Fallout

[Aria]

Channeled... That was one word for it. Aria filed away the question later for Nox to see if the word fit his description of using his gift. Aria nodded at his words though it was not a question.

She of course understood her incarceration. So long as she lived it was fine with her. It s not like she was leaving in the attire she wore at the moment. "I'd like my sword back when possible."
Aria nodded towards the man sitting in her room still. "He has the name of whom I'd like to contact. I merely wish to inform Nox that I am alive and that for now the Ascendancy lives, Borovsky is dead and I'm unaware of what happened with the Regus. You don't have to use Ascendancy's name... Apolyon or 'my mark' will suffice. And he needs to know they will be coming. Ascendancy should have someone checking on his whereabouts since he arrived back in Moscow since we left Siberia if Ascendancy follows up on his words as I believe he would, someone knows exactly where my friend is, who he's with and exactly what he's doing."

[Marcus DuBois]

Marcus lay in the divide between life and death. The dreamless sleep enveloped him like a blanket. Gauze covered the burns across his body and face. Despite the best medicine, at this point all that could be offered was palliative care.

The nurses monitored him and changed the gauze ont the burns frequently. His skin made a crackling sound and flakes or even layers of skin pulled away from his flash like the skin on a roasted chicken each time they were changed, glued by the fluid that oozed from his fissures.

The doctors knew it was only a matter of time. Brain activity was very nearly nothing. Heart beat was irregular. Breathing was shallow and weak and his blood struggled to bring any bit of oxygen to his dying cells.

Only a matter of time.

[Ascendancy]

Viktor wasn't a dictation secretary. He nodded to the agent handling Aria's case, "Make it happen but run the final message by me before sending it."


He checked updated messages, scrolled through the list briefly and made his departure.

[Jensen James]

Burn victims were difficult to look upon. Their injuries were always so heinous, the healthy naturally averted their eyes. Jensen did not. His heart broke for Marcus. Where the Ascendancy's injuries were primarily internal, Marcus bore his on the outside.

He didn't recognize the man beneath the gauze, although his identity had been explained. Jensen didn't know the CCD government that well, and it had been years since he learned anything in high school. He used to joke that the rigors of Seminary eroded all memories of academic study that came previously.

He crossed to the bed, feet shuffling as he did, and sat alongside as he had with Ascendancy. Marcus's hands were wrapped like the rest of him, but Jensen needed to touch him. He found a place between the gauze and gently held his fingertips.

He lowered his gaze as he had before and prayed.
Viktor said I saved the world tonight. But it wasn't me. If left to me, I would be a wretch drowning myself in alcohol, afraid of the gift. Instead, you sent your angel, grabbed me by the hand and pulled me from perdition. I have been yours ever since. The Gift is the miracle. Please use it for your glory. Heal this man of his sufferings. Help me to bear the responsibility with humility and grace.

He lifted his gaze and reached into the throes of the Gift. It filled him with its terrible joy as it had before, but nearly swept him away. Jensen gripped the side of the bed with his free hand like it might anchor him. Within a few moments, the Gift calmed and yielded to his will. He began the flows, heart beating hard, and worked the patterns of restoration as he had before. Marcus was gravely injured. His skin bubbled and weeping. His organs sluggish. His mind quiet. There was no light within him as he'd sensed in Ascendancy. With a bare moment he briefly wondered what that meant, but could not contemplate it now.

The flows filled Marcus, stretching within the body. Like the lick of kittens, they whispered softness throughout. His tissue plumped and softened. The redness faded to pink then disappeared behind glossy brown. Within, his heart grew stronger and his eyes flushed clear. His mind awoke, sparking with life that was once on the verge of the abyss of death.

The final flows were laid, and Jensen released the hand he held. He slumped forward, curling his torso over the railing so it dug into his chest. He let his eyes stay closed, his body fatigued and sluggish itself. But there was an animation in his soul that he could not contain. He turned his head, brushed strands of hair from his eyes, and looked to see if Marcus would awaken. Unlike Ascendancy, he didn't appear to have been kept in a coma. But Jensen was no doctor. He only hoped.

"Marcus? Can you hear me?"

[Marcus DuBois]

There is nothing. And nothing. And nothing. Flicker. Flash of light. Flicker. Flicker. Another flash of light. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. Foggy cloudy light. Gradient white nebulae play across his mind through the gaps of darkness, distant worlds splaying out before him. He is floating in nothingness, beholding everything. And then he is rushing headlong, lines streaming past him, faster faster faster faster, heading toward one single point so distant as to be an eternity from him. And yet...so close.

The world crashes into him and every part of his body floods his brain with sensation. It is nearly overwhelming. The pleasure of it all, the rapturous joy that suffuses each breath, every smell and touch and sound raised to an infinite degree. He luxuriates in his body, in his being, this earthy animal being that he is and rules.

He embraces life as never before. Embraces the fullness of it, the totality of the human experience. He smells and tastes and feels and hears and touches life as never before. He exists. The end.

---

Marcus opened his eyes (the sheer infinite range of colors was overwhelming, as if every variation of each shade filled the room) and regarded the man next to him. His face felt odd, bound with gauze, the material rough against his smooth skin. His arms too where bound tight and the feel of it was uncomfortable (it was so glorious, the feel of each fiber, every strand nestling his skin). The man's questioning voice cut through the beeps in the room sincere (the music in his voice, the pure unadulterated emotion that overlaid everything was a song beating in time to the harmony of the machines.)

He took a deep breath, feeling the tube in his mouth rough against his tongue. "I can hear you,"
he mumbled, unsure if they understood him. To his own ears it was muffled. He raised his arm, pulling a trail of tubes, up to his face and pulled away the tape and pulled out the tube. It felt odd sliding out of his throat, and then a cool refreshing breath of fresh air fill his mouth and lungs. "Yes, I can hear you,"
he said to the man.

The man eyes burned of kindness and love, shining through the fatigue he saw. Marcus tried to figure out who it was. His eyes drifted to the men behind him. He recognized one. The cop from the square. Curious. Why was he here? Where was here? The last thing he remembered was killing that creature that had been attacking the Ascendancy. Then....he thought for a minute, trying to piece it together. Something about....No. It was gone. He had no memory of anything beyond that. And even that was spotty, as if only parts of it had been recorded.

He narrowed his eyes frowning, though, at what he could remember. "How is the Ascendancy?"
It mattered. He hoped whatever that thing had been doing had been stopped in time. There was still much to do. And to learn.


Edited by Marcus DuBois, Oct 5 2016, 06:25 PM.

[Jensen James]

Marcus stirred. He pulled the bandages from his face and arms, pulled the tubing away. Jensen winced at that. It could not have been pleasant.

He pushed himself upright, a small smile chased the shadows of fatigue from his face.

Marcus first words were of the Ascendancy. He cared about him. "You were with him weren't you? When it happened?"


Sympathy fluttered through Jensen's gaze. Based on the injuries they sustained, he couldn't fathom what they fought against.

[Ivan Sarkozy]

The Ascendancy slept soundly now and Stepanovich led them out and pointed out another patient's room before going on somewhere else. The Sigma? He had just seen him in the Square yesterday. Along with James. Strange, that coincidence. What had the Ascendancy and the Sigma been doing when they got hurt so badly? Again he wondered who had attacked and why. Something was tickling his mind. A hunch maybe.

They went into the room and what he saw turned his stomach. Burn victims were among the worst to look at. The man's dark skin peeked through gauze on his face and arms and what he saw gave him that sick queasy feeling that he always got when human carnage confronted him.

But he did what he always did, then. Clenched his jaw and boxed away the feelings, set them behind him. When you had a job to do, you needed to think clearly and objectively. While empathy on the job had its place, people needed action and help. Hand wringing and being emotional about how much pain they were in or what had happened did nothing for an accident victim or a mom's fears for her missing child. They needed someone to take charge and help them. Sometimes he felt a bit guilty about it, switching it off. Took a while to switch it back on. More than one girl had complained he seemed distant or cool on those occasions he went out after a particularly bad day. Enough that he had stopped doing that. Mostly.

Anyway, he watched as the Padre used the power again to heal. This time, because he was compartmentalized and unemotional (what had that girl called him? A robot? Said he was a cold heartless machine or something? Man, that wasn't fair), he could watch more carefully what was going on. The awe was still there, of course, but now he could study it closely. The last time had laid a good groundwork and gave him a rough idea of what he was doing. This time, he could now see how the Padre modified what he did. The injuries were not the same, not really, so of course it required different weaves. Even so, the similarities were enough that Ivan thought he understood it. Not fully. Not to this level, at least. Not yet. But it fit. He'd even be willing to try it out on himself. A bruise or a cut maybe. Even something worse. That'd be interesting to see. Who knew? Maybe he could get good at it like the Padre. There was just something so familiar about it all. There were patterns that he was starting to see, get a feel for. This was really kinda cool. He looked forward to practicing with the power more. Maybe the Padre would teach him? Given the last time he asked, prolly not, though.

He wasn't surprised to see the Sigma wake up. Must not be too worse for wear either. Pulled that tube from his throat right out, then asked about the Ascendancy.

"He's ok. Mr. James healed him before he healed you. He's sleeping now but should wake soon."
He paused. He wanted to ask what had happened? But the Padre was in the room. Likely, it was classified. He probably wasn't cleared to know. Still. He was curious. He was about to open his mouth when the Padre beat him to the punch.

He watched the Sigma, curious as to what he would say.


Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Oct 7 2016, 11:46 AM.

[Marcus DuBois]

Healed. He felt as if he had been hit in the head. In all his ruminations, his research and projections and extrapolations- the Tau matrices, the knot equations- all of it, it had simply never occurred to him that the Force could be used for healing. It was like a revelation. So blindingly obvious that he felt stupid for not realizing it.

Ignoring the man's question for the moment, he looked at his hands, touching the covering tentatively, then ripping them off and staring at the smooth unblemished skin on his arms. The gauze against his face was irritating and he removed that too. He felt as if he was a snake, shedding his skin, seeing fresh new underneath. He ran his hand along his arm in wonder, and looked again at the man with the officer, curiosity and wonder for once plain.

And he wanted to know. How. How had he been healed. He needed to see the weaves and threads. It was like a hunger in him. He wanted to see them, to write them down, play with them and take them apart and understand. The potential here was truly limitless. This was power on a level he'd never experienced before. Not in amount, he guessed. It wasn't brute force. This was deftness and complexity to a degree he didn't think possible. It intrigued him. The potential benefits...could it be possible? Was immortality achievable this way? At the very least, it was a tool that he wanted. He had to have it.

The man who had it, though, was soft. He was emotional, the sympathy plain on the man's face. Vaguely familiar, that face. He squinted, thoughts running through his mind. The voice more than the face. Voices had always been something he noticed and remembered. Perhaps it was because the way the voice gave away emotion, the way he'd had to learn to listen to the way people spoke, to listen for the danger that even a blank face or smile could hide. The voice though, the voice was the truth.

A feeling kept manifesting in his mind, vague and insubstantial, but he followed that feeling, a thread really, followed it and dissected it until it grew more concrete, specific. Gradually it coalesced and finally, he saw the man's voice. It was coming from a monitor. He was lying on the floor of Mr. VanPatton's house, on the green threadbare rug, the cloying smell of Mrs. VanPatton's perfume filling the house, so bad he could even taste it. They had been enthroned in the light blue and sea green slashed couch, overflowing with lacy pillows. Ceramic knick knacks had covered the shiny dark brown of the table. He remembered the cat one in particular. Yes he remembered. Lying on the floor crying, tasting the snot running from his nose, feeling the pain, and the volume is being turned up, to drown out his sobs. That voice. The Preacher.

"You're Jensen James,"
he said, feeling surprised. It didn't make any sense. And yet somehow it made perfect sense. Of all the hypocritical daytime preachers and sham televangelists he had been forced to watch, somehow it turned out that at least one of them really could heal. But with the Force. The empathy and concern on the man's face was clear. He thought he was doing God's work. That was a simple mentat projection. Marcus wanted what he had. Wanted to learn. Needed to learn it.

He softened his face. "Sorry. I just remember I used to watch you on TV in the foster home. My adopted family loved you. We all did. Those are some of my most cherished memories."
He smiled. "Yes. I was with the Ascendancy when...it happened."
He had to be guarded here. He had no idea what the official story was. He swallowed and earnestly went on. "Thank you for...healing"
- he let awe and wonder enter his voice- "me. I am in your debt."


I have to learn this. I have to.

[Ascendancy]

He couldn't breathe. He sucked in air but choked. His throat spasmed. He tasted the blood and thought for a second he'd broken a tooth. No that made no sense. His chest hurt. He wanted to scream in agony, but the air stuck in his throat. Panic took over. He moved his legs. Pushed against the floor. Why was he on the floor? He reached hard as he could, but there was nothing to grab. He grew dizzy, shivering. Closed his eyes. Footsteps. Yelling.

The peace of the following darkness was most welcome.

***

There was a blanket tucked up under his chin. He grabbed the edge and pulled it high, nuzzling the softness with his cheek. The warmth was soothing. It was like a caress over his skin. Like laying in water, velvety and gentle. He rolled onto his back then, stretching his arms long behind his head. The muscles of his back, worked and cut by a daily swim, rolled over a mattress that creaked when he moved. Odd that, his bed was silent as the grave. This one was different: firmer, narrower. He opened his eyes and found white walls.

He sat up in a gasp. The blanket fell to his waist and his hands pawed quickly across his chest, coming to rest on the area by his heart. His throat went dry.

The Atharim shot me.

He remembered those last few moments underground. Regus had been about to slay Aria, and ropes of power dragged him before Nikolai. The man squirmed at his feet, and then the bang of gunfire.

He looked down at himself. His skin was normal. His chest smooth. No pain. He felt perfect.

Wide eyes searched for answers upward, and landed on the grim face of his Deputy-Consul, Viktor.

The answer tipped his tongue, but he remained quiet, otherwise delayed with awe.

Viktor strode quickly to his side. "Yes, it's a miracle you're alive, but you are not immortal, Nikolai."


Nik's face darkened. Somehow, Viktor held his gaze a few moments before looking aside.

Nik swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was in a hospital, that was obvious. Poles hung nearby, draped with lines he assumed were once attached to him. His feet touched the cold floor, and he stood with little care for modesty, discarding the blanket as he did. It felt good to stretch his legs, even if it was just to put on pants.

He turned to Viktor as he settled the slacks at his waist. They weren't his, but they fit close enough. "Just because I can die does not mean I am not allowed to die. Is that not also immortality?"
Lord of the grievous dead, indeed. Was he not master of death? King? A god?

He turned in a circle, seeking something that was not present. "Where is the Arcus Band?"
Even with spare pants, shirtless and shoeless, it needed to be set upon his crown before anyone else laid eyes on him.

Viktor answered, his voice hesitant, "destroyed. It seems they used some sort of frequency weapon against you. The Arcus is all but melted. Your scalp was burnt-"
he ceased at Nikolai's gesture.

Nikolai closed his eyes. The Arcus band had been his creation, melted down from treasures pilfered from the Imperial Jewels and reforged into a symbol of an emperor. Very well, fate had spoken. The design that ensures his survival would ensure another Band would replace it. One fit for a god.

"Is Regus dead?"
His voice was cool.

"Who?"
Viktor blinked in confusion. "There were three others found with you. One was dead. We don't know his identity yet."


Nikolai frowned, Regus could be that dead man. There had been another Atharim that night. However many nights ago that was. It didn't matter. So long as the empire remained. Viktor wouldn't be here otherwise.

"And the others?"
He asked finally, almost as if the living did not concern him anymore.

"Sigma Marcus and the girl, Aria, live."


Nikolai strode to the door, throwing it open on threads of Aether as he approached. "Take me to her."


He didn't care that he was barely dressed. The cold floor under his bare feet was welcome against the memory of burning alive. He felt eyes watch him as he passed, almost like hands reached up from the abyss to grope at his ankles, but when his gaze swept their faces he saw nothing but subjects. Subjects or corpses. Every face in the world would soon be one or the other. That, he silently swore to himself. But first, Aria.

The door to her room opened on threads of Aether as had the other. His eyes were dark, dead stones when he looked upon her. More threads lashed out, snaking around her body, yanking the bedcovers from her form, throwing aside trays and chairs that blocked his path.

He went to her bedside aware that another body in the room gasped and scrambled out of his way. Viktor did not interfere, but watched warily.

He called sizzling threads of Flame to hover around her skin, but he was careful not to come within arm's reach himself. The threads crackled and spit, a hellish orange glaze cast her body with color. Their heat loomed close. "I am sure you have been intimidated your whole life by very capable men. I am sure you don't care about threats anymore. I am sure you are not afraid of me."
As his eyes dug into hers, the orange barbs of the fires flickered in his. She should be afraid.

"Have you ever burned alive from the inside-out, Aria? I have. And you brought such weapons to my door without warning me about them. I have been merciful beyond imagining with you and yet again I extend my mercy. I'm giving you another chance to explain because you saved my life. Thus I am fair."

"What. happened. to. me."

[Aria]

Fear started to bubble closer to her. It was the only indication that something was coming her direction. The door flung open with unseen hands. The Ascendancy walked in fury in his eyes. He was holding the power of the gods and he was using it with fear and intimation and everything the Atharim had ever taught her boiled up inside - this was why the gods were hunted. The power made men mad with another kind of power. Aria wondered in those few short moments if she'd been wrong.

But his words came up and Aria knew that the Regus would never have shown her mercy. She wanted to tell the Ascendancy that she knew how it felt, if he just opened his eyes he'd see that fact. But power blinded him - as the power blinded all gods. Aria stared defiantly into his eyes. "You presume that I knew what those weapons did. You presume I have the ear of the Regus. You presume I am more than what I am. I did as you asked. I persuaded the Regus and Borovsky to come with me. They handed me a weapon as we were walking out the door. I led them to the door just as we talked about. There the Regus pulls out a table I have never seen before in my life. He speaks in foreign tongues and an Ijiraq appears before us in all his mystic glory ready to heed the Regus call. It almost killed him then, but the words came out right and it turned tail and came after you. We went a different direction than it. As our plan said to go. They followed still wary. The turned their new weapons through the walls. I didn't know what they did until you blew the walls out and saw with my own eyes. But my concern was with the Ijiraq. There was nothing I could to kill it. It needed to be stopped with intense cold. So I betrayed my people. I told your Sigma two words that made the Regus turn the very same weapon on me. I was prepared to die for you. "
Aria smirked - see what that betrayal had earned her. "I waited for my death but the waves directed at me ceased. I heard a gun shot I saw my former handler pull the trigger a second time. I ran him through with my sword putting him out of his misery. And then I woke up here waiting for you to - what? Kill me now?"
Aria raise her arm to the buring barb of fire and listened to the sizzle of hair and skin and bandage burning. "I know what it's like to burn from the inside out. I know what it feels like to have the weight of the world on your soul, day in and day out. I did as you asked. I could not warn you of things I did not know."