Arbor Archives [Event]

OOC: This is my experiment in creating something more than war and horror. No fighting here - unless it's an old fashioned bar brawl - or you die under the Technocracy's treads.

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Chernenko weaved through throngs of body-modded partygoers, pushing people out of his way with aplomb. He forced himself between two squabbling ravers, giving one man a sharp kick to the abdomen and elbowing the other; they both staggered backwards, spilling their plastic cups of alcohol.

The field smelled like smoke. It shimmered under the light of fluorescent body-mods and glow sticks. The DJ onstage played a thunderous techno beat.

He shouldered through the crowd's outer perimeter and made haste for his office. He slammed the door behind him and switched on the fluorescent lighting strips. It was a dank office with peeling wallpaper, with dirtied floor and a reek of cigarette smoke.

He threw his bouncer's coat on his desk, and was about to light another cigarette when he caught something in the edge of his vision. Chernenko spun around and sized up two shadowy figures standing in the open doorway. Where had they come from?

"Can I help you men?" Chernenko lit his cigarette anyways, cupping his hand over the lighter. He took a longer drag, and before replacing his lighter, asked, "Wanna' smoke?"

Chernenko Abramov, grandson of Mikhail Arabmov?" inquired the shadowy man, stepping through the door. He waved away the offer, saying, "No thanks."

"That's me," Chernenko said apprehensively, lowering his cigarette. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting, he could see these men were dressed in unassuming civilian cloths belayed their military haircuts.

The second man tapped below his left ear and mouthed, "Located him, over."

The first man swung his right arm across Chernenko's shoulders, as if he was going to elaborate on the drywall. The bouncer cringed and swatted at his neck. "Ow!" It felt like a mosquito right where the presumably FSB man's hand had been. He raised his fists and backed away from the men, overtaken by shock. He snarled and bellowed, "What was tha-"

But Chernenko was too late; the paralytic toxin administered by the FSB man coursed through his bloodstream. He fell limply to the ground. Blackness filled his vision as the second man rushed up and slipped a sack over his head. "Quick and clean, Nag."

Thought he couldn't move, the bouncer could hear and feel everything going on around him. Someone sling his limp body across their wide shoulders and oafishly dumped him onto a ribbed plastic floorboard. There was the sound of tires squealing. He barely understood what came next: someone saying, "Oh right," in response to a whispered comment, "Doing that." Stabbing pain shot down his neck, and Chernenko lost consciousness.

The last person to see him was a partygoer, who upon further questioning had solemnly sworn that, "These two government men just threw him in the back of their van. It was crazy, man. He wasn't trying to struggle or anything. It was like they drugged him." He was dismissed as a loony after his blood tests returned, subsequently revealing he was using three different psychogenic drugs at the time.

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Far from being the site of one concert, Arbor was the expansive capital of the planet Arbor.

It stretched across fifty-fifty kilometers of land side to side, consuming entire rivers and hills under urban development.

The eastern district of the city was a core of urbanity. The great spires typical to Technocratic cities resided here, next to gullies of streets that flowed with rainwater. The streets here were sterile and devoid of life. All activity took place high above in the spires, which were connected by arcing tunnels of metal and glass.

The south and north districts were middle ground. They were lined with tall buildings facing narrow streets that opened into massive plazas, and cut in geometric patterns by elevated mass transit lines. Clean industry and underground manufacturing was centered here alongside rail transit hubs that carried materials across the planet.

The southern district of the city represented the slums. Comprised mainly of prefabricated apartment blocks interspersed with green spaces and community buildings, it housed the "working" population. The south was unglamorous, but it held life. People regularly cooked and preformed in the streets, and market stalls and diners hid behind smoothed concrete facades.

There were hundreds of flashy shops and cafes and clubs scattered across the city, catering to every niche and fashion and desire you could imagine. If you could make your way through the thronging hordes, you would find yourself in for a treat.

More tepid souls would want to visit the Technocratic archives. The collected knowledge of the Technocracy resided in its data servers.

Finally, if you were in the mood for something classy, you could visit the Vandratti Restaurant. Located in the downtown, it catered to the high society of Arbor. You could get anything to eat there, for a price. But that price came with service and decor to match.

There never was a boring night in Arbor.

The girl, no, woman. She was a woman now, stared into the reflective glass of her bedroom mirror. Staring back at her was a face she didn't recognize, there was nothing left of the girl she had once been. Alyssa, a new name for a new face, was now a Specials Operative- stuck in a city where fighting didn't happen. Brawls, spilling out of taverns, did not seem to count.
Staring back in to the mirror at her new face, she titled her head to the side and brushed back silken locks of a dark red color, as if rubies had been spun and dipped in darkness, then forced to color the strands of her hair. Sprawled a crossed her cheek, and extended up along her face, disappearing into the roots of her hair was a simple, elegant tattoo that claimed she was a Special. That tattoo, thick inky pillars and swirls of black seemed to move along her skin, the nano technology installed upon a layer of pale, smooth skin.

Long digits, tipped with small claws, released the hair to allow it to fall back to hide the new tattoo. Twisting back, to stare straight on into the gray orbs that dominated a small, triangular face, she winced at the own savage appearance of her face. The bones where delicate – high cheekbones, a full mouth, and a look of pure malice covering the delicate features. Her teeth, bleached so that no imperfection, no little stain of cavity could be seen, where carved into small points at the eye and canine teeth. Little fangs adorning her upper jaw.

A quick shake of her head sent the beautiful colored strands a crossed her pale skin, covering it as she stalked out the door, her body carried like a predator. Her arms swung, side to side to help her keep her balance as she made her way towards the records- to see if anyone had ever reversed the operation to be a special.

There was no use being what she was if there was no fighting, nothing for her too do. Hell, here..she probably couldn't even get a good job.

Those thoughts, racing through her mind as her eyes kept cutting through the people. So many different beings, with their own style, their own thoughts, their own nano's, knitting together skin and making jewels flash upon their face.

Her thoughts, unlike before, where crisp- cool. Business, everything was about business. A cold precision seemed to enter her mind, force all lethargically from her limbs and pump her full of the adrenaline she needed to live.

She was Special.