Re: Journal of Sociology [S!6] - [Round One: The Pacific Spire]
08-21-2012, 10:13 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.
Blake was more than a little irritated. His entire life he had jumped through a series of hoops as set by his parents, his teachers, his friends, his girlfriend, his employers… why should he have expected that this battle would have made anything any different. Just when he thought he was taking control of his life for the first time he finds himself the hostage of some madman who wants to use him to perform a simple task that could easily be accomplished on his own. It almost made him nostalgic for his previous life, at least the expectations and obligations he had to fulfil there made some kind of sense, followed a sort of logic he could understand if not agree with.
Beyond the heavy wooden doors was the Parachutes Technology Laboratory complex. There were a number of labs along the far wall and along the wall to the left in which serious looking men and women in labcoats tinkered with the designs of prototype parachutes. It was intricate work, tiny adjustments that would have a massive impact upon how the parachutes worked, to a layman’s eyes perhaps it would seem like there was nothing unusual about the parachutes being assembled at all. Though most people new to the Parachutes Technology Laboratory barely even noticed these labs, their attention drawn instead to the right wall, or rather the absence of it.
There was waist high fencing and a metal structure almost reminiscent of a plank from a pirates’ ship that stretched out into the sky beyond. The view was magnificent; a sea of skyscrapers none of which reached up as high as the Pacific Spire, though there were some that came close, and the evening sun hunkering low over them, preparing to go down for the night. A number of sandbags were positioned facing the door with hardened soldiers hunkered down behind them. Their rifles were ever at the ready for surprise attacks from their rivals at Parasailing Research & Development.
Blake hesitated at the doorway, still irritated by this pointless distraction from his purpose here. Things would have been very different if he’d actually opened that door up and provoked the itchy trigger fingers of the ParaTech guards, however at that moment the lights in the hallway unexpectedly flickered and died.
Everything seemed to have been dragging on as they had made their way down the corridor, now everything seemed to be happening so fast. In an instant Nemo’s gun was gone from his hand, skidding down the corridor and his hostage couldn’t be seen in the darkness. But more than that it was almost as though he had completely disappeared, to have exerted himself to kick Nemo’s gun away as he had gone Nemo should have heard him gasping for breath nearby, should have heard his footfalls against the hard floor and yet there was nothing. The corridor was narrow, perhaps just wide enough for two people to pass one another without colliding but not much wider than that. Deprived from his vision and somehow disorientated Nemo suddenly felt as though it stretched out forever.
He wasn’t worried though. His hands quickly found the boxcutter that that guy had had, and slid the blade out a little ways, and in fact he didn’t even need that. He could kill with just a touch; he could spit on this guy and kill him. Nemo was never worried, he was afraid of no man or creature. There was no situation he couldn’t get out of or more accurately emerge victorious from. There was the sudden sound of a gunshot from behind him, though it was difficult to be sure it sounded as though it had hit the ceiling above him. This guy couldn’t even shoot in a straight line what an idiot. He spun around to where the gunshot had come from.
“You’re not very good at this.” He said.
The box-cutter was suddenly gone from his hands. Gunshots rang out but from every direction. The sounds of hearts beating and feet running and deep breaths inhaled were at once coming from everywhere, from all around him in the darkness. A moment of panic, of pure terror borne not from any conscious thought but from the atmosphere, the noise, the feeling of emptiness and the darkness that seemed to be darker that it should have been. It was something right down at the core of the brain, something primordial overwriting what Nemo knew to be true. Lights flickered and flashed and for a moment in front of him he saw a face inches from his own, its mouth contorted into a wicked grin.
Seconds later the harsh corridor lighting was back on and Nemo found himself completely alone, his pistol abandoned at his feet. There was no sign of Blake or of their conflict in the darkness; no bulletholes in the walls or ceiling around him, no discarded shells and the box-cutter was gone as well. Nemo should have felt relief, or well no he was never in any danger anyway he shouldn’t have even felt that. But that grinning face, there was madness in its eyes and he had stared right into them. The thing that was the most disturbing was that it had been his own face, as though he’d been looking into a mirror.
--------
In the stairway Blake caught his breath and clutched his box-cutter to his chest. He had no idea what had just happened, but he felt… exhilarated.
Blake was more than a little irritated. His entire life he had jumped through a series of hoops as set by his parents, his teachers, his friends, his girlfriend, his employers… why should he have expected that this battle would have made anything any different. Just when he thought he was taking control of his life for the first time he finds himself the hostage of some madman who wants to use him to perform a simple task that could easily be accomplished on his own. It almost made him nostalgic for his previous life, at least the expectations and obligations he had to fulfil there made some kind of sense, followed a sort of logic he could understand if not agree with.
Beyond the heavy wooden doors was the Parachutes Technology Laboratory complex. There were a number of labs along the far wall and along the wall to the left in which serious looking men and women in labcoats tinkered with the designs of prototype parachutes. It was intricate work, tiny adjustments that would have a massive impact upon how the parachutes worked, to a layman’s eyes perhaps it would seem like there was nothing unusual about the parachutes being assembled at all. Though most people new to the Parachutes Technology Laboratory barely even noticed these labs, their attention drawn instead to the right wall, or rather the absence of it.
There was waist high fencing and a metal structure almost reminiscent of a plank from a pirates’ ship that stretched out into the sky beyond. The view was magnificent; a sea of skyscrapers none of which reached up as high as the Pacific Spire, though there were some that came close, and the evening sun hunkering low over them, preparing to go down for the night. A number of sandbags were positioned facing the door with hardened soldiers hunkered down behind them. Their rifles were ever at the ready for surprise attacks from their rivals at Parasailing Research & Development.
Blake hesitated at the doorway, still irritated by this pointless distraction from his purpose here. Things would have been very different if he’d actually opened that door up and provoked the itchy trigger fingers of the ParaTech guards, however at that moment the lights in the hallway unexpectedly flickered and died.
Everything seemed to have been dragging on as they had made their way down the corridor, now everything seemed to be happening so fast. In an instant Nemo’s gun was gone from his hand, skidding down the corridor and his hostage couldn’t be seen in the darkness. But more than that it was almost as though he had completely disappeared, to have exerted himself to kick Nemo’s gun away as he had gone Nemo should have heard him gasping for breath nearby, should have heard his footfalls against the hard floor and yet there was nothing. The corridor was narrow, perhaps just wide enough for two people to pass one another without colliding but not much wider than that. Deprived from his vision and somehow disorientated Nemo suddenly felt as though it stretched out forever.
He wasn’t worried though. His hands quickly found the boxcutter that that guy had had, and slid the blade out a little ways, and in fact he didn’t even need that. He could kill with just a touch; he could spit on this guy and kill him. Nemo was never worried, he was afraid of no man or creature. There was no situation he couldn’t get out of or more accurately emerge victorious from. There was the sudden sound of a gunshot from behind him, though it was difficult to be sure it sounded as though it had hit the ceiling above him. This guy couldn’t even shoot in a straight line what an idiot. He spun around to where the gunshot had come from.
“You’re not very good at this.” He said.
The box-cutter was suddenly gone from his hands. Gunshots rang out but from every direction. The sounds of hearts beating and feet running and deep breaths inhaled were at once coming from everywhere, from all around him in the darkness. A moment of panic, of pure terror borne not from any conscious thought but from the atmosphere, the noise, the feeling of emptiness and the darkness that seemed to be darker that it should have been. It was something right down at the core of the brain, something primordial overwriting what Nemo knew to be true. Lights flickered and flashed and for a moment in front of him he saw a face inches from his own, its mouth contorted into a wicked grin.
Seconds later the harsh corridor lighting was back on and Nemo found himself completely alone, his pistol abandoned at his feet. There was no sign of Blake or of their conflict in the darkness; no bulletholes in the walls or ceiling around him, no discarded shells and the box-cutter was gone as well. Nemo should have felt relief, or well no he was never in any danger anyway he shouldn’t have even felt that. But that grinning face, there was madness in its eyes and he had stared right into them. The thing that was the most disturbing was that it had been his own face, as though he’d been looking into a mirror.
--------
In the stairway Blake caught his breath and clutched his box-cutter to his chest. He had no idea what had just happened, but he felt… exhilarated.
Heaven Help Us | Make Room!!!! | I'm Not Okay (I Promise)
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You