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D3d LyT3

"They look into the dead lights. Every single one of them. They all look...."

0 · 219 views · located in New Boston

a character in “What Is Human?”, as played by Raidose

Description

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Accessing Subject Registration File....

[Warning: Intrusion Detected!]

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[WARNING!] [WARNING!] [SYSTEM REBOOT INITIATED!]




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Name: Daniel [Data Expunged]

Callsign: [Data Removed] "Dead Light"

Age: Estimated to be 29

Gender: Male

Threat: Maximum Threat

Known Affiliations: [Data Removed] Psi Terrorist Group "Priory of the Free Mind"



Appearance: Dead Light's facial features are unknown. All previous data on his appearance has been sabotaged and corrupted. Target has mastered blocking out his own image in the minds of others, as all witnesses describe either inaccurate or blurry details. Best descriptions only mention a "fairly tall, thin man", with camera evidence placing him around 6'5" and at an estimated 195 lbs. Beyond this, all we have is that he is caucasian, and is covered in many, many scars.

D 3d LyT3 is known best for his signature attire of a black hooded trenchcoat and a gasmask with glowing eyes. Triple-layered kevlar pokes out of his coat, along with the straps, harnesses and holsters for as many guns as he can carry without burden. Paramilitary combat slacks with ceramic kneepads are strapped high with knives, pistols, and grenades, finishing off with a pair of reliable steel-toed combat boots. D@eD 1YtE rarely ever lets even his skin show to others, even keeping his hands gloved constantly. His body is riddled with surgical scars and long-healed bullets wounds, while his athletic physique is showing heavy signs of wear and overexertion.

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Criminal Record: [Data Expunged] Murder, assassination, assault, vandalism, destruction of private property, destruction of public property, divulging of US secrets, terrorist activity, impersonating police official(s), impersonating government official(s), theft, grand theft, arson, treason, desertion, failure to register, kidnapping, illegal level Psi, and aiding & abetting. He is responsible for the deaths of Sigma teams 1 and 8.

Equipment Proficiency: Dead Light is trained in the highest grade of military firearms, and has taken the skills of expert marksmen. Has a preference for close quarter weapons such as shotguns, SMGs, sidearms, and several kinds of melee weaponry. dAEd lYT3 is rarely ever without some kind of explosive or breach weapon, and utilizes several kinds of grenades. Notable weapons include his favored 1911 .45 Colt handguns, with optional silences, two small belts of throwing knives, and a length of high tensile cable tipped with the carbon-titanium hybrid alloy grappling spike. This cord is harnessed and holstered into D@3D lyt3's right sleeve, but has no motors nor mechanical parts of any kind. He fires and retracts it entirely through telekinesis.

Skills: Dead Light is highly trained in ways that would make a Navy SEAL envious, and what he was not taught he stole out of the minds of others. He is fully capable of piloting most forms of sea and aircraft, as well as armored vehicles. He is also extremely skilled in:
Hot wiring
Black ops
Counter surveillance
Low-grade hacking
Computer security
Several different martial arts (Krav Maga, Judo, Jujitsu, Jeet Kune Do, Tae Kwon Do, Muay Thai, MMA, Kung Fu, and Filipino Martial Arts)
Demolitions
Masters in psychology,
Masters in mathematics (though he doesn't really use it)
And especially shock and awe tactics.

It's through these skills that he has come to be one of the highest threats to Psi-CON there is.

Psi Level: Seven

Known Abilities:
  • Telepathy- The very first of the Subject's abilities was to see and alter the memories of those around him. At the age of 13 he could already wipe, distort, alter, or add to the memories of multiple individuals around him without their knowledge. Within two years, the subject gained the ability to even steal the knowledge and skill of any person he spent twenty-seven minutes with, allowing him access to years of experience within only a few short moments.


    [Post HADES Project]


    [Post Achilles Project] Subject suffered severe damage to telepathic abilities, though retain far more strength than in other fields. Likely due to telepathy being the subject's base ability. Field of influence decreased to 60ft for all telepathic abilities. Subject can no longer erase the memories of any more than a single target. Memory alteration retained. Illusionary abilities retained, though victims require greater stimulus before synaptic shock levels became lethal. Thought reading and alteration retained. Suggestion retained. Remote movement retained. Mind control lost [89.8% probability]. Subject is still capable of blocking his entire being out of the mind of multiple targets as well as perception alteration. Ability to replicate and telepathically impersonate another individual retained.

  • Telekinesis- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability damaged. Subject can now only manipulate particles as fine as sand. Telekinetic strength lossed: 31%. Subject is still powerful enough to shield from single impact ballistic rounds ranging up to .55 caliber, though with far greater strain. High ROF weapons recommended. Subject can no longer completely protect against blasts larger than a M77 HE grenade. Subject is still capable of tearing through 3 inch-thick steel plating. Range of telekinesis severely crippled. Subject can now only influence objects no more than 2 ft away from his body. [Update] Subject has shown possibility of extending range at the cost of extreme, possibly lethal physical strain. new maximum reach projected to be 10ft [90.9% probability].

  • Cryokinesis- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability lost [82% probability].

  • Pyrokinesis- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability lost [Update] Ability damaged. Subject is capable of accelerating the molecules in a target surface to support combustion of up to 1350 °C. Gathering intel suggest Subject's ability decreases with range, with within 2 ft being optimal.

  • EMF Emission- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability retained. Subject may freely interfere with any and all electronics within 45 feet of him, as well as disrupt any camera or targeting device that is currently viewing him. Computerized scopes and automated targeting systems are not to be fielded. [Update] Subject has shown issues with disrupting thermal imaging, although guidance systems still react as though target is chaffed.

  • Electrokinesis- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability lost [Update] Ability damaged. Subject can withstand and absorb no more than 65 milliamps, and can discharge only half of that through direct contact. The rest of the built current is grounded and released. Voltage levels appear to top out under three million.

  • Molecular Displacement- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability lost [93.1% probability]

  • Molecular Transposition- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability Lost [99.7% probability]

  • Distant Precognition- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability lost [70.9% probability]

  • Imminent Precognition- No abilities prior to HADES Project. [Post Achilles Project] Ability damaged. Subject's connection to incoming events now is clocked in only at 223 seconds. Accuracy and frequency of precognitive information now decreases with range. Current estimation places constant, precise premonition range at around 20-25 feet. Subject still maintains near-omnipotence within his effective range, completely negating all of his disabilities. [Update] As shown through imminent-precognitive testing, the Subject's link to near future events, like that of all Type-B Precogs, appears to become scrambled and far less reliable when facing off against another Type-B Precog.

  • Psionic Resonance Assimilation- The result of Project HADES' success. Subject is able not only steal the skill and experience of a target, but now take their Psionic resonance as well. Subject kept assimilated power indefinitely. [Researcher Note] The percentage of probability that this power was lost can not be listed, as we have no evidence support this claim. The subject already was showing signs of reluctancey before the Achilles Project, and audio evidence has quoted him having extended conversations and even heated arguments when the subject was completely alone. It is believed this is a reference to his increasing severity of MPD, which the subject claimed was a side effect of this ability. [Update] This ability appears to cause lethal synaptic backlash to any "Reaver"-type Psi who attempt to feed on the subject. Why this result occurs is being further studied.

  • Psionic Physiology- The only successful results of the Achilles Project. Through the use of subconscious psionic manipulation, the subject's electrical impulses are far more powerful than a normal human being. Synaptic responses in reaction time happen near-instantaneous. Muscle fiber bundles are more tightly clustered and densified as a result of semi-constant contraction. The subject has shown decreases in fatigue gain by 130%, proving that his own resonance is actually supplementing the energy his body has to burn. The subject's overall physicality shows to be much more endurant to constant use, though whether this is enough to compensate for any long-term damage it may cause to itself is unknown.

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Personality: Due to the overuse of D 3d LyT3's Psionic Assimilation, he has been in an increasingly downward spiral of psychological instability. With each Psi he drained, he received not only their powers, but their memories, skills, and even their entire personality. The struggle for his original personality to remain dominant was constant, finally culminating in his complete removal from what is now D 3d LyT3's psyche following the event the failure of the Achilles Project. As his then-massive levels of power raged out of control until they burnt themselves out, his mind became a battlefield for every identity he had ever absorbed. The results came down to the now remaining seven six.

Dorothy- Despite the cruel nickname from his "compatriots", this is what remains of the original host. "Dorothy" is comprised of mostly memories and emotions from the Subject's days before being taken by Psi-CON. As it stands, this personality contains the last fragments of the Subject as a decent, moral, and all-the while naive human being. It's possible this is one of the first newly formed personalities after the "mind war", although it is also one of the least dominant. It seems agreed amongst the others that, for the sake of their collective survival, Dorothy "stays away from Kansas".

Toto- This is all that's left of the host. A fragmented hollow shell made up of only hardened discipline, years of indoctrination, and soul-crushing loyalty. This one is devoid of any hint of emotion or individuality. "A good little soldier, who always does what he's told. If he acts as a dog, then he'll wear one's name." Toto is perhaps the very least dominant, often no more than a sulking figure lurking amongst the background of the subconscious. At the most, he is but a droning voice "which we find very easy to silence...."

Scarecrow- Brash and impulsive, this personality is always the first to act before thinking. He is reckless, ruthless, blunt, and often arrogant. This personality longs for the kind of high one can only get from tempting fate, all the while flaunting a delusional air of invincibility. Generally aggressive with scant care for consequences, the Scarecrow tries whenever he can to usurp control. Though for each of their own sake, he is also one of the most held back.

Tinman- What one could only describe as emptiness incarnate. The Tinman lives up to his name as the thought, reason and logic behind each carefully laid action, though at a fault. Every step must be measured, remeasured, and twisted to suit one's own purposes before taking the first step. He lacks the drive and passion of the others. The burning hatred needed to push beyond boundaries and limits, of which D 3d LyT3 faces many. Tinman is methodical and calculating, but lacks the adaptability needed to survive against forces like Sigma. It is from this lack of drive that he never is able to proclaim dominance.

Lion- The life of oneself comes before the life of others. At least, that is what the Lion sees. He is the lone survivor. The one who endures all through the sacrifice of others. In a way, he is the end game. The Lion is treacherous, deceitful, greedy, selfish, and true to his name rather cowardly. He despises how often Scarecrow gets his way. He reviles this supposed "master scheme". He longs for nothing else but to live. To use D3d LyT3's powers to slink away into the shadows and vanish from everyone's mind. He is convinced that a second war of the mind may occur, and no matter what, the Lion will make sure he is the one who lives.

The Great and Powerful Oz- None of the others is quite sure where he came from. One day he was simply there, where there once stood nothing. It didn't matter though. He may not have been the first, but he quickly secured his dominance over the body. Oz is now the default personality of D3d LyT3, reigning supreme following the events of the Mind War. He sees the ideals of humanity are not ones to squander, but is more than merciless enough to survive in this world. He is manipulating, though knows when to act. He is impassioned, but always makes sure of where he leaps. He has the will to live, but knows his survival is dependant on others. Ah, yes. Others. The Priory. Oz knows the complacency of his fellow "inhabitants" will not go on forever, and already constantly has to fight off their attempts to usurp him. Though he will not deter from his grand design and unerring hatred of Psi-CON, he realizes that even a ghost needs somewhere to haunt. Oz also occasionally finds himself in need of powerful telepaths to help quill potential uprisings in his own head.

What he understands the most is that D 3d lyT3 cannot survive as he is, and is likely to burn up before long. He is essentially a bomb that's still ticking. But Oz is also the most willful of them all. It's through his drive and determination that this tired body pushes ever onwards towards Oz's goal. Total revenge. That's all there is to it, that is why D3d LyT3 hunts, stalks, terrifies, and kills. And all his ways will become worth it in the end. After ll, it won't be long now.....

The Witch- The hunger. It was born the day they began testing for Project HADES, and in a small way it never left. During the Mind War, it consumed so many personalities, yet still gained none of it's own like the others. It was what the host identity became. This was the subject. And then Dorothy dropped a house on it and took it's only pretty things, it's ruby memories. The end.

Role in story: D3d LyT3 has become something akin to Stephen King's Candyman. To most, he's a living urban legend, a boogeyman of sorts. Though for those who know him beyond some hoax paranormal myth, they know he is far more frightening. D 3d LyT3 is nothing short of a Grim Reaper. A weapon to be used when options leave no other choice. It's no secret that Xiaoyan Jin is not pleased to have such a loose cannon around, but times leave little choice. They both realize how dependant they are on each other in this. All of the legal telepaths nearly get consumed by simply entering his mind, they simply can't help him keep control. He needs the more powerful Psi within the Priory. Of course, the Priory itself needed a very big stick for when their peace talks failed. What they found in D 3d LyT3 was a chainsaw.

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History: Subject's name was Daniel [Data Expunged], older brother of Alex [Data Expunged] and son of Marcus [Data Expunged]. The mother has not been recorded. Subject spent twelve years of his life in his hometown of Toledo, Ohio before his father's seemingly erratic decision to move into rural Virginia. The father was recorded as being a Pre-Dawn Psi, which was extremely rare. Post Dawning records show that he was a very powerful Type-C precog, with an Imminent range extending ten entire minutes ahead. It is theorized, with aided evidence of a witnessed panic attack in public, that the father may have foreseen the events of the Dawning, moving away just in time to avoid the total destruction of what is now the Toledo Graveyard. Simple estimations place Daniel at thirteen years of age when the Dawning occurred.

Due to the sparse population of the greater Virginia state, it was among the first locations within the US to return to "normal". Young Daniel, now unknowingly a Psi, began schooling once reinstated. It is here that we have determined he discovered his abilities. Eye witness claims detail Daniel getting away with things he had clearly been caught doing, and even convincing his homeroom teacher that it was his birthday twice in one week. By the time Psi-CON was established, Daniel would have been 15 and believed to be in constant use of his powers. Psi-CON did not become aware of the subject until Daniel began completing mathematics tests with the same accuracy as the visiting college professor that day. In the year the PRA passed, Daniel and Alex were both tested positive for Psi Resonance. Alex took after the father as a precog, while Daniel turned out to be a rather gifted telepath in the field of memories.

Both siblings were contained by Psi-CON, while the father managed to escape. We were at the time far too ill-prepared to attempt the capture of a precog. The brothers were subjected to a five-year indoctrination process. The end results became the start of what we now know as the Sigma Protocol. Within the first year, Sigma 1 had already faced off against two Level 7, successfully eliminating both. Further probing and experimentation into the nature of the subject's ability lead the the designing of Project HADES. The artificial recreation of a growingly common Psi classification now commonly known as "Reavers". The goal was to create a Psi which could replicate their ability to siphon the resonance of other Psi, without suffering from the gradual loss of power. The Project goes live the following year, and is heralded as a success. Complications begin to rise as subject continually remarks about voices and troubling dreams.

Psychological stability of the subject begins to become questionable as he is exposed to and assimilates more incarcerated Psi. Undisclosed psychiatric evaluations and counseling begins, and continues for several months, confirming suspicions that the subject is suffering from severe Multiple Personality Disorder. Further testing shows that with each assimilation, a new personality based on the absorbed memories emerges. Psych Evals abruptly end after the subject began psychoanalyzing his counselors. It became very apparent that he still kept his original ability. A recent breakthrough lead to the design of the Achilles Project, a plan to convert the unused amount of Psionic power high level Psi emitted inward to strengthen the overall physiology of the subject well beyond that of normal humans. Because of his rapid growth in power and level, Daniel was selected to be the first test subject.

His mental instability was showing signs of becoming hazardous, raising several questions as to whether or not he was fit to serve as the test bed for the Project. However, it was deemed that the risk was greatly outweighed by the potential rewards, and Achilles went green. Disaster. The subject reacted with an unpredicted surge of power, destroying the entire eastern wing of the facility. Subject became extremely hostile, no longer responding to name or callsign. Subject began attacking Psi-CON personnel indiscriminately, and is quoted to had been screaming: "The lights. The lights are dead. The dead lights are everywhere. They are dancing. Look at them." Within the hour the remaining force of Sigma 1 was dispatched to eliminate their former comrade. All Sigma 1 operatives were lost, except one. Remaining survivor was retransferred. After initial surge of power, the subject began screaming in pain. All of his abilities appeared to be withering, and containment was possible. The psionic surge had burnt out massive amounts of the subject's powers, and had appeared to even irreparably damage the neurological link to both his eyes and ears. Subject was rendered completely deaf and blind.

Subsequent testing revealed that the subject had not lost all abilities. Thorough testing was scheduled to determine the full extent of the damage, but was never completely. Subject revealed that his remaining powers were enough to overcome not only his newly made disabilities, but to escape containment. March 26, 2026, the target completely vanishes from Psi-CONs radar and continues to evade detection for two full years. Trace is picked up again in New Boston, Massachusetts. The subject, now identifying himself as "Dead Light", decided to turn the city into a bloody gauntlet following Psi-CON's clean-up operation of the terrorist cell "The Priory". Strikes teams deployed en masse to the city, with several casualties following. This "Dead Light" evaded capture and elimination for exactly eight months and twelve days, finally ending his spree with the assassination of New Boston Police Commissioner James Harris Esbern. City-wide manhunt is held for the subject, spanning several weeks, with Psi-CON having no choice to to deny full disclosure to protect it's assets. The remaining officers of the city conclude that this was the work of a Psi organisation, and that the subject is "no more than a ghost story". Subject disappears from radar.

One year later, subject re emerges in his home state of Ohio. Sigma teams 7 and 8 are dispatched immediately. What began to appear as a bloody military campaign ensued, until subject once again vanished after several months of fighting. Sigma 7 returned with no casualties. Sigma 8 was KIA. Two years passed since any sign of subject "Dead Light", until recent reports added to the probability that he may have returned to New Boston. Psi-CON began to monitor all rumors and reports of said "supernatural being", finding the witness accounts to match that of the subject. Reports place his return at approximately three months. Police reports mark the return of previously thought exterminated resistor cell "The Priory", and it is theorized that the two events are linked. Sigma teams 7, 3, and 12 dispatched. Termination of "Dead Light" is high priority. The last time the subject made this his hunting grounds, he murdered an Commissioner. It is the mutual understanding of the investigative division that we don't want to see what his next trick is. Subject's psy[Data Corrupt]gical patte[Data Corrupt]laces likely [Data Corrupt]eabouts at [ERROR] [FILE HAS BECOME CORRUPT]

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RP Sample: (I did not mean this to drag out like it did X_X)

Brilliant bolts of dark violet electricity arced throughout the thick tangle of neurons in the sky above. Powerful strikes of the purple lightning blasted away at the remains of ruined, decrepit structures. The bombed out remains of once towering buildings slowly sank into the sea of black sand and inky tar below. Voices, thoughts, memories, all danced and shot around, escaping their captors for a moment before being gobbled up once more. The last survivors in this dreamscape, shadowy, twisted and heinous forms, gathered around their enigmatic "leader", as he made ready one more step in his design.

Haha! YES! Some fire for those bastards! We should have done this from the start, may have saved those weaklings!

This isn't right. It's not what they would have wanted. We're going to make everything worse....


Quiet, you fucking brat! They fought, too! They just died! They failed. We won't, Hahahahahahaa!!

They won't take this lightly. You know that. What are we gaining from this? What are we forcing this city to endure? Have you thought about any of this, or is your little vision so damn precious?

To hell with the God damn city, you're dragging all of us into your grave! Why should any of us give a shit about your plan? It's going to lead to darkness! The dead lights will fall upon us!



Enough! All of you. You fear this because you have doubt. You are pathetic. And you, Scarecrow, are far too simple, too stupid to see anything other than violence in this. I seek true revenge in this, on the ones responsible.

How is killing him going to solve anything? You said you wanted to help them.

You are too naive to understand. That is why I do this. If we kill him,They will follow. To a dead place, where we can hunt them.

You want us to be bait?! Are you insane!?! You'll send us all into the dead lights, just so you can drag them down as well! You'll kill us!

I Won't Have It!!

The yellow-eyed nightmare roared, lunging forth at the towering mass of blackness. It clawed and flailed, lashing out with claws of shadow and madness, trying as best it could to pry away the mask from the wizard's grip. To Hell With You, Coward! Oz boomed, his back becoming alive with massive hands of darkness. Their limbs intertwined into one colossal appendage, gripping the entire head of the Lion with crushing brutality and flinging him away into the abyss of the mind. I have had enough of this! The next one to challenge me will be ripped in two. The other products of this lost mind did not step forward, reluctantly submitting once again to his reign. The malevolent purple eyes of Oz lit up as he saw a face amongst the backdrop, beckoning them forward in as demeaning a manner as possible.

*Whistles* Here doggie! Come here, boy! The shadowed form rose as a humanoid, though devoid of all features. It peered back at it's "master" with deep, hollow black eyes, stepping forward as ordered. Good boy.... Is our gift ready?

The belittled figure was hesitant to respond, before finally droning out in an emotionless voice. ......Yes sir. Effective radius should be within eightteen-point-five meters. As you asked.

A massive hand materialized from Oz, patting the dwarfed humanoid on the head in mock praise. Who's a good doggie? Now, if you spineless, brainless weaklings are finished, I am moving forward. The wizard brought the mask to his face as slime-covered tendrils emerged, eager to greet and envelop the entire thing. In a great spark of awareness, the dreamscape faded away into the skyline of New Boston. The crispness of the winter air seeping in through the gas filters, chilling his lungs and reminding him oh how good it is to live. He peered down from his perch at his quarry below, always one to savor these delicious moments of calmness and unsuspecting before the coming darkness. Before the dead lights could shine through.




New Boston Police Department, East side Precinct. December the 8th, 2028


The station was unusually busy for this time of year. This was odd, not as much from lack of crimes, though everyone wished for that, but more so from a lack of people on the streets to report them. The nights were dark, frigid, and unwelcoming. No one wanted to risk walking them alone, and it was sadly true that one could get away with almost anything. Officer Nathan Pierce, a fresh cop just burgeoning on veterancy after four years on the streets, took in the slight bits of warmth and comfort his coffee had to offer, only to find his cup had run dry. He grumbled at this little metaphor of his life thus far, trying to rub the weariness from his eyes. The clock had run well past midnight some time ago, dragging into the ante meridiem.

"Hey Pierce!" a familiar voice came over the general droning of the office. "Christ, Samantha, how the hell can you be this active at three A.M.?" Pierce swiveled in his chair with a groan, but also a generally warm smile on his face. "Years of practice. So, you finish that paper work yet?" she beamed back at him. "Would I still be here if I had? Seriously, how the hell does one guy take out three whole mall outlets in ten minutes?" Nathan shook his head as he turned to finish typing the other half of a sentence into the report. Sam just let a a light-hearted chuckle. "Easy, when you're a major creepazoid and your brain is a bazooka." It really is amazing how a cop can literally have seen everything in only a few short years these days. Sometimes, making humor of the dark bits helped the days go by. Nathan just rubbed his eyes again. "Yeah, I guess....."

His fingers danced on the tops of each key, clicking away until the lights all throughout the station flickered at once. His was one of several heads to raise up with confusion, until they returned to normal. "Weird....." Pierce uttered in a low tone, still eyeing the light above his head suspiciously. "Yeah, I thought all the wires were shielded.... Eh, who knows. It's' not the first time weird shit has happened. I mean, we are technically on the edge of where an old Graveyard use to be." That made him chortle a bit. "Yeah, Sam, I'm sure those ghoOoOosts did it" he mocked, wiggling his fingers for added embellishment. His battered office chair creaked as he stood, grabbing his emptied coffee cup and looking to Officer Samantha Caid. "I'm going for some more joe, you want any?" "Oooooo" Sam replied, inhaling sharply through her teeth, a pretty clear sign she had some bad news. "Peterson, the boy wonder, kinda broke the coffee maker... You're gonna have to use the machine on the ground floor."

"Yep, that's just my luck..." Nate remarked, shaking his head as he took the short stroll to the elevator. Tapping the button, he patiently waited in front of the big, shiny metal door before it dawned upon him. Nothing happened. Tapping the button repetitively didn't yield any better results, only further aggravation. "God damn it, all I want if a fucking cop of coffee....." With a sturdy and unyielding thunk, Nathan's clenched hand smacked the buttons, and his only reward was another flicker of the lights above. "That's it, we gotta get an electrician t-JESUS!!!" Nearly walking right into.... it, Nathan stared in disbelief at the figure which appeared to have just blinked in right behind him. A figure in a black trench coat and hood. And that mask...




It all played in slow motion for him. This little man who was now stumbling backwards. The last splash of liquid escaping his cup. The clutter of papers another had knocked over slowly drifting to the floor. All taking an age where it should have been an instant. It was almost.... serene. The cop's scream alerted the rest of the herd. He could hear them shuffle around. The sudden clinking and banging of drawers being flung open. The clicking of safety switches as a dozen handguns were aimed at his head. A billion different visions went through his mind. In some, he got away unscathed, but in the majority he was torn to pieces the moment he moved. Ah, here they came. A line of borgs, half-clad in their kevlar with some still fumbling with a few clasps, made up a firing squad at his back. All armed with a twelve-gauge shotgun. "I don't know who you are, jackass, but your in deep shit! Get your fucking hands up! Now!" The dark figure complied with the order....

Perfect.....

"Alright, on the ground!"

Idiot! Why would you reveal yourself now?!

"I said on the fucking ground, asshole!"

Tell me, have you ever wondered why most people are right handed?

"Last chance, we will open fire!" Every hand in the line was gripped tightly around the trigger, waiting for the word or for their target to try something. It didn't matter. "Simon says...." he muttered aloud, taking the moment to be sure of the link. "Wait, what'd he say?" Before another word was said, it happened. A simple jerk of his left hand, and suddenly all the guns were aimed at the person to their left. A clench of his right hand, and all the triggers were pulled. As seven out of eight bodies hit the ground, there was a stunned silence following were none of the sheep knew how to act. But He did. The last one standing didn't even realize that the target was now facing him, until he felt an invisible force wrap around his head. His face was slammed into the floor with skull-cracking force, as the hostile reached out his arm to an office chair. That same chair became a missile, flying ludicrously fast into another borg's face. All Officers opened fire, hitting nothing but air. The target had vanished.

Suddenly all the lights began to hum as they grew brighter and brighter, till finally they all burst. All sources of light began to follow suit, leaving only little things such as computer screens, laptops, and soda machines. And now the fun could begin. In the places were the shadows were strongest, they saw them. Two perfect orbs of dark purple. Two eyes of malevolence, haunting them all. They took shots when they saw them, desperate to put him down. They were making this easy. All it took now was simple mind games. Were once an officer saw his partner, another glance showed a monster with those damned eyes. Of course, he fired. They all did. And the body of an ally fell bloodied to the ground, dead by their hand. There was no time for guilt, as the Dead Lights would offer him mercy. He turned, and saw them. The scream was cut from his throat before it escaped his mouth. In a vain attempt for revenge, one of the badges decided that a personal approach should be taken. The stun stick buzzed as it dove straight for the back of that coat, but the officers arm was caught in the blink of an eye. Now face to face with the mask, the blue had no time to stop the cut across his wrist. A strong kick dislocated his leg, followed by the burning of that knuckle knife gliding over his femoral artery.

The stuck pig was flung away by a blast of telekinesis as two arms shot around the waist of the faux apparition, attempting what some would call a "full nelson hold". No sooner had the jock locked his fingers behind the perpetrator's neck did every single one of his digits snap backwards, instantly freeing his perp again. In a flash of black fabric, a large combat knife found it's way straight through the drone's temples. One final try was made to grapple with this... thing, wedging a nightstick underneath it's chin. The two wrestled and struggled, spun and stumbled, as the rest of the blues took up cover on the far side of the cubicles. Finally the man in the mask threw the cop over his shoulder, drawing a gun for the kill. "Take 'em down!" The repetition of gunfire roared forth, blitzing and battering against kevlar body armor, and of course the body beneath it. As a few stray rounds shattered the mask, it revealed only the face of "the boy wonder". As his legs lost strength and his knees thudded against the ground, the rest of the disguise faded into black dust.

"Oh God, Peterson!"

"Shit! Shit! We fucking shot him!"

"Where the fuck did he go?"

What they thought was there comrade originally had vanished. Flashlights and laser sights darted around, trying to spot the invisible killer. The one place were they failed to watch was their flank and that would cost them. Popping up with guns blazing, their target made a made dash towards cover, rapidly emptying both magazines of forty-fives. Accuracy didn't matter, he just wanted to spook them, to toy with them. But everyone get's bored eventually. Shielded by a support column, the spectr took a moment to reload. Bullets and buckshot blasted away inch after inch of stone and marble. As instinctual as a breath, both empty clips were flicked out of their guns. Fresh mags leapt from his coat and slid into each port, followed by a second pair of colts which hung in the air by his arms, and then two more full-autos with extended clips. He waited. Only three or four seconds to us, but an eternity to him. He waited for just... the right... moment. When they would mistime a reload. He swung around the corner of the column, taking slow, long steps as he unloaded with all six guns. He counted the shots in his right, saving one for... well, his target.

One by one, his guns clicked empty, and he let them fall to the floor. All save the one, with the one bullet, meant to stop old James Esbern as he tried to scramble to another weapon. That bullet went straight into his femur. He wasn't the only one left though. Oh no. Three. Two. One. His hand shot out just as an actual shot occurred. A metallic ring changed and varied in pitch as the still spinning bullet stopped merely inches from his palm. The cop who fired the shot couldn't believe her eyes, dumbstruck that anyone, even a Psi, could actually catch a bullet. She didn't even react when the round was fired back at her. The speed of the round would never have been enough to punch through kevlar, but she hadn't time to grab her vest. She was simply on the late shift, chatting with a friend. D3d LyT3 saw this in her memories. A reminder that he is not immune to the pangs of guilt, however slight, but guilt none the less. Not all humans deserved this. Oh, but many do. A reminder of why he is was only a few feet behind him, standing on shaky legs with a loaded scattergun. The old man fired....

The shot tore through the back of the coat, spewing black tar and bile onto the floor. The entire being melted down into the viscous fluids, slowly reaching out along the floor. Commissioner Esbern could only gawk at the odd sight as the vile liquid stained the bottoms of his shoes. A sudden vise like grip ensnared his throat as an outstretched, inhuman, impossible arm stretched three meters from the "corpse" to him. From the slime came a figure that broke all rules of what should exist. it's body was made of twisting bone and clinging, blackened meat. Inky smoke and whirling shaded cascaded over him. Thick, black tar bubbled and formed what one might call a head. And then, burning through the primeval ooze of it's rancid face, came those two glowing eyes. Two bottomless pits of raging eminence, burning brighter than the headlights of a squad car. This monster of living nightmare flung him back-first against the wide-area windows of the fifth floor with enough force to crack the "hurricane rated" glass. Before the Commissioner could even fall to his knees, the hand was at his throat, lifting him off the ground.

"You son of a bitch.... They'll be coming up those steps. They'll fill you with holes...!"

The old man's threats were cut off by the ringing of the phone in his office across the hall.

"Do you hear that? That's the secretary two floors down, calling about the lights. Gunshots register in a very special area of the mind. An area I'm helping them ignore. And the ones I can't? Well.... you have very good soundproofing hear. Three floors down? Nothing...."

"What.... are you?!"

"Do you remember a day before the lights died?"

"Wh-What?!"

"It may have been before you heard the whispers in your ear. The little voices who bent you, broke you...."

"I... I don't know what the f-fuck you're talking abou-Gagghhh!!!" The Commissioner writhed in pain as he felt two more hands clasped the sides of his head, prying his eyes open. Another clawed hand dug it's tipped fingers into the back of his head, and yet one more grabbed hold of his bottom jaw.

"The Priory helped you, before. They wanted you to show what the Psi could be. They helped you become what you are. A bitter lie, now. They placed you here in confidence. Your payment to them.... When Psi-Con and Sigma came for blood, you repaid them by taking this finger....." The nightmare hissed, summoning a tendril of shadows to wrap around his index finger, snapping it like a twig. "And you pointed it right at them. And you said "sic 'em".... Your hands were filled with your thirty pieces, so what must come next?" No more words came from Esbern, as a cord was pulled taut around his neck. The look on his face was fear, the only thing he could show as he gazed into those lights. The Dead Lights were watching. "It's almost Christmas. You're going to be my card." A blast of telekinesis sent the Commissioner flying out the window, the cord around his neck going over one of the flag poles which protruded from the side of the building, making a makeshift gallows. The other end was quickly fashioned, leaving him hang for all the morning crowds to see.

"And of course, what is Christmas without presents?" D3d LyT3 mused, abandoning the illusion. He walked nonchalantly on a direct path to the supply room, humming hymns from outdated films. Though he paused halfway, glancing over at the staircase leading up. Still humming along, he scooped up one of the discarded shotguns and used it to bar the door. Didn't need anyone interrupting. Back to business in the supply room, as he leapt up and knocked out on of the ceiling tiles. Gripping the edges of the opening with his hand and ankles, he felt around in the ceiling space for his gift. "Up on the rooftops, click-click-click..." he dropped back to the floor, satchel in tow. "Down thru the chimney comes old Saint Nick." Prying open the elevator doors with invisible hands, he stepped in and dropped the pack right in the center. He could hear someone jiggling the door he blocked earlier, but they wouldn't get in in time. Unzipping the bag, all he need do was set the timer. Fifteen seconds, on the third floor. Should be enough to wipe out most of the others, but leave some survivors. That was just as important. Fiddling with the elevator wiring he cut before the shootout, the panel lit up with new life, and he stepped out just as the doors closed.



"The memorial which we erect today, in front of the newly recommissioned Eastside Precinct is a reminder of this horrible tragedy, and the loved ones we've lost. Commissioner Esbern and his fellow officers will be remembered as heroes. The search for this person or persons is ongoing, with the best of both New Boston's finest and Psi-CONs elite operatives working around the clock to bring them to justice."
-Mayor Creed.


Password (Oh no, no cheating off of me. You can do it, I have faith :p)

So begins...

D3d LyT3's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Xiaoyan Jin Character Portrait: Thomas Kenny Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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#, as written by Raidose
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The night is dead, here. It's cement and steel surfaces radiate with a chilled ambiance. The ghost of noise from a passing car, on either roads or in the air above. The whisper of hurried steps clapping against the sidewalk. A sharp breeze of wind carried winter's waning frigid contempt of the season across the city, and it's mere touch stung like a sharp knife across the skin. Fleeting tears from heaven rattled against aged iron and glass with tapping repetition, with each nigh frozen drop to land upon revealed flesh sent a shock of cold straight to the bone. On the darkened roads and desolate slums of the lower East End, there was not the beautiful glow of neon lights save for those in the distance. Like a callous reminder to the standings of the residents here, the towering monoliths of vibrant colors reached up to cradle the sky. Their sides twinkled as the only stars to be seen this night, as was much to their vanity. Great pillars of luminance scoured the clouds and Earth alike, dancing and slicing back and forth across the sky. The night was brilliant for them, but here it is dead. There are no such lights, no such stars, and no such comfort. There were reasons for the streets to be barren, and the seasons bitter greetings were sadly not among them.

Those that brave the flickering streetlights and brooding ill omen of the dark streets and alleys, whether by choice or lack-there-of, can be promised little more than hardship and the looming threat of vanishing as another hollow echo in the night. Crime and gang violence survived the Dawning just as many did, and in the blink of chaos took hold of as much ground as it's bloody claws could grasp. Even with the rebuilding of the city over it's own remains, these unwanted elements lingered on. The sound of breaking glass and gunshots still part the silence of these hours. Violence lives on, in one guise or another. The media would say that this is what has become of the Psi who lash out, rebelling against their own confines in reckless displays of theft and desperatism. I wish I could say this wasn't true. To survive, some of the Gifted Kind are forced to resort to such measures. In the stillness of the late hours, treading where few eyes watch, the desperate of soul attempts what he can. They face the fear of Reaver packs, Psi-CON, street gangs, and the New Boston Police, and when their luck runs dry, the silence of the dead night is broken once more....




"Freeze!" the voice roared down the alleyway. Heavy breaths rasped puffs of steam into the air as the sound of boots meeting asphalt echoed into the night. Rubber treads slipped and struggled for traction on the slickened surface, skidding and splashing as the two thundered down the passage. "I said Freeze, God damn it!" the cops voice rang in his ears, the would-be cutpurse still clutching to his catch. Every step in his mad dash to freedom made the bones in his legs rattle and jolt, causing pain the likes of which overwhelmed the burning of his lungs. His eyes darted for any turns or narrow openings he could find. A sharp change of direction caused his feet to skid out from under him, landing him square on his ass before scrambling back into a full sprint. Another error like that would place him in arm's reach of his pursuer, and a fate this man truly dreaded more than anything. It was rare to ever hear what happened to imprisoned Psi, and the rumors were never pretty. The usual price for a petty snatch & grab was generally just a thorough beating and some rough jail time, but this was different. He'd failed to register himself for over a month, and knew something in him had changed. Something big. He knew that if he were caught, he wouldn't be coming back from wherever they sent him.

His getaway was cut off by a blinding light burning into his eyes, stunning him before he could realise that this was backup. And it wasn't his. A twinge of pain as the dart stuck to his chest, followed by an intense surge of electricity. The voltage was enough to cause visible smoke as he writhed and wriggled on the ground in agony, capitalized by a sharp kick to the gut for good measure. "Nice shot. Thought I'd have to chase this asshole all night..." the one borg commented to his partner, leering down at their catch of the day. "Now what did I say? Do you remember what I said?" With a flick, the billy club came to full length, delivering the first of many cracks to their captives sides. "When. I. Say. Freeze. It. Means. You. Fucking. Freeze!" Each word being punctuated by another swing to the ribs. The click of another nightstick sounded as the cop's partner was eager to try out his batting average. The pauses between beatings were marked with kicks to the back and head, repeating again and again until... something pulsed. A bolt of ephemeral blue energy cut a deep circle into the cement below the two drones' feet, causing a start of both surprise and confusion before the engraving detonated beneath them. Both officers were sent flying backwards, and one of them landed with an unhealthy crack. The surviving partner drew his gun, only to see the same blue energy slice straight up his body armor. The thief struggled to his feet, but when his eye caught the cop's finger on the trigger, he panicked.

And the slice detonated.

He ran, as fast and as hard as he could. He ran to the end of the alley, away from the scene of his latest crime. Double homicide. He was a cop killer now, and his worst fears came true. Lights beamed down on him, blinding him. Shielded by his hand, he could see two more badges take up cover and arms behind their squad car. No words were said before they fired. Rounds tore through the man's ragged shirt, and blood stained the snow at his feet. How it all came to this reeled back through his mind. His body lost strength, and he landed face down in the street. One more Psi would die a criminal for all the city to know, and the two officers who died in service would be the heroes. That is how this city runs, survives, and bleeds.




Pain, radiating from loosened teeth and rattled jaw. The copper tinge of blood. The unforgiving kiss of the curb. Right now, a young man knew this all too well. He stood accused by his classmates of using psionics on his girlfriend. For making her love him, as surely there was no other way for a Psi. At least, that was their belief. On the edge of a desolate parking lot, just a few feet from the saving grace of a streetlight's shining halo. His date in question was restrained back as the beatings continued. For every attempt made to stand, a fist met his jaw to place him back on the ground. His persecutor gripped the tape-wrapped handle of his DeMarini aluminum bat tightly, sliding his hands down into a better swinging position. "Last chance, shit-stain! What'd you do to her? Or do I gotta use this a few times?"

The boy retched and spit the contents of his mouth on the ground, before casting a hateful glance up. "Fuck you, Mike! I didn't do shit! I can't even do that kinda shit anyway! It's on my fucking school she-Gagh!" Cut off by the baseball bat colliding with his spine, followed by a strong boot to the gut to kick some of the defiance out of him. A scornful snarl crossed Mike's face as he rolled the boy over on his back. "Don't even try that bullshit on me, John. I know you freaks can get all kindsa fucked up powers in between your check-ups. So what was it? Some mind control telepathic bullshit? Huh?! Hey, answer me you little fag!"

Mike brought the bat down again just as John grabbed ahold of Mike's shin. John's other hand reached up and caught Mike's swing, while Mike himself got the oddest sensation that someone had just clubbed him in the ankle with a metal bat. The schoolyard jock keeled over, clasping at his leg and howling in pain. John was quick to relieve him of the bat just as the rest of Mike's cronies moved in. John swung madly, using his ability to transfer force of impact between two people the whole time. With each hit he took, John reached out to grab another one and send them the hit. Even with the odds stacked heavily against him, the gang finally began to back off. Taking small, cautious steps towards his girlfriend, he kept that bat ready the whole time. John thought he had done it, that he was home free. At least for tonight.

His hopes shattered when Mike got back up, pulling out a small snub-nose he had tucked under his shirt. It was the first time John ever stared down the barrel of a gun, and now it might be the last....




In the old days prior to the civil war, those with kind hearts offered shelter to escaped slaves. In hidden rooms or unmarked cellars, they would hide from the law and their owners. In the time of Hitler's reign over Germany, those same shelters offered safety to those of Jewish beliefs. Always in times of cruelty, humanity is not one to completely abandon the forsaken party. Even in our time, the offer of shelter and safety exists for those those stray or even illegal Psi. More often than not, these refugees were hidden right under the foundation of their saviour's home. The blurring and mashing of old building plans made finding any hidden basements nearly impossible, and the runners had long since found a way passed the thermal scans. Wooden boards to dampen the feedback signature of high grade thermal insulation. Old tricks with new measures taken by those who refuse to shirk their fellow man, powers be damned.

The room was dimly lit with low-watt bulbs, hand-cranked lights and old oil lanterns. This looked to once been a small suite for a hotel long before the city sunk, with now it's only path to the surface leading through the homeowner's living room. The kindly couple handed out their canned goods as many fidgeted in their hand-me-down coats for warmth. The Anders had taken in three families, equaling five adults, two children, and one infant. Mr. Anders helped hand out the rations while the Mrs. took care of everything else, which right now consisted of making sure the baby was okay. This woman was an only mother, and the newest one to take refuge here. There wasn't much shared, and being a fairly newlywed, Rebecca Anders was a bit curious. This woman gave only warm vibes, offering a rather bright smile when Rebecca sat down next to her.

"I never did ask, what's her name?" Rebecca started, offering another spare blanket to bundle. "Amy. She's named after my grandmother." Her smile was warming, and her eyes held nothing but pride in her baby girl. "It's suits her. And the father is...?" The glint in the woman's eyes revealed a tinge of sadness before she could hide it, her head lowered a bit before she tried to regain her smile. "He's... not with us anymore. Didn't want a daughter who was......" She couldn't finish it. Rebecca blushed deeply, feeling slightly ashamed for being so nosey. "Oh... I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..." The mother shook her head. "No, it's alright. It's nice to have someone to listen." That made Rebecca smile a bit, knowing that she may have done some good rather than salt a wound.

But then a budding question began to rise, till she could barely ignore it. "So.... you're not a Psi?" "No..." she said, bouncing her little girl a bit. "No, I'm not that special. But she is. She's my little gift, and I knew if any one else knew.... I couldn't let that happen." "But... If she wasn't tested, than how do you kn-..." Rebecca felt herself cut off, not by words or a glare, but by a look. It was strangely warm and knowing, but the mother held a look that reminder Rebecca of her own mother. "No one had to tell me a thing. You just know." It wasn't understandable, but Rebecca couldn't question it. She wanted to, but.... she simply couldn't. Something about this woman just made her so sure, and there was no doubt.

A sudden, forceful knock on the door set everyone on alarm. The Anders did not have anyone come over, as they had few they could trust. All the lights went out, and the basement went dead silent. Another pounding on the door as the couple rushed back upstairs. The Vid-Com at the door showed something that made their blood freeze. A shield with the banner "In Eiicient Oculus". Psi-CON's motto. The husband answered the door with faux surprise. "O-Oh, uhhh. Can I help you, officer?" With one foot already in the door, the Con Man stepped in. His respirator masked his voice, but did nothing for the accusations. "We've received reports of unusual activity. Multiple noise complaints. We're required to search your premises. We trust you comply." Before an objection could be made, three more armed with rifles walked in like they owned the house. "Uhh, no. Of course, come right in."

Down below they all huddled together in deathly silence from the creaking and hushed voices from above. Fathers and Mothers hugged their children close, wishing one thought alone. Let them go away. Heavy boots against the floorboards groaned out each step they took as their faceless leader inspected the living room. "Wood flooring?" he remarked while glancing down. "C-came with the house" his wife blurted, letting a little bit of her nerves show. "Odd. Not often seen in homes today." "Uh, yes" the husband stepped forward. "It's one of the reasons we got this place for so little. It really is terrible for keeping the cold out, and we were saving up to have the whole place redone." That mask hid all facial expressions, giving Mr. Anders no clue if this man was buying his little performance. Right now, he was just grateful for each moment his hands were not in cuffs.

"Hey, check this out" a voice rang from another room, causing both the couple's hearts to leap. Another faceless soldier came in holding little figurines. "Animaniacs. I use to love these guys when I was a kid, where'd you get these?" Letting out a small chuckle of relief, the husband perks up, "I'm an antiques dealer. It kinda went from hobby to passion, I guess." An uneasy silence follows the still hanging hope that this close call is almost over.

Finishing with their inspection, the troopers begin to depart. With the last squeak of the floor boards came a sound which stopped all heartbeats below. The infant girl sneezed. The Psi-CON officer paused instantly, looking back. Those soulless eyes scanned the couple as well as the room, before looking down again. The silence drags on for a small eternity before he finally lifts his boot, causing the board to squeak again. "These types of homes were always horrible with their noises." "Yes.... especially around this time of the year...." The door was finally closed, and the two embraced each other, thankful that it was finally over.

They don't see the officer outside hold up two fingers, rolling his wrist twice for the signal. The few moments of peace are shattered as gas grenades are fired through their windows. The door is broken down as the two are tasered and dragged away. All subtlety forgoed, it doesn't take long before the basement is flooded with tear gas. A loud voice booms down the stairs. "Remain Where You Are. Do Not move Or We Will Open Fire." Of course, this announcement comes in the middle of the panic and chaos. It was little more than a formality, really. Psi-CON soldiers storm down into the hidden area, rifles trained on all target. Those who can fight try their best to protect their families....

And then the shooting starts....




Wind howled through the narrow confines of the alley, slithering along like a river through a canal. It grated against warm bodies and robbed them of their heat. In it's place it left nothing but tokens of chills and despair. This is why good shelter was so hard to come by for those that traverse the back alley streets of the lower East Side, and one such traveler was learning this lesson rather hard. A lone figure in tattered clothing fought against this foul wind as he searched for a place to shield him from this horrid night's cold. With arms wrapped tight, he shivered profusely to escape the chill in his body before pressing on. Winter was always the worst time to be without a home, and every step was simply reminding Thomas of that more and more as he trudged past a played out mural depicting a cartoon city.

He paused a moment to gawk, taking in the literal Stormtroopers with cherry lights on their heads, the many eyeballs leering out of the sides of each building and even the sky, and of course the towering depictions of Psi-CON troops in flowing white robes and hoods, "CON" was written in large red letters on each of their fronts. On the far left side stood a row of faceless soldiers surrounded by bright red fire. On the right was a very Grim Reaper-like figure, complete with dark wings and dressed in an all-black robe. The only difference was that instead of a skull peering out from under it's hood, it was only two rounded purple orbs.

Thomas didn't seem to be much for art, especially when survival was in question. He had to pick up his pace anyways, as an old familiar feeling crept up his spine. Something was following him. With newfound vigor in his step, he turned to begin a dash down the darkened corridor. Being active helped with staying warm, so running may do some good in either case. Thomas did miss quite a sight when he turned, the black figure looming away from the wall to watch him dart down the alley. Peeling from the wall, the work of an artist's imagination took shape as a physical being clad in a long, dark coat, complete with those piercing eyes.

"Huh.... Interesting."



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D 3d LyT3 leaned out from his hiding, having taking shelter in his illusion mere feet from his target. He knew the boy had not suspected anything, but still worry was on his mind. More than caution, but not quite fear. This was it's own feeling, one earned from experience and years of being on the run. This was something that could be utilized, and D 3d LyT3 liked that. Xiaoyan was right, this one was indeed worth watching. The boy was fast, too. Within a few moments he had fled the field of D3d LyT3's telepathic influence, and not long after that all mental images of the boy's presence vanished from his mind. This might be some fun after all. Taking not but a single step, a burst of raw force underneath his foot shot him up to the rooftops. His heel came to a muffled landing on the edge of the buildings cap, cushioned by the same power used to reach this height. Leaning forward, another blast launched him forth after his quarry and across the gaps between roofing.

A gloved hand gripped the ledge of a good vantage point, the rest of his cloaked figure not far behind. He lurked above his target's head, both to keep watch and in a small way egg him to run further. Always he kept the boy in his awareness, spying him from the roofs in a way no waking eye ever could. D 3d LyT3 kept his distance, but always kept Thomas close enough to see a few precious seconds ahead. At this rate, it wasn't entirely necessary. Having had such a close encounter with the lad, D 3d LyT3 could very well track his thoughts through several blocks beyond his normal range before losing track of Thomas. Though a pesky thought not of his own ceaselessly pestered him, so he gave some space to his game. He loomed over the world below him with all the presence of a stone gargoyle. He sat and spoke aloud, and though no visible company was present, he knew his words were being heard.

"Got close enough for a read. Stray, unchipped from birth." "...." "None anymore. Cons. Suffered a bad loss fairly recently. Friend. High level Psi. Popped by local PD." "....." "Yes. Tragic." "....." "Couldn't get an age. Rough count says maybe seventeen. Not a lot of references in his memories, so give or take." "...." "I can promise, but I can't promise to keep my promise." ".............." "I make no promises." "........." "Immaturity isn't my game, you'll want one of the other's in here for that." "......" "Can't say. Kid's heading into an area with eyes all over. 'Renovation' I believe was the lie. Too many camera's go out from me getting too close, and, well...." "...." "Definite loner, though not one by choice. He's edgy, paranoid. The useable kind. We could use him, but there are better. Much better." "....." "All I got was 'he jumps good'. Kid's quick on his feet, though I got nothing beyond that." "....." "This sounds like punishment. I wasn't the one who started shooting." "........." "Alright, alright. I'll watch how this plays out, but only because I'm curious."

D 3d LyT3 did not get curious often, for that usually implied he missed something. A rare thing, made more so when he'd admit it. This one definitely held his interest, whether that be for good or bad. With a dive and a few great bounds he'd caught up to his mark, keeping his unblinking gaze centered on the boy's every move. "I wonder.... If this pawn is so special, then will he feel the weight of the hand which moves him forward? Or will he remain in blissful ignorance of the game he's stepped into?" In the middle of his musings, a subtle alert crept into D 3d LyT3's attention. A threat in small numbers. On foot, aggressive, predatory.... and Psionic. It seems Psi-CON has done a poor job of ridding this city of it's Reaver nuisance. A sudden twist to the game.

But not entirely an unwelcomed one.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Xiaoyan Jin Character Portrait: Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn Character Portrait: Thomas Kenny Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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"Oh fuck... Well! Fancy meeting you here!"

"Dont you think that may have been slightly cliche?"

The voice was a musical chuckle, chiding Samuel from a bright place in his own mind.

Xiaoyan wasnt there of, course. Wrapping her hands around a chipped mug, she enjoyed the heat and comfort and light that many others in the Bones could only dream about. She had a sturdy if often-repaired chair beneath her, a string of decorative lights cast a comforting glow around the masonry of her so-called office and home, and if she closed her eyes and hoped /really/ hard, she might still faintly taste the tea leaves that graced the bottom of the cup weeks ago.

Here at the center of the proverbial web, it wasnt long before her attention was inevitably tugged away, and Samuel would be aware that the light touch at the periphery of his attention moved away, leaving him alone again like the sun gone behind a cloud.

Spreading her fingers across the papers before her, she wasnt worried. Samuel could handle himself, or she wouldnt have trusted him alone. Xiaoyan's ephemral presences may occasionally flit to look over the shoulders of her agents; but it was an act of curiosity rather than mistrust. She didnt get out much, herself, when there was so much work to do behind the scenes.

The newspaper smuggled from above detailed the uproar caused by her latest machinations. She'd known that sending a man into the fire would be unpleasant in the extreme. The reaction had been what she'd expected. Abrupt backpeddling from his long-term supporters. Cries of condemnation. A letter of resignation that couldnt be filed fast enough. But the commotion and uproar it'd caused had given the underdogs hope. It might be only prolonging the inevitable, but for that window of time Psi children would get a chance at education.

With a soft sigh and a curious leafing through pages of sports and buisness dribble, Xiaoyan lifted the paper off of her scavenged metal desk and cast it into the ever-hungry firepit that dominated the corner of the room; giving warmth against the damp and cold of the water-level Bones where the Priory made its haven.

A report of supplies - always dangerously low - required her to juggle the needs of her sanctuary; sending a team of the Priory out to scavenge while others she sent away entirely to lessen the burden. Someone wounded in a skirmish with a Psi-CON ambush had an update on a route that was no longer safe. Another suspected his partner of being a spy. Paranoia, simple dislike, or very real threat?

Finally, with the most pressing tasks sorted, Xiaoyan sighed and closed her eyes. Letting her mind go with the breath, she plucked at the threads of light that floated around her. Most of those closest were satisfied, if ringed in fatigue and the vague unease of the hunted. She sought farther; away from the bright nest of light and life that was the Priory and into the dark, fearful skitterings of the Bones. She was familiar with who she sought, but spotting him still took care when he was 'hunting' as he was now.

Even then, the sudden tangle of dark, twisted threads that jutted and grasped took her by surprise every time, and it was a long moment before she picked her way delicately through the thorny, dangerous tangles that desparately grabbed at her as if to catch and smother her light.

She didnt speak - just watched for a moment before reaching out again with D3d Lyt3 as a starting point until she found the bright thread she was looking for. Alone, hurt, and scared.

Reaching out with warmth like a friendly smile, Thomas would suddenly be aware of a movement from behind his shoulders. Small and non-threatening, a bird flutters to a perch near a tunnel junction. Small with brilliant black eyes and bright yellow-gold feathers that looked like they cast their own light in the gloom.

Tilting its head this way and that, and looking up as the sounds of something heavy hitting concrete, the bird leaves the broken rebar and shoots down a tunnel that he may not otherwise have considered, setting on a piece of rubble to look at him again. As escape routes go, it wasnt one he might normally approve of - strange animals that had no right to exist down here and all - but there are distant scrabblings in the rubble that suggest whatever happened back there was making enough noise to attract things. Things attracted to trouble in the Bones were never good news.

Take his chances with the Reavers, or see just how deep the rabbit hole went?

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Character Portrait: Xiaoyan Jin Character Portrait: Thomas Kenny Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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#, as written by Raidose
Dipping, darting, lunging, sprinting, diving head first into the unforgiving labyrinth in ways attainable only to one not hindered by sight. Dark shadows sprinted like tempted wolves after a fleeing hare, being surveyed yet more by eyes of the mind and madness. With every turn, he was waiting. With every leap, he watched. Every pause the boy made was one not alone. Always were the hairs on the nape of his neck on end, though for reasons Thomas was never fully aware of. This presence was both that of judge and spectator. All moves were analysed and adjudicated, but none ever halted the spreading of that twisted smile upon D3d LyT3's weathered lips. Oh, Thomas was fast alright. He had been all his life, and D3d LyT3 could see it now. With a shift and a turn, the boy could alter his own center of gravity at will. Each step carried the bounce of a feather yet the momentum of a roll stone, exerting minimal energy to propel oneself forward and yet having the control to turn on a dime.

With every breath of time that those grasping hands grew ever near to clutching the back of Thomas' shirt, D3d LyT3 knew this should be something he disliked. And yet that grin only crept further. Though there was one thing he admired more than the boy's perseverance in the name of survival, and that was the nightmares which plagued him. Oh how he silently cooed in adoring, much like one would do with a child and their first bicycle. A darling attempt with such potential. Though they were still lacking. The tricks of the elder, diving into one's subconscious to find that they fear most, were missing here. The vision of the artist, deriving the beautiful from the mundane world to produce works of art, whether spellbinding or simply obscene. The imagination of the dreamer, to take what one knew as his own mechanisations of insanity and project them forward as twisted and chilling scenes of the most macabre nature. So many things did it take to craft true horrors and nightmares in one's mind, and this young pupil lacked so many. He pitied her.

Though the most beautiful chord in the orchestra was in the guise of a sharp knife, wrote in an ink of arterial blood. Thomas was proving more and more fun the longer this progressed, though visions of the imminent happening showed that this must be the crescendo. It could not progress any further, lest it end in the boy's death.

We have to help him. We are going to help him, right?

Mmmmm..... Time for some fun, then?

Is this method really the most appropriate? Even in the Bones, violence draws attention. You know she will not approve of this.

Hmhmhmhmmm.... Brutal necessity, as it were....

In an explosion of dust and glass, Thomas tumbled after his dance with the telekinetic. He rebounded quickly, but the signs of a concussion were obvious, his vision blurred and thoughts whirling. Stepping forth as the man he was may not have been the best of ideas, so D3d LyT3 stood instead as the man Thomas was. That mischievous smile crept back, seeing the boy's mind squirm with confusion about his doubled self. Though time was pressing, and timing was everything. Before Thomas could ask any questions, his mirror spoke.

"Run"

The boy followed orders very well, barely even skipping a beat as he vanished into darkness. The entrance to the little room burst off it's hinges as the Reaver woman stepped through, still obviously infuriated about her little nosebleed. What she saw as her culprit offered not but a smug grin and a condescending chuckle. His payment was to be catapulted back the way "he" had come. The landing was not easy, twisting and rolling to a slowed halt atop the crumbling roof that now made this little island in the Styx. The droning laughter began again as his hand lifted him to his feet, and not long after was hoisted up by the invisible strings not his own. Her index finger signaled her prey to be drawn closer, with D3d LyT3 levitating inches away from her face. She stared at him, a poor attempt to provoke fear, but instead betrayed her curiosity. Was he humming? Oh, indeed he was. A Merry little tune from the few retained memories of youth he possessed. In her curiosity, she did not notice how his hand had become free of her telekinetic bindings. A strike across the face refocused her, staring in disbelief at that ever-arrogant smile.

"There's no strings on me...." he said very matter-of-factly, landing on the floor at his own accord. Hubris, very easy to taunt. She exuded it in waves, and all D3d LyT3 needed to do was provoke it. As he had seen, she lashed forward, gripping his head tightly with both hands in an iron-clad grip. His own hands clamped down on her wrist, though not in an attempt to remove her grasp, but rather to forcefully reaffirm it. Of course she could not understand why, until the pain started. Burning, like her entire nervous system was stripped out of her body one string at a time, and her bone marrow became like molten iron. Muscles contracted well beyond their limit, exposing the web of veins along her skin. Her thoughts raced as she tried to break the connection. Why was this happening? She had never felt this before when she fed. Then, she realised it, the resonance she was feeding on was her own. It was the reason Reavers not fed on each other, because trying to assimilate one's own resonance was always fatal. Struggling and kicking, she finally broke free of the connection, though was now to weakened to resist the grip around her throat.

It was quite the demoralising sight, seeing their leader launched thirty-feet straight up and crashing to the ground. Her body going limp before their feet. The male and female exchange glances of panic, before she attempts to stare "Thomas" down. "Covered in insects...." she hissed, and her imagination soon had them crawling all over. Itching, biting, stinging, skittering, and not resisted at all. D3d LyT3 simply tilted back his head and began cackling, continuing so as the creatures began to completely enclose his face. The mocking laughter never ceased, and soon those two eyes of brilliant dark purple burned their way through the bugs. It was only seconds after that all the insects looked as though they burrowed into his skin, revealing neither the boy nor whatever haunt those eyes belonged to. It was a figure not familiar to any save the male Reaver. The figure looked for all the world to be his drunkard of an uncle, the man who raised him.

"Yer still useless...." the ghost of a man hissed. "More than you use t'be, Timmy... Yer still that worthless whiner, ain't ya boy? Still the balling babe I found on th'street, eh? You never stopped yer cryin' and you never will! Now you ain't nothin' but a thief, like yer God forsaken old man! Still a spineless lil' coward. Always takin' more and more! You took my brother away from me, and you took yer mother away from him!" The apparition berated him over and over, leaving him stupefied and shaken. His fellow Reaver tried again and again to summon more illusions, but found her powers failing to even take form. "Look at ya now! Lil' scared-of-the-dark Tim-tim still too chicken to stand up for himself! You gonna cry, boy? Huh?! You gonna cry like you use to when I had to lock ya in The Room?" Finally a bitter memory brought forth the rage needed to snap him back, and the Reaver lunged forward with a fist shrouded in flames. His hammering strike made contact, though resulted only in the figure dispersing in a swarm of billions of tiny, black fly-like insects.

The torrent of bugs howled around the room, spreading the hair-raising laughter of at least four different voices. Caught stunned by the event, the Snipe never once noticed the thickening swarm behind him. The bright flash of those eyes was followed shortly by the plunge of a knife. The living miasma dispersed, revealing D3d LyT3 as his physically was to her. A sign of respect from one crafter of delusions and dreams to another. Though he fancied this moment, she was all too quick to take up arms. Her fingers gripped the leashes as they formed within her hands, trailing down the the collars of two terrible hounds straight from the fanciful tales of Sherlock Holmes. She let them loose with the added cry of "Havoc", though at their freedom they did not budge. There was no chasing, no tearing of flesh or screams of anguish. They merely stood there, and then turned back to her. Froth dripped from their fangs, deep growls raised their hackles as they eyed her down. A sudden gnash of those horrid teeth caused her to stumble and fall. She knew these things were not real. She had made them only moments before, figments of her own imagination brought to life at her own beck and call. She knew they did not exist.

But then, why is it they now felt so real?

A full pack of the accursed dogs surrounded her, trapping her in the center of the platform. she felt the very Earth quake and tremble beneath her, as the man in the black trench coat vanished into a cloud of buzzing insects. The surface of the platform she sat upon cracked open, seeping black sludge in small bubbling pools. The whole area began to twist and deform, breaking all laws of reality. The very rivers of the Styx now rushed up the walls with a fervor, as if gravity had actually sanctioned this action. They roared and splashed as white rapids up to the ceiling, becoming thicker and darker with the foul black tar. These four new rapids clashed together far above her head, arching down as if to crush her, but halting eerily in the air. It twisted and contorted, revealing itself as sentient, and then revealing those eyes again. They burned so bright from the center of such terrible blackness, pinning the woman in her place with only the sheer power of that glare. With a deep rumbling howl did a hole tear open in it's face, deepening into a bottomless maw derived from the depths of insanity. This lord of nightmares leaned so close, he could easily swallow her whole had he desired.

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An enormous hand, made solid from a torrent of the black ichor, reached out to her. In the age it took, she could see trapped within the palm the faces of every Psi she had ever fed on, every life she ever took. They writhed and screamed, arms lashing out eager for the moment where they may grab her. As the clawed hand fell, so too did darkness with it.....


The sounds were soothed to the soft rumble of the waters and the tapping of boots against the concrete floor. D3d LyT3 gazed down upon the girl, smirking at the frozen expression of fear upon her features. Her skin was stark wight, eyes wide open, still staring at the ceiling above. She laid there tense as a bowstring till finally her mind simply could not hold out and just let go. Her life left her as a breath as it relaxed. D3d LyT3 knelt down, closing her eyes her two fingers. "Such a shame. Such wasted potential....." Though this was not the end. The other reavers of this pack were already descending down into the Styx, and in truth he was in rush to finish this quickly. Pulling his two sharpest knives from his coat, his head purred with the excited voice of the Scarecrow, eager for more violence. Oz reached out his thoughts to that of the bird.

"Xiaoyan, I hope you can take the boy from here. I may be a while...."

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Character Portrait: Xiaoyan Jin Character Portrait: Thomas Kenny Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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It would be easy to give up, wouldn't it? Many others had before him, and many more would after. But drowning was a hard way to go, once your lungs finally unsealed and let in the cold water. It caused involuntary spasms of muscles as the body seized and the mind jerked between the will to die and the instinct to live. Drowned men may look peaceful, asleep almost, but you just had to look into their bulging, frozen eyes to know it'd been a terrible way to shake hands with Death.

The hand shaking his isn't skeletal, though. Rather than pull him down into the depths of brackish decay, it pulls him back up towards those gleaming torches. The rushing sound in his ears isn't his faltering heart, but the quick speech of the shadows above him. Hell spits him back out of its black mouth, ice water racing off of him and leaving only the cold in its place. The cold and the rough handling of someone that pounds him on the back repeatedly even as he's held upright, forcefully expelling the water out of his lungs with every blow between his shoulderblades. The voices continue as the sensation of being carried becomes a very real one; planks of wood creaking and ropes straining as lantern light overhead passes in and out of vision.

Time is a lucid thing in his condition. It may be seconds, or it may be hours later that the moving stops and the cold in his bones is chased away by the rattling hum of a space heater. Somewhere in his stupor the shredded and bloodied rags he'd come down here with were replaced with loose jeans and a stained shirt. Tight wraps and fresh stitches deftly applied hold his abused flesh together. There's even a makeshift IV of a ziplock bag and some mystery clear liquid - saline by the smell - funneled into his arm through the courtesy of a colored plastic tube that sure as hell wasn't hospital issue.

He isn't alone.

There's someone at the chair next to the door. Well, I say 'door', but what I mean is 'privacy cloth to keep the heat in'. A short woman with long black hair and Asian features looks to have fallen asleep with her hands neatly folded on her lap. His belongings - such as they are - are stacked neatly beside the table. They've been gone through, but nothing taken. Beyond the flap is the sound of a small, working community. People walk around, someone calls out to another, boat motors idle by and fires for both light and warmth crackle. It all echoes dully around in the pocket of air here at the water level; pushing back the dead and eerie blackness of the deep Bones.

Miles away, darting in and out as the darkness twists and defies her attempts to alight, Xiaoyan's presence is irritatingly persistent, and defies the attempts to drive her away again and again. At last, she finds her opening, and dives into the black heart of the Psi she was following in the ethereal. D3d was always hard to reach when he was like this. The others drove her off, threatened to infect and consume her in their madness. Her interference tipped the balance of power too often in the Wizard's favor, and they resented her every drawn breath like dogs resented the leash. Seeking him out was dancing through a thicket without touching the thorns. Speaking to him was trying to sprint through rain without letting the drops find you.

Somewhere in the morass, in between the howls and hisses and rantings of the others, she plucks out the vocie of reason. Well, that was a lie. None of it was reasonable, none of it was pleasant. But there were some in the dark, twisted reaches of D3d's mind that were able to be reasoned with. It was one of the Others that was having his fun. The sort of fun that made Xiaoyan take care not to /watch/ what he was doing over his shoulder. But while the bloody display rages out in reality, the little bird whispers into Oz's ear.

The boy had been found, and saved, and was safe. Now he should be too. Blood attracted blood - she didnt need to tell him that. Too much attracted more than dogs. Scarecrow had had his fun. Xiaoyan didnt like to encourage him.

Back through the darkness into the nest of light, as Thomas stirs in earnest with the mind to take his things and be out before the woman woke up, she does. Just opens her eyes abruptly and smiles across the room at him.

"Welcome back to the living. It seems like you didnt have the Boatman's fare."

Standing, she's shorter even than his emaciated frame, and looks about as threatening as a butterfly. Not that appearances meant spit if she was Psi, but at least she wasnt making him halucinate while she tried to eat his resonance, so take your improvements where you can. It was hard to imagine the slight figure harming anything.

"To the questions you're going to ask: You're safe, I'm a friend, and yes; you are free to leave whenever you like, but I'll hope you'll stay for a hot meal and a rest."

Her cheeky smile suggests she was having fun anticipating his questions /without/ reading his mind. A shadow falls on the curtain and someone knocks on the frame. The little Chinese woman turns and draws it back, revealing a scruffy black man with a patch over his eye and nasty burn scarring on the side of his face and neck, holding out two bowls of something hot enough to steam in his massive hands. With a nod of thanks, the woman takes them both.

"If your timing was any better you'd be Psi, Lawrence. Thank you." She turns to Thomas, offering him his choice of what looks to be a thick stew of whatever was still edible, "This is the man that fished you out when you... 'dropped in' for a visit."

If he takes one, she sits in her chair with the other. If he mistrusts the bowls, she sets it temptingly on the stand beside his belongings and still cradles her own as the curtain falls back into place and the man leaves. Allowing the heat to seep into her delicate fingers for a long moment before tipping the bowl back to sip at the broth, she eats in a calm silence that leaves itself open to the questions Thomas might ask. If he choses to not ask any at all, she doesnt press him. But questions -begged- to be asked, because this sort of hospitality and good fortune simply didnt exist in the Bones, especially not for him, given the run of bad luck in his life recently. They were deep, too. Deep enough to be at the water table, for fuck's sake. That was beyond dangerous and well into Crazy.

Throughout all of these conflicting and confusing thoughts, that small woman just continues to sit there on her chair and smile serenely at him, like they were chatting in a living room over tea.

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Character Portrait: Xiaoyan Jin Character Portrait: Cecilia Wolfe Character Portrait: Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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#, as written by Raidose
Darkness. Sweet, cradling darkness wrapped him, letting him lounge slothfully within his own mind as he slid out of the pilot's seat. Sensations came as faint echoes. The flick of muscle, the sinking plunge. The slight resistance given by tissue as it was pierced. The warm, slipperiness slowly coating the grip. A twist, a pop, and that was all. It all came in passing waves, ushered on by the cackles of his cohort. Scarecrow made this boring little plays so energetic, filling it with so much enthusiasm, that at times it was hard not to share his enjoyment. It was quite infectious. To constantly fight urges, to constantly battle for control, it was simply not feasible anymore. The damage from the war still needed tending to. And then it came, a parting light to his blissful dream. A flittering, feathered figure perched upon his gate to consciousness, a small gleaming bird which still shined for but a moment. The message, though was clear.

Mmmm.... Little birdie.... the malignant being hissed, inching closer with hands of knives. His grinned and chittered as his inched closer, till his advance was halted by the tar at his feet. Groaning, roaring, howling in complete objection as the ooze crawled up his legs and a thousand spindly fingers dug into his flesh. A single massive hand shot up, latching onto his face, prying the mask away from his control. Sinew and tendons stretched and tore till finally the meat surrendered and the mask was ripped from the front of his skull. Another fist of twisting darkness manifested, hurling the manic apparition into the bleak nothingness yet again. Bubbling up from the primeval slime, Oz slid the mask once more over the flesh of his own features, banishing away the architecture of this minds insanity away and bringing back the light of reality. A blood-stained knife in his hand, three more bodies at his feet. Blood attracts blood, indeed.

His foot shoved the lifeless mass into the rivers of Styx, cursing it to drift endlessly into oblivion. No one who cared would ever know, and no one who knew would ever care. The Bones had a neat way of staying clean. Reavers were territorial, but they were not stupid by any length. More may claim to covet thy neighbor's home, but if they found bodies, they'd be out for blood. Ah, but how easily things could vanish. Another kick, slosh, and splash committed another soul to the ferryman. He leaned back on his heel, feeling the ball of telekinetic energy build up underfoot, before the burst sent his soaring back into the shade of the tunnels. Maybe it was time to pay a visit to the boy, if only to mutilate his perception of reality a bit more. Yes. Harmless, sweet fun. Very well, then home awaits. Boots impacted against stone, puddles parting from the burst of power. A dart of shadow, racing through the tunnels that snaked in and out of the original earth, speeding along till he found something new to catch his eye. This one was odd, ethereal, ephemeral. She touched this would from a dream, lingering about like a wayward spirit. Still she drifted ever searching, nearing the voice D3d LyT3 knew all too well.

"Right-o. Follow me then. I promise I'll be quick. Whats your name by the way? You can have mine. I'm Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn, you may have seen it about."

Hmmph...

Dropping his name so carelessly like that. Idiot.

All the more attention away from us.

Why is he her right hand, again?

Could be that he doesn't have a committee in his head.

As the ghost peered on them, he peered on her. Stalking the stalker, hunting the hunter, till finally she became aware of Samuel's plan. While scaring her away with a virtual telepathic blender was quite clever, it still let her vanish away with who he was. Worse yet, she now had some clue where the Priory was, vague though it may be. So many questions about her floated in D3d LyT3's mind, and slowly they all began to fill themselves in. The more he clung, unseen and unfelt, to her shadow, the more of her memories he was able to peek on. He may have blushed if he could, but still he searched on. A birthday party, and her present was the end of the world. A new family, which eliminated the old. She held few loyalties, only to her and hers. She dipped into things a little girl like her really shouldn't know, and oh how juicy the details. She had a very proud amount of intel, enough to contend with Samuel. Ah.... that was it. Competition. Her and hers. She was a survivor, and a survivor gets by from never having to worry about a competitor. This made Samuel a threat to her, and with her outlook, it made her a threat to the Priory. This night was getting quite eventful.

She did figure out Samuel's trp before it sprang, flying home to her corporeal form. Though her memories of home betrayed that location, and D3d LyT3 had set off nearly an hour before. Lights blurred by in a hypnotic display, lining the tunnels with long, florescent trails of illumination. With each accelerating dash, the space between him and the surface world grew smaller. The manhole cover to the lands above burst open and he crashed back down unto the snow laden asphalt, exploding into a flurry of snowflakes towards his target. With each step, a small circle of snow cleared under heel, launching him through the air before the next lungeing stride. He felt her presence again as she slung back to her body, but by that time he already lay below that very windowsill. He stood next to her as she sprang to life, unbeknownst of the spectral presence. Remaining in silence and she went about the room. The dress was indeed becoming of her. She fastened a necklace around her nape, striking D3d LyT3's curiosity. His fingers traced down the side of her neck, gliding over her shoulder as she made her last adjustments. She never would feel a thing, all information of D3d LyT3's presence blanked out of her consciousness. He brought his hand away as she began to move on. "Hmmm... Nothing."

He walked just behind her, grinning a vile smile that could be only felt rather than seen. He watched as the young one, named Alanawent on about memories she had stolen, which then D3d LyT3 had stolen. He watched as Ms. Wolfe gathered her little protectors around her, and then sent them on their way. It was when she had donned her complement of hidden weapons that she felt the safest, which he so wanted to shatter. But no. He would watch, and he would wait. Her thoughts, her motives, were in a flux. No way to tell how things could proceed, though one could always hope.

Watch, and wait....

Watch, and wait....

Watch, and wait....

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Character Portrait: Cecilia Wolfe Character Portrait: Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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Cecilia sat in the office, she was as prepared as she could be, so at this moment she was simply sitting in her office seat, working on some papers that needed sorted and filed away, a few secrets that need locked up. She couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched, however, her head was still buzzing but that was from the Salesman detecting her, but she could feel something standing over her, watching her every move. Maybe she was just nervous about what was about to go down, causing her to be a bit jumpy.

The two guards watched as the man tried to sneak in, they stopped him and went to ask his name but had a feeling that from the way he was trying to sneak in that he was Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn. "Mr Hawethorn, I take it." One of them stated, not asking but understandable if Samuel thought it was a question. {b]Come with us.[/b] They ordered, before making their way to the office.

Three of the girls then ran up to Samuel and started flirting with him, distracting him whilst one of the girls ran off to warn Cecilia. The girls got as close as they could to Samuel, touching his chest and arms, complementing his body and facial features. One of the girls started to dance for him, pressing her breast together to make them perkier. They giggled and teased, biting their lips and blowing kisses.

Cecilia jumped as the door opened, He's here, Cecilia. Cecilia regained her posture and nodded.
"Show him in." She told the girl, who closed the door and skipped back to Samuel.
Cecilia stood from her chair and went to the back of her office and lifted the painting down of the wall, revealing a safe. For her, this safe was were she kept her poisons, not because they were precious to her but because the safe was faulty and opened if you just pulled the handle. She took out a sedative poison, it wouldn't kill him, just render him a tiny bit sleepy. Instead of putting it onto her nails, she put it on the blade of her dagger, her plan C, if he didn't listen or back down.
Plan A, talk to him, persuade him.
Plan B, claw him until he backs down.
Plan C, knock him out and give him to Alana to wipe his mind of every secret, every deal and every client he ever had.
Plan D, kill him.

Cecilia heard the giggling of the girls and knew he was at the door, the door clicked and the giggling was louder as the door opened but then she heard a stumbling as the girls pushed Samuel into the room and the slamming of the door, Cecilia still had her back to the door, she let out a breath as she looked over her shoulder to look at the man who had just been thrown into an unexpected meeting, with his rival information broker.

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Character Portrait: Xiaoyan Jin Character Portrait: Cecilia Wolfe Character Portrait: Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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#, as written by Raidose
(Collab with Shadow)




Watching and waiting, ever still, ever always. He watched and he waited till the seams of his mentality strained against the burgeoning pressure of his own manic side. To wait and to watch till finally he could wait and watch no longer. The screams and cries of so many voices urged him on, and he was not entirely rejecting. To let slip the blade, to plunge the knife deep down into bone and know the joys of life and loss. Oh no, that would be too sudden, too quick. First a game, a test of will and mind, then trap her in her own little box of a world and shake it till she shatters. Not just her, but the others, too! Oh what a lovely game it could be! The more the merrier, even if the only one reveling in the merriment was D3d LyT3 and his voices three. Such wonderful images he could craft, twisting all of their thoughts and forcing each others fears onto the next. All the loveliest ingredients were here. The strongest guard held deep-seeded night terrors of Ophidiophobia, with two other girls sharing the same fears of Suri and Arachnophobic natures. Rats and Spiders and Snakes, Oh My! And just when it had all come to a boil, D3d LyT3 felt the tapping of a presence that made him groan in annoyance. Samuel the ever-well timed had finally arrived. It only took him a whole two hours.

A writhing smirk cracked across his aged lips, hidden behind his mask as Cecilia laced her blade with the vial's contents. An image of slightly sensual conversation and conniving bribery, of razor-like claws gliding over tender skin, of sedation, ropes, chairs, and that young telepath he'd met earlier, and of course, a subtle, silent knife against Samuel's throat. Her cards were laid out on the table, and now D3d LyT3 eagerly played the bated audience to this little show. She had her back to the door when Sam was "escorted" in, her face only three inches from D3d LyT3's. He watched her eyes twitch and squirm ever so slightly as each new thought was formed, before he peered at the final product in her mind. Other beings fascinated him, even to this day. Though he could grow bored fast, he still loved to watch, to see them act as they did in their own little way. To compare one to the other, and then maybe even to himself. To see what, if anything, in him was human of mind and nature. He did not reveal himself to Samuel initially. D3d LyT3 wanted to see his reaction at it's fullest, and of course to witness the friction it would cause.

And when Cecillia finally turned to greet her guest, Sam played witness to her very own shadow standing on it's own just behind her. No sound nor presence emanated from it, as though his mind knew it not to be real, or rather, was allowed to know such. The shade's silhouette twisted in on itself till it stood well taller than her. It's stance was distinctly masculine and threatening, with it's newly formed eyes betraying it's identity. Samuel was now having a bit of trouble paying attention to both, and much to D3d LyT3's delight as he simply placed a solitary finger to his mouth.

'Shhhhhh.....'




Samuel had shown expert self-control on ignoring the females as they escorted him to the room. But now he was faced with this, the every malevolent image of D3d Ly3t behind a female who'd he'd been brought too. There was anxiety in his eyes for a brief moment before they snapped like marbles back toward Cecilla. Questions now flew through his mind like a freezing river. Why was he brought her? Who was this woman? Why did she give him the image of this place? And why the hell was D3d ly3t stalking her and now telling Samuel to keep the maniacs presence hidden? It at least seemed that way.

It didn't take him long to recompose though, in fact it would have been less than a brief second before his face curled in a cocky, careless grin at both figures really. His arms crossing in front of him in a relaxed and rather non-threatened as well as non-threatening posture. At the same time he silently raised a telekinetic barrier beside him and around his flanks. It would be hidden by his body and hard to notice even by someone behind him. His piercing, almost ice blue eyes darting through the room to take in every detail it held with a quick once-over. One of his fingers instinctively tapping his antique wristwatch with a clip-clip-clip-clip noise as the metal band rattled softly. The first thing that came from his mouth wasn't exactly diplomatic but it wasn't aggressive, rude, or hateful just merely cocky and questioning. His accent now up close most certainly Manchester English.

"Mind explaining why I'm here madam? I hope you aren't trying to set me up as a new client. I don't take to bordellos. Personally more of a Speakeasy fan."



How dull. Pleasantries? Such things could wait. An advantage of being an imminent precog, seeing the four minutes of time he'd be missing in his absence. Though one thing did tick in his mind. The thought that she could pay Sam off or simply erase him.... It was in it's own little way a delightful arrogance, the kind which D3d LyT3 overjoyed in mangling like a kitten with a ball of yarn. It was just a simple thought, but it was one she felt was without consequence. How one motive can speak so much, to say that she did not fear or respect the Priory.... Oh bother. The Priory. Xiao would be ever so cross with him if he performed anything.... unnecessary. Death threats would not be authorized here, sadly. Oh, but there had to be something! He had to rend her safety bubble somehow....

Now there's an idea....

Turn the best tool of a survivor against itself.

Caution into Paranoia....

Greatest asset into greatest weakness!

Psychological warfare.

A harmless prank, you might say.

And Xiaoyan can't get mad at us!

But the message will be oh so very clear....


It has been said that D3d LyT3's smile could peel paint from walls and turn sinners to prayer, that it was a rare thing never seen but always felt. A sudden cold air, the raising of your cackles, an out of place silence. This was no different. No one was the wiser as he slithered out of the room, unlocking the door from the other side through telekinesis. To everyone else, the door had never moved an inch. No sights to be seen, sounds to be heard, or sensations to be felt. This is what made D3d LyT3 a true nightmare, that he could go about unhindered and unfelt nearly anywhere guarded by no more than the waking mind of blanks and Psi alike. He could simply walk right into her personal quarters as if he owned every right in the world. Predictably anyone in the business of appearance would be in possession of a vanity mirror, and as seen in her memories she was no different. D3d LyT3 liked mirrors. he liked them very much. Eyes, it is said, are the mirrors to one's soul, then so too must the humble mirror show the truth. Or perhaps it served only as a tool of hubris. Either way, he still liked this mirror as much as any other, sitting down in front of it. It was strange, to feel one's own being peering back at him, to feel the Dead Lights casting upon his own face and features, to watch them watching him watching back.... It felt like he was teasing them. He let his finger trace out his own eyes on the mirror's surface playfully.

"I~ See~ You~....."

Setting

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Character Portrait: Cecilia Wolfe Character Portrait: Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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"Mind explaining why I'm here madam? I hope you aren't trying to set me up as a new client. I don't take to bordellos. Personally more of a Speakeasy fan."

Cecilia noticed the snap of Samuel’s eyes and she did a small check over her shoulders, she wasn’t the only person feeling the presence. Cecilia kept her gaze on the man before her. However, he seemed unfazed by the presence and kept a rather composed and cocky grin plastered on his face. Cecilia listened to him clip his watch patiently waiting for him to ask the questions that must be flowing through his head.

"Mind explaining why I'm here madam? I hope you aren't trying to set me up as a new client. I don't take to bordellos. Personally more of a Speakeasy fan." Samuel asked, his accent tugging at her emotions, making her think of her life before the Dawning.

“No, Mr Maccabeus.” She chuckled lightly. “I brought you here because you’re treading on my toes.” Her sultry purr laced with a Chelsea accent as she took a seat, outstretching her hand to offer Samuel to sit. Waiting for him to accept or decline before continuing.

“We are both in the trade of information, a source of income for both our other activities I’d assume.” Cecilia looked him in the eyes, hoping he’d understand. “I’m not going to put this lightly, but prostitution has very little money in it and I need to make sure my girls are save and looked after, where better than in this hotel with a personal guard?” She rhetorically asked. “But I need the money I get from my information broking to protect these girls and guys. I’m begging, please, give me back some of my customers, it is not too much to ask.”

Cecilia felt a shiver, as the odd presence seemed to leave the room, her connection to the hotel building had grown since the first time she stepped foot in it. Now she was so connected to the building she could see what it had seen and very few people believed that the buildings they entered had eyes so tend not to erase themselves from the building’s memory, a rare one or two have.

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Character Portrait: Cecilia Wolfe Character Portrait: Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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#, as written by Raidose
D3d LyT3 had just finished his little masterpiece in Ms. Wolfe's private quarters when it came to him. This body which he wore, not even worth calling a suit but simply a tool to be used to his own means, still needed the baser necessities any other living being did. These lesser needs often went completely unnoticed by Oz, for he was simply an operator of this abandoned flesh bag since it's owner's passing. One of those needs was rest, and it had been over sixty-five hours since he last did so. He knew this because he'd set a watch on his person for just such a reminder, and in exactly three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, it would go off. In the other room, events that hadn't yet unfolded played out in his mind. Things were not going too smoothly, at least not for a much needed RTB.

"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.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Cecilia Wolfe Character Portrait: Samuel Maccabeus Hawethorn Character Portrait: D3d LyT3
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Cecilia looked up to see Samuel was gone and she let out a sigh, “Mother fucker.” Escaped her lips, as she made sure it wasn’t just an illusion. Cecilia threw her weapons back in the drawer and slammed it shut. She slumped back into her chair and huffed, she needed to get her clients back and quickly, but how, she didn’t know.

Cecilia fell asleep slumped in the chair and not long after was awoken by a light rapping at her office door. “What?” She moaned, her voice slurred from sleep.
Cecilia?” She heard the familiar voice of Alana ask into the dark room.
“Yeah?” Cecilia opened her eyes and sat up in the chair.
What are you sitting in the dark for?” Alana asked and Cecilia chuckled.
“I wasn’t I was sleeping.” Cecilia admitted to the young girl, rubbing her eyes and yawning slightly, she hadn’t realized how tired she was.
Oh, I’m sorry. Alana gasped. “I can come back.

Cecilia shook her head, but quickly remembered the light was off and spoke up.
“No, it’s fine. Come in, turn the light on.” Cecilia heard the flick of the light switch and then she noticed the redness around Alana’s eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Nothing, I just… I just…” Alana looked as if she was struggling to remember something but it just wasn’t coming to her, then she looked up. “Cecilia, join the Priory.” Cecilia shook her head, her eyes grew wide and a gasp escaped her mouth, but before she could say anything, Alana grabbed her wrist and shared the new memories.

Cecilia yanked her hand free and she looked up at Alana, tears were streaming down her face. “My friends, my family. They’re all dead because no one would fight back. They tortured me, maimed me and worst of all you’ve done nothing to stop them doing it to anyone else.” Alana picked up a pair of scissors from the desk.

“Alana, what are you doing?” Cecilia started backing away from the girl as she started to lose her mentality, the images and ideas too much for her to handle. “They aren’t your memories, you’re family is still alive, you’ve never been near a Psi-CON facility.” Cecilia desperately tried to remind Alana that they were someone else’s memories and not her own. Luckily it worked, but it caused the young girl to drop the scissors and lift her hands to her head, she fell onto her knees crying in pain.

The door swung violently open and one of the guards came in, “Get Violet!” Cecilia yelled at him, as she cradled the crying Alana, the guard quickly ran off. “Ssh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Cecilia whispered, stroking the Alana’s hair.

Cecilia waited outside the door, pacing impatiently. She kept hearing constant doors opening and closing, each time she’d look up and hope it was Violet coming out of Alana’s room but it wasn’t.

Cecilia kept the pacing going for a solid hour before Violet finally emerged from the room.
“How is she? Is she okay?” Cecilia asked the minute she saw her.
Yes, she’ll be fine. She just needs some rest.” Violet replied, placing her hands on Cecilia’s arm and rubbing them reassuringly. “And I think you do too.” Cecilia merely nodded before walking up the hall, hanging her head.

Cecilia opened her bedroom door and walked in, her eyes closed as she tried to calm herself down. She shut the door and lent against it, letting a sigh escape her lips as she opened her mouth.

Cecilia gasped at the sight, her room was covered in multi-coloured ‘I C U’s and in the centre all of the now empty tubes formed a large number 9. Cecilia ran over to the number and kicked the tubes away, she looked up into one of the mirrors and where her eyes should be, were two large, solid circles of violet. Amelia let out a little yelp and ran over to the mirror, instead of wiping the lipstick from the mirror she simply pulled it over, the shards of broken mirror flying all across the floor. Cecilia placed her hand on the nearest wall and took in a deep breath.

She was in the room, before it was ever defaced by whatever creep thought he’d get away with it. Cecilia watched the door for the intruder but they never came through. Instead someone walked through her, they’re identity concealed by a trench coat and gas mask, the only thing revealing the identity. The purple eyes.

Cecilia’s breath quickened and she tried to wake herself up, she had heard the legends and stories. The boogeyman. The Candy man. Dead Light. Cecilia could feel her heart beat start to race, why was he there? Why Cecilia? Was he the presence?

She watched as Dead Light defaced the room with his ominous graffiti and then made the number 9 in the middle of the room. Cecilia let out a sigh of relief as she saw him begin to float through the floor but her heart stopped when he paused and turned her neck. His eyes, the bright purple eyes, staring right at her, she knew it was her, could feel him staring at her and he wagged his finger, like a disproving mother, mocking her.

Before Cecilia could do anything, a massive surge of Psionic energy flowed through the room. The surge causing Cecilia to be thrown from the memory and causing her head to throb so hard that she blacked out.