Still echoed, one last time.
"I'm sure you'll survive...just don't break the rules...and play nice...and we'll be the best of friends...forever..."
Gone, like the shadow she'd been born out of.
"...Sorry Sam. I needed the biggest shock possible. To break the lock you'd stumbled into." Christine said, wiping her mouth. "Your lips are bleeding, by the way."
Sam blinked.
There were a lot of responses on his mind that he could have used. They ranged from asking if Ash had been lacking recently to several bewildered takes on "what the fuck was that", with a standard "thanks" somewhere in between. But all of them were fighting for position like a bunch of screaming fangirls at a gig, and for a while he had a job to think of a proper response.
So he settled for fishing out a handkerchief and wiping his mouth whilst he tried to put the pieces together.
"...give me fair warning, next time," he finally mumbled as he dabbed at his lips. "I might be able to appreciate it, then."
"Sorry about that. The battle that happened here...just damaged...everything. Reality itself. Things...bad things walk here...they're real and they're...not. Things that were, things we fear are...bad things. You didn't know that was just an echo, so it existed...but it needed focus. I broke it, so it faded. I've located the survivors, we'd best get out of here before something else decides to...come. Or come back."
"...so where were you, whilst I was flailing about like a drunken dickhead?" Sam asked, once he was done wiping. It had clicked at this point just what had happened, and whilst he wasn't sure if it was anything to do with the hallucination he had prior, he was starting to feel like an idiot for falling for it twice.
Then it occurred to him.
"Wait... you saw it, too? That wasn't a gas-induced fever dream?"
"No."
"...what WAS that, then?"
Christine's look was the most solemn he'd ever seen her.
"Evil."
That was all she said.
It was all that was needed.
---
Song adapted from Mandopony's FNAF2's song "Survive The Night".
"Alright, here's the lowdown."
Sam never was that fond of the Kingsguard. Mostly, he just found their presence annoying - which was in itself an annoyance, considering they were literally everywhere across the globe. And whenever they turned up, they had a habit of trying to ensure he did things "by the book", which was even more annoying. But he had to admit, a lot of the situations he ended up in could have gone a lot worse, had they not been around, so in that respect they were a rather big help.
Right now, listening to the bristle-chinned sergeant in front of him would be an even bigger help.
"Regenerators," he was growling in a voice like Steven Blum ate too much pepper. "We don't know how they work, and we can't say if they're Ubers. All we know is that they're damn near impossible to kill - can grow back anything in mere seconds. Limbs, organs, bone, the whole shebang. And if one goes rogue, that's bad news for us."
He looked back and forth amongst the recruits, sitting at their desks in front of him. All of them were paying keen attention - looking, in Sam's mind, like a bunch of wax dummies in over-polished battle armour. If there was one good thing that the Destined Hero position granted, it was the position of not being a faceless mook.
Nobody spoke, so the sergeant went on.
"So I want to make this very clear to you all. The only way to kill them is by destroying the brain. If you get that, they die instantly - like zombies, although Chakram knows if these guys count. Anywhere else is wasting effort, lasers, spears and lives. Simple as. If you ever encounter one of these things, a clean shot to the head is the difference between life and death."
His voice raises as the class, disturbed by what they were seeing, began to murmur in apprehension.
"You hear me, lads? What do we do?!"
The reply comes in a roar. "GO FOR THE HEAD!"
"Damn right, you do."
---
-Now-
She'd said hold back and follow her when the shadows had come. Shadows with faces he hadn't known, but she had, ones she'd tried to deal with with a grim look...
Then the ground had cracked open under him, and the boiling steam had engulfed him. Not a huge issue with starfire-based heat resistance...but when he finally got the sense of solid ground back, he'd lost Christine.
Alone again, naturally.Lost on a place Christine told him no one went. A bad place that she was only gracing with her presence because she wanted to rescue a group that had been flying in an airship and had the terrible luck of crashing there...
"Cocking shit!" were the first words that left Sam's mouth when he realized the situation. This was getting to be more than a little aggravating, and he was starting to wish he'd never picked up the Grandius and responded to that distress signal in the first place. Ever since he'd got here, it had been a parade of cock-ups, misfortune and idiocy...
Well, minus one constant benefit. But she wasn't here.
"Christine?!" he hollered out, drawing that now-cursed blade as he scanned the area. "Where are you?!"
Silence, save for the constant low roar of a geologically unstable area.
"...fuck this."
Sam immediately turned and headed in a random direction. Outside, it looked like he was throwing an angry temper tantrum, but there was a shred of logic in this madness - hopefully, he'd run into the cause of this mess. And then he was going to ram his foot down it's throat for ruining what had already started as a shitty day and was getting even worse...
"Let's try to make it right...don't wanna start a fight..."
...Singing.
"And I'm so sorry if I give you all a little fright..."
There was absolutely no way with the background racket of Megan's Woe that he could hear quiet singing...especially since he couldn't pinpoint a direction. It seemed like the singing was coming from inside his own ears.
"I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight..."
Shame about the situation. It actually was a pretty nice voice...
Like a siren.
"I'll be so happy just as long as you survive the night..."
Still, fuck. Singing. That was just giving Sam flashbacks to the time he'd first encountered Dallas. The blond was sure he'd drank enough beer to forget that particular memory.
Biting back a groan of frustration, Sam tried his best to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. It was good singing, he had to admit, but in the current environment it wasn't doing much for his mood.
"Let's try to make it right
Just wanna start a blight
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night..."
There was no real surprise. Sam saw the shadow through a fog of mist for several seconds before it emerged. It was female, and at first Sam hoped it was Christine. Then he realized it was too short, and didn't have her weapons.
Then she stepped through.
The thing Sam recalled later was just how impossibly perfect the white of her clothing was, white that matched the perfect whiteness of her hair. It drew attention away from her face...and the fact that her outfit didn't look like cloth. It looked like flayed skin, covering everything save her face. Her normal face...
And the brilliant, happy, void of her eyes. Sam remembered a few of the female Kobbers when they were laughing, that bright glint in their eyes...a brightness gone terribly, TERRIBLY wrong here. The hairs on the back of his neck didn't just stand up, it felt like they were trying to leap off his skin and run away. Wrong, WRONG, bad bad BAD...
"Hey there! How ya doin'? Nice to meet you, are you new in town?"
Such a normal voice, on the edge between talking and singing. A friendly wave.
"Don't think I've seen you before. It's great to see new faces around!"
"Um... yeah. Good to see you, too. I guess."
Oh, Chakram above, bad vibes. Bad vibes crawling all down the neck and back like spiders. Keep one hand on sword, keep muscles tense, look for possible ways out... What do you mean 'ways out', Sam, it's a wide-open plain! She might be able to catch you, who knows what she can do?
Alright, here goes...
"So... who are you, anyway?"
"If you like it, I can give a tour..." Wait that wasn't an answer..."Of this enchanting wonderland, new and improved, without the moores!"
She was still singing. What she was saying was rhyming...
And she was now next to him, standing to his side, one arm draped chummily over his shoulders.
"There's no escape but then, who would wanna leave?"
He felt like he was embracing the floor of an abattoir. Sam jerked away, as a distorting fog rolled over the woman.
"It's a fantastical paradise..." Her hand plunged through the fog, waving it away and solidifying her person, as if condemning any concept this could be a mirage. "And it's not, make-believe!"
...yeah, this wasn't looking good. Better nip this in the bud now, before a chorus line of demons in Vaudeville hats showed up or something. Like Disney gone wrong.
"Okay, I've had enough. Grandius: Priority Two!"
PARAMETERS RECOGNIZED.
And with a flick of the wrist, the sword was sent shrieking like a rocket towards the woman, point first.
"I'm so glad to have another member of the band..." She wasn't even reacting to the incoming blade. "You're one of them now, so let me take you by the hand!"
An offered hand. Just as she'd said. Innocent lost, like even light could not escape a black hole.
The sword went deep, piercing right through her lower chest, impaling her like an insect under glass.
...She just smiled.
"But what is that I spy, with my all seeing eye?"
This wasn't like Diana. If Sam had witnessed that, he would have recognized that her injuries still hurt terribly; she was just enduring it. But this woman?
She was happy.
Then she started pulling his sword out.
Vertically. Up THROUGH her body. The flow of blood became a shower. Blood that was so impossibly, impossibly red.
"I think I see a bit of heart inside the new guy!"
The Grandius was called back to him. That was Sam's take. He didn't like the other idea, that the sword FLED the woman's hand once it was free. It shook off the blood on the way there, the liquid boiling and hissing on the ground. Due to the heat. Sam accepted it was due to the heat...
"Maybe he isn't everything that he seems..."
She was self-cleaved. It wasn't affecting her at all. Then she reached inside herself. The snapping wet noises as she yanked out pieces of herself all at once would have normally made him sick, except the sight of it rapidly pushed him past nausea, the bones and muscles retracted forming into a scythe-like axe as the woman's horrific wound closed up, all that remained that it existed was the blood covering her form and her smile.
"Time to investigate, WHAT'S UNDERNEATH THE SEAMS!"
"...urp."
No, Sam, not the time to throw up! Time to actually do stuff! if this woman wants a fight, then give it to her!
"...if you wanted a fight, you should have just said so."
The former Destined Hero quickly took up his traditional fighting stance. But as he did so, he yanked with one hand on the handle, drawing out the concealed knife with the over-theatrical snikt he'd come to completely ignore over the years. Could never be too careful, right?
There was a very brief moment of relief when she attacked him and he fought back; she was fighting normally. She might have literally yanked a weapon out of her own body, but she was just swinging it like anyone else Sam had ever crossed swords with, as she hacked and chopped and smirked her way through an exchange of blows...
("Let's try to make it right
Don't wanna start a fight
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright...
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night...")
No demon chorus line. Just the singing, in his ear, when he wasn't hearing the sound of his own breath...
...He was starting to tire.
Oh, he could still go for a while if he had to, Sam had excellent stamina (Chastity could attest to that)...but he was still STARTING to tire.
And she wasn't. In the slightest. Just as every wound he inflicted closed up. In the deepest coldest part of his stomach, Sam rapidly realized he was facing a perpetual motion machine. There was no end to this.
("Let's try to make it right
Just wanna stain the white
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright...
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night...")
She didn't want him to live through any period of time. She wanted him...to last.
For who knew what horrors lurked in those bright, consuming eyes.
Sam did not want to know what those horrors were, He just wanted this whole thing to stop so he could find Christine and get out of this wretched hell-hole. But he was going to tire himself out at this rate - it was obvious that a straight-up sword fight was not the answer here.
Okay, then. Time to cheat.
Parrying another swing of the axe, Sam leaped back to get some distance...
"Hey, how about you sing one of my favorites?"
Let the power flow...
"BURN, BABY, BURN!"
And let fly with as much solar fire as he could muster, sheets of blazing death...
Which she wasn't around for. In the moment of his declaration, she'd vanished and appeared by his side again...
Putting an arm around him again. This time, Sam felt like he was embracing a porcupine. His body didn't actually get hurt, it wasn't an attack, but his mind and soul revolted at her touch.
"Forgive me for being suspicious, mischief's not on my brain..."
An elbow to the face to drive her away. A jaw shattering and dislocating, cheekbone snapping, eye popping. He hadn't hit her that hard, he COULDN'T hit that hard...
A hand to pop the jaw back in, the damage fading away...
"I'm inclined to be dramatic, if someone messes with the frame..."
"What the hell are you?" Sam said.
"It's not that I don't trust you, I do! (I love you, too.) It's just that, as an Elite...We have a few rules."
"The hell is an Elite?"
Her response was to go for his throat.
Sam's response was to show she wasn't the only one who could pull the blink style dodging.
He also promptly demonstrated some of the tricks he'd learned since he'd ended up here. A month ago, one of his missed attacks would have been a waste.
Now...he'd literally slammed on the brakes with, leaving the sheets of fire burning in mid-air as soon as he realized he'd missed. There was a satisfying sense of release in his brain as the woman, no longer having him as a target flew into it and he could stop devoting extra effort to maintaining it. She burned...
She smiled, even as her flesh was ravaged under the fire...the fire that turned as black as her burning form, swirling around her.
"And if you BREAK them, we will have to BREAK YOU, like you broke our hearts." Oh god that SMILE..."SO WHY DON'T I JUST LAY YOU OPEN, AND PULL OUT YOUR DAMAGED PARTS?"
Damn it, quick, before she made another weapon or worse, in Sam's soul he knew she was capable of SO MUCH WORSE...
"Now, you wouldn't want that...and frankly, neither would I..." Her arms were open, like she was offering a hug, even as flesh sloughed off her form like candle wax. "But sometimes to do some good, you've gotta be the bad guy!"
The Grandius caught her right on the crown of her head. Sam felt his guts twist as the sword plunged down, through bone and gristle and burning, stinking meat, carving through it like a turkey, Sam only stopping from a full bisecting cleave due to a last second retreat. Brain cut, hacked in two...
...the corpse swayed like a snake...
"...In this world we play...I hope that you will stay..."
THE SONG DIDN'T EVEN STOP.
She was growing back. The rules didn't apply. She reaching up and literally pushing herself back together, and despite every trained instinct he had, Sam felt the chill go from his stomach to his knees.
"And we will throw a most electrifying soiree..."
She pushed her head back together. The line Sam had crossed her smile with faded away.
"Formal attire is required for you to take part..."
The flesh was peeling from her fingers, knives of bone sprouting from beneath the burned, ruined flesh, blackened wings of stabbing death peeling out from beneath her body, the black fire she'd tainted his power into settling on them, the ground hissing like a wounded, terrified animal as her blood dripped down onto it, poisoning it...
"YOU'VE GOT SOME SKIN THAT NEEDS REMOVING BEFORE WE START."
The hands grabbed Sam. Twisting his head around.
From behind him.
...
Not her. Christine. Though Sam nearly had a heart attack anyway, first from the shock of the surprise grab...
Then she kissed him, and his eyes nearly joined his heart in bugging out of his body, the sheer contrast and unexpected confusion slamming into his mind.
"Gurryyyhhyyyyerrrh?"
He twisted away, his eyes snapping back to the woman...
She was fading. The fog was washing over her. She looked...disappointed.
Yet the song...
"Let's try to make it right
Don't wanna start a fight
And I'm so sorry if I
Give you all a little fright...
I'm not so scary if you see me in the daylight
I'll be so happy just as long as
You survive the night..."
Still echoed, one last time.
"I'm sure you'll survive...just don't break the rules...and play nice...and we'll be the best of friends...forever..."
Gone, like the shadow she'd been born out of.
"...Sorry Sam. I needed the biggest shock possible. To break the lock you'd stumbled into." Christine said, wiping her mouth. "Your lips are bleeding, by the way."
Sam blinked.
There were a lot of responses on his mind that he could have used. They ranged from asking if Ash had been lacking recently to several bewildered takes on "what the fuck was that", with a standard "thanks" somewhere in between. But all of them were fighting for position like a bunch of screaming fangirls at a gig, and for a while he had a job to think of a proper response.
So he settled for fishing out a handkerchief and wiping his mouth whilst he tried to put the pieces together.
"...give me fair warning, next time," he finally mumbled as he dabbed at his lips. "I might be able to appreciate it, then."
"Sorry about that. The battle that happened here...just damaged...everything. Reality itself. Things...bad things walk here...they're real and they're...not. Things that were, things we fear are...bad things. You didn't know that was just an echo, so it existed...but it needed focus. I broke it, so it faded. I've located the survivors, we'd best get out of here before something else decides to...come. Or come back."
"...so where were you, whilst I was flailing about like a drunken dickhead?" Sam asked, once he was done wiping. It had clicked at this point just what had happened, and whilst he wasn't sure if it was anything to do with the hallucination he had prior, he was starting to feel like an idiot for falling for it twice.
Then it occurred to him.
"Wait... you saw it, too? That wasn't a gas-induced fever dream?"
"No."
"...what WAS that, then?"
Christine's look was the most solemn he'd ever seen her.
"Evil."
That was all she said.
It was all that was needed.
---
Song adapted from Mandopony's FNAF2's song "Survive The Night".
Saturday, 14 February 2015
All That Glitters
The Blessed and Holy City of Embrace, also known as Per'Shorn Jot, whose ancient name cast in a virtually dead tongue means 'To Embrace'. Population; 4 million. Head seat and spiritual center of the Rystianizm Branch And Blade Of The Enduring Faiths, known to non-practitioners as 'Risers' or 'Raisers'. Primary shrine and seat of worship known as the Nine Jewels, a temple overseen and guarded by three central and six surrounding towers to match the primary names of worship and their six most known aspects that blessed the world with their presence. Temple capable of seating 30,000 comfortably.
Current Arkhierei: Diana I, blessed speaker for the nine and mother of champions, healer of the sacred blood who the foulest hands could not spill without consequence or taint. Commands an army 500,000 strong who will ensure the safety of her, her chosen, and her flock. Speaks with the voice of God and his glory, and his mercy, and his love, and his wrath. She who saw demons and foul liars attempt to twist the words of the Nine to bring ruin to all who heard and believed them, who tore down the walls of Embrace and laid the towers low, and who raised them back not only in ever-greater glory, but made her people see their brothers in the other Enduring Faiths as such, and allowed once-closed hearts to build their own temples to their own words and worship of God....
And so on, and so on. Hyperbole was always important in religion. But actions spoke louder than words.
This was not the Nine Jewels, the central temple of Embrace, or even one of the larger temples that surrounded it. Embrace had nearly two hundred seats of worship for Rystianizm alone, let alone the other faiths that worshiped there, and to Diana, each was as important as the last. Some members of her higher Ecclesia would disagree with her, in that polite yet somehow non-understanding way; for the most part, she believed it was because they feared for her safety. They had feared for things before, and been proven wrong more than right. When the Twilight War had dissolved the feared tension of allowing the other Branch and Blades into their city, all speakers of their own words uniting to declare they would not die willingly or easy, they had been amazed to the point of stupefaction. It simply went to show that no one, no matter what, had a limit to what they could learn.
So she did not perform her service at the Nine Jewels, but at this small church, the seats only half full. Diana did not tell anyone where she would be performing her services, lest she provoke mobbing and riots, and her lone rule was that once she had entered, she preferred that no one leave lest the secret get out. They did not have to hear her preach, but until she had left, neither could they. So far, her request had not been tested; the church may have only been half full, but everyone there was hanging onto her every word.
But faith existed to be tested. If not one way, then another...
For instance, the construction of this church happening to provide good natural soundproofing, which kept her from realizing anything was wrong until her soldiers got thrown through the main door. The words from the Clasp, the main book of her Branch, grew quiet as everyone either turned around in confusion, froze in surprise, or both.
"You the one sticking shields on these assholes?"
The Magpies had some odd rules. One was that you couldn't take a 'special' name that described your powers unless you did something to earn it, and giving yourself one outside of your own head before you got official permission would get you anything from dirty looks to violence, depending on who found out. The four people who entered the church, as a result, were stuck with their birth names, though the speaker, one Horace Scott, suspected that would change soon.
"Because it REALLY! MAKES! THIS! A! CHORE!" Horace said, as he slammed the piece of limestone he'd pulled out of the street onto the soldier, something that should have crushed the soldier to pulp, but only made him groan and try and crawl towards the front of the church. "I hate doing my chores."
The screams were silenced as soon as they started, albeit not for any reason on behalf of the screamers. It was because of Doreen Shaw, whose lower-class command of sound allowed her to literally shut down the wavelengths human beings made their louder noises at. The last two, Brett Wilkerson and Greg Holland, who respectively controlled chromium and rock salt, brought up the rear.
"My lady..." The soldier groaned, before Horace just dropped the stone onto him. Behind him lay the fallen, beaten forms of the forty soldiers the four lower-ranked Magpies had beaten to get into the church.
"You the Ark hearing?" Horace said.
"...I am Arkhierei." Diana said. Horace was not impressed. The stories he'd heard on his way here had all been about this woman's voice, but she sounded like any old woman to him. Her robes were a simple purple with a white sash and hood that covered her head, her black hair going to gray and crows' feet having long taken up residence on her face. She didn't even have any jewelry, a far cry from the yahoo they'd beaten the location out of, whose hands were so covered in rings he had trouble using them.
"Great! You're the bigwig hotshot here! You probably know how to use the Steam better than these losers! Tell us everything!"
"...You wish for me to...train you in the healing arts?"
"Fuck no! I wanna know how to blow things up! Like your loser soldiers! Except, you know, not a bunch of losers!"
"...my people. Let them go, then." Diana said, indicating those she had come to speak to, who had begun to back away and look for the exits.
"...we don't need them, Horace." Brett said.
"Like hell! What we NEED is to be taken seriously! Or the second we don't have any leverage this old fart's going to..."
"You should not do that." Diana said.
"Huh?"
"Draw such judgments. You're angry. All of you are angry. Is this what you want?"
"What is this, truth or dare? I want you to know that if you don't start talking, this is going to be even more of your people!" Horace said, and shattered his limestone block before hurling the pebbles outward like a thousand bullets.
It was an eerie thing, watching people scream in mortal terror without making a sound.
The limestone bullets proved equally impotent, impacting on empty air and stopping. Horace frowned, and then growled when his repeated efforts to make the rocks go forward was completely blunted.
"OH FUCK THIS SHIELD SHIT! HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?!" Horace said, not noticing how Diana's hands were gripping the alter before her. "You know what, I changed my mind! Brett, go kill her!"
"What?!" Doreen said, her blonde hair flying around as she snapped her gaze towards Horace.
"What?!" Brett said in a near-echo. "Horace, Saguaro told us to get stuff, like magic things! Info! She didn't say go around killing people willy-nilly!"
"You don't get it, do you? Don't you see what this place IS?' Horace said. "It's a churchtown! A super mega church town! This is Chaktown with a different paint job! This is where all the assholes gather up and decide who should die and be tortured because they think God wants them to take all their money in between wanting them dead for being gay!"
"That is not true." Diana said.
"Like FUCK it's not! How many damn kids YOU raping, bitch?"
"...If those who claim to speak for God have done you harm, then I am sorry. Please...rage is a poison, you do not need to suffer in its grip here..."
"Suffer THIS! Brett, go stab a bitch."
"...I don't know, Horace..."
"Hey asshole, I'm TELLING you."
"You are NOT my superior!"
"Yeah, you can't give us orders, Horace." Doreen said.
"We aren't here to relieve YOUR grudges." Greg said.
"Hey, asswipes, you forgetting whose side we picked?"
"I felt Kou was being timid, that doesn't mean I'm now a mass murderer, Horace." Greg said.
"We're the MAGPIES, Holland. Morality is for OTHER PEOPLE. You think Saguaro is going to think you wanting to play nice is good? No, she'll kick you back to the Nest, and since you turned on Kou you'll get stuck with one of the other Seven. Probably Muerto."
"You are welcome here." Diana said.
"What?" Brett said.
"Oh don't fall for this! Brett go kill her before I have to just tear this whole place down and see what happens."
"Anger shackles you, it blinds...it is not something easily borne, and you all bow beneath its weight...if you feel trapped, you are welcome here, all are welcome...there is no suffering that cannot be endured and learned from togeth-"
Brett went for center of mass. He still couldn't look as he threw the blade of metal he formed, and he hoped it would be quiet and quick.
It wasn't. But not for the reason he expected. He felt the mental feedback as the blade struck flesh and impaled deep. The silence became even deeper. In the corner of his eyes, Brett could see the shock and outrage of the semi-trapped congregation, some actually bursting into tears.
"...If you wish it, there is no door here closed to you."
The voice was pained, but strong. Brett vaguely was aware of Horace's shocked face before he turned back to see the woman, her hand on the long thin blade of metal sticking out of her chest, her purple robes staining red as she began to slowly withdraw the blade.
"Rage is a part of you...but just...one part. Those who let it be their whole...cannot be whole. Whatever torments your soul...will not be found in anger, or hate...if that is all you know...then my door is open..."
"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FUCKING KIDDING?!" Horace said. "WE DON'T NEED YOUR DAMN RELIGION!"
"You are hurting. We...bring peace, to those who desire it...no matter what their reasons may be. We are all...loved...we merely have to decide by who...to see it ourselves."
"For the love of...Brett, get her damn heart this time!"
"I..."
"NOW! YOU THINK SHE'LL TAKE YOU AND MAKE YOU ALL SHINY HAPPY? THESE PLACES EXIST FOR ONE REASON ONLY! THE EXACT REASON WE DO! EXCEPT WE DON'T MAKE UP STORIES!"
"I..."
"YOU WANNA BE FED TO THE FUNERAL KING?!"
Brett's face paled, and he recalled his blade and threw it again. This time, he hit the heart. He knew. He felt it.
...Her face barely changed. There was pain there, and sorrow. Yet...she did not mirror the hostility directed at her.
Instead...she reached up and began to draw the blade back out. Brett somehow went even whiter. Her heart was still beating, around the impalement. Brett knew enough about anatomy that even if that worked, it must have been agony...
"They suffered for our sins. As their voice, if I must suffer, then mine pales..." Diana said, as she again worked the blade free. It dropped to the ground.
It was around then that Brett realized that Horace hadn't stopped slamming his pebbles against the shields erected against them. And he hadn't gotten anywhere, even now.
"...guh...wuh..." Horace said, before he finally regained his fire. "YOU SUCK, BRETT! Doreen, pop her head!"
"And if that doesn't work?" Greg said.
"Then we'll break things until it does! Doreen!"
"No." Doreen said.
"What?!!"
"No! This is wrong, Horace! We...she's right, why are you so mad?"
"MAD HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I'M JUST THE ONLY ONE OF YOU HERE WITH STONES." Horace growled. For a moment he debated re-directing his limestone bullets, but ultimately decided he didn't want to risk some trick. Instead, he stalked over to the fallen soldier he'd bashed into the floor and relieved him of his sword.
"Horace, come on! Stop! We can just go...!" Brett said.
"The doors remain open."
"YOU LET THE WRONG ONE IN, BITCH." Horace said, as he drew close and raised the sword. "GO TO HELL!"
The blade came down.
The blade bit deep.
The blood flew.
Then it landed on Horace, and it all went wrong. Suddenly he felt like every single part of him was having red-hot needles jammed into it, and even as he recoiled and screamed, the sword flying from flaming fingers, he had a sudden second, and worse, revelation. He was not on fire. His skin, his combat clothes, didn't have a mark on them. Save the blood.
The pain vanished as quickly as it came...and his energy went with it, Horace Scott suddenly feeling like he'd run the whole way to this city at a sprint. Within a second, he couldn't stand. Within another, he couldn't move.
"...Hell is not just a final fate." Diana said. Once again, she hadn't taken one step back, even as the blood soaked her.
Then Horace was gone, carried away by the dark.
----
The dark he came back out of. No one was more surprised than Horace.
He was back outside the city...and there was about three thousand or so VERY angry troops glaring at him. He was also soaked in water.
"I cannot have you put my people at risk."
Her. That damn woman, a simple white cloak over her robes, primary to hide the damage...and there were his three 'fellows', looking dully at him.
"You do not have to be alone. For no one behaves this way if they're alone." Diana said. "Is solitude your will?"
"...you ASSHOLES! You know what the Magpies do to traitors!"
"We're not defecting. We resign." Doreen said.
"Hostile work environment." Brett said.
"Screw you. SCREW ALL OF YOU. These shits will screw you, and SCREW you, and then we'll come back, and we'll skin you fucks alive, and I'll stick YOUR HEAD ON A POLE TO WATCH!" Horace said, pointing at Diana.
"I will pray for you."
"Save your breath." Horace said, getting up and stalking off. He expected every step for the next ten miles to be the one that triggered the ambush. It was hard to say if he was more surprised or angered that it never came.
"Some need more time. Some..." Diana said, having turned away. "We can shelter you for a time, but it would be best if you could discover a means of employment so you can have freedom. You will, however, have permanent sanctuary from those who would wish to prosecute you. The door is not open for revenge or hatred. Any who wishes to bring it to our gate will find our shields firm and our blades terrible and swift."
"...Our guys...they're strong, miss...and we found some stuff..."
"They shall reap what they sow." Diana said, heading in through the gates of Embrace, passing the statues dedicated to her son and daughter and their allies who had crushed the vile evils of Schwarz Spinne. "May some break off their shackles and turn to the light and the way, or a better path for them. Thanks be to God."
"Amen." Said the legions surrounding the three ex-Magpies.
Perhaps the most astonishing thing was there wasn't a single angry eye when they did not echo it.
Current Arkhierei: Diana I, blessed speaker for the nine and mother of champions, healer of the sacred blood who the foulest hands could not spill without consequence or taint. Commands an army 500,000 strong who will ensure the safety of her, her chosen, and her flock. Speaks with the voice of God and his glory, and his mercy, and his love, and his wrath. She who saw demons and foul liars attempt to twist the words of the Nine to bring ruin to all who heard and believed them, who tore down the walls of Embrace and laid the towers low, and who raised them back not only in ever-greater glory, but made her people see their brothers in the other Enduring Faiths as such, and allowed once-closed hearts to build their own temples to their own words and worship of God....
And so on, and so on. Hyperbole was always important in religion. But actions spoke louder than words.
This was not the Nine Jewels, the central temple of Embrace, or even one of the larger temples that surrounded it. Embrace had nearly two hundred seats of worship for Rystianizm alone, let alone the other faiths that worshiped there, and to Diana, each was as important as the last. Some members of her higher Ecclesia would disagree with her, in that polite yet somehow non-understanding way; for the most part, she believed it was because they feared for her safety. They had feared for things before, and been proven wrong more than right. When the Twilight War had dissolved the feared tension of allowing the other Branch and Blades into their city, all speakers of their own words uniting to declare they would not die willingly or easy, they had been amazed to the point of stupefaction. It simply went to show that no one, no matter what, had a limit to what they could learn.
So she did not perform her service at the Nine Jewels, but at this small church, the seats only half full. Diana did not tell anyone where she would be performing her services, lest she provoke mobbing and riots, and her lone rule was that once she had entered, she preferred that no one leave lest the secret get out. They did not have to hear her preach, but until she had left, neither could they. So far, her request had not been tested; the church may have only been half full, but everyone there was hanging onto her every word.
But faith existed to be tested. If not one way, then another...
For instance, the construction of this church happening to provide good natural soundproofing, which kept her from realizing anything was wrong until her soldiers got thrown through the main door. The words from the Clasp, the main book of her Branch, grew quiet as everyone either turned around in confusion, froze in surprise, or both.
"You the one sticking shields on these assholes?"
The Magpies had some odd rules. One was that you couldn't take a 'special' name that described your powers unless you did something to earn it, and giving yourself one outside of your own head before you got official permission would get you anything from dirty looks to violence, depending on who found out. The four people who entered the church, as a result, were stuck with their birth names, though the speaker, one Horace Scott, suspected that would change soon.
"Because it REALLY! MAKES! THIS! A! CHORE!" Horace said, as he slammed the piece of limestone he'd pulled out of the street onto the soldier, something that should have crushed the soldier to pulp, but only made him groan and try and crawl towards the front of the church. "I hate doing my chores."
The screams were silenced as soon as they started, albeit not for any reason on behalf of the screamers. It was because of Doreen Shaw, whose lower-class command of sound allowed her to literally shut down the wavelengths human beings made their louder noises at. The last two, Brett Wilkerson and Greg Holland, who respectively controlled chromium and rock salt, brought up the rear.
"My lady..." The soldier groaned, before Horace just dropped the stone onto him. Behind him lay the fallen, beaten forms of the forty soldiers the four lower-ranked Magpies had beaten to get into the church.
"You the Ark hearing?" Horace said.
"...I am Arkhierei." Diana said. Horace was not impressed. The stories he'd heard on his way here had all been about this woman's voice, but she sounded like any old woman to him. Her robes were a simple purple with a white sash and hood that covered her head, her black hair going to gray and crows' feet having long taken up residence on her face. She didn't even have any jewelry, a far cry from the yahoo they'd beaten the location out of, whose hands were so covered in rings he had trouble using them.
"Great! You're the bigwig hotshot here! You probably know how to use the Steam better than these losers! Tell us everything!"
"...You wish for me to...train you in the healing arts?"
"Fuck no! I wanna know how to blow things up! Like your loser soldiers! Except, you know, not a bunch of losers!"
"...my people. Let them go, then." Diana said, indicating those she had come to speak to, who had begun to back away and look for the exits.
"...we don't need them, Horace." Brett said.
"Like hell! What we NEED is to be taken seriously! Or the second we don't have any leverage this old fart's going to..."
"You should not do that." Diana said.
"Huh?"
"Draw such judgments. You're angry. All of you are angry. Is this what you want?"
"What is this, truth or dare? I want you to know that if you don't start talking, this is going to be even more of your people!" Horace said, and shattered his limestone block before hurling the pebbles outward like a thousand bullets.
It was an eerie thing, watching people scream in mortal terror without making a sound.
The limestone bullets proved equally impotent, impacting on empty air and stopping. Horace frowned, and then growled when his repeated efforts to make the rocks go forward was completely blunted.
"OH FUCK THIS SHIELD SHIT! HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?!" Horace said, not noticing how Diana's hands were gripping the alter before her. "You know what, I changed my mind! Brett, go kill her!"
"What?!" Doreen said, her blonde hair flying around as she snapped her gaze towards Horace.
"What?!" Brett said in a near-echo. "Horace, Saguaro told us to get stuff, like magic things! Info! She didn't say go around killing people willy-nilly!"
"You don't get it, do you? Don't you see what this place IS?' Horace said. "It's a churchtown! A super mega church town! This is Chaktown with a different paint job! This is where all the assholes gather up and decide who should die and be tortured because they think God wants them to take all their money in between wanting them dead for being gay!"
"That is not true." Diana said.
"Like FUCK it's not! How many damn kids YOU raping, bitch?"
"...If those who claim to speak for God have done you harm, then I am sorry. Please...rage is a poison, you do not need to suffer in its grip here..."
"Suffer THIS! Brett, go stab a bitch."
"...I don't know, Horace..."
"Hey asshole, I'm TELLING you."
"You are NOT my superior!"
"Yeah, you can't give us orders, Horace." Doreen said.
"We aren't here to relieve YOUR grudges." Greg said.
"Hey, asswipes, you forgetting whose side we picked?"
"I felt Kou was being timid, that doesn't mean I'm now a mass murderer, Horace." Greg said.
"We're the MAGPIES, Holland. Morality is for OTHER PEOPLE. You think Saguaro is going to think you wanting to play nice is good? No, she'll kick you back to the Nest, and since you turned on Kou you'll get stuck with one of the other Seven. Probably Muerto."
"You are welcome here." Diana said.
"What?" Brett said.
"Oh don't fall for this! Brett go kill her before I have to just tear this whole place down and see what happens."
"Anger shackles you, it blinds...it is not something easily borne, and you all bow beneath its weight...if you feel trapped, you are welcome here, all are welcome...there is no suffering that cannot be endured and learned from togeth-"
Brett went for center of mass. He still couldn't look as he threw the blade of metal he formed, and he hoped it would be quiet and quick.
It wasn't. But not for the reason he expected. He felt the mental feedback as the blade struck flesh and impaled deep. The silence became even deeper. In the corner of his eyes, Brett could see the shock and outrage of the semi-trapped congregation, some actually bursting into tears.
"...If you wish it, there is no door here closed to you."
The voice was pained, but strong. Brett vaguely was aware of Horace's shocked face before he turned back to see the woman, her hand on the long thin blade of metal sticking out of her chest, her purple robes staining red as she began to slowly withdraw the blade.
"Rage is a part of you...but just...one part. Those who let it be their whole...cannot be whole. Whatever torments your soul...will not be found in anger, or hate...if that is all you know...then my door is open..."
"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FUCKING KIDDING?!" Horace said. "WE DON'T NEED YOUR DAMN RELIGION!"
"You are hurting. We...bring peace, to those who desire it...no matter what their reasons may be. We are all...loved...we merely have to decide by who...to see it ourselves."
"For the love of...Brett, get her damn heart this time!"
"I..."
"NOW! YOU THINK SHE'LL TAKE YOU AND MAKE YOU ALL SHINY HAPPY? THESE PLACES EXIST FOR ONE REASON ONLY! THE EXACT REASON WE DO! EXCEPT WE DON'T MAKE UP STORIES!"
"I..."
"YOU WANNA BE FED TO THE FUNERAL KING?!"
Brett's face paled, and he recalled his blade and threw it again. This time, he hit the heart. He knew. He felt it.
...Her face barely changed. There was pain there, and sorrow. Yet...she did not mirror the hostility directed at her.
Instead...she reached up and began to draw the blade back out. Brett somehow went even whiter. Her heart was still beating, around the impalement. Brett knew enough about anatomy that even if that worked, it must have been agony...
"They suffered for our sins. As their voice, if I must suffer, then mine pales..." Diana said, as she again worked the blade free. It dropped to the ground.
It was around then that Brett realized that Horace hadn't stopped slamming his pebbles against the shields erected against them. And he hadn't gotten anywhere, even now.
"...guh...wuh..." Horace said, before he finally regained his fire. "YOU SUCK, BRETT! Doreen, pop her head!"
"And if that doesn't work?" Greg said.
"Then we'll break things until it does! Doreen!"
"No." Doreen said.
"What?!!"
"No! This is wrong, Horace! We...she's right, why are you so mad?"
"MAD HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I'M JUST THE ONLY ONE OF YOU HERE WITH STONES." Horace growled. For a moment he debated re-directing his limestone bullets, but ultimately decided he didn't want to risk some trick. Instead, he stalked over to the fallen soldier he'd bashed into the floor and relieved him of his sword.
"Horace, come on! Stop! We can just go...!" Brett said.
"The doors remain open."
"YOU LET THE WRONG ONE IN, BITCH." Horace said, as he drew close and raised the sword. "GO TO HELL!"
The blade came down.
The blade bit deep.
The blood flew.
Then it landed on Horace, and it all went wrong. Suddenly he felt like every single part of him was having red-hot needles jammed into it, and even as he recoiled and screamed, the sword flying from flaming fingers, he had a sudden second, and worse, revelation. He was not on fire. His skin, his combat clothes, didn't have a mark on them. Save the blood.
The pain vanished as quickly as it came...and his energy went with it, Horace Scott suddenly feeling like he'd run the whole way to this city at a sprint. Within a second, he couldn't stand. Within another, he couldn't move.
"...Hell is not just a final fate." Diana said. Once again, she hadn't taken one step back, even as the blood soaked her.
Then Horace was gone, carried away by the dark.
----
The dark he came back out of. No one was more surprised than Horace.
He was back outside the city...and there was about three thousand or so VERY angry troops glaring at him. He was also soaked in water.
"I cannot have you put my people at risk."
Her. That damn woman, a simple white cloak over her robes, primary to hide the damage...and there were his three 'fellows', looking dully at him.
"You do not have to be alone. For no one behaves this way if they're alone." Diana said. "Is solitude your will?"
"...you ASSHOLES! You know what the Magpies do to traitors!"
"We're not defecting. We resign." Doreen said.
"Hostile work environment." Brett said.
"Screw you. SCREW ALL OF YOU. These shits will screw you, and SCREW you, and then we'll come back, and we'll skin you fucks alive, and I'll stick YOUR HEAD ON A POLE TO WATCH!" Horace said, pointing at Diana.
"I will pray for you."
"Save your breath." Horace said, getting up and stalking off. He expected every step for the next ten miles to be the one that triggered the ambush. It was hard to say if he was more surprised or angered that it never came.
"Some need more time. Some..." Diana said, having turned away. "We can shelter you for a time, but it would be best if you could discover a means of employment so you can have freedom. You will, however, have permanent sanctuary from those who would wish to prosecute you. The door is not open for revenge or hatred. Any who wishes to bring it to our gate will find our shields firm and our blades terrible and swift."
"...Our guys...they're strong, miss...and we found some stuff..."
"They shall reap what they sow." Diana said, heading in through the gates of Embrace, passing the statues dedicated to her son and daughter and their allies who had crushed the vile evils of Schwarz Spinne. "May some break off their shackles and turn to the light and the way, or a better path for them. Thanks be to God."
"Amen." Said the legions surrounding the three ex-Magpies.
Perhaps the most astonishing thing was there wasn't a single angry eye when they did not echo it.
Sunday, 8 February 2015
Fool's Gold
Once upon a time, the isolation would have been the worst part. The lack of contact. Hell, that would have been the smart thing to do...
But people didn't always do the smart thing.
"Okay, let's start from the top."
Godfather idly swirled her wine, keeping her back to the prisoner. Keep them guessing, that was the trick. Keep them nervous. If they can't see your face, they can't tell what you're going to do, and nobody likes an enemy who's predictable...
"You have information I want. Information about your world and the way it works. I could use some of that, and save myself a lot of time in messing about with technology only half my men understand. And, obviously, I can't just beat it out of you, because I'm not a hired thug."
Turn, slowly... perfect. Flash those pearly whites...
"So... How about it? A cosy draft job with any of my boys, hourly wages and all the clams you can eat. In return, you tell me anything and everything, and I only listen to the good bits. Sound fair?"
"No."
A brief pause.
"That's in regards to the offer, by the way. Though it's also an answer to your last question."
That was the problem with a giant organization, after all. Too big, too complicated, too many moving parts. The left hand stopped knowing what the right hand was doing. Really, the smartest thing to do would have been to keep doing this. The cell, sealed off in a box, barely able to touch the outside world. Isolation was hell on social animals...
But mankind, and especially its evils, rarely understood the subtleties...
Eh, they always refuse the first one. No matter. Keep calm, keep smiling.
"What about a management position, then? Don't even have to go out to earn your pay, and you get somebody to press your suit! And you get discounts at all the fancy restaurants!
"...although all the waiters get nervous when we show up. Really, what's with that?"
"No."
Metal, and thick at that. Even if whatever weirdness they'd hacked together wasn't crippling him, he probably couldn't have punched his way out. Even if he COULD have, it would have taken time, and time was not on his side, especially in the heart of enemy territory. The only way in was a handprint scanner...
The smart thing would have been to let him stew in the isolation.
The human heart and mind were often at loggerheads that way.
Alright, arschloch. You're making it hard to keep composed, especially when we can feel the wine glass cracking in our grip. Those things are expensive.
"How about this? Joint leadership, with me. Half of the criminal underworld would stab their own mothers to share my dinner table, and that's just on a professional level."
"...Since it is clear I have to spell it out, NO. I will NOT betray my world, my friends, my PEOPLE, for you, even if you offer me everything in this world, the next, and throw in every single damn star in the sky. GO. TO. HELL."
The funniest thing (but not ha-ha funny) was, that hadn't earned him this. You would expect otherwise...
Crack. Aaaaaaand there it goes.
If Godfather was capable of it, she would be jetting steam from her ears. As it is, the gathering shadows were enough to make the two armed soldiers present take a nervous two steps back.
"I don't think you realize," she hissed through gritted teeth, "just how lucky you are. If you had been who my men thought you were, I would have come up and killed you myself. And just in case you mistake me for the average brain-dead tyrant, I have done my best to make you at least adequately comfortable. The least you can do is give me this one favour."
She let the glass shards trickle from her hand. There wasn't a drop of blood on them.
"Am I going about this wrong? Please, tell me! Am I asking too much, when all of this has practically gift-wrapped itself and all I need is the price tag cut off?! Do I have to start singing?!"
"...You could have treated me worse, yes. Thank you for that."
A pause.
"...but no. If you're not the average brain dead tyrant, you'll understand that I won't betray my world and its people. I...won't. No matter what. Singing? Fine. Do it."
Did she notice the tremble? It was definitely there. But...how could he give any other answer?
"You don't wanna do that, man," piped up one of the guards. "It's like if Niki Minaj-"
Too late. Godfather threw back her head and what came out of her mouth was worse than Niki Minaj with a head cold. It was more akin to a very bad impersonation of Kylie Minogue, if the impersonator was an elderly crow with a throat full of nail files. The guards actually cringed and covered their ears at several points.
Thankfully, it was over in a scant minute. A minute that probably seemed like an hour, especially to the shaking soldiers, who picked themselves up and exchanged nervous glances.
Perhaps the reaction from the stranger surprised them.
"....um...look, I'm a shit liar. That was terrible, but I can't sing either, so I'm not one to judge talent. If you were going to brainwash or break something in my head, it doesn't work. Plus, I endured being near the queen in yellow...that's kind of a step down."
Godfather snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Whatever. But you do realise, of course, that you don't have any other options? It's not like I'm going to let you wander all around my top-secret headquarters and stumble upon all my deadly secrets, like in Dracula. And my boys aren't going to release you even if you ask nicely. So either you tell me what I want, or you stay here and become part of the furniture."
The shadows around her dispersed slightly - a sure sign she was regaining her composure again.
"...is this really necessary? Is the only way to get what you want pillage and conquest?"
"Oh, really!" Godfather huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You make it sound like that's all we do! No, mostly we're in the shady deals and smuggling business, like any good criminal empire. Just think of this as us branching out into new markets, that's all! But to answer your question...
Her eyes flashed dangerously.
"It's a start. Then I was thinking of kicking back and watching half the world retcon itself whilst the money and booze rolls in."
"Then why am I here?"
"Wrong place, wrong time. Besides, that was only a trial run! When we get this thing going, we're going to do it properly!"
"Then please. Please. Just let me go and leave my world alone."
Godfather paused, raising a finger to her lip.
"Well, you know, I'd love to... Except. Point one. You put down fifty of my boys without breaking a sweat, and why would I let someone that dangerous out when I've got him under control? You might try to warn people about us, even, and that would just make things complicated.
"Point two. Saguaro's a bitch and cut off all communications in the name of building a facility. So I just have to take what I'm given, at this moment in time. Once she stops goose-stepping for five seconds, I'll try and whip her into line... but at the same time, might as well make use of these weird minerals we're getting from the feed pipes, right?"
"...fine. Lock me up, then."
"Heh. You'll see it my way, soon enough. You've got all the time in the world to think this through!"
Godfather turned and began strutting out of the cell, the soldiers reluctantly following. At the fame, she paused, causing the other two to screech to a halt, and turned back, flashing a grin.
"Or, should I say... my world?"
Then she left. As did the guards. The door hissed shut as though it were an audience member in a pantomine, and the lock beeped and clicked into position.
Just as it opened now.
"...You again." Ash said.
The godslayer had seen better days. True, that was his natural state half the time, but at least it was tied to getting something done. Now here he was, stripped of everything, Erdrick AWOL, wearing dull black prison clothes.
A contrast to the suit of metal of his visitor.
"Ash Marsello. Ceremonial Knight-Glorious of The Realms. 12, 12, 12...I honestly no longer have a serial number if I ever did. You ARE aware your boss ordered humane treatment and isn't always going to be asleep at the switch?"
Behind the metal faceplate, Ivan Vanko, codenamed Mr. Silver, cracked a dry grin.
"You assume too much, little man."
The classic haymaker. Dangerous even if done by a normal man. By a large man in armor? That could even be fatal.
Ash didn't IGNORE it, but the fact that he only took one step back was notable. The second one managed to knock him down, but he was already off balance.
"You know, you really shouldn't have a problem. You came crashing into my town and I defended it. It's not like I pantsed you in front of your buddies."
An ugly chuckle, muffled by the mask.
"Oh, so you forget the part where you humiliated me? Denied me my target? Please, allow me to refresh memory!"
A vicious kick for the ribs. Felt, but Ivan distinctly didn't feel certain things. Like bones breaking. Or air exploding out of lungs.
"And what did Sam ever do to you, anyway? Why care so much if you were just hired?"
"I could ask same of you! You have no stake! Nicodemus was my target, and my only target! You did not know him, yet you interfered!"
Rage taking over for a moment, Ivan thumped the wall with one massive fist. The clang echoed for quite a bit, even as the metal-clad Russian kept ranting as Ash got up.
"It is my job! My life! And I was happy! Then you come and make me look like pathetic weakling! Just like my father and Stark thieves!"
This time, a massive swinging clothesline.
"...if this...is how you handle it...then they're still making you weak...and you...beating on an unarmed man incapable of fighting back...will not restore your lost face..."
Ivan snorted, a harsh grating sound.
"You think I am weak? Loyalty is weak. That is why I take job - I survive by taking what comes my way. It is you, who defend complete strangers based on childish morals, who are weak."
"Oh really? Then why are you here?"
Ivan firstly responded with a sharp jab to the face. Mostly out of spite.
"You are not listening!" he snapped. "To survive! I care not for Godfather's idiotic plan! But better this than cold streets with no bread and being beaten with sticks! And if I must work for mad woman, then so be it, but will not march in step to her tune!"
The next thing Ash knew, a massive paw of a hand clamped around his throat and lifted him up into the air. From the angle presented, he could clearly see the flickering, repressed anger in the man's eyes.
"I work here for as long as it suits me. And when I have what I need, I take leave of Magpies. I illiterate this from memory and be Ivan Vanko again. Not Mister Silver."
"...Obliterate."
"What?"
"...I think you mean obliterate."
"What?"
"Obliterate. You said illiterate...that means you can't read. Props for trying to increase your word power, though." Ash said. "Ivan, you want peace? It's not..."
That's as far as Ash got before a roar of anger nearly blotted out his hearing altogether. Next came the sickening lurch, and the world span crazily for a moment before he impacted, shoulders-first and quite painfully, with the floor of the cell. Such was the force of Ivan's throw that the poor warrior actually folded up accordion-fashion, before he properly collapsed to the ground completely, head ringing and spine complaining vehemently.
There was a long, awful pause, punctuated by the rattling of Ivan's breathing.
"...I will have my peace when are dead. Presumptuous brat."
And it came as something of a mixed surprise and blessing when the footsteps moved away instead of towards him. Evidently, the fun of beating up an old enemy had been lost to the now aggravated Russian.
Ash, with some effort, managed to crawl up onto his bed. He was vaguely aware of them on the other side of the door.
"...you'd best get that locked...no sense...getting him mad at you too."
And so the door did close.
"...Name...rank...serial number..." Ash mumbled.
Ash Marsello.
Would-be hero.
Prisoner of the Magpies.
But people didn't always do the smart thing.
"Okay, let's start from the top."
Godfather idly swirled her wine, keeping her back to the prisoner. Keep them guessing, that was the trick. Keep them nervous. If they can't see your face, they can't tell what you're going to do, and nobody likes an enemy who's predictable...
"You have information I want. Information about your world and the way it works. I could use some of that, and save myself a lot of time in messing about with technology only half my men understand. And, obviously, I can't just beat it out of you, because I'm not a hired thug."
Turn, slowly... perfect. Flash those pearly whites...
"So... How about it? A cosy draft job with any of my boys, hourly wages and all the clams you can eat. In return, you tell me anything and everything, and I only listen to the good bits. Sound fair?"
"No."
A brief pause.
"That's in regards to the offer, by the way. Though it's also an answer to your last question."
That was the problem with a giant organization, after all. Too big, too complicated, too many moving parts. The left hand stopped knowing what the right hand was doing. Really, the smartest thing to do would have been to keep doing this. The cell, sealed off in a box, barely able to touch the outside world. Isolation was hell on social animals...
But mankind, and especially its evils, rarely understood the subtleties...
Eh, they always refuse the first one. No matter. Keep calm, keep smiling.
"What about a management position, then? Don't even have to go out to earn your pay, and you get somebody to press your suit! And you get discounts at all the fancy restaurants!
"...although all the waiters get nervous when we show up. Really, what's with that?"
"No."
Metal, and thick at that. Even if whatever weirdness they'd hacked together wasn't crippling him, he probably couldn't have punched his way out. Even if he COULD have, it would have taken time, and time was not on his side, especially in the heart of enemy territory. The only way in was a handprint scanner...
The smart thing would have been to let him stew in the isolation.
The human heart and mind were often at loggerheads that way.
Alright, arschloch. You're making it hard to keep composed, especially when we can feel the wine glass cracking in our grip. Those things are expensive.
"How about this? Joint leadership, with me. Half of the criminal underworld would stab their own mothers to share my dinner table, and that's just on a professional level."
"...Since it is clear I have to spell it out, NO. I will NOT betray my world, my friends, my PEOPLE, for you, even if you offer me everything in this world, the next, and throw in every single damn star in the sky. GO. TO. HELL."
The funniest thing (but not ha-ha funny) was, that hadn't earned him this. You would expect otherwise...
Crack. Aaaaaaand there it goes.
If Godfather was capable of it, she would be jetting steam from her ears. As it is, the gathering shadows were enough to make the two armed soldiers present take a nervous two steps back.
"I don't think you realize," she hissed through gritted teeth, "just how lucky you are. If you had been who my men thought you were, I would have come up and killed you myself. And just in case you mistake me for the average brain-dead tyrant, I have done my best to make you at least adequately comfortable. The least you can do is give me this one favour."
She let the glass shards trickle from her hand. There wasn't a drop of blood on them.
"Am I going about this wrong? Please, tell me! Am I asking too much, when all of this has practically gift-wrapped itself and all I need is the price tag cut off?! Do I have to start singing?!"
"...You could have treated me worse, yes. Thank you for that."
A pause.
"...but no. If you're not the average brain dead tyrant, you'll understand that I won't betray my world and its people. I...won't. No matter what. Singing? Fine. Do it."
Did she notice the tremble? It was definitely there. But...how could he give any other answer?
"You don't wanna do that, man," piped up one of the guards. "It's like if Niki Minaj-"
Too late. Godfather threw back her head and what came out of her mouth was worse than Niki Minaj with a head cold. It was more akin to a very bad impersonation of Kylie Minogue, if the impersonator was an elderly crow with a throat full of nail files. The guards actually cringed and covered their ears at several points.
Thankfully, it was over in a scant minute. A minute that probably seemed like an hour, especially to the shaking soldiers, who picked themselves up and exchanged nervous glances.
Perhaps the reaction from the stranger surprised them.
"....um...look, I'm a shit liar. That was terrible, but I can't sing either, so I'm not one to judge talent. If you were going to brainwash or break something in my head, it doesn't work. Plus, I endured being near the queen in yellow...that's kind of a step down."
Godfather snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Whatever. But you do realise, of course, that you don't have any other options? It's not like I'm going to let you wander all around my top-secret headquarters and stumble upon all my deadly secrets, like in Dracula. And my boys aren't going to release you even if you ask nicely. So either you tell me what I want, or you stay here and become part of the furniture."
The shadows around her dispersed slightly - a sure sign she was regaining her composure again.
"...is this really necessary? Is the only way to get what you want pillage and conquest?"
"Oh, really!" Godfather huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You make it sound like that's all we do! No, mostly we're in the shady deals and smuggling business, like any good criminal empire. Just think of this as us branching out into new markets, that's all! But to answer your question...
Her eyes flashed dangerously.
"It's a start. Then I was thinking of kicking back and watching half the world retcon itself whilst the money and booze rolls in."
"Then why am I here?"
"Wrong place, wrong time. Besides, that was only a trial run! When we get this thing going, we're going to do it properly!"
"Then please. Please. Just let me go and leave my world alone."
Godfather paused, raising a finger to her lip.
"Well, you know, I'd love to... Except. Point one. You put down fifty of my boys without breaking a sweat, and why would I let someone that dangerous out when I've got him under control? You might try to warn people about us, even, and that would just make things complicated.
"Point two. Saguaro's a bitch and cut off all communications in the name of building a facility. So I just have to take what I'm given, at this moment in time. Once she stops goose-stepping for five seconds, I'll try and whip her into line... but at the same time, might as well make use of these weird minerals we're getting from the feed pipes, right?"
"...fine. Lock me up, then."
"Heh. You'll see it my way, soon enough. You've got all the time in the world to think this through!"
Godfather turned and began strutting out of the cell, the soldiers reluctantly following. At the fame, she paused, causing the other two to screech to a halt, and turned back, flashing a grin.
"Or, should I say... my world?"
Then she left. As did the guards. The door hissed shut as though it were an audience member in a pantomine, and the lock beeped and clicked into position.
Just as it opened now.
"...You again." Ash said.
The godslayer had seen better days. True, that was his natural state half the time, but at least it was tied to getting something done. Now here he was, stripped of everything, Erdrick AWOL, wearing dull black prison clothes.
A contrast to the suit of metal of his visitor.
"Ash Marsello. Ceremonial Knight-Glorious of The Realms. 12, 12, 12...I honestly no longer have a serial number if I ever did. You ARE aware your boss ordered humane treatment and isn't always going to be asleep at the switch?"
Behind the metal faceplate, Ivan Vanko, codenamed Mr. Silver, cracked a dry grin.
"You assume too much, little man."
The classic haymaker. Dangerous even if done by a normal man. By a large man in armor? That could even be fatal.
Ash didn't IGNORE it, but the fact that he only took one step back was notable. The second one managed to knock him down, but he was already off balance.
"You know, you really shouldn't have a problem. You came crashing into my town and I defended it. It's not like I pantsed you in front of your buddies."
An ugly chuckle, muffled by the mask.
"Oh, so you forget the part where you humiliated me? Denied me my target? Please, allow me to refresh memory!"
A vicious kick for the ribs. Felt, but Ivan distinctly didn't feel certain things. Like bones breaking. Or air exploding out of lungs.
"And what did Sam ever do to you, anyway? Why care so much if you were just hired?"
"I could ask same of you! You have no stake! Nicodemus was my target, and my only target! You did not know him, yet you interfered!"
Rage taking over for a moment, Ivan thumped the wall with one massive fist. The clang echoed for quite a bit, even as the metal-clad Russian kept ranting as Ash got up.
"It is my job! My life! And I was happy! Then you come and make me look like pathetic weakling! Just like my father and Stark thieves!"
This time, a massive swinging clothesline.
"...if this...is how you handle it...then they're still making you weak...and you...beating on an unarmed man incapable of fighting back...will not restore your lost face..."
Ivan snorted, a harsh grating sound.
"You think I am weak? Loyalty is weak. That is why I take job - I survive by taking what comes my way. It is you, who defend complete strangers based on childish morals, who are weak."
"Oh really? Then why are you here?"
Ivan firstly responded with a sharp jab to the face. Mostly out of spite.
"You are not listening!" he snapped. "To survive! I care not for Godfather's idiotic plan! But better this than cold streets with no bread and being beaten with sticks! And if I must work for mad woman, then so be it, but will not march in step to her tune!"
The next thing Ash knew, a massive paw of a hand clamped around his throat and lifted him up into the air. From the angle presented, he could clearly see the flickering, repressed anger in the man's eyes.
"I work here for as long as it suits me. And when I have what I need, I take leave of Magpies. I illiterate this from memory and be Ivan Vanko again. Not Mister Silver."
"...Obliterate."
"What?"
"...I think you mean obliterate."
"What?"
"Obliterate. You said illiterate...that means you can't read. Props for trying to increase your word power, though." Ash said. "Ivan, you want peace? It's not..."
That's as far as Ash got before a roar of anger nearly blotted out his hearing altogether. Next came the sickening lurch, and the world span crazily for a moment before he impacted, shoulders-first and quite painfully, with the floor of the cell. Such was the force of Ivan's throw that the poor warrior actually folded up accordion-fashion, before he properly collapsed to the ground completely, head ringing and spine complaining vehemently.
There was a long, awful pause, punctuated by the rattling of Ivan's breathing.
"...I will have my peace when are dead. Presumptuous brat."
And it came as something of a mixed surprise and blessing when the footsteps moved away instead of towards him. Evidently, the fun of beating up an old enemy had been lost to the now aggravated Russian.
Ash, with some effort, managed to crawl up onto his bed. He was vaguely aware of them on the other side of the door.
"...you'd best get that locked...no sense...getting him mad at you too."
And so the door did close.
"...Name...rank...serial number..." Ash mumbled.
Ash Marsello.
Would-be hero.
Prisoner of the Magpies.
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