"I have nothing to give you, you stole from me. Why should I pay you for something you stole from me? You must have had family before the Dawning, if they were still here wouldn't you do anything and everything to save them, protect them from this world. Please, don't take away the little hope we have left. These ‘whores’ they are my family, I have to protect them, provide for them, please."
Oh? What's this, real tears? I hadn't thought Hawethorn capable of causing that reaction. Still, this is taking much too long. There has to be a way to.... Ah, yes. She'll do nicely....
The future he'd just seen was still several minutes away, time to spare for him and his new target. Alana..... Her name rolled around in his head a moment in mirth. Such an odd thing, playing with other's memories. Much like how his predecessor use to in his youth... No matter. Her skills made her a viable alternative, so perhaps a little chat may help things smooth over in the days to come.It wasn't hard to find her in this rather compact complex. Downstairs, seven guards, three civilians, and in mid conversation. Perfect.
From Alana's view, nothing had become apparent immediately but there was something.... off. She couldn't name it, but everything just seemed a little slower, like it stuttered for a moment. Her lack of attention made her miss exactly when it happened, but at some point her friends went dead silent. When her eyes focussed back on them, it didn't register at first. They were just sitting there for a few seconds too long before it finally clicked. They were sitting there. Just sitting, breathing, and staring back at her without a word or even blink. One of the guards was patrolling between floors, after first leaving the restroom. He'd walk near the far wall, check in on the second door on the right, smile, nod, close the door, and proceed upstairs. The moment he was out of sight, she could hear the door to the restroom open as the same guard stepped out, repeating the cycle. All the reflective surfaces around her werealso becoming strange, developing such a thick tarnish on them that they ceased to reflect anything, simply being dull and rather alien.
Alana looked down the hallway that she'd came from and saw it nearly pitch black in darkness, a total contrast to the brightly lit one she remembered treading earlier. Looking around, she quickly noticed all the exits from this room were exactly the same, blocked off by total darkness. Her breath quickened, eyes darting around for something, anything normal. This was a dream, there was no alternative. Nothing changed or moved for the longest time. She knew this because all she could do was stare and watch it all, till finally she spotted something different. Alana only noticed it in her quick rescan as a mirror, though it seemed as black as the hallway. When her eyes jumped back to it, there was a.... thing in it. No, not a thing. A person. With eyes. Big, glowing eyes. Frozen in a cold dread, she was fixated on this manifestation, and it simply stared right back at her. Alana could count the seconds, and just when eight had passed, she watched it raise a hand....
And grip the frame of the mirror.
The scream caught in her throat as her new visitor stepped in through the reflection. His steps echoed throughout the room as he moved, taking an age as if in slow motion. It didn't matter, though, Alana couldn't move if she tried. "You saw me" it stated, sounding strangely pleased. "Good. Do you know who I am?" Her hands dug into the cushions of the small couch she was sitting in, trying desperately to push her farther away from Him. "Come any closer and I'll scream!" she yelled at him. Her small amount of defiance shattered when he laughed in genuine amusement. Then came a moment of unawareness, like an involuntary blink, and he was now standing next to her friends. "Have you ever wondered, what it would feel like to have centipedes in your mouth?" His words seemed so strange and out of place it actually silenced her for a moment. What came next, more so. From out of the smiling faces of her prostitute friends came hundreds of them. Legs pushing open their lips and feelers flailing about, crawling up and down their faces. Soon the hundred-legged insects were falling from the ceiling, crawling out from behind the mirror and paintings, and from under the cushions of her seat. She screamed only for a moment before going quiet, feeling what she could only fathom to be thousands of squirming legs inside her throat....
Another instant of darkness flashed, and it was all gone. All of it, every wriggling, squirming bug. Even her living-doll-like friends and that guard set on "repeat". The darkness was completely receded, the mirror was reflecting the world before it, and sunlight shown in through the windows. But before she could feel safe, it dawned upon her that it wasn't daylight outside... "Very good." Those words came in on another blink, back to the blackened hallways and reflectionless world. No bugs, though, or friends, or guard. Only him, sitting maybe a few inches away, staring back at her. Her lips parted to something, anything, but found his finger pressed against them. Her eyes caught the flicker of insect feelers dart from the cuff of his coat for only a second, understanding the message in full. "No more words. Just listen, and understand." His hand retracted from her face as he leaned closer. "The lights are dying Alana, and when they do this great game we're all playing will end. But now you have a role to play, and a very special one."
The confusion was evident on her face, but she kept quiet. "I knew a boy like you once, a long time ago. He liked to watch them, too. The things people keep in their heads. He'd peep in and spy and laugh and giggle, just like what you do. Then one day that boy was taken away, and he became someone else. A man, and a very bad one. He died, and I watched, and peeped, and spied. Sometimes I'd even laugh and giggle. You see, I'm a very bad man, too, and I know what Psi-CON likes to do to good little boys and girls like you and him. They don't like their memories not being secret, so they take us. And we're never seen again. But I might be lying, so I want to give you something...." Reaching out his hand, D3d LyT3 sensed her unwillingness in taking it. "No tricks or games to play today, Alana. Just some favorite moments of a life before. The memories of a dear, dear friend of mine, and some from his friends, too. Don't you want to see?" Tentatively, hesitantly, she touched his hand, though the images she received were a very handpicked few. Memories of pain, screaming, scalpels, and guns. Of experiments she saw as a witness of and victim to. Of raids on homes and hideouts. Lastly, of people being taken, many of them younger than her.
The connection snapped and she immediately felt like vomiting at what she'd seen, rolling onto the floor retching in tears. "Do you know what that was? That is how Psi-CON operates without anything challenging them. If no one in this city draws their attention away from people like you, then their only priority will become people like you. And..." He lingered off as she finally looked up and beheld the room where her dearest friend was entertaining their guest Samuel. "Cecilia...." he purred. They were both frozen in time, mid conversing. His eyes lowered back down to Alana, seeing her struggle to take it all in. "Out of everyone here, you are the only one who could read memories. My memories, and know them to be true. You are the only one who'd know they were not tricks or illusions. That was life without the Priory. It may also become your future. Take it how ever you may, and...." he droned as time resumed only for a brief line. "I care for those that need care most, I'm protecting those that can't protect themselves. Whilst all you Priory assholes do is cause more problems for our kind."
As soon as that was said, they both vanished. Alana looked up, meeting D3d LyT3's gaze in a cold chill. "Take a moment to compose yourself. Then share what you've learned. Tell her. Show her where exactly she stands, without ignorance to hide behind. She would listen to no one else but you. Though when you wake, the worst of it will be dulled away...." he trailed off again, leaving her to wonder what had just happened before everything faded out.
Alana awoke on the sofa she sat on earlier, being gently shook by her friends. "Alana, sweety, are you ok? You just went out on us!" As the small group consoled the teary-eyed girl, D3d LyT3 watched them from the hall. This was an interesting hand he decided to play. She could turn Cecilia into an ally in time.... though it may also come back to haunt him. He honestly didn't know either way, but to him that simply made it exciting. Still one more thing to take care of. Just like that, all thoughts of her resemblance to that of the original host died as he stalked his way past the guards and back into Cecilia's meeting room. The moment was exactly just as she'd given her emotional speech, and awaited an answer. D3d LyT3 loved seeing these moments play out, but all of it would have to wait for another day. This scene had played out for entirely too long, and besides that, he always loved cliff-hangers.
Memories are always interesting things, our only evidence of our lives and the passage of time. Taking a memory could change a person for life, altering one key fragment from their past. But if memories are of our past, then what keeps track of the present? Where is the dividing line between our perception of what is happening, and our memories of what has just happened? The truth was that this line was a rather fine one, and if any individual with the ability to completely remove a memory were to, say, start removing the memories that were being made this instant, it would leave this portion of time as an invariable blank in consciousness. Not a coma, just simply unaware of every single thing happening to them and around them for the entire span.
To phrase it simply, when Cecilia paused for a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes, she would open them to find Samuel gone. Samuel, in the same fashion, would come to awareness standing beside an open manhole cover.
(Shadow's contribution)
Samuel's eyes opened to him suddenly standing by a sewer grating that was open. First shock ran through him, and then confusion, and then anger. Whoever transported him here just tampered with his business. His gaze soon shifted though, looking around the area he had suddenly appeared in. At this point he had no idea whether he was now in a Sigma trap or if it was the psychopath that was watching the meeting; on that note he had no idea whether it was real or not at the same.
He stood there, thinking, defensive, ready for somebody or something to attack him before closing his eyes, exhaling a deep breathe and climbing down into the manhole left wide open for him.
(End of contribution)
Emotional moment utterly ruined with both parties left in total bewilderment. It really is the little things in life. That one gleaming moment that makes everything so lovely. A solid thump sounded as D3d LyT3's boots impacted the floor, having crawled through an antiquated and slowly degrading ductwork system to his personal bolt-hole. His favorite door in the world. It took D3d LyT3 one whole year to make it. A reinforced steel bulkhead door at the end of a hallway lined with hidden claymore mines. The door is locked by a fifteen-digit key code, which changes randomly every single second. One single wrong number, and all the mines detonate, effectively disintegrating any living thing in the hallway, and locking the door permanently. One whole year. But! This wasn't that door. This wasn't that bolt-hole. This was the one he made in the bar-space in the carcass of a building above the eastward river of the Priory's home. A little more accessible. Well, at least for anyone capable of accessing a hole in the ceiling thirty feet off the ground.
He peered down at the Priory's dying night-life below before checking in. The old oak door wasn't quite as secure as the steel one in his other hide-away, but it was still rigged. Two double-barrel shotguns ready to blast anyone who even jiggled the handle, let alone knocked the door down. Of course, not a threat if you could flip the safety on the guns from the other side of the wall. No lights greeted him when he walked in. After all, none were needed. The door was closed and locked, guns rearmed. Home, sweet home. The clasps to his kevlar arm guards came loose, letting the clunk to the ground along with his shinguards. His coat simply slid from his shoulders, down his arms, and was flung to the side. Guns, knives, clips, grenades, and the holsters for all of them simply undid themselves of seamingly their own accord. The self-sealing collar of his mask hissed with air and the clamps of the back of his head undid, letting him pull the mask free and set it upon the bar counter. His gloves, boots, and bio-weave body armor followed, leaving ivory white skin and a road map of scars.
Lifeless, milky eyes occupied the center of darkened rings. A shaved near-bald head of hair was broken up by spiderwebs of both surgical and concussive scarring. A nose nearly flattened like it'd been broken to dust and back again. A face that looked like it was sculpted by blunt force trauma and a lifetime of abuse, and a body to match. Both emaciated and yet toned to cartoonish standards at the same time, each limb marked with dozens of perfectly carved deep lines, mapping out his entire nervous system. With an autonomous gait he stepped over to the containment case in the far corner. Unclipping the lid, D3d LyT3 opened it to reveal the row of cleaned mask filters within their sterilising cases, being slowly cleaned and made ready for reuse. Unscrewing the used cartridge and fastening it into the empty cased, the lid slid shut as the sterilising agent began the fog up the interior. The aches and pains of the days past usually went unnoticed, though that one in his jaw had been pestering him for a while now. Reaching into his mouth, he managed to pluck another chip of tooth from his already ruined smile. Just one more thing to remind him he yet still lived.
Deep sleep was something D3d LyT3, or more specifically Oz, avoided at every opportunity. Ironic, maybe, that the nightmares would plague him so. More so when the dreams of his fellow occupants sometimes leaked through into his. It'd been too long for a light rest, so the next best option was an induced coma. Byrathine, a modern day resynthesized version of traditional morphine made to be more acceptable by the body to drastically lower the danger of use. Excellent for use in the field by soldiers, and half the chance triggering any allergic reaction. And still it took a normally lethal dose for D3d LyT3 to achieve the desired effect. That damnable awareness of his was always difficult to suppress. To be intimately knowing of every single thing happening around him, or about to be happening around him. So many thoughts and memories, and God above help him when ever he accidentally tapped into Xiaoyan's little network. To see, hear, feel, and entirely know of every grain of wood rotting above him was bad enough, but there will never be a Hell like all those voices. Though finally, blissfully, the edges of his conscious mind faded with a dull numbness. A creeping silence slowly rolled in. He laid down on the hard wooden counter of the bar, a splash of vodka in his mouth to kill the tinge of blood, the open bottle still in his hand....
And the blackness finally took hold.