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Divine Intervention

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Divine Intervention

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Treize Khushrenada on Tue Mar 06, 2007 2:41 am

(Posts using *s for brackets are of Zhelir. Using ::'s are Ryand. All others are written by myself.)

Rain fell heavily from the dark sky, starlight blotted entirely by the presence of those overbearing clouds. The city itself was bathed in a darkness so complete that the only proof that it was raining would be to feel the droplets or hear the hiss of each as it struck the stone surfaces that made up the monotonous graveyard of buildings. The Metropolitan Building rose above all of these, rain swatting at the walls with the intensity of an enraged god of storm.

The streets were empty, as was to be expected. Anyone who would brave this weather after recent events, when anything could happen, was truly an example of bravery in a city that had long since given over that trait in exchange for survival. Besides, even if someone decided to take a stroll on that night, it was doubtful that they would be able to see their hand in front of their face.

The Metropolitan Building’s lobby offered some light and warmth through the glass doors, but any inviting air was reclaimed when the presence of the heavily armed guards within would be noticed. Their black uniforms, akin to those worn by the multiple task forces that had been acting in the city as of late, lent a tinge of foreboding to any who thought to enter.

*He walked as if no one could see him -- how could they? The rain was ungodly. It was perfect. He could burry a body in it without a damned worm knowing. The rain hung off his shaggy, unkempt hair. He had grown a beard as of late, and that too was soaking up its share of the water. His flight jacket, beaten and battered leather, was ejecting the droplets like small arms fire off battle armor. A disturbing omen, he reflected, but at this point, he did not care. He was armed, he was ready. The rapier strapped to the sheath on his back seemed somewhat out of place. He carried a Spaz, one of his favored weapons, in addition to his custom .44s and a squadron's worth of varying grenades. One such grenade found itself loosed and pinless in his left hand, his right holding the stock of his shotgun, as the building made itself visible through the storm. The rapier strapped to the sheath on his back seemed somewhat out of place. It almost seemed inviting, the light, the heat, but that was Treize's way. Hand you a chair and cut off your legs. One became accustomed to it after a while. His left hand slipped backward before swinging it forward, almost lazily, to bounce up the steps, rebounding just a few inches away from the glass doors. It would be a dead giveaway to trained personel, sure, but it at least got the door open. It exploded, blowing the door to shattered bits. Zhelir did not even blink. As opposed, he let out a deafening roar, putting to good use his genetically engineered lungs. It was one simple, anguished word.* Treize!

Shards of glass exploded inward, the sound causing the necks of over thirty men inside to turn, eyes, unflinching, focused on that broken portal to the darkness outside. Simultaneously, thirty guns clicked harshly, safeties off, nozzles trained to the source of the call. Hundreds of feet above the ground, a man waiting in a different darkness smiled.

The lobby itself was huge. Consisting of two floors, it was made up of the most pristine white marble. Two fountains, small in size but making up for it in opulence, flanked the escalator which led up to the second floor landing, on which waited that promised land: the elevator.

To be more specific, there were two elevators. Modeled after the Tokyo Metropolitan Building, this one also, halfway up, split into two towers. It was fairly obvious, however, which lead to the desired destination.

Four men in total stood at attention, their backs to the beckoning, open left elevator, their poses rigid and of the utmost militaristic fashion. This is how they would remain, waiting for whatever disturbance that black night chose to thrust upon them, but it seemed that even the night feared these men. Around the expanse, it seemed, the others watched, many out of sight but ready nonetheless. All was quite prepared.

*He hefted one bandoleer, with a full load of twenty frag grenades from his shoulder. Explosions begot more explosions, and with all twenty crudely wired to pull at the pull of a single pin, the yield would be boosted twentyfold. What do you know? He had learned something in the ODSTs. He jerked off the pin on the grenade centermost of the front, the others jerking free with the subsequent pull of the wire. He hurled just one more gift for his friends in the lobby, this one clearing the previous' blast radius, sliding gently, almost innocently across the polished floor of said lobby. It took only heartbeats before the inevitable chaos.*

The explosion ripped through the air, the rush of wind from it toppling a good number of the gunmen from their stances. About five unlucky enough to have not taken cover were soon to realize that shrapnel had created gaping holes in their bodies, or lodged in them pieces of metal and marble that probably should not have been there. But the others were not set back.

When the smoke cleared, the call to order was miraculous. Through careful identical training (or perhaps simply primal instinct), all twenty-five of the remaining gunmen responded in the same way: they fought back. The two side landings were lined with rows of ten men on each side, weapons aimed down at the main level, mostly toward the door.

The other five stormed the escalator, taking the steps two at a time and reaching the bottom at a record speed. From there they fanned out, one behind each fountain with the other three rushing to the sides of the door. Weapons, as always, at the ready, the waited with bated breath. The alarm had been set off at some point, singing shrilly in the background.

*Zhelir smiled. He could barely see their movements, but from what he could make, they were good. It would indeed be ironic if he couldn't even get past them. All this hype and no show. The smile faded as the sound of heavily worn boots echoed through the doors of the lobby, Zhelir moving, finally. He brought the shotgun up to bear, letting fly one incendiary round from his shotgun, aiming to strike at the centermost fountain, before lobbing a grenade from his second bandoleer, this one unwired, through the doorway to his right. He then used his last few steps to hurl himself to the left, trying to roll far enough from the door to keep from absorbing any of the weapon's shockwave.*

The grenade’s metallic bounce along the marble floor could not be heard over the alarm. This preventive measure was the soldiers’ undoing. As it exploded, their bodies were thrown into the air, broken and mangled as they landed somewhere along in puddles of red.

The soldier behind the fountain saw Zhelir about to open fire, rolling out of the way in time, but also out from behind the obstruction. Coming to a crouch, he raised his gun, firing shot after shot on the now-likely prostrate invader. All along the upper landings, and from the other fountain, too, guns blazed as each man attempted to silence the target who had brought along so much discord. Mr. Treize did not like discord.

*He hit the side of the wall, growling. A bullet had ricocheted off his ribs. It hadn't caused anything but a flesh wound, but bullet impacts did, in fact, hurt. And now he wasn't quite so stoic. Now he was a little less than happy. Now, he was starting to get angry. They wanted to play, he'd play. He cocked the shotgun once, the shell bouncing across the concrete outside. It made no noise, not against the ringing of the klaxon inside, but its solitary trip amongst Treize's force's spare rounds was all too much of a reminder of his own plight. He hurled himself forward, using the smoke as cover. He did not want others there. He managed to fire off two successive rounds as he moved through, not stopping to check for damage, as he barreled onto the escalator, firing two more shots upward their explosions failing to damage the device itself, but demolishing any troops in the way. He knelt down to catch his breath, a second round having hit almost exactly where the first had hit.* Fuckers know how I'm built. Keep hitting there, eventually they'll get through. *He shook it off, refocusing on the bigger battle to come.*

::The troopers tossed smoke gernades into the office building, as they used their scopes to fire at the defeders, in an attempt to cove Zhelir enough for them to reach him. The fire o various Long range rifles, and machine guns was defaning, as 10 of the 24 troopers ran towards the office, and took up positons coviring Zhelir::
::The troopers ran inside, as they shot at any of the defenders who would be still inside, they went near Zhelir, and one of them simply said "Mr Zhelir, We're from Trantor, and We are here to back up up SIR!"

*He turned his head down toward the soldier, forcing the man's head down as well.* Then clear th'damn lobby, I'll need it empty when I get back.

::The troopers nodded:: "We'll keep it clear SIR!" ::They proceded to shoot at the various remaing guards, as the outside snipers started to use their infrared scopes to blast at the defenders with pinpoint accuracy::

The smoke bombs caught them by surprise, but only served to annoy them. These new intruders, these worthless supporters, were of no concern to them. No, the man who now steadily rode the escalator to his doom was their sole interest. The two lines of men merged, heading toward where the moving stairs would eventually let off. A few who reached the point too hastily were taken out by Zhelir’s shotgun rounds.

Seeing this, the rest decided that a better plan would be to wait at the corners of the landing, out of range from their enemy’s guns but with the capability of taking him out the moment he stepped into view, taking the time as they waited to fire away at the newly arrived allies.

The two men who had previously made camp behind the fountains also met together at the base of the escalator, with Zhelir plainly in their sights. Cocking each gun, they leapt on, all but racing over the steps, weapons now firing on what they deemed to be a broken man.

*Latching onto the moving rail, he hurled himself, the muscles of his arm barely working to move his massive weight. As he moved through the air, at an arc up toward the right side of the landing, he let fly two grenades toward the left before turning his shotgun, now only possessed of three rounds, onto the men on his own side. Each successive shot pushed him into a slight spin, the rounds exploding into the crowd of troops. He smiled grimly at them. He was confident that he would make it, now. They were not unstoppable after all, though definitely of Treize's caliber. As he hit the ground, he whirled, a round punched through his side, actually managing to bounce off his kidney. He would have blessed those mindless pricks that had augmented him had he had time. It was bruised, not broken. He leapt into the elevator, blindly punching any button to close the doors, before hitting the ground and rolling to the side, pressing himself gently against the panel.*

The elevator doors closed with the softest sound as they glided along their tracks. The sensation of rising would be felt almost immediately, the meticulously built contraption ascending slowly toward the top floor with not the slightest of rumbles. Bullets could still be heard from below, a chorus to that constantly blaring alarm.

*He lit up a cigarette, his hands a blur of motion in his haste, before ripping off the elevator panel, hastily wiring it into his comm. It took him only moments to reprogram it to move him to the top floor, instead of the one he'd previously selected in his haste. Completing this, he left everything as it was, instead dragging himself upward, placing his hands against the wall above the door, his feet against the back. Here he waited, his powerful arms easily sustaining his position. It was nothing new, after all. No, the real test was yet to come.*

There was no pause between the pinging of the elevator as it reached the top floor and the eruption of gunfire by those who had been waiting there all along. As the doors opened the bullets would pierce the back wall of the small space, tearing up the oak paneling almost completely. After about ten seconds the firing ceased.

Tentatively the armed guard approached the door, one, poking his head inside, taking a look at the damage they had done. The other three waited cautiously behind him.

*Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid his hand along the length of the wall, moving to center to stabilize himself. Accomplishing this, his left hand went loose, moving to his holstered .44. It snapped down and, in an instant, the man's head had been obliterated. His mistake. He loosed his feet, gripping the frame with his free hand, and whirled out into the main area in a small hall, his armed hand hanging loose. He fired three successive shot, his hand tracing around to each of their heads as he did so, their range being almost too close to avoid, even for the most seasoned reflexes. He released from the doorframe, moving in a graceful arc uncharacteristic of his gruff demeanor. He landed in a crouch, both pistols drawn for what may come.*

One man fell back immediately, gripping his chest and screaming in pain. His gun arm was in working order, however, and with this he managed to cause a nice gash along Zhelir’s leg. The other two closed in even further, one opening fire on his weapon-arm while the other shot, as it so happened, at his groin.

*He whirled, the first round grazing his arm, the ground missing his groin, mercifully as it was, but hitting his inner thigh, again, another scratch. With a enraged growl, he fired, one man taking a round directly to the side of the head, the other taking one through the throat, hurling him back into the elevator. Yet even as he did, a triplet of rounds went up his side, two bouncing off his coat, a thin titanium mesh, the third whizzing though to strike him in the same spot, once fucking more. He turned both weapons on the man, emptying both clips. At the end of it, little was left of the man's head and upper torso. He let out a long, calming breath before discarding both weapons.*

The blood splattered around the walls and seeping into the carpet were enough to make any janitorial staff cringe. All four of the guards lay dead, though more would surely be on their way. A building like this no doubt had cameras, so his presence on the top floor was quite known. It would be best to move along quickly.

A mahogany door waited at the end of the hall, patiently. ‘You earned it,’ it seemed to say to him, wood grain carved in the shapes of a myriad of beasts, like a portal to some strange, forgotten land. ‘Now here’s your prize.’

*He bolted forward, blood trickling from his various wounds, but there was no serious damage, though his side was starting to ache. A few more blows there and he'd be singing soprano. As his hand latched around the doorhandle, his shoulder hit the door, shoving it wide open. His target was in sight now. He slammed the door behind him, locking it as he did so -- a force of habit, nothing more. He looked up, his anger, his frustration, his rage all seemed to leak away. When he spoke, it was not in the commanding voice he'd used earlier. It was calmer, almost as though speaking with an old friend.* Nice show. Y'held some back, didn't ya?

The door would slam shut behind him, enclosing them in a separate darkness. When his eyes adjusted to the dark and his ears to the shock, he would notice two things. First, the alarm had stopped, or at least it could not be heard from this room. The only sound now , once his words had passed to nothingness, was the steady, heavy rain as it padded against the window.

Second, against that window there was a silhouette; that of a man, hands clasped behind his back, facing away from him. There would be no doubt to who this man was. His body moved ever so slightly, a sign that he had no desire to hide his presence from the newly arrived. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air.

“You made it,� that rich, melodic voice reached him immediately. “I was beginning to worry that the obstructions I had placed in your way were too much. I really just wanted you to break a sweat, Mr. Zhelir.�

*His body relaxed, his figure leaning back against the now closed doors. To Treize, it would be evident that every muscle in his body was wired to move if it was required. He moved once more, lighting up a cigarette to replace the one lost in the hallway.* Y'complished that. Little blood, too. But let's drop th'"Mister" bit -- we're a bit better 'quainted'n'at.

“Acquainted?� he seemed to be toying with the word as he said it, shaking his head slightly. “No, I don’t really think we were ever acquainted. Not really, anyway.�

*He exhaled, a cloud of blue-turned-gray smoke clearing his lungs.* No, not personally. But we both know 'nuff 'bout each other t'sume so. I've watched you, you've watched me. S'tell me -- what's th'point'n alla this? Th'killin', th'terrorizin'. One'a us's leavin' this buildin' in a bag, an' I'd like t'know before I'm not able t'tain the information.

“Why?� Light, hollow laughter sounded through the darkness. “Do you really have to ask that? This all started so long ago. Back then, you all were the villains. You were the thugs; the terrorists. Don’t deny it, Zhelir. You can’t deny it. You know what used to entertain your baser pleasures. I played the hand I was dealt, and somewhere along the way my name was slandered and the roles were reversed.� He sighed deeply.

“Things have come to a head, now. And in my experience with you people, in my experience with all people, it has occurred to me, this simple fact: human life is, essentially, worthless. People follow what they are told, to a greater or lesser degree. If they are told I am a villain they will believe it. What’s the point, then, of playing fairly if their allegiances can not be changed?�

*He shook his head, his own chuckle eachoing through the empty room -- not of furniture, material objects, but of life. Were the lighting better, the half-amused look on Zhelir's face would have shown.* Y'been in 'ere too long, Treize. In th'beginnin', we only wanted t'be us. Only men we killed were those that attacked our place. Y'men, men others sent, men who'd lost their minds. Y'started all this off with y'damn attacks, not us, m'friend. *He pushed himself off the wall, pacing the room, his altered eyes examining objects as he neared, though he cared not if they were paintings or assassins. It was ending here, and that brought relief.*

“You know,� Treize mused softly, turning toward the desk and placing his hand somewhere on the smoothed surface, “there were always greater powers there at work. There was always a higher force there with a certain grudge against you all. This was not so random or pointless as you would think. Not at all. If you look far enough into the shadows of the past, you will see a hand at work that’s both familiar and frightening.�

*He laughed, his voice not full of humor but exhaustion.* Th'only thing that'd surprise m'now is if y'told me the ODSTs had somethin' t'do with this. What next? They enhanced me, trained me, then conveniently kept m'off m'home planet t'watch its destruction t'send me here, just so I could meet up with you? Play y'cards Treize. Nothin's gunna shock m'now. *He exhaled another cloud of smoke his cigarette burning nearly to the filter.* Got an Ashtray anywhere?

He seemed to ignore Zhelir’s own words, his tone almost as though he were talking to himself. “A funny thing about the darkness; in it, you really don’t know what to think. You don’t know who you are. You doubt things that before were so concrete you felt you could reach out and touch them. But in the darkness they are nothing but the loosest claims and possibilities.�

“Morality itself remolds over and over when it’s this obscured. Can you trust the suppositions you held when you stepped into this darkness, or have they molded into entirely different things?�

“But there’s the paradox. The dark does not obscure truth. No, it finds those rare gems of it and collects them, shines them, and makes them gleam. The dark is what determines your true path in this world. In it all is so objective, without the effects of any confusing stimuli, that you have to believe what it tells you. The darkness has told me quite a bit over the past few months.�

*Shrugging at the lack of answering, he tossed the butt onto the floor, leaning back against one unoccupied stretch of wall, resuming his old stance.* You're a deep guy, Treize. What you say's true, then I got two reasons left t'live. Explanation n' termination. So I guess I c'n say I'll die a happy man if it's in here, 'cuz my life's reason'll be gone. Must be flatterin' -- all this work put int'a me, and all t'kill you.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room for mere moments, but in those moments, Treize’s expression was quite clear. Those cold, cold eyes had been locked on Zhelir’s own; had found them even in that darkness. There was not anger nor fear nor delight in them. Instead there lay the resolve given only to those resigned to fate. Treize had come to accept this fate, and this is what dealt the mood its underlying absolution.

The lightning illuminated one more thing. Glinting for those few moments of the electric display there lay on his desk a polished Grecian short sword, on which Treize had rested his hand. “Are you ready to face your fears, Zhelir? Are you prepared to step forward into the uncertainty and strike again and again at shadows that might be friend instead of foe? I highly doubt you‘re having second thoughts. How disappointing it would be if you were.�

*His left hand, the wound causing him no pain now, slid behind his figure. It emerged moments later, a perfectly cared for Marine-issue sabre in it.* Never in life, m'friend. It ends here, one way or th'other.

“And so it is.� The words rolled from his tongue, dropping flatly to the ground. There was no elation in what he was going to do, only a tinge of pointlessness. The metal scraped across the desk as he lifted the sword from where it lay, then lowering his arm to his side. A few steps brought him around the desk, closer to Zhelir. Only that vague silhouette and the sounds of footsteps, however, were any proof of this.

“There is one thing I ask. Let’s allow these shadows to shed some light on the truths of our beliefs.�

*He smiled, merely nodding. Perhaps his life would regain some meaning during these moments. What did he live for? Friends? Morals? Booze, smokes and sex? He might just know. He brought the weapon up, not an aggressive move, but a starting move, inviting Treize to move in and attack.*

But where was Treize? Soundlessly he had disappeared into the darkness as Zhelir raised his weapon and soundlessly he would make his presence known at his opponent’s side, his weapon slashing suddenly across at Zhelir’s left flank. No sooner had this move been made than he was gone again. It almost seemed as though the room had grown darker in those moments.

*He growled, stumbling to the side. The weapon had to be modified somehow -- his skin itself was designed to fend off such blows. Then again, Treize was smart, very smart. Testament to this was the fact that his nightvision, a built in biosystem, was not working. This had concerned him from the start. He turned, putting his back to Treize's last position, instead raising the weapon in a defensive stance. If he heard the man, he would nail him.*

He did not need to see in that room in order to know precisely what Zhelir was doing, exactly where he faced and specifically how he held his weapon. All of this he could simply… tell. This was his arena, and he knew it better than the oldest man could know his own home. Every floorboard creak, every shift of the carpet meant something. He knew how to read those signs.

The broad side of his weapon would now soar through the shadows in a move to knock across Zhelir’s head, as he kept a safe distance diagonally behind the man.

*He stumbled forward, a growl escaping his lips as he did so. His ears were ringing. Nothing pissed him off like ringing ears.* Y'have me at a disadvantage. Y'know this place, I don't. But you've never been one t'play fair, 'ave ya?

*He whirled as he spoke, taking a wild slash at the place where Treize had previously been. A pointless gesture, but it was something. He wouldn't just let Treize kill him.* And y'know it. You would killed m'otherwise.

“I think the fact that you’re still alive shows that I play fair,� he spoke softly, stepping out of the way as they rapier’s blade whipped past his face. Stepping in again in the very same location, he cut down at Zhelir’s sword arm as it was still extended in its slash.

Then he was gone again, somewhere lurking in that black depth. The proximity between them closed, the rose scent would be even more pungent.

*He growled, using the momentum Treize put into Zhelir's own arm to whirl, blood flying along with the steel blade, in a full circle, moving into a crouched stance as he did so.* Aye. Th'cat that toys with th'mouse is always playin' fair.

“Hmm,� he considered for a moment. “Very well. And I said ‘Let there be Light.’� No sooner had the word left his tongue than a dim light, glowed softly from the edges of the desk, just enough to illuminate the room in the slightest. Treize’s form stood before Zhelir, not eight feet away, sword held down by his side. Dressed in a black dress-shirt and black pants, it was obvious how he had been undetectable for so long.

“And so it was,� he smiled vacantly as he leapt forward, kicking off suddenly to the right and running past Zhelir, slashing his blade across his foe’s thigh as he passed.

*Now he could see, could anticipate, He took the blow to his leg, rapidly switching the weapon in his hand, behind his back, to his right hand, bringing it up to slide across Treize's left flank as he passed, blood spurting from his leg as he did so.*

The weapon cut, tearing a slit in the shirt’s delicate material, and drawing a line of blood along the flawless skin of his abdomen. He halted immediately, turning back to scoop up Zhelir’s weapon in a bind with his and pushing both against his opponent in a thrust to impale his back.

*He rolled forward as quickly as he could. He latch onto his own blade, attempting to jerk it from Treize's grip, the blade cutting through skin but finding solid purchase for grip in the muscle beneath. The motion cost him his second dodge, however, and sent Treize's sword into his side, missing vital organ but drawing no less than an anguished groan from Zhelir, blood flowing freely as the weapon tore out in mid-roll. He growled as he came back up, or partway up, into a crouch. He was in agony, now, not because he was wounded, but because he was losing. He had a woman and a kid to return to, not to mention a slew of friends that one could never hope more of, and he might not be. He clamored to his feet, his free hand going to his wounded side, his other holding the weapon at a loosely defensive stance.*

“Words, words, words,� Treize shook his head, taking a few steps forward to follow Zhelir’s movements. “Is everything you said before meaningless? After all that, is this what you offer as an example of all that strength?� Now within range, he drew his weapon across his body and then swiped it across at the other man.

*He brought his own weapon up, speaking as he did so, bringing it into a defensive stance to block the incoming blade, the sound of metal on metal crashing through the room.* I'll be honest with ya, m'drill instructor said I was better off tryin' t'fight with a stick'n a sword.

“Then that’s what you should have brought,� he laughed softly. The swords striking one another, Treize’s free hand wrapped around the wrist of Zhelir’s sword arm, close enough to do so now. Prying it up, over his head, he drew back his own short sword, the point aimed directly at his foe’s gut. “You shouldn’t be here,� his voice was now solemn, even regretful. “You should be with them.�

Stepping in to place one of his legs between Zhelir’s, he paused for a moment. And then he plunged his blade.

*His eyes widened. Somehow, Treize had even found a way of shutting down his augmentations. He had moved the immovable mountain, and Zhelir had paid the price for leaning on it. Blood oozed from his stomach, pouring over the blade. He looked up, gazing into those cold, lifeless eyes.* S-so what now? Y'gunna keep killin'? Murder th'innocent, pillage th'weak? Y'done took down th'beast in y'way, so I'm curious.

Pulling the blade slowly from the wound, he laid Zhelir down on his back gently and then proceeded to wipe the blood off on the carpet. “Now?� he repeated the question in part. “Now I’m going to do this to each of the others who worked with you. Not because of any genuine hatred of them. No, I don’t feel that anymore. But because of the natural order of things. This is how it has to be.�

He turned those eyes back on his fallen enemy, no longer so much an enemy but a confidante. Raising his weapon, he spoke once more. “Now close your eyes. The end will only hurt for a moment.�

*He smirked, his hand extending to point at the flask lying a few meters away, fallen away when his flank was first struck.* Then I suppose, given Rain's right, we'll all meet up in th'end. Give a dyin' man his last drink, would ya? It done brought me here, it oughta be with me when I leave here.

He kicked the weapon over to Zhelir, but did not wait to see if he picked it up. His muscles tensed, prepared to stab the weapon down through the waiting body, but the killing blow did not come. No, in those moments, Treize’s attention was entirely consumed elsewhere.

As Zhelir soared out through the hole he had made for himself in the window, a red beam flashed, running along the full length of that sill. Illuminated in that crimson, the blood in the room seemed as though it had disappeared, now the same color as everything else. But in that moment of stillness, of sameness, it occurred to Treize what was happening.

The window erupted inward, sending cascades of shattered glass throughout the room. A shard sliced Treize’s cheek as he turned to it, but he did not seem to notice. His expression was stern, his hand gripping the sword tightly. Not now. Any time but now.

Another laser lanced across the window sill, this one blowing a hole in the wall with such intensity that it took some of the floor along with it, causing Treize to step back and shield his eyes until the smoke had cleared and his vision of that great ship which had appeared out of nowhere, now hovering over the city, was not obstructed.

Where it had come from he had no idea. No doubt it had been hovering there the whole time, cloaked, watching the proceedings. It was their way, after all. Zhelir’s words were unheard as those eyes were captivated by what lay before him. Slowly, rigidly, he walked toward that gaping hole, or rather, the absence of a wall. There he stood, facing the ship’s laser and the camera that was placed beside it.

Rain splattered across his face, mingling with that blood from the cut on his cheek. But he did not pay it any mind. Hair blown from the winds outside, and from that altitude, he gazed intently into the camera, and soon enough, the voice spoke.

It was a woman’s; cold, severe. It was so familiar and so in place that it did not surprise him that all had come to this. He listened to each word as it was broadcasted loudly. Even those below on the ground would probably be able to hear it.

“I’m sure you understand why, Treize,� she said, almost pitying. “The aim of all of this was not for you, but for us. You knew that. You had to.� He did not respond, eyes unblinking. “It has all been worth it. It’s a pity you weren’t able to see the reformation of White Fang, but now that we are in control of the city, that’s not too far off.�

“Why, Une?� His words were lost in the wind and the rain.

“Goodbye, Treize.�

Treize Khushrenada closed his eyes. From the streets below, the view would show three lasers simultaneously scan the building’s exterior wall. Moments later, an explosion ripped apart the walls and supports of the top three floors, enough the shake the very foundations, trembling through the pavement for a block around.

Chunks of cement and steel cascaded down to the streets themselves, and from that top floor all that could be seen was the ship as it slowly lifted higher into the air. Smoke billowed from the ruins that had once housed a man who had found himself without even a corner to be properly cornered in; a man entirely, and, oddly, knowingly, betrayed.

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Treize Khushrenada
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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lord Saladin on Tue Mar 13, 2007 11:25 am

OK, Treize, or anyone who saw all this, as I am guessing that it was all done on IRC, any chance of a summary of what happened?

I want to be able to keep up to date with the events that are taking place on IRC if they are being posted on here, as I cannot presently get online except for in the local library, where I only get 2 hours per day internet access.

And unfortunately, with other things that I need to do, I simply do not have enough time to read all of that post!!

So, if anyone can either PM me a summary or put one up on here, that would be great.

Thanks and appreciation in advance.

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Lord Saladin
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