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Post by Hero on Jul 7, 2018 0:29:30 GMT
Before his eyes opened he knew he wanted to die.
Tucked behind wool covers, drenched in sweat as if in cardiac arrest, the air conditioning did little to keep anything alive in this place. Whether night time or day it was always unbearably hot. Slipping his arm from underneath his comforters in the pitch black darkness he wiped the sweat from the scruff along his face and panted in disbelief. Were it up to him he'd lay here forever until his heart stopped beating; after-all, he didn't owe the world anything. Everyone pushing for their own selfish agenda, feigning consideration for others, the way people interacted with each other was honestly disgusting yet he was a human being like the rest. The very same hand covered in perspiration slowly rose and his index finger traced the scars along his face as they did every day. No matter how he tried the nerves damaged by the clean scars were a part of a memory that he could never forget. As if a part of him had died right there at that moment and what remained was an empty vessel that silently begged for the ending long overdue.
BEEP BEEP!! USER IDENTIFICATION INTERFACE INITIATED—KATRINA REQUESTING ACCESS.
Decades and almost a century since the technology of their origin planet had reached its apex and doorbells were more annoying than they ever were.
With an aggravating pull, the covers flew to the outskirts of the king-sized bed that belonged to him alone. Were it not routine, he'd question whether or not he wet the bed, but instead, he rolled lazily to the edge and slapped his feet against the ceramic marble floor of his bedroom.
I really don't want to—
BEEP BEEP!! USER IDENTIFICATION INTERFACE INITIATED—KATRINA REQUESTING ACCESS.
At this point, he had learned to drown out his own home's stubborn automated intelligence by drowning in his own miserable thoughts. Rather than exploding in frustration as he may have in days much younger...
“Let me see the sunrise...” he ordered his home with a voice as rough and broken as it were low and intimidating. Beautiful strokes of scarlet painted on the glass walls of his room to his front put him on the beach, where even his feet were placed in a place of relaxation. This level of immersion was nothing compared to what existed outside of his home and in many others, junkies, feeding themselves to the web and beyond, but this was enough to calm him while he rose and stretched in his usual grumpy mood. Folding his thick arms along his chest, he slowly paced towards the restroom just beyond a wall that he had calculated was there by instinct, and pressed against it lightly opening to a restroom so white that it appeared to be sterilized. Much smaller than the rest of his home, there was nothing unique about it; which couldn't be said for the man that stepped into the mirror soon thereafter.
A man who appeared to be in his fifties or even sixties, his complexion was smooth, but the combination of very wild white facial hair, straight yet distinct, and the myriad of over a dozen scars, it was hard to say whether or not they added to his presumed age. His eyes were completely black with flecks of gold floating through them like a crystal ball with synapses within, and his eyebrows had notched cuts in them, presumably tribal, but they complimented his high-cheekbones and moderately-thick lips flawlessly. His hair bore cornrows at the crown, four in total, while the sides started as cornrows and devolved into free-flowing straight hair that danced wildly to the back of his head where it all met at the base of his neck. There was something about his appearance that was complicated but instinctual that even he had never understood, but it was part of what made him the broken individual he was, so he was proud to wear his individuality on his sleeve.
Which he didn't happen to be wearing at that moment. Every day his black eyes carefully inspected his mesomorphic physique for any abnormalities out of the ordinary, and when he couldn't find any, he carefully checked again. That is, while simultaneously using his carefree electronic brush to brush his teeth and the dispensing of wet wipes to cleanse his face. Had he more time he'd take another shower before dealing with his day, but judging by the way things were shaping out...
BEEP BEEP!! USER IDENTIFICATION INTERFACE INITIATED—KATRINA REQUESTING ACCESS.
By the third ring, he was usually irritated, and she...if one could call her that, was abrasive.
A few minutes in-between finding a pair of clothes to wear from his wardrobe conveniently located in a biometric locker near the shower and doing some light brushing to the pieces of his hair not twisted into cornrows, and he was heading out of the exit of his room, the lovely beach view fading into obscurity.
All he could think about in the midst of his amble down his marble steps was how much he hated everything. Forced counseling hadn't helped, sex was only great in enormous portions, and his job— which had proven to be a dangerous but effective countermeasure— could only do so much on its own. So what was he left with?
Stuffing his hands into his white, plastic shorts.
“Let her in I guess...”
The door slid to the right and in-walked the woman of his goddamn nightmares. Of all the external factors that contributed to his willingness to die, she was by far one of the most annoying of them all.
“DANZAIVER PROXIME AITON!” the red-headed bitch roared, immediately punching him square in the chest, hard enough to wrinkle his white polo shirt (yes, this facet of fashion had survived all this time).
“Are you crazy?” he snapped back, a look of vicious frustration like a cornered snake upon his facade. “Watch your step Katrina...”
Almost as if catching herself, she gritted her teeth together, taking a step back in her black heels before realizing who she was. “You let me stand out there in the heat you crazy bastard! You know the schedule!”
While she continued on her long rampage of madness (justified or not), Danzaiver as she called him, was yet again of why he avoided women. His main reason for wanting to die was at the fault of a woman. Then there was Katrina. An agent of VELD [Voltica Experimentation Liability and Disputes], she was exactly the type of person Dan prayed he'd never meet, let alone have the unpleasure association of working with her in any form of capacity. Anything that was some form of lapdog to the government instantly left a bad taste in his mouth, and VELD was worse than them all, but being that he was biased, he was in no real position to refute anything else. To make matters worse, she wasn't just an ordinary agent or human for that matter. She was different, even more than he was. The look of fear in her eyes when he spoke was misleading, she didn't fear him, she feared to lose what it was that he could produce.
And there was nothing worse than that.
“Did you bring my medicine?” he cut her off, reaching into his plastic shorts for his Lennon inspired crimson circular glasses that he was known for.
“Here!” the busty red-haired demon fizzled out, whipping out the capsule of pills that seemed to seal the end of their morning exchange. His drab demeanor melting into very light enthusiasm, he grabbed it quicker than it took her to reveal it from within her skin-tight black suit. Honestly, what she wore made her look like a cosplaying stripper, but no one else seemed to complain as long as she wasn't working in the office. Then again, the mere notion of fashion, style, and efficiency in the workplace was so far gone to hell that logic or practicality was the last thing to cross anyone's mind.
Popping the capsule open in front of her, she usually stepped away towards the front door for them to make their way out, but instead, she crossed her arms quietly and stared. Danzaiver was literally mesmerized by the medicine, so much so, that the entire world around him turned to black, and all he could see was the shimmering white pills that it produced, forcing four out and into the palm of his hand— and they were only there for a half-a-second. Just long enough to inspect them and figure out that they were real, before swallowing them whole.
No one could tell him that medicine couldn't save lives, or that the government didn't know what it was doing. Otherwise, he'd be dead, and this world would have stopped mattering a long time ago. Contradictory? Maybe. Still, he hated them, and he had his reasons.
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Post by Hero on Jul 7, 2018 16:13:00 GMT
The dystopian metropolitan stretched out into infinity, accompanied by populated megastructures owned by elite corporations and government installed facilities for uses that Danzaiver didn't care much to know about. Their world was crowded, several overlapping, messy plates, connected by dynamic pillars of fortified technology that made it hard to navigate or even live there. The more the population of Keres as an artificial planet grew, the more delirious and insane everything became, but this was hardly his problem or the problem of anyone related to him. The more technology and innovation grew, the harder it became to contain the growing flynn effect that mercilessly killed their minds with forbidden knowledge. This was an era where cybernetic prosthesis' were commonplace, and biological augmentations dealing with DNA and a mysterious mineral found in many planets outside of Terra known as Voltia had become the next breakthrough in mankind's scientific revolution. Again, none of this mattered to Danzaiver, and while bits and pieces applied to him as a victim of the times, this didn't influence whether or not death was the best option for him on any given day. On the contrary, every decade since he was a child reminded him more and more of the books his father used to read, a social worker in a climate where the psychological dissonance of people had only continued to grow. One day their evolution would take them beyond their mortal limits the books usually hinted to, and they would become like the beings that gave birth to them and all living things.
If so, God help them.
“Are you listening to me?” Katrina barked, pressing the length of a ball-point pin against his right peroneal nerve. For someone who appeared to be a stripper she was fluent in the nerves of the body, and equally dangerous if allowed to exploit them. “Regina Hockshiv...she's important. We can't screw this up.”
Danzaiver grunted, swatting her wrist almost as quickly as the pin met his foreleg's flesh. The drugs usually warped his perception of reality, for better or worse, but it never stopped him from being able to execute his contract. “Bitch...Regina...that's the world class Soccer player from Waco right?”
“Right...eighteen AllCos platinum medals, two gold medals. A legend in the slums all across Keres and even the rest of the star system. She was a local legend before the age of seven and wound up in races across the world with adults before she was eleven. No one has ever been able to explain her prowess, only that she's gifted...”
One thing that VELD insisted to it's clients and contractors alike was that no abnormal talent was a gift. It was either illegal cyborg augmentation, infusion of Voltia via exposure or complicated scientific methods, or something else recently discovered by the company board. Of course, that something else was so incredibly rare and outside of their protocol that it didn't matter to them, but Danzaiver had a personal history with the mischief this outlier caused. The scars on his face, his pitiful existence, a mysterious woman, they were all intricately connected, but as to how so, not even Katrina knew for certain. Well before her time after all.
“We're acting as undercover escorts under the guise of the MEDICA [Mercenaries Executing Direct Interstellar Contracts Abroad] with their permission as usual, and while protecting her from whatever could possibly happen, we're going to observe her movements and physical parameters ourselves. Our goal is to glean some sort of information as to where the source of her gift is without overstepping our boundaries and blowing our cover...” Katrina announced the directive given from her chief advisor while they sat in their luxurious black chariot that zipped them through holographic streets via the automated transportation collective that ran not only the city but the entire planet where it was possible. Of course, this made it far more expensive to ride around, but this also allowed them to sit in the back of what some would consider a limousine and for her fingers to dance across a lo-fi graphic of teal, dancing across the interface of information with very light touches across the car's storage system.
“Don't they have better people for this?” Danzaiver grunted, his eyes shifting from behind his glasses to her to watch her reaction of disgust. Although she was beautiful, she was also young and didn't appear to be a day over nineteen. With that not being the case, Danzaiver wondered how someone like her had been able to live their life without being exposed to the nightmare of the government's bullshit at a young age. Usually, at her stage, the hormones cried in rebellion. What had they done to her? It wasn't his business, but it was food for thought, and being that he was heavily sedated on drugs of another caliber, no question was too crazy.
“Proxi-”
“Dan or Danzaiver,” he quickly corrected her, shifting his propped head in his callous palm, his elbow resting against the door of the vehicle.
“Whatever! You know they requested you personally, and I have no control over why or when they do so. You want to get paid don't you?”
“You think I give a shit about getting paid? If this was just about money, I wouldn't even be on this planet right now...” Danzaiver grunted, almost amazed at how clueless Katrina was, even after having worked with each other a few times in the past.
“If you have a problem with the way the government does things, take it up with them! Why they'd pick a weak old man like you I'll never understand...” Katrina trailed off, her eyes snapping from Danzaiver back the dimly lit HUD.
Why indeed. As clueless as Katrina was, Dan knew all the reason that they tortured him with these assignments. There was never a day when he was requested and it wasn't for a reason that they failed to mention until it was all said and done. The lack of qualified personnel who could deal with certain intimate situations? No. Acting as a mentor to others that he was partnered with, or even teams altogether? No. It was far more personal. They took pleasure in making him suffer. This sounded like a warped perception of his position in the midst of things, but honestly, he wasn't too far from the mark.
Rather than dwelling on the situation of his employment (and slavery) though, he focused on something that bothered him everyday. The heat. Underneath a second overlapping plate, the sun hardly shone down on them, so it wasn't a natural heat that was the cause...no, it was the terrible industrialization and overpopulation of the planet that sent the temperatures skyrocket. Everywhere one looked there was people walking, arguing, fighting, ambling from their day to day destinations in a state of perpetuity. Pedestrians to the system intricately created by the scientists who pushed the foundation of mankind any chance possible, everyone lived a life that was somehow more negative than positive. Even an optimist would be hard pressed to not lie to themselves continually in this society, but Danzaiver didn't knock anyone for their views. Everyone had their coping mechanisms, and sometimes he wish he could be a casual optimist. Unfortunately, his mind had experienced things far beyond what the mind should, and there was no way he could even fathom the thought of lying to himself. He would rather die, which of course, isn't a new avenue of discovery.
“We have two hours to arrive and make contact with her own security team. Since your rank supersedes mine, and you're old as hell, you'll assume the role of captain today. Follow the protocol, same as the diver from last go round, and everything should go smoothly...”
“And breakfast?”
The holographic interface snapped shut with a flick of her hand.
“When are you going to evolve like the rest of us? You still eat with your mouth?” Katrina snarled hysterically, crude enjoyment filling her young, naive face.
“Sorry, I like to give my mouth some meaning other than kissing slutty women like yourself and doing a job I could care less for,” Danzaiver retorted apathetically, his eyes now locked on the megastructures that pierced the plate above.
“...” Katrina stared with a mood that changed from playful banter to World War IV that quick.
“Listen you horny old fuck, whatever happened between you and I—”
“Authentication ID number seven five nine four six. take us to Frank's on Zepplin intersection please,” Danzaiver yelled over her, moving from his leaned posture against the door. His left hand, thick and husky, reached out and grabbed Katrina's knee while his right rose to his lips in a gesture of silence. “Shhhhh. Save it for after, I'm hungry, and we're partners today right?”
People that worked with Danzaiver always remarked that when he didn't try so hard to be an asshole, that he was one of the most charismatic men they had ever met. Something about the depths of his voice, the allure of his formidable white hair, and the mystery of who he was and what exactly he was capable of brought respect even from those he had never met. Katrina knew a bit more about him than most, and it was no coincidence that they had selected the two of them to be partners on this assignment. While Katrina feigned her emotions around him and studied him like an older crush or perhaps even idol of hers, Danzaiver only questioned the methods of VELD. Of all the other hypothetical pairings, they had started to become a staple on more high-risk, high-priority assignments. The Conclave was planning something. The only things he held dear to him were on the radar of the higher powers, and it seemed that they were ready to make their move. Would he lose everything in the process?
His right hand sauntered out and his thumb stroked her left cheek gently. The pills had finally kicked in full-speed.
Today was going to be a long day.
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Post by Hero on Jul 7, 2018 19:38:33 GMT
A regional race of high-stakes was set to take place at the Umbra Garden where millions of people would gather to watch the hero of Waco destroy her competition.
Several times a year regional races with various stipulations happened across the world, but this one was special. Augmentations, whether cybernetic or otherwise, where normally prohibited, were instead allowed. On the hinge of a world where a famous boxer known as Gearless Joe had dominated his competition in the OPBF [Oriental and Pacific Boxing Federation], the less fortunate and youthful craved to see the disadvantaged emerge victorious over their contemporaries. History showed that the empathetic, fiery, yet relatable icon of sports of any kind usually won the hearts of all, even those who didn't know anything about the sport in question. Whether for propaganda to the media's marketing schemes or the underground gambling associations that covered everything from sports to war, and even medicine, it gave hope to those who wouldn't otherwise have any. Not everyone was strong or had the will to overcome their born circumstances or even their own mistakes. As time moved on the world became more relenting and less forgiving. The margin for error shrinking, and the consequences becoming more and more of the world's grandiose reality. Reginaldia Cucose was a miracle, at least in that sense.
Born in the slums of Waco she was surrounded by the dangers of gang violence as a young latin woman. Her father an infamous gangbanger for a prominent drug lord named Ferdiad Escobar, and her mother a daycare owner by day and prostitute by night. The world didn't care about her from the moment she was born, all it cared about was what she could produce. Pedophilia ran strong in the blood of the Cucose's, and her father was especially unkind. While Cecily, her mother, was neglected and forced to collect whatever money she could for her “husband”, he himself found more delight in the intimate comfort of Regina herself. In this world, it wasn't uncommon for pedophilia to take place, especially amongst those perpetually diving in the cybersphere without a care of what existed on the outside. Once upon a time laws actually regulated people, made them fear the consequences of their more primal, instinctual behavior.
Those times passed decades ago. So Regina grew up with a fondness and love for her father, the only man she had ever been with, and a mother who hated her so much that she wanted to kill her every day. And it was the attempt on her life that would forever burn in her memory as the darkest day in her life, and perhaps the day her greatest gift was born.
Even as the cocoa-colored bald woman prepared for the race, hands running down the edges of her ankles, and feet, she could remember every step she took across the black pavement in the nasty rain that trickled from the plates above. Her mother had pulled a gun on her, and finally confessed that she was growing mad with her life of prostitution, discarded as a piece of trash by her father who concerned himself more with the operations demanded by Ferdiad than of anything else, even related to his daughter and wife.
So two bullets rang through the room, both missing, and before Cecily could fix the jammed Glock 46, Regina was fleeing for her life.
With nothing more than jean shorts and a skimpy tank-top that revealed nothing of the eight-year-old, she became a blur in the streets of Waco. Those who could see her that day were utterly flabbergasted by what they saw. Her speed was unlike anything they had seen before, faster than even an adult they had seen, the world seemed to be slowing down around her as she bolted down every corner, through every intersection, and down every street, she could. Anything that took her as far away from her home as possible.
And in her mind she could only think of how she wanted to fly as far away as possible. Anything that could take her from this world of damnation. It wasn't her father, her mother, or even the teachers of her school that were more concerned with their pensions than their jobs. It was her feet.
The deep reserves of her impeccable memory snapped shut when the door to her locker room slid open, revealing the white, monotonous room where she stood, and she herself, the legend personified.
“Regina sweetie I'm here!” Cecily smiled, her heels clicking rapidly with her lack of ability to navigate them. While once Cecily was a skinny, almost anorexic woman, it was clear where Regina got her model like curves from. Cecily's thighs, ankles, and bust were thick and well-endowed, while her waist, neck, ankles, and all of the usual feminine places about her were thin and smooth. Unlike Regina however she was very light, yellow even, and her hair was black, while Regina herself, who looked similar in bodily proportions, but smaller, and an inch taller, was cocoa-colored with an orange-scalp she had dyed herself. It was the color of Waco's city flag, and she wore it proudly on her shoulders— especially for a woman fix feet and nine inches.
Cecily quickly wrapped her arms around Regina who smiled and did the same.
“Thank you, mama, how was your flight?” she spoke gently, a voice of an angel that respected her mother, and one that was still young and rooted in the fundamentals of a tenor.
“Ugh! Those damn bastards! Even flying private you can be refused a drink! The nerve of them to say I was drinking too much...but I'm just your spoiled mother, don't worry about me! Are you ready?” she asked in excitement, her voice squeaking in glee. It was hard to tell whether or not she was genuinely interested in the race, in her daughter, or in what the end game of it all would be. Regina didn't think much about it, but to members of her security detail she had poached from various outsources in the industry, the rumor was that she was a blood-sucking bitch who would have been dead were it not for Regina. Which was true, and if anyone deserved to die, Regina felt that it was Cecily, not her father. Then again...
“Of course, mama. Always.” she released her, nodding her head in confident affirmation. “So long as you and papa are here with me I can never lose.”
Cecily smelled of gin and lilac-perfume, but that didn't stop her from leaning in to kiss her daughter on the cheek. “I know I tell you this all the time...but I'm so proud of you, and I am lucky to be your mother. Go out there and make the people of Waco proud.”
She reached up with a hand of jewelry and tugged Regina's cheek gingerly before her heels clicked their way back out, but whereas she was the one leaving, three others entered.
Danzaiver Aiton had changed attire dramatically. A black bulletproof vest, a harness overtop with a multitude of varying grenades, knives, and other trinkets tucked too far into their pouches to really tell, and a stark white overcoat, as white as the room; and his slacks and boots matched the black yet efficient design that his getup met. His circular red glasses slipped down his nose to observe the pride of Waco in person, while the nameless aide who brought himself and Katrina forth hesitated to speak, and merely stepped to the side as the two entered the locker room. Fortunately, she was already dressed, then again, the door would have been locked otherwise, as was the protocol.
“You must be the great stallion of Waco.” Danzaiver entreated, his left hand rising to push his glasses back to the top of his nose before slipping into the pockets of his slacks.
“I am sir...a-and you are?” the latin woman faltered for a moment. It was obvious that she had a natural fear of authority, much the same way that Danzaiver did, even then.
“I'm Daniel O'Neal with MEDICA and this here is my assistant, Selene Marie,” Danzaiver explained, his professional demeanor giving Regina the indication, alongside the badge attached to the color of his jacket, and of Katrina's belt along her “stripper-suit”. It was a stiff competition between her and Regina of who was more beautiful, but Katrina very much-edged the race, being older, and having about her a bit more symmetrical perfection, whereas Regina's head was shaped more like an oval with low-cheek bones.
“We're here to oversee the protection of you and your family here during this event. We've already informed your security detail of the proper measures we've taken, and we trust that it's okay if they act under our authority?” Danzaiver expanded for a moment before asking a very careful question.
“Of course...I trust you.” Regina responded hesitantly again, prompting an arrogant sniff of the air by Katrina who was naturally competitive, and perhaps envious of Regina. However, being that Regina had a heart of cold, and was largely isolated from the world from the moment her talent was discovered, she didn't quite pick up on it.
“Great...now one last thing...” Danzaiver reached into his pocket and pulled out a black notepad and ball-pointed pin. “Can I have your autograph?”
Regina couldn't bring herself to decline the people she was entrusting her life to, so with a beam of delight, she appeased Danzaiver's wishes before he shook her hand and left, Katrina not even bothering with any contact at all.
“Somethings off...” Katrina mumbled to herself, but Danzaiver wasn't paying attention. Instead he had taken the journal and placed it in a plastic bag, along with the pin she had used. When she was finished, he asked her to place it in the pocket of his overcoat, which was sterilized just before they entered the building. If there was any hope of finding any hints as to the mystery of her gift, it was in the cells they collected from her fingerprints before a race, and keen observations of her throughout.
“Yeah whatever you said. Anyways...” Danzaiver stopped at the T-intersection of a hallway they met. “She drew her blood and they took data on her here like with all other racers. Go check that out while I go observe the race in question. Keep your commlink on sweetiepie.”
“Don't die ya' damn idiot.” Katrina demanded of him, stepping off into the opposite direction that Danzaiver had to walk. His smile faded to apathy, and his feet ambled to the arena beyond.
Danzaiver's sass to her immediate concerns weren't because he was aloof and didn't have his own suspicions. However, Occam's Razor was still in-effect. Until proven otherwise there was nothing out of the ordinary here, and the easiest explanation was athletic superiority.
“Another couldn't hurt,” Danzaiver's chirped with glossy eyes, popping open his capsule, and letting another round orb of goodness take him off his feet.
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Post by Hero on Jul 16, 2018 5:08:31 GMT
“I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.”
― Daniel Keyes, Flowers for Algernon
Rose marshmallow clouds effervesced in a sky of aquamarine, littered with diamond dust like stars crushed by the hand of God and blown gingerly across infinity to join the grandeur of nature's beauty. The zephyrs blew with a natural calm; guiding the spiritual livestock of the world's lifestream in all translucent shapes and sizes across the sky in a place where no man could exist. Below lay a valley avocado green grass and fern green trees singing in the winds on the outskirts of a grandiose river that ran through its center, splashing across rigid inclines and declines, but never in a way that would break the peace of this sacred place. Fish darted throughout in their natural cycle of life, butterflies with wings of iridescence danced throughout the valley, and squirrels exercised across the grassy plains outside of the valley and even within where their homes lie. The mountains where the valley ran through were covered in white snow, glowing teal with a strange radiation, as all things did in this world.
However, it was not the only thing strange, or out of the ordinary here. Soft footsteps brought lacquered dress shoes stepping one after another on blades of grass, crushing them beneath a quiet stranger's footsteps. Every step that he took let the world he defiled return to it's natural beauty before he committed the sin of defiling it once more. Was it a man or a woman? Why were they here? The shadows of the forest and the valley itself seemed to hide them almost supernaturally as they marched further within.
This mysterious enigma then stopped, and with a single glance into the river at their left, revealed to the world their identity.
Raven-haired tendrils of darkness strewed across their crown, hiding their young, but melancholy facade. Eyes that were blue but brighter than the sky, and flesh as pale as any, it was his golden earrings and black suit that truly accentuated his appearance. One could guess he was rather athletic by the way his attire fit his body, but even he was unsure of anything anymore.
Breaking his eyes from the water, he glanced to the right with eyes of indifference until he found what he was looking for— a clearing. Softly sauntering over it became more apparent that this was the place. A log cabin, ordinary, made of the logs likely found within the forest, rest within the heart of the clearing. Was this the place he was looking for? A few steps into the clearing and he stopped, staring at the establishment with eyes of apathetic scrutiny. What was he doing here? This was not a question for himself, but a question for any that observed him from afar. This man knew very well what his purpose here was. In-fact, not just his purpose here, but the purpose of many things beyond himself...after-all, without that knowledge, everything thus far would have been for nothing. A few moments of silent contemplation and he slowly began his careful approach to the cabin. With a ginger flick of his right hand, the bottom of his coat flew off to the side and back, revealing carefully placed plastic black holster and a metallic grey gun double-locked by two individual leather straps. the gun was large, with a six-inch barrel extending down the right side of his leg, and a gunmetal coating, one would think that were he to prepare to fire, that he'd have to draw it ahead of time. Yet he hadn't. Still he approached, his hands in their pockets, and his gun revealed before he had even arrived officially at the doorstep of this anonymous residence.
BANG!!
A world of peace undisturbed shuttered underneath the sound of gunfire, sending birds that once chirped sprawling into every direction and all wildlife scattering for their lives. The source of the gunfire was the Grey9 handgun held by the raven-haired suit that walked the premises with unwarranted hostility, but his target? A boy, young, with hair of black and eyes of tears. The freckled boy grasped his chest in disbelief before dropping back first into the grass just outside the cabin, and the assailant stared almost in disbelief. His gun had left its holster and fired quicker than he could comprehend ever doing it, but why? Why did he shoot that boy? And not just any boy...that young man...he was the last piece of him left in this world. But why?
“Some pain has no relief, it can only be sealed...” a familiar voice echoed through his mind, a sagely whisper. “Grasping the wound, however, will keep it unhealed...”
“STAY OUT OF MY HEAD YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”
Then all he felt was the void of which he had been reborn in, and his eyes opened to a world anew.
Resting in a snow-white exotic fur upholstered office chair that felt more like a throne than it did a chair, he glanced down to the glass desk where the displays of various meetings and future objective points of his interests read in high-vector teal light, and then looked up to the large office that lacked anything but space and a table with comfortable leather black chairs in the center. How long had he been sleep? Did it really matter? Not particularly. Not this office, his personal research company, the government, the planet, none of it held any form of true relevant importance. It almost made him wonder why he played the charade he did, or bothered to involve himself. What would Adell say? Those words...they were his...once an Eternal he was coveted with much advice from a man who had seen eternity, yet when their aspirations did not align, the raven-haired gunslinger did what he did best.
Disappear. Law Alias, like all others, was motivated by self-interests. While Adell sought to become God himself, Law's ambitions were far more minuscule in nature. Regardless of who had to be caused pain, he would do whatever was in his power to rewrite history, even against Adell's wishes. Sighing, he leaned back once more in his reclining office chair and looked to the glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. How many times had he lived in this office, on this day, at this exact hour, even in this exact moment. Each had slight variation, but this one...the dream he had seen, felt, tasted. Something was different this time. The fear that someone could be interfering with his experiment from the outside crossed his mind, but perhaps, maybe, just maybe, this was the one...the world where he could finally find the data to bring his one true joy back to the world.
His son. And by any means necessary he would do it, working tirelessly until there was nothing left of him. Silently he lost himself in contemplation, and if given the time, he would sit and think for eternity on the next move of his own eternal chess game.
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