Inside my mind...

[Nulion]

((This is my veeery first attempt at any sort of story I got inspired by reading others', so decided it was about time I put the pen to paper, so to speak The story recalls events that have happened beginning with the Ross assassination attempt, and takes place in flashback form.))


The first thing I hear every morning of my life, usually, is an alarm clock. The old thing, a memento from back home, reminds me of better days as a child. None of it matters now though....Because I'm stuck here. Memories of green pastures and family do little when it feels like everyone and everything is closing in around you...

I don't.....I don't like myself much anymore. I suppose that would be obvious if you were to walk up to me, my face unshaven and ragged, my eyes telling the story of a man who hasn't gotten good sleep in over a month. Suicide? Pointless on a world like this one....Besides, I have a lot of good people still here who look after me and worry about me as if I were their child....Nutmeg, that ol' meta-physicist, you come to mind almost immediately. Always smiling, cheery, ready and willing to offer support or a kind ear any time of the day....Dagget, you're wonderful support too. Very forward-thinking, always looking at things not as how they are, but as how they could be. I don't know what he thinks of the future....but there's a distant hope still lingering on somewhere in me that it's a good one. And of course, Rawenna....Rawenna, you are a pillar - unshakable, indestructable, faithful, and always at the ready. In my mind....you hold everything together. Not just the Clerical Staff, but things in this mess that my life is rapidly becoming. Not to mention, she makes one hell of a good batch of cookies when she isn't busy - as her position often keeps her.

That damn beeping....alarm clock. It took longer than usual today for me to reach my arm around, slapping the button at the top, shutting that piercing noise off. But of course, as my luck is, no sooner than the beeping stopped, another one chimed up. The comm, what else? My comm is the type that straps to the arm, with a large screen on the front of it. And as it does most mornings, the screen is alight with motion, words and images scrolling across the panel, most of them I've seen enough of. "Phillip Ross Shot!" was the dominant news nowadays....The IRRK wouldn't stop talking about it, nor would anybody else.

With every major event in today's world....there's seemingly a thousand others driving it, behind the scenes. People dying, others wallowing in their self satisfaction, still having that smirk on their face that they managed to fool the entire world. I personally don't know who shot Ross....Though there are still some people in this world who'd like to think I did so. And they have reason, they have pictures even. Even now, I look back on what happened in Omni-1 last month as the biggest mistake of my life. If you hadn't read about it on your own comm, or heard of it being blasted across the newswaves, shortly after Ross was shot that...that man, Ivan Sergeyich, director of Omni-Pol, held a press conference. We at the Council of Truth like to hear for ourselves what happens in the world...And we go to great lengths to hear it. Luckily enough, I'm the only guy within the Clerical Staff (We're a tight knit bunch) who can get into a place like that undetected. When we heard the announcement made, I grabbed my equipment as fast as I could, and rushed to the nearest grid terminal. There was such little time to prepare...

My equipment is one of those things that defines me. It's not just armor, but rather a part of who I am. I always have it right beside my bed as I fall asleep, hanging piece by piece in the closet. The boots are always on the floor, silently begging me to put them on....I feel most comfortable while wearing them, whereas going barefoot isn't something I'm used to. From where I usually lie on the bed, in my normal position, to my left is the majestic treat for the eyes that is Jobe. To the right, I can see the armor; the faint glint of light off the dull metallic plates of the boots is what catches my attention most. From there it's to the skirt. Worn and tattered at the bottom, slightly discolored from all of the sandstorms I'd trudged through while wearing it. It matches perfectly with the rest of the set, the deep rust-color fabric melding with the complicated and dark metal plating so typical of Dust Brigade design. As much as I dislike the Dusters themselves...I admire their ability to craft such a good set of armor. The final piece, aquired from deep within the hell that is the Shadowlands, is a beautiful golden orange shouldercape.

The armor doesn't make the man though....As much as I do enjoy what I wear, none of it helps me do what I do. That's where the other devices, such as the ICC-Brand Lightbender (A cloaking device, of course) and stealth-based nano programs come into effect. All of which, I should add....were outdated. The only part of it that would never need a replacement is the rifle I use, another tool of the trade. The rifle even has a component that assists me as far as stealth goes, enhancing the effect the lightbender has on me. I had all of those things at hand and running as I stepped out from the grid and into that depressing Omni-Tek city, Omni-1 Entertainment. Even during the beginning of my life on this planet, when I was an employee, I hated going there. Being a former employee had its advantages though; I knew exactly where I was going. That, and it wasn't too hard to follow the noise of the crowd...

[Nulion]

It was near the whom-pahs that I saw the crowd; and standing on a platform overlooking the crowd, I saw him. Ivan Sergeyich. It was the first time I'd ever seen him in person and I'll have to admit he is still an imposing man. I'd expect no less of the man in charge of Omni-Pol. His voice was booming and proud, but with concern. For Mr. Ross I assumed, as the whole of Omni-Tek was abuzz with worry over their dear CEO. "Let me be clear. As far as I am concerned, this is a global crisis. I don't care about any treaties, accords, or councils or militants. We will do whatever it takes to solve this crime and ensure that anyone and everyone who had a hand in this pays for it." I couldn't help but scoff quietly to myself, huddled in a corner, hearing the man make an obvious shot at the Council, tinged with that all-too-familiar Russian accent. As if he knew anything? While Sergeyich spoke to the crowd, I busily relayed everything the man said through my comm to those who needed to hear it....Namely, the Clerical Staff.

The one thing I remember most about that day was how cool the breeze felt...It's usually that way in Omni-1, the notum-thick wind whipping past me, reminding me that it was only fitting. Cold wind for a cold city....for a cold company. And just as Sergeyich was finishing that address of his, I felt a stronger breeze than normal, something pulsing in the air just to my left. It....was a small, hovering machine. A common sight in an Omni-Tek city sure...but this one was focused directly at me. Staring at me with its glass lens, it clicked and whirred without end. I didn't need to hear the *snap snap snap* of the camera's shutter to get afraid....But then, the instant the camera took its evidence, the public service announcement system blared to life with the normally soothing female voice I'd grown to remember during the old days here. "Omni-Tek is your friend". "Kill a Clan today, be happy tomorrow". I was used to those, but all of a sudden those soothing propaganda messages turned to threats. "Clan agent detected! Security breach!!". Even before I could react, I saw Ivan snap his head DIRECTLY at me even through the crowd. I didn't realize it, but the lightbender that was supposed to keep me safe had just broken down, my body, my armor, my information, my gun, my life becoming visible. His guards, in their glossy black armor, wasted no time in levelling their assault rifles directly at me....I did all I could do. Ran.

I dropped that piece of junk lightbender, my boots gripping pavement and sending me off down the twisted maze of concrete and propaganda that built this city. Familiar sights breezed by as my heart raced, like a trip down memory lane as the hounds of hell followed in my wake. I couldn't think of anything but where I wanted to go; I wanted home, I wanted safety, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend not one moment of what had just happened was real. It was a movie playing in the theater of my mind, showing me the hero running. His cape fluttered behind him as the evil corporation trailed, alarms blaring in the background, his one chance of escape the grid terminal not 500 feet before him. The characteristic blue and black of the terminals, so universally identical on this world, grew and grew in his vision. The rest of the city, the guards, the pedestrians, the other automations and billboards and smoke and Yalmahas and everything else blurred out of focus. All that mattered was the terminal. The hero ran up to the terminal slamming into it and bruising his knee, amazed that his momentum didn't rip it from out of the ground. And with a tap of a button and the blink of an eye, he whisked away. Safe.

[Ivyna2]

I love it! BRAVO!! Keep it coming!

[Nulion]

((Thank you! I'm still writing, just posting as I go... ))

[Homeostasis]

Enjoyed it and looking forward to more.

[Naefen]

((Yes very good stuff keep it up ))

[Nulion]

((I so very much appreciate the comments And so, without further ado...))



Was.....was that me? In that movie, running for his life. He certainly looked like me...but would I have done something so stupid? I'd never been caught before...so why did he get caught? "It doesn't matter.", I whispered to myself. "Just...lay low. Don't be afraid, they're back there and you're in here.." Not that it helped me any. Talking to myself was something I was so used to doing, it was as if anybody else was having a chat with me, and I was shrugging it off. And the conversation doesn't end...Words exchanged back and forth, forth and back, over and over, confirming and denying at the same time the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings that have become so permanently bonded to me.

Even now, lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I talked to myself. "No use thinking about the past...You did the best you could do, given the circumstances." Of course as I said that, I denied it. "I failed....I'm still alive, yet I failed everyone I tried to help..." Not just once, either...And I know, of all people, that I could have done better. That I should have easily been able to do better. Then why didn't I? What posessed me to think that anything less than my best was enough? I'd have asked more questions if the comm didn't rip me back into the now. Staring at the thing, I saw more warnings, more bulletins, more chatter from that....that damned Nrpb channel. Caused me, and others, nothing but problems. Of course at the moment though, the chatter on Nrpb was...on a lighter note. Nutmeg was there, asking for me. Her chat scrolled across the panel, the words 'Nulion' and 'The Cup' getting my attention the most. Now that's what I call a reason to smile...

The Cup was one of those places that...despite holding some bad memories within those earthen walls, was one place I felt most at peace. Good coffee, good friends, good times. It was the first place that came to mind after fading into the Grid, the warm atmosphere and delicious coffee sounding like the heaven I knew would help me forget the grainy, flickering movie in my head. The one that played over and over, seeing the camera, seeing Ivan glare at me, the assault rifles so close to unleashing the contents of their clips, the mad dash halfway across an enemy city to freedom.

I stepped out of the grid, the pins and needles feeling from being digitally reconstructed halfway across the globe giving way to the warm Athenian breeze, rife with notum and dust. A strange smell, but omnipresent in a place like this. It's something I'd gotten used to...and in the past few years, it reminds me that I'm home. That I'm safe. And what more to compliment it than the fresh aroma of french vanilla blend wafting from The Cup? Following the scent in through the doors, I knew what I'd be ordering today..

The Cup...It smelled even stronger of coffee in here, these walls having seen how many cups served over the years? I figured I'd add another. And by the looks of things, I wouldn't have had to do so alone...There was a girl sitting along the wall at the restaurant's only booth, her drink setting on the glass table, a halo of water droplets formed around it...She'd been here for some time. And by the looks of things, I'm the first person she'd seen in awhile. "Hello!" she said with a smile. I stepped over, looking down at her, smiling weakly. "...Hello there." I replied, my voice a little dry. The bartender was quick to notice me, eager to get another customer. Must've been slow business that day..."My good friend, there anything I can get for you?" He was a nice man, in my experience. Good employee....I know Beverly would only hire the best. It only reminds me, being here and thinking of that woman, that I hadn't seen her in what seemed like ages. Beverly "Lightswift" Puller ran this place, making sure everything ran swimmingly. She did a good job I suppose, even though that means she's virtually never seen. Perhaps she's behind the scenes, doing all of the paperwork?

"Excuse me, sir??" The bartender brought me back, snapping his fingers in front of my face. The girl behind me, taking a sip of her drink, just giggled. "O...Oh! I...apologize. I'll...take today's special, thanks.." I sighed deeply, turning back to look at that girl. But this time, she wasn't alone; a creature, striped darkly with those odd, characteristic frills extended from its spherical body, floated above her. "You...are a meta-physicist?" She nodded, the bulbous creature settling down nearly to the table, the girl running her hand along its metaphysical flesh..."Yes, and the name's Nutmeg. And this here is my Compassion!" I gave her an odd look, having never seen a meta-physicist treat her manifestations as literal pets. But it didn't stop me from smiling...a cheery person with a twinkle in the eye like her is what I'd been hoping to find...if only to talk to for just awhile.

Soft music drifted from the speakers cleverly hidden around the room, perfectly fitting the cozy coffeeshop air that the designers of the place so struggled to bring out. Humming softly along with the tune, I took a seat directly across from that Nutmeg girl...She didn't seem to mind one bit, really. Some days, I wonder what may have happened to me had I never taken that seat, or stayed in that bar long enough to get to know her. Would I be dead right now? Would I have completely lost my mind? Who's to say...Just as I took my seat, as if on cue, the comm went off. Screen flickering to life, a small chime looping with a brand new bulletin washing across the screen....

"At 19.00 RKST tonight, Ivan Sergeyich - director of Omni-Pol, addressed the employees of the corporation about the ongoing investigation of the assassination attempt on Philip Ross, CEO of Omni-Tek, Rubi-Ka. Several clansmen had arrived, either to listen or cause chaos, but these elements were quickly removed. This did not work for all of the clansmen, says sources within Omni-Pol. Apparently a single clan agent managed to get within close range of Mr. Sergeyich. But the same sources also state that Mr. Sergeyich was in no danger, due to the fast tracking devices implanted throughout the city. The agent managed to get away before he could be brought in for questioning. The agent has the following characteristics: Opifex Male. High-ranking agent, clan affliction. While no official arrest warrant have been issued yet, Omni-Pol would be grateful for any assistance in the identification of this person. Sources also say that the camera system may have been able to capture pictures of the clan member, but until these have been analyzed nothing conclusive can be released at this time."

"....J...just my luck" I muttered to myself.

[Nulion]

((Whoo, this part took awhile to write...I'm SO bad with dialogue, I think. But I hope you guys enjoy it ))


"....J...just my luck" I muttered to myself, holding a hand to my burning forehead. I wanted to crawl away again, hide under the table and pretend I was somebody else...Tell myself, fool myself into believing that was some other agent, some other poor sap Omni-Tek was after that IRRK was speaking of. But I didn't hide. I didn't run out the door, jump in my Yalmaha, and disappear. I was held back by that girl in front of me, who by now had her eyes fixated on me, concern and worry written on her face. "Are you alright? ...Panicked?" My eyes drifted away from emptiness and focused on her. She was quite the empath, I could tell..."I....I'm sorry Nutmeg...I don't mean to be r...rude and quiet and all." She set her drink back down on the table, standing up and stepping right up next to me. She was shorter than I thought, now that she was standing up straight. "What's the matter..? It was that IRRK report just now, right?" I nodded, looking again at the comm, seeing the message repeating itself silently only with text. I'd seen a lot of things run by on that screen, and lots of things I'd rather not have seen.

I don't know how I was able to talk to her....My mind was struggling with itself. Do I tell her what's troubling me? It'd be futile otherwise, she's a meta-physicist! They....can feel emotions as if they were their own. But she has nothing to do with it...she wasn't on a need to know basis, she was a stranger in a coffeeshop...But I was compelled to anyway. Betraying my own standards was something that, looking back, I'm glad I was able to get used to.

Looking at the bartender briefly, then returning my gaze to Nutmeg, I gave in...and told her everything. It was...comforting. Just being able to have an outlet for everything aside from the rest of the Clerical Staff; Rawenna, Dagget, and Chrisax. They were good listeners, they cared, but with them things were official. My story wouldn't be an outpouring of a troubled and worried heart, but rather it would be a report. And of course they'd worry...they'd care...But something gets lost in the middle.

I finally willed myself out of the bed...Always a tough thing to do in the mornings, when no place on Rubi-Ka is as comfortable and inviting as where you are. And the worst feeling is knowing that you can't stay there forever and just be at peace. There isn't much peace for me, even if the world is silent. Somewhere in this very apartment is something...a bug, a camera, and it's watching me. I just KNOW it. It knows what I'm doing, and so every being on the other end of that camera's transmission feed knows the very same. I brush my teeth, they zoom to the mirror and know if I missed a spot. But why would anybody want to watch an opifex brush his teeth? Silly thing....to be paranoid, I mean. Always looking over your shoulder even in the quietest and most peaceful of places, utterly convinced the predator lurks in plain sight. Where you feel most comfortable, waiting for that opportune moment...when you drop your guard.

Do I sound disturbed? I think I do....Everyone around me worries about it. They know how I feel, and they try their very best to haul me out of that bottomless pit a sullied mind can fall into. When I feel the most like there is someone watching me, a camera or a man with a lightbender that actually WORKS, I think of the people who support me. And the wonderful thing is, many of them aren't even on the same side of the conflict; it further reinforces my belief that this world we live on isn't clean-cut good and evil. It never was. In the end we are all as human as anybody else, and the only thing that truly seperates us and spins us off into varying sides...is perspective. And people like Trousers, like Netwerk and Anamelle help clear my perspective. They keep that message clear in my mind, never to hate people en masse. If only other people saw things that way...maybe we wouldn't have war.

Idealistic, impossible, entirely too optimistic. There will always be war, because there will always be men like Simon Silverstone and Ivan Sergeyich ready to pour gasoline onto the flame of our times. I may not know Sergeyich well and it is all for the best, but Silverstone I have had a lot of experience with. I feel remorse for what had happened to that man in the past, but the death of his family has utterly consumed him. His only reason for living is to avenge them by putting a bullet in the brain of every man and woman who upholds the corporation's ideals. Despite what many people think of him, and despite what he has done since, the fact remains that he is a raped and wounded husk of the man he was before the corporation stole his everything...And when you get down to it and think, it really is sad.

Silverstone is a prime example of what war does to people. And why war and human nature do not mix...one sets off the other, the other sets off the one, and it never ends. That's what the Council is for...We try our very best to come to a logical and diplomatic solution, and maybe with a little hope drop a wrench into the gears of war. Time will tell if it was all futile...

As Clerical Staff, I am a functionary. I do my own small part to ensure that the Council continues to represent the mosaic of opinion and belief that is the Clan. Dagget plans out our agendas, Chrisax keeps the attendees in check, and Rawenna rolls it all together in facilitating the meetings. I, on the other hand, make sure that our gridsite is in top form...and of course, the other side of my job is the part that got me into the worst trouble of my life. After that day at The Cup, however, we'd be adding another to our ranks....Nutmeg.

We'd been talking about what had happened to me over that steaming cup of coffee I'd ordered shortly beforehand, the caffiene doing little to still my trembling hands....but it did taste damn good. Not long after finishing up on both the coffee and the chatter, two of those I'd mentioned before stepped in, a whoosh of cool air billowing from the door carrying with it the notum, the dust, and the faint smell of perfume. Dagget and Rawenna, both still brandishing firearms, stepped into the light, small smirks on both faces...especially from Rawenna.

"We came as soon as we heard..." Dagget took his place leaning against a wall, looking at me. Rawenna, on the other hand, rested a hand on my shoulder, standing right there beside me. "You alright, hun..?" I just looked up at her, my mind feeling more at ease just knowing she was near. Rawenna, if you have ever met her, is an incredibly fierce woman. Fierce, yet able to slow herself down to seem almost motherly....and it was exactly what I needed. Several months before all of this, I'd been one of the guests at her wedding with Revelator. Beautiful wedding....Their matrimonial speeches brought a tear to the eye, as if someone had pulled the plug out of their hearts and lay it all over the place, taking out only the purest pieces and assembling them into words. They really do make a wonderful couple. And it amazes me that two of the strongest and unflinching people north of the border can at the same time be level with those they care for, and tender as parents.

"I'm alright, Raw....I...think so at least. A little shaken..." I looked over at Dagget, who was busily tapping away at his comm unit, no doubt trying to find anything else related to my little escapade. Inside, I hoped he'd find nothing. Dagget at times can seem a little...aloof. He might be in the same room, but his mind is somewhere else. He's always fiddling with the recorder on his comm, taking down notes and keeping track and record of anything spoken. Despite how it sounds, it's incredibly useful to be able to browse back through past records he makes available to us, either as a reminder of times past, or a reference for getting the wording of Council press releases exactly and factually correct. Ever since he joined the Clerical Staff, I honestly am not sure why I still handle the stenographing during the meetings with my own, lesser recorder. A log is a log, I suppose.

Rawenna, after first checking me over to see that I was indeed alright, gave Nutmeg that 'look' of hers. You know the one, if you'd been somewhere she didn't want you to be. "What is she doing here, Nulion? Don't tell me you spilled it to her.." I could only sigh, with a small nod. "Look, Rawenna, she's alright. If it wasn't for her I'd have probably lost it about now.." I could only chuckle at the idea. Isn't it strange how acknowledging fear can help untangle that twisted knot in your stomach? The explaination didn't seem to cool Rawenna's attitude down any...Rawenna had been through a lot. Much, much more than I can imagine or that I know. She and the manager of The Cup, Bev Puller, had both known one another for the longest time and together had faced one of the worst threats to life on this planet that I can think of; Midia. I don't know much about her, and I'm not going to ask...I get the feeling that just her name gives Rawenna some awful memories. And I won't be the one to drag them up from the depths of her consciousness. But all of her experiences in the past would no doubt lead to distrust, or at the very least a tendency to be extremely careful. No wonder she didn't approve of Nutmeg sitting right there, listening to every word we said, more than likely having heard even the finest details of my experience.

She'd have to live with it. And she would, as not too long after the chat we all shared that went on for what seemed like hours, Rawenna would even ask Nutmeg to become our new staffer responsible for drafting official Council press releases. And...though Nutmeg wouldn't be writing that night, and nobody would be writing about that day's tribulations, she would make her very first release the next day. The day Omni-Pol reacted.

[kisharr]

(( very very good. Really enjoyed reading this. I wished I was better atr writing *smiles*))

[Nulion]

((Whee! Been awhile since I last posted anything, but finally here's another part Enjoy!))



That....day. It was one of those moments that you can never, ever forget. Red wine to the brain, the stain never coming out. My body aches all over, sounds and scents returning to mind as I remember it, even as I get ready to walk out the front door...

Jobe can heal, I've been told. Some people use the entire city as a kind of therapy session, taking trips up there just to stare in awe at the beauties technology can give us. It's easy to get lost, sitting on a white bench amid a white city floating above the clouds. The breeze up here alone is why I settled with a Jobe apartment, not the allure of a luxury condo. It's a crisp, utterly pure breeze; the kind that soothes the mind, helping to forget the smell of notum and dust that is so overpowering elsewhere. And looking over one of Jobe's many balconies, one can see the menagerie of dots and colors that Rubi-Ka is from such an altitude. Trees looking like pixels on a screen, the land itself merely some sort of backdrop. Clouds blotting some of it out as they catch the breeze, eternally reshaping and reforming, looking down over a planet that, if you didn't know otherwise, could be eden itself. It was beautiful....And at nighttime, all you can see are lights. More than likely from Omni-1, but at night even a city as bleak as Omni-1 can be a jewel from the eyes of a bird.

That next day though, I wasn't in Jobe. I wish I was, though...Maybe...just maybe I would have been safer there. Locked away in my apartment, where they couldn't find me...safe in my own world. But the day after the incident in Omni-Entertainment, I was in Old Athen. Bleak, destroyed, derelict Old Athen. The city had improved lately with the Vanguard taking charge of things...Broken sewage pipes destroyed in a war some 260 years prior were finally being fixed, and of course all of the local shops and bazaars had the bright Vanguard logo. Two hands shaking one another, as if it was focusing on two men, one Opifex, one Solitus, who had just come to an agreement. So very business-like, so big an irony that a sign like that would be emblazoned all around the territory of a faction so dedicated to fighting the power of the corporate entity. The city, despite the bright logos, was a sad and bleak place....everywhere you looked was the remains of a war that was fought so long ago, few can remember why it happened in the first place. Entire buildings on the east end of the city were raped and ruined, burnt metal skeletons of what? Apartments, offices, prisons, insurance servers? They could have been anything....and without a doubt, there were people inside when, all those years ago, they burst into flame, opening up like demented flowers that could only bloom when given the 'love' only the hell of war could give.

Not everyone has insurance...Not everyone can afford it, or can even biologically be fit for it. If you are younger than 17 or older than 75, your number's up. The only thing you'll see after your death is the thing people still haven't found an answer to...heaven or hell? Whichever it is, it isn't a reclaim terminal. And so many people died....This town is like a memorial to them. Even if they were Omni-Tek civilians, they were civilians nonetheless; it doesn't make their lives any less important. That's why, I suppose, that some people have mixed feelings about Alan Jacobi's plan to "revitalize" Old Athen. Not long ago at one of the monthly meetings, he pulled up a few concept sketches of what the new city would look like...Fresh green grass replacing the dry, trampled dust paths. Trees and greenery replacing the old and broken, spraypaint-coated Omni-Tek propaganda. A blue sky replacing the purplish grey to bluish green we'd come to be used to, coupled with the frequent sandstorms...I looked forward to it, being able to walk around in this city and not feel that depression tearing away at my heart, the same way one feels when walking through a graveyard. The graveyard of Omni-2.

The sky was unusually clear that day, devoid of any sort of sandstorm or weather at all. The twin suns bore down on the wreckage of the city, and the people just moved on as they would any other day. Computer terminals clicked away, news bulletins from the IRRK beeping and chattering away on others' comm units as they ran from one place to the next, yalmahas buzzing through the sky and just for the briefest of moments shading me from the sunlight. Off-duty Vanguard Watchers in their black uniforms slung their rifles across their backs, having a small chat and sharing a drink....It all seemed so complacent and normal, all of it blending into a fuzz that could be summed up as completely normal. Even while drowning in normality, I felt the grip of uneasiness playing tricks with my stomach, bits and pieces of the day before still fluttering around my consciousness. Would they be there forever, haunting me?

Only one place really seemed appealing at the time, one place where I could set my mind at ease over yet another steaming cup of coffee. The Cup, of course. It was on the other side of town sure, but that wasn't saying too much considering how small Old Athen actually was. The western end of town was odd, in that it seemed to have escaped the cancer that devoured the east end. Buildings here stood upright and functioning, and a Vanguard Watcher was always within reach. The shops and restaurants, clothing stores and luxury depots were all here, as were most of the people...And beyond it all were two large, heavily armored Carte Blanche turrets mounted to the ground. Having them there felt comforting, yet at the same time it gave the entrance to the city from West Athen a very foreboding and unwelcome feel. One could almost 'feel' the turrets glaring at you, eyeing you, perhaps 'thinking' to themselves whether what they see is a threat or not. And you can't help but wonder what might happen if they ever confused friend with foe...

Walking passed them though, the motors that allowed the cannons to rotate jammed. Hard. The noise sent me spinning around faster than it did the guards, my hands reaching for the rifle strapped around my back, ripping it out in front of me, the barrel pointed at one of the cannons...My hands trembled, squinting through the scope by pure instinct, having seen so many things through my scope before....Muttering under my breath "I knew it...I knew it...I knew it..." having always expected those damn things to someday malfunction, no matter their protective purpose. What was meant to protect can always be used to be destroy....police, power, money, machinery and weaponry. But unlike anything else that might want to do me harm, the turrets didn't stop or flinch or falter. They kept trying to move, the gears locked, holding them in place until sparks poured out the sides from the pressure. Confused machinery telling itself at the same time to move and to stay still, to obey and disobey. Isn't that....how the human mind works? At all times, the brain running from one thing to the other to the next back to the beginning, and expecting everything done all at that instant. Pull the trigger and destroy Vanguard property and ask the engineer what the hell is wrong with the machine at the same time. And what seperates my brain from that machine is that I can make a choice...and fortunately, my choice was the latter. I lowered the rifle, my attention drawn to the Vanguard engineer, mouth opened to ask him just that question....but I stopped, and stared at the sky.

It.....it was a....ship. And...the logo on it....unmistakable....Omni-Pol.

[Serpentinreturns]

(Very nice read!)

[borriss]

ok i id not bother read tis but im sure its rocks bravo bravo buhu ho 00h grats oh grtas


























grats rbavo

[tekkdeath]

(nice stuff nuli, keep it coming)

[Nulion]

((Whoo! Talk about a hiatus Had massive writer's block for awhile, then went on vacation...and while on vacation, I typed up a storm! Note that in this update there is conversation from actual ARKS...I do respect them heavily and tried my best not to greatly alter what they said, they do such an awesome job. At any rate....hope you guys enjoy Oh, and Borris....you're weird ))

A gust of wind bellowed, tinted with engine fuel, something you might smell near some sort of landing pad...Omni-Tek logos flashed by, bright white emblazoned on the ship's fuselage. Logos that should NOT be here...not Old Athen. The engineer simply dropped his tools, running off without saying a word to me, leaving me alone to stare at it...My gun was at my side, aimed at the ground, my body frozen. I could only stare, lips trembling, at what I knew had come all the way here, halfway across the globe, just for me. For....me. I trailed off mentally, not paying attention to the crackling stream of comm and public announcement broadcast that tried in vain to assault my ears. Dagget was yelling on the comm for me, Omni-Pol right along with him, conflicting voices echoing. "They're coming for you too!!" and "You are under arrest!!" melting together into nothing.

One of the hardest things in life, and one that until that moment I had never experienced, was what staring fate in the eye felt like. And fate has a different form for every one of us of course...For me, it was the ship hovering in the sky, by that time trained in my direction. It's....like something stares at you, and you know it sees every last thing you have ever done, that you find yourself regretting. It can peer through even the hardest, most time-worn shell of a man, the one each person has to a degree, to shelter themselves from the harshness of the world. To protect what anything else with a pulse was never meant to know. Hidden desires, memories of a broken past or, perhaps a betrayal. Crack open even the hardest walnut shell, the soft nuts spill into open air. Vulnerable. And fate is the nutcracker.

That ship could see through me...It knew that so long ago it seemed, I'd abandoned a good life for a world of dust. And family is something that no one should ever, under any circumstances, take for granted....But I did.

Strange how at times the mind can work in slow motion on so many levels at once, but only when it isn't controlled by you....rather, it's controlled by what you see. I could see my family in the back of my mind, the good times we'd shared in the past. I could see hatch doors opening on the Omni-Pol dropship as it landed nearby, several figures in smooth, glossy black armor stepping into the open...The turrets I had noticed earlier didn't flinch, Omni-Pol jamming signals holding them safely in place. Things went so....so slow. Like I was again watching a reel. Badly damaged, flickering at the sides from decades of wear and tear....Only a frame at a time, one foot in front of the other. It seemed so slow, but at the same time it was breakneck panic.

Why did I run? They were only Omni-Pol troops....I'd seen them and even had chats with them on so many occasions, back when my perspectives were different and when I bore the symbol of the corporation, myself. They really weren't all that bad, right? If they weren't all that bad, then why would sweat be pouring down my face out of fear, not from exhaustion? Or maybe it was from exhaustion too. I….couldn’t tell. I just didn’t know anymore – even when I had left the suit and tie lying on a desk somewhere in Rome and slipped off into the good night to join the clans some three years earlier, I hadn’t caused a fuss. Nobody cared....But now? I had only to look behind me to see how far things had come. The way things were now, I had only one chance…

Even as I ran, sweat beaded down my forehead and trapped itself between my armor and my skin, the people of Old Athens scurried as they always had. But someone took notice…and a domino effect ensued. One, then two, then four, then eight, then sixteen, then thirty two, all looking in my direction and whipping out every kind of weapon known to man from beneath their cloaks and sheaths, scabbards and holsters, aiming them dead on at the charging Omni-Pol troopers….and even then, they didn’t abate.

I was taken into the mob, absorbed into it. But I didn’t want what it wanted…They wanted nothing more than to squeeze their triggers. People were roused and riled after just moments, the collective thought going from peaceful everyday goings-on to bloodshed. History shows us, what history we could get without the stain of the Omega anyway, that most every single time a conflict occurred, it happened simply because someone, or some group of people, took the situation out of hand. And afterwards was miles and miles of red tape…politicians screaming, voices drowned out by the explosive nature of the times. And I was about to have all of this over what…me? Just some agent from Earth who made one mistake too many..?

I couldn’t have that….I couldn’t accept the fact that if something didn’t happen, if someone didn’t say no….that things on this hellhole of a world were going to get even worse. And going against everything my mind screamed for me to do, against everything the mob screamed toward the Omni-Pol troopers, against most of history itself, I threw up my hands. My rifle fell to the old, weathered concrete at the ground beside me, and my body twitched….

I never saw their faces…I only heard one name, a woman in a suit of that mirror-like plasteel armor clutching an assault rifle to her armored breast, glaring at me through her visor. “Nulion, SURRENDER!” she said…oblivious to the fact that I had already tossed my hands up. “You will remain quiet. Under orders from Omni-HQ we hereby place you under arrest to be detained for questioning.” She ignored every other person nearby, assured that the ship’s suppression gas generators were doing their jobs well. I could only look at her, still shivering to the core as she glanced down at her comm unit. “Yes sir, we’ve got him. Yes….I understand. Onyana out.” ….so that was her name….the one who’d come halfway across the planet just to put me away…? Onyana….kinda…rolls off the tongue, if I think back to it now.

Not that I had time to think about it back then though…my body ached, eyelids growing heavier and heavier. I couldn’t focus…I saw bright, swirling lights arc into my body, losing myself, losing touch with this….this reality. And the last thing I remember was spinning…the good people of Old Athens around me…Not one smile. And I simply fell to the ground, the world fading to black.

[Nulion]

And you know…I was at peace then.

It was a beautiful day….the sunlight bled from a single sun and down through a brilliant blue sky. I could smell the grass, and feel it crunch beneath my feet…A small house sat off in the distance, a small road of smooth, black pavement stretched out before it, ending in a cul de sac. The trees, arcing over the house from the hill behind it, rustled in the cool breeze. The street stretched up a hill, other houses in sight…but they didn’t matter.

In no time at all I was at the front door, having passed the meticulously-planted garden my mother had stressed herself over for years on end, with results that shone in the summertime. I’d…never understood it of course, why flowers were so important to her. Maybe it was kinda like how important Rubi-Ka was to me…to see for my own eyes, where my family had come from. We were the only opifex family that I knew of personally, and I can remember when I was a little kid how the other kids would tease me over my permanently ashen skin…they’d always ask me what Rubi-Ka was like, that they heard there was no death, and that there simply wasn’t a more exciting frontier world out there. All I could ever tell them was that I didn’t know….and that I’d want to find out for myself. Over time, it became a serious goal…

It was in this very house I used to busy myself, pouring over articles and ads on the gridnet for Omni-Tek employment opportunities….the kind that promised adventures on a frontier world, even if by now Rubi-Ka had been colonized for near 700 years. There was still no place like it….And whenever my grandparents came over, their bodies worn and eroded from life on two different worlds, I would ask them what it was like there. What it was like living in Omni-1, what the smell of notum was like, if they’d ever met Phillip Ross, what they thought of those “clanners” that rebelled against the corporation….They loved the questions, though the more I asked, the more worried they seemed. Worried that I may just be determined enough to go back there…to go back and see for myself why my grandparents left Rubi-Ka in the first place.

But…all that mattered wasn’t what they thought about my travel….it was that I could see this place again. See all those plants my mother worried over for so long, see the door open with a rush of that familiar scent of my mom’s cooking. My dad would be watching his usual programming on the holovision, brother in his room, attached to his computer and listening to whatever music suited him at the moment. This was a place that felt like I hadn’t seen in ages….

I….loved this place….But the thought kept running through my mind “Why am I here?” I remember telling myself that it made no sense. All I had to do to give myself the answer, was to open my eyes…

And I did.

[Nulion]

I wish I hadn’t though…My home had been replaced by grey walls and that euphoria replaced by a throbbing headache. I was on the floor….the cold, empty, clean floor. Grey everywhere, although ‘everywhere’ would only be describing a space maybe ten by ten feet in size. There was a lone door in front of me…the red light on the left side at the center could only mean it was locked. It didn’t take much longer after seeing the red light that reality snapped back into focus, an ocean of randomness ceasing and focusing on a singular, overbearing thought; I was imprisoned.

Now…I know more people than I’d want to imagine have had their share of prison time, that they had spent years, and sometimes their entire lives locked in a room much like this one. But…never once, not in a hundred thousand years, did I ever think it could happen to me. Not me…never me! I was just doing my job, I was just listening to Sergeyich, I was just spying, just breaking the law, and now I was just rotting in a cell. If….if you’ve never been put into a cell before, know that you’ll look at it, at its walls and its crevices, the features and nuances of it, taking it all in and with every last inch your eyes see, you imagine spending the rest of your life there. Even if you were only staying there ten minutes.

But prison in Omni-Tek wasn’t horrifying to the uninitiated for the simple fact that it WAS prison. Not everybody knows…but Omni-Tek prison facilities are heavily connected with the Omni-Tek branch of Reform; and simply thinking about that, even now, gives me the chills. At the time, I hadn’t much reason to be afraid of them…But now? I…I hated, and I feared them. Any body of people capable of taking even the fiercest and strong-willed clansman and turning him into another Omni-Tek lamb is not something you want to get on the bad side of. And here I was…Clanners don’t get the slap on the wrist that employees do, they get the full treatment.

I was standing in that cell for all of three minutes before I heard a voice…an echoing voice…It was Dagget. “Is anybody out there??” His voice bounced off the walls and reverberated, probably a lot more than the guards would have liked. They really did get him…I knew I’d heard his voice on the comm earlier. But even so…prison is a tiny bit more bearable when you know there is company. Isolation can be a godsend, but only when it’s your choice of when to go back and rejoin the rest of the world. Dagget and I didn’t have that choice…but at least we didn’t have a choice, together.

“I…I’m here Dagg-“ I was very sharply cut off by a gruff, atrox-like voice. “You both keep quiet NOW!” I could only sigh…what good was company if you couldn’t talk? Probably more good than I was considering, but that didn’t help me much…I could only slump back against the far wall, body sliding to the floor. For a quick second I glanced at my arm, to where my comm would have been, but simply wasn’t. They’d taken it of course, though if I thought hard enough I could still feel the thing strapped there.

They hadn’t stopped there either…everything was gone. My lockpicks, my faulty sneaking gear and rifle, my nano and first aid stims, even my screwed up, broken lightbender. The very one that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. I really was in it….It was all I could think. That, and what awaited me. My body shivered all over against that icy floor, and I simply huddled myself there…It couldn’t have actually been me. Right? People from my family don’t get tossed into prison…The thought echoed through my mind as if I was screaming and these walls were just repeating it to me. Those cruel walls…probably did it to everybody that’s ever been in this cell. Stared at them, taunted them, told them ‘You’ll be seeing a lot of us in the coming years’ with a twisted snicker.

Or maybe not? Omni-Tek was swift…to my knowledge they don’t hold long-term prisoners unless there’s a sort of trial, but the death penalty doesn’t work on a planet like Rubi-Ka, nor does keeping a person locked up their entire life…That’s what Reform is for. But did that matter? If Reform was involved, I may as well die here, in this cell…because whatever of me comes out of that damned place, it won’t be anything like this quivering whelp lying on his side in this cell. It’d be a completely different person…I wouldn’t exist anymore. Even if you still live on in body…what makes you what you are is what happens in your mind. And if that’s gone…then you die. Another you is just walking around in a shell, pretending everything for years on end had never happened.

Everything cut out inside at the sound of footsteps echoing through the hallways outside my door....

[Nulion]

“Yes, this is the one. Open it.” That voice…I’d never heard that voice before…It sounded so firm, as if it knew every single word was ground in concrete, like he wanted the maximum impact with each syllable.

The door opened just as he’d asked though, sliding open smoothly with a small whoosh….and on the other side were three men….only one of them I hadn’t seen before. He stepped into the room, the light glinting from the fixture on the ceiling on his smooth scalp. His suit, neatly pressed, bore the Omni-Tek logo stitched onto the pocket. His eyes were fixed on me, smug and all-assuming…coldly hospitable. I hadn’t the faintest idea of who he was at the time…but I know how uneasy he made me feel.

Behind him was a man I could smell before I could see; the thick aroma of vodka crept into the cell before he did. Ivan Sergeyich, director of Omni-Pol…The man who, yesterday, had caught me standing in that corner in Omni-1 as he made that address about Ross…Brief flashes from the day before lit up my mind like explosives…and in the blinding light each one made was a freeze frame from that day…A crisp, monochrome image of Omni-Pol guns trained in my direction. A black and white still of the man at the center of it all, finger pointed at the enemy. And the more I thought, the more I examined those still frames in my mind, the more I’d regretted ever taking Dagget’s assignment…The more I’d even regretted joining this rebellion in the first place. Sometimes I wish I’d never even come to this planet…

The photo album closed at the sight of a third, entering the door and sealing it tightly behind him...Turning to gaze at me, I noticed a small engraving on his chest, the same one that all Omni-Pol troops bore. His name was...Jamonnor. God…thinking about him now…I don’t think I want to. There are some places that I just can’t bear to be…even if those places are just memories. Toxic memories that poison the mind when brought up…

At the time though, I wanted my rifle…I wanted my home, I wanted out of that damned cell and back to where I was in control of my future…not these men who, pretty certainly, hated me a good amount simply because I’d signed a small holopad several years prior.

The one in the suit stepped forward, looking over me with those confident eyes of his…scanning me, making his impressions of the man he no doubt has heard a bit about. Even so, his eyes glanced down to a small glowing pad on his wrist…

“Good evening, Nulion. That is what they call you, isn’t it?” His voice was as confident as his eyes…and all I could do, seeing this man read me as if I were a file on a shelf somewhere, was nod. Sergeyich, standing behind this person, just looked at me…his eyes piercing. They terrified me, and I could only pray it didn’t show. “This is the man from the photos, da?” Sergeyich spoke in that accent of his, tinged with old-world Russian. At least that’s what I thought it was, I’d never been much for ancient language…

The man in the suit didn’t flinch, or even look back at the man behind him, or at anyone else but me. “My name is Korbensen….I am a liaison from Omni-Prime, and this here is a man you should already know, Mr. Ivan Sergeyich, Omni-Pol. I’m here to oversee today’s…chats.” He said with a chuckle. My heart though, jumped up my throat…Omni-PRIME?? That’s the center of Omni-Tek…an entire solar system run and under the control of the corporation. He represents it in its entirety…and I’d gotten on his bad side.

He stepped forward, his boots lightly squeaking against the smooth floor. “Do you know why you are here, Nulion?” His voice was still calm…inquisitive…like he was entertained by watching me and seeing a man who was having the time of his life trying to cope with his situation. Despite that…I mustered the courage to speak. “It’s…for the incident yesterday…right?” He just smiled…”Very good. Perhaps you’re somewhat sharper than I gave you initial credit for. Doubtful, but anything’s a possibility…” He spoke down to me…like I was something lesser, a plaything. A pathetic whelp, more or less. And in some ways…he was right. “You have to be sharp…to get in there these days…” I nearly whispered to him, the thought occurring to me that I was about as sharp as a spoon. Sergeyich stirred, letting out what I could have sworn was a low growl at me. His eyes locked onto me as if he were on a leash, just waiting, praying for the moment his master would release him on this fresh and helpless thing…and just let him do what he wanted to do. “Such sharpness, Nulion, would lead one to wonder if you had done so before…say perhaps on the day of Chairman Ross’s speech?” Korbensen just smiled that cruel, calculating smile. I got that knot again in the pit of my stomach…they…they really did suspect me of shooting Ross. I…didn’t shoot him, right? I couldn’t have….I know I didn’t…

The day Ross was shot, I was at home in Jobe…sleeping. I’d woken up several hours after the address to a comm abuzz with news, with speculations and rumors and blames and theories flying in every direction, people around the globe confused and worried…It wasn’t a very good day for Rubi-Ka, to say the least. Bearing it in mind, I stared at this…this Korbensen…and told him the truth. “I didn’t do it…I wasn’t even near Omni-1…” It was all I could utter. “Oh? And where were you, then?” He snapped back, expecting me to say as much. “I was at my home…I was sleeping…then I went and…and did some paperwork for the upcoming Council meeting..” The Council meetings…They really did require a lot of paperwork…and even with the shooting and all the buzz surrounding it, I knew there was a lot to be done. “You were alone?” Korbensen wouldn’t let up…”Yes, I…I was alone. I hate being in a room full of noisy people…I can’t concentrate with it.” I hadn’t told a single lie yet…not in my nature to lie, even if by trade I was an agent. Agents are good at lying.

A throaty chuckle broke the brief silence as I finished, from Sergeyich. “How convenient!” Korbensen just smirked, still having kept his eyes firmly locked on me…”Well, that certainly didn’t seem to be the case, you liking to be alone, the other day when Mr. Sergeyich gave his address. Tell me now…why would you come to Omni-1, armed and armored, just to see an update on a man you supposedly despise?” I just looked at him, having had the feeling he’d ask that. “It’s…my job…my…responsibility. To keep us all informed, to…to get the information straight from the source. Even…even if the source doesn’t want me nearby.” I shot a glance at Sergeyich at that, thinking for another moment to the day before.

“But my rifle…I’d have been an idiot not to have it near me.” Korbensen just kept on smiling…that tiny one, that only involved the corners of his mouth. “Maybe you could tell me what kind of rifle it was…I do have a small interest in weaponry.” Of course he had an interest in weaponry…and an interest in seeing that weaponry used against people like myself, no doubt. The rifle was rare though…Excavated spirit-tech, sleek and obsidian black without so much as a single crease in its molding, as if the rifle wasn’t even assembled, but formed entirely as one functional piece. Xan symbols, like hieroglyphics, were etched into the stock…I still don’t know what they meant. The barrel was long and the shots powerful...That rifle has kept me safe, and there’s not a place I would go without it safely secured, slung around my back.

Korbensen piped back up though, having probably made a mental note to have a look at my rifle himself, wherever it was that it was being held as confiscated contraband. “At any rate…Perhaps you could tell me how your little ‘Council’ feels about this incident? I’d love to hear a more…personal side of the issue. And yes, I’ve already read that pathetic press release.” I knew the press release he was talking about; Dagget and I had worked on it yesterday, in quick response to Clan’s stance on things as they were…or at least the Council’s stance, that is. “That…that press release was personal….we didn’t lie, what had happened to Ross isn’t something we’re taking lightly or condoning…Why would we even do that? There’s no point in it…nothing it could solve…” I said it slowly, maybe with more feeling than this man could understand. But really…it’s the truth.

Why shoot Phillip Ross? Why would any of us do it..? I know Phillip was not exactly a bad man…If anything, he seemed to genuinely love this planet, and the people on it. Where there could have been war, he’s worked to advocate peace, holding back those who would see the world ignite, like the half-drunken Omni-Pol director Sergeyich in front of me. Given the chance, the leeway, the jurisdiction, he would have no qualms in taking everything he had, and retaking the north. Why would we remove the only man who wanted to prevent this? It’s like I tell people…I don’t agree with what Ross stood for, but I do agree in his methods and some of his beliefs. Good men shouldn’t be the ones to get shot…but in the end, they always are. Makes me wonder if, after all this time, the human race has learned a thing…

[Nulion]

Korbensen spoke up again, still eyeing me like I was under the microscope. “I find it so amusing that you both claim to have to have a sense of caring for Mr. Ross, wishing him well, hoping he gets better…Perhaps a holo-card and some flowers are next? Why would either of you care about a man and corporation you have sworn to destroy?” I just looked on, hearing a loud chortle from Sergeyich. “I find it amazing that you accept the death of Chairman Ross will solve nothing, yet you still affiliate yourself with Clan scum.” Maybe they were both right…in some ways. But then again, they were wrong…

People like them…can’t see beyond an affiliation. The world is black and white in their eyes…there is absolute good and absolute evil to them. And of course they weren’t the evil ones. It keeps coming back to this…back to the fact that the world has so many shades of color that good and evil becomes lost in the tangled mess of reason and motivation. Even the most violent, tortured, horrible people can have moments where they see a butterfly land on the edge of a flower, and smile. Everyone has some good in them…everyone has some bad. Some have more of one than others. These men…were essentially colorblind.

“We….we care, because not every clanner is a bloodthirsty animal…like you think we are. Some of us…have to try and work with the corporation…work things out diplomatically, even if it’s impossible sometimes…” Korbensen, that unfeeling tower of confidence just smirked again, rubbing his clean-shaven chin with a hand, didn’t waste any time in replying. “So you try and work things out ‘diplomatically’ by aligning yourself with those who would see us fall? So very, very amusing.” This man just wouldn’t accept the fact that without people like us…without the Council, it would have been men like Silverstone they’d have to deal with. “We…represent every piece of the Clan…the good and the bad...” It was all I could do to keep my mind straight…to keep speaking with him. “Much more bad I would say. Traitors…murderers….terrorists…” He just chuckled. “This ‘good’ you’re talking about, I’ll believe in that side of your group when I see it….and so far, I haven’t.” They both just smiled that same smile…So confident in themselves, that they were correct…And that there were no other truths…that they were incapable of actually being part of the problem.

Sergeyich looked impatient…probably from not hearing what he’d wanted to hear. His fingers ran through that thick moustache of his, eyes fixed on me. Must’ve figured it was about time he set things back on track, I suppose…”You claim not to have been involved with the attempt on Chairman Ross’s life and you claim that you hadn’t any bad intentions when you hid not ten feet from me fully armed and armored, da?” That thick accent stuck to every word he uttered….but ten feet? I didn’t think I was that close. Maybe I was? Either way…”I…didn’t intend on shooting you…the rifle even had its safety on. It wasn’t even aimed at you, or at anything else..” The safety really was on…otherwise, the gun couldn’t have used its lightbender enhancer function. I knew better not to shoot anything or anyone…Even I’m not that stupid….”The fact that it could have been aimed at ALL is disturbing, Nulion.” Korbensen was on top of every word I spoke, as expected. I just glared at him…”Would you walk into Tir alone, with no backup, no contingency plan, nothing to help you, and be unarmed?” It was a good question…one would have to be either extremely good, or out of their mind to do so. “Personally…I would go in with a hundred Unicorn soldiers at my side. But that’s just me.” That one hit home…

One hundred Unicorn soldiers…I couldn’t even take down one. Those menaces from Omni-Prime were more than capable of it, just waltzing into Tir. Of course the Sentinels would do their very best…but against the Unicorns..? I didn’t want to think about something like this. And I got the feeling, from talking with Korbensen, that he isn’t one to issue idle threats. “Oh, how easily you forget your history, clanner. Or should I say, how conveniently?” Korbensen glanced down at the glowing pad at his wrist, sighing gently. “But we’ll have to save the history lesson for another day…Please, enjoy your accommodations, Nulion. I assure you, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to them.” He just kept smiling…that same wicked smile. Especially at the sight of seeing my heart sink at his last words…I really did feel like I was going to be there forever. And that he’d enjoy every minute of it…”Y..y..you can’t keep me in here forever..!” It was almost a plea…”Forever is such a strong term…one that loses much of its meaning here on Rubi-Ka. You’ll be free when I SAY you go free…” He chuckled gently, finally taking his eyes off of me to look at Sergeyich. “Anything further, Sergeyich?” The director nodded, stepping over towards me, his footsteps echoing. He leaned towards me, face up close to mine…I could smell the alcohol on his breath…“A bit of advice…no….a warning, Nulion. Don’t set foot in Omni territory again.” Sergeyich pulled away, content with himself, stepping towards the door, walking out without looking back. Korbensen followed right along with him, turning his head toward me…”Pleasure meeting you.” And he left.

The guard that had stood there, silent the entire time, merely nodded, assault rifle firmly in his grip, and went along with those two…the door sliding shut, the light turning red once more. It was locked…and I was still here....

[Homeostasis]

((Loved it!))
*Hands Nulion freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies*

[Nulion]

((Oatmeal raisin! Yummy! *eats them* ....Hey wait, this seems familiar, doesn't it? ))