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| The PSI Series; Volume 1: The Red | |
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| Topic Started: 8 Oct 2008, 01:24 AM (248 Views) | |
| Persephone | 8 Oct 2008, 01:24 AM Post #1 |
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February 14, 2038 I received a new diary today, and it’s not even my birthday yet! My dad thought it was best to get me a new one since the other is tearing from the bind. It’s really pretty too! I almost feel a little bad for writing in it but oh well. So… what should I write about? I could put my stories in this, but I don’t think it would be that great. I don’t know. Right now it’s just used for rambling. Like now! I guess I’ll just write in this every week. Since today is Sunday, every Sunday then! Thank you, Daddy – even though you aren’t going to read this! Whoa, this is a short entry. February 21, 2038 Dad’s on another business trip, and Mom looks a bit worried for some reason. They haven’t been fighting. Actually, it’s been really quiet lately. Maybe it has to do with the new robotics company on the news, the one Dad works for. Apparently from what Mom says, there’s a new line up for those little robotic pets! She was a little worried about the idea of me getting one for my birthday. I don’t blame her. She’s used to getting the little puppies and kittens from her mom, not a robot. I’m thrilled at the idea! Maybe I can get it to do my homework… awesome. Speaking of homework, it reminds me of what happened in class Wednesday. Ms. Briggs was proposed to in front of the class by the AP Calculus teacher, Mr. Davis. That was a shocker and get this; he gets her a diamond ring carried by one of the robotic pets from the company! It was voice activated and everything. It was so cute too! I mean… well… as cute as robots could ever be. To be honest, it looked like a knee sized human skeleton. Weirder was the fact that the teacher’s little robot stayed with Ms. Briggs for the rest of the week. I can’t help but think it was staring at me the whole time. Maybe I should tell Dad not to get me one for my birthday… Yea, I’ll pass. February 28, 2038 That robot is seriously freaking me out. It came with Ms. Briggs again this week, and I know it was STARING at me! It actually sat on her desk and stared. Kept staring! I think I failed my Physics exam because of the damn thing. You know that old movie Terminator that was watched a lot way back in the day by your great grandparents or grandparents? Yea, I had one of those kind of feelings. It wasn’t nice! This week isn’t going well… at all. My Dad came back from his business trip Tuesday. Mom and he talked that night. I only caught a little bit of the conversation since I was supposed to be asleep, but I think Dad’s company isn’t doing so well. He sounded scared. I’m worried about him and Mom. I wonder what’s going on. March 7, 2038 Dad was fired, and we’re moving today. I can’t write that much, but I think we’re in a lot of trouble. There were people looking for me on Friday. I didn’t tell my parents; I don’t want them to be more worried than they already are. Gotta go. Mom’s calling. March 14, 2038 We’re staying in a hotel and watching the news right now. Since I can multi-task, I can write down what I’m seeing for future reference. They’re selling the new robotic models in stores all over the world. They aren’t like the one I saw in Ms. Brigg’s class. They’re bigger, and from what I see – a lot more human like. They’re upgrades. So, I guess that means Ms. Brigg’s little robot is also more human now. Well, as long as I don’t have to deal with the staring, I’m good. Those red rings around the pupils are creepy. Dad just told me they’re called the PSI series. I guess it’s short for the “Project,” he used to talk about. I know, pretty unoriginal right? You’d think they’d come up with a better name for a robot. Oh crap… Mom’s crying and Dad looks like he’s also on the verge of tears. I don’t think they’re all too happy about the situation. Honestly, I’m not either. September 28, 2038 It’s been so long since I’ve had a day to rest. I’ve hardly used this journal, but I must be short about it. They killed my parents. The PSI series. They killed them, and they’re everywhere now. Some people are hiding and others are working with them. The PSI have thoughts. They know. They’ve always known. Hence, their name. PSI. Psychic Synthetic Imitations. They’re fucking psychic. What the fuck? Is that why my father was fired in the first place, because he warned them? This wasn’t supposed to be a commercial item for kids. This was for the military. THE MILITARY! Idiots. They’re all idiots. I won’t forgive them, so I’ll keep running. I don’t have time to write anymore. I think one’s been following me through Oklahoma. If I lose this diary and the few entries that are in it. Whoever finds this. Run. Run as fast as you can. Don’t stop. Don’t trust anyone with the red rings around their pupils. They can hear your thoughts, see the future, and even some of them are telekinetic. Don’t stay anywhere for too long. Just keep moving. I’ll stop this. My dad told me how… gave me the solution. So please, just bear with it a little longer. If any human finds this… be careful. If I lose this, and any PSI picks it up. Here’s my last message. FUCK YOU! Have a nice day. |
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| Persephone | 8 Oct 2008, 01:25 AM Post #2 |
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3 years later… “How can they not find one girl after so long? What is she, a PSI in disguise? Come on,” a human traitor said drunkenly to the girl next to him. At the bar, Hume, where only humans of the PSI side went, no one really guessed that the fugitive Abigail Combs would reside there. Not that the bar wasn’t searched every so often, but the mere possibility that a highly Wanted criminal would have the gall to sit in a bar amongst the enemy was definitely a slap in the face to PSI kind. Like the drunk who didn’t realize that the girl he was spurting his nonsense to was indeed said criminal. “I betcha’ it’s the rebellion. Bunch o’ cowards. Shoulda just gave in to the things when they had the chance, but noooooooo…” “Indeed,” Abby said with nonchalance. “Would you like another drink, Robert?” “Oooh yes. My wife told me once that I shouldn’t drink at all. Women, psssh. That’s why I told the PSI she was plottin’ against them. I am siiiingle.” “How clever of you. I bet you would have given your children to them too if you had any, huh you bastard?” “What did you say?” Robert blinked and squinted. “I said that girl over there’s been looking at you for some time. I think you should talk to her,” Abby pointed to the lonesome middle aged woman who was regarding her, not him. It was clearly time to leave from the way the woman was taking out her cell phone whilst glaring in her direction. Robert thought otherwise, thinking she was seducing him with her eyes. The disgusting man snorted, “Oooh, yea. Thanks a lot. You may have just gotten me lucky tonight.” “Oh, you bet,” Abby patted and pushed him to the woman. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” The words her mother said to her father a few times in the past became the words she used to mock this man now. Right as he began to bother the other woman with his slurring, Abigail made her escape. It was easy, always easy. Sometimes she thought it was too easy, but that wasn’t the case now. Every PSI in the world was connected with each other in some way, but other times the PSI had the choice to do what others say or go about their own business while the rest do the job. From where she was now, there were more lazy PSI than not. If she wasn’t so driven to take these things down, she would have mistaken them all for human. Some times she wondered if she was doing the right thing, but the memory of her parents’ death and her father’s dying wish brought her back to her senses. They weren’t human. Far from it. Yea, they had upgraded emotions, but beneath all that synthetic, realistic flesh were wires, buttons, and a robotic “heart.” Abby stopped her thoughts. It was best not to think about such things, especially since she was on the run with no end in sight. Within her pocket was her salvation... the humans' salvation. A portable drive. Where she needed to put it was the question, still unanswered. Oh, there was an idea, but the way things were - she had no transportation to get to point A to point B, being that the place she needed to go was somewhere in Europe. So, she still ran. ...time was still on her side; at least, Abby hoped it was. Edited by Persephone, 8 Oct 2008, 01:25 AM.
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| KuroZaiaku | 8 Oct 2008, 02:34 AM Post #3 |
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"Hehehe.. Found you..." A man whispered, he watched from on high, seeing the girl leave the bar, he was almost delighted that he'd spotted the target, everything about her screamed suspect. There had been several killings in Abigail's wake as this sniper-on-high, hunted suspects for the possible real Abigail Combs. To be truthful he didn't know he was killing more than another suspect he was pointing a rifle at the one herself, his finger just about ready on the trigger and he squeezed of a round. Click. Now that cant be right. The sniper checked the side of his rifle, safety on. It couldn't be possible, he'd never made such a mistake. "Looks like I found you.." An obviously faked texas gunfighter drawl came from behind as two leather gloves came about the face of the killer, with mighty force his head was twisted, then ripped from the body, synthetic liquids spraying out on the roof, and various metal chips clattering on the ground, but from a distance it probably only sounded like broken glass. Wires protruded from the PSI's neck,both ends of where severance had taken place and a horrified look plastered on the face. Pascahl looked upon it closely with a smile, somehow he never got tired of that look, several horrified PSI's had come face to face with him in this manner, indeed the faces were unique each time, so the humor stuck. Eventually he tossed the head aside, looking down on the retreating figurine that was Abigail. Keep running, keep living, the creator willed it and so too do I now will it, Pascahl thought to himself, something of a prayer in his head as he silently walked along the roof edge and disappeared down into a stairwell. A perfect silent kill performed and Abigail remained untouched, he achieved a profound sense of joy in knowing this fact. Edited by KuroZaiaku, 8 Oct 2008, 02:48 AM.
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| Neon | 18 Oct 2008, 04:55 AM Post #4 |
Veteran
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New York. Once a nice city. Where mainly people lived. 'Lived' being the key word there. A man sitting on the stoop of some old forgotten building flicked the end of his cigarette, scattering the ash on the forlorn wind that wound through what felt like a dead world. He hadn't smoked before three years ago. Lily never really liked smokers and so he'd never even bothered to try them. After The Purge, he'd needed something...anything, to get his mind off of everything. So now that white stick symbolized something to him. Something private as it slowly dwindled to nothingness once again, as it had a million times before. It told him that peace and hope were short-lived things. Gerard Bones rubbed his eyes tiredly, a sense of exhaustion suddenly falling on his shoulders. When had he become so...pessimistic? That was an easy answer too. As it was, he lifted his head and stood, stretching his back before reaching down to pick up his shotgun. It was a beaut‘...maybe not to others, but most definitely to him. It was the last remaining gun from his gun safe that started all this rampant revenge against the Red-Eyes. He'd since sawed off most of the barrel to make the thing more portable, but it still shot like the day it was made. With small upgrades to his ammo, of course. Normal shotgun shells did pretty well, but since joining the Rebels, they’d given him a healthy bunch of titanium shells, which were much more effective. "Bones?" He glanced down at the radio on his hip before giving a sigh and pulling it out. "I told you not to call me that, Bill," the man grumbled into the device. Sure, you'd have thought that the things weren't still in style after so many decades of technology, but they were the only things currently safe from the PSI's...well, until the things tuned into the channel. But then it was a simple matter of changing numbers. He could almost hear the indifferent shrug over the silence, "Whatever. Have you secured the area?" "Not quite. Now shut up and let me do my job," he hissed before the other had time to respond, then turned the thing off and put it back on his hip. His mission currently was to clear out a mile radius around a building that held a few humans who had managed to survive this long. Well, hopefully. Either it was a trap by the PSI's, which he thought was more likely than survivors after three years in this robotic hellhole, or it was really some people asking for help. And the Rebels were never known to leave any humans behind if there was a choice. Suddenly he caught movement from his peripherals, but instead of looking, he checked the chamber, making sure there was a slug already there. Then, in one swift movement, he spun on his heel, lifted the sawed barrel, and pulled the trigger. The single report shattered the song the wind sang and seemed to echo across the dead city. Though, it was not an unfamiliar sound nowadays. After all...a few humans managed to survive here still. They usually made some sort of noise, however, to let you know they weren't an enemy, so long as they'd made sure you were a human. There was a snapping of electricity as the bullet collided with the PSI's head. The fake skin was torn off and one of its red-tinted eyes was flickering. The key, however, was that a few of the pellets had severed some wires around the neck as they spread out and shot through. The thing twitched, its arms straining to lift as it staggered toward him, determined to persevere. To which Ger responded with another shot to the head, this time destroying the thing's nexus that would be called a 'brain' in human terms. But it wasn't human. It snapped a few times, arms and legs twitching as it fell with a metallic 'clunk' to the ground. With a simple motion, Ger flipped the destroyed thing the bird and then turned to move on, his motions lithe and fairly quiet after three years of practice. |
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| Khronos | 21 Oct 2008, 06:05 AM Post #5 |
~manwhore~
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Click. Click. Click. Thin, slender digits seemed to glide across the keyboard in an almost elegant fashion. The data flashing on the screen appeared complex and foreign to probably anyone but the male youth seated in the black plastic chair. The thin sticks of his legs in black denim blended in with his surroundings causing the boy appear as a handicapped individual forever bonded to this chair. Despite the lower extremities still being intact, Skyler might as well have been glued permanently to the chair in which he sat. He only left for the necessities, those often lacking in the usual nutrition a child his age would need. A fragile-looking headset rested about his head and face, the small mic attachment close to his childish lips. About his small shoulders hung headphones blaring with an unfamiliar musical track, but Skyler hardly paid it any mind. His attention was focused on a the the white dot moving across the illuminated screen. "Not good." he murmured. The mic barely caught the vibrations of sound. "Tell them they're on the move. They aren't safe." His hands gripped the fake wood of the table where his computer equipment stood. He pushed himself away from the computer to spin his chair into another. His fingers whirled away again, a musician at work on a delicate piece. His eyes darted left and right, and the adrenaline was making its way into his veins. His heart thudded harder against his chest. Regardless of how fast he clicked away, it probably wouldn't be enough. There wasn't much he could do here. The knowledge was too limited, and the technology didn't quite rival that of its opponent. Skyler swallowed hard, feeling the lump growing in his throat. The inner dread of being useless clawed at him. He despised the feeling and tossed it aside with quick finger movements. The youth would do what he could here. The rest was up to those who packed the pistols and drilled in the bullets. However, he'd be up there soon enough. Fighting the battle with every weapon in his arsenal. He wouldn't allow others to do what he said he would. He wanted the vengeance and the satisfaction. He wanted to dirty his hands with the mechanical liquid that fueled those red eyed monsters. "Gerard Bones, they're aware of you. Current location about 5 minutes southwest. Estimated numbers at three." Skyler's fingertips adjusted the microphone slightly as he whirled back to the previous computer. "Shall I call for back up?" The hacker's words would come out quietly from the receiver held by the one he had addressed, only mere milliseconds after it had been stated. |
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| KuroZaiaku | 21 Oct 2008, 10:56 AM Post #6 |
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[Hope you dont mind me jumping Pascahl in there... xD] The so called three were actually two and one as Pascahl stared blankly at those that were supposed to be his brethren, the other two PSI's talking between themselves about who they were looking at, it was clearly evident that he was a PSI from the glow of the red rings in his eyes,that they had confirmed but why did he not respond to them earlier? "State your business here, unknown." The first repeated an earlier phrase, calling to the quiet synth. He didn't respond, continuing to stare at them with a smirk plastered on his face, cigarette firmly placed between his lips. It was true that PSI's couldn't smoke but it was something he'd programmed into himself, simply to 'seem' more human during daylight hours or at night when people couldn't see his eyes, "Answer the question!" The second PSI stated, beginning to grow nervous, even though their eyes were the same with the red ring, there was some strange difference, an eerie feeling that emanated from Pascahl, "What the hell is your problem? Who are you? Answer us already!!" "Nervous?" Pascahl asked suddenly, chuckling at them as they finally got some sound from him. Indeed they were nervous, and it didn't help that he flicked out a gas lighter, beginning to open and close it methodically, repeating the act over and over as he spun the military knife in his other hands grasp, waiting on them to catch on. The first froze suddenly, Pascahl grinning wider, the first was having a few small flashes, and in reaction tot hem he turned, staring directly into the barrel of Pascahl's customized revolver, how ever it was only floating there, as though an invisible hand were holding it. The large, powerful gun made a click, hammer sliding back as the trigger was somehow pulled, a loud roar being heard as a thick anti-personnel round dug into the PSI's skull and exited out of the other side, cleanly blowing a large gaping hole out the back of it head and spreading the remains of its mind all over the floor. The second Synth had turned to see what had happened, now in a panic, at least until a strange whistling sound came from Pascahl's direction, the military knife spinning through the air at high speed and embedding itself in the side of the second PSI's head. The body collapsed, knife pulling itself out of its own accord and flying back over to the rogue synthetic, his gun floating down to blow a hole in the head of the second PSI, for good measure. "Y'all just met the new sheriff in town, boys." The rugged looking synthetic chuckled, his gun then floating back to him as he drew out two replacement rounds, opening up the weapon and slotting them in the revolving chamber and closing it up again, spinning the weapon in classic western style before shoving it back into its holster, which he had originally been hiding under his trenchcoat. It was time to leave, the gunshots had probably alerted others, but he left with a simple smile on his face, he'd be long gone before other anti-humans and their lapdogs showed up. Edited by KuroZaiaku, 21 Oct 2008, 04:48 PM.
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| Neon | 23 Oct 2008, 12:52 AM Post #7 |
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Veteran
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Ger froze as he heard the kid's voice over the talkie. It took only a minute for him to pull the thing out. He was about to affirm the need for backup when he heard two other shots. Instead of saying what he had meant to, his legs started in the direction of the reports as he hissed into the mic, "Where there other humans in the vicinity that you could tell? I just heard shots fired from the direction you just said. Send backup, but I'm not waiting for 'em." With that, he shoved the thing back in its holster and ran toward the sound now, his feet making little sound as he went. In the process of running, he shoved another bullet into the chamber of his gun, preparing for whatever he saw. After a while, he slowed and walked stealthily as he scented chemicals, only recognizable as PSI fluids. Peering around the corner, he saw a large man standing above the two bodies. His own dark eyes narrowed as he watched the gun float up to him and reholster itself. So he was a PSI. But...why kill two of his comrades? Either way, he wanted to blow the thing's head off, but the Rebel's would wonder why the thing had done what it had. Taking a small breath, he raised the gun and stepped out, still far enough away, hopefully out of the thing's range of telekinesis. "Why'd you do that? You're one of them, so why destroy allies, Red-Eye?" he asked quietly, knowing the thing could hear him. Had probably been aware of his approach for a bit, but was just preoccupied with destroying his friends there. Ger had to admit, though, that it was nice not to have to take care of three of the damn things. |
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| Persephone | 23 Oct 2008, 04:37 AM Post #8 |
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Abby climbed up an old warehouse building's ladder until she found herself at it's top. There stood a green house where many plants protruded from the broken glass. Insects crawled up the metal railings and birds perched themselves at the top with. Abby ignored all of this however and took out a small pouch from her pocket. Her happy mood made way to a smile as she got on her knees and called out gently, "Patrick. Here, boy." The words were soft and coaxed whatever she was trying to call. Her fingers drummed on the cement roof, another sign of her beckoning. "Here, boy. Come on out. Momma has some food." At the word food, the plants within the greenhouse quivered with movement. Another minute in and a dog appeared from its hiding place. The beautiful, white husky regarded her for a long moment; then, as if it registered who she was, bounded in her direction and half jumped on her to give her big slobbery kisses. Abby giggled and squealed at the affection. Using little force to get him off, Patrick settled down and waited patiently for his treat. "Pig. I hope you realize how much trouble I went through today to get this," her voice was scolding, but beneath the initial tone was amusement. "You better listen to me in the future or else there won't be any more of these. Got it?" Thump, thump, of the tail was his answer. Abby rolled her eyes and snorted, "Figures. Once a pig, always a pig." She dumped the pouch of sirloin onto the ground and watched as her only friend pounced on it like some kind of beast. He scarfed it down like nothing at all, and for a brief moment, Abby was stuck staring in bewilderment at such a feat. She then slapped herself gently on the chin and sighed, "You know... I was hoping you'd save some for me." She pushed his muzzle as it neared her face. "Once a pig, always a pig," she repeated, and once again thump, thump was the answer. That would always be Patrick's philosophy on things. Thump meant no; thump, thump meant yes. "We'll have to be leaving soon. The PSI have realized I'm here, and I think it's only a matter of days before they find me. Joshua told me to take care of you. You know I will, don't give me that look." Her old friend, Joshua Forsyth, who had been one of the rebel faction a year ago was killed before she ever got to say good-bye. He was her only friend who came from the factions, and for the most part, from what she knew they were a dwindling source. He had been her only informant, but he was found while trying to hide her from the enemy. From her place, she watched them kill him mercilessly just because he didn't tell them where she was. If it had been a Telepath that was with the PSI that time, they both would have been killed... but no, it was two Telekinetics who made sure Joshua didn't utter another word for the rest of his life. By the time they were finished with him, every bone was broken and blood spilled from every orifice of his being. His eyes saw nothing, even though they stared at her. Even now, Abby knew he didn't blame her, but she blamed herself... and for once, her father. Another wet kiss brought her from her reverie. Patrick had one big paw on her thigh. He whined gently and licked her cheek again. Abby smiled and kissed the dog's head, "Okay, mutt. I get it. We have to go." Patrick barked once before bounding to a small make shift elevator that was for about his size. Josh had made it specifically for the dog, and because Patrick was incredibly smart (which had thrown Abby off once she first met the thing), he just sat there, waiting patiently for his new mistress to reel him down. Abigail smiled once, sighed, and shook her head. "You really are your master's dog. Josh would be proud." |
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| Khronos | 26 Oct 2008, 09:15 PM Post #9 |
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~manwhore~
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Even before the message was received, the computer genius already noticed the more than strange happenings going on with the three PSI. The dots flickered as if the signal was fading, till, it was gone all together and only one signal remained. The youth stared intently at the screen, focusing on that particular area concerning that one single dot. Two PSI's had been removed, but one still remained, and curiously, there were no humans in close enough proximity. How was this possible? Obviously the PSI's had not left or their signal would have moved with them till they were out of range, but this would have implied that they had been destroyed and the only one that could have destroyed them was... It seemed far fetched, but it was the only clear probable way. Betrayal. One of those mechanical monsters might actually be on their side. The thought itself seemed impossible, but at this moment there was no better conclusion. Gerard's voice brought him back to reality and out of his intense thought process. He stuttered for bit before he answered,"N-no, there's...not." He paused, eyes staring at the screen and the one dot. "Sending back up asap." Quickly, if not a bit distracted, his fingers pressed the keys, registering the call for back up. Once the location had been submitted and back up had been verified, he focused on the peculiar dot once again. His thoughts and feelings opposed one another. He couldn't accept that PSI may be assisting the human race. It seemed impossible after all the destruction they had caused. His hands gripped the plastic of the chair tightly. Who the hell was this PSI? |
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| mattie2007 | 27 Oct 2008, 12:26 AM Post #10 |
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A strange man lay in bed, as if dead. Only when a PSI bettered down the door did the man wake and show his eyes. Red rings. Another PSI. This one was different, he had an aura about him, one of unrivaled strangeness. A small metal rod from the bed floated to the PSI's head height, and then up to the ceiling. The PSI that bashed down the door turned the corner, saw the other PSI and just stared. "What do you want?" The mysterious PSI said. The second, who was the one doing the staring, continued staring as though transfixed. That was when he turned rapidly on his heel, only to be knocked onto the floor by the metal rod. The PSI collapsed, gibbering. The strange PSI stood from the bed. "Surprise. Know me as Blaze, and I'm your worst nightmare." He said, a desert eagle floating into view. Blaze pointed the deadly end at the floored PSI's head, and pulled the trigger. One less PSI who would terrorise innocent humans. Humans. Trivial creatures, to say the least. The ones he met were often rebels, and even more often ones that were as determined to kill him as other PSIs. The man left the house with a desert eagle in a holster on his belt, along with several tools that a mechanic would have. The one thing that often went unnoticed was the Maverick Carbine on his back. A small PSI team came running along the street. Four, lightly armed, not even a challenge. Blaze waited until they had passed him, then drew the desert eagle and fired four shots. The first PSI collapsed when the bullet collided with it's head. The second lurched forwards and fell to the floor with a crack. The third was half-turned when the bullet caught it right above the ear. The fourth managed to turn before the shot blasted it right through one eye. Four fatalities and not a scratch on him. The ruins of the once-peaceful town he was in were infested with rebels and PSIs. Blaze sighed, and began walking. Behind him, a rebel stood aghast at what he had just seen. Edited by mattie2007, 31 Oct 2008, 08:50 PM.
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| Hiren | 19 Nov 2008, 06:30 PM Post #11 |
Addict
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Someone once told me that in order to survive in the world today a person must be willing to let go of the mannerisms and control that society used to demand of a civilized individual. In a place where only the strongest are allowed the chance for survival there is little room for kindness, none for softness when the enemy would see it only as a sign of weakness. In order to exist a man or woman has to be willing to unleash the primitive side, give in to the animal side… No wonder I’m still alive… In the beginning it seemed hope was the stuff of fairy tales. The PSI were everywhere, had put mankind on the endangered species list, and it was our own ambition that allowed them to do so. I never expected to survive more than a week, maybe two if fortune was on my side. It seemed the humans couldn’t survive; that the end of day’s religious fanatics and worshippers of Jesus always went on about had finally come. In some ways it seemed they were right as the world as we knew it had quickly come to an end. Once my arm was fixed I used to wander the streets, alone and in plain sight. Back then I wanted to die, dared those damn PSI to come after me and fight like the men they wanted to be. Even now I wonder why they mostly refused to do so, passed me by as if I were invisible. Maybe they figured they had already won or maybe those I saw just didn’t care but it seemed it wasn’t quite the proper time for me to die… The meal placed before the darkly dressed male smelled stale as if it had been exposed to the air for too long and, given the fact the heat of a fresh cooking was found lacking, it probably had. Somehow it seemed an eternity since he had been graced with a fresh, hot meal but when you scarcely stayed in once place longer than a few days you were doomed to cold dinners, the majority of them alone; especially when your own cooking skills were paltry at best. The meal was paid for, fingers lifting a piece of the salted meat and popping it into his mouth. It was tough, a challenge to chew and required a forced swallow to consume. Had he not required the sustenance he would have thrown the plate back into the cook’s face. How many other people, like himself, were forced to cope with the crooked methods of businessman these days? You payed more than was even remotely fair and the food turned out to be cold and poorly cooked anyway. If it was a fresh meal you demanded you’d best have half a fortune to pay for it because, if not, you wouldn’t be leaving the building alive. A clear glass mug was placed back in front of the powerfully built warrior, the liquid it held a light shade of brown and bubbly from carbonation. Those light blue eyes flicked up to glance toward the quiet, shy girl who worked there. She was slender, gaunt and thin to the level of obvious starvation while those dull greys were eyeing the food with longing. A pink tongue flicked out over dry, slightly chapped lips; the action unconscious while her mind was drawn to her own substantial hunger, a need for sustenance that was made even more apparent when a low rumble resounded from the pit of her empty stomach. Dominick Reins gave a sigh, finally swallowing his latest bite before motioning the girl to sit. She bit her lip in apprehension, glanced back to where the barkeep was serving drunks at the counter, but when that plate of food was pushed across to the other side of the table the girl couldn’t resist falling into the chair. “What’s your name?” He asked her as she bent over the plate and quite literally attacked the food. His powerful hand wrapped around the glass, brought it to his lips to take a long draught of the alcoholic liquid. From within that man’s throat his voice was strong, deep yet quiet when compared to the loud raucous of the men at the bar and yet, even with all the noise in the background, the girl found it easy to hear him. She was the only one who could say so too, as that voice was lost anywhere beyond the table. He was careful that way, mindful of eavesdroppers everywhere. “Christine.” She managed to answer in a high, youthful voice between large gulps. Leaning over as she was her dirty, loose blouse fel away from her form, forced the man to look elsewhere as a braless, petite little chest was suddenly bared. But not before that sharp gaze caught the dark discoloring of a bruise in the shape of fingers upon what had been revealed. “He give you those?” He asked, that watchful gaze turning instead to the owner of the establishment, her boss. The man in question was as shady as they came. Greasy black hair; a thing, weasel like face with a prominent, hooked nose, pinched lips, and the makings of a dark, scraggly beard; and a wiry little frame to match. He was just as filthy and rotten as the rest of the scum walking the streets these days. One of thousands of little rats who had no doubt ensured their survival by assisting the ambitious PSI’s as agents and giving their own race up if only because it meant they got to live a little longer. They were objects of Dom’s disgust, people who did not deserve the privilege of being called human. Christine blushed, her lips wrapped around the fork once more as she practically inhaled the mashed potatoes. After she swallowed her dull gaze shifted to the man she worked for, a hand unconsciously rising to the location of the marks as if thinking of the man reminded her of what she was often subjected to. No words were spoken, her eyes falling back to the table as she gave a quick nod almost as if afraid the man might see. She was young, too young to be working as she was and there was no age or reason suitable to be subjected to abuse as she clearly was. When asked she quietly revealed the man was her uncle, the only family she had left and so it wasn’t like she could leave him. He girl couldn’t be older than sixteen but she wasn’t stupid, announcing her awareness that she wouldn’t last a single night on the streets alone by herself, but that didn’t mean she was right either. Family the man may have been but that only made his actions toward her all the more inexcusable and yet she had never done anything about it. To her naïve little mind the man was simply collecting what he was owed for taking care of her and, twisted and misconstrued as it was, it almost made sense even if her thoughts and decisions were misguided. “Christine!” The man at the bar suddenly screamed his voice scratchy and annoying as he stormed up form out of nowhere. That thin face was pinched in fury, red while a thundercloud spit lightning around his head. He had an accent, something close to Russian and yet tainted with something more as he spoke English as well as he could. “Whoring around again?! Get back to work!” The girl stammered her apologies over and over, quivering in the face of her uncle’s anger while she started to rise on shaky limbs. The man had thrown his hands up into the air and the motion had made her shy away, fearful of being struck right there in public while the man seemed too smart to do so. By the time she had gotten out of the chair and standing in front of the man she was shaking from head to foot, terrified of the man she was cursed to call ‘family’. “Hold on.” The ex-soldier interjected, drawing both the wide eyed stare of the girl as well as that of the man as he suddenly spoke up and loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. Many surprised stares were tossed in his direction. Small and physically weak the owner of the place might be but he was still the owner and the two mountains of muscle standing on opposite sides of the entrance did his bidding without question and rather well. “There’s no one for her to serve right now. Sit down Christine, finish your meal.” He girl seemed torn, lost somewhere between wanting to sit back down and afraid of the consequences should she do so. Those teary, frightened eyes turned toward her uncle, found him staring in quiet fury at the man who she had been sitting with. Dominick’s hands were overlapped, the left concealing the right as it rested easily atop it. Defined muscle rippled all along his form, in his arms, chest and broad shoulders and, even though he sat relaxed and uncaring, it was easy to tell he possessed power of some kind, a physical strength her uncle lacked. When no objection was raised the girl sat down, flinching as the wood creaked beneath her weight as if she was afraid it would break the sudden, fragile silence that now enveloped the place. “Who are you to tell my niece what to do?” the man hissed, those slender arms flexing pathetically as bony hands clenched. His eyes were just as dull a grey as the girl’s but, unlike hers, they shone with a dangerous anger, a fury she had no doubt been subjected too often. Suddenly the man’s hand shot out, wrapped painfully around the young woman’s thin arms and sought to yank her up. “She is supposed to be working!” The man was surprisingly fast, those fingers closing tightly around soft, feminine skin and lifting before she could even react. Fast as he was, however, Dominick was faster. As soon as a hint of motion toward the girl was made, that tense moment exploding as both conflicting parties bolted into action, his right hand, the one that had been tactfully concealed the entire time, shot out like a viper. Cold fingers wrapped around that thin wrist, a metallic hand revealed right before that grip clamped down around the little bastard and bone was literally crushed within. Christine had cried out once her uncle had grabbed her, flinched away from the man despite her attempts at bravado when talking to her customer alone, but before her uncle’s pained cry could join hers the half full glass of beer shattered against the man skull and he collapsed against the table in unconscious blackness before falling freely to the dirty ground. Christine and the rest of the patrons had fallen into a silent state of shock, wide eyes staring blearily at the scene unfolding. Dominick, however, had not the time to linger in the moment. Those twin mountains of muscle who served as bouncers were quickly threading through the table, all power and confidence as their dark gazes fell upon the perpetrator, he who caused all the problems. The ex soldier, not quite as large but easily as strong, rose smoothly from the table and strode forward to meet there charge. Looks like peace wasn’t a likelihood after all… |
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| DeFalco | 29 Nov 2008, 05:43 PM Post #12 |
The Ice Queen
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The world seemed so different from what it was. For better or for worse, as some could probably find the good in any state of things, the way of life that people had been so accustomed to was gone, cleansed away so suddenly and with so little effort at the artificial hands of those who claimed control, altered previous concepts of the norm. Those of warmth, of flesh and blood, they had followed the downward spiral linked to the chains of status and importance in the world. No longer were men in control of their fates, as that control had fallen into the heavy hands of artificial life. Those walking soda dispensers, the people with red-rimmed eyes... Where once they had been pets, toys, servants, now where they the masters and the enforcers. They were the ones holding onto the leash, tightening the noose when they saw fit. Some bowed to them, submitted to their power to save the pitiful hides, and it was presumed that some crazy folk out there also agreed with their presence on the pillars of control, standing high above those forced to look up at them and despair. They were machines, functioning based on logic and factual assessments of what their programming dictated. There was little waste in the world now, nothing done needlessly out of laziness or procrastination. They worked on strict schedules, programmed to remain concise and to the point for all time. It was almost frightening, however, how some of those oversized toasters had the ability to show some semblance of feeling. The rumbling growl of a motorcycle snapped through the air as the two-wheeled vehicle cruised down a darkened road. It was quieter than normal, but old and pieced together as well as could be with the hands available. The hand curling over the accelerator had assisted, using what knowledge had been gained from her daddy while growing up. Some girls played with barbies and had tea parties for their friends; she got greasy in the garage as her father showed her around beneath the hood of a car. Shooting, hunting, and fishing had also been a fond pastime. Those hands now, adult in size and shaped, spoke for years of wear and tear, the not-so-slender fingers roughened a bit as a hint of dirt and blackness settled in the creases surrounding slightly long nails. The wind blew past the rider on the old bike, done up with a faded red paint job with the worn word "Virago" painted on either side of the front tank in black. Her legs straddled either side of the bike, bared save for the tall protective "boots" up to her knees, and the tan skirt that settled on the upper thighs. Arms were protected by the long sleeves of a dark brown waistcoat, buttoned up over the stomach but left open at the collar. As a russet-brown mane of hair flew wildly about her head, her eyes were hidden by a pair of square-shaped goggles to protect the eyes from the wind. The lone figure took care while traversing the backroads in the dark, only a single light to guide the way. Intel mapped out plenty of routes for their people to get around safely, avoiding the PSI checkpoints that would only result in their demise should they attempt to cross it. These were dangerous times, and against those machines that somehow bore power over the mind even though their own had been artificial in make... Being flesh and blood was too much of a risk anymore when it came to crossing paths with the indestructible non-humans. Her destination was random at this point, sent out into the field to gather information on what she could, as the group she had fallen in with just over a year ago decided they would use what skill she had as a Skiptracer in her previous life for their own benefit. Find a weakness of the PSI. Find others who could aid in an uprising, etc. She didn't rightly care what they were wanting her to do, but anything to get her away from Home, where those damned "sympathetic PSI" remained to help them out... It was a welcome escape. And she had no wish to be around when those tin cans decided they would show their true colors and slaughter all who put their trust in them. She would have sighed, marvelled at how selfish she had become ever since all of this happened. It was difficult, however, to put your faith in others anymore. So many were dying, so many betrayed... And to think that some people had the nerve to trust those things that killed her family. Family... It was disgusting how those things tried to mimic human families in their little collectives, or "family units". It was a joke, a mockery of what was right or supposed to be. Her family and that of others had been ruthlessly taken away, so what right did those monsters have to bear their own, false as they may be? It was a wonder if this young woman felt terrible at the darkened thoughts that entered her mind at times, considering what it would be like to destroy those robot families with the red circles in their eyes... Pulling herself from such thoughts, her eyes shifted beneath the goggles to settle on an establishment she had pulled into. Some sort of bar or restaurant of sorts, she supposed. Might as well stop in to get a drink or something meager for the road. Not that food these days was delectable cuisine outside of PSI territory. These days, people had to take what they could get, no matter how undercooked or spoiled it may have been. Parking the old bike aside and out of the way from immediate view, the young woman climbed off and straightened the coat on her shoulders, the length dropping to effectively hide her thighs and the skirt covering. Bared fingers peeking out from the fingerless gloves beneath the sleeves rose to brush themselves through her hair, to give it some semblance of neutrality after being windswept so long, after tugging the goggles from her head and thrusting them into a rear compartment on the bike. At her back, she felt the weight of her lupara settled into place, just as her right thigh felt the hardness of her Colt holstered into place. With the way the world has gone downhill, one could never be too careful, not even in the presence of their own kind. Such a thought was reinforced as the woman began to stride over to the entrance of the establishment, only to catch the sight of a patron from inside being thrown out of one of the front windows, the sound of a brawl from within filling her ears. With a heavy sigh, Xan Kincaid pushed open the front door of the place and walked inside. |
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| mattie2007 | 6 Dec 2008, 10:25 PM Post #13 |
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Veteran
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Blaze sighed and flopped against a wall to catch his breath. He didn't really need to, since he was a PSI, but it simply gave him a chance to calm himself down and look around. Not to mention it made him seem more human. At least until people saw his eyes. PSIs ran past, paying no attention to him. "Pay no attention to the rogue PSI with the assault rifle. Smart move, idiots." He muttered. If he wasn't bored out of his mind with neverending targets, he probably would have shot them. "I want a life free from this constant target practice. Maybe there's another rogue PSI in this place that can help me..." He thought about trying to find another rogue PSI who could help him. As for that plan, there would probably be no luck. The only help he'd get would be from the rebels. Nice thought, going in to ask for help, then being shot to pieces for no reason. He sighed, wishing that he had a bit of help. I know there's more than one rogue PSI in this world, but where? He thought to himself. A lone PSI scattered by, taking one quick glance at Blaze before moving on. "Oh, don't tempt me, bolt-brain." He breathed. Edited by mattie2007, 6 Dec 2008, 10:31 PM.
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