Eru Iluvatar — Roleplayer Guild

Ailbeart Rend

"William the Lion!" Ailbeart's father had said to him. "He's unfortunately characterised for his defeats. You know what was great about him, though? He never did stop trying to retake Northumberland for the Scots. Throughout all of those treaties, he was just biding his time. He knew he would outlive Henry, and he did. He thought he might outlive ol' Lionheart, and what do you know? It was only in John's time when he finally let go of his dream. But it wasn't because he was old and John was young and in his prime, no. He had a divine warning. From God."

The first time Ailbeart Rend woke up that day was when the cryotank finally released him from its freezing embrace. His first step out of the tank was as that of a child, inexperienced and pitiful. The thought emerged somewhere in his mind that he might be a clone of the original Ailbeart, stepping out into the world of the future, after the original had discovered a way to live forever. He quickly dismissed the idea, for he knew that if that were at all a possibility, his body would be decades younger than it was. Truly, Ailbeart was still his original self, with no legacy as of yet to leave behind. But, yes, that was what he was here for... Rend was lost within his own thoughts after he woke up for the first time on that day. With each subsequent thought he only drew himself deeper into his own mind, and so he hardly took notice of the four other people in the same room. His only physical action was a sleight movement of his hand to his forehead, where he assured the existence of his polyester eye-patch. He was vaguely aware of voices coming from around him - a man, then a woman. Nobody addressed him directly, but he could sense their eyes upon him from time to time. Memories were slowly returning to him, yet they presented themselves within Rend's mind as pseudo film reels, and he was effectively reliving his own life - albeit at a much faster pace - by observing them. The people in the room began to drawl away from him slowly, and this triggered some instinctual response within Rend, leading him to so too follow them, zombie-like and silent. The air in the connecting corridor was noticeably strange, it tasted something like the toxic byproduct of factories. The lighting throughout the corridor had a quality of dullness, and the walls were coated in such a reflective metallic substance that the light reverberated several times over itself, giving different levels of height in the corridor a different intensity to the eyes. On the whole, it felt genuinely like a cliché hallway from a haunted house, only with an hollow and futuristic take on the concept. 

"Surprise! It's me, B-Benji!" Rend's ears had apparently adjusted to the present situation, but it made the shrill, nerve-wracked voice of the man suddenly facing them all the more conspicuous. A subtle monotone ringing began in the back of Ailbeart's head then, which would remain for some time. He hardly had a time to look around the kitchen space before the spokesman - a doctor, if he remembered correctly - continued to ramble while draping blankets over the shoulders of Rend and the others. Rend made no effort to stop the man from either speaking or touching him, for it seemed he and Benji were processing the situation very differently. Ailbeart was quiet, reserved, unintentionally drawing into himself despite his extroverted personality, and Benji was most obviously panicked. Now the latter was cutting into what looked like a cake, and wielding a knife. Why in God's name is he cutting a cake? The worrying action brought Rend to his senses a little more. He began to stare, bewildered, around the kitchen: the med-bay area, that was crammed with unnerving machines and robotics, the excessively glossy table-tops and their computer inhabitants. Ailbeart very quickly realised one drastic change of the future they had literally stepped into - technology had taken over, completely and totally. He felt his face twitch slightly, and his beard bristled in such a way that he felt like an army of ants were moving across him. Suddenly Benji was moving, and thankfully knife-less, heading towards another doorway that had been forgotten outside of Ailbeart's line of sight. He followed the rest as he did before, though as his awareness returned, he noticed one of the other Project Renascence members - a tall black man - glancing over at him more than the rest were in their naturally curious states. These glances were also different because of the look of the eyes that perpetrated them - eyes that were more hostile than simply curious. 

Each blanket-wrapped, scantily-clad person dispersed into rooms that connected to a large chamber they had entered. By process of elimination, Ailbeart stalked towards the last door on the left and slid inside. He mashed the buttons on the inside of the door until it slid shut without a sound. Silence. Rend let out a heavy breath and sucked in the not-so-fresh air. He rubbed his eyes and scratched at his temple, leaning his weight against the paper-thin but surprisingly resilient door. He just needed to think... think. Cryonautics. Holding a scientist at gunpoint. That man- what was his name? Ah. Andrew, aye. A splatter of blood against the wall. Videos, training procedures, hours of preparation while the handgun still held fast in his hand, becoming progressively heavier over time. A pill. Leaving the world behind in a freezing tank. The future. He had made it. Good God, he had made it.

Ailbeart Rend woke up for the second time that day.

A matter of minutes later, Benji had gathered what he had assumed to be everyone back in the kitchen, to reveal startling news. But Benji had made a crucial mistake, for Rend, adorned in new clothes and a fresh, aware mindset, did not return to the kitchen upon leaving his room. In fact, they had not even had everyone present when they had gathered in the kitchen. The first meeting of the crewmates could have gone far better. As a window slid open slowly in the kitchen, Rend walked alone through dim-lit corridors. He had left something behind for himself before he had taken the pill however many years ago - a guarantee, or rather a safe-guard against the future - and he could not begin without it.
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