((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...