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Zan
Exalted Player
Posts: 206
Joined: Sat Jan 22, 2005 10:28 pm
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A Transition

Post by Zan » Sun Feb 12, 2006 3:55 am

Walk. Left, right. Breathe. Zan's mind was transfixed into a sort of static simplicity as he fought to ignore the maelstrom of thoughts bombarding him. He had been looking for a home, some place that would harbor him without prejudice, since the moment he had been infected with Twilight. He was a man grasping at air and hoping to find gold. Astonishingly, he had accomplished just that, only to play a vital role in ripping it all away. Alone no longer? Perhaps, once upon a time when the world made sense and he could feel his own heart beat. Now he was just a husk, an empty shell. It was then he found himself wishing for his insanity back, for that bittersweet sustenance that kept such thoughts in a loop. Now he could only follow the mental path to his own self-destruction and see the hollow man that lay slumped at the end. The only sound he could make out in exception to his own thoughts was the crunch of gravel beneath his feat, a residual reminder of the humid, cracked desert he still walked. Nothing in his head, no knowledge Lowen had granted him, none of it told him how to get back. Zan had carved out his own graveyard with claws and blood-stained fangs.

Dark brown hair blew in a dry wind around his shoulders, rebellious strands obscuring his dull, Siberian-husky eyes from time to time. The only thing whipping harder then his hair was the black leather trenchcoat that wrapped as a sweltering blanket around him. The hotter he got, the better he seemed to feel, his biorhythms twisted and remade by the Twilight genetics he possessed. Indulging himself further, the fallen alpha tossed the leather hood attachment up and over his head. It was like emerging himself in a sauna, drowning away the hatred and the anguish that still writhed beneath the surface of his skin. Both his boots and the loose material of his pants as black as the coat around him, only the emerald hue of his shirt threw off what would have otherwise made him a drifting shade. Eyes stabbed into the ground as he walked against the wind, the lycanthrope came to a pause as the sight of three pairs of armored feet came into view. Lofted eyes met the presence of the knights of Truth, Decadence, and Salvation. Behind their metal-plated masks Zan could make out no expressions, no responses, no promises of attack. They simply stood there for a while, quiet, contemplating.

"...What do you want?" It was Zan who spoke first, an underlying growl embedded into the heart of his words.

"We heard your call. We want to help, your highness." Truth spoke with caution, with a wariness he hadn't possessed before. Something in his words stirred Zan, provoked a lash of the lycan's hand around his chainmail-protected neck, yanking him closer.

"Don't call me that. I'm not a king, I'm not an alpha. Spout anymore of that bullshit and I'll rip out your throat, got it?" Zan spat, shoving him away with a release of his hand from Truth's neck.

"As you wish, but there's something you need to know. Lowen, Boros, Jeng, and Elaina..." Rubbing the spot Zan had only recently let go of, Truth's eyes wandered, his words ceasing. The Heavy Blade followed that gaze to the hand that had crawled with a vile ink, a twisted transformation, only minutes ago. It shook with such violence, twitching with inhuman ferocity to the point that it had moments where it seemed to blur. When this finally came to a stop, Zan took a moment to flex his fingers, shaking the shock from his eyes to meet Truth's once more. "...they aren't gone. Not...not as you think. You believe them to be AIs, yes? That was something Her Majesty indulged you in, allowed you to believe. She knew you couldn't have ended her suffering if you thought her to be human." The knight stopped there, giving Zan a moment to register his words.

"They...she...they're okay? Where are they?" There was a light at the end of the tunnel, a hope that sprang as an excited thud in his chest. He could almost feel the knife waiting to twist his heart again.

"Lowen...she's, as you would say, trapped in limbo. The only thing keeping her mind alive is it's connection with yours, with the Plures Vultus Mortis. The other's, I'm afraid, had no such connection to keep their minds fortified. Their bodies are alive, but only barely. Machines keep them going. Without their minds to stabilize their coma, they became clinically brain dead. They're in a special ward in the same hospital as yourself." There was something he was leaving out, something he feared to say.

"What is it, Truth? Why are you telling me all this?" Zan wanted to ask about Lowen, about how he could save her mind from the same fate as her friends, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was afraid of the answer he'd receive.

"There's something you have to do. When you transformed, you ripped a wound across your data. Though I'm sure you're aware of the negative side effects of this, there's a silver lining. It's given you a way to go home." The caution persisted, continued in an almost painfully uninformative manner.

"And by home you mean..." Zan refused to finish the sentence, his fists curling into a clench in anticipation.

"I mean home. The real world." What should have been good news seemed dismal somehow, someway.

"What's the catch, Truth? You don't sound too enthused about my freedom." Zan's jaw clenched in unison with his hands, teeth grinding mildly against eachother.

"If we send you back, if we wake you up, you'll have a small window of opportunity to break the ties of your mind with Lowen's. In effect, you'll wake her up as well. However, whatever remains of the others' heart functions depend on her continuing coma. If she wakes up, they'll be forced to try and wake too. Unlike her, they have no mind to bring them back. Their hearts will stop. If that isn't bad enough, the moment you release her mind yours will have no freedom of its own. Not in the real world. Soon after you'll fall back into your coma, back into your digital body." If Truth was trying to persuade him, he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

"Then why do it, Truth? Why? What in the hell good can come of me going back, only to find my way here again? Tell me, because I sure as hell can't figure it out." Zan could feel the tremors in his hand begin to return and he could do nothing but pray for their passing.

"Why? You do this because it's your duty. Let's put the pleasantries aside. You started this, you caused this, so you better damn well finish it. Don't leave Lowen's mind locked away somewhere, don't leave the others stuck as vegetables for the rest of their lives." Truth bit back his anger the best he was able, deep breaths trembling in his chest.

"...Send me back." As much as he hated to admit it, the knight was right. Zan had to see this path through. He had to close this book.

"Not to change your mind or anything, but I feel obligated to tell you that once your digital wound scabs over that window is closed. There's no going back, not that way. Also, CyberConnect will have people at the hospital in minutes. You and Lowen are liabilities and CC isn't exactly socially apt. When she wakes up, you have to move. Quickly." Something in Truth's body language told the lycanthrope he feared Zan would change his mind. However, the leather-clad man simply turned from truth and dropped his head in preparation.

"Do it."

------------------------------------------------

Conner's eyes shot open, pupils taking a moment to adjust, to fight back the pain opening them induced. The world around him was a nauseating combination of the bright sting of light, the continuous blip of the heart monitor to his left, and the general hustle and bustle of the hospital world around him. His body felt heavy, weighted, exhausted. Taking a moment to clench and unclench his toes, Conner was happy to see the nurses hadn't slacked on the physical therapy. That done, the former college student sat up with a groan, holding a hand against his forehead to steady the vertigo. When he attempted to turn and drop from the hospital bed, a screaming pain in his arm halted him immediately. An IV fed him a steady stream of liquid nutrients, keeping his body from eating itself. Grunting, Conner pulled it from under the white tape over his wrist, removing that in turn. Though his eyes were still adjusting from use after all this time, they allowed him enough visual competence to glance around. A blue curtain encased his bed, allowing the would-be coma victim an ounce of unnecessary privacy. At least, what would have been unnecessary. Now it was just convenient. Leaning down from the foot of moving space the curtain allowed him, he opened up a small droor, searching for the white pants the mobile patients were allowed to wear about the hospital.

Upon finding it, Conner smiled to himself, sliding them on with an awkward sort of controlled hop. When had accomplished that, he untied the back of the hospital gown and tossed it on the bed beside him. Curious to see exactly how he was going to get away from being barefooted and bare-chested in this place, Conner opened the curtain, happy to see a sweater with his old school's logo thrown over a visitor's chair nearby. Leo had gone home and forgotten it, leaving Conner a way to give his 'disguise' a bit more of a complete look. Sliding the grey piece of clothing on over his head, he stepped completely from the curtain, looking to the nearby glass window for any shocked or dismayed hospital staff. Finding no such thing, he allowed himself a curious indulgence. Conner called out to his Beast and found it buried in his head, alive and kicking, but controlled as it had now become. The void in his belly that swooned for flesh still waited, still whined, but other than the mental affects the game had had on him, his body gave no response. No transformation took place, no storm of smells granted his nose a whiff, and as far as he could tell, he was as strong as he had been when he fell into the coma. Hell, he was (understandably) a bit weaker. Trying to shake off the sudden feeling of helplessness, Conner slipped into the hospital halls.

His walk was as normal as he could manage it, head dipped down and his light brown hair strewn forward to hide his face. It wasn't exactly inconspicuous, but it was the best he could come up with. If Truth had been right, Conner had only minutes to find the coma ward where Lowen and the rest were being held before CyberConnect tried to take Lowen and Conner away. It should have been more exciting, more enthralling to be back in the real world, to be back with actual people. However, Conner knew this wasn't meant to last and he was doing his damndest to keep those thoughts at bay. If he dwelled on it too much he knew he'd cave and that was one thing he couldn't do. People still needed him back in the World. He still had friends to help, responsibilities to fulfill. Leo would understand, he had to. Brushing past an old man that was absently mumbling about "the God damn duck", Conner found himself where he needed to be. 'COMA WARD' was carved into a plaque next to the door with brail dotted neatly under it. How had he found his way here? Was it her? Was Lowen calling to him? No, that wasn't it. It was all just luck, the fair Lady granting him a good hand. Still amazed nobody had tried to stop him or ask him who he was, Conner slipped into the room, closing the door behind him with a peculiar click.

Four curtains as blue as Conner's had been wrapped in a cloth fortification around the beds in the room, unsynchronized blips of the heart monitors and gusty exhalations of the breathing machines meeting his ears. He had only so much time, so Conner threw caution out the window and began to drag open the curtains one by one. The first to be opened revealed an Asian boy no older then seventeen, the clipboard at the foot of the bed reading "Charlie." Charlie? No, Conner corrected, Jeng. With the breathing tube stuffed down his throat as it was, Conner moved on in self-disgust. The next curtain revealed false hope, a small blonde girl who couldn't have been much older then Jeng. A smile began to twitch at the edge of Conner's lips, but something was off. This girl, this Amanda (as a quick check of her clipboard revealed), she wasn't Lowen, which left Elaina. The way her chest rose and fell with a sort of meek attempt at life, the breathing tube 'decorating' her mouth as it had Jeng's. Fighting the urge to bolt, to run off, he moved on to the third. Another boy this time, younger than Elaina or Jeng, but oddly taller. It was the youth in his face that set him apart, that set the supposed "Matthew" apart from his peers. No, he corrected himself for a second time, not Matthew, but Boros. In a different situation, it would have been humorous to look at the person in front of him and think of Boros. Where the Viking had been rugged, brutish, and almost freakishly built, Matthew was no bigger or smaller then any kid with a monstrously quick metabolism would be. When Conner's eyes fell to the breathing tube as it had the others and he was reminded of the effects of his anger, he turned to face the last curtain.

Slowly, he lifted his hand to it, the same hand that had trembled with preternatural consequences in the World now shaking with human fear. If he could hardly bear the sight of the others, how would he handle the sight of Lowen in the same fashion? Clenching his jaw tighter than was comfortable, he slid the blue material aside. Conner's heart caught his throat, threatening to choke him as his eyes fell upon the girl in front of him. Older then the others, but no more then nineteen, she held as much beauty in this world as she had the last. Raven tresses fell perfectly against the pillow and past her shoulders, her eyes shut in an almost peaceful acceptance. Cinnamon skin complimented the hue of her hair, added to it. A quick look at her clipboard had Lowen read off as "Marilyn." The name wasn't as alien to him as the rest. In fact, it brought a smile curling the corner of his lips, a subtle motion. Unlike the others, Lowen had no breathing tube. The rise and fall of her chest was of her own doing, something that only heightened the former college student's joy. All of this came crashing down, built upon a rusted foundation, as he realized what had to come next. Moving to lean his back and head in turn against the wall next to her bed, Conner's eyes fell closed. What if he could help the others? What if Truth had been wrong (a paradoxal irony that should have been funny, but wasn't)? Was one life really worth three others? Could he really be so selfish as to simply end their lives with a whim just to save Lowen? With a mental sigh, the sound of a groaning, waking girl next to him, and the loud ring of three stopped hearts...

...and Conner had his answer.
Lv. 50 Heavy Blade
Wishlist
Special: Levels, GR Sendai, PL Sakai, Darklore.
W: Tonosama Sword, Mineuchi, Jundachi.
A: Samurai Helm, Able Hands, Rare Greaves.
I: Holy Sap, Treebane, Cooked Bile, Nightbane.
EX: Elemental Summon (Lv. 2), Overdrive (Lv.1), Elemental Attacks (Lv. 2), Enhance Dark, Elemental Breath (Lv. 2).

Zan
Exalted Player
Posts: 206
Joined: Sat Jan 22, 2005 10:28 pm
Contact:

Post by Zan » Thu Feb 16, 2006 4:02 am

Conner didn't have the heart, didn't have the courage to turn and face her. He had been perfectly capable of handling this only seconds ago and now he found himself in a state of overly active anxiety. It wasn't the sort of anxiety one gets when going on a date with a beautiful girl. No, it was the sort of anxiety you get when you've killed that beautiful girl and all of her friends and you find said beautiful girl back from the dead. It tugs at every nerve fiber under your skin, tenses up your muscles until you both feel like and wish you were a statue. It was as if a fit of abnormal and sudden paralysis and taken over him, leaving him rigid and unmoving as she too took the time to remove the prickling IV from her arm. Ripping off the tape in almost the exact same fashion as Conner had, she slipped off the side of the bed opposite Conner and took a moment to let her caramel eyes filter through the room. Either she, by some miracle, couldn't see Conner or she was simply choosing to ignore him. The former was relieving, the latter painful. One by one Lowen moved to her friends, pressing a kiss on each of their foreheads like a mother wolf saying good bye to the corpses of her cubs. It was then Conner realized that that was exactly what she felt, that the cord of their minds remained firmly in place. How was that possible? Hadn't he severed that with her awakening?

A quick search through his own mind revealed the change, the subtle lilt that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. The severity of their connection had ceased, leaving him only mild insights into the girl before him. The whole show before him seemed unreal, robotic. Her humanity, in general, seemed absent from her actions. Any further attempt to dive through her mind, to drudge up whatever explanation he could proved impossible. She had, willingly, shoved a mental wall in place. It was cold without the pool of her surface thoughts swimming with his own. It was a lonely sort of indication, a reminder of the consequences of his decisions back in the Shadow. A part of him hated her then, if only for a single slice in time. She had told him to free her, had begged with eyes and lips to release her from the monstrosity that had consumed her. That, that fraction of hate seemed to raise her eyes before Conner could try and put up his own little mental fortification. Their eyes met then and he felt her heart's grief pour past her attempts to shield herself. Emotions blood together, convoluted with light, color, and sound; a symphony of her sorrow, of his self-disgust. There was no Beast enslaving her mind on this world, nothing to add to the ocean of negativity that had enraptured them both. Though Lowen, like Conner, still felt the mental applications of the Beast, his blade had freed her from its dominance. It was on the brim of her mind, just out of his reach but still under her control.

It was in that realization that the world stopped spinning, that Conner began to get a grip on the oddity that was passing between them. He realized then that they weren't just her emotions passing through his own, but memories. Though most of them were inaccessible through her own exertion of will, Conner found one opening like a movie behind his eyes, expanding upon his horror. The people around her hadn't simply been gaming friends caught in a coma with the atrocity that was the World. No, they had been far more.

------------------------------

The half-moon was a pale thing in the sky, a dim twinkle in comparison to the sea of stars that shimmered in an almost rippling pattern above. The darkness that clung around the unused campsite would have been all-consuming had it not been for the fire that crackled and burned a small light through the air. No one came here anymore, not the general populous anyway. The grounds had been ignored so long that the air almost seemed sad, empty. The only ones to visit were four children, four youths that had been as dejected as the campsite for as long as they could remember. They came up here, atop the hill that so idly looked to the city below, to get away the saddening air of their foster homes. Each of them had been abandoned as infants by soulless mothers, panicked husks of human dishevelment. It was a hard thing not to see each day they looked in the mirror, each day they came home to people that only kept them around for the monthly check. Marilyn couldn't help but recap their stories as she leaned into the edge of the stone table behind her, the cold of the stone seating biting through the thin material of her jeans. Herself? She showed up on the steps of St. Sebastian's with her umbilical still messily coiled around her, covered in blood, mucus, and even more unpleasant things. Their was no happy immediacy to her finding. By the time the Father had left the church to go home she was already suffering from cholera and what should have been a fatal case of infantile hypothermia. However, out of some cruel Biblical joke she had survived and shuffled through foster homes for the next few years until a family finally decided to keep her around. Out of desperate need for an extra source of money, sure, but they still kept her.

Charlie, the boy who sat across from Marilyn, across the fire, against a stone-seated table like hers (black hair blending eerily with the rest of him; black sneakers, black cargo pants, and a black hooded sweatshirt that was tugged over his head) and Amanda, the one who was somehow managing some comfortability in a laying position along the stone with her blonde hair nestled comfortably in his lap, (blue jeans and red halter top exclaiming her immunity to the cold) both had been turned into hospitals and fire departments in much more sanitary conditions. Each was shuffled through the foster care system as Marilyn had been, though they had scored greedy families long before she had. They had met in the third grade, started dating in the seventh, and been together since then. With the start of their senior year in high school at their fingertips, their relationship had kept on eerily long. Since Marilyn had met them, the term 'soul mates' wasn't simply a word, but an image. She craved that bond, the connection that allowed them to stare entranced into the fire with the same sort of serene lullaby in their eyes. The only thing that bothered her about their relationship was their level of physical...intimacy. Did they want to end up in the same situation as their parents had been in, with a baby they couldn't take care of? Her judgment would have pressed upon them long ago, and they would have listened (so apt was their belief in her ability to lead the 'Four', as they had often called themselves), had it not been for their caution. They weren't completely stupid about it, but it was still a constant, pestering itch in the back of Marilyn's head.

Last, but as always not least, was the boy who sat on the ground before her, his head reclined back against her clasped knees. Matthew's scraggly black hair and sophisticated, wire-rimmed glasses had defined him for the entirety of his life. Baggy black jeans and a loose-fitting blue hooded sweatshirt (though, unlike Charlie, he never bothered to put the hood on and screw up his hair even further) seemed to be the entirety of his wardrobe. He was considered the mute amongst a group of mutes, the only one who still seemed to generally keep his mouth shut even in private company such as they were now. Matthew's tale was the hardest to believe, not out of impossibility, but out of the sheer sadness that his beginning entailed. Unlike the rest of them, all who had been delivered in one way or another to a place in hopes of eventual rescue, Matthew had been found crying bloody murder in a back alley dumpster behind a restaurant. If it hadn't been for the busy night the restaurant had been dealing with, the busboy wouldn't have gone to take out the trash as early as he had. Luck had swept him into safety and through the foster system with the rest of them. He was the only one to claim drunkards for parents, a small fact that actually came into handy when their failed dexterity disallowed them entry into his locked room. Due to this, he had no physical claims to abuse and never became an outlet for violence. That was his one silver lining, his own golden ray through the blanket of obsidian fog that was his life.

The lot of them had met as a group in seventh grade only a month or two after Charlie and Amanda had first gravitated as a couple. Outsiders drew to outsiders and the bond that formed between them all was almost instantaneous. They had been inseparable since then, each with a sliver of darkness to add. Though each one had a family with varying temperament, life and luck had allowed them housing with parents that didn't give a rat's ass how long they stayed out. Such a thing allowed them to meet like this, on a hill, on a deserted and long forgotten campsite looking over the city that had rejected them. If they weren't here, at school, or squirming at home, they were at the local internet cafe playing 'The World.' It was an escape from reality and because the owner was one of the few kind people in this town who sympathized with their situation, they could indulge in that leisure for free whenever their hearts called for it. Even thoughts of 'The World' seemed distant, unreal, from this place. Where the cold and the heavy weight of the encroaching darkness would have intimidated all others away, it was the atmosphere that kept the Four returning whenever they could. As much as Marilyn wanted to bathe in the silence further, in the warmth of words unspoken and hearts forever linked, it was Charlie who finally broke the silence.

"We have to meet him. It's a ticket out of here, Marilyn. Out of this world. If there's even a small chance that we can do that, isn't it worth a try?" Though he feigned aggression in his voice, he'd follow any decision Marilyn made to the ends of the earth. She was their mother, she may as well have been. After a long silence and lift of her head to glaze over the half-lit moon once more, she finally responded.

"When do we do this?" Straight and to the point, she had to hide her own hidden excitement beneath a tone of seriousness.

"Tomorrow. Mr. Grahm said he'd meet us online, in The World." Caution in his voice, only that careful creep of words.

"Right. Well, everyone, say your good byes. As of tomorrow, The World becomes our home."


------------------------------

Conner's eyes fluttered open with the ending of the 'movie', with Lowen's memory of that particular event coming full circle. Once more he locked eyes with Lowen, his mouth beginning to open as he fought for words. Any such attempt was shut down as her arms locked around his back, face buried in his chest. She cried then, spilling tears for her own failures, for her own bad decisions, and for the uncertain happiness that Conner's presence brought her. Most importantly, however, she cried for the loss of her friends. No, for the loss of the only people she had ever loved.

For her family.
Lv. 50 Heavy Blade
Wishlist
Special: Levels, GR Sendai, PL Sakai, Darklore.
W: Tonosama Sword, Mineuchi, Jundachi.
A: Samurai Helm, Able Hands, Rare Greaves.
I: Holy Sap, Treebane, Cooked Bile, Nightbane.
EX: Elemental Summon (Lv. 2), Overdrive (Lv.1), Elemental Attacks (Lv. 2), Enhance Dark, Elemental Breath (Lv. 2).

Zan
Exalted Player
Posts: 206
Joined: Sat Jan 22, 2005 10:28 pm
Contact:

Post by Zan » Mon Feb 20, 2006 6:23 am

Before Lowen could calm herself from the tears that had so completely overtaken her, the both of them jumped at the sudden, bursting presence of the hospital staff. Three doctors and at least nine nurses rushed past them in a mad rush, each shouting orders to the others. Lowen looked to Conner then, her eyes saying what her lips didn't want to. She wanted to go, now. She didn't want to see any of them come back to life, as hard as that was to think. Any of them, any of her brothers, her sisters, her children, her cubs...if any of them came back, they wouldn't have a life. They were vegetables, brain dead nothings. If anyone on the face of the damn planet deserved more, it was them. Nodding at what was either amazing intuition on his part, the emotional link between them, or both, Conner began to lead the hospital gown adorned girl towards the exit of the room. A nurse had been stationed right outside, her eyes razor edged and plugged into them like a hawk. In any normal situation, Conner would have panicked. His mind would have rushed through a list of impossible tactics to avoid the woman and get himself in trouble with some authority figure or another. Now, however, his rewired brain had the solution before he could even mentally ask for one. Survival had become the soul function his brain sought out, humanity dwindling.

"Where are you going, young man? You two need to stay here. There are some serious questions that need answering." The over the hill, cigarette-abused voice box rattled in Conner's head.

"Low--Marilyn can't handle that room. Her friends are dying. We just want to stand out here, please. One of the doctors in there, the tall guy with the black hair," They had all been relatively tall and dark haired. "He said he needs you to take a message to someone." It was decent as far as lies went, which generally weren't 'decent' at all.

"Hey now, I didn't see---" Suspicious was already creeping through, Conner had no time.

"Go! Now! They could die!" If all else fails, startle the human brain into panic. Panic induces irrationality.

Blinking, jolted by the rush of his words and the harsh tone that came with them, the nurse fell into his deceit. Rushing past them to one of the nearby doctors, Conner felt some invisible clock begin to tick down. The CyberConnect goons had to already be here and now he had the hospital staff to worry about. Their walk became a power walk, which in turn became a mild run. People murmured and grumbled as they ran past, but the hospital seemed too caught up in its own chaos to mind them. As long as they stayed out of the busy corridors and kept heading to the exit (a place Conner had burned into his memory from his stays with his mother during her...deterioration), they shouldn't have any trouble. At least, that was what Conner was so desperately trying to tell himself. It was then he realized he himself was starting to panic, like the nurse, fueled even further by the panic of the one who intertwined her right hand with his left in a vice grip. So he stopped, aloud his mind to clear out the smog and his blood to dilute the adrenaline. They weren't too far from the exit now. If they hadn't seen any CyberConnect employees by then and Conner was correct about them being in the hospital already, that means they had to be only seconds from intersecting with one another. The sound of hushed voice at the end of the hall had Conner stopping on his path, edging against the nearby wall to catch the gist of the halfhazzard conversation. A quick peak around that corner revealed two suits, each looking so blatantly the part that Conner was suddenly aware he was in the presence of amateurs. They had sent the B team, something that made this so much easier.

"...have to bring them in. There isn't any way around this one. Orders are orders, you know that. The boss has been edgy lately, especially sense the Jedidiah kid, that science project of his, went into that tweaked field. The boss doesn't know what's in there, but that alone has him worried. If this Jed kid falls into a coma, someone whose linked to CyberConnect, the company has some very awkward questions to answer. You know it doesn't need anymore of..." The man's voice began to grow unimportant as Conner began to realize the stupidity of his previous plan.

What was he going to do? Walk a patient right out the door wearing a hospital gown? There wasn't any nearby pants or luckily forgotten sweatshirts to hide her. A frantic search around and Conner found what he was looking for, a dull arrow-pointing sign that directed him towards the hospital's parking structure. His dad had taught him to hot-wire cars before he was twelve, called it "job training." Ignoring the irony of his poor excuse of a father's knowledge actually coming in handy, the former college student began to creep down the hall opposite of the one where the suits currently resided. They, apparently, were too caught up in their political conversations to actually do their job. Smiling to himself, Conner opened the door to the outside world, to the cold concrete of the piece of parking architecture. That smug smile drained from his face, along with a few hues of color, at the large body that blocked his exit. Another suit, this one with a walky already in hand, was signaling his recovery of the 'targets' for all the CyberConnect employees who were wondering the floor. A glance back and Conner watched as the other two jumped in surprise, already beginning the short walk towards the digitally lycan duo. Again Conner found his brain working with a sort of chemical grace, finding the best option before he even knew there were any to begin with, let alone multiples.

"Sorry, kids. End of the road. CyberConnect just has a few questions, routine. So why don't we just calm down and stop the kid-criminals routine." The man's voice was low, soothing, like a cop trying to talk children off a roof.

"No can do, chief." Conner's voice was just as clear, just as soothing and purposeful.

The former college student lifted his knee with the all the muscle he could muster, driving that cap of bone into the suit's groin, a tactic that had the man wheezing and doubling over before he could even register what had just happened. Content to leave, Conner turned and took a few running steps, stopping once he realized the weight on his hand on disappeared. A glance back revealed Lowen frantically shuffling under the back of the man's suit jacket, pulling out a small beretta not two seconds later. Before Conner could call her to his side, back to the side of rationality she was about to cross, the gun went off. Crimson flashed over her otherwise pristinely white hospital garb, her eyes deadened during that moment; static. The jolt of the man's head and the horrified look on the other men's faces as the door came to a close didn't even register to Conner. It should have, but it didn't. Something in her heart, in her head, was affecting his own outlook on the situation. This wasn't Lowen's world, this was her mirrored reflection, this was her artificial, digital recreation. She was only playing the game. She was only surviving. In what seemed like a flash of movement but was more than likely only a misperception of time as his mind came to be his own, Conner found Lowen standing before him. The urgency in her caramel irises shook the cobwebs loose, the pair taking the few necessary steps forward to either side of a bland looking white van.

Oddly enough, Conner's door came open without a fuss. Whoever it belonged to hadn't even bothered to lock it. Hopping in, closing the behemoth of a door with a loud thud, the former college student found Lowen beside him with the same liquid ease. A hopeful glance at the ignition revealed keys already in place, almost begging them to turn the metal carvings. Conner's initial thought there after was induced by paranoia; this is too easy, what if the thing is rigged to blow? It was there after that he realized they didn't come here expecting an escape, but an easy capture. More likely then not, the vehicle Conner found himself in had belonged to the suit Lowen had shot. In and out, no issues, no complications. Why even bother to remove the keys? That arrogance had gotten him killed. Another though on that had Conner giving a quick glance at his side mirror, the other two B team members they had run into simply kneeling over the man in horror, too shocked to even call an ambulance. Wow, Conner thought, these guys really are green. Lowen's empty response to the man's death still swam with Conner and, for the moment, he was glad for its presence. If it wasn't for that, his own personal disgust would have frozen him in place in that van. Too much death, too much murder in a span of so little time. Unaffected as he was, however, the apathetic lycanthrope whipped out of the parking space, veering off around and into the main street.

The machine was clunky, slow, but it did what it needed to. It was going to get him from point A to point B before (hopefully) CyberConnect got its act together and gave chase. Which, of course, brought Conner to the question of exactly where point B was. He couldn't go home, that was for damn sure. Leo's place was out too. All three parental figures involved in those scenarios would go batshit insane over the sudden awakening of a coma victim with blood-stained damsel in tow. It was then the emergency "house" came to the surface of his house, a choice so obvious Conner felt rather dense for having not come up with it sooner. Leo belonged to a family of obscenely wealthy snobs who, as all wealthy snobs do, like to protect their money. Children are an obvious threat to the safety of their financial situation and so, if Leo got any trouble, they had given him a sort of safe house to duck in until they could clear the smoke. The hotel he needed to get to was all the way across town, but it was a necessary trip. Glances in his side mirrors revealed no screeching-tired persuiters, and the former college student took that as his chance to breathe. They were almost in the clear. He just needed to her somewhere temporarily safe; somewhere he could call up Leo from to get her a real place to stay. What made it all the more hurried was the fact that Conner only had God knows how long before he just fell back into his coma. The knights hadn't specified any sort of time window, only that it would happen eventually. Fingers tightening around the wheel, Conner recited to himself a line from a Robert Frost poem, a line that had kept him going during the roughest of times. It was a rough recitation, but it pertained just the same.

I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep...and miles to go before I sleep.
Lv. 50 Heavy Blade
Wishlist
Special: Levels, GR Sendai, PL Sakai, Darklore.
W: Tonosama Sword, Mineuchi, Jundachi.
A: Samurai Helm, Able Hands, Rare Greaves.
I: Holy Sap, Treebane, Cooked Bile, Nightbane.
EX: Elemental Summon (Lv. 2), Overdrive (Lv.1), Elemental Attacks (Lv. 2), Enhance Dark, Elemental Breath (Lv. 2).

Zan
Exalted Player
Posts: 206
Joined: Sat Jan 22, 2005 10:28 pm
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Post by Zan » Tue Feb 21, 2006 2:41 am

The ride was eerily uneventful; no high speed chases, no dodging in-between traffic with shouts of adrenaline and impending doom. No, the trip was a steady one with more green lights then the former college student could hope for. Ten or fifteen miles of this and Conner turned the van into a nearby alley. However, instead of continuing on and out the other end onto the side road as that particular alleyway was intended for, Conner stopped dead center. When the engine died down and the air returned to its quiet side, a deep breath was taken. Too much to think about, too much to do. If it weren't for the ominous re-plug deadline that loomed over his head, Conner was almost certain that he would have simply gone to sleep right then and there. Though physically he was amped and ready to move, his mind was at its end. It so desperately begged for recuperation, something Conner couldn't afford to indulge in at that particular moment. Instead, he popped the monstrous door to his left and hopped out, making a quick half-circle around the vehicle to help the still-jostled Lowen from her seat. Though she had only been awake for a handful of hours, even less then that, the day was already beginning to take its toll with her. She could imagine the man she killed had just been a creature from a game, something she had to destroy to get where she needed to be. Yet...it was more than that. Her human side was beginning to gnaw at her, her conscience knotting guilt low in her stomach. Conner could feel it, could practically double over with the weight of it.

Nothing was said between them as Conner hooked a right further into the alley, a division that had the backs of hotels and apartments to his left and right. The former college student had to take a moment to consider where he was, to recall just the right window. Crawling into someone else's hotel room wasn't exactly suggestible with his current predicament, so it had to be exact. After what couldn't have been more then thirty seconds, Conner spotted the one he was looking for. On the third row of windows was a particular notch above the frame, a subtle carving that served as a marker. Satisfied, the would-be lycanthrope reached upward, pulling down the iron latter that waited idly above with a series of small, reluctant creaks. Going first, Conner led the way up the crisscrossing metal staircases along the back of the building, pausing only when he came to the noted notch. The window slid upward without a fight, initiating a ping of suspicion in the back of the lycan's thoughts. The only thing that had him ducking into the room was the fact that, in theory, they'd only be there for an hour tops. Leo would get over the shock of his friend's awakening and come and get Lowen. He'd take her somewhere safe; somewhere Conner could be sure she was in good hands. With all the confidence in the world that this would work out as it was supposed to, he helped Lowen into the room.

The moment she was in, the moment all limbs were safely inside the ride, Conner slid the window shut and locked it tight. The air of the room was oddly fresh, ventilated. It looked like it had been made up, prepared. Conner began to get ahead of himself, to sense the trap he knew had to waiting for them, the only thing stopping this train of thought being the sound of squeaking wheels going past the door. The maid. Each room had to be clean and prepared for any visitors that might arrive. Dusting was definitely a part of this and it was only because of that that they weren't choking on mutated dust bunnies. Once again Conner forced himself to take a breather, to let his nerves settle and his brain calm down from the state of frenzy it had been working towards. When he came around to opening his eyes again, Lowen was standing in front of him, concern giving her eyes a sort of lilted shine. The smile that had begun to work over Conner's face ceased the moment his eyes drifted to the lash of blood across the hospital gown she continued to sport. Disgust registered in his stomach before he could prevent it, before he could lock up some mental fortifications to keep her from prying into his consciousness. Conner expected anger to crease her brow, for outrage to ball her fists at her sides. What he saw instead was shame, a sigh pressing past the soft tiers of her lips, completed with a momentary bow of her head. When she looked up, the silence was broken.

"I had to do it Zan...I didn't have a choice. If I hadn't shot him, the others would have followed us. I did it for us. Please believe that. I'm...I'm not a monster." Desperation twanged her vocal cords, a need for faith. For him to have faith in her.

"I believe you, Lowen. I do. It's just...you didn't even blink. Your mind was blank, static. There was nothing in your head but white noise. It just makes me wonder, that's all." He felt like he was babbling and so he simply let his tone drop into nothing.

"Makes you wonder what...?" Lowen feared his response, he could feel it in her heart, in her words.

"It makes me wonder what did this to you. What person did to your head, gave you this Beast. Mine was a freak accident. Yours...yours seems truer, more pure in a sort of perverse twist." Conner had said too much, he knew he had. No words came in response, but he'd get his answer just the same. When his eyes fell closed he watched a second movie begin to play, another memory. Her beginning.

---------------------------------------

Lowen couldn't open her eyes, not just yet. Fatigue prevented this action from initiating with any immediacy, leaving her in a world of darkness with a cold presence at her back. What had happened? How had she gotten wherever it is she was? That light, that voice. God, that giggle. She had been so bright, so young. Whatever she was, whatever she had done, Lowen felt something substantially different about herself. No...not herself, but her surroundings. Wherever it is she was no longer the comfortable chair of the internet cafe. As far as she could tell, the goggles on her face had been taken away. She could feel. At first, she thought she was back in the real world, that the plan had failed. Only when she was finally able to open her eyes and find that she still wore the sword and sorcery attire from the game did she realize it hadn't failed, but worked completely. The World was her reality now, was her home. Her first instinct was to smile, but the site around her caught her smile in a frozen expression and her heart in her throat. She was laying flat across a concrete alter of some sort, arms and legs shackled to either side. The world smelt damp, smelt dreary and dead. The cold was tolerable, but numbing just the same. Lifting her head revealed her friends all coming to wake on their own alters, all four of the stone creations set at a sort of compass composition. Everyone was looking around, herself included, at the odd concrete structure around them.

The room itself was circular, doors hollowed out at the diagonals of the alter formation. The doors were thirty feet high, reaching to the top of the ceiling; each one made of rusted iron and bound with huge steel links to a close. At the center of their alters, the center of the room, was a large hole that simply dropped into darkness, crusted trails of blood leaking into it. At this point panic was beginning to settle into Lowen's gut, tensing it and cramping it with spasmodic convulsions. None of them seemed willing to speak, the Four suffering the silence and the shock with unsteady thoughts and shattering mentalities. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Michael Grahm had promised them a world of freedom, of fun, of constant indulgence and power. Was this what he considered freedom, bound to a room that seemed to be taken out of some bad horror movie? All of them looked to her with weakness in their eyes, with tears and dwindling hopes. It broke her heart to see them this way, to know that she had led them into this mess, had guided them in one way or another to this place. If she had only listened to her intuition, if she had only turned back the moment things felt off then they would still be in the real world. That place was scary, was hard, was trying...but this place was a nightmare she had to help herself and the rest of her family wake up from. It was her obligation, her duty.

"Ah, so you're awake. Good...good. I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here, why I brought you to this splendid place. You see, CyberConnect didn't see my programming talents as fit for the young ones, the lost little children who spend hours and hours in a place that sucks away their social lives. I spend so much time on perfecting the equation. Hours and hours of trials and so many, many errors. I can't simply give in, give up. I'll see my dream fulfilled whether they like it or not. That's where you came in. You needed a home, I've given it to you. Now you have to, as they say, pay the piper. It's a balance, you see. I give a little...you give a little..." The voice that came from all around them, that came in a speaker like fashion, paused. From the hole in the center of the room came a rumbling groan, a bassy growl that had Lowen's heart only racing faster. "You see, I made the perfect hunter. The program itself was flawless...but the intelligence worked into the NPC was too minimal. I had to do too much to make it effective. I found a way to grant it artificial intelligence, to make it become self-aware. This 'Twilight' data, when infused with the creature I made, accomplished just what I had wanted to. Self-awareness for this beast, however, came at a price. It lost itself to lunacy, became a berserker. That's when I realized what the final step to my dream's fulfillment rested in. Humanity. This Lupis Nullus, this Wolf Zero, needed a human brain to keep it under control, to keep its full power recognizable. You will help me do that. So just enjoy the show and know that, eventually, the pain will stop." With that, static sounded and a click followed, leaving them all sitting up on their alters, still bound, but eyes dead focused on the hole that continued to emanate that inhuman noise.

Thud after thud sounded out, drew closer, until a hand as black as obsidian reached out to grip the edge. It wasn't a hand, no, but a claw, riddled across with fur and leaking what looked like tar from its pores. A second claw emerged, as large as the last, until finally the entirety of the creature crawled to its feet. Fear seemed to paralyze all of them, holding their eyes open, their jaws dropped. The thing...the werewolf, Lowen realized...stood at just below eleven feet tall, rippling with muscle and salivating the same tar that leaked from its skin. A ring of red outlined the amber, wolven eyes it possessed, haunting madness contained within them. There was a sadness there too, a helplessness recognizable to only those with the eyes to see it. It lived in agony, in torment of itself, lost in the chaos that was crafted into its mind. The pity that had begun to grip at Lowen's heart was released as the creature turned to Boros with a growl that spoke of an endless hunger, of a need to consume. Before Lowen could call out for it to stop, to cease, its mouth was buried in her friend's stomach, dark rivulets of blood spilling over the alter as Boros was consumed piece...by piece...The wretched creation ate past his screams, ate past all of their cries until their vocal cords no longer were, until all they had were wet gurgles of horror. Not a bone was left, not a scrap of meat ignored. The blasphemy that ensued as the Four diffused from its sides like Eve crawling from Adam was the last thing Lowen could recall of that moment. Thus, the memory came to an end.


---------------------------------------

The horror she had felt during that event still echoed in Conner's heart, stung tears into his eyes. The remembrance brought the craving for comfort, the craving for forgetfulness to both of them. Conner opened his eyes to try to do just that, but Lowen simply cut it off with a finger to his lips and a shake of her head. The kiss that followed seemed to burn the former college student, to scorch him. She wanted so badly to forget, so badly to fight away that which had stayed with her, that which had run in replay through her head day after day. For a reason Conner couldn't fathom, the closeness the kiss brought did just that for her. It calmed, erased. Conner knew then what would follow and he had so much trauma, so much unnecessary horror in his life that he would do no more then give in. That night did not bring a call to Leo, did not bring Conner closer to bringing her out of this safe and breathing. No...the night brought nothing more then tangled sin and carnal indulgence. He lost himself in her arms, in her heart, in that night. The world became no more and left only them to live.

---------------------------------------

The day that followed found Conner drying out his hair from the shower, slipping on his clothing in turn and daring not to look at the steam-fogged mirror. He had left Lowen to sleep when he awoke, to dream. Any attempt to recall the night before proved difficult, unnaturally challenging. It was he had been drunk or dreaming. It was all a smudged blur, a painting that was running, bleeding together from a reckless splash of water. Conner had only been intimate with one person before, with a girl Leo had introduced to him at one of the few college parties they had intended. With something to compare Lowen to, Conner could only call what they had...different. Not poor in quality or anything of the like, but the moments he could remember seemed hallucinogenic. Was it another side effect of his newly wired brain? Shaking it off, the would-be lycanthrope exited the bathroom to find Lowen already changed into one of the extra sets of clothes that the dresser housed. They were men's clothes, meant for Leo, but she seemed to fit in them just fine. Conner's previous 'morning after' had been met with wayward glances and awkward goodbyes. This one...the pair knew their relationship was cemented. This only made them smile at each other as their eyes met, a sort of goofy tilt of their lips. Once again Conner felt that true touch of golden happiness, of a real life.

And, as always, it all went to hell in a heartbeat.

The door to their room crashed off its hinges, revealing the two suits that had been left alive the day before and a single nurse behind them. The moment Conner stepped forward, the moment he raised a fist in Lowen's defense, he found one colliding with his face. Stars stained his vision as he staggered back, the blood from his nose leaking with a copper tang into his mouth. Another step forward only brought a fist slamming into his gut, doubling him over to meet the slam of a knee into his jaw. He was the floor before he knew it, boots cracking into his ribs, digging into his sides. Barely able to move at this point, Conner could do more then loft his eyes at Lowen whose screams were muffled by the hand of the suit that hadn't kicked his ass, the nurse injecting some sort of blue concoction into her jugular. Lowen's eyes fell closed, left her slumping in her captor's arms. The shaky hand that tried to reach out to her was crunched under the weight of his attacker's foot, Conner's grunt of pain drowned out by the man's laughter.

"Alright, you both know what to do. I'll take him, you two bring her where she needs to be." The looming voice drooped to Conner's face, his breath hot and mocking. "We've got special plans for your little girlfriend."

Zan lost consciousness then, his eyes drifting closed, only to snap open a second later. When no pain in his face, his stomach, or his sides registered, he knew where he was. The Heavy Blade glanced up to find two Wavemasters hovering over him, curious looks plastered to their faces. Climbing to his feet, Zan thrust out his palms to either side with all the strength he could gather, with all the strength his Clabro form had to offer. Both players oof'd and flew back, each smacking into one of Mac Anu's walls, each graying over with death at the impact. Zan knew what he had to do now. There was no doubt in his mind.

He had to get her back.

OOC: Fin.
Lv. 50 Heavy Blade
Wishlist
Special: Levels, GR Sendai, PL Sakai, Darklore.
W: Tonosama Sword, Mineuchi, Jundachi.
A: Samurai Helm, Able Hands, Rare Greaves.
I: Holy Sap, Treebane, Cooked Bile, Nightbane.
EX: Elemental Summon (Lv. 2), Overdrive (Lv.1), Elemental Attacks (Lv. 2), Enhance Dark, Elemental Breath (Lv. 2).

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Nighthand
Master of Games
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Post by Nighthand » Sun Apr 02, 2006 11:15 pm

Zan -> Golden Orb Glows Slightly Green
(Be sure to keep track of this in your profile)

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