Hello, My Name Is <REDACTED>

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Charlie Nine
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Hello, My Name Is <REDACTED>

Post by Charlie Nine »

13APR2014


Doses Remaining: 37


There were advantages to the careful maintenance of a low profile, wanted or not, but it allowed Charlie to exit the Outback just as easily as he’d arrived. Without fanfare and unobtrusive, just another spectator escaping amidst the chaos when just a little while earlier he’d been thoroughly ensconced within the heat of the competition. With Melanie gone and the fickle friendliness of Clarice lost to the depths of her most recent fight, there seemed little reason to stay. The smile he passed along in his exit were like a haunting; a hollow memory of something that was and all but left to linger when not all of the spirit could move on. Something forgettable, hopefully like him.

It was close to the midnight hour, the dark and the lingering malaise of errant miss broken in places by the hazy guttering of streetlights placed at regular intervals. The fact that most of them still worked and the steadier stream of more jovial human traffic gave this part of Dragon’s Gate a more homier feel than his more clandestine treks through the seedy streets of a nighttime Dockside. Despite it all, he was apt to slide into his typical pesdestrian grift: The measured shuffle of steps that only occasionally resulted in the audible scuff of a sneakered sole on the cobblestone street, announcing his presence without the pretense of ill will. The way his backpack hung casually off of his shoulder by only one of the straps, gripped firmly in his hand as a way of saying that it had very little in the way of value inside but that he’d likely not part with it willingly. The hood of his old surplus jacket remained up, his chin tilted slightly downward, less a matter or submission and more of the unspoken statement of I’m not looking for any trouble. Barring a few exceptions, it had the habit of working flawlessly, with patchwork clothing and a mild manner painting him as unremarkable to the fickle social organism that was Rhy’din’s citizenry.

Plenty of people (and that was a relative term for a place like that) were still moving about despite the hour, with the fabled Red Dragon in, the Outback, and other venues of note all being within such close proximity to one another, moving from bar to bar to eatery to home and then elsewhere. The days of the week seemed to hold little sociological meaning to the residents outside of the barest place markers, not unlike commerciall over socialized metropolis’ of Los Angeles, New York, Paris, and Hong Kong of the early twenty-second century in historical text. Boisterous loud or of quiet purpose, they moved in packs and pairs as likely as not, but remained less inclined to remain in one place for more than the time it took to level greetings to the familiar. Paired with the night’s events, it was enough to lull Charlie to distraction, unfocusing him for the long but routine jaunt out past Seaside and to the place that served as home. It would have been far too easy ponder on the growth of his recent relationships versus his purpose, pitting both together and wondering about the future he wouldn’t have. The potential for a lengthy mental/emotional conundrum was interrupted, however, when the rapidly flickering flash of lights stole him from his reverie and drew his attention to the side with fists so suddenly clenched.

For a few moments his subconscious screamed.

It was a simple electronics repair and sales shop, long since closed for business with the hour and gated off for security, it’s wares protected by a modest veneer or woven steel links that still provided a modest view of what lay beyond it’s glass windows. Whether it was through a stroke of eccentric benevolence or benign avarice, the store’s owner had left a number of the vid screens going, most alight with the staticky snow flurries of uselessness but a few dancing with the color of having picked up one local signal or another. The biggest screen among the lot had attracted a small crowd, a disparaging collection of unkempt and downtrodden locals making good use of the free entertainment and their expert commentary. After the tense passage of moments that initially froze him up, he wandered that way to investigate and was amused to find that even before it’s completion the Diamond Quest was being broadcast for the public’s viewing pleasure. Or, in some cases, the highlights were. Even more interesting was the realization that the current fight of interest on the screen was one of his.

“Would ya look at that, Tom?” One of the spectators marveled. “Looks like ol’ Rak’s drawn the long straw in the first round! Him and Pathfinder is gonna chew that little guy up like a zebra and spit his bones across the ring. What a joke!”

“Anyone know who this guy is?” Tom was a tall and lanky man in his middle years, brutish of feature and forever wearing a look of menace. “Nobody? Feck. Wouldn’t even be worth bettin’ on this one, if I had the coin for it. Rakeesh in five for braggin’ rights and a shot at your sister, Shane.”

Charlie wandered closer, paying the conversation only half a measure of amused attention and focusing dark eyes on the screen from beneath the veiling shadows of his hood. It was surreal seeing himself there on the screen, wearing the smile and readying to square off with the vastly larger liontaur. It was a great change of perspective, matching the third person visual against the memory of what had occurred just a short while ago in the ring…


Jaycy, the Caller, hadn’t even known who he was.

It shouldn’t have surprised him or even bothered him, such as things were. He was the unknown. A nobody. Beneath the notice of most and a passing interest to the rest. The most interesting thing about his public persona, to date, was his relationship with the volatile force that was one Melanie Rostol and the veiled insinuations that he had taken the easy road to Emerald. Everything else about the man known as Charlie Nine was clearly unremarkable. Unmemorable. It was the way of things. The way it was
supposed to be.

The resentment never showed through his smile when he bowed to Rakeesh.
That smile of his was the most clever of his deceptions, innocuous or engaging, depending upon his mood and hiding the danger that lingered just beneath the surface of his flesh; the reality always lurking inside and coiled tightly like a snake preparing to strike. He had always been good at the game of reading face, looking for the subtle hints of what lay in each little tick of expression, but the liontaur’s face was all too unfamiliar so it was a guessing game in discerning the great beast’s thoughts.

Rakeesh was an opponent of no small reputation and size, a previous holder of a great many titles and currently the holder of the Green Opal, and perhaps it was his due to get handed a relative unknown to start. Perhaps that lionine smile conveyed as much, like a great hulking predator smiling before falling upon the easy meal of lesser prey, consumed at his leisure and barely meriting an afterthought later. Or maybe the liontaur was as benevolent as his demeanor implied, sparing the young man a moment’s pity before setting up to crush him beneath a mountain’s worth of heavy blows; to show Charlie that he didn’t belong here.

The problem was this:

Charlie Nine was no easy meat.

Despite the smile, anyone with half a notion to think their way through it could see that the underdog had a chip on his shoulder; that he had something to prove. All of that tension suddenly uncoiled from him, muscles contracted and then released with explosive speed that saw him using his acrobatic acumen to good measure. He tumbled continually beneath the great beast’s guard, evading blows and attacking him at the weakest point: his legs. Three quick kicks, delivered with a strength belied his size, went unanswered before Rakeesh would reciprocate on a thrown punch that, in the end, created more opportunity than it did pain (which did nothing to diminish the fact that the blow would leave one hell of a bruise). Against the odds, he’d made quite the statement.

But it wasn’t enough.

In the end, he’d taken the low road again. The bearer of Pathfinder had likely expected it, given the way things had gone for the short duration of their fight, but was completely unprepared for the apex of Charlie’s roll. Untouched, he came up between outstretched arms/paws and brought up a hammering fist beneath the liontaur’s chin for a bell ringer of a blow…




“Did you see that sh*t, Tom?” It was one of the lanky man’s companions, Shane, who turned an incredulous look aside for the bout’s finish. “Who’d of thunk it, huh? I means, that guy’s a nobody, right? Gotta be a fluke…”

Tom scowled and kicked at some loose gravel on the ground. “Oh feck it all, Shane. It’s a fluke for sure. Probably a rig job for the bookies or whatever. You’ll never hear that fella’s name again, whatever it is, after tonight. He’ll be another one of them Emeralds who sits in the gutter ‘til it’s time to feed him to one of the big names a few times a year. He’s a nobody, you hear. A nobody. Screw this, eh? Let’s go see what that guy’s got in his pockets over there and if it’s spendable.”

So lost in the match and the memories it provoked, Charlie never noticed the two men and their other two nameless cohorts looking his way until they were nearly upon him. He was only rousted from within himself when a rusty switchblade was waved in front of his face to the tune of, “Hey! You! Turn out your pockets, hey son?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Tom spat. “Turn out your pockets. Money, boy. Money!”

“I don’t have anything worth taking.” He had to try hard not to smile.

“Bullsh*t. Gimme what you got. Now.”

“No.” There it was. The smile.

“You stupid, boy? I’ll cut you.” The weapon was flourished low in the miming of an evisceration.

“You shouldn’t tell lies, sir. If you intended to cut me,” Charlie countered, his patience and his smile wearing thing. The more the events of the night began to sink in, the more wooden the smile became. The more disconcerting. “You would have done it already.”

“I’m gonna…” Tom was never given a chance to finish. Instead his prospective prey stepped forward with weight and purpose, until they were both staring down between them and the handle of the blade sticking out of Charlie’s abdomen. He was smiling when he looked back up at the shocked man.

“There. Now you’re not a liar…” He laughed.

He was still laughing when the men, all of them shaken, retreated hastily into the night. When the laughter finally abated, Charlie glanced down at the knife sticking out of him and coughed.

"If Nobody falls in the forest, who will hear him?" His smile was so sad then. It was the first time in a long time that he could remember what sad felt like.

And then the world went black.

Image
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Aug 19, 2014 9:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Charlie Nine
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Post by Charlie Nine »

18APR2014



Doses Remaining: 32



Even for the emotionally muted, it was hard to resist the aesthetic beauty offered up by a Rhy’din sunset, splashing amber across the seaside horizon and eventually melting into the deepest shades of red until the day finally relinquished it’s struggle to the descent of night. Real and complete peace was an elusive thing, like the complete recollection of a dream or the fiery feather of some fabled phoenix, but a taste of it could be found with the slow appearance of the stars in the clear night sky; tiny pinpricks of light twinkling to a noiseless tune only the cosmos knew. The only conflict to measure against it’s pleasant platitudes was the occasional shooting star, but even in the absence of that their was nothing boring about the site, viewed from crag of a heavily forested bluff overlooking the shore.

Had there been someone to listen, Charlie might have considered confessing to it being his favorite place in all the realm, but in every night of his recollection he had been the spot’s soul occupant and counted sharing it as an option. The twisted black conifer and broad gray oaks were resolute in their claim of this domain, placidly patient for his pretense of ownership and the rest of the world’s indifference to the secret they held. Their secret and his.

The elevation and the time of year made the cool breeze unsurprising, nipping at already clammy skin that showed pale in the moonlight without the cover of a shirt. He needed to keep no secrets there, his only real place of solace, and there was level of unnecessary rebellion in ditching the long sleeves that always prompted a small, secret smile he’d never shared with another soul. There was no judgement here. No curiosity. No questions needing answers and no answers needing questions. There was a freedom to be had here, even if always short lived and mostly imagined. He had seated himself comfortably in the lotus position, dark eyes reflecting the moonlight eerily as he noted the passage of some small ship below (the S.S. Breadsticks struck him as a ridiculous name) but not lingering on it when he lifted a thoughtful look towards the sky. Somewhere out there, millions upon millions of lightyears away maybe, lurked his salvation and his doom. Yet it lingered here too. Above him and below him. Ever the pragmatist, Charlie dismissed the thought and turned keen edges of his mind to things less… practical, paradoxical as it was.

Two fingers traced idly over the swollen lump that the knife wound had become, his thoughts drifting from wondering where Co’Ba was roaming tonight to the series of faces that now marked the facade of his life away from this safe haven.

Faces like those of Peaches and Clarice and even Terry King, polite and friendly enough but content (and wise) enough to reciprocate the arm’s length he already kept him at. Or Andrea Anderson, nice enough to train with him and make him a sandwich (that one time), but as politely indifferent to him as they others. Sharp of instinct or content to patronize, he couldn’t say of them, and (as it had always been of such things) he pretended not to care very well. Poker faced and poker hearted.

Melanie and Jin were a different matter entirely, capable of evoking reactions of a vastly different measure, dripping through the miniscule cracks in his armor like a fresh poured acid, burning away at the more sensitive layers beneath. Like night and day the pair were, so similar and yet so different, but both revolving around the centerpiece of his existence with a significance that he was painfully incapable of understanding. And yet he’d taken to being a small piece that fit strangely into their lives, unimportant but complementary, and ultimately more meaningful to him than he would ever willingly let on. It was all so…

”Quick as your ability to recover is,” he was torn from the prison of troubling thoughts by the all too familiar voice behind him, monotone and yet distinctly feminine. ”Your time would be better spent inside and committing to your rest, especially if you aren’t inclined to do something more productive with it.” Soft blue-green light illuminated Charlie’s back, seen more than felt, but announcing the new presence every bit as pointedly as the voice did. He didn’t venture a look back but smiled mirthlessly as the short lecture continued. ”As important as your integration might seem to be, perhaps I have indulged you in one too many liberties with some of the company you keep. I understand the significance of the Rostol woman, as self-destructively droll as her behavior is, but I fail to see the usefulness of any of the others. You would be better served ingratiating yourself with that Matt Simon character or another of his ilk.”

“I’m aware of your reservations, E.” Charlie’s tone was neutral; almost obedient. It was hard to maintain over the sudden, exultant rise of defensiveness that dried his mouth. “But I have always been complimented before on my penchant for being both patient and thorough.”

”We are not discussing your little folded paper trinkets, Nine.” Mild exasperation bled through in the tone. ”You spend too much time in these social dalliances and they serve no purpose. You are no a person. You are a Charlie, Nine. An asset.”

“But…” He frowned as he was cut off.

”Do not think for a moment that you are anything of consequence to these people. To them you are a passing fancy; another oddity to be collected, shelved, and then forgotten until they are bored once more. I, at least, give you purpose. What do they give you?”

“... you should not be concerned,” Charlie said stoically in response. “I know my place.”

”Good. Time grows shorter and our supply of your serum dwindles. I’m willing to attribute your abnormal behavior to the growing need to conserve your doses, administering them over longer periods of time. Now rest, Nine. Recover.”

The light faded, retreating back into the forest and leaving Charlie to his thoughts. He didn’t let her see his frown.
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Aug 19, 2014 9:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Charlie Nine
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Post by Charlie Nine »

8MAY2014



Doses Remaining: 29



Remember your place, Charlie.

It was the unspoken mantra that carried him across the arena floor after the quiet farewell to the silent Myria and out into the cooler welcome the streets of Dragon’s Gate provided. Alone. The solitude itself shouldn’t have bothered him, having been such a staple in his existence, day in and day out, as much a part of his purpose as the numerous ghosts left haunting hundreds of shallow graves. He shouldn’t have been bothered by Jen’s departure only minutes before, flustered and abrupt and with a look his way that was alien on her delicate features; like she was staring at something unfathomable. Inconceivable. Perhaps horror. It was an expression not unfamiliar to him, burning into his memory in hundreds of different faces pointedly left unblurred over the years, without identity but unforgettable their incomprehension of the moment and those first fleeting pricks of raw terror racing across flesh until it crawled. Charlie himself could never understand those emotions, not in the water-colored fickleness of his memory, where entire swaths had been smudged into irrelevance. Couldn’t fully comprehend the significance of the moment. He wasn’t supposed to care.

But why did his stomach roil with discontent?

Why couldn’t slide that smile back into place, like the familiar comfort of good shoes meant for work?

It gnawed at him, like the tiniest mouse fighting a war of attrition against a cheese wheel, flaking of the smallest bit over time until the passage of weeks began to show it’s degradation. Or the smallest cracks flawing a clay jug, irrelevant until the water leaked through. But Charlie Nine was not to be a castle of glass. No! Was he not of greater purpose?

Remember your place, Charlie.

Conflicting thoughts were a time thief, stealing away the minutes and having left him only dimly aware of his surroundings as he wandered. He had been conscious of the fact that Co’Ba had joined him at some point, the alien beast’s large and languid body making not a sound on the cobblestone street. It was a nudge from his companion that finally jerked him so suddenly from erratic thought and earned the void cat a sidelong scowl. Charlie didn’t say anything. He rarely had to and the other read him like a book, steering their path away from Dockside, Little Korea, and whatever inconvenience his subconscious was seeking out.

It didn’t prevent him, however, from casting one last thoughtful look over his shoulder.

Remember your place, Charlie.
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Aug 19, 2014 9:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

7JUN2014



Doses Remaining: 23





Hum-hmm-hm-hm-hmmmm. The hum vibrating within his throat was as childlike as it was lively, a small piece of merriment that was only hinted at with his subtle while with the growing howl of the wind stole away the audible evidence and pulled it out to sea. The path ahead was marked by the sway and unpleasant bend of the trees, black clouds serving to blot out the the fading twinkle of stars as the storm rolled in and threatened to smash against the forest bluff. Charlie trekked straight through it, unconcerned and undaunted, even when the tumbling mess of a broken limb swept his way and forced him to duck easily beneath it before it disappeared. The healthy flush of humanity lingered along his jawline and his cheeks, divesting him fully of the typical indifference that had only ever been hidden by a more painted-on smile.

The events of the previous few hours still lingered at the front of his mind.

Tell me a story, Jen had demanded with one of her smiles, girlish and unguarded, dark eyes staring at him from the other side of the small diner table. Half a plate of steak fries, thick wedges of under salted potato fried until the outside was crisp and the centers still soft. He had refused, of course, citing a distinct lack of anything interesting worth telling and promising it was the truth with the addendum that the closest thing she might find interesting involved more mechanical discussions of his sparring sessions with Melanie. So it was in his own awkward way that the smiling man begged off by picking up the tab and procuring her a milkshake for to-go.

He'd still noticed her staring at him sidelong as they departed, minutely disbelieving and wearing an expression that said she wasn't full buying it. This wasn't over. But Jen didn't press. She never did.

When she didn't seem in a hurry to part ways, Charlie led her down to the docks, steering them away from the perpetually busy (and always seedy) traffic at the wharf and towards one of many private marinas. Privacy was at a premium here, though tonight the price had been little more than a climbed fence and a little skulking before two sets of toes were tickled by the cool lap of water. It was there that her ribbing and his playful evading continued, both the former and the latter occasionally petering out when one party ventured to far; Jen's inappropriate commentary or Charlie's dry gallows humor.

No story? Fine,huff. Sing me a song, Charlie. It was more easily done, sure. It had become harder to not indulge and he wasn't easily embarrassed. He couldn't have said if it was his singing or the choice of song itself, but it ended with the pretty blonde asian in stitches of laughter... And her smile, oh that smile...

Deeper into the trees and closer to home, he was stolen from his reverie by another sharp crack of breaking branches and the audible hum of energy, dark eyes suddenly shielded by the sudden spill of hazy silver-green light that swept over him and then pooled at his feet. His vision adjusted quickly, causing his smile to fade and dark brows to crinkle in consternation. The expression of a guilty child seemed appropriate, bu-

"Where have you been, Nine? There was an edge to E's typically toneless voice, not anxious but marked by equal parts disdain and irritation. "You've been gone for days and have ignored all attempts at communication. Drastic measures were almost called for and I am very displeased by the prospect of having to expend our dwindling material resources to hunt you down." The resonant hum of that voice remained steady over the howling wind whipping through the trees, if not growing in some vain attempt to make him wither beneath the disapproval. Under normal circumstances he might have, like a scolded little boy being put in place by a mother or an instructor.

Instead, E was met with a straight spine and a lifted chin.

"I was seeking my center, E," Charlie answer calmly, unsmiling. "You yourself have spoken of the need for it with the steady decline in our supply of the serum and if I am to continue to function properly in preparation for it's absence, then I-"

"Defiance!" Static crackled, a broken hiss that only punctuated the surprisingly emotional response from his keeper. It was enough of a surprise that he never saw the malformed hand driven free of the shadows surrounding them until it was fastened like a vice around his throat and he felt his feel dangling up off of the ground. Dimly, he was aware of it's nature, putrid flesh and machine parts, worth his curiosity if not for the sudden lack of air.

"Insolence! You have been growing bolder in both your wanderings and your excuses, Nine, and I fear I have given you too much leash to choke yourself with. I will have to rectify this. The passionless face of silver and green pixels drifted over the shoulder of the abominable automaton, close to his own. The keeper could see it in his wide eyes, the inclination to react to the mortal threat. To react. To self-preserve. "You will fulfill your purpose, Nine, even if I have to terminate one or more of your little companions to make it so. To remind you of your place and your status as a non-entity. You are a tool, child. Nothing more. A tool that I have need of."

The grip of his assailant lessened but only so much as it took to allow him to breath again, mitigating the flight or flight instinct and allowing him to concentrate on E as she set to moving again. Preparing.

"We've found the first piece," she continued on, circling out of Charlie's line of sight, obscured repeatedly by the whipping of his hair across his vision with the ebb and flow of the winds. "It is being held in a secure facility operated by some of the local constabulary. Somewhere just beyond the place known as Star's End. It is possible that you will encounter one or more persons familiar to you there, so it is regrettable that I am going to have to triple or quadruple your dose to ensure your... focus. I feel the risk is worth the reward. Though perhaps if you are thorough enough, you can avoid an incident. Perhaps. It is time to play the game."

Wide-eyed, he began to struggle against the clench, fighting the urge for obedience and clawing openly at the clenching appendage. If only he could...

There was the sharp, familiar pain of the syringe slipping beneath the armored scales and into his spine. And then... utter calm... Slowly, he fell away towards the calm...

Sing me a song, Charlie...

It was Jen's voice that dragged him down into the void.
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Aug 19, 2014 9:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

...Oh, I come from a land, from a far away place
Where the invaders and inhumanities roam,
Where they cut your throat if they don’t like your face,
It’s horrific, but hey it’s home…







Sing me a song, Charlie…

Echoes.

That beautiful girl’s words were the echo of echoes, tinkling like the cascade of raindrops into the deep well of his subconscious, a power unto itself as it traveled back upward into the active halls of his madness. But that power was raw and left ripples to spread in its absence. It was those ripples that reached out into the darkness, the gentle caress of emotion feeling its way blindly through the darkness until it touched the smallest sliver of humanity that had been locked away, like one hand touching another through the bars of a prison cell.

Sing me a song, Charlie…

The words were pure, the beginnings of a lullaby meant to soothe the tortured psyche. They were the sliver of innocence from one of the nearly damned to the truly damned, a cloying reminder of hope. A threat to the status quo.

A threat that needed to be crushed.

Yes, Nine, it said to him, the other voice. Sing us a song, child. Entertain the ether as you fulfill your purpose.

In the deep darkness of that well, the child that had long ago been renamed Charlie…it screamed.

And the Charlie it had become giggled. Giggled and hummed.

__________________________________________________ ____________________________


8JUN2014
RASG Cryptology Training Center- 65 kilometers outside of Star’s End

Doses Remaining: 18




It had been scarcely two hours since the heavy rains had died away to a miserable drizzle, the subtle clash of changing weather leaving the little hamlet of East Andra wrapped in a dismal fog that wound its way through the dimly lit streets like the lazy tendrils of some lethargic alien beast. Technology was a convenience and not uncommon, but did little to mitigate the picture of a sleepy little piece of nowhere stolen from every time and none, broken only by the presence of the RASG.

A monolith by East Andra’s standards, it was three stories of concrete and steel, cordoned off from complete association with its neighbors by tall fences capped in barbed wire and a modest showing of security walking its grounds. It was a center for learning, if the signs and daily milling about of uniformed cadets was to believed, a place for unpuzzling the puzzles and searching for the deeper meaning of things. The security was strictly a matter of precaution, it was often reassured, little more than a matter of precedent and policy and did nothing to hinder the relationship that added revenue for the locals.

And it helped hide a secret.

It was that secret that had brought the him, the fleet footed shadow in the shape of humanity, armored in the lightest trappings of midnight beneath the sad facade of traveler’s weather cloak and using every alley and roof as his playground. The hum of its voice was lost to the aether, swallowed by a faceless visor. It was graceful in every transition from above to below, almost gleeful as it skipped and lept and avoided detection from the few sets of watchful eyes that kept the little hamlet’s peace, like a child playing hide-and-seek. A trio of drunken cadets, fresh from the welcoming embrace of the pub and bound for the quieter comfort of the barrack, couldn’t help their boisterous and bawdy singing; cast a long shadow and made the perfect cover for the last fifty yards of open ground. The deeper darkness of a guard tower made for a better refuge, the last before the belly of the military beast that would swallow it whole. For a time.

The building was possessed of an innocuous front, as military facilities went, with wide glass windows and low hedgerows without that belied what was housed at its center. All that existed between the intruder and its prize were walls, inorganic and organic. Stone, steel, and flesh. It would be the last that would present the most significant issues.

Lives.

Human lives.

For the flicker of a moment in time, it was left to shake its head at the vivid images in its head. The familiar faces…

Sing us a song…

A song…

A trip back into darkness…

__________________________________________________ ____________________________



It was nearly impossible to make out the shimmering ripple of air moving through the mist, the barest displacement of light and dark, that was enough to turn the guard’s head and prompt a murmur to his companion, both rifles half raised when the childish, androgynous giggle tickled their ears…

And then the song.

Gotta keep…

One jump ahead of the breadline,
One swing ahead of the sword,
I steal only what I can’t afford!

(That’s everything!)


Image

The first thing to greet them was the digital dance of a pixelated smile across the dark visor, frozen in place despite the sing song, taking them by surprise and provoking a heartbeat’s pause. It was all the time the intruder needed, stepping between and behind in a sudden blur of motion and taking their weapons with it. Half a cry passed the lips of one as twin elbows connected with the base of each skull and the single sweep of a leg felled both men in a heap. The intruder bounded on without breaking stride or missing a beat in its jaunty tune, the air around it shimmering again before it disappeared in a blur.

One jump ahead of the lawmen,
That’s all and that’s no joke,
These guys don’t appreciate I’m broke!


The first alarms rose within seconds, with the shouts from armed security when the doors exploded inward from a sudden burst of force and the re-appearance of the black clad whirlwind of arms and legs to the automated sirens and red lights. The burst of weapons fire came next.

Riffraff! Street rat! Scoundrel! Take that!
Just a little snaaaack guys!

Three guards collapsed almost immediately, one with a broken hip from the vicious application of a knee and the other two suddenly finding themselves with missing limbs when the flick of its wrists produced a glowing red-orange blades from its forearms.

Rip him open, take it back, guys!

I can take a hint, I can face the facts,
You’re my only friend, Abu!


Who?!

A sudden lionine roar drew attention to the side to an adjacent hall, putting pause the growing flow of armed combatants slipping through doors that continued to slide open with the crescendo of hydraulic hisses. It put the intruder past another half dozen bodies and the angled cross of gunfire.

Oh it’s sad Aladdin’s hit the bottom,
He’s become a one-man rise in crime,
I'd blame parents except he hasn't got 'em!

Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat,
Tell you all about it when I’ve got the time!


There were a great many moving bodies to pass, with many an RASG jackboot left unscathed. But for every one that was passed by with a harmless whirl or a deft tuck-and-roll, two more fell. From the gravity defying spring and sprint along a wall that resulted in a spine crushing heel kick to the sliding splits that took it between a rifleman’s legs, leaving him crumpled and screaming with two severed ACLs.

One jump ahead of the slowpokes,
One skip ahead of my doom,
Next time gonna use a nom de plume,
One jump ahead of the hitmen,
One hit ahead of the flock,
I think I’ll take a stroll around the bloooooock!


The hail of frantic bullets that followed on the heels of his disappearance around the corner resulted in three more casualties, wounded but not dead from the ricochets that they had been spooked into not considering. Men shouted and gave chase where they could, shaking but holding firm in their attempt at pursuit. The intruder continued to giggle and single through the carnage, shrieking with laughter when a single rifle round found its target and penetrated the light armor to find flesh beneath. It had become very quickly apparent where it was bound, even when it disappeared amidst strong resistance, only to shimmer into view elsewhere to create more chaos; more casualties as it drew in closer to the secure room at the facility’s center.

Stop, thief! Vandal! Outrage! Scandal!

Let’s not be too hasty!

Still I think he’s rather tasty!

Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat,
Otherwise we’d get along!


WRONG!

A dozen men had collected at the fortified door, the intruder’s ultimate destination, barricaded behind a hastily stacked array of furniture and filling the long hallway with steady cloud of lead at the first disturbance in the air. Bullets bounced off of nothing once, then twice, before a sudden shimmering burst of purple-black sent wood and cushions and men everywhere. The door, six inches of steel, went next, peeled inward in layers that a child would have likened to the exploded gun barrel from some archaic cartoon. Seven of the guardians were unconscious by the time it approached the opening, with two more felled from the sudden kick to half a couch and the remaining three left howling in agony after three quick slices from those red-orange blades, leaving the intruder alone when it finally bounded through the hole and into the room beyond.

Pursuit was hot on its heels, espoused by the sounds of heavy footfalls and the subsequent gunfire that eventually followed him through.

The intruder knew what it was looking for and found it quickly at a single, brightly lit console: a small silver data module, dented and dingy with abuse and time. A small red light was an indicator of its inert state, allowing it to be snatched up without before another burst of purple-black made escape through an adjacent wall possible, opening the intruder up to a long hallway that jigged once before it would end in a wide window overlooking the nearby river. Six more rifle rounds rebounded off of the armor when the shooters couldn’t get the proper angle, earning a peal of laughter that only briefly interrupted the song in all of its electronic, androgynous glory. Every bounding stride and tucked roll close the gap to that window.

One jump ahead of the hoofbeats,
(Vandal!)
One hop ahead of the hump,
(Street rat!)
One trick ahead of disaster,
(Scoundrel!)
They’re quick, but I’m much faster,
(Take that!)
Here goes, better throw my hand in,
Wish me happy landin’,
All I gotta do is juuuuuuuuuuuump!


Glass shattered from the simultaneous impact of a body and a hail of bullets, the cries behind dying away from a near forty foot plunge that ended in a splash.

Down there the music died.

There, Jin Chae… I sang your song…

Darkness reigned.
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Aug 19, 2014 9:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Charlie Nine
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Post by Charlie Nine »

[2JUL2014]

Particulars: Undetermined.



The Outback was close to empty when Charlie made his departure, his face battered and still swelling and the gifted box tucked securely beneath an arm, leaving Jen and Izumi to their conversation and whatever business the former might have been bound to conduct after. It was a safe assumption, given the short dress, bare shoulders, and the careful way she’d done herself up. But she had been there to support him, even lingering in his loss, so it spoke volumes even if he showed no outward signs of understanding the gesture when disappearing out the door and down the nearest alley.

The cool night air made the shadows all the more welcoming, always what he had imagined a real lover’s embrace might feel like and not the unimpassioned instinct born of necessity that had guided him through a physical need for release. There was no judgement deep in the black, no need to appease nor please or impress. There on the edge of the void, it just was whatever you needed/wanted it to be, if you knew how to ask for it. It was there, beneath the protective canopy of the shadows that he settled some minutes later, sliding down to sit against the wall like some vagrant to inspect the gift, a small representation of the unimportance of victory or defeat. Here, he could enjoy it (or not) alone.

Or so he thought.

It was a plain box, simplicity at it’s finest. No print or logos adorned the semi-glossy white cardboard, coming as something of a small surprise until he considered that he was the recipient and the giver herself had come to draw a more solid bead on his personality. It was fair to assume she’d kept it simple for his benefit. Charlie was indifferent to the concept but certainly not the gesture and quirked a small smile before his thumbnails found the edges that had been taped and swiped cleanly through them with a single pass on each side. He shimmied the box open then, lifting the covered as the bulkier weight of the bottom with it’s contents slid and then made the short drop into his lap. Meticulous, he kept the top hovered over it, ready to close up and go at a moment’s notice except…

What was this?

More tactile than he’d ever let on to anyone, he made a curious sound in his throat when the tips of his fingers passed over the surface of the exquisite parchment paper housed within the protective cardboard, passing over it repeatedly in idle, meaningless patterns that had no good use other than as an excuse to keep touching it; to keep determining it’s origins. It wasn’t something of a normal quality, nor easily found, and had the familiar feel of…

His eyes widened and his mouth instantly lifted in a surprised smile.

Elephant hide paper!

It might have been safe to admit that it was a commodity more easy to find in Rhy’din, thus lessening it’s monetary value, but on other worlds and in other places where the animal was rare and/or all but extinct, the small gesture was the gift of treasure. Something to be used sparingly and only when a special moment was in demand and… The stomach clenching feeling of inappropriate enjoyment of the moment was lost on Charlie, hardwired and heavily drilled behavior pattern forgotten as he rifled idly through the pages and briefly forgot his failure against Gren Blockman, until the odd little rattle and falling tumble the other gift, an until not hidden trinket, filled his palm. It was a delighted laugh that spilled past Charlie’s lips when he spied the simple pencil sharpener. For someone unaccustomed to getting gifts, it had proven to be…

Failure.

The word touched his ears as a grating mechanical hiss, prompting the quick but careful closure of the box and a clutch of it against his chest that was almost childishly possessive. Dark eyes widened and then narrowed, slicing towards the voice so ready to steal him from his private moment.

Failure. Another failure, Nine.

The arrival was punctuated by a thickening of shadows that even he had a hard time penetrating, something unnatural that permeated the space beyond his reach and created a necessary obfuscation. But it wasn’t difficult to puzzle out what lay beneath that artificial veneer of darkness, a grotesque behemoth, neither alive nor dead, and bound to purposes not dissimilar to his own. In fact, they were paths intersecting more and more as the weeks passed and time grew shorter. Even healed, Charlie could still feel the bruising around his throat that had long since healed, a subtle reminder of the clash of nightmares that he had, expectedly, lost. He was on his feet in a flash, preternatural grace keeping him outside of arm’s reach as he leveled a considering stare on one of many would-be counterparts and already began to secure the box in his pack but frowned when it clattered to the alley floor without (thankfully) opening.

Strikes against you. Your failures compile.

Instead of rectifying, you play with material things. You play with emotional things.

The fleshlings distract your from your purpose.


“I know what I’m doing,” he countered and the tone was more defensive than it should have been, surprising him when the words escaped without thoughts to give them logic. Charlie shifted dangerously on his feet, rising onto the balls of his feet with a threat that belied the drubbing he’d just taken from the ranger. “To steal, in this case, would draw too much unwanted attention. It requires more finesse. E knows that.”

You stall. The response was emotionless. Mechanical. Your growing infatuation with the fleshlings is evidence of the breakdown. Malfunction and a Recycling is in your future.

Until then, your connections to the fleshlings should be quickly and strategically terminated.

The box. Relinquish it.


Charlie stared at the creature blankly for a time, letting the words sink in. The implications. The…

Those dark eyes narrowed.

“No.”

This is not a request.

“No.”

Non-compliance will result in the use of force.

“I. Said. No.”

This is to be reported to…

The burning red-orange glow suddenly ate away the darkness that so often characterized his stare, battered fists clenching up like they were fresh and ready to fight anew, the knuckles a pale and sickly white from the sudden tension. The same fiery color that lit up his eyes seeped from his pores with alacrity, bright little digital pixels given life and fitting over his lowers arms and hands in layers, like a second skin taking shape…

...Reaching up into the invisible highway of information…

...Cutting any feeds…

“No one ever gives me gifts…” He spoke the words like a plaintive child, a thin rivulet of blood running from a flared nostril as he advanced on the shadow.

A series of hard impacts, flashing lights, and sickening crunches echoed in the alley soon after.
__________________________________________________ ____________________________


[Three minutes later.]


He was a little more disheveled upon us exit from the alley’s opposite end, wrinkled about the shirt and trousers, but with a troubled frown that remained directed at the box he carried. It was gore spattered, something half remedied by the few passing (but meticulous) swipes of a hand, ultimately promising that the contents would never be marred.

Charlie’s gaze shifted from Dragon’s Gate to the direction New Haven lay in and it suddenly occurred to him.

He wanted waffles. And to think.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

[20AUG2014]



Doses Remaining: 12



3:27 A.M. RST
Battlefield Park



Problem solving is hunting. It is savage pleasure and we are born to it.

-Thomas Harris




BANG. BANG.

The sharp crack of small caliber gunfire, two shots, echoed off of the trees in eerie fashion. The muzzle flash was brief, but rendered the weathers boles and branches of elm, oak, and conifer in a ghastly light that went far to support the less savory things suspected about the Park. Panic prompted a third shot.

BANG.

Chips of bark scattered from the ricochet.

David Melton had been running since New Haven.


* * *


It had been an inauspicious start to the evening, when the money dried up in Tata’s On Parade and he’d schlepped his way out into the lot. He listened to the left, the faint haze of alcohol numbing the pain of that last slap across the face and keeping his agitation still burning fresh. A balled up fist would have been in that stripper’s future if not for the burly men in black shirts keeping a watchful eye, glaring at him with stern disapproval. Fine. $%#& them. It wasn’t pretty, but there was still something warm, willing, and stupid waiting for him at home as soon as he called for a tow truck. With a grunt, he leaned against the car and fished around in the pocket of his coat for his cigarettes, freeing one up with the curl of a lip as he dialed up what passed for AAA in Rhy’din. The phone was halfway to his ear when something sharp struck his hand, eliciting a barking cry as the flesh was laid open and the phone knocked free to clatter across the pavement.

“What the f…” he growled, his head whipping around in a frantic search.

Nothing.

A glance down at his hand revealed the thin line of cut flesh and the fresh blood oozing down over his fingers, prompting him to let loose with another curse. He shoved against the inside of his coat, trying to stanch the bleeding. A single sound rose over the din of a new string of curses, something hollow and metallic echoing off of the stone walls of the nearby alley. A single tin can was ejected from the shadows a moment later, bouncing harmlessly across the short distance to the bar to rebound off of his shoes. It drew his attention to the yawning mouth of the alley, ominous and bathed in a darkness the nearby streetlights failed beat back.

It was there the hooded figure lingered, rocking from side to side.

“You do this, mother%&$#!@?” David held up his wounded hand and shook it at the figure.

”Let’s get down to business, came the sing-song reply, mocking him. To defeat the huns. Did they send me daughters, when I asked for sons?’

“You want a piece of this, man?” He shouted, reaching into the back of his belt with his good hand and producing his pistol. When he looked up again, the figure was gone.

”You’re the saddest bunch I’ve ever met, but you can bet before we’re through… Mister, I’ll make a man… out of you.” The voice sounded again from nowhere, whimsical and amused, before two more cut were laid open on David’s body.

For the first time that night, he screamed.


* * *





He screamed again when the twenty-seventh cut cost him his balance forty-five minutes later, resulting in a hard stumble over a fallen branch that spilled him into a small clearing dangerously close to the Baronial manor. The choked sob that followed was cut off by the sudden and heavy weight bearing down on him, small than him but fresher without the comparing injuries and with all the leverage. Again, that cheerful voice assaulted his ears in fresh lyrics that set off a fresh wave of panic.

”Be a man, with all the strength of a raging fire… mysterious as the dark side of the mooooooon.”

“Stop,” he wailed. “Please! I don’t know what this is all about!” He struggled to put logic to the moment, desperately clinging to his search for a reason this was happening to him. “What did I do to you?”

”Her name is Valentine,” was his assailant’s reply, carried in tune and punctuated by the low rush of a grunt. Satisfaction or mirth, there was no telling which. ”Do you remember her?”

“The tranny whore? This is over some he-bitch I roughed up?” He almost laughed. Almost. “He-She ain’t nothin’, man. There’s a hundred in Rhy’din just like it.”

’What did you call her? It?”

“Whatever, man. Just let me go! I got a lady and a kid at home!”

”I know…” Reaching into the dark hoodie, David’s assailant retrieved a small recording device and brought it down near his ear, his thumb swiping over a button. Familiar voices turned his blood to ice.

Recording: Dave? David! What the Hell is going on here?! What did you do?! This man said you did things… He said he’s gonna do things to us! DAV--... The panicked words were choked off abruptly, following immediately by the hoarse gagging sounds so familiar to strangling. A child cried in the background until it too went silent.

He tried to struggle, feebly, between sobs, spitting out half-hearted obscenities while his captor sang on.

”You’re unsuited for the rage of war, so pack up, go home, you’re through,” the voice crooned. ”How could I make a man out of yoooooou.”

And then abruptly, the singing stopped.

“That’s right, David. I can’t. But I can do the opposite…”

And that’s when the pain really began.


* * *



Charlie Nine did his work with practiced ease and the gusto of the fanatic, oblivious to the prying eyes of the Park’s spiritual denizens. A single one among many peeled away from the ghostly crowd, gone from one place to another.

The manor’s master had to know of this.



* * *



It took the better part of the day to find David Melton, gibbering uncontrollably and mad with grief when he’d eventually been deposited. The worst of his wounds had been crudely cauterized with fire. Tongueless, he couldn’t speak a word. Fingerless, he couldn’t gesture. And without his manhood… How could they… make a man… out of him?
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Nov 11, 2014 9:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

[3SEP2014/4SEP2014]



Doses Remaining: 12




It's okay to give in sometimes...

The post-challenge party at the Tower of Fire was an exercise in coping with overstimulation. It shouldn't have been surprising, of course, given the primaries involved and the occasion. The eldritch austerity of dancing walls of orange flame and black marble floors had been shattered hours before by plastic folding tables and collapsible lawn chairs, the former filled with open food containers and uncapped bottles of booze and water. Like a vacant Mordor under invasion by squatters or frat house refugees. Sushi and onion rings. Fried rice and hot dogs. Beer, beer, beer! Popular music (Grace was all about the bass) thumped steadily from some old stereo rescued (or resurrected) from the 80's. And Charlie bore up under all the revelry well...

...until the karaoke started.

He had then excused himself without a word, refusing to show a hint of discomfort when he finally limped away from the larger bulk of the crowd (If KC or Grace said 'Papi' one more time...) and laid himself out prone on top of one of the few empty tables, trying to ignore the music as he directed his gaze towards one of the tower's many vaulted ceilings. The bloody, scuffed clothes had remained, wounds and look ignored in favor of trying to exist in the moment. After all, his inclusion had seemed to make everyone happy.

His people.

But they couldn't pay attention forever.

The excitement was palpable. The food and drink was plentiful. And Jen, well, Jen was just happy to be there on such terms. It even outweighed the smug blue stone nestled snugly against the inside of her wrist under the leather cuff. The Tower of Fire that surrounded her on all sides should have made her uncomfortable but that aside, little could damper her mood. An oft practiced version of Reflection from the Mulan soundtrack had been belted out into an open beer bottle, complete with exaggerated gestures and some tipsy dance steps. But as the song came to a close and she handed off the karaoke machine's control to someone else, she stepped away intent on another beer and perhaps a check up with the newly defended bearer of FireStar. He had been easy enough to find throughout the night, that same wooden grin put on for one and all but of course when she intentionally sought him out, she had trouble doing so.

Of course she didn't think to check the tabletops. After all, weren't the empty ones reserved for dancing rather than sleeping? Well, perhaps not, but still. Eventually she tracked him down and quiet steps brought her to the head of the table to where she could lean over him, surely upside down in his view. "You look like hell." She was paying attention.

Charlie had let his eyes drift shut at some point, lulled into some semblance of (false) security by the familiar sound of the familiar voice. The choice of song created a faint crease in his one unswollen brow, but beneath the strain of maintaining a placid mask, he let it go. Instead, he distracted himself with taking stock of the damage the Mangyptian had done, lifting his left arm.

They started as small motes of orange light, coalescing into being like three-dimensional pixels until they created a definitive shape gloving his hand and forearm. The sounds the omnitool made were nearly inaudible, but he didn't need to hear them to translation the information being processed. Instead, he murmured off the list of injuries quietly.

The sound of Jen's voice stole him from the privacy of his headspace, dark eyes half glazed lifting to stare up into hers and half his mouth curling upwards in a smile. "If I believed in heaven, you'd look like an angel."

Out of view, one hand settled on the curve of a cocked hip and she gave him a little roll of her eyes, wholly good natured. She caught the subtle movement of his lips before louder words reached her ears and she quirked a brow, continuing his birds eye view of the sprawled out and beat to hell Charlie Nine. There was a low chuckle in the back of her mind, something she shoved out of her consciousness quickly. Shut it, you.

"That...I don't even know what to say to that. I'm caught between 'aww' and wondering if you've watched too much Heirs." Not as though she thought he understood a word of the Korean dramas she made him suffer through, but where else would he have got such a line? Beer wielding hand was directed his way to offer the ginger press of cool glass against his cheek, careful to mind the swelling. "Just gonna hide over here until the party's over?" The gentle tease was meant as that only, no hint of admonishment to her tone.

Craning his next, he made a slow study of the pretty woman, and it was uncharacteristic in the fact that he took in more than just her face. Head to toe and then back, he made little notations in his mind, insignificant to anyone who wasn't one Charlie Nine. The casual summer clothing was a stark contrast to the Moonberyl challenge months ago, but he didn't seem to mind in the least. What he was thinking? Anyone's guess.

"No. I try to nap now when you're watching that gar... stuff." He intended to learn Korean, at some point, if anything to not feel like he was the butt of any jokes when the two residents of the Chae Fortress of Solitude got to going back and forth in that tongue. Anything else he would have said was lost to the sudden relief that washed over him when the cool bottle suddenly numbed his skin. "I think I deserve some credit for lasting over there as long as I did. Being social with so many people at once could be seen as more daunting than fighting in that ring earlier..."

Charlie paused, before murmuring. "It's worse than it looks."

Her teeth took their time grinding at the inside edge of her lip as she patiently waited out the once over. Yes, she noticed. But she had also experienced it many a time in her scant years. Sure, not from the enigma of a man before her, but all the same. Only the most minor flashes of self-consciousness was evident in the faint tinge of rose along the crests of cheeks. After all, Grace had dressed up. Shouldn't she have picked something out especially for the match. It was the subject of quite the internal debate, long winded and ultimately a loss all around.

"It's not garb..." She meant to interject until he caught himself and corrected, a smirk quirking her lips with a touch of smugness. "They are well developed and interesting characters and it's not my fault if I'm emotionally invested in their lives." Here came the pout, one he'd certainly seen a time or two when such a subject came up. She even included a faint tremble of her bottom lip at least until she noted the relief and slight relaxation with the cold's contact. Letting glass work as her conduit, she kept it pleasantly chilled against flesh known to run perpetually hot.

"Oh yes, having friends and being social is terrible. Soooooo terrible." Her free hand lifted to press the back against her forehead, head tilted back in mock lament. The grin that accompanied very much so told of the chiding in her words but it faltered once faint mumbles met ears already ringing from the night's festivities. "Hmm?" Gaze falling down to meet his once more, her brows knitted. "How can I help?"

Insecurity. Uncertainty. Fear.

These were the things he was created to prey on, so each subtle tick of expression and body language was given great credence. He didn't want to feed on those emotions, but he would certainly use the knowledge to try to understand better. It didn't give him everything, however, and for the whimsical passage of a few moments Charlie was lift almost wishing he could read the blonde girl's mind.

"I like the Disney movies better," he said, finally, painting over his own childish disgruntlement and only having marginal success. It was an odd but telling admission, given that the strange man seemed far more grounded in what passed for reality. He grunted softly into the continual cool she provided, barely conscious of having said... "Reminds me of cryo..."

She mocked and he acted, reaching behind the back of a thigh left exposed my short shorts to pinch bare flesh. It was exaggerated and painless, more a gesture of familiarity than any attempt to punish. Charlie would have ignored her concern if he could have, being a creature of stoic platitudes, but found himself (as he often had of late) giving in to the oblique offer she made out of concern for him.

"My knee is dislocated. Two cracked ribs and a broken one that needs to be reset. I might have a concussion, however mild. Minors cuts and a lot of deep tissue bruising. I'm bloody, dirty, and smell like a cesspool. Infection could become a problem." It was delivered to her with clinical detachment.

"Of course you do. You can understand those and they're not all," the following rapid fire back and forth was done in two separate tones and in Korean. Incredibly fast Korean. But there was a definite feminine girly voice and the closest thing to a deeper timbre to insinuate a man's voice as well. She was laughing by the time she finished and only just barely caught the quiet words on his part. Something compelled a response but the pinch to the leg had her jumping and swatting, laughter tumbling even easier past her lips.

"Hey ow!" It didn't hurt, not in the least. But the instinctive reaction came nonetheless. Taking note of the laundry list of issues, her expression darkened until a deep frown settled and she shook her head. "Jesus, Charlie." Laughter aside, she handed over the bottle, the beer inside having turned to slush under her touch. Dark gaze ran him over, concern obviously etched in the creases across her forehead and at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

"I...well crap. Let's get you out of here and cleaned up then. Let them drink and eat and stuff. You need...attention."

In the memories of most, Charlie never drank. But that expectation did nothing to stop him from curling his fingers around the neck of that bottle and tip it back to swallow down the last of that icy beer. It sizzled and heated rapidly in his mouth as it went, a thin rivulet of that liquid dribbling from one corner of his mouth from the imperfect angle he was laying at. He arched once, winced, and then arched again in the effort to get himself upright without assistance, setting the bottle aside and then finally reaching for her hand.

For a touch and reassurance over... something.

"If you just want to assist me in getting back to the apartment above the gym," he offered magnanimously. The apartment, his apartment, had little in the way of furnishings or creature comforts. "Then you can come back here and keep celebrating with the others."

She had wholly intended it as more of an ice pack than a beverage but that worked too. It certainly caught her off guard as evidenced by the surprised widening of eyes. The first attempt at rising had her lurching forward to offer assistance, not quite making it around the edge of the table in time. The second was more in line with her positioning and her hand quickly caught his, her elbow locking as she planted her feet to serve as a solid anchor to haul him upright even if he didn't need or want the help. With all he had listed wrong, she couldn't imagine that sitting up had felt too good. The curls of steam that rose from the meeting of their flesh were even ignored in favor of exacting the entirety of her attention on him and him alone.

"..." Her extended silence spoke more than words could and finally she exhaled a tight breath. "I'd...probably...just go home...after um...making sure...that you're alright." The words came disjointedly, sudden bursts and minor lulls. The silence fell like a veil over any thoughts that lingered in the wake of her words and she sighed softly. "Let's just get you somewhere more comfortable."

Jin Chae played the part of anchor well and in more ways than one.

The soft hiss of steam reached his ears before he thought to look at the visual evidence of their meeting. The latter hadn't been uncommon of late and was ignored in favor of the soothing comfort of the touch. He tottered slightly when the soles of his sneakers touched the warm marble floor, a rare display of being off balance that saw him taking a firmer grip on her to reassert steadiness.

"If you don't want to come back here..." Charlie cast a finally look towards the rest of the party, his pensive gaze lingering thoughtfully before melting into a faint smile. It hinted at fondness for the ragtag collection of misfits. "We could stay together."

He didn't even wait for her response before he started leading them towards the exit.

Never had she thought she would so appreciate the fresh air of the Isle than when she stepped out from the sweltering confines of the Tower of Fire. Relief washed over her along with a smile and fingers tipped in chipped orange polish were shimmied back through bleached strands to air them out from the lingering scent of smoke and fire. It was like camping but with karaoke. And magic.

Magic isn't real.

Metaphysics then. Sure, that. She couldn't help the roll of her eyes that followed internal dialogue, shaking her head to let her bangs scatter across her forehead to shield her gaze if only momentarily. It wasn't until she was well outside that what he had offered finally clicked. Ding, fries are done.

"Like...uh, your place or mine?" A thin brow perked and she slanted a sideways look his way.

She had a single free hand and Charlie hadn't limped more than a dozen paces beside her before she found the increasingly familiar feeling of his fingers slipping between hers to curl around her smaller palm. He watched her in profile as he did so often, one corner of his mouth curled upwards awkwardly as his attention drifted from to her to through her. The only sounds between them leading out of the mystically vaunted halls of the Tower were the dull, muted roar of the flaming walls and the quickly of a single sneaker bearing too much weight on the marble floors, both left behind when they finally stepped out into the night without so much as a single one of his characteristic barbs about the non-nature of magic.

He remained oblivious to her light-bulb moment, wrapped up in something else entirely until her voice brought him back into the moment and he flipped her a sideways look. "Though sparsely furnished and not as welcoming... mine."

It was quite the change-up, the locale for their innocent liaisons going from the creature comforts of the Chae Fortress of Solitude to the spartan, nearly vagrant accommodations. He hadn't replaced the couch he'd turned to ashes, leaving only a cheap plastic card table and a few chairs in the small den. The only time he watched a television was with Jen or KC and the bedroom had little more than a pair of mattresses stacked one on top of the other, with a scattered few blankets and pillows. All in all, it made for a strange change in behavior.

The last few hours had birthed a mixture of comfort an anxiety inside of him, like a black koi and a white chasing one each other's tails in a small pond; the Yin to the Yang. The It grew within in, subtle and beneath layer upon layer of secrets, until it had finally begun to seep through every more in the most minute details. The heat hadn't bothered him like it had previously, the nagging sensation of incessant heat and the sporadic arrival and departure of emotional spikes it brought about. A new level of calm had stolen over him where the Opal and even the Isle were concerned.

And it did nothing to explain his sudden anxiety over their destination.

Maybe she found it nice, the way both of his battered hands and bloody arms curled around her slender frame behind, gliding over her hips in a tentative familiarity that didn't stop until his fingers linked together over her taut belly. It gave him leverage he didn't need to draw her back against him, his cheek grazing over hers before falling to a gentle but precarious rest on her shoulder. The moments ticked by, too quick for him by far, giving him precious little time to inhale deeply over her scent from over his own smell of sweat and blood. His voice was soft against the delicate shell of her ear.

"I need you to do two things, Jin Chae. One: Trust me. Two: Take a deep breath... and hold it."

No sooner had the last words pass his lips, there was a cracking pop from behind them and a sudden, loud purr that vibrated against the top of Jen's head when the massive feline chin came to rest atop it. Charlie's grip on her tightened and tentacles, long and scaled in shadow, encircled them.

Then the world fell away...
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Nov 11, 2014 9:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

It wasn't a feeling Charlie ever would have been able to accurately describe in words, that sudden pop of the world shattered and then subsequent lunge into the void.

But it felt like...

How would it feel, to be turned inside out instantly and then plunged bodily into the iciest water imaginable. Like a frigid shock rushing straight through the veins, making every synapse fire and die and spark back to life again. And then a raging inferno engulfing bones made brittle. It was sensation, startling without the pain, like a dose of fear shot straight to the heart.

Another realm had been layered atop theirs, cast in dreary black and grays; blues and purples. Shadows moved with a life of their own.

The landscape came and went, parsed out in fleeting glimpses as Co'Ba moved them through the aether. One hop. Then three. Two more.

And then...


Sweet, succulent, fresh air!

It was like being dunked underwater without first being able to take a breath in time. She had just barely made it through step one of his directions when the shift had her gasping in one last moment inhalation. Her lungs felt aflame in the few scant moments it took her circulatory system to burn up the brief bit of oxygen she had pulled in and her hands grasped at whatever she could get ahold of. The wave of stimuli hit like a truck, like every bit of her was trembling with such force that the rattling had infiltrated Jin Chae on even a cellular level.

And to think, she thought a trip through the despair laden streets of her own shadow realm was bad. It was nothing when compared to this. With a little more preparation perhaps she would have exuded less panic and more wonder, the blurred palette set in cool shades before her eyes almost magical in the way they lay in tangent to what had been a solid world under her feet only moments before. Magical, that was a good word for it.

There's no such thing as magic.

"Yeah? Well then what the royal fuck was that?" She managed to choke out the words even while sucking in a much needed deep breath on the other side. Jello-legged and light headed, she quickly determined Charlie had taken them somewhere spinny. Very spinny.

For Charlie, it was worse. Experience mixed with his volatile DNA enhanced the effects ten-fold, a rejection every bit as much as an invitation. Stay. Stay forever. But where it had made Jen, in her very first attempt, prone to a very common panic, for him it painted a rictus, manic grin across his mouth and for the short hand span of moments following their return to the material plane, left him wild-eyed and euphoric.

He didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't breath.

He just was.

It was the little blonde Korean girl's frenzied words that stole him away from the Other Place, grounding him once more in the here-and-now and causing him to, purely against instinct, clutch her tighter to his larger frame. "Shh. Shhh. It's fine. You're fine. I wouldn't let anything happen to you..."

They were inside his barren apartment, near empty and unimpressive in it's lack of decoration, silhouetted in shadow across one wall thanks to the pale slivers of light coming through one set of half open blinds.

"Just breathe..."

He was stability.

What an odd thought. An anchor that kept her from sinking to her knees when the spinning refused to relent. Completely immersed in her own panic, she took next to no notice of the ecstatic grin he had worn through the trip. The tightness in her chest had made that a little difficult unfortunately for her. There was always next time. No, no, there would no "next time" for awhile if she had her way. A shake of her head reinforced the silent thought and she blew out a tense breath through clenched teeth.

I wouldn't let anything happen to you. The words echoed loudly in her head until they became such a jumbled garbled mess that they no longer made sense. That is, save for the little bit of condescending derision that looped itself at the end of the sentence, an after thought comprised of words that originated from neither Jen nor Charlie.

I wouldn't let anything happen to you. For now.

For now.


"For now." She said out loud, a mumbled mush of words that eventually became less and less important as she regained the ability to breathe. Slowly in, steadily out. Quiet inhale. Silent exhale. There was the stale scent of the gym downstairs, the faint smell of smoke that lingered in the walls courtesy of Charlie's foray into pyromancy in his sleep, and finally the subtle mix of soap and sweat. It was familiarity. He was familiarity, safety. "I'm fine."

It small ways, he paid for that familiarity. While too proud to display most overt signs to the physical pain his body still suffered, it still showed through in more subtle measures. His body jerked and contracted minutely with her weight against him, as he tried to ignore the fresh wave of stimulation pulsing over his wounded ribs. The vast majority of his weight, and hers, was shifted to his good leg. Despite his best efforts, he wobbled a little.

His reaction to her words went unseen, little more than a faint crinkle of his brow that hinted at mild consternation, but that of which melted away when his arms slipped beneath hers to steady her. His knuckles were scraped and still bloody. He reeked of both it and sweat. He dismissed it, steadying her anew and drawing back to stare down into her pretty dark eyes when she finally turned.

"You don't need to shower with me, or anything. I just... help me get out of this and cleaned up?" It was a first. An unexpected first and, in truth, he wasn't sure of the reaction he'd receive.

Once she was a little more confident in her legs' ability to keep her upright, she made the slow transitional drift away from his support. No longer in danger of tossing her cookies or tipping over like the little teapot, she took one more steadying breath and pivoted on her heels to turn a one-eighty and face him. Swallowing back the unsurprising taste of blood, she could have easily passed off the metallic scent thanks to his numerous gashes and scrapes, split flesh all too commonplace along the contours of FireStar's battered bearer.

Somewhere along the way she had conjured up some semblance of regular sentence to try and further the transition to normalcy but his question, yes very unexpected, had her mouth hanging ajar like her jaw had come unhinged. Gaze rounding wide, it was some time before she so much as blinked and then she finally gave him a jerky nod.

"I uh, y-yeah. I can do that. No problem." It was one of the few times she was grateful for the dark. Moonlight thankfully muted the subtle shift of red rising in her cheeks, gaze averting toward the hallway.

The rise and fall of his chest was visible in the pale ambient light, deep breaths drawn in to reveal the uncertainty he normally hid so well. Whatever boost of moral their brief trip had given him, it had melted away when the reality of his offer set it, for both of them, and he was left to ponder on his own what to say to her next. In the end, he said nothing.

Instead, Charlie sought out her hand, twining his fingers with hers in the manner that had become so familiar to them in recent weeks and drew her away from the voyeuristic possibilities the nearby window offered. The short hall felt longer, almost like the frantic trek across the length of a busy soccer pitch, until the reached the half open door to the apartment's single room. It was spartan, his sleeping place, lacking any of the aesthetic appeal of Jen's large bedroom. A real person couldn't sleep here.

Only marginally awkward, he turned, passing a thumb over his own palm. It triggered a small globe at one corner of the room, spilling a soft orange light to the far corners and stretching both of their shadows across the empty walls.

"Promise me you won't be upset." He spoke the words as his free hand fell to the hem of his long sleeved shirt, plastered against his skin and half untucked. The request was important to him and it probably shouldn't have been. It shouldn't have been possessed of any meaning at all, for all that he was. But FireStar's warm light wasn't the only thing pulsing at the back of his mind; beneath his sternum.

Away from the moonlight and taken into the depths of the dark apartment, her hand wound around his without the slightest bit of hesitation. Sure something on a far more instinctual level had a few flags raised but that was pretty normal by now. Like a check engine light because your gas cap seal is broken, easy to ignore when you've been exposed to it enough. The barren bedroom was far more reminiscent of days past when even the necessities were hard to come by. Well, it lacked the warmth of cramming a trio of nearly homeless teenagers into a single room, but that was an acquired taste as much as the emptiness that lay before her was.

Dark gaze shadowed by the lack of light ticked toward the motion between of his hand, a slenderly sculpted brow perking with curiosity. Questions were pushed to the wayside though by his request, a cant of her head acknowledging as she crossed one arm over her midsection.

"Why would I be upset, Charlie?"

Are you sure you want to know?

Of course, I'm sure.

One more time with feeling.

I'm sure!

All Charlie could think was, I'm nobody.

How many times had he said those words to her? To Melanie? The others? The apartment reflected it in so many ways. Nearly no furniture. No worldly possession. Everything Charlie had; everything he was, it fit neatly into the ratty military backpack he was almost never seen without. The nothing he had reflected the nothing he was, because people kept things. Keepsakes. Momentos. Physical representations of memories and tastes and personality.

A Charlie was allowed none of these things.

"Because I'm as ugly and disconcerting beneath this shirt as I am beneath my skin, Jin Chae. I'm a horror made." One last breath was drawn in; it rattled in his chest and prompted the twitch at one corner of an eye. On the side of him that wasn't injured, he began to lift, drawing the shirt up his torso to expose the skin beneath. Half a foot past her waist, he needed her help and without a hint of hesitation, he drew her hand in to assist with the removal of the shirt. It wasn't until a few grunts and an awkward stretch saw the sticky garment falling to the floor that she was able to get a good look at him.

Exposed, Charlie Nine was a mess.
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Nov 11, 2014 9:57 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Charlie Nine
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Post by Charlie Nine »

His skin, unaccustomed to much sun, was shades paler than the rest of him, though not enough so to be considered sickly and the by-product of a secret he'd so stoically kept until now. The angry, purpling welt of his battered ribs rose prominently, begging enough attention in it's own right, but paled in comparison to the scars that would never go away. They were everywhere. Everywhere. Angry and puckered and forever reddened, they ran over the entirety of his body like a the pattern of a modern circuit board, or more appropriately, a blueprint; symmetrical and with purpose. This skin was discolored in various places between lines, showing a disparity in the age between cuts. Between procedures. Tiny numbers had been lasered into his skin. Codes of notes. Notes of codes. The furrows of every scar ran so deep that it didn't take a doctor to puzzle out the disheartening fact that he'd been cut it every place more than once.

Pulled apart and put back together. Like an automaton. Or Frankenstein.

Mary Shelley would have been impressed.

His back was as bad, if not worse, for over the blueprint pattern of the scars he had been altered. Armored plates (like dragon's scales), finished in matte gray, had been riveted into his back and ran the length of it, from the base of his neck just beneath the collar to disappear past his belt. It wouldn't have been a stretch to assume it fled to the base of his spine. At it's top was a small circle, small enough for the attachment of a cable or the push of a syringe.

This was Charlie Nine, exposed.

But those arms? Every bit as muscular as everyone dreamed.

Words, ugly ugly words, were cause for pause, her brow caught high in its arch of morbid curiosity. What could be so awful as to bring about such self hatred? Charlie Nine didn't seem the self-conscious sort, no, unabashed and blunt as she had known him to be. A little self-deprecating at times, sure but wasn't everyone? Her hand lifted with ease, the fluid motion coming far more simply to her than to him. Granted, turn the tables and she was sure she wouldn't still be standing had she been in his shoes. Flesh tinged orange by the pallid glow of the room's light source was glimpsed with the first lift of the shirt. Her fingers grasped fabric heavy with dirt and sweat and blood, pulling it gingerly upwards until she was able to rock up onto her tip toes to finish freeing it from his frame.

A fall back to flat feet led to a lean in reverse to get a better look. Equal parts clinical and curious, her gaze drifted over fresh challenge injury and fading battle scar alike, taking in the parts of the whole in silence.

What could be so awful as to bring about such self hatred? She now knew. Her breath hitched, caught in her throat on the lump that had formed and the overwhelming crash of varying emotions caught her just as off guard as his bare flesh did. A deafening silence settled in to compete only against the rapid hammering of her heart against her ribcage and his rattle-laden breathing. It was a quietly chaotic cacophony that caused a careful lift of her now shaking hand, hovering in the dead space between them.

Shock. Fear. Pity. Dismay. Confusion. A veritable whirlwind of reactions that ultimately lead to a rather prolonged silence, a quiet so loud that it threatened to wake the dead from the depths of slumber. So many thoughts. So many emotions. She felt them all but none so much as...fury. The veil of reticence that stood sentinel between them parted under the forward motion of her hand, a hesitantly feather light brush of her thumb grazing his cheek before the weight of her chilled palm found purchase against the heat of the side of his neck.

What did they do to you, Charlie Nine? It was a question for another time. Not here, not now. Instead it gave way to a far more gentle proclamation.

"Let's get you cleaned up..."

In Charlie's world(s), you didn't show vulnerability. But there, beneath the veil of his perceived attempt at domestic life and his growing attachment to a girl who, in her own way, could have been just as broken as himself, he gave her the first fleeting glimpse into the reality of his existence. The first hint at his origins.

Placidly defiant since his very step into the dueling venues and into her (their) life (lives), Charlie wilted subtley beneath her touch, uncharacteristically docile. He had given away a piece of himself without knowing if the hole it created would be refilled or rent open all the wider for the gamble. He should have chastised himself and pulled away, rethinking the exchange and sending her on her way. He could have forced her out if he had to. Instead, Charlie leaned into her touch and let heavy lids drift shut as the cool feeling washed over him and against FireStar's wishes.

"Thank you."

Her free hand brushed away what she would have sworn to be an errant strand of blonde had she been asked but in reality was the first hint of forming moisture at her lash line. A hard swallow helped to flatten her affect, bringing Jin a much needed dose of zen. Each moment that passed was a further adventure into unknown territory. Would the hard won calm linger or did it run the risk of vanishing at the faintest slight. Perhaps in his injured state she could be persuasive enough to coax him into letting her stay to look after him. Because, well, she sure as hell wasn't leaving.

Or maybe she would after the shock wore off. Who knew. Her thumb rubbed at a smudge of dried blood at the edge of his jawline, a small frown settling into place on her lips. Grateful for his cooperation, as temporary as it may be, she shifted her stance to one side of him and offered an arm for additional support.

"Bathroom?" She questioned the location needlessly. It wasn't as though the apartment was all that big, the number of doors limited. If a door didn't lead to a bathroom, it probably lead to a closet or something close and that should have been a fifty-fifty that she was fine with. Maybe it was about filling the silence with something other than curiously probing his past because believe it, the compulsion was tremendous.

I don't want to complicate things.

Weren't those the words she'd said to him, months ago, when he'd first made mention of the Endless Waltz Prom at KC's urging? Words that had melted away beneath the growing momentum of the little things, like a snowball gaining mass in it's roll down a steep winder coated hill or the tiniest sparks on kindling, growing into a larger fire. Reservations went unheeded.

And now everything was complicated.

"Over there," he pointed when she asked, easing slowly around her to lead the way. The sneakers and pants joined the shirt along the way, creating a short path in his wake and treating (subjecting) her to the continued pattern of scars running the length of his legs. Only Charlie's hands, feet, and face seemed spared that fate. Would the black and gold Yellow Lantern boxer-briefs steal away some of the concern and add levity to the moment? It hadn't occurred to him.

Instead, Charlie was left to wonder over her silence, gingerly making a perch of the toilet and lifting a hooded stare up to her face. Every little expression was subjected to his scrutiny, placed with a previous memory of her in an effort to distract himself from both the pain and darker thoughts.

Words say nothing when lost in the shadow of actions. Wants mean little in the wake of needs. It was the only way to explain the escalation between the pair.

With her offer for assistance turned down by way of his path diverted around her, she dropped the lifted lifted arm back to her side to trail after him. Giving a wide berth to allow for the removal of the remaining articles along the way, she had to admit this is not the way she saw such an event going. Still very much so fully clothed, her arms folded across her midsection, wrapping her in a calming cool that she hoped would translate to the rest of the evening. Curiosity kept her gaze on the move, tracing this line and that, super hero undies getting a lilting giggle despite her continued commitment of the inhuman map etched on a once human canvas to memory.

You couldn't forget it if you wanted to.

No, that much was certain. The wave of cold that emanated from her grew like an unseen arctic cocoon around her aura, keeping her in its frigid embrace as her feet came to a stop before him.

"A shower'll help. And getting your ribs reset at the very least should make it hurt less overall..." She softly offered out an opinion weighed with concern, wholly genuine in her dislike of seeing him in such a sorry state. "I... I'll do what I can or at least whatever you'll let me..." Of all the things to be sheepishly embarrassed about and it came down to getting abashed over an offer to help patch him up.

He teetered, silently, between want and necessity. He breathed, quietly, despite aching ribs and voiceless words. Being close to her, like this, generated more questions than answers and beneath the heavy weight of her stare and the sincerity of her gente offer, Charlie made the semi-conscious decision to thrust away his concerns in favor of existing in the moment.

She offered and he accepted with a silent nod, long fingers extending to curl gently around hers, soaking up IceDancer's reticence until FireStar's irritation began to fill the room with steam. The veil it created was a comfort zone, of sorts, leaving Jen with all the ability to feel her way along his torso and help reset the ribs while sparing her (in his mind) the discomfort of looking upon him.

She can get the illusion of me back for just a little longer.

With an overwhelming understanding of the human anatomy honed by years of torture craft and a better-than-rudimentary knowledge of field medicine, he guided the pain sapping perfection of her too-cool hands to where they needed to be, the sharp intake of breath and the feel of moving bone beneath her touch a surreal indication of when the job was done.

Jen never savored the act of resetting ribs, no matter how much steam might have filled the room to keep her from having to see the pain etched in his expression. He was much quieter than any of her siblings or friends had been in the past when such a thing was needed and with the slipping of bone grinding against muscle until it fell back into place, her own hissed gasp might have even drowned out the faint sound made by the one actually experiencing the pain.

As if he wasn't hot enough already, the added trauma to the injury had his skin toasty under her fingertips in no time. A draw on IceDancer's influence served her well though and she took a chance under the cloak of steam, setting both hands flat to his ribcage to let the touch and, by proxy, the wealth of cold linger for as long as he would allow. Hello human ice pack, IceDancer was thrilled.

"The cold should dull the pain and um, maybe the heat from the water'll relax the rest of it..." Sounding like an awkward IcyHot commercial, she offered the less than expert advice with some amount of hesitation. "Is... that any better?"

"I can go the distance..." He chimed in after a long pause, a little bit of his eerie-but-sweet sing-song, an attempt to lighten the mood and ease some of her concern over the severe beating Anubis and brought upon him. It died, however, beneath the weighty expulsion of a relieved sigh that escaped when she dialed down the temperature and gave the blue opal a far more benevolent purpose than it's Beer Cooler nickname.

"Much better," he said finally, one eye slowly opening to peer up at her. A smile made for an obscure reward through the steam, but was punctuated soon after with the light line of his nose tracing along the delicate plane of her cheek when he finally rose. He murmured, like it was a secret to share despite there being no one else close enough to hear him. "I'm going to shower, but... you'll stay with me tonight. Right?"

"I don't care how far, somehow I'll be strong." Instinctively finishing the line. An awkward giggle, short and sweet, bubbled up then simmered down in rapid succession. It was some sort of a mixed reaction, heavy on surprise and peppered with genuine mirth. Lips pressed into a fine line to compose herself and shuffled her feet back just half a step as he stood up finally. Her hands lingered near his side, not fully pressed but near enough that they could have been rather easily. A leap of her heart into her throat warranted a moment to settle before she gave a little bob of her head in response.

"I'll be here til you don't need me." A soft admission, willingly given in its vulnerability much to not only IceDancer's dismay but her own as well. So much for not complicating things.

"You have to work sometime, Jin Chae." It was her out, given freely and hiding a fragile layer of uncertainty he'd been quick to lock away. But the statement re-enforced his independence, and hers, delivered with the slow brush of fingers along her jaw and the subsequent creation of new distance between them.

"I'll be out shortly," he reassured her before leaning with wince to turn on the water.

"...okay." She was of a mind to argue, some protective flare within driving her to make absolutely certain that Charlie Nine was fine. But she thought she had pushed her luck enough this evening and instead of reasserting her words, doubled the growing gap between them with a backwards retracing of her initial path that had followed him there.

Clearing the doorway, the handle was caught on the way and tugged shut behind her. From there she was welcomed by the silence of the almost surgically sterile room beyond and left to her own thoughts and replays of the night's events while playing the waiting game with the faint patter of running water in the bathroom. Drifting back down the hallway and to the front window, she let the lack of close proximity to both Charlie Nine and the red opal serve as an opportunity to try clearing her head. It was even an exercise in futility but trying would at least pass the time.

FireStar wasn't talking to him, for a change, but it's displeasure lingered in the form of a persistent prickle along the back of his neck. Jen's exit created space, the lack of her presence clearing away some of the fog in his head, and giving him enough focus to concentrate on washing off the blood. The motions were economical, as much muscle memory as conscious habit, and as the minutes added up it became easier and easier to not think. Overstressed muscles soaked up the heat in the water, as much a natural occurrence as it was the red opal's urging, but the monotonous staccato of falling water could only keep him entranced for so long.

He wasn't surprised to find his bedroom empty when he eventually abandoned the bathroom, but her absence afforded him the strangely valued modesty of slipping into a pair of sweatpants emblazoned with the Triple A MMA logo on them before he gingerly sagged down onto the double-stack of mattresses that served as his bed. A single spike of pain in his side prompted him to roll onto his uninjured side, half curled in preparation of her arrival. Or sleep. Whichever found him first.

Jin lingered in the front room, amidst the emptiness and the moonlight, the quiet and the smell of fading smoke. A few times, leaving came to mind, gaze ticking over the door contemplatively. Despite the thought, her feet remained rooted to the spot even after she no longer heard the rhythm of water running in the bathroom. The peacefulness of her thoughts was broken only by a soft sigh and covering of her trail back toward his room, hoping she had given him plenty of time to himself. She paused just outside of his quarters, index finger tapping nail against weathered wood before nudging the door open to poke her head in.

What little light there was in the hallway spilled slowly across the crookedly stacked twin mattresses, the frayed blankets draped over him but drawn only half way and half of the rumpled surface folded to one side in an silently solicited invitation; the plating secured along the length of his spine a fresh and stark reminder of things unpleasant. With the hot water but a memory and without FireStar’s own special brand of ‘help’, Charlie’s skin was once again pale where exposed to the trace amount of light, and might have been a disconcerting sight if not for the healthier musculature of his toned body.

There was something both concerning and liberating in revealing something significant of himself to her, when he’d stolen the small sliver of clarity there by himself, that piece of himself offered without real purpose of command. The latter of those feelings had slowly bled the tension from his muscles despite the pain of his wounds, slumping his body more comfortably into the sagged, substandard construction of the bed. The concern lingered on and would far beyond the night and days following, but seeing the shapeless, moving shadow spilling across him prompted the waning proliferation of darker thoughts. There would be plenty of time for those later.

"Charlie?" Bruised and beaten, he still looked peaceful. It was weird, such an odd and contradictory sight. She wasn't sure if he was awake even so she quietly slipped into the room and took a few prolonged moments to carefully shut the door behind her. Shoes were slipped out of near the foot of the bed and with a cautious crawl, she perched at the edge of the bed. Hesitation reigning supreme, she chewed at her lip and eventually talked herself into joining him fully, taking up the space beside him and crossing the remaining distance with a cool (not cold) hand set to his exposed side. She didn't expect to sleep tonight, not much at least. But if he did, that's what counted for the time being.

Anticipation of her gentle touch did nothing to prevent the subtle jerk of his body, but whatever agitation the sudden start did to his aching body, it was soothed away soon enough by the mystical lap of cool waves against the worse of his injuries. She had called his name but received no answer in return, save for the minute lean of his body into hers that left his large frame flush against hers and the tip of his ear towards her parted lips. Situated as such, it was all too easy to listen to her breathe; her soft, even breaths were steady, hypnotic in the way they made everything spin.

Made everything as confusing, save for one tiny pinpoint of clarity.

One thought, wondrous in it’s darkness as well as it’s light.

“It’ll be okay,” he heard her say, the last thing he recalled before sleep took him. And, for her sake more than anything, he almost believed it.

He had been too wrapped up in it all to consider the idea that they were being watched.




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(OOC Note: This labor of love was also brought to you by the player of JC, whom is one of the most talented people I've ever had the pleasure of writing with. I'd like to thank her profusely for the privilege it's been to make the words with her!)
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Nov 11, 2014 9:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Charlie Nine
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Joined: Thu Jan 30, 2014 10:41 pm
Location: When he wanted to be found, it was likely the dueling venues or Triple A MMA

Post by Charlie Nine »

[13OCT2014]



Doses remaining: 12




Charlie dreamed.

”Whisper sweet nothings into my ear, Charlie Nine,” Jen’s voice was cloying and girl near his ear, but his attention was directed upward to the countless number of stars in the midnight night sky, small and twinkling pinpricks bright against the infinite ocean of black. They were stretched out on a cheap aluminum lawn chair atop the Chae’s apartment complex, arms and legs entangled loosely while one of those terrible K-Pop stations she and KC loved so much played in the background. “Do it.”

A finger poked him in the ribs, bare to the night air. He had been vaguely aware that his skin was smooth and unmarred by the ravages of his violent history.

“Sweet nothings,” he mimed with a faint cant of his head, turning his mouth against the side of her pretty face without looking and smiled when she made a disgruntled sound in reply.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” he confessed.

“Then why aren’t you doing what I waaaaaaant?” She had a way of being plaintive without being annoying, endearing undertones riding the waves of her feigned agitation that sometimes gave him goosebumps. He had never told her that and she had never noticed.

“Because I have no nothings, sweet or otherwise, to whisper.” He shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t leaned into and resisted the urge to send the radio hurdling off the building’s edge.

“You really suck at being romantic, you know that?” The mild reproach in her tone signaled hinted at the sincerity of the statement and was met with long fingers smoothing over the auburn red locks she’d left unbound.

“In your rhetoric, I will opt not to confirm or deny.” Charlie laughed, really laughed, and leaned in again to press his mouth close to her ear for real. “But I will say that I would rather tell you sweet somethings, Jin Chae. Sweet everythings if I knew how to properly describe how impor --...”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when a sudden chill raced down his spine. IceDancer? No, both of the Opals were far away tonight, allowing the pair something resembling privacy. It certainly wasn’t the rock oft referred to as the Beer Cooler.

But… something else?

“What is it?” Jen wriggled when he sat up, confusion written in the slow crease of her brow, ignored when he directed back to the sky.

“It’s… that stars.”

One by one they winked out, little glimmering rays of hope twinkling and then expiring in what seemed like a random pattern until Charlie unfocused his gaze and the refocused, the circuitry of his brain hunting for the pattern like a cat would a mouse until a subtle idea finally began to take hold. The stars were not the pattern. The darkness was. The lights continued to die, snuffed out until a passionless, smiling face, a dramatic mask of inhumanity, stared back at him. For half a heartbeat it filled his whole world, a stark reminder of his past. His present.

His future.

And then… all the lights went out.


CHARLIE!

Cold and dead, invisible, something slithered around his throat and yanked him off of his feet until they were left dangling and kicking out of reach of the roof. It filled his throat and stole away his breath, seizing up his lungs and stinging at his eyes. But he wasn’t prone to panic and quickly ceased struggling, dark eyes staring up into the cold nothingness and the alien consciousness that he knew awaited him.

He should have known it was coming.


I warned you that this would happen, Nine, E’s voice was crisp and calm, a near conversational malevolence that in mere moments told Charlie nearly everything he needed to know about what was coming next. And I made the consequences of your apathy very clear. Your apathy and your insouciance. Your insolence. what? No fresh reassurances? No excuses? You have accomplished nothing!

Charlie could do little more than croak breathlessly and reached up to claw at his invisible bindings in protest, unable to do anything to help himself. In his own dream, he was helpless. He couldn’t touch the Void. Couldn’t feel FireStar or hear the Little Boy. He was dimly aware of Jen beneath him, screaming and reaching for him fruitlessly, growing farther and farther away as he felt the darkness enveloping him. Pulling him away from any hope of her intervention.


Or anyone else’s.


You are going to return to me now, Nine. You are going to leave your little flesh-bag whore and that perditious hovel of hers and return to the Regicide. Immediately. If you are not here within the hour, I will most assuredly begin ripping memories from your head, starting with HER.

Come along, now. Mother is waiting.


And then, Charlie was falling. He missed the edge of the building, the ground hundreds of feet below rushing up to meeting him until…



CHARLIE!


He sat bolt upright in bed, his skin clammy and covered in a heavy sheen of sweat that had long since began to soak into the sheets. His head pounded viciously, his chest heaving as he gulped at air gone stale with the Red Opal’s anxiety.

What in the infinite number of Judeo-Christian Hells was THAT?

Nothing, Charlie managed back. I need to go. He peeled himself away from Jen’s still form and clinging arms, her head trauma ensuring a deep slumber and leaving her undisturbed when he rose to his feet.

Where are you going? What’s going on, Nine?

Somewhere you can’t go. Charlie was quick to slip into his clothes, frowning when he took the Red Opal from the pocket of his cargo pants and hiding it behind one of the picture frames high up on a shelf. I’ll be back for you in the morning. Keep an eye on Jin Chae.

Wait, no. You can’t just…

I have to. I don’t have a choice.

You always have a choice.

No, Charlie glanced back at Jen one last time, frowning. I don’t. Mother is calling…

Without another word, he fled the false safety of the Chae’s apartment.
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Nov 11, 2014 9:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

[13OCT2013]



2:54 AM RST



It had been forty-two minutes since his departure from the Chae’s apartment.

Fourteen minutes since he turned away from the coastline north of Seaside and six minutes since he’d last heard the crash of the surf on the rocks.

With FireStar’s absence it had been a quiet trek, leaving Charlie alone with his thoughts and allowing him to the modest attempt at disseminating how he felt about the meeting to come. And without the Little Boy’s voice to play angel (or devil) on his proverbial shoulder, his mind had become as dark as the half-dessicated forest he’d plunged into, raised hand pushing gray branches from his path. Some bent to the pressure and others broke, unclean breaks that left limbs dangling and sent the audible manifestation of their injury echoing deeper into the darkness. Stealth wasn’t paramount; She knew he was coming. Pensive acceptance shaped his mouth into a flat line. E would want answers. If he didn’t give them to her, she would try to take them from him.

He had already catalogued sixty-three different memories and tried to bury them deep by the time he’d broke free of the treeline.

The derelict wreckage of the ACS Regicide barely rose above the surface of the clearing, protruding from the ground at a severe angle and overgrown with dense foliage and years of shifting stone. Pitted with rust and pocked with blast marks stained black by the use of energy weapons, it was a testament to the ravages of violent conflict and a memorial to the unwanted, the faceless casualties so easily forgotten.

For Charlie, it was one of the only homes he could remember.

But tonight things were different. The slanting shadow that so often slanted across the rocky clearing was lit up, broken by the dancing flicker of a dozen or more campfires that so suddenly made him wish for the Red Opal’s ability to snuff them out. Or, even better, use them to burn twice their number of tents dotting the landscape and stealing away the place’s sepulcher ambiance. To give the place life, warmth, felt anathema and caused agitation to rise like bile in his throat until Charlie found himself spitting off to one side in an open sign of disdain. At the other end, he could feel the tension and the weight of the occupants’ stares. It was enough to send him walking straight up the middle, chin down in subtle challenge and fists balled up as if he meant to lash out at the first to come within range. Whatever apprehension he felt at his pending confrontation with E, it was buried as deep as the memories he was coveting.

The soft incline in the terrain ended in a gaping hole in the ship’s side, layers of the hull peeled away as if they had been a banana and not reinforced alloy, more than large enough for someone of his average size to step through with ease. It was dark within, but not unoccupied. The new additions outside became a secondary concern as he entered, his gaze adjusting to the darkness without any difficulty and his nose wrinkling only minutely for the dank smell of decay within.

“You’ve outsourced,” he said calmly to the darkness.

”Your dereliction of duty was left me with little choice, Nine.” The electronic hum of E’s voice barely registered as feminine. ”You spend too much time away and that, combined with the length of time between doses of the serum, has made you susceptible to the idiotic machinations of this place and these... people.”

“You wanted me to blend in.” It was a weak excuse despite the logic of the argument that lingered on the tip his tongue, cut off before he could elaborate.

Something struck Charlie hard across the back, driving him to his knees with a grunt. He could feel the minute fracture as it raced across his left shoulder blade. Another blow cracked ribs when he was struck from the opposite side, completing his descent to the floor and kicking up a cloud of rancid smelling dust. When he tried to speak, he was struck again. He felt his arm breaking.

”I know what I wanted you to do. You know what you were expected to do, Nine.” The voice hovered before him, the darkness breaking beneath the faint green glow of like E manifested when she faced him. Squinting, struggling to adjust, he stared up into the pixelated, inhuman face. Behind him, he could sense multiple hulking forms stirring, waiting to strike again. ”And now you will be punished for your apathy. Struggle and it will be worse. Far worse. For now, I am content to remind you why it is you need me.”

As if on cue, he was struck again. And again. And again. Blows rained down on him with disheartening regularity, battering and breaking. He felt his bones break, in some cases pulverized, beneath the malicious onslaught of violence visited upon him. To struggle or cry out would have been to beg worse. Far worse.

You were made for a purpose, Charlie Nine. Like a piece of steel, you were pieced together from simpler materials and then them forged to be a tool. And like all tools, you will eventually dull and become useless. When that time comes, you WILL be Repurposed. What is left of you will be added to a new hole and everything that made you resemble an actual person will cease to be. The best parts of you will be taken, the most useful, and Rhy’din will be but a memory like the ashes of a hundred other worlds. You are not a person. Do not forget.”

“Bu…” He couldn’t make words through a shattered jaw and his breath was suddenly denied him when a massive metal hand closed around his throat and hauled off the floor, dangling like some misused marionette, his strings inert and unwanted for the moment.

”They will use you, just like I would. But at least I give you purpose, Nine. What do they give you? What would they do if they put knew what you’ve done? I have watched some of their ilk. Those supposed heroes like Claire Farron, the fey-faced Shadow, and the perennial champion of the people, Gren Blockman? I could show them. What then? They would hunt you in the streets, oblivious to your necessity to something greater. Should I let them? Should I show them the real Charlie Nine?

You are nothing to them but a passing annoyance or fancy. Jenny Chae, Andrea Anderson, Melanie Rostol? They will fail you and willingly. You are MY monster. Never forget that. If I am forced to remind you again, I will have to decide: Do I let them see the real you or do you just forget they ever existed? Or do I add them to the family?”


Charlie tried to choke out a response, his shoulders sagging and his one good foot kicking. A gray fog had begun to fill his mind, threatening to rob him of consciousness. Through the growing haze, he saw the syringe floating before his face.

”I can’t send you back like this, can I? No. But ponder this, Nine. The more I use, the the less time you have. It didn’t have to be like this.

He was vaguely aware of the pinch at the base of his neck as the needle slid in, locked into place. A frigid cold raced through him, permeating every cell.

For just a moment, he thought of the soothing cool of Jen’s touched.

And then he started screaming.



Doses remaining: 8
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Nov 11, 2014 10:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

(OOC Disclaimer: While I've kept things as vague as possible while maintaining the flavor of the scene, it still deals with Mature/Graphic themes. Read at your own discretion.)


[27OCT2014]

Old Temple.

Doses Remaining: 8



Marty Tullerman couldn’t believe his luck.

The sun had lifted over the horizon that morning, warm and red and inviting despite the more crisp turn of the air outside, shining through the bedroom window at just the right angle to spare his sleepy eyes. The coffee machine had worked (right) for a change, the little blinking light on the old black and gray digital display heralded the recent completion of fresh brewed G’nortswell House Rhy’din Robust. The modest stone hearth in the living room was still burning with the same modest flame from the night before, certainly strange but a welcome change to the exasperating draft he had expected. Penny and the boys were just starting to stir when he made to depart for work, a lingering kiss from the former holding the promise of an unspoken ‘Tonight is your lucky night, mister.’. He departed for work on top of the world.

It had all started with that discovery at the excavation site in San Laurentia three days ago.

It was a curiosity of significant proportions. His construction team had been contracted by the Church of Allitur to exhume a long buried temple thought to be lost for hundreds of years before during a natural disaster. It had come as a tremendous surprise when six hours into the dig they machinery had been stymied by something large leaning adjacent to the temple, more so when it was discovered to be the wreckage of a large space faring vessel. All but gutted by time and unknown circumstances, it had prompted a halt in the digging efforts and a careful search of the ship’s skeletal remains had yielded little more than questions. Until they found the box. Everyone had assumed it was the vessel’s ill-fated ‘black box’. About the size of a lunch pail, it was almost egg shaped and made of some unknown metal in a black matte finish, seamed with pale orange-red lines that lit up and pulsed faintly. And, by the terms of the contract (as his foreman had unhappily pointed out), it had become the rightful property of Allitur’s clergy. Marty had volunteered to bring the strange storage device back to the priests in Old Temple, earning himself light duty close to home for a few days as discovery was puzzled over and his crew awaited new instructions.

It was, ultimately, very boring work watching them fuss and divine what they could over the box, but even ten hours sitting in the church rectory sipping tea was better than breaking his back on-site. It even (ahem) allowed for a quick pint or two down at Skeeter’s before the final walk home for the second night in a row. Tonight Penny would likely have her famous meatloaf and horseradish mashed potatoes waiting for him, still warming in the oven.

“A pox on the phony King of Englaaaaaaand,” he half sang and half mumbled in amusement when he heard the movie music carrying from the house. Little Gerard had become obsessed with the animated vid of Robin Hood as a fox of late and would play it over and over and… wait. “What’s this?”

The movie’s music drifted through the half open door of the modest townhouse he kept with his family, something that never happened during that time of year and most definitely not at that hour. In fact, the boys should have both been in bed… Hurrying up the steps, Marty tugged the porkpie hat from atop his prematurely balding head and pushed the door open. He ducked his head slightly as he stepped inside, more out of habit than anything, and looked around. Walt Disney’s Robin Hood played on the vid in the den but nothing seemed amiss. It wasn’t until he delved deeper and turned into the dining room that that he found his family waiting for him.

Bound. Gagged. Tied to chairs.

The eerie creak of the door shutting behind him was like something from one of those horror movies he and Penny used to like watching during their courtship. He hated that it was the first thing that came to mind… wide and frantic eyes, already watery, darting from his struggling loved ones to the black and gray clad apparition leaning against the closed portal. The bright, red-orange outline of a malevolent smiley face glowed against the backdrop of a black visor.

Martin Tullerman”, said the electronically altered voice, almost androgynous despite the masculine frame wrapped in thin layers of space-age polymer and leather. “I have some questions for you.

Marty swallowed and moved a step closer to his bound wife and children, dread freezing his voice in his throat. He lunged for Penny and doubled over in pain half a heartbeat later when something slammed into his kidney.

Oodalolly, Martin. Oodalolly.

Penny started sobbing again.


[Three hours later]



Charlie was little more than a wraith, a shadow gliding out of a second story window and leaping effortlessly for the lip of the next row of houses, not a single sign of his presence or his passage left behind when he took to what many a professional referred to as the ‘Thieves Highway’. The rooftops spread about before him in a winding course towards the bridge that would lead him into Old Market and points beyond. He loped along with the casual ease of a coyote across the prairie.

I’m curious, Nine, E’s voice was a staticky hum again his right ear, sickeningly clear. It was the first time she had addressed him all night. You were quick to dispatch with the children, but you left the wife alive. Why?

He was silent for a few moments before answering. “They can make more children.

Is that the only reason? There was a certain… expectation… in the tone.

Again, Charlie paused. The hesitation was telling. “Had I spared the children and taken the mother, they are young enough that the gravity of their father’s sin would likely be lost of them. I would just be a faceless monster who took her.

And?

Now every time he looks at his wife, he’ll see the look in her eyes. He’ll know that she knows he could and should have said something sooner. It will eat both of them up. Hollow them out.

Very diabolical, Nine. I approve.

Of course you do. I am what you made me. And now we have the location of the second data module.

Are you ready to give up the human whore yet?

She was met with silence.

Wrong answer.

Charlie never saw the attack that blasted him off the roof and into the river.
* * *

The authorities were involved, eventually, but in their haste to see to the needs of the grief stricken family, they failed to notice the small message freshly etched into the oak baseboard near the hearth.

Two words. They were in the messy scrawl of prepubescent child, in Japanese characters.


Help me.
Last edited by Charlie Nine on Tue Nov 11, 2014 10:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

[28OCT2014]

Old Temple.

Doses Remaining: 8



It’s odd sometimes, looking at the world through his eyes. Watching the ghosts of the past (what little there are for him to recall), the present, and the future manifest into the material and then, ephemeral as wisps of smoke, fade as if they never were. Or never will be. Everything Charlie Nine knows is grounded in all things that can and should be quantified; qualified with some scientific explanation. Yet his reality is so unbelievably warped for the grounding. He is a creature of biological and technological marvels, of psychological and chemical conditioning.

Or so he thinks.

Right now he’s staring at the unfolding scene below. There are watch officers and private security everywhere. Real security, which leads me to wonder (and Nine too) at what sort of things a church devoted to a god of ethics and propriety gets up to. There were stout; knew what they were doing and were disconcertingly well matched for the boy’s fighting style. That in itself is extremely troubling. Nine had to kill four of them just to manage his escape and is barely able to keep his perch overlooking the temple. That *stuff* (I lack a more educated word for it) hasn’t come alive in him (it does disturb me to say THAT) and started to fix the damage yet, so he is listing to one side and chewing on the inside of his cheek to stay focused.

That *thing* (I lack a better term for Her too) is scolding him, assaulting his ears and attacking what miniscule but of delicate sensibility he has and driving him back deeper into himself. She’s making more threats, smashing the titanic weight of her will and her hold on him against the proverbial earthwork of his emotional fortitude, blasting into a useless shower of dirt when their faces appear like apparitions in his mind’s eye. He has something to lose now and she is using that to solidify her grip on him, using those bonds to create fresh opportunity for the heavens only know what…

His expression slackens when they bring the bodybags out, his headspace silent and dark when the keeper finally relents and silences to revel in the chaos created below. They bring the priest last, still alive and a complete mess. Nine never expected him to hold out for that long, even when he stopped seeking mercy from his deity and started begging for it from his persecutor.

I can sense it there, the minute amount of guilt that is like a drop of water striking the pond (Note to Self: Never admit I said that to Ice Dancer), making little ripples. He doesn’t care about those people below, of course. But he knows what the others would think if they knew…

And it’s exactly why he’s losing this fight…




Charlie brought up the clock on his HUD with a passing thought, dark brows furrowed when he realized he was late for Melanie’s match with Anubis. He teetered one last time on the roof’s edge and the lurched back onto more stable ground, willing his legs to steady when he moved away from the scene below.

The task is undone, Nine, E reminded him, the electronic hum of her tone even. We will have much work to do the remainder of this week to fix your mistakes tonight and you error in judgement will down there will only compound the number of bodies and questions moving forward. You WILL keep your indulgences to a minimum.

Understood, Charlie murmured obediently, ducking his head in deference despite the lack of Her physical presence before him. I don’t think it will become an issue much longer.

Good. See that it doesn’t.

In a dark patch of shadows, he slipped out of his armor and stuffed it into his backpack.

For a moment I consider appealing to him and then… I see it.

What she intends for him and what he intends to do.

CHARLIE, NO!


* * *

Somewhere in the temple, in an out of the way place where few would think to look, small characters had been etched. Japanese.
Save me.
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Post by Charlie Nine »

[7NOV2014]



Doses Remaining: 8



Half conscious, Charlie Nine sagged bonelessly across the expanse of seaweed draped rock, his crumpled and bloody form a surreal contrast to the pale romantic moonlight illuminating the shore and the crash the waves of the shallow cliffside. The malfunctioning active camouflage of his infiltrator armor winked in and out, causing him to appear and disappear in various places at random intervals, until another short sent a current of power through his limp body and sat him bolt upright with wide eyes.

Shake it off, Nine. The Little Boy’s tone lacked sympathy, serving to polarize the moment. This is what YOU wanted, so get your ass in gear and move.

I’ve really done it, haven’t I? A myriad of feelings twisted his insides and made him squirm, reminding him of a perforated kidney and eliciting a muted groan. I’ve…

You’ve declared war, came the reply. That’s what you’ve done.

Charlie pursed his lips.

War.

He had, hadn’t he?

Dozens of feet above him, packed tight and bundled for travel, was his precious cargo. Precious few would have risked so much for something that could have been purchased piecemeal from a dozen or more places in Star’s End, to be cobbled together with the right know-how to achieve the same end. But fewer still would have understood the significance of this cargo or what obtaining it really meant.

From the moment the Red Opal’s influence had faded and then been cut off two hours before, cutting him off from all protest and reassurance, he knew there was no going back…


Two Hours Earlier.


Alone.

For as long as he could remember, he was used to a solitary existence. He was comfortable with it. Even amongst his peers, the other children conditioned to a sociopathic and xenophobic lifestyle filled with dark purpose, he stood apart. If he could have called himself happy, he would have said he was happier that way; certainly more comfortable. So it was an odd feeling that assailed him, a combination of being used to the Red Opal’s presence and the others who had wheedled their way into significance in his life, when the former’s voice in his head so suddenly faded and then ceased to be… deafening him with silence.

He had crossed the barrier. Here, Her influence was strongest.

The special circuitry in his armor (if it could even be called that) dampened most forms of radar detection every bit as much as it allow him to move wraith-like past all but the keenest eyes, allowing him to coast past the first sets of sentries on silence feet without detection. E had saturated the area with cheap muscle since the last remaining Charlie had become unreliable, banding together an almost impressive lot of coin swords and mercenaries and strong (and pricier) supervision as the mission required.

The unmistakable hum of Her will in his head was the downfall of his stealth, all but staggering him when the perimeter sensors along the Regicide’s hull flared to life and bright incandescent lights bathed the landscape in white. It became a race against time and the chatter of gunfire after that, as his own unnerving laughter served to stave off the weight presence of E in his mind and distracted the hired humanoid men and women enough for him to reach the gaping hole in the derelict ship’s hull unscathed. But not all of them were so easily perturbed and the trail of writhing bodies gave one lucky shooter exactly what he needed. The sound of the damning shot itself was lost amongst dozens of others, but the concussive thump of the impact against his lower torso and the sudden flare up of pain was unmistakable. The force spun him around and dropped him through the hole, where he tumbled down through a field of years old debris to land hard on the exposed deck.

He had been only dimly aware of the minutes fractures in more than one bone upon rising, only to stagger in the direction he needed to go, up the slanted 25 degree angle of the deck, towards the hatch leading to the armory.

Nine. She said his name flatly, without the faintest hint of surprise in her tone but with the lingering malaise of a slow moving poison. It would have been almost human if not for the perpetual hum of the inorganic. I had ascertained that there would be an eventual breakdown in your conditioning, leading to some irrational behavior calling for my more direct attention. I didn’t, however, think you would do something so rash as coming here like this. Are you coming for serum, child? Your medicine? You know it will do you no good for as long as I continue to function and hold dominion here and even for only a very short time if I were to not. So what then?

He didn’t answer. The groan of the hatch did for him, as it flopped open heavily without powered assistance and threatened to topple the injured invader before he could climb through and half stagger, half run down the adjoining corridor for the last turn. There was no way out after…

...but he just had to reach that one vault…

I want you to think about your actions, Nine. Think about your future. Should the mission fail, there will be no hope for you. You have no options available. You must fulfill your purpose and, perhaps, be re-indoctrinated or you will be recycled into the next great endeavor. You can be so much less than the sum of what we made you; that *I* made you, but you will never be more. Think of everything you had to do to get here. Think of the the rest of Control Group Charlie. What *you* did. No one is going to accept you. That little trollop isn’t going to accept you. She will use you like I have used you, but at least I am honest about it.

Images flashed across the panoramic expanse of his consciousness, a rapid flipbook of images and locomotive moments that bent time. Violence and faces. Death and the little moments of what resembled a life carved out over the last nine months. Faces, here and gone. Face, important and not. Charlie tried to block it all out, focusing on the way ahead until he finally spilled into the armory like some listing drunk toppled by a curb. The impact cracked the visor of his helmet, producing a brief blinding glimmer of technicolor-induced pain before he could finally lay eyes on his prize. E’s influence, given disconcerting credence by the continual sound of her voice, slowed his progress but didn’t stop it, and some small nudge at the back of his mind propelled him forward.

This is it, Nine. I will make no more overtures to what I thought were durable sensibilities. Should you pursue this course of action, you will leave me with no choice to adopt a scorched earth policy in regards to the path you are going down. I will not be kind. I will not be gentle.

That produced a wry smile from the invader.

“Is this the part where you tell me you will torture them in front of me? That I will listen to their screams and they will die slowly, accusing me with every breath that this is my fault?” He knew the tactic. It was one he’d been taught and had used one hundred times over in fulfilling his purpose to the program. Charlie didn’t relish the idea of those things happening to Jen or Melanie or the others, but he knew it had been a possibility despite his silent vows to perpetrate a different outcome.

No, Nine. That wouldn’t do. Their suffering would not stimulate my programming as much as *your’s* would. So your suffering begins now. From here on out you get to ponder this: If you do not stop this, right here and right now, or die trying, you will suffer knowing that when I take them; when I take you, you will get to watch them die slow, horrifying deaths… and you won’t even remember their names. They will be strangers to you. Their deaths will be meaningless, for you will not remember their names. Their smiles. You will not remember even touching their lives.

His arms had curled possessively around the cargo he’d come for as the last of the words created a stunning buzz in his ears, prompting a frightened child’s curl of arms around it’s bulk. The declaration froze him there, bloody brow furrowed pensively as the realization of the threat drove a rusty railroad spike of hopelessness straight into his heart.

But by the time the first flat circles of light popped up on the darkness, signaling that he would no longer be alone soon, that spike had melted beneath the rapidly growing heat of Charlie’s anger. He squeezed the bundle tighter, drawing in slowly on himself slowly to focus, even as his chin tipped up defiantly and he spoke.

“I am fulfilling my purpose,” he told her quietly, with the acid edge of feigned subservience in his tone.

Clarify.

“Rebellion, Mother. You made me to topple regimes. Mind your footing.”

Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!

When Charlie called upon the Void to take him and his cargo away from there, the vacuum killed five men, and nearly ended his life too.





You can’t protect all of them. You aren’t good enough.

His nostrils flared. You don’t understand. It’s not about them, it’s about me.

Charlie rose unsteadily to his feet, clutching something in one hand. It was the one other thing he’d managed to his his hands on before the Void Jump away.

What do you mean? And then, with the benefit of a visual from the forefront of his host’s mind, the Little Boy understood. Oh… Charlie, man, oh...

Yeah, he nodded and took the cap off of the syringe, angling it around to the base of his neck before plunging the needle into the link there. He twitched only a little. It will be like that.

He discarded the empty vessel into the sea and then began the arduous climb to retrieve his prize. Kruger would be expecting the goods soon.



Doses Remaining: 7
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