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Post by ceolsige on May 13, 2015 3:15:50 GMT
The stranger stood at the margins of a metallic precipice watching the curvature of Lyde roil with distant storms. An intangible shield was all that separated his infinitesimal person from the vacuum looming outside, and for the first time it came to mind he stood on a scheme of alloy following a dubious path of circles around his home planet. What might it take, he wondered, to send them all hurtling in an incandescent plume of fire toward its notorious wilds. Removing the end of a metal stick from his mouth, Isak exhaled a cloud of sweet smelling vapor. It had no sooner dissipated in the immaculate air when a hard voice informed, “Hey! There's no smoking in here.”
“Oh.” Isak looked over either shoulder and spun once, but couldn't find the speaker. He stretched to prove his nonchalance, simultaneously running a thumb over a sensor on the cigarette to shut it off. Under his breath: “Fascists.” Not that it's any better on Lyde. At least back home there was space to avoid authority, and they were far less concerned with trivialities like health and well-being. Lyde made Bacia Prime look like a first rate resort, albeit somehow combined with a prison. He chalked it up to the circumstances which brought him here.
Weapons weren't readily shelled out in a place like this. People didn't need to defend themselves; there were people for that, here. Yet, there was demand, and Isak saw profit in being the supplier. Back home he'd often glimpsed Bacia sailing like a galleon across the sea of the sky, but he'd hardly been able to imagine what life was like up here. He didn't know about primaries, termination or sterilization. He knew of leaders, execution, and radiation-induced barenness, however, and quickly adapted.
As it turned out, it was a primary –a person of apparent significance and worthy of breeding, who wanted guns. Isak had recently come upon a few as it were, but when only he had made his half of the transaction, some asshole had shown up bitching about legal implications and so on and so forth, only to be knocked upside the head by the buyer himself. This was all good and amusing, but the cover-up involved with the injured scolder was interrupting Isak's getting paid. He worried it was all a charade in which the man who was knocked out was in on the trickery, but his visitor's pass was good for a full month. If it came to it, he would find the man who owed him and get his money one way or another.
In the meantime, he could use his visitor's status to experience food unlike any he could get his unworthy hands on back on Lyde. The alcohol was a little weaker, but it went down easy and the nightly freakshow of Bacia Prime's denizens had thus far kept him entertained. Putting one hand –and the cigarette, back into his pocket, Isak toyed with the laminated pass for a moment before flipping it over to examine the unflattering photograph of his head. His newly bleached hair looked like shit, and in retrospect, made him stand out more than he had before. Sure, authorities on Lyde were looking for someone with brown hair, but most people had brown hair. This blanched whiteness only highlighted him in a crowd.
Another disturbing note on the pass warned Bacia's residents that this was not someone with whom they should be breeding. This insulted and perturbed Isak, who had no intentions of impregnating any of these people to begin with –though he didn't mind the prospect of practicing the art. That possibility slimmed with each passing minute; most people here seemed to look at him like some sort of subhuman annoyance –a thing taking up space and dirtying all it touched. It didn't hurt his feelings. He had a bed while he was here –an actual room to himself. And as of a few days ago, he had his own ship.
In addition to stating the unworthiness of his DNA, the pass also was sure to mention his hypoglycemia. This is what had inspired him to resort to crime in the first place. On Lyde, his academic intelligence had been a mite above average, and he had striven to explore space in his adulthood. Alas, they sought individuals who weren't in danger of losing consciousness, however briefly, when deprived of constant food. Not that this was a frequent issue for Isak, who'd only once come close in his childhood. After being diagnosed with low blood sugar, however, his foremost ambition was snatched away and a different array of future careers was presented to him. The illegal route became a more tempting option quickly, which entailed dropping his education and moving around often.
Isak pushed the pass back into his pocket and looked back down at the blue orb enveloping much of what he could see, save a dark sliver around its gentle glow. Rings stretched out beyond it, silvery and glistening from sunbeams on the other side of the world. He could see himself staying here a bit longer, he decided.
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Post by schwarzschild on May 19, 2015 17:15:39 GMT
It was silent, and the silence was palpable and encompassing.
Quietude was a virtue amongst the veins of the space station. Seldom did the atmosphere surpass a decibel of 80 in common dwellings, perhaps proving an oddity to those of foreign ears. However, to one of natal origin, stillness equated to independence, and independence was reprieve from the biting order of the primaries and the tonnage of daily duties.
A girl teetering on the precipice of child and teenhood reveled in the repose of sleeping infants. A quarter of the waking day had passed, and the given tasks of her academy in the nursery of the second sector had been meticulously, albeit begrudgingly, completed. She removed the heart rate cuff from the slumbering babe she cradled—a 9 month old male being monitored for clearance to live— rubbing a thumb over the instrument’s impression left upon his diaphanous skin. In spite of her involuntary association with the station’s nursery and a future in genetics, she championed each baby’s survival, and it was not uncommon for records of those infants in her care, more particularly the one she presently held, to be altered a single digit in their favor. Placing the infant minor into his compartment, a kiss was planted on his tiny fist, and then the girl lifted from her hunched position to give the nursery a final sweep only to find the welcomed and familiar calm, interrupted solely by a soft cooing, that marked her working day’s end.
Nye filled her cheeks with air, exhaling sharply out of plum-glossed lips, as she shrugged out of an oversized white coat by the nursery’s entrance, “Bana” embroidered next to the right lapel, a coat she would wear for the rest of her life. Clad in a bodysuit of only black lycra, she was herself again, a child, and as if it were an item on her itinerary, it was time for something more entertaining than identifying unfavorable traits, observing toddlers’ motor skills, or analyzing ancestry.
After finding the gaze of the head educator for approval, a wordless nod granted her dismissal, and she briskly typed her identification number into a keypad, prompting two large glass doors to give way to her exit with a whine. As she stepped across the threshold, the doors were already closing, and before her was a vast, dimly-lit corridor, several stories high and scarcely a soul around.
A wily grin sidled onto her face as she began to wander with a spirited stride. She could practice being an authority to occupy her free time. She was a denizen at present, and though there was a possibility she would always be, she was a candidate for becoming a primary citizen, a status granted through an exhibition of intellectual potential in genetics and a fate sealed by her biological father, a prominent authority in the medical department of Sector 2. Though the true implications of being a primary were wholly unknown to her, she had gathered that it was better than being a denizen and wanted to earn her title. As she walked, she inwardly decided she would appear proactive and gain favor if she was seen rehearsing the role, and yet, interrogating the likes of her fellow students would be unimpressive to primary onlookers.
The Harbor in the third sector was arguably the epicenter of the space station with unrivaled views of Lyde and the first point of contact whenever entering or exiting the station, and as she roamed, she found herself there as she often did; however, instead of climbing onto an inactive deck to watch incoming and outgoing traffic, she paused before the Harbor’s grandeur to comb the vicinity for a target. The reprimand for the smoking individual captured her attention immediately, and she assumed he had only been on the station a short time since he endeavored to smoke in such a pivotal location with notable surveillance. With a sideglance, she noted the locations of the primaries responsible for the Harbor; they were used to her presence in this place she technically was not allowed.
Apprehension settled onto her chest as she approached the platform where the foreigner stood. Her gait began to slow, though she straightened and inhaled deeply as she figured a primary would. "What's your business here?" She was not prepared to give eye contact, and her voice sounded more delicate and puerile than she had anticipated. Instead, she admired Lyde through the enormous pane, a world with which she was connected and yet, had never known, a faint blue reflecting onto her youthful features.
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Post by Caleb on May 21, 2015 2:16:37 GMT
"Mr. Nizby?"
A man sat in a metal chair, hands tied to the armrests and feet chained together. The air in the room was chilly, like a teacher makes her classroom to keep the students attention. But that didn't stop the bead of sweat slowly trickling down the man's forehead. The room was bathed in all white, no decorations on the wall, just a harsh light glaring down at the room's inhabitants. Besides the man in the chair, two guards stood on either side of the only door in and out of the room which was located directly behind the sitting man. The guards were donned in white heavy suits, with an arsenal of guns and tasers located firmly upon their hip. The guards eyes stared straight ahead. This was protocol. This was their duty. The guards were brilliantly strong, that was their outstanding quality that kept them as Primary citizens of Bacia Prime.
"Did you hear me, Mr. Nizby?"
In front of the man sitting down was a white table with files and manilla folders placed on top in an orderly way. On the opposite side of the man sitting in the chair, stared a woman back at him, her eyes as cold as the room were piercing his. Another drop of sweat rolled down the roughed and bruised facial skin of the man.
"Your appeal of termination has come back from judging," the woman continued, she sat as well in a metal chair, her muscular body concealed by a navy pantsuit. "And unfortunately for you Mr. Nizby," she paused, never taking her gaze off of the man's eyes, "it has been denied." She rose from her chair at this point. Her stature always startled some upon seeing it. At 6'1" she matched or even towered over most men in the space station. "The judging panel could not find any justifiable cause for you disobeying and attacking a Primary after they had written you up for breaking your curfew." She slowly started around the table, walking towards the bound man. His eyes stayed straight ahead though, not looking as the woman came closer. "There is a system in place here, Mr. Nizby, and it is a good one that has helped this station thrive for many years." Each word she spoke was very careful. She believed everything she was saying. "You may view breaking curfew as a tiny, infinitesimal crime. But let me assure you Mr. Nizby, it throws out the careful balance we have here." With each step she grew closer to the man and suddenly she was behind him. His eyes still stared straight ahead. She stood directly behind the sitting man, facing him. She held out her right arm to the side of her and without looking or even indicating, one of the guards automatically put a small device in her hand. It was shaped like a stubby screwdriver, only the end was pointedly sharp. Her strong fingers whirled it around in her palm and with her thumb, she clicked the handle of the device. It started to glow hot blue. "And on top of all that, attacking a Primary. It is disappointing. It is outrageous. It is intolerable." Her voice was leveled the entire time. The man continued not to make a sound, but to let her speak. Swiftly then, with her free left hand she harshly grabbed the man by his hair on the back of his head and slammed his head forward, making his forehead and nose squished against the table. "You now know what must be done, Mr. Nizby. On the grounds of Primary non-compliance and aggrevated assault of a Primary, I hereby terminate you."
The man still tied to the chair, his face pressed roughly to the table, he finally closed his eyes in preparation. Still, though, no words escaped his dry mouth. With a swift and strong arm, she swung the blue-hot dagger steadily and confidently into the mans temple, all the while her left arm was still holding the mans head down upon the table. The device went through to the mans brains, where it scrambled and ultimately killed the man. She swiftly retreated the device from the mans cranium. The scorching heat of the blade acted as a cauterizing method to not make the victim bleed. Easy cleanup. She released the back of the man's head, turned around, clicked the heat dagger off and handed it back to the guard. "Thank you Roy," she remarked. Not a drop of blood ever touched her or her pristine navy pantsuit. The guard took the device back while the woman gathered the papers and folders up off the desk, sitting next to the corpse now, and he responded, "Thank you, Miss Stoll." The guards were more than capable of carrying out the execution orders, but this woman derived an odd pleasure from administering the fatal blow. She exited the blank white room unscathed by any of the goings-on inside.
Another day at the office for Raea Stoll.
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After completing a busy day, Raea returned to her housing quarters in Sector One of Bacia Prime. Her residence was far larger than anyone else's in Sector One. And pristinely decorated. Rich hues of deep burgundy and navy flowed throughout the apartment. It was emitting a warm, inviting feeling. Much more warm and inviting than Raea had ever given off herself. She entered her place with a stack of folders, filled with papers and contracts detailing all the happenings of Sector One that needed Raea to sign off on. Raea Stoll was the Chief Executive Officer for all of Sector One, nothing happened in the sector that she was not first made aware. Everything from the sleep bays to the atrium to the recreation bar, was all under her domain and care. It was a tall order, and not an easy job, but Raea proved to be distinguished in her managerial duties, and developed the authority to not be tampered with. She threw the folders down on her coffee table and some of the papers stumbled out halfway. One of the papers read at the top in bold lettering *SURGERY REPORT* BIROM, SEAGHD She removed her deep blue flats, and laid them next to the couch. She then wandered to her extremely clean and polished kitchen, decorated with electric limes and neon yellows. Hanging from an ornate pewter rack above the counter hung several wine glasses. She gently removed one from its place and sat it down on the marbled counter top. To the left of her stainless steal refrigerator was a wine rack, and picked up the bottle that had already been opened and poured herself a glass. It was an expensive bottle of Mourvedre, a deep red wine that scented the air with an aroma of cherries and spices. She brought the glass over and sat down in her living room on the navy leather couch. Her dress almost blended in with the couch itself. She swirled the wine around in the glass, and then dug her nose into it to take in a great sniff of the scents. Finally, she carefully sipped her wine, pushing it back tightly between her pursed lips. She swished it around in her mouth between her cheeks, allowing it to aerate so the flavor could come to full fruition. Raea was unwinding from her day of algorithm adjustments, sector building planning, and oh yea, executing denizens. But much like her father, she always brought work home with her. With her glass of wine in her left hand, she used her right hand to finger open the case files that had spilled out from the folders in front of her. She was overseeing a case and reading the details of a botched advanced surgery that had been carried out by Primaries. An illegal surgery. Raea shook her head just slightly and said to herself, "What a..." and she paused to turn the page to a picture of the denizen the surgery had been performed on. It was a picture of him in the containment holding ward after the surgery had taken place. Tubes and wires were everywhere, coming in and out of him.
"...mess," she finished. She continued to sip on her wine.
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Post by ceolsige on May 21, 2015 4:15:46 GMT
The sort of silence that strangles the senses and incurs gradual madness lay just beyond a sheer barrier. Isak found it difficult to wrap his head around the reality of the hour, around the permanent night of space. Here, everything was simulation and pretending was their reality. Sniffing once loudly, he chased a crumb in his pocket with one hand and freed a few strands of hair from the film of grease and sweat on his forehead. Here, everything was sterile and cold, bereft of the reciprocity between man and bacteria. He was a germ, something to chase behind with disinfectant; a speck of filth borne of the terrestrial sphere, unwanted in the aluminum Shangri-la. And down below, in the slums, Bacia Prime had appeared like a Heavenly body –a blinking light which passed over the night sky portending an end to hunger and suffering. But its promises had not yet come, and they were made before Isak ever contemplated coming into existence. And now, here he was. And you couldn't even smoke. It felt as though he'd come across mountainous dunes in pursuit of a mirage, only to find more dry sand where he thought he'd glimpsed dark water. It was like any other place, with the exception of food and water, and excluding dangerous animals slinking always just out of sight. Those were replaced by young women –very young, in fact –not really quite women at all. But Isak didn't see her, such was his melodramatic and fully internal monologue roiling through his mind. He turned, intent upon the bar. These thoughts were soon to drown in some of that weak but delicious whiskey, excepting the dangerous thing which suddenly entered his line of sight the second he whirled around. Collision was prevented only by way of awkward braking. His shoe shrieked against the metal ground, echoing in the immensity of the harbor. “Guh,” was the sound he made when he exhaled, greasy free hand mashing against his sternum as his eyes instinctively formed a glower. What's your business here? She didn't even look him in the eye. A thousand answers spun by, all too quick to snatch and sputter. Was this an especially puny example of Bacia society? A full second's time provided clarity; no, this was a child, or a person who had recently been a child, and she was begging a question he'd fumbled with just a few hours before. But, did he really have to answer to her? “Nuffin' to concern you wiv, I'm sure.” The tone was civil enough – presumptuous, but not dismissive. They were fickle with how you treated some of the denizens of this satellite. “Just waitin' on payment for a shipment I brough', dat's all.” That much was the truth. “Got a pass an' everyfin'.” He pulled it a third of the way from his pocket and motioned with the free hand. “...Woy? You da 'ead of security?”
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“This is it,” the man in blanched garb said, looking up at the numbers above the door briefly before reaching out toward Birom's hand. “Four-B, one-one-one. That's easy to remember, isn't it?”“It's your dormitory,” the woman walking behind him said, voice chipper nor monotone. Birom squinted at the doorway, eyes presently roaming toward the extended hand. He touched the bandage wrapped around his head. “Don't touch that,” the man said firmly, snagging his wrist when he didn't cooperate. “Touch this.” The hand was pushed against a square panel at waist-level by the door's frame. A cyan light flashed and roamed under his skin, surprising him when he ventured to believe he could feel it moving underneath. The door popped open with a sudden hiss, two sides sinking into their respective slots. “See? This is yours.”“Is anything familiar?” The doors closed behind the woman as she entered last, standing awkwardly against them when Birom froze in place just inside. Her breath wavered when there was no answer, and she spoke beneath it to the white-clothed man: “It didn't work. He doesn't remember.”“I remember something,” Birom said suddenly, drawing their hopeful attention. “...This is where I lived? This was mine?” The woman skirted her partner and reached over Birom's shoulder just as he was lowering himself into a desk chair. Her fingers closed around the corners of a thin metal slab on a shelf, which was brought down to the desk in front of the patient. His own likeness sprang onto the screen –only, it wasn't very much a likeness. Brown eyes stared from beneath an immaculate but greying hairline. The mouth hung a sliver ajar, and beneath it a weak chin shadowed with bristle. Birom squinted, lifting a hand toward his head. “Don't touch that.”Lowering his hand to the desk-top, he averted his attention toward a mirror inexplicably placed at the side of a monitor. He turned it toward him, inspecting the pale-eyed reflection, the fray of dark, thick hair spilling between bandages, the chin and jaw which both looked freshly hewn from marble. “Y-yes,” the woman behind him stammered. “Virtually none of you seems to be original.” She swallowed thickly. “...None.”Birom exhaled audibly and changed the image by flicking his finger across it. Both doctors experienced relief that he still appeared able to operate device; his imminent survival increased the likelihood of theirs. They observed images of him with various framed certificates –sometimes awards, sometimes shaking the hand of some prominent figure. He'd been successful –a candidate in his youth to become a primary, if only he hadn't had that tic. That stutter. That set of features. But now, even bandaged, he was a cut above the average sod determined unsuitable. Years of speech therapy had worked wonders, but reconstruction of his vocal chords had made the former nasal droning unrecognizable. He spoke with a voice that was too pleasant on the ears; he could have been a machine. He stopped on a picture of a tall, stern-faced woman. His finger hovered off the screen before slowly touching down again. He flicked. It was her again on some public stage. The next image was, once again, the Primary Raea Stoll. “Do you know who this is?”“Raea Stoll,” Birom fired instinctively, as naturally as a leg kicks when its reflex is tested. “Good. You're a fan, by the way. And the next one?”He flicked. “...Kelley Chandler... Franklin Waters.... Marc Robinson.” They breathed their mutual sighs of relief. He might have forgotten his childhood, his past –perhaps everything he learned in his studies, but they'd been able to reinstall the important stuff. He could name off the Primaries. He could obey the rules. It would appear Seaghdh Birom was fully recovered, and their lives would go on as normal. All that was needed was Raea's permission to install him back into his dormitory --if he was suitable. She was notified with a blunt, short message stating only that the patient from 4B111 was ready for examination.
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Post by schwarzschild on May 28, 2015 16:39:43 GMT
The moment the interrogation left her glassy lips, the apprehension began to fester and amalgamate with regret. She was steadfast, however, as blue Lyde became a greater object of her attention, her uncanny form of solace as she awaited her subject’s reply to the despotic and uncharacteristic query, peering past her ghostly denizen self in pane’s reflection. In her peripheral, though, the man moved, and she braced with a cringe. Unaware of his obliviousness to her presence, she expected a grapple with which she was familiar by Primary hands, and yet there was nothing except the unfamiliar musk of the foreigner that crashed against her even though he had regained composure with some unintelligible exclamation and stood still. A single, black-lined eye cracked open, and then the other, and with a hanging bottom lip, the girl peered up at the grisly man that stood an entire foot above her and marred with peculiar ink and devoid of the famed sterilization the patrons of the space station scrambled to upkeep. At that moment, the painstaking adherence to uniformity was understood and necessary to her, and she stepped back to drink in the spectacle of the man representing what another world’s surface might be like: a disheveled disappointment. By contrast, she was refined and clean. Despite the occasional absence from concentrated physical exercise, her academy and periodic chores kept her lean, and Primary discipline was evident in her posture. She exhibited precision from her asymmetrical hair and speech to her unmarked skin and polished boots. Although she was smaller, she committed to her pseudo-primary role, separating her feet to stand squarely, and his dismissive response was regarded with a glower of her own. It was obvious he did not take her seriously, and as he explained his business, she only hoped the watchful eyes of the Harbor’s Primaries had grown tired and averted away. “Everything here concerns me,” she echoed a line she had heard before, perhaps from the Chief Executive of her sector, in order to regain a strand of authority. Again, her voice was juvenile and wispy, and amidst the muted whirring and whining of the Harbor’s workings, it reverberated louder than she found comfortable. Additionally, she flashed her wrist from beneath the tightly fitted lycra to reveal her identification number. “Bana. I work in Sector 2.” 0998065487P
It was unknown if it would mean anything to a foreigner, but at the very least, he would recognize that she was of Primary blood, a “partial” her academy peers would infamously chant, the offspring of a denizen and a primary. Her identification matched her father’s down to the “P” for “Primary,” aside from a single digit, the mark of a Partial or Primary Minor. She gave him only a moment to gawk before releasing the stretchy fabric to cover her again. The same hand extended so that he might place the pass in her hand, and this time, she mustered enough courage to find his eyes. From the gaping mouth of the Harbor, the tiny voice of another female denizen Minor in the holdings and quarantine academy beckoned Nye. She was more deeply complected with a totally shaved head and punitive features, and she was respected amongst her Primary elders as an unyielding and disciplined child. Often, she was found trying to wrangle the spirit of Nye, and only seldom did she succeed. In this case, she continued to struggle. “You’re not in your bay again, Nye, or you would have heard. I got a message from two and holdings that the subject— Birom, I think it was—is ready to see Primary Raea. Could be a learning experience for us.”
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Post by Caleb on May 29, 2015 18:10:45 GMT
Inspection of Sector One's quarters were a weekly occurrence. Inspections took place to make sure everything was in its proper order, everything was working correctly and smoothly as it should be, and to make sure all denizens were keeping their respected quarters clean and clear. They were unannounced inspections, much to the dismay of denizens. But this helped keep any unwarranted plans from coming to fruition. Many a time, Primaries have barged in during a surprise inspection and caught denizens planning a coo or scheming hostile attacks. Raea Stoll had devised the inspection system and was very thorough with her investigating. Today, Raea was doing her routine inspection of the dormitories on Sector One. She was dressed in a dark burgundy pant suit with clipping heels to match strapped to her delicate but muscled feet. She marched through the dormitories, and was followed by a duo of Primaries, colloquially known as The Twins. They were two brothers, identical twins, and they both possessed the strength far beyond any person on Bacia Prime or Lyde that they knew of. It was because of this unwavering strength, they were placed as Primaries, and whom Raea affectionately kept by her side. They didn't say much. They didn't think much either. She swiftly made her way through the corridors eyeing anything that could be out of place; an unmade bed, left out food, a spec of dust... She was just finishing up the outer perimeter when her watch beeped. She flicked it and it sprang open to a blue hologram message in front of her:Denizen #4B111 is ready for inspection.
Raea curt her heels abruptly making a slight squeak sound between the shoes of her shoes and the polished floor. She spun around towards the Twins diligently walking beside her. "Roy, Ernst, I must go now, but please finish up the inspection quickly and find me in the Boardroom. I have an interview." "Yes, Miss Stoll," Roy replied, then marched along with his brother further out into the corridor. Raea darted toward what was known as the Boardroom, with briefcase in hand that contained all her documents for the days inquiries. In them, was the same Reports on a denizen named Birom. She had been awaiting his surgical recovery for a while now, and was anxious to see his progress. If her people had been successful then all would have been forgotten. A fresh start for Mr. Birom. Pressing the restart button. She entered the Boardroom to a just select few others filling the room, that immediately stood when they noticed her entrance. The center of the Boardroom housed two over sized, comfortable brown chairs facing each other, 'therapist' style. She sat graciously in one and scanned the room, opened her briefcase, removed her manilla folders and crossed her legs, very lady-like. No one said anything in the time she had entered. Everyone was on pins and needles because they knew much rode on this interview about to be before them. Raea stared down across her glossy papers and photographs of the man. Her initial thoughts kept creeping back upon her, 'If only we had terminated him in the first place...' Raea did not look up from her papers but everyone could practically read her mind. Her lips were pursed so tight, the tension in them could kill someone with a kiss. Without look up, she spoke in a projective tone where each word was filled with venom as they reached the few on-lookers ears, "This had better work," she paused, then slowly lifted her head and eyed a doctor in a cream color garb and concluded, "For all of your sakes." Miss Stoll was not happy. She then took her porcelain hands and undid her bun that was so tightly wound upon her head that it practically gave her a face lift. When she loosened the coils that kept her sunflower-hewn hair wrapped up, it graciously fell and laid upon her shoulders, framer her strong jaw. She had deceptively long hair that glistened in any light. She then threw together a smile that curtained over perfectly straight, pearlescent teeth. She was beautiful, through all the malice she had been known for. She had played this part before. And in her sweetest, most calming voice, "You can send him in now."
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Post by ceolsige on May 30, 2015 23:54:02 GMT
“Is dat so?” His tone did not want for disdain. “So dey 'ave kids for 'arbor masters 'ere.” He didn't seem to mind when his own thick accent bounced back at them, becoming a tinny whir before fully dissipating in the metallic surrounding. A dark eyebrow shot upward when she suddenly exposed her wrist, eyes falling on the long, perplexing number briefly. There it was –the superlative “P” which meant so much upon this satellite. “Roigh, Bana,” he said, endeavoring to return to a more civil tone just in case she did have some authority here. Which, as it turns out, was right enough where he was concerned. He clapped his hand across his own wrist, covering a the edges of a brand edging out from beneath his sleeve. His pulse had just quickened at the prospect of her expecting his wrist to be shown in return –his mind reeled with excuses, when another voice interrupted the awkward introduction. “Oi, dat jack'ole,” he injected as soon as the shaven female finished speaking. “Dat's de one wot caused me delay. Focken weird, dat one.” He turned away from them, rolling one shoulder as he meandered closer to his ship. “Why don' you boff ask about when I can be goin' 'ome, since dis 'arbor concerns you so much, yeah?” =============================== The two doctors who had been showing Birom his room, going over his past work and preparing to reintroduce him to his two Primary parents now flanked either side of him, leading him by speaking directions toward the office where Raea sat in wait. “If my parents were both Primaries,” he said, voice hushed in the strange quiet. “It doesn't guarantee the child will be. You had ...defects.” The two were the last –aside from anyone who might have researched Birom before and for some reason remembered him, who would know of said “defects.” His file was corrupt, now, and it was made to look as though it had all been an accident. A fluke malfunction. They arrived at the doorway, and both doctors simultaneously breathed in and exchanged glances. They'd throw one another under the proverbial bus if it came down to it, and both were perfectly aware. But for now they were comrades in this, their lives both at stake. Both in the hands of this strange, overly plastic-surgeried amnesiac. The three entered. It took him no time to spot her; her presence commanded the room. Birom stopped suddenly, forcing the other two to skirt around him. “...Miss Stoll.” When the spell had broken, he spotted the female doctor in his peripheral vision violently gesturing for him to sit. He hesitated briefly before grabbing hold of the back of a chair, pulling it back and sliding in. His free hand lifted toward his bandage, but the harsh clearing of a throat elsewhere made him drop it back onto the table.
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Post by schwarzschild on Jun 9, 2015 0:26:02 GMT
“Come on, Nye.”
There would be a time when the beckoning girl would arrive at a junction between upholding whatever strand of genial association she had with the pseudo-primary and maintaining her biddable and orderly reputation with her directors, and Nye gambled it would be another cycle. She defiantly lingered before the foreigner with a glower, her eyes tapering at their corners in addition to a stretched neck to catch an inkling of his wrist, as she dropped her waiting hand to rest upon her hip. His verbalized assumption about her rank had been wrong, but she made no effort to offer correction. Instead, she indulged the foreigner in his obvious segue with a few steps backward before reluctantly turning to jog back to the Harbor’s threshold, her footfalls ringing out into the vast mechanized space with each stride.
She was met with the impatient backside of Sum, her messenger, making her way back toward Sector 2 where Primary Raea resided, and Nye skirted to her left side apologetically. As the pair made their exit, she contemplated her short-lived performance with the man, and she decided it would have been better spent asking him a more substantial question: what is it like? He was her breathing link to the blue world she was able to look at, and though his outward appearance fell short of her towering expectations, she imagined his stories would be as rich as the Harbor view. In an effort to establish some form of rapport and connection with the foreigner should she cross him another time, she turned to extend an offer over her left shoulder in response to his question of egress. “You know—why don’t you just ask them yourself?” She doubted her suggestion would be authorized, but if their truly was a tussle between this man and the most discussed subject in the medical annex, there was potential. Sum wordlessly expressed her disapproval with a gaping look. “Zero-seven-nine-four-zero.”
Realizing the opportunity to observe was time-sensitive, Nye’s messenger began to lightly jog, and she followed suit. Sector 3 was well away from the boardrooms in Sector 2, and unless authorized, running was prohibited once they exited the Harbor’s vicinity. As their neared their destination, various denizens had gathered at the unusually locked seam of Sector 2 and 3 in order to catch a glimpse of what was occurring on the other side, and the pair nonchalantly nudged their way through to find the key pad. Absentmindedly, Nye entered her identification, and the barrier gave way with the familiar mechanized hum. The ogling denizens of Life Support and Engine Control were left to mumble their disdain, and unless the foreigner recognized the usefulness of the code she recited, an access code for the sector, he would be left standing with them in wait.
The atmosphere was even quieter there, and to Nye, it was always eerie. She exchanged a wary look to her holdings partner. It was a sign that Primary Raea moved, and when she did, the station was immaculately run. Down the corridor, past medical denizens frantically flipping charts across their clipboards, Primaries reiterating itineraries to their divisions, and billowing white coats, they padded down a narrow entryway that lead into the space that housed the boardroom’s servers, and generator, virtually undetected. Into a crouching position, they slipped in a tangle of thick wires in order to peer into a viewing window reserved for maintenance denizens, and through the shaded glass, they could make out the subject in question. Sum lifted a finger to her lips, and they both listened with slack jaws.
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Post by Caleb on Jun 10, 2015 16:54:26 GMT
"Hello, Mr..." Raea peaked down at the papers before her to refresh his name, "...Birom." The left corner of her mouth perked up, just to hint at a friendly smile she beamed toward the bandaged man before her. "You gave us all here quite the scare, here, Mr. Birom. I am so very glad to see you making such a wonderful recovery." Raea worked at keeping herself a friendly and open presence in the room, just for Birom if not anybody else, to feel comfortable with. She eyed the bandages upon his head with care and empathy for his pain that he had to endure. Raea was consciously aware of the on-lookers in the room and viewing from the Observation Window. She moistened her lips, inhaled and exhaled slowly then gave a caring glance to Birom. "Let me start off and ask you to please not look at anybody else in this room except me. I know it can be a bit intimidating, all these eyes on you, but please, pretend like it's only me and you here together. Now, tell me, Mr. Birom, how are you feeling?"
More on edge than their patient, the pair of doctors sat rigid while Birom fell into his seat and set his hands on the table. Were he still in possession of his memories, Birom would have most likely been rendered speechless in the presence of one of his many Primary idols --she being the most liked.
"Thank you," he said, barely conveying a smile in return. He could be little more enthusiastic, given he didn't recall the circumstances leading him to this hot seat. Her instruction was heeded without a change of expression, though the same couldn't be said for his doctors. They'd hoped to coach him through this interview.
"Yes," he agreed, glancing once across the faces in the room --missing those in the window near the ceiling, where only maintenance workers were allowed. "I feel ...indifferent. And my head itches."
Raea gave a slight chuckle at his response. "Indifferent is not bad, Mr. Birom." She paused and gave a gentle smile in his direction. "And if I had to guess, I would imagine you shouldn't exactly scratch," she said in response to his itchy head, deliberately ignoring the medical professionals in the room. "So tell me, what is the last thing you remember before waking up from your surgery, Mr. Birom?"
They had told him how he should answer. Birom didn't express much in the way of amusement, but entirely believed this woman was sympathetic to his incident --whatever it had been. "Oh, most everything, I suppose," he told her, expression vacant. "There are blank spaces here and there, but I'm told they're probably temporary." The reality was he didn't know his own name when he finally woke.
"Yes, temporary," Raea agreed smiling and nodding her head up and down. "Well that's lovely then," Raea knew she wasn't getting what she wanted so she cut to the chase. "So you remember being incarcerated then?" She didn't blink.
There hadn't been time for the doctors to warn Birom he would be tricked. Nor was there time for him to be taught the ways on this satellite entirely, but, straining to avoid looking back at them, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Perhaps one of the blank areas."
"Perhaps, Mr. Birom, perhaps." Raea unfolded her legs and then leaned in with a no-teeth smile and curious eyes and began. "You see, Mr. Birom, you were taken into Primary custody just a few days before your surgery. Incarcerations happen, they are not an uncommon occurrence here on Bacia Prime, but you...you, Mr. Birom, for you to be arrested, is particularly odd." Raea began to tap her finger tips together in front of her. She continued, "You've proven to be extremely useful, helpful. You're scientific advances have been what's kept you in good standing with the Primaries." She paused. "Well, that and your parents, Mr. Birom. I do hope they are doing well, it's been a while since I've paid them a visit. Perhaps I should." Raea knew that a visit from herself could always be taken as a blessing....or a threat.
Just then the sliding doors of the Boardroom opened and revealed The Twins entering silently and taking their place right behind Raea Stoll. Her hounds. She stood from her chair at this moment, towering over the bandaged man before her. "I do hope your scientific knowledge isn't one of those...blank spaces, Mr. Birom. See, if you were unable to contribute anymore to the scientific field, or to the advancement of this satellite, well..." Raea broke off, letting her words linger in the air a moment and then taking a slow glance around the room, making specific eye contact with a few. She caught the hazel eyes of a doctor with a worried expression about her face, she looked into the eyes of the care specialists that brought in Birom, her head tilted up to the Observation Window, noticing not many peaking down, but was able to peer into the deep, rich brown hue of a pair of eyes belonging to a small girl. Raea then turned her glance back to Birom and finished her words.
"...It would be...grim...for many, Mr. Birom."
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Post by ceolsige on Jun 12, 2015 0:06:41 GMT
Isak was stoic, upper lip curling off his teeth when he cut his eyes at the pair of teenagers. He leaned his palms against the cool metal of his ship, which bobbed over the vacuum of space, suspended only by the artificial gravity in the room. He had, upon arriving, noticed it was not quite equal here to that on Lyde, and found himself constantly wrought with an urge to take a bounding leap. Alas, he would not; not as long as there was anyone who might espy his frolicking.
When he thought the girls had already gone, a voice made him twist back, leaning his ass against the ship and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Because, he readied himself to tell her, I can't even get in. But she solved that problem before he even had to open his mouth. Zero. Seven. Nine. Four. Zero. They liked numbers, here. He repeated it internally, over and over, as they turned to leave him. His expression went unchanged nonetheless, and he watched them leave with his ever-standing glower.
Birom swallowed, still not sure how afraid it was in his best interest to be under the scrutiny of Raea Stoll. Some distant memory told him the answer was very, but he couldn't find it in his heart to be terrified of a creature whose authoritative rigidity was so admirable to him. He closed his eyes, breathing in the sterile air in preparation to find an answer to reassure her. Instead of the insides of his eyelids, however, he found himself lost in a sea of moving currents; tiny, static threads which moved on precise but unseen paths. There were numbers –he couldn't see or imagine them, but they were known nonetheless. The epiphany resulted in his sitting with his eyes shut for an awkwardly long period –a few seconds, during which he found through focus he could alter the paths of those tingling serpents. For a fraction of a second he entertained himself with this strange sensation.
“...Ay!” A hiss of a whisper was directed at the backs of Nye and Sum where they perched in a sea of wire. “Oi, wot es dis place? Are you sure you're boff supposed to be up 'ere?” He had followed, the fuel-scented planet-dweller. He'd found his opening, though he didn't endeavor to go unseen by everyone. That, he realized, was impossible in this place. But, if he could act as if he belonged here, as if this was the most natural thing in the world for him, people would likely believe it. Rather than waiting outside for Raea and Birom, however, he had simply followed the teenage girls into the cramped space. He remained out of sight to those within the meeting room below, blocked from sight by the girls' heads and his distance from the window. He wasted no time pulling a sealed bag from a pocket and tearing it open. By the smell, it was some sort of dehydrated, salty nut snack. He dipped his fingers in the bag, which rustled but not audibly to those talking in the observed room.
Perfectly unaware of all three of them, Birom suddenly flinched, brows knitting when his game, which had been going on all of ten seconds, sprang a reaction of some sort. He believed it to be in his own mind, but when he cracked his eyes open abruptly, the lights in the room flickered rapidly. “I'm sorry,” he started, not paying much heed to the lights. Lights could flicker. “I'm sure I only need...” He was cut off by a strange, weightless sensation. He thought himself light-headed until he realized he could no longer feel his seat beneath him. Looking around himself frantically, he was quick to realize other people who did not swiftly root themselves to something were beginning to levitate along with him.
Isak had only lofted a dark brow at the flickering lights, which had startled him into dropping an almond. It made it to his knees before suspending in the air in front of him, visible only when the lights settled on. He lofted a hand to the ceiling to keep himself rooted, snatching the nut from the air. “Gravity's off?” He punctuated his question by crushing the almond aloud between his molars.
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Post by schwarzschild on Jun 17, 2015 6:24:02 GMT
At the apex of fourteen, Nye was coming into a woman’s body, but her transition was slight. At certain angles, curvature would appear where it was once devoid, and she was the last to know. Only her thoughts were indicative of her own growth, and they would emerge unannounced and cryptic. At present, it was merely some combination of intrigue and innocent admiration, and unlike her diligent partner, it was one of the more predominant reasons she sat crouched and hushed in a maintenance’s dim viewing cove. While Sum endeavored to retain pivotal information, Nye sought quality and detailed the conversing pair’s physique. Perhaps it was a residual habit obtained from her academy, but recently, it became a pastime. In contrast, the two below were stark in their differences from the fellow she had only just purposefully encountered. She preferred their familiar precision.
She began with Birom, and as she observed him, she dropped to one knee, deft in her avoidance of the webs of cords surrounding her, to press closer to the small pane. He had been discussed briefly in the classrooms, and it was compelling to see the subject of such discussion in motion and conscious. He was aesthetically favorable through a geneticist’s first glance, and she concluded he would be sorted into an exceptional file for reproduction. Additionally, he was effortlessly comical. She soundlessly chuckled alongside Primary Raea at his honesty, side-glancing to share the moment with the perpetually stoic Sum; the mirth quickly left her face when she was met with no reaction. With a furrowed brow, she returned to the pair.
Primary Raea incited somewhat of an amalgam of awe, envy, attraction, and intimidation. Through a stray tress and with parted lips, she started at the pointed heel of Raea’s shoe to the top of her head. It was unusual of her to see the Primary without her tightly wound bun; for a brief moment, she could be mistaken for a amiable, commonplace Primary, and not the Chief Executive. Still though, it was plain that she was the nucleus of the boardroom, the matriarch; all chairs were turned to her.
Sum clicked her tongue as she settled back into her heels, unaware of Nye’s ogling. “Goner.” A reference to Birom’s unfortunate responses and prolonged pauses.
Her commentary revived Nye’s dwindling attention to the interrogation itself, and she nodded in agreement, though she only loosely had followed along, just in enough time to meet the gaze of Raea. Both Sum and Raea noticed her knowing glance, and involuntarily, the two improved their posture. “Shit,” Nye verbalized. “We’re caught.” Sum had already began to make her exit, visualizing her dissipating reputation; Nye was frozen in place.
Only the foreigner’s brash interjection would thaw her, and she contracted with high shoulders. Initially, she figured Primary Raea had somehow telepathically summoned more of her “hounds” to seize her, and she only slightly relaxed when her ludicrous imagination was stifled with that planet-borne accent she had previously met. Sum was even more frantic, seething with choice words in reference to Nye’s carelessness. “What are you doing here!” Nye attempted to maintain a whispering level, but she was loud.
Clapping a hand over her own mouth, she motioned for him to make his exit with the other. He was less likely to suffer severe consequences if he had just wandered into Sector 2 and asked about his business. He had taken her invitation literally, and her eyes widened at the idea of the potential consequences the three of them now would face together. Surveillance was everywhere, and she doubted he had taken the care in concealing himself as they had. The flickering lights furthered her alarm; it was not a new occurrence, but a rare one. Alongside the foreigner’s almond, she drifted upward from her crouched position, kicking to steer herself to the ceiling to anchor herself as the gravity switched off. However, in doing so, her boot skimmed a switch on the generator, and the boardroom, maintenance room, and immediate corridors fell dark. With a gasp, she turned find the switch in the dark, but as seconds passed, her endeavors were aborted, and along with Sum and the foreigner, should he follow, she decided to use the walls and rafters to propel herself out of their known hiding spot and into a new one, the lack of gravity working against her.
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Post by Caleb on Jul 13, 2015 21:56:01 GMT
The silence in the air might have been deafening to the doctors and onlookers in the room, but to Raea it was just annoying. Birom was taking too long to answer. She stared down upon his gauze covered cranium and saw his eyes shut, behind bruised eyelids colored a deep violet. 'What is taking this fool so long,' Raea thought to herself, 'Trying to weasel his way out of this one I suppose. Not such a lucky day for Mr. Birom...' Her thoughts were then interrupted by a slight hushed voice that came from the overhead Observation Window. When Raea's gaze looked in the direction of the whispering she quickly caught the exiting of the young denizens right before the startled flickering of the overhead lights began. Raea had almost an innate sense about situations and reading rooms. She liked her control and always went on the defensive once someone was trying to take the control into their own hands. Her sense started to alarm in her head and she looked down wide-eyed upon the bandaged Birom in the chair who then opened his eyes. Before she could think or even act, Raea's feet wobbled and then lifted up off the ground. She twisted herself around trying to gather bearings but it was useless. She sporadically flipped up her watch, the same one that delivered the message that Birom was ready to be inspected. This time, though, she spoke a code to it. "Initiate Artificial Gravity. Boardroom Sector One." To her bewilderment, nothing happened. She was so confused by the happenings of the last 20 seconds. She kept her composure though, even amid the spacial twirling. She was able to propel herself to the side of a wall closest to the door and shouted out for the room to hear her, "Please no panicing, everyone. Just a slight technical error." She glanced around to spot all the technicians wearing lab-coats and assistants just wavering curiously through the room, just as bewildered as she was. She looked toward the Boardroom Door and made her way over to it, using her sturdy hands against the wall to keep her balance and a way of propulsion. "Ernst, Roy! Please follow suit." Raea was able to make her way to the door and press the scanner to open it where everyone was able to see their escape with a bit of relief. Raea clambered out into the hallway followed by the bulky Roy and Ernst, respectively. Just as Raea predicted, the malfunctioning Anti-Gravity was only a problem contained in the one room, The Boardroom. When she and the Twins were outside, she was able to safely place her feet on the ground beneath her and return to a state of normalcy, balance and equilibrium. Once she gained her composure, she took a mighty fist and pounded the door scanner to close off The Boardroom. Her enraged face turned toward the Twins. Roy spoke up, trying to aid, "I can go check the mechanical room, get a better understanding of the malfunction." Raea kept quiet a few seconds, her eyes just darting back and forth, not looking at anything in particular, just jutting through all the possible options of what just occurred. Finally, she spoke up, and with urgency, "No, Roy, you go after those little shits that just escaped the Observation Window and you bring them to me. Ernst, stand here and do not let ANYONE out of this room, do you understand? If anyone gets out, you shoot them dead, on the spot, do you hear me?" Ernst swallowed hard, widened his eyes at the seriousness of the situation and then spoke, like he has countless times before, "Yes, Primary Stoll." Roy took off running down the hall to get to the Observation Window, full speed pursuit. Raea took off in the opposite direction, "THIS WAS NO GOD DAMN MALFUNCTION!"
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