Phantom Sensations - Part I
December 12, 29476
Blinding flashes of amber flame seared through the air of Omni-1, narrowly missing his reconstituted body. The intense heat generated by the weapons’ discharge rippled the air in waves of expansion, while the crackling, electro-thermal bursts reverberated thereafter.
Without a moment’s thought, he instinctually dove from beneath the Whompha exit to the side, away from the lines of fire, his eyes rapidly darting around searching for further threats.
18:46: Male Captain: I've been dying for a good fight! Let's see if you can give me one, A Spoiled Brat.
18:47: Female Corporal: You'll be sorry you ever came here, A Spoiled Brat!
18:47: Male Captain: You're not so bright, are you, A Spoiled Brat?
18:47: Male Captain: Time for you to die!
Alamexis rose from his crouched position, brushing the dirt from his clothes. Spoiled Brat? His mind asked itself rhetorically, as he watched the young Neutral female be turned to veritable ash by the Omni-Pol guards only 15 feet from him. Alamexis turned away from the sight, his hand releasing its white-knuckled grip from the rifle tucked beneath his black trench coat, and began walking away. Somewhere off in the distance, he heard someone shout something about “fixers”.
Reaching the same fork in the road that had led him to Rompa Bar last night, Alamexis stopped, glancing around the eastern esplanade of Omni-1. To his right, dozens of Omni-Tek employees prodded both mission terminals and each other, seeking credits or equipment in the case of the former, friendship or adventure in the case of the latter. Glancing past the Whompha in front of him, he eyed the long, seemingly unending route to his apartment, and then to his left, at the relatively short path to Rompa.
Looking up at the slowly fading sky, Alamexis sighed. The weather certainly wouldn’t be as co-operative as last night.
Feeling he had no excuse but to return home, but silently searching for a reason to travel elsewhere, his comm beeped once, flashing with a message.
You must be…? Was all he could muster, albeit in his mind. Garret “Bonefish” Silvestrini, the Director of SPARTA and Chairman of the Omni-Tek Security Council, had proved quite the elusive character to arrange a meeting with. How many times? Five, six, I’ve tried to arrange? He asked himself, trying to recall. Mr. Silvestrini’s influence and power was pervasive and deeply rooted within the corporate community, to say the least; for a man in Alamexis’ position, that spelt g-o-l-d.
Quickly, Alamexis spoke his response, not wanting to lose this opportunity, but was quite disturbed by the response. Another pointless inquiry… Mr. Silvestrini had informed him that he was, yet again, occupied elsewhere. This message was, much like the others, of no purpose aside from “touching base.”
[Alamexis] Of course. I'll be going to Rompa to try and put some food in my stomach, so feel free to contact me at a more opportune time.
Alamexis sighed, as he spoke his response into his comm, but, as he finished, he smiled slyly. After all, with this exchange of seemingly pointless messages, he had accomplished what the weather had refused. He turned his gaze upwards from his comm, and proceeded to Rompa Bar.
))
