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Neminem

Nobody.

0 · 315 views · located in Imperial Administration Complex

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Nemo

Description

This character is whoever the hell I want it to be.

So begins...

Neminem's Story

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#, as written by Nemo
"Hold on just'ee second..." the balding man replied, let the plasma saw hang at his side as he fished into his pocket. He retrieved a particularly fine-looking pocket-watch on a chain, briefly flitting open the device and observing the time with a theatrically-raised brow.

"Yessir'... it iiissss...." all at once, he snapped the watch shut. "Ten t'three! Almost quittin' time, kid!" He squinted at the young boy through his own goggles. "This is what... yer'third day? You've been gettin' a long fine here. Doin' good work. Keep it up, an'you'll have a nice check at the end o'the month. Get'cherself a nice watch like..."

"Rufus!" A thick, oiled voice suddenly called out, cutting through the chaotic sounds of labor like a tempered knife through butter "Whad'aye tell ya about bringin' that GODDAMN pocket watch to work?! Keep it in yer'locker or it'll fuckin' get crushed!" The Foreman was red-in-the-face as he approached Alex and Rufus. At a distance, he looked angry. Up close, he looked sunburned AND angry.

The Foreman turned his eyes towards Alex. "An'you! Don't you have sum' insulation supports to chop up? I thought I sent you after those things with an energy clipper twenny' minutes ago!" He clapped his hands. "Yer' off the clock in ten minutes, Tryph! Let's MOVE IT!"

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#, as written by Nemo
"WHAT?!" The anger of the foreman was palpable even from twenty meters off.

"Just what the FUCK do you think you're doin'?! I said yer'off the clock in TEN MINUTES!! A scouter-check's gonna' take FIVE at max! We're suppos'd to have this whole FUCKING floor cleared by the end of the day, or it's MY FUCKING ASS on the line!" The foreman was slowly trouncing over to Alex, cutting a path between scurrying workers as he did so. "...if you don'get this FUCKING insulator cut-up in the next FIFTEEN SECONDS, imma' dock yer'pay so goddamn low, you'll be suckin' my stepdad's DICK for loose cha-"

"Easy there, Ron," another worker interrupted, walking up and stood in front of Alex protectively. Although athletic and fit in his own right, compared to the mesomorphic meat-heads scurrying about, he was as thin and scrawny as a vegetarian cross-country runner. He looked over his shoulder briefly at Alex, his young face a calm expression of collected reason. His eyes were a shimmering silver.

"The kid's right," the thin worker nodded, his tone confident but assuring. Also unlike most of the other workers, his sentences did not slur and mesh together. Each word was as articulate and well-placed as the last. "There's a heat simmering here. Something is still on down there. Let him run a scouter over it."

The foreman stepped back, awed both that he was being stood-up to AND that his opponent was making sense. "...but... the schedule..."

"...is not worth Alex's life," Silver-Eyes continued plainly, "I'll tell you what. If it's nothing, I'll dig up the insulator myself. You can dock my pay." He gestured towards the structure. "...but if there IS an energy down there, then Alex and I will shut-it down together. Two hands on the job. We'll be finished on time. Your schedule won't miss a minute."
(...)

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#, as written by Nemo
The foreman looked perplexed. "I guess..." he grumbled, his gruff roar reduced to an irritated groan, "...I guess that makes sense." His eyes flashed towards Alex. "...you got that, Tryph? Run that fuckin' scouter-check! I don't need men dyin' on me! We're already short-handed as it is!"

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#, as written by Nemo
The silver-eyed man smiled. "The art if persuasion is just a steady voice and a bulletproof poker pace." He walked up to Alex, looking at the scouter as it scanned over the insulator. The device beeped quickly, presenting a long list of graphs and charts on the screen. Normally, it would have to be shown to a technician to be interpreted...

"Positive," Silver-Eyes spat out almost immediately, his brows furrowed, "...got a nine-oh-three joule readout. Mana energy classification. A magic barrier." He patted Alex on the back. "Good thing you didn't cut into that. You would have been shocked with a good twenty AMPS of raw electric energy." He walked over to a nearby tool table, quickly selecting a curious scepter-looking device and a common plasma saw.

"This is an old magic insulator," Silver-Eyes explained calmly, "magic runs deep in Terra, so it's not uncommon for buildings to have these. Filters out mana-fields like radiation." He handed Alex the scepter. "There's a crystal in the center of this thing that feeds it power. I'm going to make a small incision into the structure with this saw. You reach in and pull it out with that." He nodded towards the tool in Alex' hand. "Ever worked with a tool like that before?"

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#, as written by Nemo
"Ron is a good man, but he's a new foreman. He's just worried things won't get done in time." Silver-Eyes nodded, "as for the device, it's simple. Grip the handle here, like this." He showed Alex where to hold. "Then, simply will it into life. It's a psionic tool. It responds to thought and lives off of telekinetic energy."

Silver-Eyes would turn to the structure, flicking on the plasma saw and positioning it before the insulator. The beam of whirring energy cut just barely into the structure before Silver-Eyes stepped back. "There. There it is. Pull it out the same way you turned the tool on. Will the tool to take it out."

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#, as written by Nemo
Silver-Eyes shrugged. "Beats me. Looking at it now, it's actually kind of peculiar..." He squinted at the shard. "...most insulator gems are lesser-sapphires or imitation-diamonds. This doesn't even look Terran. It's like some oceanic quartz."

At that moment, an enormously loud whistle resounded throughout the work site. A cheer of gruff voices followed soon after. The shift was over.

"Well, company policy doesn't say anything about mage-gems," Silver-Eyes smiled, "usually they're removed before deconstruction begins. So I guess it's yours." He nodded. "You could probably sell that for a couple hundred, if you wanted. It's not a 'gem' strictly speaking, but the chemical structure is the same. It can store a lot of energy." The man picked up his saw and saluted Alex. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. My name's Cleo, by the way. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other." That said, the man would turn and walk swiftly away.

The setting changes from Terra to Wing City

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#, as written by Nemo
It was a gloomy Wing City morning; grey overcast and slightly nippy. Work had just begun for the TNG construction workers, and most of the men were still busy collecting the tools they'd need for a long, laborious day of tearing-down and building-up. In just ten minutes, the familiar white-noise of gruff shouts, clanging metal and disintegrating concrete would be resonating all about Alexander.

"Ey', Tryph!" Rufus, the pocketwatched man from yesterday, called out to his coworker from behind the wheel of a massive dump truck. Several hundred tons of debris was piled in the back. With a thrust of his hand, Rufus activated the machine's power brake, parking the monster up a small, dirt hill. Rufus clambered out of the truck, quickly jogging up to the Tauron and offering him a friendly smile.

"Hey! I eard'ya got'cherself one o'them crystals when y'took out that insulator!" he seemed boyishly excited, "I've always wanted t'see one o'them magic gems! D'you have it? Kin'I take a look at it?"

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#, as written by Nemo
"I dunno', I heard weird things about thees'kinda things..." he examined the gem carefully, prodding the nearly-glowing crystal curiously. "...like they have sum'kinda weird power er'somethin' like- OWW!" Rufus yelped suddenly as the crystal glowed red-hot for a moment in his hand. He dropped the diamond the dirt ground almost immediately, jumping back as if he'd been bitten by some wild animal.

"Da'HELL! It burned me!" he rubbed at his palm, "I hardly touched'it an'it put a mark n'me." The worker took a stupified few moments to connect the dots before looking up at Alex suspiciously. "...have you had dat'thin' all night? How cim'it didn't burn YOU?"

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#, as written by Nemo
The gem did not burn Alex's hand. The crystal returned to it's usual, oceanic silver.

When the gem had hit the ground, however, Alex might have noticed a very slight tremor beneath his feet. Nearby tools jostled for a half second from where they lay, and a small whirlwind of dust kicked up about the two workers.

...perhaps more threateningly, a small, metallic click resounded from the dump truck that Rufus had parked up the hill.

"Alright, well don'letit do that again..." Rufus pouted, still massaging his hand, "that hert'like a sunva'..."

An enormously loud iron lurch suddenly interrupted them both. Horrified, Rufus had just enough time to look over his shoulder and watch the massive truck roll down the dirt hill he'd parked it on and cut a slow but steady path down the work site. Thankfully, no laborers were in its path... but the open road was just ahead.

"Oh my God..." Rufus went white as a ghost, clutching his hair. He began running after the machine, but he wasn't particularly fast.

"Alex!" he screamed back at Tryph, desperation in his voice, "DO SOMETHING!"

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#, as written by Nemo
But just as Alex was reaching for the brake to end what could of have been a disastrous accident, the leviathan truck hit the curb to the street. A few tons of debris flew off the end of the giant, clattering to the ground and cracking the cement. Tryph would likely be knocked off the seat from the force of the impact. Had he left any of the doors opened, he might of even been thrown out of the car. If not, Tryph might hit the ceiling of the driver's box before being ricocheted into the open back-end of the truck; a large, metal platform connecting the bed of the vehicle to the engine.

As the Tauron undoubtedly struggled to bring himself back into focus, the gem he'd pocketed earlier fell out of his pants, clattering to the platform and releasing another short shock-wave of energy. This time, the lock connecting the truck's bed to the engine began to come undone. In a few seconds, it would be entirely separated. Alex was closer to the bed then he was to the engine, but he was still riding the line. If he didn't move fast, he'd be dropped into the speeding asphalt below.

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#, as written by Nemo
The moment the bed disconnected from the truck, its front slammed into the road. Without the engine to balance its weight, it effectively braked itself, violently careening into the street and spewing asphalt into the air. Hopefully Alex had gotten a good grip before hand.

After a few seconds of concussive rumbling, the bed at last stopped. Although it had left an unsightly line of craters in the street, no one had been hurt or injured. Alex was at last at a stand still.

...the main truck, unfortunately, wasn't. Whether the emergency brake was broken or just hadn't been pulled properly, the vehicle continued to steam roll down the open road, picking speed as it descended through the descending roadway. Alex might notice that the road intersected up ahead. A large office-building picked up where the street ended.

If Alex could not stop it, it would collide directly into the workplace.

As it was now, Tryph had only a motionless dump-truck bed, the crystal that had dropped to the road a few meters back and several hundred tons of garbage. Should he take quick stock of what the bed bore on a surface-level, he would find a small iron cart (used by laborers to ferry large pieces of debris), several leather straps, protective titanium helmets and a series of unused plasma charges that workers typically used to demolish particularly tough structures.

There was no way Tryph could catch the vehicle on foot. Perhaps he could use what he had here to stop it on time...

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#, as written by Nemo
Like blinding fireworks, the charges rocked through the streets and exploded a few paces before the advancing truck. Alex aimed well. Each charge left a crater directly in the path of the vehicle. The truck managed to pass through the first two harmlessly, but at the third, the wheel stuck.

In what was arguably the loudest sound that Alex had ever heard, the truck flipped on its side as its forward momentum was suddenly and violently changed. Like something out of an action movie, the gargantuan vehicle flipped three times over the road before finally lurching to halt just at the edge of the intersection. Cars careened out of the way and honked, but no one had been hurt. Other then an extremely chewed-up roadway, a completely totaled dump trick and an undoubtedly beaten-up Alexander, everything was fine.

He'd done it.

A mob of construction workers mobed not far behind, springing up to Alex with as much speed as they could muster.

"Tryph!" the foreman led the pack, he placed sturdy hands on the Tauron's shoulders, attempting to steady him, "are you alright, kid? You hurt?" He was breathless, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

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#, as written by Nemo
A chorus of manly laughter erupted from the mob. Even the foreman chuckled a bit.

"Relax Tryph, you ain't paying for nothing," he smiled, slapping the Tauron on the back. For a moment, everything seemed like it was going to be alright. The truck had been stopped, no one had been hurt and Alexander wasn't in any sort of trouble. It was the perfect 'happily-ever-after.'

It lasted for roughly five seconds.

All at once, the foreman's jolly, relieved expression contorted into a monstrous glare of untamed fury. "...yer'not paying fer'anything cuz'yer FUCKING ASS is FIRED!" The foreman was screaming in Alex's face. Spittle flied off his lips and coated the Tauron's cheeks. "FIRED! Like, fuckin' 'third-degree burns' fired!" The foreman manhandled Alex as he attempted to lift him up. The crowd workers were already making a sorry path for them to get through. "Yer'going down to the medic and then yer'turnin' in yer'hat, yer'belt and whatever equipment I got on loan to you! You put that shit on my desk and then I NEVER wanna' see yer'goddamn pretty boy face again, YOU HEAR ME?!?!"

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#, as written by Nemo
The men watched in respectful silence as Alex stormed off the scene. They'd seen what had happened. Tryph had single-handedly saved hundreds of lives from potential disaster... but had unfortunately torn up an entire street doing so. Someone had to get fired. In the world of business, morality and honor had little bearing.

"Rufus," the foreman snapped, some of the anger still in his voice, "my office. Now." The worker nodded solemnly, a deep guilt pressed into his features. He reached into his jacket, briefly retrieving his golden pocketwatch and glancing at it without bothering to look at the time. How had the brake slipped? He'd set it firmly... he was sure of it...

As the crowd of workers dispersed, a hand reached down and grabbed the crystal that Alex had forgotten to take with him. A pair of silver eyes admired it for a moment before pocketing the gem. The figure walked away from the mob of men, headed in the same direction that Alex had gone.

The setting changes from Wing City to Main Street

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#, as written by Nemo
As the fighting commenced, many of the pedestrians on the street screamed and ran. Some of them called the police.

The setting changes from Main Street to Space

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#, as written by Nemo
The day was just winding down on the arid, craterous plains of Halla, and the Aequitam Mine. Was just closing down for the day. Dozens of grimy miners began pooling out of the shaft, plasma saws slung over their shoulders as they laughed and talked of various things... mostly about the dinners that awaited them once they completed the three mile hike back to the central town. A desolate 3rd world Aschen planet, few transports could be found on Halla.

"Everyone out?" the foreman asked as he looked about his team.

"Nah," another miner coughed, "where th'fuck as long-limbs?"

"Ye. The alien's still in there." Another one spoke up.

"Fuck him. Lock it. We can starve him out..."

"Shut yer'mouths," the Foreman growled. He turned back to the mine's opening, throwing open the doors and hollering inside. "HEY! SLIM! GET OUT HERE!"

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#, as written by Nemo
One of the miners snorted. "WE are. Don't know what miserable hole you're going to crawl into you slimy-"

"Amril," the Foreman warned sternly, the miner backing away begrudgingly. The Foreman turned back to Slim. "It's closing time. We've done good work today. He nodded towards the alien's arms. "Keep using those four limbs as effectively as you do and you'll have a fine job here."

"Ey! Cap'n! We taking off?" Some of the miners had already begun walking.

"Oh yeah," the Foreman nodded, "we're all about to head back to town. You can walk with us, if you like..." The Foreman winced, "though, to be honest, I'm not sure how the townfolk will take to an individual of your... species..."

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#, as written by Nemo
Amril stepped forward with a growl. "Why you miserable..." The Foreman's hand slammed sternly against his chest before he could utter another syllable.

"Walk," the Foreman warned.

With that, the group of miners began heading back to town. Soon they were nothing but shadows on the horizon.

The setting changes from Space to The 'RIP'

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Things were just kicking into gear at the First Annual Davrell Gala and Ball. Transports flew in from every direction, docking near the daunting Gothic castle and unloading mobs of lavishly dressed patrons and guests. Women in pretty dresses and men in expensive tuxedos tapped calmly up the marble steps to the Institution, presenting their invitations to guards at the door before being admitted in. The sound of a big-band orchestra played resonated from inside.

Spotlights roamed over the cloudy night skies, offering beacons of direction to the various transports that seemed to be flying in from everywhere. It was a cold and gloomy night. Although the RIP was a magnificent building and was particularly well-lit on account of the gala, there was nonetheless a quiet fear about the place... especially when one considered that hundreds of mentally unstable paranormal inmates were sleeping just below. Surely the RIP was secure against a breakout, right?

The menacing cursed woods just over the nearby incline seemed to watch the ongoing party with a subtle disdain...

But these were all brief trivialities. Upon entering the RIP, guests would find themselves in the warm, comfortable hallways of what looked to be a lavish mansion. Crystalline chandeliers hung from ceilings, offering their warm glow to the laughing patrons below. Waiters made their rounds about the ballrooms, offering fine drinks and foods to whomever desired them. Priceless artwork and sculptures could be found behind every door. A large band played rich, classy music from a top a nearby stage. Aristocratic society mingled this way and that... laughing, talking and enjoying the fruits of the party.

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#, as written by Nemo
Reporters were still following Gabriel and Amanda from outside, despite the best efforts of the guards to detain them.

"Mr. Ereb! Mr. Ereb!" one of them got close enough to ask a question, "what's the latest on Ereb Industries new tech development programs? We've been hearing all sorts of rumors!"

Another approached Amanda. "Ms. Ereb! How does it feel to be one of Terra's most eligible bachelorettes? Are there any leading men in your life?"

---

Several reporters also stepped up to snap pictures of Derrick Rose. The latest Militiaman had arrived. Since he hadn't yet entered the Atria, he was fair game for the pickings of the media. "Mr. Rose, Mr. Rose!" a girl called out, shoving a mike in his face, "how do you feel about the opening of the RIP? Will this at all effect the way the Militia operates on Terra?"

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A particularly pretty young girl in a red dress would approach Kvan as they walked towards the ballroom. She eyed over his outfit, perhaps flirtatiously.

"Interesting get-up," she smiled, "are you with those Misranan people? From what I've seen, these aliens have curious fashion tastes..."

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Once again, mobs of reporters stormed over to Jonathan Lectre, flashing dozens of cameras at once at the young tycoon.

"Mr. Lectre, what direction is Lectre Coorporation taking now that the war is over?"

"Does your father's company intend to ally itself with OmniCorp?"

"What sort of research is your organization looking into?"

The questions went on and on.

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"Clara De'vahl," she smiled back at Kvan, "what brings a fellow like yourself to a place like this? I know I'M here stuck snobbing-up to corporate big shots, trying to promote my uncle's research. Really, this isn't my crowd... contrary to whatever my dress might say-"

The setting changes from The 'RIP' to The 'RIP' Atria

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Clara grinned up at Kvan. "Business, not pleasure then? What a pity. It seems we're both here on monotonous missions, Mr. Skyheart. Too bad. This place really is something." She took a glance around the lavish atria, noting the warm lighting... the marble floors... the priceless artwork...

"What IS it your 'cooperation' does, anyway?" she asked curiously, smiling a bit. "...the production of feathered tunics and heavy iron boots, perhaps?

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"Whatever it is you do, Mr. Skyheart," Clara met Kvan's gaze with flirtatious fearlessness, "I'm sure it can't be HALF as bad as what most of these corporate tycoons do on their free time." She grinned. "Go on. Tell me. I promise, you won't scare me away." She winked.