I was bored today so ...

See the above disclaimer .. yadda, yadda, yadda …

"Why do I keep comming here." I say softly, more a statement, than a question.

Realizing I spoke out loud, I turn causally to see if anyone was paying attention.

If anyone did, they're not showing it. Like anyone would care anyway. It would be pretty tough to hear anything softer than a shout in here.  The bar is hoppin, and most of these people, mixers as they call themselves, are just trying to forget about their miserable existance for a while.

I shouldn't complain, I'm trying to do the same thing.

I don't know why I keep comming here.  There's more bars down here.  I've just never been to them.  Maybe it's the music, always loud and angry, just how I like it.  Maybe it's the fact that the glasses look like they got washed at least once in the last week, maybe it's the smell of stale beer, piss and sawdust all mixed together that comes from the bathroom and fills the room.  

Another mystery to solve.

Four glasses cover random spots of the tiny table I'm sitting at.  Damn bartender is too lazy to come and get them.  I'm not bringing 'em back.  He get's paid for this shit, not me.

All around me, as I look around the room people are laughing and drinking, and .. 'Hey lady, do that shit up on Sinn street, will ya?' I think to myself as I see a cheap looking slut on her knees in a dark corner facing some guy grinnin' from ear to ear.

A short fight breaks out near the bar.  Some ganger lookin for some spare change.  The ganger takes off running out the door.  A few minutes later, some big guy with wires stickin out of his head hauls the dead body out and tosses it onto the sidewalk.  I can't hear what he says.  I wish I could read lips.

Life goes on, for some.

There are naked women dancing 2 feet away from me and I don't feel anything.  I'm not gay, and they don't look that bad, but I still don't feel a damn thing.  That just sucks.

I tried a new place, up on Sinn.  Drinks are more expensive, and they charge you to get in the front door, but at least they give you something for it.  That old hag at the bar, she keeps flirting with me, almost like she's offering her services or something.  If I can't sleep again tonight, I'll know why.

I look around the room and it's what you'd expect from a stip joint in a shitty part of town. The carpet is stained with I don't want to know what, the music is loud.  It's dark in here, but not dark enough to tell that the patrons all look to be the same perverts, eyes fixed to the women, hands on their crotch.  I almost wish I could be them.

The dancers change several times and the empty glasses pile up in front of me.  They must be watering the drinks down, I don't feel anything.

I've been staring at the ceiling again for a while, convinced I see the same pattern that was in the old apartment when two people come in, cops obviously, wearing full battle armor.  They look around the room as I sink a bit lower in my chair as if that would make me harder to spot.  

Their glance passes over me and I should be happy, but I'm not.

A moment later they walk to a man dressed all in black I hadn't noticed before sitting at a booth in the corner and frisk him, roughly.  They pull an assortment of knives, brass knuckles, and other small weapons from him before taking a large pistol, looks like a .357 from him.  They haul him to his feet and take him outside.

I decide to be curious as I've come to the conclusion that the only way I'm leaving this town is in a body bag, and wait a minute or two before heading outside myself.

I hit the open air and see the two cops with this guy, he almost looks like he could be me.  The one cop is between the guy and the street, and the other is in front of him, about 4 feet away.

"..judged to clone death for repeat offenses of posession of a firearm without a valid permit." is the only thing I hear before the judges both draw these huge pistols and fire, one at the head, the other at the chest.

Blood splatters on me and on the wall of the strip joint as what's left of the guy in black crumples silently to the ground.  I start looking at the pattern on my coat, it's there, I know it is.

One of the cops get's my attention.

"Have a nice day, citizen.  Obey the lay." It tells me.  I can't tell if it's a man or a woman, and I don't care.  I'm pissed because I had the pattern, I knew for a split second what it meant, and the cop distracted me, and now I can't remember.

Ok, so work is slow the past few days ..  shoot me.

Pain.  That's all my existance has been these past few days.  Pain.

The doc said I'd be sore for a few days, don't even need any painkillers.  I knew I shouldn't have trusted him.  Just a little shot he says, what can hurt about a shot? But that's what I get for goin' to a ripper instead of that hospital on Green, right?  Chyen is chyen.

This room is smaller than the apartments I've had, but it seems cleaner, and it's cheaper.  No blood splatters on the cieling here.  Damn.  Size doesn't matter anyway. It's not like I feel like doing anything but lying here and dying - it hurts that much.

I try to think about something other than the pain.  Commercials, on the crappy ass TV I can't turn off, for products that probably don't work are mixed with closeups of those cops, judges they call them, and their public service announcements.  A picture of somewhere warm and tropical would be nice, even for a few seconds.  I've never seen one before, but they have to exist.

I have no idea what time it is, or what day.  The window is blacked out and I don't have a watch.  I've been sleeping on an off, here and there when I can, when the pain goes away for a bit.  But it always comes back, sometimes the same place, sometimes different ones.  It always comes back.

I paid for five nights, I hope the rent hasn't expired yet.  This guy I talked to told me that it's ok to kill someone if you rent a cube and someone is sleeping in it.  Seemed reasonable at the time, but now I'm not so sure.

I try to focus on when I'm not hurting so bad, what I will do, how much easier it'll be to make some chyen either by helping someone to donate their chyen to my worthy cause, or carrying those heavy-ass boxes for that guy up on gold.

The treatment was expensive, but if I can string together a few good days in a row, or maybe even find a sidejob, it should pay for itself in a week, maybe two.

Life will be better, I convice myself, kind of, as I pass out from the pain.

How much later, I don't know, I come to in a panic.  I don't know where I am, but it's dark out and it's pissing a cold rain.  I'm soaked to the bone, but the only pain I feel is a residual soreness in every muscle and joint in my body.  I push a few crates of garbage off me easily and climb up out of the pile.  I smell like spoiled fish and vehicle exhaust all mixed together.  I puke at my repulsive smell.

A quick check tells me I got rolled good.  Wallet and 800 chyen, gone.  Cell phone, gone.  Pistol, fuckin gone.  Everything but the clothes on my back, gone.  They even took my boots.  Fuckers.

I find a note, hastily written, obviously, by one of the local scholars.

"Youz o me ur life chummer.  I coulda' flatlynd yer ass.  I brot you here and din fuck with you.  I touk the chyen ya had for the troublz."

I drop the note and walk barefoot out of the alley and turn north on Lamb.

Time to go to work.

I don't know whether to thank the guy, or kill him.

Yes I do.

"Shit." I say almost calmly as I turn away from what will soon be another dead body littering the streets of this hellhole.

I didn't mean to kill her, honestly. �All I wanted was her Chyen and that QuikTerm she was stupid enough to be walking around with and reading. �Ashlin and Knife ain't exactly a great neighborhood you know. �Doesn't matter anyway. �If not now, she'd be dead in a few hours, or days, or weeks. �If not me, someone else.

A few people look over as if something caught their attention, none of the gangers even look. �We're cool, me and the gangers. �They don't fuck with me, I don't fuck with them. �We understand each other. �All we're tryin to do, is find a way to survive.

As I walk, I retract the blade of my stiletto and quickly, smoothly slip it into my coat pocket, the wad of chyen I took safely in the other pocket and the QuikTerm hidden under my coat. �The sights of Knife pass by quickly, faces blurring as they walk by. �I don't look up, I don't look at anyone passing by. �Neither do they. �We don't want to know.

The pizza place is busy. �I see some kid in there trying to put out a fire in one of the ovens. �Boarded up buildings, broken windows, graffiti and trash everywhere. �You could live your life here, however long or short and never, be noticed if you didn't want to, and you were smart. �A few people hang out in a vacant lot, a fire burning brightly in a trash barrel throws an eerie glow across their dejected faces.

Sirens come from nowhere and my heart races, but I don't show it. �They're comming for me, I know they are. �This time I'll get arrested. �This time, I'll get locked up. �This time it'll be me staring down the barrel of that big ass gun while some armor clad judge with a grim, genderless voice says the words 'clone death', this time …

The sirens pass as the ambulance races down Knife, on, I guess, toward just the latest mugging in this city of 65 million, most of which are crammed into an area too small for 10 million. �A few people stop and watch the ambulance go by. �They don't look at me, I don't look at them.

At the corner, I hear the music cranking out of the Drome. �It's loud, and angry, but it just doesn't get me going like it used to. �Turning the corner, I walk by the entrance and almost trip over some guy just layin' on the ground, lookin like he's strung out on something. �He grabs at my ankle and mumbles something I can't make out. �He's got that desperate look in his eye, the one I've seen all over. �It's the look that says, take pity on me, help me, I can't help my self.

I kick out of his grip and end up connecting with his face. �The crunch is more felt than heard over the ruckus comming from the bar. Two weeks since I got that injection and I still don't have a handle on how strong I am. He immediately releases his grip and I move on. �No one looks, no one cares.

As I climb the stairs to my room, one thought keeps repeating in my head. �One thought that seems to be the certerpoint to existance here. �It seems to be unofficial motto of this level, it's the pattern in the ceiling, on my coat, under the wallpaper, almost.

"Better them than me." I say without even realizing it.

Sights, sounds, images, feelings. Time passes.

Warmth, safety, security, calm. �More time passes.

Slowly, consciousness sinks in, and I become aware that I exist. �More time passes. �I am content.

I have no thoughts, no worries, no cares. �I exist, and that is enough.

Some time later, my immediate area slowly begins to come into focus.

I don't care about anything. �I'm comfortable. �I'm at peace, I could stay here forever.

A synthasized voice says something that I don't catch and the lid pops open. �Confused, I stand up in the tank and look out into a sterile room with a bunch of equiptment and a big ceiling mounted cannon. As I climb out, I realize I'm naked, and that begins to bother me.

The feeling of calm persists, but is quickly disappearing.

How did I get here? �Where is here? �Where are my clothes? �Where the hell is my gun? �My knives? �My Chyen?

I want the calm back. �I don't like this, not at all.

I climb out and follow the directions, putting on the jumpsuit and slippers that slide out of the chute.

I remember the Judge in front of the strip joint, the bum by the Drome, countless muggings. �Scratching for a meager existance, the new job.

Frustration sets in quickly.

I gotta talk to Quentin. �I just started with his boss, the loanshark guy, I keep forgetting his name, a month or so ago. �Maybe he can tell me …

I begin to feel confused.

I look down at myself. �What the fuck happened to the muscles? �I had them, I used them. �That's how I got the job.

Anger rages in me as I feel the veins in my neck bulge.

Chatter on the SIC is tellin me it's mid-April. �What the hell are they talkin about? �It's the end of February.

What the hell is going on?

Two months. �Two god damn mother fuckin months of eatin like shit, sleepin with 4 other people in a tiny ass hotel room.

Two months of not going into a bar, of watching people on the street for entertainment, of boredom and workin my ass off.

Two months, but now I'm paid up.

I got new muscles, seems like it hurt more this time .. fuckin rippers. �I got new muscles, I got a different SIC, a clean SIC. �No problems with repeat offenses now. �My clone is updated weekly. �Next came the wires .. I'm strong and fast. �With the eye, I'll be able to see you no matter how dark it is, or how bright. �I'll see you through a thin wall, and I'll see your fear as I shove the barrel of Baby so far up your nose that what's left of your shit ass brains are oozin' out your left ear even before I pull the trigger and �pop three .45 slugs into you and … in color, more colors than you can see.

Just a couple of jobs and I'll have the Chyen for the eye.

Just a few more people to donate to my cause.

Just a few more people givin me their spare change.

Ashlin and Knife is -my- turf. �Fuck those assholes.

They didn't want to share. �Neither did their clones.

One by one, they left, and didn't come back.

We understand each other. �All we want to do is survive. �I just want to survive better than they do, and they want to survive enough to be somewhere else.

I love it when things work out.

I look across the street to the building I'm told I used to live in. �Real wood inside. �A bedroom. �Clean, comfortable furniture. �

It bothers me I can't remember it, and I become angry. Looking at my watch, I see it's almost 1am. �It's time.

Some guy walks by carrying a crate, I stop him and ask him where he's delivering it.

"The hardware store." he says, a scared look on his face.

I wonder what his face would look like through the thermal scope on the eye as I shove the machette through his gut, four inches of the tip sticking out his back.

I look down at him, still alive, but not for long. No one looks at me. �They all know better.

"I don't like rudeness, you didn't say sir."

I take the crate and deliver it to Hugo. �We're friends. �He pays me the customary 1000 Chyen. We understand each other. I leave.

Just a couple of jobs and I'll have the Chyen for the eye.

Just a few more people to donate to my cause.

Just a few more people givin me their spare change.

Then I can have some fun.

Hmmm,

I didn't have anything in mind regarding other pieces when I wrote this.

Maybe something I read influenced me subconsciously.

Or something.

Heh,

yes.

The latest pre-pubescent mincing little dribbler.

Nothing matters.

Life, death. �Mine, theirs. �Doesn't matter because tomorrow, no one cares.

The pattern on the cieling, under the wallpaper, on my clothes was bullshit.

I know these things now.

I don't care if I sleep in some cube on Red, or one of those fancy apartments on Green. �Usually, I don't even care if I sleep. �Food, is the same. �Bitchin' Chickn' is the same as Rosa's is the same as … All it does is keep the meat going.

Who gives a fuck.

Clothes? �Who needs 'em. �My legs are chrome, they look great. �Mr. Studd stickin out, watch the ladies drool. �Arms, I love my arms. �Clear polymer, watch the servos and synth-muscles work. �Fiber optic implants .. light up the night when I want to, and I want to.

My thought turns to lighting up the night, and I do, white light eminating slowly from my arms, becomming brighter. �I spread my arms, my beautiful arms now, opposite my legs. From the ground, I must look like an X.

I look down from the roof I stand on, wind whipping against the soft flesh of my face, the beginning of my chromed feet hanging just off the edge as lights of Gold twinkle all about. �I turn and see a perfect 360 degree view from this, the highest point here.

"Worship Me!" I shout into the wind. �No one can hear me.

I own this building.

I own this level.

I own this Dome.

How many judges would lose their job for me being up here?

How many judges would kill their lover to know I'm up here? �All of them, they're scum. �They're insignificant.

And to think, when I first came here, they scared me.

How many floors down I wonder, not bothering to check the readout, as I watch them move about their meanignless lives. I can read their NLM terminals as they walk by, boring useless lives.

I do them a favor when I end their lives.

I should jump down from here, crush them, blood and tissue squeezing between my toes. �I might even turn up the sensitivity after I land, just to feel it.

I exist.

I am beautiful.

I am God.

Nothing matters.

Not to break your thunder or anything, Kev, but, have you perchance read the Shadowrun short story, "Whitechapel Rose"? ;)

It's a classic! I probably wouldn't have recognized the similarities if I hadn't read it just last month, between mafia books.

My first contribution:

My mind is slowly coming out of a deep state; I seem to remeber something.  A group of people, pain, something real bad happening.  A dream?  I haven't rembered having a dream since I arrived in the Dome.  I hear voices as I come closer and closer to waking.  My vision starts to fill with bright light.  It all comes back to me, hitting me like a mag-lev: I was jumped, they took my deck.  My brand new deck.  That baby was gonna make me rich.  I have to find them.
I open my eyes and sit up fast from where ever I'm laying.  I can't stay up, my body feels too heavy; I realize it's actually two guys puching me back down on an operating table.
The voices start making sense; the guy to my left says, "Settle down, buddy.  You're in bad shape."  I keep fighting for a few seconds until my mind registers the message.  I feel something jab into my arm and my eyes get heavier.  I'll find them, just not yet.

Is this the place where humanity falls? Where all the sins, all the faults, all the beautiful decay that makes a human life come together to meld, rot, and disappear?

She doesn't know as she walks down the street; she's �not even thinking, her eyes trained steadily against the dark ebony of the night, her feet pumping in the rhythm of the street. She pulls her leather duster tighter around herself, pushes the lashes of her hair out of her face as the wind throws them against her again and again.

I used to think when I came here that people were mostly good. Sure, they'd get fucked up now and again; it happens to all of us. No one's perfect. But overall, we were creatures of light to me back then. But the dirty rotten truth is that none of that is real. �Light just creates shadow after shadow, under people's eyes, in the alleys, in a park in the summer. Light is just the absence of dark, and heat is the absence of cold, and good is just giving birth to more lovely evil.

She stops across from a strip joint in the seediest section of town. �She doesn't notice the people passing her going in and out; she takes them for granted in the same way as the air passing in and out of her lungs. �So, if there are so many of them, and only one of her, what does that mean for the future of the rest? She lights her last cigarette, swearing as she throws it to the ground and stamps on it. �She only screams out of habit. She knew when she bought the pack that the cigarettes would run out. She doesn't remember beginning smoking. �She must have been born this way. �It's just who she is. �Can't change it, not worth looking it in the face. She turns to enter the strip joint after finishing her smoke, removing her duster as she walks in to show that she is wearing almost nothing underneath.

He slides his mirror shades onto his nose, pushing them against his face. He sighs, not because he wants to but simply as a reaction to her motion. He has to kill again, has to rob the whores going in and out of their shifts so he can feed his daughter of two years old. He knew when he first held her in his arms that she would just run out one day. She'd just become somebody's whore and a man with mirrored shades would stand on the street corner and pull the trigger, to feed his children. He aims, fires, quickly pulls the woman's body into the alley and scrapes the measly chyen off of her.

No one notices she's gone, except her nightly fuck buddy. �He frowns that she's not there, then drinks it away with a few shots. After the fifth one he never thinks of her again.

The mirrored man's daughter lived to the age of 13. When she was ten years old, she sold herself to her first customer. �After that, she said she knew something out there was better and she ran away from home. She ran into an express tube and got hit by a street cleaner. Her dad never knew what happened, and it took him five weeks of shots to forget her.

None of these people knew why they lived, and none of them knew why they would die; only that it was inevitable. �The tides of the city rose and fell, while the countless ants scrambled to and from their disrupted hills.

I watched that world turn; I watched those people murder, rape, and destroy everything they most wanted. �And that is the treasure of humanity. I'm going to watch the agony and the joy and the blank expressions and wonder what is behind those eyes, and never ever, no matter how much I feel it myself will I know what it is to be them. I'm going to breathe deeper for it, live stronger for it, and the pain of each stab or cut will make me feel more alive than I ever have. This destruction is bloody beautiful, like a crushed butterfly's wings.

(Edited by Tylissa at 10:27 pm on April 16, 2003)

      Smoke curls up from the glowing red end of the cigarette as he slowly inhales, wafting in front of his eyes as it makes its way up through the stench of the alley. He leans his head back and exhales a cloud of his own, watching it chase the other before they both get swept over the rooftops. Dropping the remnants of his cigarette and placing a foot on top of it to grind it out, he slides his hand inside his jacket letting his fingers find their hold on the machete's handle.
   SIC message from Pick - " He's on his way down Sinn street now….I'm following behind him about a block or so...don't think he's spotted me....he should be there in about  two minutes or so...get ready"
     He lets his thoughts speak for themselves, sending his reply over the SIC " Got it....I'm ready.....no signs of TERRA so far on this end..we're in the clear...just don't get in the way when the shit hits the fan"
    He makes his way slowly awnd silently to the entrance of the alley. Listening for the right pair of footsteps to sound on the pavement. With a bit of patience, precision, and of course a fair share of luck, they'd have him this time. They couldn't afford not to, Doc was expecting his payment on time this week..... Last week was late, thats not a good business move, and he'd always prided himself on how well he did business.
     SIC message from Pick - " He's about thirty yards up from the alley...it's go time Asher.....let him have it"
     This time he didn't bother to reply, letting himself slip easily into stride as he came out of the alley. He glanced up and to the left to catch a glimpse of the shrouded figure as it made it's way up Sinn street. Did he think he could hide who he was that easily..?? he thinks as he makes a visual pass over the surroundings. No witnesses means no evidence. The road was clear for the most part, a few drunks passed out on doorsteps, and a ganger down the block a little ways. Nobody who'd stop him from getting what he wanted though.
     The shrouded figure draws closer with each step, each breath, each second....
     Asher turns up Sinn street, heading towards Pick. Looking for him in the shadows where he knows he is. No signs of him....that's good....means that nobody else sees him either.
     The shrouded figure glances up as Asher passes by on his right, noticeably limping. He doesn't think twice about the familiar face. Too many to keep track of. Probably not important anyways, he didn't even say hey, or whats up when he went by. Could just be a guy from the bar last night he thinks, dismissing the worry as he keeps on his course.
     Asher notices the recognition in the man's face as he looks up at him. He also notices the careless attitude with which the man dismisses it. Who the fuck does this guy think he is..?? he wonders....He can just run off with whoevers money he wants and not have to think twice about it huh?? We'll see about that.......
    In the second that it takes for Asher to pass out of the man's peripherals, he draws the machete from inside his coat and in one quick motion drops to his right knee, spinning on it as he chops into the flesh at the back of the mans leg....Feeling the blade slam into the mans knee with authority, tendons and ligaments giving way to steel  in a bloody display of superiority.
    The shrouded man falls face first to the street clutching at his right leg as he makes a nice thud on the pavement.
     Asher rises again to his full height over top of the man. " You remember my face now you sonovabitch??"  His face tightened with anger and determination as he spits out the question. " You remember what you owe me??" Saliva spraying the man's face as the question hits home....
     " But...but..you never came back for it...I had it...I waited...."  he stammered as Asher's fist came crashing down, splitting the man's lip and cracking a tooth.
    Asher drew back the blade again " Too late for excuses now, chum. I got bills to pay." Dropping the blade fast and hard into the man's skull, splitting it like a melon. Blood spewing forth like a morbid fountain as Asher rained down his vengeance upon the man's face.
     Footsteps growing louder in Asher's ears draw his attention away from the crumpled form beneath him. He looks up as Pick comes bolting from the shadow's, bag in hand.
     "Roll him over Ash, I'll get the shit...." Pick says hurriedly. "Come on...let's go."
      Shaking his head quickly to clear his thoughts, Asher quickly flips the body over. Blood leaking out onto his hands and soaking into his clothes. Pick runs through the man's pockets, grabbing anything that could be worth somehting and shoving it in the bag before closing it tight and standing again.
    " Alright, thats all of it" he says  "Now let's get the hell  outta here before someone notices the new corpse in the gutter."
    "Right......Let's go" Asher says quietly, wiping the blood from his machete on the cleanest peice of cloth he can find on the man before turning back towards the alleys.
    "It better be in here..." Pick says   ".......or we're screwed again"
     "It's there........it's gotta be" comes Asher's response.
      With that, he turns and bolts for the comforting quiet of the shadows. Pick following close behind. Once again running through the night, but from what this time? From the judges? From the gangers? Or from the realization that he just had to take another life in order to survive in this godforsaken dome......??? Of course he had to, he thinks. He always does, but when...?? he thinks...When will it end?? Maybe this would be the last one....He glances at the surroundings as he flies by, full-speed. No, he thinks. NO. There's gonna be more. There's gotta be more. It'd be too easy for it to end like this......nothings ever easy in the Dome.....nothing...... ever....

Hrm… mine's a bit different, wrote this at least a year and a half ago. Someone may be around that remembers it, it wasn't a very hidden event... but I doubt that. ;)

Anyways... from the actual eyes and mind of Shawn 'Lucifer' Dempsey....

(Disclaimer: Based on TRUE RP.)

Life sucked. Plain and simple... Luc didn't know if he could trust Gunnar or Alla anymore, not after the incident at TERRA the night before. How could she fucking say that? In front of him for God's sake. 'Is he supposed to know that?' The phrase kept running through his mind. His life was, once again... habitually falling apart. So, naturally, he needed a drink.

Four long hours went by, nothing happened. He sat alone in a corner booth, nursing four martinis and thinking to himself. Finally, people started to flow in. First the man known only as Justin. He'd been an ass to Luc in the past, and for all Luc cared, could get shot dead that night. The man Luc would soon know as Jackson followed only a few minutes later. Luc got up from his booth and joined Jackson at the bar, starting some idle chit chat. Four more martinis.

"Care to join me in getting drunk?" he asked Jackson. Jackson answered with a chuckle, "Sorry... I'm hurting for cash as it is. I need to save for a clone, and I'm barely scraping by with rent..." Luc eyed his surroundings, "Well hell... here." He reached into his wallet and dished out 6000c, tossing it onto Jackson's lap. "Drink money and clone money."

Jackson swallowed, hard, then grinned. "Fuck ya, your on." Justin joined the conversation then, and Luc asked him if he'd want to get drunk. Justin's answer was more or less the same as Jackson's, no money. Another 5000c out of the pockets of Shawn Dempsey, aka, Luc.

<Care to join me in getting drunk?> Luc sent to Dom via the network. <I dunno, you buying?> quickly came the reply. <Like hell I am, get your ass down here.> Luc sent back. Then silence, if Dom was going to come, he'd come.

Dom eventually did arrive, so did Bias. Bias came around drink fifteen for Luc. As soon as she entered, Luc stood up and kissed her on the lips, shocking her and everyone else in the room. It sparked interesting discussion as Lucien arrived shortly there-after. Dom was quiet for most of the time, and soon left. Drink thirteen.

By that time, Luc knew he'd had enough. He shouldn't have had that many, and he sure as hell shouldn't have anymore. He knew there was a reason he didn't drink... but... he couldn't remember it. (Don't try and get me to drink anymore...) he thought. And sure enough, Lucien offered to buy him a few more rounds, "Let me at least buy my boss a few drinks, eh?" he said with a grin.

Justin laughed, after downing four tequilas, "Heh... Luc... y-you're not slurring your speech enough... DRINK! Trust me, you won't remember this conversation tommorrow..." Luc shook his head, "I never lose my memory after drinking... nor do I slur, much." Jackson raised an eyebrow, "Why's that?" He slowly sipped his martini, waiting for Luc to answer. "Oh no particular reason... always had a good memory. Hell, my IQ was 167 at age sixte...." He shut his mouth, -fast-. (Shit... thats why I don't drink... I say shit I shouldn't... Fuck fuck fuck fuck..) he thought.

The rest of the bar seemed to ignore the statement, carrying on with the conversation while Luc remained strangely quiet. He felt the effects of all the alcohol on his system soon after downing his sixteenth drink. He reacted instinctivly to one of Justin's comments, fumbling with his holster, but failing to open it. Everyone's eyes turned to Luc, wondering just what the hell he was doing. Finally, he gave up, and reached behind his back. Out came the ZMI 830 Conciliator. Lucien's eyes bulged, and Bias took a step back as they saw the gun. Luc just stood up and started waving it around the room.

"Luc... put the gun down..." coaxed Lucien and Bias repeatidly. Luc just chuckled and aimed the gun at Lucien, "BOOM!" he shouted. Everyone jumped. "Luc... go home, you've had way to much to drink..." Lucien said, again. In response, Luc pointed the gun at Justin, "BOOM!". Justin jumped back out of reflex. Luc giggled, then started waving the gun around again. Jackson took a step towards Luc, reaching for the gun. "How about you just..."

Luc moved like lighting, he spun the gun around and back behind his back. In the same motion, he knocked away Jackson's hand with his free arm and then grabbed Jackson's opposite arm with his now free gun-hand. He twisted himself around behind Jackson and jerked his arm upwards, getting him in a hold before anyone could react. "Shit Luc, let him go!" screamed Lucien.

But... Luc wasn't there anymore. His instincts had shifted into gear. Blindly. His eyes paced the room, he felt fear. All he saw was Africa, the town... all he saw was the room full of adults and kids, the three officials pointing outdated M-26's at him. He held another man, nowhere to go...

"Back off!" screamed Luc. His eyes no longer saw Lucien, or Bias... just the room full of people. Jackson winced, "Luc... just let me go... I'm not going to..." Luc swiftly lifted Jackson's arm up, dislocating his shoulder with an audible *POP*. "Shut up." Luc's head spun back and forth, taking in the room, before he slowly backed towards the door.

"Luc... go home..." started Lucien.

Luc quickly released Jackson, spun, and then planted his foot on Jackson's back knocking him towards Lucien. As Jackson slammed into Lucien, both of them were knocked off balance. During the confusion, Luc spun and bolted for the door, disappearing into the crowd outside.

Luc's mind was racing. He remembered all to well what had happened...

*FLASHBACK*
He had escaped the bar, but was being chased. The alarm went up. Soon he'd have the entire army posted at the town on him, their sole purpose to kill him. He had to escape. He dashed for the landing pads, his pistols appearing in his hands from their arm-holsters. Two guards appeared, their weapons rising towards the approaching Luc... two shots, both guards went down.

Luc lept into the cockpit of the Jaguar. The newly bought machines made a single man an army. He quickly punched in the access code that had costed a dozen lives to get. The AV roared to life, and quickly lifted off the pad. Luc -had- to escape...

The army was ahead of him, unfortunatly... they already had two of the same craft in the air. And before Luc could get away, they were already on his tail. He did what he could to lose them, but failed... and barely dodged the flak coming from the twin AV's. He finally lost them in the clouds, and jammed on his brakes. The AV stopped, hovered. The two attacks flew by him, and he began his own chase. The first disappeared in a cloud of fire and smoke as Luc unloaded with the chain gun. The bullets quickly fell on their mark as the craft flew in a straight line.

The other AV spun away from the explosion, now aware of Luc behind him. The two flew by each other, barely missing one another in the cross. They each spun around and opened fire. Luc let loose with a IR missile, while the other craft let loose with a volley of unguided rockets. Luc ducked his ship under the volley, and watched as his missile exploded to the left of the AV... crippling it. He watched in horror as it spun like a wounded duck and fell towards the earth... straight at the town.

The AV hit the ground near one of the military's fuel depots scattared throughout the town. The AV's rockets ignited and fired in unison in every direction. Some slammed into buildings, others impaled people before exploding, and still some hit the fuel depot. The town lit up like a fireworks display as the chain reaction desimated the entire village. Luc was flying low enough that he could hear the screams and feel the heat through his now open cockpit. The entire town... destroyed. He forced himself to think of it as a casualty of war, he had accomplished his mission. He'd retrieved or destroyed all the Jaguar X10's that the military had illegally purchased. He spun his craft around and left the blazing inferno behind him... but the images would forever be burned into his mind.

*PRESENT*
Luc flung himself against the ground, his body covered in water from the rain outside. He was at Branspuro. All he saw were the flames... the dying... he heard their screams. "Hey buddy..." said a man behind Luc, "...got some chyen for a..." he stopped as he found himself looking down the barrel of Luc's Mk23. "Nevermind... I'll just be going this way..." said the man as he backed away, then bolted from the area. Luc holstered his gun, and leaned back against a trash heap. His eyes closed, trying to block out the images.

*FLASHBACK*
"The council has deemed the destruction of Krusoi an act not of your doing. You acted in self defense in shooting down those fighters, which was also your mission objective. Your record will remain cleared, and the matter will, of course, be stricken from all databases as per normal procedures. Congradulations Shawn, you pulled off the impossible. Meet at Bravo Tango Sixteen for your next assignment." relayed the message through Luc's field-comm. So that was it, he'd been
cleared... he had done his job. That was it. Over, done. He'd do like he always did, push the images to the back of his mind. He was a soldier, created to be one of the best. The personality manager would block the images from his concious thought after a few days, they always did. He felt no remorse... yet... he felt their pain. He grabbed his pulse rifle and began packing up his gear. He had a mission to do...

*PRESENT*
It was gone. Removed. The personality manager... or whatever the fuck they called it. Gone. The memories flooded back to him like a horse to water once his fragile blocks were removed. It had happened before, with Gally... he left because of what happened... how he'd almost killed her. By the time he had gotten to where he needed to be, to end the damage caused by the Psy-Disorder... his mind had already pushed the painful memories of what he'd done towards the back of his subconcious. But they came back shortly thereafter... Nic brought them about. Now this... -this-... the memories covered him. He could barely breathe.

<It's me, Lucien. An employee and friend of yours. I'm talking to you via a small chip implanted in the base of your neck when you came here, to Withmore.> came Lucien over Luc's chip. He'd forgotten what the SIC was. <Who the hell is this... how are you talking to me... get out of my fucking head! Lies!> was Luc's only, hurried reply. <Tell you what, I'll prove I work with you, then will you believe me.>

Luc ignored it. He climbed to his feet, the world as he knew it began to refocus... he staggered away from Branspuro, circling around to New Rose. He paused there, before finally resting against the wall of the Drome's bathroom. <Luc... listen to me...> sent Lucien again. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!" screamed Luc. Lucien, being just north in the bar still, raced into the room. Luc was rocking back and forth, eyes clenched shut when he arrived. "It's me, Lucien, right here infront of you man..." Lucien said smoothly. Luc jumped to his feet, his arms out, legs tense. Instinctivly. "Come back with me to TERRA, the buisness you started... please Luc..." Lucien continued.

Luc pointed at Lucien, "You the one in my head?" Luc clenched his jaw as Lucien paused, "ARE YOU?!" Lucien held up his hands, "Just hear me out... that jacket you're wearing... its my voince... I have one too, see?" Luc took a step towards Lucien, "Are you the fucking person in my head!" Lucien nodded, "Yes, I am." Luc was silent for a moment, "Out." Lucien continued, "Look our jacket's match... just hear me out..." "I SAID OUT DAMMIT!!" screamed Luc. Chairs could be heard scratching the table to the north as Luc lept at Lucien, rage and self-survival taking over his rational thought.

Luc's leg slammed into Lucien's side, followed by a punch to his chest. Lucien moved to counter attack, but Luc knocked the punches aside and landed a devestating blow to Lucien's shoulder, knocking it all to hell and popping it out of the socket. He spun his momentum to the opposite direction and slammed the elbow of the same arm into Lucien's face, bursting open blood vessels in his nose and sending a spray of blood out behind him as Lucien's head jerked backwards. Luc backed off for a second, only to kick Lucien in the side of his knee, causing him to buckle forwards and fall to the ground. Luc reached down, grasping Lucien's shirt in a tight grip as he lifted Lucien's prone form off the ground slightly. Luc's other arm went back, ready to finish Lucien off... only... he couldn't.

The explosions, screaming... the fire... the images flashed through his mind. Death, destruction. All under his hands. Every person he had ever killed flooded through his mind in a single instant, soldiers, civilians, Devon, Astro, Gally,... evil, good... friends... enemies. "I'm doing it again..." he mumbled to himself.

Luc looked Lucien in the eyes, then slowly let the shirt fall through his fingers. "I can never stop... too dangerous... too... too... too much a soldier... deaths... all my fault, again..." Finally, with a light thud, he droped Lucien onto the ground, his battered shoulder hitting first. Lucien pushed himself up, "Fine, I try to help you and this is the thanks I get, Fuck you." He clenched his jaws as he riped off his armband, then threw it at Luc.

Luc clenched his teeth again, �and reached his arm back again, ready to strike. "Thats what I am... a soldier... always... always... I can't change... but... I can't kill anymore, either... no..." He closed his eyes for a moment, "I'm a failure... I can't do anything right..." And that said, he bolted for the door, covered in Lucien's blood. He rushed into the Drome, saw Bias, the others... and left. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't continue to live like this... he also knew he couldn't leave the dome again. He had to stay... work things out within himself... he wouldn't run again.

(Edited by Lucifer at 6:40 am on Oct. 24, 2003)