Re: Vendetta [S!2 Round 1 ~ Presidentialgon]
06-02-2012, 07:22 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.
Altara swept through the doorway, down a short corridor through another biolocked doorway and into a large steel warehouse. Her pace was confident, self assured. Though she did not rush, neither did she hesitate; not even to check that her new ally was keeping pace. Zenith had to jog to keep up after pausing to nervously watch the heavy doors automatically close and lock behind them. Sterile halogen lights flickered on as the pair stepped into the warehouse. Shelves full of huge metal boxes towered above them, stretching out in both directions. The sounds of the Presidentialgon were muffled down here, the only noise the low whirr of the fans slowly turning at the far end of the room. Before the druid and the alien there was a device, a metal pillar with a built in keyboard and monitor. Altara did not even break her stride as she walked up to the computer. Only then did she hesitate. Cautiously she prodded at the keyboard with her index finger, clearly unfamiliar with the technology, though her pace quickly picked up and within a minute her fingers were dancing along the keyboard while she stared resolutely at the screen.
Zenith had no such sense of purpose. For a minute he hung by the doorway and looked around the room he found himself in. Like much of what he had seen of the Presidentialgon so far it was reminiscent of his home. If he hadn’t known better he might have sworn he was in a disused and slightly outmoded cargo bay. However he did know better and he could not have hoped to forget the circumstances which he was here under. Thankfully the security measures they had passed through seemed robust enough to keep out their competitors, except of course the one that was already in here with him. His attention was drawn to the druid and he suddenly felt slightly wary.
There was something unsettling about Altara, at first he had been unable to place it but now he saw it was her intensity; her focus on the task at hand and the fact that he was not certain exactly what that task might be. On the other hand, he reassured himself, she had been the one to offer a truce and she had sounded genuine enough at the time. Perhaps he should do something to make himself useful? Zenith quickly decided to make sure this warehouse was as secure as it seemed. He figured that in a situation like this it was important to be aware of your surroundings, so that if the worst came to the worst he could make a hasty retreat.
“I’ll just go and check this place is secure.” He told her, but Altara was not listening.
As he moved down the narrow corridors Zenith could not help but find his attention drawn to the containers that surrounded him. In front of each there was a handheld identification screen with an item number and description of the item. Altara had told him that this was where weaponry was developed, but this didn’t seem to fit with the items that he saw; ‘SPU-00107: 1x camera rig w/ hypnotic filters, instantaneous subliminal layering capability. USAGE: Non-invasive mass perception alteration; causes subject to appear charismatic. CLASSIFICATION: obsolete’. A small crate, no larger than the size of a shoebox was labelled: ‘SPU-00189: 1x housing complex (89 km2) USAGE: Affordable compact housing, to be used in conjunction with SPU-00188 (discontinued) CLASSIFICATION: discontinued. IMPORTANT: please do not shake item’, while on an opposite shelf there was a series of crates that seemed to occupy the entire shelving unit: ‘SPU-00023-j: 1kg classified chemical powder. USAGE: causes targeted irreversible memory loss; use in conjunction with SPU-00023-a. CLASSIFICATION: active’.
Once again that tiny nagging worry surfaced in his mind. It was obvious from the way Altara strutted around this place that she knew more than she was letting on. The prospect made him a little nervous, but he was already doing all that he could. Maybe finding a back door to this place wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.
As was obvious by this point, this warehouse was not exactly as Altara had described it to Zenith. This was the Special Projects Unit, and though there were likely some weapons in here somewhere that was far from the point of the unit. The shelves were filled with high tech gadgets and gizmos developed for the express purpose of solving problematic political issues. The deception had been necessary, in Altara’s experience humans were primitive creatures; barbarians who cared only for warfare. To try and lure one to come with her under the pretence of actually doing some good for the world was folly. And while yes, she could tell there was a certain amount of differences between humans as she had experienced them and Zenith, it was not a distinction that she cared about.
It took her longer than she had anticipated; the human brain was inefficient and unreliable when it came to remembering strings of figures, but eventually she found what she was looking for. She was given a shelf number, to which she went, collected the crate and took it to a desk area at the far end of the room where Doctor Zenith Grey cautiously approached her.
“I am going to need your assistance.” Altara said plainly.
“To do what?” Zenith cut straight to the point. “If this is some kind of weapon, something to kill the others with I won’t help you. I cannot condone any action that leads to someone’s death.”
“I do not care about this contest.” Altara replied calmly. “I am a manifestation of the world we stand upon. I am ancient. I am the earth and the air and the waters of this world. I bend to no man, no matter what I am promised or how easy it would be to claim victory. I am pitted against insects, should I swat them all at the behest of a rat that thinks itself above me? You ants are of no consequence to me. I will do as I see fit and you will aid me in reclaiming this space that ought to belong to me.”
Zenith was silent for a moment. It was not a perfect response, it did not set his mind at ease exactly but at least she was not actively hostile. He wondered just how much of her speech was accurate, whether she was as powerful as she said or whether she was just deluded. He thought she probably skewed towards the latter but he was happy enough not knowing for certain. “What do you need me for?”
“This container requires two distinct fingerprints before it will open.” Altara replied, her eyes fixed upon the seamless metal box that rested upon the desk in front of her. It was one of the safeguards put in place to keep the highly sensitive nature of this place and the things to be found within it under wraps. She knew all this because this body had known all this. It was one of a select few to have access to this place.
“What’s in it for me?” Zenith asked, somewhat boldly.
Altara sighed; this kind of individualistic behaviour was so typical amongst humans. “This place is suffering, stilted, crying out for help and you choose to ignore it. If appealing to your self-interest is the only way to make you do some good, then I will do so.” Altara’s voice was harsh and yet serene at the same time. “Assist me and I will assist you. The wind will not bend to your whims but it could be persuaded to blow in your direction for a while.”
It was partly her assurance of some assistance and partly curiosity to see what was inside that box that made Zenith agree to help. He stepped forwards, peeled off his left glove and then pressed a single grey finger against the lid of the container. Altara likewise pressed a tan finger against the smooth silver device and at once there was a click and it slid open. The container was filled with small plastic wallets each of which contained a small handful of seeds. To Zenith it seemed distinctly underwhelming.
“What is this?” He asked.
“They call it a reforestation kit;” Altara sneered at the idea, “developed when for a fleeting moment a number of humans decided to care about the state of the environment. Discontinued because those humans were fickle in their sentiment and a political sex scandal distracted them long enough to move on.”
“So…?”
“So we reclaim this place.” Altara said. “This world does not belong to humans. This world belongs to itself, to me. Humans will be shown to respect that.” Altara tore open a packet of seeds and within seconds it was possible to see them starting to grow; a process kick-started by the moisture in the air. Suddenly from behind the two a strong gust of wind blew the seeds from Altara’s palm, through the grates above them and into the ventilation system. Altara’s eyes shone green and red and her lips moved silently as she tore open packet after packet after packet, the wilding wind sending the seeds disappearing throughout the complex. Zenith gripped desperately onto the desk as the winds grew stronger and stronger. Altara stood impassive as her tattered dress was whipped up around her.
Throughout the Presidentialgon wherever the reforestation seeds came to lie they began to grow faster than any plant anyone had ever seen. Their roots cut through the metal or marble floors; their branches shattered windows and smashed into the floors above. Thick bushes and shrubs were to follow and soon, within mere minutes of Altara’s weavings casting the seeds throughout the complex, it came to more resemble a forest than a nexus of political power.
When eventually the seeds had all been dispersed, the wind died away and all the noise that remained was the creaking and cracking of the building above them. Altara turned and focused her steely gaze upon Zenith for what was probably the first time since they had entered the room.
“This place belongs to me again. What would you have me do?”
Altara swept through the doorway, down a short corridor through another biolocked doorway and into a large steel warehouse. Her pace was confident, self assured. Though she did not rush, neither did she hesitate; not even to check that her new ally was keeping pace. Zenith had to jog to keep up after pausing to nervously watch the heavy doors automatically close and lock behind them. Sterile halogen lights flickered on as the pair stepped into the warehouse. Shelves full of huge metal boxes towered above them, stretching out in both directions. The sounds of the Presidentialgon were muffled down here, the only noise the low whirr of the fans slowly turning at the far end of the room. Before the druid and the alien there was a device, a metal pillar with a built in keyboard and monitor. Altara did not even break her stride as she walked up to the computer. Only then did she hesitate. Cautiously she prodded at the keyboard with her index finger, clearly unfamiliar with the technology, though her pace quickly picked up and within a minute her fingers were dancing along the keyboard while she stared resolutely at the screen.
Zenith had no such sense of purpose. For a minute he hung by the doorway and looked around the room he found himself in. Like much of what he had seen of the Presidentialgon so far it was reminiscent of his home. If he hadn’t known better he might have sworn he was in a disused and slightly outmoded cargo bay. However he did know better and he could not have hoped to forget the circumstances which he was here under. Thankfully the security measures they had passed through seemed robust enough to keep out their competitors, except of course the one that was already in here with him. His attention was drawn to the druid and he suddenly felt slightly wary.
There was something unsettling about Altara, at first he had been unable to place it but now he saw it was her intensity; her focus on the task at hand and the fact that he was not certain exactly what that task might be. On the other hand, he reassured himself, she had been the one to offer a truce and she had sounded genuine enough at the time. Perhaps he should do something to make himself useful? Zenith quickly decided to make sure this warehouse was as secure as it seemed. He figured that in a situation like this it was important to be aware of your surroundings, so that if the worst came to the worst he could make a hasty retreat.
“I’ll just go and check this place is secure.” He told her, but Altara was not listening.
As he moved down the narrow corridors Zenith could not help but find his attention drawn to the containers that surrounded him. In front of each there was a handheld identification screen with an item number and description of the item. Altara had told him that this was where weaponry was developed, but this didn’t seem to fit with the items that he saw; ‘SPU-00107: 1x camera rig w/ hypnotic filters, instantaneous subliminal layering capability. USAGE: Non-invasive mass perception alteration; causes subject to appear charismatic. CLASSIFICATION: obsolete’. A small crate, no larger than the size of a shoebox was labelled: ‘SPU-00189: 1x housing complex (89 km2) USAGE: Affordable compact housing, to be used in conjunction with SPU-00188 (discontinued) CLASSIFICATION: discontinued. IMPORTANT: please do not shake item’, while on an opposite shelf there was a series of crates that seemed to occupy the entire shelving unit: ‘SPU-00023-j: 1kg classified chemical powder. USAGE: causes targeted irreversible memory loss; use in conjunction with SPU-00023-a. CLASSIFICATION: active’.
Once again that tiny nagging worry surfaced in his mind. It was obvious from the way Altara strutted around this place that she knew more than she was letting on. The prospect made him a little nervous, but he was already doing all that he could. Maybe finding a back door to this place wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.
As was obvious by this point, this warehouse was not exactly as Altara had described it to Zenith. This was the Special Projects Unit, and though there were likely some weapons in here somewhere that was far from the point of the unit. The shelves were filled with high tech gadgets and gizmos developed for the express purpose of solving problematic political issues. The deception had been necessary, in Altara’s experience humans were primitive creatures; barbarians who cared only for warfare. To try and lure one to come with her under the pretence of actually doing some good for the world was folly. And while yes, she could tell there was a certain amount of differences between humans as she had experienced them and Zenith, it was not a distinction that she cared about.
It took her longer than she had anticipated; the human brain was inefficient and unreliable when it came to remembering strings of figures, but eventually she found what she was looking for. She was given a shelf number, to which she went, collected the crate and took it to a desk area at the far end of the room where Doctor Zenith Grey cautiously approached her.
“I am going to need your assistance.” Altara said plainly.
“To do what?” Zenith cut straight to the point. “If this is some kind of weapon, something to kill the others with I won’t help you. I cannot condone any action that leads to someone’s death.”
“I do not care about this contest.” Altara replied calmly. “I am a manifestation of the world we stand upon. I am ancient. I am the earth and the air and the waters of this world. I bend to no man, no matter what I am promised or how easy it would be to claim victory. I am pitted against insects, should I swat them all at the behest of a rat that thinks itself above me? You ants are of no consequence to me. I will do as I see fit and you will aid me in reclaiming this space that ought to belong to me.”
Zenith was silent for a moment. It was not a perfect response, it did not set his mind at ease exactly but at least she was not actively hostile. He wondered just how much of her speech was accurate, whether she was as powerful as she said or whether she was just deluded. He thought she probably skewed towards the latter but he was happy enough not knowing for certain. “What do you need me for?”
“This container requires two distinct fingerprints before it will open.” Altara replied, her eyes fixed upon the seamless metal box that rested upon the desk in front of her. It was one of the safeguards put in place to keep the highly sensitive nature of this place and the things to be found within it under wraps. She knew all this because this body had known all this. It was one of a select few to have access to this place.
“What’s in it for me?” Zenith asked, somewhat boldly.
Altara sighed; this kind of individualistic behaviour was so typical amongst humans. “This place is suffering, stilted, crying out for help and you choose to ignore it. If appealing to your self-interest is the only way to make you do some good, then I will do so.” Altara’s voice was harsh and yet serene at the same time. “Assist me and I will assist you. The wind will not bend to your whims but it could be persuaded to blow in your direction for a while.”
It was partly her assurance of some assistance and partly curiosity to see what was inside that box that made Zenith agree to help. He stepped forwards, peeled off his left glove and then pressed a single grey finger against the lid of the container. Altara likewise pressed a tan finger against the smooth silver device and at once there was a click and it slid open. The container was filled with small plastic wallets each of which contained a small handful of seeds. To Zenith it seemed distinctly underwhelming.
“What is this?” He asked.
“They call it a reforestation kit;” Altara sneered at the idea, “developed when for a fleeting moment a number of humans decided to care about the state of the environment. Discontinued because those humans were fickle in their sentiment and a political sex scandal distracted them long enough to move on.”
“So…?”
“So we reclaim this place.” Altara said. “This world does not belong to humans. This world belongs to itself, to me. Humans will be shown to respect that.” Altara tore open a packet of seeds and within seconds it was possible to see them starting to grow; a process kick-started by the moisture in the air. Suddenly from behind the two a strong gust of wind blew the seeds from Altara’s palm, through the grates above them and into the ventilation system. Altara’s eyes shone green and red and her lips moved silently as she tore open packet after packet after packet, the wilding wind sending the seeds disappearing throughout the complex. Zenith gripped desperately onto the desk as the winds grew stronger and stronger. Altara stood impassive as her tattered dress was whipped up around her.
Throughout the Presidentialgon wherever the reforestation seeds came to lie they began to grow faster than any plant anyone had ever seen. Their roots cut through the metal or marble floors; their branches shattered windows and smashed into the floors above. Thick bushes and shrubs were to follow and soon, within mere minutes of Altara’s weavings casting the seeds throughout the complex, it came to more resemble a forest than a nexus of political power.
When eventually the seeds had all been dispersed, the wind died away and all the noise that remained was the creaking and cracking of the building above them. Altara turned and focused her steely gaze upon Zenith for what was probably the first time since they had entered the room.
“This place belongs to me again. What would you have me do?”
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