The room was hot and sweat slicked Marcus' naked chest and head. He was only peripherally aware of it, though, as the dream seemed to pull his physical sensations into his mind, to add them to the experience.
The tunnels were stifling, overhead pipes running the lengths radiating heat like an oven. The walls kept flickering. Dank dark rock and brick lined tunnels- black liquid gleaming from a light that came from everywhere and nowhere- that might be sewers in some movie, the overwhelming smell of detritus and decay and filth filling his mouth, roiling his stomach.
And suddenly the walls were clean cinder block, narrow spaced with lights hanging from the ceilings in between the pipes, the floor only slightly dusty, security cameras hanging at junctions.
The smell is...different. Not clean. Not filthy. But something dark is down here. Evil.
And he knows this place, looks up, can imagine looking past the ceiling to the farmhouse above, isolated and alone. The Butcher.
Malik pulls on the Force until his skin prickles, heightening his senses, sends out webs of compressed air and spirit to bring every whisper, every scrape, every prayer for mercy to him.
And the slow burn of the righteous fire in his heart grows, the hunger for judgement, the craving. Oh how he longs to hear the screams, deep throated and lusty with despair and with hope. And his heart begins to race and a slow tight smile spreads across his face, bearing his sharpened teeth, shadows of dark flame wreathing his face, a mist of black smoke emanating around him.
He is hungry. He feels that carnal desire, that burning need in him, in his heart and in his groin, his deft fingers on a lover's body, teasing her and hinting at pleasure divine, building the anticipation, stoking the fire, log by log, each erogenous zone gently touched and caressed, fingers and lips and tongue.
He is hungry. He feels the carnal desire, that burning need in him, in his heart and in his hands, the deft and careful teasing of this butcher, this evil incarnate, this emptiness walking in human flesh. Judgement has come to him, the very face of God. Darth Malik. Before the day ends, he will know....the man will know everything from the inside out. Every victim of his will have their say.
He stalks the halls- only they have changed. A door appears and he carefully opens it....
To find Ms. Swerlin's living room, filled with stuffed flowery couches they were never to sit on, the cloyingly sweet smell of body spray and perfume a cloud hovering over the cheap porcelain nicknacks covering the white doilies, the massive wooden framed television on the floor, ugly light blue wall paper mercifully hidden by ugly paints in ornamented frames or with cheap thick garish curtains.
And there, standing in the corner weeping silently- quietly because Jesus is on TV- while Andre's choking cries can be heard from upstairs, is little Marcus. I'm sorry Andre. It's my fault, my fault, Marcus is blubbering, sniffing and wiping away the snot running down his nose, the stain of juice on the ugly pink carpets suddenly appearing.
Darth Malik freezes, all control dripping away. Darth Malik...when he had just been an imaginary friend, the one Marcus spoke to when he was scared, whispered to in his head when he needed to go away. The friend who only listened. Who couldn't help him.
"I am here," Malik whispers to Marcus. Marcus doesn't turn and Malik walks closer, eyeing the stairs, waiting. "I am here, Marcus." Marcus turns and his eyes widen in fear at the terrifying image. Malik sees a child. He hears a child. He lays a hand of black flame on his shoulder. "She will pay."
The look of hopelessness fires Malik's heart and the fires surround him and he turns. The hunger of before is back again, stronger than it has ever been. The smile on his face is feral, his eyes furnaces ready to burn the universe to the ground.
At his first step, he is on Ms. Swerlin's porch and she is bringing him milk and cookies, just as she had when he was little, when he and Andre first came to them. Just before she taught them the rules of her house. "Oh Marcus, we are so proud of you," she is saying. He remembers this, now, remembers this and his friendly smile widens. This happened. Oh yes but it did.
She did like the bathroom, the tub in particular. His lungs would burn as they choked down water. Andre had tried to tell him, that first night, his eyes filled with terror and tears. But there's no way you can know without experiencing it for yourself. It was the next day seven year old Marcus had learned.
And now here she was, fawning over his attending University. It had been years since he'd seen her. Farian had been the catalyst, showing him what he could do with his power, with the gift of the Force.
Marcus embraced the memory, every gurgle, every scream, every cough and puke. During those times, the panic and terror covering her face, he was gentle, almost loving with his hands and a towel, soothing her, helping her to calm down, to ease her fear. His voice was soft and comforting. "There there, Ms. Swerlin. It's ok," until finally he saw the blossom of hope. It was over. This boy had had his revenge and now it's over. And she'd try to say sorry...
And Malik would smile and start over again.
Marcus awoke as he orgasmed, feeling the cold on his sweat covered body. Carefully he rose, heedless, and went to the balcony door and slid it open, walked out into the cool night air, let it wash him clean. The rage clouding his mind seemed to drift off him, dissipating with the cool until it was finally gone.
He looked at the clock. Only 2 am. He had been asleep for just a few hours. It had seemed like days. Looking down, he grimaced. This had never happened before. He had dreamed of his hunts before. But they had never been like this. Had never been this real. It was unsettling. His mind swirled and he reached out to Malik. Nothing. He looked up into the black vault overhead, felt the full expanse of the universe on top of him. He very nearly seized the Force but....no. He was feeling too much. He didn't want more.
Anger and betrayal. Fear and humiliation. Rage and peace. Emptiness. Quiet. All of them swirling through him.
It was unsettling.
He left the balcony door open as he went back inside. The security system would keep out any intruders. Cleaning himself up and changing, he took a drink of cool water and then sat cross-legged on his floor to meditate. It had been a long time since he had meditated for peace. For a quiet mind as an escape.
Gradually his emotions subsided to a natural ebb and flow, ocean waves gently lapping at the shore. He was tired. He got back into his bed, the sheets cold and soaked with sweat, and drifted off.
Bad press was one thing Yun tried to avoid. A cop having access to something they shouldn't usually resulted in the cops accidental death, or an early retirement - which ever was most beneficial to the cause.
There was a secret cult like organization that just as many if not more connections and maybe they could work together. But really wasn't going to work with a low ranking agent who was only interested in one boy. The meeting had been fruitful but not what she was looking for. She kept that feeler out hoping to find something they'd be interested in.
Today's meeting was a lot less off the books. She'd been called into Vaia Plus by the esteemed Dr. Flynn on a potential security breech. They wanted to work with the cops on this, but he'd asked for her by name, which was strange. She wasn't a beat cop - this was highly irregular.
In her business suit and badge on display Yun waited with her partner. He wasn't on the take, and he wasn't part of the syndicate, but he was easily manipulated - a young boy in comparison. Yun flitted through young boys as partners - she barely knew their names. If they didn't result in much there was an easy fix - she was known to be a cougar by her fellow officers - it was playful, but they were right and wrong in so many ways.
But her and the boy waited. He danced from foot to foot as he shifted his weight. "Stand still." She commanded and he stood straighter - good little boy she smiled. Fear was a wonderful tool. But they waited - she had better things to do than wait here she growled under her breath. This was taking too long.
Moving out was probably the easiest thing he'd done in ages. Ana was right. And he'd told her he'd sign whatever he needed to. His father had Cruz. He would be happy and maybe he'd disown Dorian.
And in those lost thoughts Dorian removed his assets for any account his father knew about. It wasn't hidden from Ana, but his father wasn't going to take what he'd given him already. It was his money now, it had been for some time. Jivana did not add to his riches. He had long since given all shares to Cruz. Along with the house in Madrid, and now this one.
A humble apartment - though it was hardly humble if he were to look at it through Nox's eyes. He knew that. And no matter how many times Dorian thought about his decisions he would not change a single one of them. His family came first - always. Ana and Christian were family - Cruz was his son. Nox was nothing but a man he hired, though he felt for the boy. But even the look on his face didn't mean anything in comparison to his family's life. It was worth the risk. He'd gambled on more without knowing and lost it all.
Dorian didn't think he'd ever get any of it back. How their loyalty had shifted to the boy so quickly was not something Dorian thought possible. He was just a kid. And he still needed that kid.
Nox refused to answer the texts. He'd received them, he was sure of that. But there was no answer. The final text lead him to tell Nox why he needed to talk to him. If anything the boy was Atharim to the core. He'd come now, and he'd answered.
So with Nox coming, Dorian met at a coffee shop just a few blocks from Domovoi, and he invited Ivan and Lih as well. Nox wouldn't work with him. But he might with these two. And he desperately needed Nox in the tunnels.
[[ @"Ivan Sarkozy" and @"Lih" - this is for when Lih gets back so Ivan can finish what he's doing and when Lih gets back we can move this along - no rush at all here - just setting up ]]
The meetings seemed to go on forever. In between, it always took a moment for him to shift gears into whatever he needed to be. Lawyers and judges and advocates, he went into policy mode, thinking about tight legislation and their ramifications. Application specialists, it was contemplating the future roles and careers in the CCD. Curriculum, research and training. Not to mention all those applicants who needed to be vetted and categorized, their abilities and skills and gifts studied and understood.
Soon, he'd be meeting with Leonid and Alexandrova regarding shaping the public's view of channelers. A Captain Drayson would be coming by too, to begin the process of enfolding Domovoi into the Consulate and expanding it.
Marcus had some thoughts on that and on field readiness for their members. Though now a Rod, Sanjay had not been deployed yet. Any channelers in Domovoi would need field training and he'd be crucial to setting up the training parameters if not teaching the first few himself. Marcus would have to eventually find someone to oversee that, though.
And then there were small things. A message from Natalie Gray peaked his interest. He couldn't help the smile that formed.
As it happened, he liked her. He studied her work in the app. Not a scientist or engineer, she nevertheless had a flair for exploring and working off hunches. And while he hoped her explanations and testing could become more rigorous, the work she was doing was good. She was in truth an artist, driven by instinct and feeling.
Some in the STEM fields discounted that as a valid approach. And perhaps in the very end, they were right. The foundations had to be solid. In the end. But, he knew better. Srinivasa Ramanujan was one such artist, exploring and discovering mathematical islands and continents, spelunking caves and ascending mountains, all based on instinct. He claimed his family's patron goddess inspired him. And while Hardy tried to force him to adhere to rigor, Ramanujan's artistic whimsy was still more often right than wrong. There were now entire fields based soley on deciphering and understanding his work, as if he had peeked into the mind of god and had seen too much.
Maybe she wasn't a Ramanujan, but she was an artist. And her work hinted at promise. And now she needed a favor. Sometimes he marvelled at the universe. As if the Force were making things work out for him.
Of course he knew that was mere confirmation bias. How many threads had he tied, how many connections? He couldn't begin to know. Clearly, some of them would bear fruit. The old story. "Oh my god, I was just thinking about you when you called!" And yet, how many times had you thought about someone who hadn't? The human brain- that most exquisite of pattern finding objects in the universe; a device that saw faces in clouds and Jesus in a water stain- only noticed and stored recollection when the pattern matched, reinforcing an existing belief. Confirmation bias.
So probably not the Force. Just a single seed coming to fruition. And yet how wonderful it was. Not only helping a Northbrook Gray- and banking a favor, a lever, should he need it- but also helping one of the Rods. He remembered Carpenter. Providing asylum to his family...well, if he had the measure of the man- and he knew he did- that would not be forgotten.
Neither would Vellas fail to take note. Marcus almost smiled at his imagined irritation. Why Marcus and not himself? Sanjay was already his man. The others would not fail to see that Marcus was the one to go to for sensitive issues- or for pressing ones.
All for something that was quite easy for him to perform. Indeed, the request was made and approved within the hour. Answering her other question took a bit more time. Dr. Weston had been hard to catch, but he had spun a story- Consulate related. He wasn't sure his information was helpful but it was all that was available.
Finally, he was done for the evening. Oddly, the sun was still out. A pleasant surprise. His meeting with Ms Fisher had sparked something. Rekindled an interest in his own work. He wouldn't head home yet. A walk in the adjacent park would help center him and get him in the right mental place.
Hi guys. How do you put pictures on the top of your posts like you do in shared posts? I figured out how to attach an image and insert the attachment into the post, but not sure what to do next to make it look right. Can someone help?
Posted by: Nox - 03-28-2019, 10:59 AM - Forum: PPC board
- No Replies
Name: Juliana Nazarova (red)
26 years old Russian girl going to med school (cliche)
favorite color purple
Aquarius (big into astrology) Friendly, Humanitarian, Intelligent, Inventive, Loyal, Unpredictable, Detached, Stubborn, Aloof, Extremist
19 year old Japanese girl you'll get this later(cliche)
favorite color black
Gemini Adjustable, Versatile, Enthusiastic, Soft Spoken, Witty & Humorous, Intellectual, Lack of Consistency, Superficial, Lack Decision Making Ability, Lack of Direction, Anxious
![[Image: amayanpc.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/amayanpc.jpg)
