RE: Incident [TEXT]
04-13-2013, 06:13 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-04-2013, 10:34 PM by whoosh!.)
It doesn't take long to arrive at the foregone conclusion: you need the money too much to refuse. You grit your teeth, clench your fists and try not to think about how much you're probably going to regret this.
“Fine. I'll do it. But tell me more about the item.”
“Excellent.” Number 6 stands and begins to pace along the length of the room, only pausing briefly to produce a watch and glance at it. It vanishes again as quickly as it appeared, and he continues talking.
“A courier will be sent to your office tomorrow morning. The package they deliver will contain everything you should need, including all necessary details. But we have enough time, I think, for me to furnish you with the basics.”
He stops by the desk at the back of the room. The man in the white coat is gone. You don't recall him leaving, but you didn't notice him enter either.
“The item itself... a stone cube. About twenty centimetres along each side. Blue-green in colour, with circular patterns carved on each face. Quite distinctive. The package will include an illustration, although I doubt you'll need it.”
“Is it old?”
“Ancient. Created four thousand years ago at the very earliest.”
Your memory stirs.
A day six years ago or so. Your eighteenth birthday. The tiny kitchen with the flickering fluorescent light. You sat at the table, they leaned against the counter. Her and him.
The parents who abandoned you at birth, returned at last.
Your real parents were absent, one dead for years and the other missing since the morning.
Yet here the others stood, radiating an aura of money and power and confidence in a building that had never stood witness to any of those things. They spoke, you hoped. You hoped until hope ran out and then all that was left was rage and misery and hate and loss and pain. That's the vivid crux of that day.
But there was something else. Something that was only present for a few moments, but it was there and as out of place in that gloomy place as the imposing figures of your parents.
A green stone cube. Perhaps even blue-green. Perhaps, even, the very same cube that Number 6 just described.
You suddenly realise that neither you nor Six have spoken for the past minute. Slowly, you raise your head and find him staring at you.
“What does it do?”
“What?” He blinks, his gaze wavers and he turns away.
“The cube. You don't seem the type to collect antiquities for the sake of it. What does it do?”
He starts pacing again.
“It's a message. The cube is just the container. I would advise, however, that you don't open it if you find the item. It may be trapped, or designed to deter those unfit to view it. That being said, the cube is apparently endowed with some manner of secondary function. Those who keep it are likely aware of this.”
“Any idea what that function could be?”
He stops with his back to you and sighs. “The only references I have to this item are mostly from regrettably ancient texts. All of them reference some sort of... power to detect lies. Or falseness? Impurities? I could find no one who could translate unambiguously on this point. I don't know.”
“A four thousand year old stone box with powers like that?” You gesture dismissively. “It sounds like a myth or legend. Sparkers didn't even exist until about fifty years ago.”
Number 6 turns to look at you. “Really?” He sounds amused, his eyes gleaming. “Is that what you believe?”
You just shake your head. The theory that sparkers are not a recent phenomenon is a popular one, but it seems too much like conspiracy theorist crap for your liking. Challenging Number 6 on this is not a conversation you want to get into.
“The Myriad. You mentioned them before.”
His eagerness fades at the change of subject, but he answers. “Dupont was a member of the Myriad. Perhaps not directly involved, but definitely affiliated.”
Dupont? The name seems familiar. Where have you-
“The murder victim? You – ah.” It happened just a few hours ago. The dying man and the gyroscope.
“With Dupont dead, the Myriad will hand over the cube to the next person who turns up with the necessary proofs. My agent stole these from his penthouse, and as nobody other than the Myriad was aware they existed, no suspicion of theft should be raised. It seems the victim should have appointed someone to inherit these proofs upon his death, but no evidence of any such person was found. It seems unlikely that you will run into any trouble.”
“I don't understand why you need me to do this. I heard you had an army of sparkers. Why not one of them?”
“Because, despite your assertion that you are not a thief, you stole something from that dead man.”
A chill runs down your spine. The gyroscope?
“I didn't steal anything.” You thought he gave it to you. Didn't he? Why else would he draw your attention to it?
“Then you looted or acquired it or however you want to phrase it. I have no interest in your exact choice of terminology. Just understand that whatever you took is important for locating the Myriad, and hiring you is the more elegant solution.”
You take a moment to think about this. On the plus side, it seems this item has nothing to do with your biological parents. Mr. Dupont was a high-ranking official in the city's government, with a post too obscure for your parents to be interested in. Perhaps the cube you remember was something else entirely. Or perhaps there are several. Either way, you don't have to worry about them.
But still...
“So the Myriad have the item in their possession?”
“Correct.”
“But you don't know where they're keeping it?”
“No. Locating it is your job.”
“I see. One more question, then. In the offchance that I succeed in taking this impossible artefact from the mythical organisation, how do I contact you?”
Number 6 ignores your sarcasm. “You don't. Direct contact is too risky. But I will know when you have completed your task, and someone will arrive to escort you and the item.”
What? “How will you-”
You're interrupted by someone suddenly appearing in the door frame. Filling it entirely, in fact. They look something like the man in the white coat, but the lighting casts them entirely in shadow and they seem too tall. Monstrously so. Even hunched as they are, their head threatens to hit the top of the opening. And its legs...
“Esser,” is all that Number 6 says.
“They are here,” the thing in the door growls.
“Then this meeting is over,” Number 6 declares as he turns to you. “Although, I suppose, there may be time for one more question.”
There is an anticipative pause.
“Fine. I'll do it. But tell me more about the item.”
“Excellent.” Number 6 stands and begins to pace along the length of the room, only pausing briefly to produce a watch and glance at it. It vanishes again as quickly as it appeared, and he continues talking.
“A courier will be sent to your office tomorrow morning. The package they deliver will contain everything you should need, including all necessary details. But we have enough time, I think, for me to furnish you with the basics.”
He stops by the desk at the back of the room. The man in the white coat is gone. You don't recall him leaving, but you didn't notice him enter either.
“The item itself... a stone cube. About twenty centimetres along each side. Blue-green in colour, with circular patterns carved on each face. Quite distinctive. The package will include an illustration, although I doubt you'll need it.”
“Is it old?”
“Ancient. Created four thousand years ago at the very earliest.”
Your memory stirs.
A day six years ago or so. Your eighteenth birthday. The tiny kitchen with the flickering fluorescent light. You sat at the table, they leaned against the counter. Her and him.
The parents who abandoned you at birth, returned at last.
Your real parents were absent, one dead for years and the other missing since the morning.
Yet here the others stood, radiating an aura of money and power and confidence in a building that had never stood witness to any of those things. They spoke, you hoped. You hoped until hope ran out and then all that was left was rage and misery and hate and loss and pain. That's the vivid crux of that day.
But there was something else. Something that was only present for a few moments, but it was there and as out of place in that gloomy place as the imposing figures of your parents.
A green stone cube. Perhaps even blue-green. Perhaps, even, the very same cube that Number 6 just described.
You suddenly realise that neither you nor Six have spoken for the past minute. Slowly, you raise your head and find him staring at you.
“What does it do?”
“What?” He blinks, his gaze wavers and he turns away.
“The cube. You don't seem the type to collect antiquities for the sake of it. What does it do?”
He starts pacing again.
“It's a message. The cube is just the container. I would advise, however, that you don't open it if you find the item. It may be trapped, or designed to deter those unfit to view it. That being said, the cube is apparently endowed with some manner of secondary function. Those who keep it are likely aware of this.”
“Any idea what that function could be?”
He stops with his back to you and sighs. “The only references I have to this item are mostly from regrettably ancient texts. All of them reference some sort of... power to detect lies. Or falseness? Impurities? I could find no one who could translate unambiguously on this point. I don't know.”
“A four thousand year old stone box with powers like that?” You gesture dismissively. “It sounds like a myth or legend. Sparkers didn't even exist until about fifty years ago.”
Number 6 turns to look at you. “Really?” He sounds amused, his eyes gleaming. “Is that what you believe?”
You just shake your head. The theory that sparkers are not a recent phenomenon is a popular one, but it seems too much like conspiracy theorist crap for your liking. Challenging Number 6 on this is not a conversation you want to get into.
“The Myriad. You mentioned them before.”
His eagerness fades at the change of subject, but he answers. “Dupont was a member of the Myriad. Perhaps not directly involved, but definitely affiliated.”
Dupont? The name seems familiar. Where have you-
“The murder victim? You – ah.” It happened just a few hours ago. The dying man and the gyroscope.
“With Dupont dead, the Myriad will hand over the cube to the next person who turns up with the necessary proofs. My agent stole these from his penthouse, and as nobody other than the Myriad was aware they existed, no suspicion of theft should be raised. It seems the victim should have appointed someone to inherit these proofs upon his death, but no evidence of any such person was found. It seems unlikely that you will run into any trouble.”
“I don't understand why you need me to do this. I heard you had an army of sparkers. Why not one of them?”
“Because, despite your assertion that you are not a thief, you stole something from that dead man.”
A chill runs down your spine. The gyroscope?
“I didn't steal anything.” You thought he gave it to you. Didn't he? Why else would he draw your attention to it?
“Then you looted or acquired it or however you want to phrase it. I have no interest in your exact choice of terminology. Just understand that whatever you took is important for locating the Myriad, and hiring you is the more elegant solution.”
You take a moment to think about this. On the plus side, it seems this item has nothing to do with your biological parents. Mr. Dupont was a high-ranking official in the city's government, with a post too obscure for your parents to be interested in. Perhaps the cube you remember was something else entirely. Or perhaps there are several. Either way, you don't have to worry about them.
But still...
“So the Myriad have the item in their possession?”
“Correct.”
“But you don't know where they're keeping it?”
“No. Locating it is your job.”
“I see. One more question, then. In the offchance that I succeed in taking this impossible artefact from the mythical organisation, how do I contact you?”
Number 6 ignores your sarcasm. “You don't. Direct contact is too risky. But I will know when you have completed your task, and someone will arrive to escort you and the item.”
What? “How will you-”
You're interrupted by someone suddenly appearing in the door frame. Filling it entirely, in fact. They look something like the man in the white coat, but the lighting casts them entirely in shadow and they seem too tall. Monstrously so. Even hunched as they are, their head threatens to hit the top of the opening. And its legs...
“Esser,” is all that Number 6 says.
“They are here,” the thing in the door growls.
“Then this meeting is over,” Number 6 declares as he turns to you. “Although, I suppose, there may be time for one more question.”
There is an anticipative pause.
Spoiler
![[Image: tumblr_lobwllzRUE1qk8g5mo1_500.jpg]](https://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lobwllzRUE1qk8g5mo1_500.jpg)