Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye & Yggdrasil]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: rabbiteye on 05-11-2010, 00:27:04</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>05-11-2010, 00:27:04</strong>
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				White. Blinding white. White men. White coats. White masks. White lights. Staring down at her as if she were at the bottom of a well. Words as echoes traveling through that narrow tunnel. <em>More. More. Slowly now. More.</em> The clicking of sterile instruments. The feel of rubber-clad fingers pressing to skin. <em>Good. That's it. More. Keep going.</em><br><br>Then, explosions, deafening explosions. No, not explosions. Not that at all. Thoughts. A million thoughts, all at once. Screaming in a million different languages. The anguished keening cries of spirits trapped in the fires of hell, only, the opposite. Not in scalding fire but cool, rectangular cells of disinfectant and wires. Wires, drilled through layers of exoskeleton and flesh, attached to nerves which serve as so much more than just <em>that</em>.<br><br>"Oh my god... look. Look!"<br><br>It lays beside her, a heaving monstrous mass of flesh and bone, having come from the abyss, the unknown. It is humanoid, this one, functioning as a biped, with two arms, two legs, two hands, two feet. And two eyes; wide, black, glossy. It is completely covered in a protective shell harder than Earth's steel. Where had it come from? Why was it here? Attached, now, via an intricate series of tubes, sensors, and wires to the little girl laying beside it not five feet away on an identical surgical table. Separated now, only, by the barrier of language and sound.<br><br>There are but two words filtered through the cacophony of horrid tremolo, trapped within the gaping maw of razor sharp teeth, and the promise of curved claws raking over flesh. Yet she dares, she dares, too young, too innocent to know any better. <em>Help me.</em><br><br>The stoic beeping has in an instant transformed into a wild, frantic trilling. Charts fly across the screen of the cerebral monitor. One line has become seventy. Moving too quickly to read. Through it all the screaming inside her head never stops. Her system vitals are nearing the edge of what science finds medically unacceptable. She seizes, muscles clenching, eyes shooting open.<br><br>"Cut it! Cut it <em>now!</em>" A familiar voice, the voice of a loved one. Ignored in the excitement of such a breakthrough. Footsteps rushing to collect data never before seen, "I said CUT IT!"<br><br>* * * * *<br><br>"SAVE YOURSELF! THE END IS NIGH!" The homeless are always the first to know when something has gone amiss, of course. This particular fellow has taken near-permanent residence on one of the main corners of downtown Seattle. He can be seen, daily, asking not for alms, but for the repentance of souls. For you see, the world is ending, and you must <em>save yourself</em>.<br><br>There is nothing remarkable about the day. If one watches the news, or reads the newspaper, there will be a brief mention of a devastating fire in some city no one can remember, or be bothered to care about. There is but the endless to-and-fro, the ebb and flow of the tides of people. They shuffle, mindlessly, repeating the worn path, uncaring, unaware, settled into the most translucent figments of mediocrity. He regards them with no spared measure of disgust. Oh, but, the feeling is mutual, isn't it? Do we not loathe what we do not understand? What is <em>different</em>? It's not just <em>human</em> nature, as it turns out. A revulsion to the things we do not know, is a universal occurrence. <br><br>The sky should like to rain, it is mulling the idea in between heavy clouds of gray and blue, soaked as full sponges, ready to be squeezed and shower down. He waits. Waits in her worn path. Just outside the stoop of her building. In his hand he holds a piece of paper, written upon it everything one could possibly imagine. It is Big Brother's wet dream, sprayed not with cum but black ink. <em>Joslyn Stone.</em> She will come, or, she will go. Either way, the set of concrete stairs before him is dappled with her DNA. The invisible imprints of her shoes. Fingerprints smeared along the railings.<br><br>He waits.<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>10-11-2010, 03:26:35</strong>
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				She was a painter, a woman who savored art and instrumental music, who would occasionally mingle with strangers while sipping wine or champagne at one event or another, but was just as happy sitting in her studio alone while painting her emotions on a canvas. She never saw herself as exceptional or even plain, she never saw herself as unique or boring. Joslyn Stone was simply Joslyn Stone, a twenty six year old woman with a talent for art and an ear for music.<br><br>She stood at an unremarkable five foot six, with long ebony tresses that felt like silk and fell around her shoulders. She was thin, yet curvy, with a modest chest and a generous flare of hips that men often found appealing. The only curiosity about her, she believed, were her eyes; one was a soft gray-blue while the other was an even softer gray-lavender. They called it Heterochromia, a stigmatism she was born with, or at least that’s what she had been told.<br><br>As unremarkable as Joss felt, Seattle seemed to think highly of her. She was doing well for an artist as young as she, including having her own exhibit in the Seattle Art Museum, something most could only dream of. The woman seemed to be able to capture emotion in its rawest form, inspiring musical artists, writers and poets, stroking their creative muses and allowing their creativity to flow. She had a natural talent for creating pieces that spoke to the buyer and was handsomely compensated for her work. Joslyn Stone, as unremarkable as she felt, had the blessing of empathy in disguise.<br><br><br><br><br>Fall was here. The trees that lined the streets were layered, from red at its crown to green at its base, fading from one color into the next. People walked the streets with wide smiles and an assortment of fashions, most wearing scarves or gloves to help take the chill out off of their skins, while drinking Starbucks or a variation therein. The Puget Sound perfumed the air with the burnt rubber of an old car struggling up one of Seattle’s many steep hills, only to fade and give way to the inviting scent of a bistro nearby or a truffle shop selling sweet chocolates. The sun would be setting soon, giving way to the night life that would work its way West towards Pike Place and the clubs scattered there in, the perfect entertainment for a Friday night.<br><br>Joslyn had other plans. She walked briskly with her hands in the pockets of her pea coat, eager to keep the chill off of her skin by simply moving too fast for it to latch onto her. Her boots clicked smartly on the pavement, and as she rounded the corner to her studio, located on an ever popular and bustling side road that over looked Pike Place Market, she sighed in relief, knowing that there would be warmth and tea awaiting her. To celebrate the occasion, Joss pulled out a set of keys that jingled playfully in her ears as she approached the steps, jogging up them in graceful strides until she reached the door. She didn’t recognize the man standing there, holding a sheet of paper that looked to be covered in a copious amount of notes, but she smiled pleasantly all the same, twisting her wrist to unlock the door which would allow her entrance inside.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>11-11-2010, 19:39:36</strong>
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				He had not known exactly what to expect. The file had been so.. <em>ambiguous</em>, as a government document, with bits and pieces of it blackened out due to whatever security reasons. There was a picture, many pictures, of course, however the recognition was not instant. Not as he -- <em>he</em>, whose name could not be pronounced in the human tongue, whose existence had morphed into a series of numerical digits, shapes, colors, crude amalgamations, identity chips, and the final declaration that <em>he</em> could be lumped in as <em>'an intelligent'</em> -- might have initially thought. As it had been with all of the others; a grand explosion of static and uncontrollable misfiring of brain synapses, like walking into the nursery wing of a hospital, amidst a shrill sonata of newborn screaming. No. From her, there was nothing. <em>Silence.</em><br><br>He -- who shall henceforth be referred to as <em>'Alpha 9'</em> -- stared towards Joslyn, returning neither her polite smile nor pleasant demeanor. He spoke, without speaking, and she heard nothing. None of it. How could this be? She was, of course, a last resort. All of the others had been killed, or, were already dead to begin with. It was only afterwards that the realization was made; <em>they needed someone who could speak to them</em>.<br><br>Joslyn will feel a set of fingers curl about her upper arm as she moves go to inside. A grip like that is always imposing, always hinting at something else, something not pleasant or kind. She will see Nine's mouth moving, regarding her, but what comes out is not words, but instead, a series of sounds, such the likes that she can <em>feel</em> them, rumbling deep inside of her chest cavity, as much as she can hear them. He is standing a step below her; as a tall man, well-trimmed blonde hair cut close to the skin, black-framed glasses, unremarkable brown eyes, aged. Does it jar her memory at all? Of just such a face, a doctor, a <em>scientist</em>, looming over her sleeping body, another lifetime ago? <br><br>There was of course a concern. Her file had stated quite clearly that her participation in the program had been <em>terminated</em>. Then there had been black bars swallowing the words surrounding the circumstances of her discharge. One thing was clear enough to Nine: she did not understand him, not <em>now</em>. <br><br>It was insufferable. Being able to understand without being understood. Years spent in infuriated agony as they stared at him from behind plated glass, tapping pens on clipboards, white lab coats swishing around their calves, peering from behind goggles and medical masks. <em>He heard them. He knew what they said, what they thought.</em> Yet to them he, and the rest of them, had remained an enigma. An abomination. Except, for a small handful. Most of them had been decimated in the uproar. Those who hadn't were now scattered about the world. <em>Hunted</em>. Not just by him and his, but by <em>others</em>. The desperate need to control the swarm came as a <em>very</em> high priority to the government who had failed to contain them. <br><br>Nine is wearing a wedding ring. On his feet are expensive brown shoes. His slacks are impeccably pressed and without wrinkle. His shirt is crisp and pristine. Around his neck is a ring of deep, ugly bruises.<br><br><em>Listen to me.</em><br><br>His mouth, still, it moves. The man is speaking to hear. His grip on her arm tightens, he shakes her, once, trying to jar whatever traces of that other world remain.<br><br><em>Can't you understand me? Idiotic fool.</em><br><br><em>Fool!</em><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>11-11-2010, 21:13:18</strong>
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				This was a safe neighborhood; the sort of area that had high human traffic and was often patrolled by the city police or people just wanting a good time. It was well lit, a stone’s throw from the tourist industries and down a little side street off of a main road. After four years, not once had Joss had a problem. No one tampered with her car; no one had broken a window or pissed on the steps of her apartment. Even protesters strayed away from this little avenue to boast their signs to the bigger fish looking down from their steel and glass towers.<br><br>So why was it so suddenly that Joss found herself in an entirely uncomfortable situation? And why was it that the streets were completely abandoned of life?<br><br>&nbsp;His grip was like a vice, bruising the pale flesh under that fine coat until she was gasping from the surprise and pain of it. “H-Hey!” Deep vibrations hit her chest, rumbling inside her chest-cavity until they were threatening to release her guts from their proper place. Her free arm curled protectively around her belly in an attempt to shield them, but the strange man, speaking in a blur of sounds and clicks, took to shaking and wouldn’t let her go.<br><br>What did he hope to spark with her fear? There was no recognition only a state of panic and as his grip tightened and frustration elevated, Joslyn stumbled from the strength in his arm and was afraid he was going to crush the limb right there.<br><br>She pulled back her fist, the one that had been stationed to protectively curl at her belly, and sent it crashing against his face. Instincts, training, where martial arts had been nothing more than a pass-time and something to keep her body occupied and fit, it kicked in now even when Joss had no intentions of actually ever using it. Her fist was small but it was strong, her target the temple which was a solid barrier against the impact, but it should be enough to stun the man’s wits and, she hoped, to release her arm so that she might be able to flee. The limb never hyper-extended, the blow was perfect and while Joss followed through with it, she pulled back her elbow to strike the other side of his face next, ending it all by kicking out sharply with a crack of her boot meeting his solar plexus.<br><br>She stumbled again but she pulled free and without wasting any time, Joslyn lunged herself forward and through the open door, kicking it in passing in&nbsp; hopes of slamming it behind her and blocking the man from following.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>12-11-2010, 00:36:36</strong>
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				Quite. Nine had not been expecting it, could never have dreamt to expect it, though perhaps that was sheer naivety on his behalf. <br><br><em>Homo sapiens</em>. So <em>fragile</em>. With bodies so easily <em>broken</em>. It was one of the severe disadvantages of assuming another form, of usurping someone's husk of a body. You inherited all of their weaknesses, along with their strengths. While Nine certainly was aware how <em>easy</em> it was to dismantle a human -- having done so himself -- he had never experienced it first hand, <em>as a host</em>. As such, the pain was humbling. There was a throbbing in his skull. The sound which escaped him would rumble through Joslyn's entire being even after she slammed the door shut. <br><br>With his hands placed to his head, Nine slumped. He was put out of his wits, yes, as well as physical comfort. The ground rumbles, as if, an earthquake were about to ravage the scape of Seattle. Street signs shook, trees wobbled; loosing leafs which float to the ground serenely. A hiss of stream bursts from a manhole cover. Then, there is sound of a crash; nay, not a crash, a massive impact which sounds like metal crushing in on itself. Behind Nine, just across the street, the homely duplex which housed that nice old woman, groans over, collapsing entirely, as if it were a lone tree in the wood. Just that simple. <em>How?</em> How indeed.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Nine latches a hand to the door handle, slowly drawing himself back up from the crumpled, if not pathetic, heap on the ground Joslyn had so forcefully rendered him into. The body Nine was using, clearly, was in poor shape. At the time, it had been one of the few available. There was a small trickle of red blood oozing from one nostril, which fingers lifted to dab at, experimentally. <br><br>He grabs the handle of the door, turns it. Locked. Frowning, he presses a hand to the flat of the wood, and <em>pushes</em>. It doesn't move. The sound of sirens echo as a fleet of firemen, paramedics, and police rush to the scene across the street. Nine pays little attention, focused on the idea of the door opening, instead. He knocks, cordially, with a set of red knuckles. No answer? <em>How rude.</em> Even as the trucks arrive, firemen, in all of their garb, hopping out and rushing to the building which remains now only as a smoking pile of rubble, Nine pays no attention; having stepped back, to peer upwards at the windows, all with curtains drawn. The ache in his head has grown paramount; the blood from his nose having continued to seep, staining his perfectly pressed shirt. <br><br>A scream breaks the otherwise-tedious sounds of emergency crews working.<br><br>"What the FUCK is that?!"<br><br>The words referring, of course, to the large, heaving mass of bulbous flesh which is slowly emerging from the ruined building, bits of brick and stone rolling off of it as if they were droplets of water. It is unlike anything anyone has ever seen; surely no sort of beast <em>this</em> planet has ever known. With rounded eyes, and large rimmed nostrils at the end of a flattened snout, above a mouth filled with rows of jagged teeth. It is the size of a large equine. It walks on two legs. Its hairless skin covers misshapen bulges of muscle or fat, and looks rubbery to the touch. It is making a low groaning sound that causes the very glass of the emergency vehicles to vibrate.<br><br>Cracks of thunder ripple through the sky. No, not thunder. Bullets, fired towards the creature, who erupts with a roar so massive and grand, it shatters every window within a block’s radius. Shards of glass rain down around Nine, clinking onto the pavement, nicking the weak epidermis of his human shell. <br><br>The panic has turned into an electricity which Nine can <em>hear</em>, buzzing around the crumbled building, around the city’s servants who quiver in shock or awe, or both. Leaving Joslyn’s stoop, he will approach one of them slowly from behind; in their ignorance, too frightened, too stupefied to be concerned with any <em>man’s</em> footsteps. Nine will wrap his human hands around one of their necks; a fireman who struggles, thrashing at first, wildly, like a fish writhing at the end of a hook, clawing with fire-retardant gloves at Nine’s hands. Suddenly, and without warning, Nine falls to the ground in a folded heap of cooling flesh. <em>Dead</em> flesh. The fireman, whom Nine had been strangling, will turn with a pleasant smile -- one that could have mirrored Joslyn's own mere moments ago -- and look towards Joslyn's door.<br><br>The creature, completely unfazed by the hail of bullets -- which seem to have merely <em>bounced</em> off of its hide -- drops to all fours, lumbering out of the pile of debris, barking unearthly sounds towards the poor city defenders; all of whom take flight, diving behind their respective vehicles in sheer terror. <br><br>The creature climbs the stairs, thick strands of mucous dribbling from its gaping maw. It leans its frame against the door, before lifting back up to two legs. With little effort at all, the creature has unceremoniously ripped the door to Joslyn's building from its hinges, as if it were made from rags and paper, and hurled it into the street where it crashes against a police car. The firema--, no, <em>Nine</em>, watches, that cordial smile twisting into one of pure satisfaction.<br><br>It was unfortunate, this series of events. Nine had not wanted to give up his location so quickly, but, his pain had been momentarily misinterpreted as something else. Now, <em>they were coming</em>. They would be here within the hour, if not sooner. By then, that creature -- which the lab had fondly referred to as <em>'Zeta 16'</em> -- will have doubled in size. As a snake who sheds its skin as it slowly ages; so too does the creature who was now busy frenziedly charging the men and women who dutifully serve the city of Seattle, meaning to <em>eat</em> them. The process for Sixteen being just slightly more expedited. Which is why the lab had gone through great pains to feed it nothing. All of the Zetas, in fact, had been fed <em>nothing</em>, needing no nourishment of that sort to live, only, to <em>grow</em>. Why, just ten days ago, Sixteen had been the size of a tennis ball. Of course ten days ago, Sixteen hadn't been of proper size to ingest a <em>human</em>. Growth at this point would be exponentially faster. <br><br>Thusly, the real question in everything remained as such: how would Joslyn Stone react to the very earth shifting beneath her, the sound of buildings falling, of sirens screeching, of bullets spraying, and of the windows of her own house shattering under that horrid, stomach-churning sound from the nether?<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>12-11-2010, 22:02:35</strong>
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				It was one thing to say what you would do should you ever be in the position of being attacked and quite another when faced with the real dangers. Joslyn had never truly felt as if the situation would have presented itself, and even thinking back on it now, it hadn’t. The strange man just didn’t release her arm, hadn’t spoken an intelligent word and just… unnerved her. It was difficult to explain, but Joslyn had <em>felt</em> something more than just a rumble in her chest when their eyes had locked, there had almost been a dull thump in her guts, as it a second heart were vainly trying to remember how to beat.<br><br>But she was safe now, or relatively so, watching the shadow under the door shift and move as the man tried the door. He was still making those strange sounds, still putting pressure on her chest which made her feel sick and a little confused, and when the ground began to shake, Joslyn, at first, assumed that it was all in her head.<br><br>Until the chandelier that hung above the stairs crashed to the floor, sending glass shooting out in every direction as bulbs exploded on impact and colored wiring twisted around the neck of the base like the insides of some beheaded creature. She might have screamed, she might still be screaming, but the roar of the building across the street and the chaos outside the door swallowed it all. It was all the more terrifying to hear it and not understand what was going on, yet despite Joss’ huddled position on the stairs, covered in glass but mostly protected from her wool jacket, she couldn’t find it in herself to look away from the shadow that was trying the door handle and making an effort to breach the barrier.<br><br><em>Did… did he just knock?</em><br><br>Here she was, at the base of the stair well and just a mere ten feet from the door, in the middle of an earth quake, and this mad man was knocking on the door. She felt a little like one of the three little pigs, but this was brick house so doesn’t that mean the end of the story? <em>Out of all the fairy tales out there, Joss, you picked that one to wish to come true? Where's your prince charming?</em><br><br>She couldn’t get out that way, and while heading to the upper floors in an earth quake wasn’t the smartest plan, it couldn’t last much longer, could it? There was also a fire escape on the third floor, she could go out from there and… and maybe make sense of the madness and all of that noise?<br><br>It was difficult to climb to her feet with the world trembling as it was, but she had an almost uncanny knack for balance and managed to scramble up while gripping the rail bolted to the wall. It felt a little like walking on a trampoline while dozens of others were bouncing along in different intervals. Some steps she made little progress, others nearly whipped her off of her feet when the ground wasn’t where she expected it to be. She managed a pull system, using the railing as a guide and tried to keep her cries of fear to a minimum and might have succeeded if she cared enough to listen. Whatever that dull thump in her guts had been it was growing worse, a live thing now that was straining and didn’t know how to relax, thickening and twisting the bile in her guts until she dropped onto her hands and knees on the third floor landing.<br><br>Joslyn vomited; the burning bite of acid ran hot up her throat until it spilled out on the wood floor before her. Vaguely she was thankful that she had yet to eat dinner, as well as the icy prickle that was crawling into the back of her skull, trying to worm its way into her brain. She whimpered, crawling forward before the windows shattered, sending more glass raining down around her huddled form. Hands curled over her head, then gripped at her skull as the pain doubled and then tripled over that until she screamed wordlessly, high and keening until her throat went raw.<br><br>The door was ripped open on the ground level below; despite the violence she was oblivious to it, curling into as small of an object that the woman could manage. Gray was dancing in her vision, dots were weaving about and blurring the railing she was looking at, blotting out the light dying in the open windows. Something in the floors above her cracked, sounding like thunder rolling in the room. Particles of dust settled down around her as a split formed in the ceiling, bowing down towards her. <em>Help…</em> Wordless she cried out for it, incapable of gathering enough air in her lungs with the pain flooding her body as it did. She was halfway between the stairs and the window that offered the fire escape and her freedom
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				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>13-11-2010, 01:16:58</strong>
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				Vague, soft, one leaf swirling in a whirlwind of brilliant and wild foliage, Nine could barely make out the faintest of distress signals...<br><br><em>Help...</em><br><br>His head jerked towards Joslyn's house. Her shell of a house, with windows all broken, and door ripped from its frame. There it was, glaring before him, a hundred beams of invisible light shining from that entrance: <em>confirmation</em>. <br><br>Had she <em>forgotten?</em> It was like an infant, spitting out syllables without reason or rhyme, simply because they enjoyed the sound it made. Someone untrained. A neophyte. Toying with the idea but not actually realizing it. <br><br>The fireman's boots climbed the stairs, heavy thuds echoing one after the other, avoiding the pile of vomit slowly oozing over the edge of a stair with a hint of heavy distaste. He finds here there, huddled, cradling her own head, assaulted by the not just the sounds of Sixteen, but the thoughts of two dozen others, who are nearby, shrouded still in their secrecy, waiting only for the right moment to emerge. <br><br>It is a network. A system of nerves, billions of nerves: a living network. Of thoughts, and feelings, and emotions, which could be tapped into, if you only knew how. With such a network, you could speak to anyone within a comfortable distance who was also part of the network, could feel their joys, their pleasures, too, their pains, their fears. Those who had been taught, could take control of the network, as a <em>driver</em>, so to speak, and could dictate the actions, the thoughts, the feelings, of those they had superior nervous campaign over. Joslyn, a lifetime ago, had been privy to such a position, and Nine knows this now, had heard that tiny chirp, the sharp bit of a nail barely chinking the armor of the system.<br><br>The face is one of a recognizable <em>friend</em>. A civil servant, meant to protect and serve. He is crouched before her, she can see glimpses of yellow, and black; the weathered uniform of a fireman. His eyes are blue, skin licked by the sun to a tan, brown edges of hair sticking out from beneath the fireman's helmet. Around his neck... is a ring of bruises, barely starting to bloom. <br><br>His gloved hand touches her, covering one of her hands with his own, pulling it down, away from her head. He does not speak. Does not say anything. No more horrible, undecipherable sounds piercing the air, resonating in her gut. <br><br>The moment should be played out slowly, as a film, frame by frame between dark and grainy slides, worn and silent. With breaks for words; block letters spilling out the world of the two actors.<br><br><em>Do you understand?</em><br><br>The hand moving back to her face, to rut under her chin, and push it up, forcing her to look him in the eye.<br><br><em>Can't you?</em><br><br>There is, a horrifying, bloody scream which echoes from outside. Sixteen is gorging, on whatever unfortunate soul ended up being too slow. The sound is a low buzzing, like the frequency of an unattended microphone left on. Nine’s fingers grab a hold of her chin, rather harshly. The corners of his mouth tighten. The intensity in his gaze is shocking, loathsome, unsavory. <br><br><em>Worthless girl. Worthless, pathetic human. <strong>Listen to me. Hear me.</strong></em><br><br>Frustration has mounted, Nine releases her, thumping her head back against the wall, and rising to a stand. What Joslyn does not know -- <em>could not know</em> -- is that there is no time. There is no time and Nine is desperate. The men will be come here, and take her away. Nine does not know how to teach her, does not know how they taught her to begin with, knows only that at some point, she had been able to speak their language; and without someone like her, like Josylyn, Nine would not be able to do as perhaps every typical and cliché mockery of a creature not native to Earth as planet should hope for: <em>to go home</em>.<br><br>The circumstances surrounding their presence on Earth even Nine did not know. He and the other <em>'Alphas'</em> had been placed in a state of artificial sleep. It was the <em>lessers</em> who had been put in charge of navigation. When Nine had awoke, he was already in possession of the United States government, locked inside of a controlled chamber, with sensors and wires having been attached to his body; a body which was very different than the human form he inhabited right now. A body which, at this very moment, was carefully hidden and tucked away, guarded by a pair of very diligent <em>Zetas</em> not unlike Sixteen, awaiting the return of <em>his mind</em>. <br><br>Nine can see through Sixteen's eyes. Can see the muscle being torn from a meaty thigh, to be slurped into a waiting cavern of angry teeth. The human is still alive, the sounds he makes are awful. <em>Awful</em>. There are more sirens, they are in the distance. They will be here soon. <br><br>Nine turns back to Joslyn, "Get up." Two grunts, low sounds which vibrate and churn against her eardrums. With one hand he motions to her to rise with a set of fingers, keeping it held out, as if, he is ready to assist her. <br><br><em>Come with me.</em><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>13-11-2010, 19:41:29</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				-Do you understand me?-<br><br>Joslyn hadn’t been completely aware of the man until he had spoken. Even if she had been looking up at him in her fetal position, even if she had whimpered with what might have been mistaken for relief at the sight of that familiar uniform. The woman was split in two, lost in twisting vertigo of a dream that was bleeding into reality. There was such a heavy weight of displacement and trepidation that she thought, maybe, she had already died. That she was slipping away from the shell of her body and this man that had arrived to save her had arrived a little too late.<br><br><em>Don’t let the building collapse on you… Oh god, my head!</em><br><br>Joss closed her eyes, only to have her chin tucked up in order to look at the face set before her. Her two-toned eyes were watery, squinting in pain as her pupils began to dilate even in the absence of light, pulsing in time to that awakening ache in her guts. -Can’t you?-<br><br>The scream made Joss react, whimpering and curling her hand back over her head, trying to block it out, But even as she covered her ears it continued to stream into her head and no amount of muffling stopped it. Nine grabbed her chin, he turned her head as he glared down at her with such revulsion the woman’s heart stopped. What had earned her such distaste? What had she done to make the man hate her so?<br><br>-Wothless girl. Worthless, pathetic human. <strong>Listen to me. Hear me.</strong>-<br><br>“S-Stop! Stop yelling!” When Joss was released she felt the crack of her skull against the wall, an impact that sent pale static buzzing through her. It consumed her vision and swallowed her for a long moment, until she resurfaced again with a bodily convulsion that ended with her screaming loud, wordlessly, frightened, in every channel and at every frequency someone like her could. It was draining, it was a relief and it eased some of that pain but nearly knocked her onto her back once the static began to turn into white-noise.<br><br>Tears streamed quickly down her face while Nine and his necklace of bruises stood, grunting those two sounds. It was here when Joss made the realization that the ‘noise’ she was listening to now, that static and all the buzzing and whining wasn’t playing in through her ears. It was all building like a pressure in her <em>head</em> like spawn of her thoughts an inner dialog.<br><br>The man seemed to have an idea. This woman was oblivious. She was acting out of confused desperation, unable to form a coherent thought that wasn’t swallowed by all of that buzzing. A hand lifted, reaching for his fingers to seek the help that might be offered there, to aid her in lifting to her feet and perhaps sweep her off of them to make progress outside. There was another groan in the floor boards above, a heavy shudder and the sound of screaming wood that cracked and popped as if being tossed in a fire.<br><br>The left corner of the ceiling dropped about two feet, threatening to collapse completely. <em>Help... Get us out of here!</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>13-11-2010, 20:30:59</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				It is interesting learning how to project yourself into a body which has so many severe physical disadvantages than your normal form. Nine, for instance, can not comprehend the dire need to escape a collapsing roof. Were Nine actually <em>Nine</em>, he would stand amongst the falling rubble as if it were a pleasant afternoon shower. Such is the benefit of having body armor to such a fantastic degree. Now, of course, there would be significant after-effects to weather if he were to let the weight of a roof crush him. As it were, this body, may not survive.<br><br>So even though he hears her warning, clear as day, it is not the <em>warning</em> he is concerned with. Rather, that she seems to have <em>heard</em> him, or, at the very least, is communicating <em>with</em> him, rather than <em>at</em> him. It is not merely a cry for help, but, a cry for help along with a demand to vacate the premises. Nine is bewildered. Not seconds ago she could do nothing but languish in the confusion, now she holds her hand to his, slipping digits into that padded glove, and beseeches him through <em>her mind</em>. <br><br>Nine is pleased. Yes, <em>yes!</em> This, is what he was after. This is what he had traveled all this way to get. On his face cracks a smile, sincere, and his hand has closed over hers. <br><br><em>'You</em> can <em>understand?'</em><br><br>She won't have time to respond. The house lurches, groaning under the strain of tunnels buried beneath our very feet. Soon, this entire street will be no more. The foundation is shaking beneath them. Nine will pull Joslyn to her feet, but sweet her off of, he shall not. Instead, he will heave her as a sack of vegetables over one of his shoulders, turn, and, with great haste, shall make his way back down the stairs which rattle horribly. Taking <em>much</em> care, he will avoid the puddle of vomit and emerge from the hole where once-upon-a-time there had been <em>a door</em>.<br><br>Sixteen has finished supping. Bones and all; what remains of the unlucky soul now is but a bloody smear on the pavement. The beast is crawling back into the rubble from whence he came; thought his skin is starting to tear already, the bulges of matter pushing forth as he grows. He will leave behind translucent bits of thin plastic-like shedding. <br><br>The sirens are nearly here, but, Nine will pay no attention to them. He will, instead -- with Joslyn in tow -- walk, in the opposite direction. Joslyn, from her rather awkward vantage point, will be able to see the police vehicles come over a rise, only, to disappear. Where to? Into a ginormous sink hole which erupts and emerges with a massive crunching of asphalt and collapsing of earth. <br><br>"Can you understand this? My speech?" Still, a rather unpleasant mixture of grunts and sounds. That, Nine imagines, may take some getting used to. Eventually, the lab scientists were able to discern the sounds of their mouths, but still not their minds. Ironically, for Josyln, it would be the reverse.<br><br><em>'Were you faking it? Did you know all along? Do you know what is happening now?'</em><br><br>As series of questions, dotted out in her head, line Morse code. Dot, dot, dash. Still, she will be fettered by the confusion of every other voice, trying to figure out how to block them out is not something Nine will be able to help her with. He was born with the ability, not, learned. <br><br>The earth still rumbles underfoot. One of Nine's arms is curled around Joslyn's thighs, keeping her propped over his shoulder. There is a massive pop and hiss as a gas line ruptures behind, where the duplex, and now Joslyn's own house, is slowly shifting underground, being swallowed, as if, it never existed to begin with. Nine still has no concern, no haste to his gait. He knows where the tunnels are, where it is safe. For now.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 18:21:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He was lucky she had previously vomited, as well as the fact that there was nothing more inside her stomach, otherwise that sick might be trailing down his back by now. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for her to be in, but Joslyn couldn’t yet walk herself and nor could she scramble out of the building before it would collapse, had she been left to her own devices. Everything rattled, the fireman carrying her was… impossibly so, somehow related to that curious man at her doorstep. It was something about the gaze in her eyes that told her this, a heavy weight that seemed iconic. That strange ring of bruises had something to do with it as well.<br><br>Why wasn’t she panicking? Why wasn’t she screaming in terror like everyone else was? Light was fading, the sun was sinking below the ocean while street lights popped and exploded and transformers hissed as they sprayed out sparks in every direction. Buildings collapsed, streets sank and those beautiful trees that line her street were sprayed with crimson or crushed beneath stone.<br><br>So why wasn’t she screaming? Why was Joslyn draped over this man’s shoulder, who was walking away like some hero in a bad action movie? And what was going on in her head?<br><br>The buzzing was still there, still angry and frantic but somehow she felt a little less helpless. Joss made a weak attempt at a struggle, bracing her palms against his back as she shifted her weight but remained draped like a scarf over his shoulders. She couldn’t walk yet anyways… “Y-Yes… I can understand.” Her ears popped, she felt the slightest pressure at the front of her forehead before his voice flooded through her ear again, loud enough to mute out any thoughts she may have made. But there were others there too now, so many they were overwhelming, making her small frame shudder and sag as she gripped her head, trying to keep the bones of her skull in place.<br><br>“What… what’s going on? What’s happening?” He was far too calm not to know anything. “Please… I-I don’t understand…” Joss stopped, unable to say it allowed. It sounded insane, after all, but maybe she had a concussion? Maybe the artist hit her head harder than she thought and was only imagining the voices lingering there? But what about the buzzing, or that heavy weight on her chest? They were both present still, but a soft echo of the intensity they once were. A deep, hollow ache. “I think I hit my head… Something feels wrong.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 00:30:21</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Perhaps, even Nine did not know the reason for it. The <em>why</em> of it. Only, that it was something which had somehow been decided upon; something which had been established as prudent. A plan, their only plan. Their only hope. A last ditch effort. How else could they possibly escape? Back to a land where they were no longer <em>things</em>, <em>monsters</em> to be prodded at, experimented on, studied and pondered from behind a glass shell or under a microscope.<br><br>He stops walking. <br><br>Slowly, he sets her back down on her feet, sliding her body down the front of his until she finds her footing, one of his hands wedged under one of her armpits, holding her up, if she needs it. He can <em>feel</em> the tumult inside of her, odd and sickening, like vertigo. Of course to him it is faint, a whisper from afar, an echo bounced off of dozens of cavern walls; fragmented and lost. She has broken through, but only barely. She is hanging on by a thin thread of.. what?.. <em>sheer will?</em> No... not that. Something else. Something tangible. <br><br>Nine turns back, sweeping eyes across a landscape which seconds ago had been <em>alive</em>. Now it was leveled. In an instant. Plumes of black and gray smoke are billowing upwards from dozens of severed electrical lines and fires which have broken out. A bomb has fallen, for surely, that is the only thing which could have caused such devastation in such short order. Isn’t it?<br><br>"We're making a mess." <em>That's</em> what's going on. <em>That's</em> what's happening. He vocalizes it. Maybe he isn't even speaking to her but to himself. Though the irony is not lost on him. <em>There is no fucking internal dialogue.</em> Thoughts are words and vice versa. <br><br><em>'Nothing is wrong.'</em><br><br>Nine shifts his gaze back to her, his hands move to cup her face, unaware of whatever superficial and intimate connotations such proximity would hold. How <em>uncomfortable</em> it may be, for her. Though it's by no means a <em>tender</em> motion. Her head is held firmly between padded-palms, and one of his thumbs is pressed directly between her eyes. <br><br><em>’You’re feeling me.’</em> He takes in a breath, tilting his head almost imperceptibly. <em>’—not, hearing me. Feeling me.’</em> Indeed it was no exaggeration, it was a biological sensation most closely related to touch, as it turns out. Once Joslyn learned how to filter it – <em>if</em> she learned – it would eventually subside; morph from a horrid, nauseating churn into a soft, graceful purr. The swish of whispered cloth. Water rolling over skin. The flicker of a flame’s kiss.<br><br><em>'We need one thing from you, and this will end.'</em> One thing. One thing which encompasses everything. The loss of her house, of life as she knows it; for surely, things would never be the same again. Not after this. <br><br><em>'You were a child, when you learned this.'</em> As if <em>"this"</em> as a word, is enough to properly describe what it is Joslyn is suffering; the magnitude of experiencing another life, let alone, dozens of others. <em>This.</em><br><br><em>'The rest of you, who could do this, are now dead.'</em> The entire time, Nine stares at her, unwavering in a gaze which could come off as nothing else but disturbing. Of course, human mannerisms are not something Nine cared to pull off despite having observed them throughout the years. Being an accurate mimic was not something he was all too concerned with; at least, not right now. <br><br><em>'We need you to help us. We need you to guide us.'</em> This, is where Nine will finally release her, reaching into one of the slits of the fireman's jacket and pulling out those same papers he'd arrived with, and plucked from his previous host. He folds back a few pages, pointing finally, to a drawn diagram of some sort of ship. A ship one might see in a comic book, or a science fiction movie. An <em>extra terrestrial vehicle</em>. His finger lingers on it. <em>'To this.'</em> He pushes the papers in her direction, urging her to take a look for herself. Naturally, the papers will do a better job of explaining things to her than Nine did. To Nine it comes as very cumbersome that he should have to explain anything at all. Why does she not remember? The experimental memory alteration was, as it were, one of the bits in the documents which had been blotted out, <em>erased</em>, recovered only in a database which privileged few had access to. The good blonde doctor whom Nine had left behind had, alas, not been one of them.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>22-11-2010, 10:35:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Joslyn was lowered to her feet with something that might have, at one point or another, resembled care. She found her knees unsteady and wavered where she stood, clutching Nine’s borrowed forearm as another sickening wash poured over her body like a warm rain. She swallowed, daring to lift one hand to clutch her skull before blinking slowly, almost lazily at the alien. It his hand hadn’t been there, holding her armpit, she would have slumped to her knees then and there and without a struggle to catch herself.<br><br>She felt sick, she felt… strange. But there was no puking up what bile lingered as her dinner, she only swayed and breathed audibly through her parted lips, struggling to focus and think through the pain that was pulsing through her skull like a second heart. “Wh-What… What’s happening?” There was panic in her voice, the confused desperation of a woman questioning her sanity. Here her world, the city of Seattle was crumbling behind her as if the buildings were being sucked down into the underground. Smoke filled the air and illuminated the darkening sky, people screamed, gun reports echoed in the chaos and through it all she felt sharp, agonizing flares of pain that made her twitch or gasp, clutching the man who then cupped her face, whispering once again inside her mind.<br><br><em>You’re feeling me.</em> All of the screaming, the static and the sickening vertigo stopped as he spoke. He still made her chest vibrate as if he were speaking too low for her ears to pick up the sounds, but it was considerably better than what she had been experiencing before.<br><br>He made it sound so simple. Just one thing? Joss watched him with wide eyes that watered from the smoke in the air and the fear in her heart, clutching at him as if he were her savior, even if she kept distance between their bodies as if she were afraid to touch him any more than that. What was this one thing? What could she possibly have or know that would make all of this madness stop? She was beyond trying to make sense of anything. There was violence in the streets and the city she loved was falling in ruins around them. Yet somehow she felt isolated and separated from it all, as if what was happening was nothing more than a backdrop to some movie set that Joss couldn’t see.<br><br>Joss whimpered, her lower lip trembling as she tried to pull back, but found herself unable to pull her head free of his hands. Something was swelling in her, an emotion she that didn’t belong to the human. She watched him, pleaded with her eyes for help or guidance, before the strongest sensation of homesickness struck her. The woman went rigid as if in pain, pressing against him as her eyes widened, before he was sobbing and her legs went out from under her, causing her to either hang in his grip or drop to her knees before him.<br><br>He let go and she fell, catching herself with her hands on the ground, but having no use of her knees. Joss clutched her heart and felt her body wrack with a sudden sob, a sound she tried to muffle with one fist that pressed tightly against her palm. He handed papers to her, pointed at a drawing that was blurred behind the falling tears which streaked down her face. With her hands trembling like the last leaves of the year in a strong wind, Joss took the papers and tried to make sense of them, but despite her best efforts, she could only make out a few blurry shapes and details.<br><br><em>How can I help? I don’t understand what’s going on. Why is my heart breaking? Why is my body cringing? Why do I feel so sick with anger and rage?</em><br><br>Joss listened to the sound of her tears splattering on the pages, struggling to overcome the anxiety that burned through her soul. She didn’t feel like herself, yet there was undoubtedly something familiar about it as well.<br><br>“Make it stop… please. Please…”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>23-11-2010, 23:58:34</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Make it stop? <em>Make it stop?</em> Before, it had been an issue of violently ripping wires and plugs from flesh and nerves, cutting Joslyn off at the same time as the Alpha she'd been linked with. Without the mental link, the Alpha had slowly withered and eventually perished. Which had come as a great revelation to the scientists. The alien race they had come across (which had been, for documentation purposes, been referred to as <em>'WFX'</em> [Washington Forest-X], due to their crash site having been right in the middle of the state park) had not needed any sort of <em>food</em> or <em>water</em> or substance at all for sustenance. They were self-providing, it had seemed. Until, their mental link had been severed. As it turned out, that link <em>was</em> their "food". <br><br>That is when the real experimentation had begun. <br><br>Alphas were lobotomized and vivisected. The large, thick pulsing cords which served as their lifeline had been cut, redirected, reformed, harvested, and studied intensely. The mortality rate of these creatures whose skin could not be pierced by human weaponry – who had in turn been seemingly indestructible – suddenly became laughably high. As it were, Nine was only one of six Alphas left, from what had started out as an entire crew of WFX.<br><br>The idea was to attempt to surgically insert the cords into humans, fasten them to human nerve endings, to try and replicate the creature’s primary communication method. Naturally the process was an ultimate failure, and those unlucky few who had volunteered (or been unluckily selected) for the process had ended up going completely mad. That was when machines were introduced. They were able to superimpose mechanical nerve endings onto what should have been flesh and blood. The result was nothing short of amazing. The data began flowing off the charts faster than anyone could analyze it. The discovery that certain few humans had in them a gene mutation which miraculously allowed communication with the sentient beings of WFX had been hugely celebrated.<br><br>It was a gene Joslyn Stone had possessed. <em>Still</em> possess.<br><br>It's all in the papers. How can Nine relay any of it to her? In truth it is not something he himself even fully understands. All he knows is that this place, these people, <em>Joslyn's</em> people, are slowly killing him and the rest of his brethren off. Soon, they will all be dead.<br><br>He watches with acute apathy as Joslyn falls into a sobbing, heaving mass of spittle and confusion. She, again, implores him to <em>make it stop</em>. As if it is a switch one can toggle. Can you turn off thoughts? Can you turn off feelings? Emotions? She is crumbling under the weight of another world. One which she never should have been privy to. Now that she does... <em>they need her</em>. Whether Nine likes it or not, whether Joslyn likes it or not. And the creatures who comprised the WFX experiments, aren't the only ones.<br><br>Nine watches the lights flash in the distance. Sixteen and the rest have all gone underground. They have left in their wake a ruined shell of what had begun as a neighborhood. The heat from the fires spreads and swelters as the flames do. The sound of a helicopter, with its blades beating through the air, can be heard.<br><br>If she were something else, something different, something <em>stupid</em>, she wouldn’t be able to block it out, block <em>them</em> out. The issue which comes as highly worrisome to Nine is the fact that she decidedly.. isn't. She’s merely, unlearned. The alternative; them blocking her out, was something dangerous. They needed her brain. The information her brain contained. And to sever the link with her, meant they took the risk of never retrieving it. Nine’s form rises and falls with a breath.<br><br>Silence.<br><br>Suddenly, there is silence. Nine and the others have disappeared; closed themselves off. He steps forward, away from her, his form illuminated in the darkening skyline which is ablaze with scores of reds and yellows, brilliant and destructive acid splashed on the canvas of sky. The city will smolder, before they are done.<br><br>Before Joslyn will even be able to react to the sudden change, the <em>anti-chaos</em>, she'll feel a hand cover her mouth, scent and taste the caustic tang of strong alcohol, and then... blackness.<br><br>* * * <br><br>When she awakens – God only knows how much longer later – her locale will be entirely different. A cell. Cold cement flooring (which she will find herself laying against), wooden bench, thick vertical metal bars. <br><br>She'll hear voices; conversing, laughter, casual talk. In her periphery, she'll see two sets of feet, clad in black polished shoes, dark blue slacks. They're talking about the weather, their children, their pension. Anything except about something that matters. About the explosions in the sky, the opening of the earth. <br><br>There's a camera in the corner of her cell. A red light slowly blinks: on, off, on, off, on, off.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>29-11-2010, 09:33:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The very first memory that Joslyn had in life confused her; an event often depicted in her paintings, though never quite as simply as the event. After all, a girl sitting on a small hill of grass hold a red ball and staring at the setting sun was hardly an eye catching painting. But Joslyn remembered it well. She could smell the grass, she could feel the cool breeze of the late evening air, she remembered the texture of that child’s play toy resting in her hands as she sat in her blue and white dress, looking down at new shoes and new socks –the sort that stopped at the ankle and had little lace around the hem. The sky was a vibrant orange that seemed to draw out the color of everything else around her, until the strangest confusion rolled into her mind.<br><br>Who was she? What was she doing there, sitting all alone on that hill? She remembered looking down at her hands, seeing the veins in the grass and the way they left ghostly imprints on her skin where she sat. For a moment her entire world existed of that hill and the setting sun, and she remembered clutching that ball as if it were the only possession she had. She was frightened, alone; she knew something was wrong…<br><br>But then Joslyn heard a woman’s voice call out to her. Eyes, gray and lavender, turned to look over her shoulder to note a beautiful woman and a handsome man standing there before the white house and a garden full of gardenias. They were smiling, beckoning her towards them, and the child moved because she didn’t want to be alone. They were bigger than her, they seemed pleased to see her and the woman stretched out an arm as if beckoning the child to take it. Joslyn stood; she made her timid way down that hill with the ball in both hands and stopped before the couple. After a moment of silence, she offered the ball to the man, who took it with a fond smile and a hand on her head. The woman took Joslyn’s small hand and led her towards the house…<br><br>That was the day life began. It wasn’t a bad memory, but when it surfaced there was always a lingering, bitter taste that stayed behind. Something wasn’t right; something was too picturesque about that day. There was something that horrified her, but she couldn’t remember.<br><br><br><br>The first signs of life that showed were the subtle twitching of her fingers and the steadily deepening of her breath. For several, long moments this was the first day of her life, once again leaving the woman to realize that she was indeed aware of her surroundings, not recognizing anything around her. She knew that the bench was indeed a bench and was used for sitting, but the location, the day, the hour, it all eluded her. She didn’t understand where she was at, and the cold wash of fear that she had felt before the rag covered her mouth and nose, returned. It was stale, and for several more long moments Joss didn’t understand the meaning, before reality dawned on her like a brick to the face.<br><br>She sat up and was instantly dizzy, sending the world swimming in a nauseous twist that had her gasp and lurch to one side as if the world has suddenly leapt up to meet her. There was a camera there, blinking at her and recording, one that she blinked numbly at before Joss squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her head. The lingering effects of the drug included dry mouth, nausea, a headache that pulsed in time with her heart and a sluggish return to movement as her body continued to burn through the last of the effects.<br><br>Where was she? Looking around didn’t tell her much, she didn’t have a clear view outside of the cells. Was she in the prison? And if so… what for? She wasn’t a drinker, so alcohol wasn’t a possibility. Joss sat up again, but slower now, and looked around with growing agitation and panic. Fear was starting to show. “H-Hello?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Second Stage Turbine Blade [rabbiteye &amp; Yggdrasil]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>rabbiteye</strong> on <strong>03-12-2010, 19:02:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It would begin: the onslaught of endless accusations and questions. Adamant assertions. Sometimes angry, sometimes kind, the good-cop, bad-cop ploy or manipulation. The only thing they wanted, which was repeated over and over, remained the same:<br><br><em>"Where are they?"</em><br><br>Any denial of knowing what was going on would be swiftly dismissed. They don't <em>care</em> that memory is foggy, hard to describe, non-existent, <em>whatever</em>. Their irritation mounted. Then came the blankets of guilt.<br><br><em>"If we don't find them, what happened to your neighborhood could happen all over the country, the <strong>world</strong>."</em> <br><br>Their imminent frustration culminated in the raging tirade over one of the <em>city's finest</em> who had seemingly become so traumatized by what he had seen that he had managed to become deaf, dumb, <em>and</em> mute; unable to communicate even in the slightest.<br><br>After a slew of different men came in to question Joslyn without result, she would finally be left alone. It was an interrogation room, no frills. A table with a chair on either side, a large double-sided mirror covering one wall. Another camera in the corner with a taunting red light blinking. She would be left alone, for a length of time that stretched far enough that it would be impossible to tell how long it had actually been. Hours.<br><br>Eventually, the door handle would turn. In would walk a man, tall in stature, lean in frame. Well groomed, trim hair, a pair of glasses set on the wide bridge of his nose. The door would click shut behind him. In his hands, he carries a large manila folder, practically overflowing with documents. He would offer her a thin smile.<br><br>"Good afternoon Mrs.-- I'm sorry.. <em>Ms.</em> Stone." He pulls out a chair, its metal feet skid across the floor with a groan, and then he takes a seat, setting the folder down on the table before him. He crosses his legs, setting palm and fist atop one knee, and looking at her. Just, <em>looking</em>. Or rather, <em>studying</em>. This man sitting before her, knows Joslyn very well. <em>Very</em> well. Intimately, even. He had been one of the men who'd researched her brain when she was a young child. His hair now is peppered with silvery gray, there are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, his mouth. He is aged and she is a woman. <br><br>"I take it you don't recognize me, mm?" His brow furrows, as he leans forward, to open the folder, but keeps his eyes on her, to gauge her reaction. No. No familiarity. She is confused, he can see as much.<br><br>"I've told them you'll have no memory of what happened to you. My apologies for the verbal treatment, as you can see not everyone has such.. finesse. This matter, <em>these matters</em>, have grown increasingly disturbing. Anyhow.. I will not keep you further in the dark. What I am about to tell you is going to seem far-fetched, I assure you it is the truth."<br><br>The man, without even introducing himself to her, will go on to explain everything. <em>Everything</em>. From the genetic experiments performed on her as a child, to the arrival of an alien race. He would back everything up with document after document produced from his folder, calmly handing her sheet after sheet for her to observe herself. Highly classified information which was being leaked to her. And why? The man continues, informing Joslyn of -- what he described as -- a violent escape of the aliens, culminating in the death of many men and the irreparable destruction of countless years worth of data and research. The aliens now were free, and capable of performing incredible catastrophes as could be verified by what had happened near Joslyn's own place of residence.<br><br>Why was she here?<br><br>"We need you to track them down for us. These creatures need to be contained before there is an uprising which could result in untold amounts of innocent lives lost, not to mention the damages to property. It's... a very elevated threat, and it must be quashed." <br><br>The man continues to explain how the creatures had come looking for her, in an attempt to destroy her for being a human capable of communication which the creatures had found very dangerous. Yes, indeed, they were going to kill her, her family, her pets, and everyone she had every spoken to or looked at, just because they <em>could</em>. They were vile, aggressive creatures who needed to be feared and at once put to a halt. He spared no detail nor exaggeration, stressing the point that the aliens were a very large threat, and it was essential to the very continuation of the human race that they be suppressed. <br><br>"We would like your cooperation, and as such, we need your consent to perform brain surgery. We will need you to read and sign this waver. I assure you it's.. quite safe. Very routine." Another sheet of paper is passed across the table to her. At the bottom is a place for her signature. They plan to lobotomize her, plain and simple. She is the only known link to have survived. They have no time, and they need to access the 'network' the only sure way they know how: surgically.<br><br>The truth is, they are going to perform the surgery with or without her consent. The signature is just a formality, a gesture of manner and grace. The man's fingers are laced together, resting atop the table, and he stares at her, expectantly, waiting for a reply which may never come.<br><br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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