Mammon

Worlds Apart

Zino Bertran nodded along with Anni. For a teenager, she was astonishingly perceptive. He felt like he was simultaneously trusting and distrusting every person involved in this; the air of distrust that everyone had for the Magician, for the Ghost Girl, for their situation had permeated his entire thought process. Every theory was as valid as the next when you are placed into totally unknown circumstances.

He listened to the others’ talk about Ascot’s plan. It seemed they were all in general consensus: it was a bad idea to fight the Magician, no matter how misled or betrayed or horrified they felt by his actions. Bertran folded his arms and tilted his head in contemplation. ‘Ascot seems desperate for some sort of validation—he tries so hard to prove himself… But why?’ He glanced down at Anni and softly smiled. ‘Interesting...

As quickly as the moment of comfort had come, it was replaced with horror. A flurry of movement caught the periphery of his vision. One of them—Zino wasn’t sure of his name—had transformed. A hungry maw lurched forward and embedded itself into the older woman. Blood and darkness scarred his memory. Abjection boiled in his stomach, and terror burned hot behind his ears and down his neck. Adrenaline froze him in place—eyes wide, primal, and transfixed on violence.

“Stormy!”

Anni called out, her voice breaking with panic. Her eyes were impossibly round, haunted, already full of tears and unbridled fear. They searched the scene as if begging it to only be a nightmare, praying that she would just wake up. The hair on the back of Zino’s neck stood on end; it was enough to move him to action. He wrapped his left arm around the girl’s head, pulling her closer and covering her eyes with his hand. “Don’t look, Anni…” With the other, he reached for his gun—but it was too late. Someone had already fired. ‘Did he miss? Did it pass through him?’ Zino’s heart raced, watching Tristan dodge the darkness that had once been man. There was a pause, his breath hitched, his hand lingered on the butt of his gun—ready to arm himself. Light and sound washed the scene away, and when it returned, the creature was little more than ash on the wind.

Vomit rose in his throat. ‘At least it had been quick… At least it was a swift—’ Soot drifted to the ground like snow. He felt sick. Zino pulled away his hand from Anni’s face. He noted distantly how it trembled. “It’s over. It’s over.” He gave the girl a small and gentle shake.

Shock numbed him, but training had prepared him for moments like this. He ran over to the woman’s side. The area around her smelled thick with blood and charcoal. “Are you okay?” He knew the question was stupid; it was easy enough to see she was far from well. Zino knelt down beside her. “I'll help you. You're going to be fine.” He lied through clenched teeth and a smile. “Can you talk?”

Stormy knew she was dreaming - no, remembering, or… both? The water was warm all around, dappled sunlight danced, and Stormy drifted. The blue octopus with rings of black and gold came into view, as it always did. It bobbed around her head whilst she tried to recall something. The cause of the nagging feeling tugging at the hidden chords of her subconscious mind. Something was wrong.

The sea darkened. Grey and crimsons replaced the blue and golds. The octopus latched onto her arm and bit, teeth sharp as the red triangles that now covered its body. She screamed, letting water in, stinging her throat and flooding her lungs, plunging train spikes in and out of her chest like sewing needles.

At the surface of the water, she could see him. A silhouette, blurred by water.

She gasped awake. Her arm throbbed. Eyes flitted about. They fixed upon Zino.

“Muh?”

Zino Bertran pulled off his jacket and removed the contents of his pockets: the mask, a gun, and a security I.D. He placed them gently on the ground before addressing the victim. “I'm going to stop the bleeding.” Blood splatter had painted the ground like Jackson Pollock. Life bubbled up from her shoulder and soaked through her cardigan. ‘What kind of person would do this…?’ The agent didn't wait for her to respond; he lifted her enough to wrap the jacket around her shoulder, tied it tightly, and then applied pressure.

Zino's gaze drifted to the discarded food on the dirt path. “Maybe he wasn't a vegetarian…” the man whispered to himself. He could not sincerely find humor in the situation, but the absurdity and horror of watching a man turn into an umbral wraith and try to devour someone only to be vaporized was too abjectly terrifying to confront right now.

Gloved hands pressed firmly against the wound. He glanced at Tristan, then stared intently down at her shoulder. ‘He just…--’ Zino swallowed hard. The android had certainly made his list of people not to cross. He thought about Three and her yo-yo, about Anni and her friend, about the pale-faced woman bleeding out. Images of them being burned alive, or torn apart by shadowy fangs, or atomized in flash of light filled his mind. His brow furrowed.

“Can you talk? What was your name, again?”

“W-what…” Stormy wetted her lips, “I can, yeah. I’m Stormy. Stormy Jeans. You’re what’s-his-face, right?” She chuckled, but the smile quickly became a grimace as she groaned, clutching the side of her head, and looking down with wide eyes at her arm. She was shivering, she realised. “What happened?”

Zino nodded. “Zino Bertran.” In spite of all the chaos, he could not help feeling relieved. “You're bleeding pretty badly. The man you were with…” Mr. Bertran shuddered. “He attacked you. ...He's dead now, Miss Jeans.” The agent glanced up at Tristan, then back to the woman. He was unsure how else to describe it.

“Huh… so that bit was real?” She pursed her lips to a thin line, let out and explosive sigh that made her whole body hurt. “Bummer.” She felt so cold.

“Bummer…?” He repeated, cocking his head to the side, looking at her as if she had aphasia. Her lackadaisical attitude had started to get under his skin. “Your life was at risk. Our lives. You understand that, right?” He was trying not to raise his voice, but he could not help himself. Desperation and shock creeped into his tone, making it harsh and fast. He tightened his grip on her shoulder. “...Are you lucid?” 'Perhaps the blood loss is affecting her mental faculties…’ With his other arm, he lifted her legs and put them in his lap. “The elevation will keep as much blood in your torso as possible,” he explained. Zino glanced around the group, scanning their shocked faces. 'There has to be some power or… or something these people can do.’

In collaboration with @jdh97 and @TaroAndSelia

Worlds Apart

“"I don't think the mask is there anymore. At least, I don't feel like I'm wearing a mask, this is just...my face, now. I guess.”

Zino took a step back, listening to the voice emanating from the android. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Is he… Completely mechanical? Does this mask change you inside and out…? Terrifying.’ The agent frowned and stroked his chin thoughtfully; his eyes scanned across the others who had already transformed. ‘I wonder what that makes these people…?’ He shrugged to himself, returning his attention to rest of the story.

“You… You all jumped in front of a train…?” The agent could not contain his disbelief. Whoever this Ghost Girl was, she had to be remarkably persuasive to lure all these people to their deaths. ‘Sinister, too.’ Zino folded his arms. ‘Drafting these people into her plans… Some of them are merely children…’ He looked over Anni, Ascot, and the others, then at their newest addition: Ellard. “It is unusual that so many of the villagers are this… Complacent.” He thought about the woman who had offered him food. She had asked nothing of his foreign appearance or the strange circumstances of their arrival. “Hn. I suppose we should follow our directions for now...”

“We've been brought here to do something, and now we need to talk to the Magician to know what it is. So... We should go. And do that. Together." Zino watched her smile and walk away, hiding the mask back in her skirts.The police officer seemed occupied with the homicidal maniac. He did not hear exactly what Michael said to creature, but he caught the general gist: they hated one another. Michael Keahi started dragging the would-be murderer along with him.

“You’re… Taking him with us?” Mr. Bertran shrugged. It seemed like a terrible idea to him, but if he captured the person that locked him in the furnace, Zino would be hard-pressed to leave him or her as well. The bound man mentioned something about Miss Anni and it took all of his willpower not to stomp on the pervert’s mouth until there were no teeth left. “Disgusting. You’re in no position to bargain, either.”

“Mikey-Michael, hun.” The older woman’s voice interrupted his violent thoughts. “I can jive with whatever, but before we go, or, do, uhm, anything? I think I’d like some food, for myself, and uh… He seems to need it, y’know, a real lot? We can move and eat, it’s cool and all.” Her face was warm and cheery in spite of their situation. Something about it was both calming and frustrating. Zino wondered how she could be so carefree. His brow furrowed. The police officer seemed to have his hands full with the murderous bird-brain. The agent plucked a selection of vegetarian options from Officer Keahi’s arms, giving him a single reassuring pat on the shoulder, and passed them along to the woman.

“Here, miss,” he commented, thrusting the food into her arms. “Now, let’s get moving.”

As much as he wanted more information from them, getting to the Magician was even more pressing—and what he had learned from the group needed digesting. He fell in line alongside the others. The path out of town was a winding dirt road. Villagers gave friendly waves as they passed; their faces were dull and happy, and their eyes seemed glossy, contented and hollow. Zino dipped his head in recognition as they passed, but did not slow down for them. In the distance a large tower dominated the horizon, reaching up above the forest canopy. The road was flanked on either side by an outcropping of trees. Sunlight danced on the earthen ground and shone through the leaves. Despite the peaceful surroundings, an uneasiness permeated the air.

Tristan’s words echoed in his mind. ‘If the Ghost Girl arranged my murder...’ The agent folded his arms around himself, rubbing his shoulders. ‘Is Three complicit in it? Did she save me, or is she responsible? How can I serve someone who...’ Mr. Bertran closed his eyes and tried to push away the encroaching memories. ‘They wouldn’t tell us anything she doesn’t want us to know...’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing beneath his glasses. A sudden realization dawned on him: he was chosen because he knew something. The rumors surrounding the missing children, the juvenile suspects from the report, the documentation of the anomolies... It could not be simple coincidence that he had been murdered. If she had wanted to control the flow of information, anyone in his organization would be a prime target.

He shuddered. ‘Do they know?’

Worlds Apart

"You're real?" He blinked, patting his chest as if to check that he were, in fact, real. "I mean, yes! We are! I'm Anni, Anni Parkinson, this is Ascot, and- and-..." Zino Bertran raised his brows in a mixture of confusion and amusement, watching the young woman stutter out a response. He had not considered that the group might find his presence as unsettling as he found them. The agent scanned his eyes over the names she had indicated.

'Anni Parkinson, a girl, easily startled.' He glanced at the flying boy, his eyes drifting down to the food encased in gelatinous slime, then back up--studying his wings. Zino frowned. At least the goo trapped in the smell of cooked meat. 'Ascot. An... Angel? Tries too hard to be useful.' He watched Ascot fly away as he called out to what Zino could only describe as something from a nightmare circus. 'Tabitha, female,' he assumed from the title, 'prone to wander off on her own.'

Another voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Like she said, we're all here for the Magician. I'm Michael Keahi. Call me Mike." Zino Bertran nodded, holding out his hand to shake Michael's in a gesture of good will. The man before him had an air of reassuring strength or confidence about him. Zino made a mental note. "Don't mind him. He's unwanted baggage, courtesy of little miss ghosty herself."

'Baggage, dangerously insane, undesirable by the others,' he thought to himself.

"Speaking of which, I don't suppose you were dumped here by her too?" Zino shoved his hands into his pockets, briefly considering how to answer. It was clear to him these particular mortals had been sent at the behest of this "Ghost Girl" herself. Based on the information he had collected from Three, they had been sent here before him; he was a "late arrival." Perhaps the original group was favored by their mutual benefactor, or perhaps "Miss Ghosty" had deemed them incompetent and dragged the agent through fire and death to act as their babysitter. There was no way to be sure. They had all lost their lives for this cause--whatever it may be. They were all, he decided, owed the truth.

"I never met this 'Ghost Girl' you speak of," he reached into his pocket and retrieved the simple white mask, dusting off a smear of soot from its cheek with a leather-gloved thumb, "but I have heard of her. I was told she is mistress over the one who... Reassembled me here." As much as he had tried to suppress it, a shiver of terror ran up his spine. 'How long have I been dead?' He swallowed the reaction, continuing. "I heard that if I came here, I would understand reason for my death... And the reason for my continued existence," Zino quoted, "That I would learn the truth." His eyes remained fixated upon the Semblance as he spoke. They lingered there a few heartbeats longer before he slipped the mask back into the jacket pocket of his outfit. He could feel her watching him.

"My name is Zino G. Bertran, but Mr. Bertran will do. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mike Keahi." He dipped his head to the police officer, and then again to the flustered girl. "And you as well, Miss Parkinson. I assume that you both received a Semblance from our mysterious mistress also." Zino folded his arms. Given that Three had specified the group he was meeting with were all mortals, Bertran concluded that it must be the mask which granted some of them their unique appearance--their lives in exchange for a new world, a new being, a new purpose--a semblance of what they had been. "...Everyone here did, correct? At the cost of their lives." His face was grim, his lips a tight line across his face. "How did you all come to pass?"

Worlds Apart

Zino silenced one of the villagers by holding up his hand. He had no interest in the comings and goings of peasants. Festivals were never something that held his attention, and he had never cared for company--especially the company of strangers. He wasn’t even sure they were real, let alone human, anyhow. The inhabitants seemed like automatons masquerading as people. ‘Annoying,' the agent thought to himself, “Surely these cattle can’t be what Miss Three meant as my compatriots…” The person continued to speak, but Zino ignored them, drowning them out with his thoughts.

The man instead turned his attention to the market before him. A few stalls lined the unpaved road. It reminded him of the farmer’s markets that cropped up around town in the summer. Icy eyes scanned the produce; some of the fruits and vegetables he recognized, but many he did not. A strange purple berry caught his attention. It was perfectly round and covered in blunt spikes. He reached to pick it up, but he felt something tugging at his sleeve. ‘What now?'

Zino frowned. An elderly woman prodded him with a knobby finger. She smiled. In one hand, she held a cloth. In the other, she balanced a large wooden tray of freshly grilled meat skewers. She chimed something about the festival and wrapped the cloth around the end of a stick, lifting it to Zino. The smell of fire and cooked flesh filled his nostrils, making his stomach turn. He thought about the sound of bubbling fat, about the way skin blistered and melted away, about the distant sound of his own screaming. He snapped back, eyes wide. He slapped the skewer from her hand and shoved her away. The woman fell.

The thud of it carried, but there was no backlash. Still smiling, the woman stared up at him; making no movement to gather her scattered goods. Zino stood with his hands out, stunned, for a few heartbeats, before he turned and walked away wordlessly, head lowered and steps hurried. He ducked behind the wooden wall of a building. “Shit…” he breathed. Zino Bertran cover his mouth with his hand. Abjection rumbled in his gut. He brushed imaginary lint from his shirt and straightened his tie.

A soft, mischievous giggle broke the silence. Bertran jumped. The agent was now aware of the subtle discomfort of being watched. Eyes bored into the back of his mind. He sighed and glanced in the direction of the markets, staring up at the smoke rising from the grill. Zino looked back down at his hands, his mind racing. ‘The other "mortals…"’ he thought. ‘That must mean they died as well…’ He closed his eyes. ‘I won’t let my life end in vain… Our lives...’ Zino’s brow twitched, and he clenched his fists into tight balls. He could feel the weight of the mask in his pocket, as if it were calling out to him. ‘I’ll find them here, and we’ll seek out the Magician!’

After regaining his dignity, Zino Bertran stepped out from the shadow of the building in search of the others. Something caught the corner of his eye, floating just out of sight. He chased after it, the flitting of feathers through the air and the grinding of earth beneath his feet. The agent rounded a tree, and it was then he saw them.

“Oh.” He skidded to a halt. Zino’s eyes flitted from person to person--if you could call them that. He had followed the angel back to the group, and the winged boy now spoke to them--but the agent was too far away to make out the words. Cautiously, he approached them. It was clear that they were different from the sheep of the village. He felt dangerously exposed. His hand found its way into his pocket, fingering the mask nervously. ‘It has to be them…

He raised his hand in greeting, but before he could speak he overheard one of them talk:

“Tortured them till they go numb. Let them scream till they can't squeal. Gouge their eyes out, so they can’t see the life they used to love. When the world is full of death, suffer, and pains of many others. Maybe that day will be the day that I seek and love.”

His face wrinkled in disgust. ‘What the hell…?’ The corner of Zino’s mouth tugged downward, and he chewed on his words, sizing up the rest of them. He regretted walking over here. ‘They’re freaks. What have I gotten myself into? I thought they would be...’ His head hung in resignation. Despite his efforts to hide his disappointment, it was written clearly across his face.

“Are you looking for the Magican too?”

Worlds Apart

"Man, you're kind of a clog in the drain," she said to the Mortal-something forming in Nothing, her back turned on the miniscule decompression; eyes aimed at Irriss. Three sighed, running a free hand through snowy hair. "Don't worry too much about it, though. I worked on you. Good to see you're coming around. That probably means you're acclimating to Nothing. I'm Three, your guide to the hereafter!" That may not have been entirely the truth, despite the purple-and-white attired girl's casual way of presentation. After all, Zino Bertran had been burned alive. He probably couldn't see her face, given her position, or the slight smile she wore. What he could catch, however, through the shifting and settling of his own threads of chroma, was that this girl let her yo-yo rise and fall in perfect rhythm.

I just wanted to get my toy, came the inner petulance, much more pronounced when her mistress was not around, not haul some soul to it with me. She had thought of leaving him there, but certain things were inevitable when it came to her position. When it came to the 'big moves'. I guess this is a big move, by most regards. While she would do her best from having to admit it, Three was bored of standing around. She had been promised Irriss. That's what she wanted. Well, that and her yo-yo.

Seems like the two got tangled up, somewhere. She giggled, to herself, letting the toy fall and rise again; only to lazily snatch it into her palm and tuck it away. Nothing, as usual, felt like standing in time-abandoned static. Technically, it was native to her. The part of her that had been given more wanted nothing to do with it. Might as well get this moving! The faster he's up to speed, the faster I get to play!

"You remember dying, right?" Three's curiosity was plain, if tinged by her childish demeanor, but she still hadn't turned; slowly taking the hand from her head and pointing it in his direction. "Pretty nasty, what happened to you." She tore violet eyes from the Something she so desperately wanted to see, and turned them on the Mortal, following her own extended digit in his direction. "I've never had to do this, before. Kind of neat that it worked, huh? You don't even look like..." she shrugged, "Nevermind. Take your time, I guess I have to wait on you, anyway."

Three smiled wide, her ghostly form stark against the silent backdrop of semi-empty space; waiting for Zino to collect himself. His hands were tangled around the mask, and the ether between them churned from the void. “I… I’m dead?” He patted his face, his chest, his hands… All here... Slowly, he staggered to his feet.

Zino Bertran adjusted his clothes, pretending to dust off whatever ash remained on his suit. He looked around. Static gnawed on the corners of his vision--no, of existence. Inky darkness swirled thick between them. Zino was overwhelmed with the same feeling he had earlier: small, vulnerable, exposed. He hated it. He steeled himself against it. “What do you want with me? Why have you brought me here?!” His knuckles grew white around the Semblance. “Is this about-...” His voice dropped, growing quiet. “Is this about the research?”

"That's not my business, Zinny," Three affixed him with a firm stare, but mischievous smile, hands sliding into her pockets, "My job was to get you here, and then to there. And to answer that very astute question; yes. Yes, you were dead. Now you're not. You're welcome." She took up her favorite spot in Nothing, leaning against the non-existent and, again, flipping the non-existent. Three didn't deign to blink for a long while, taking a cue from her constant exposure to a more reserved and frightening companion. "Not that you ever offered your name." Then she went back to herself, leaning farther back and slightly tilting her nose up at him. In her pockets, her fingers wriggled and fought with what was probably her yo-yo. It was not.

Poor Mortals. You guys could get to have fun your whole lives, but then you end up in a place like this. Talking about research. What. A. Drag.

"Your research is probably boring. Take it up with my mistress if you want to know more about why, when she's around. Though that might be a while. She's awfully busy, over on 'your side' of things." Three assumed he would understand, at least somewhat, but didn't much feel like she had to explain. Instead, she proceeded with her usual routine, producing non-existent glasses and placing them snugly on her upturned snout. "It's really more about the thing you picked up, in that furnace."

I like that word! 'Furnace' could probably be used all kinds of ways.

She feigned removing the glasses and leaned fully against the weight of Nothing, suspending herself above the non-existent floor. A slight frown had found its way to her lips, but that was also pageantry. "It's a Semblance. You're going to be a late arrival. The rest of the Mortals you're going to be lumped in with are already there. They've got one of those, too." She stretched, putting her hands behind her head and crossing her legs. "But I really don't care if you put it on or not. On the other hand, though, I've been told to drop you off and make sure you understand. It was said like..." Three slipped into her best impression of Ghost Girl, projecting the other's voice with chilling accuracy and intonation "'Regardless of what you choose, Zino Bertran, you will eventually discover the truth behind your transference into Irriss," She broke character, pointing to the Something on Nothing's left side, "That, over there, is Irriss, by the way. In case you were wondering," then it was back to her Ghost Girl impersonation, "and the reason behind your death. The purpose for your continued existence."

Zino furrowed his brows, his lips turning into a thin line of disapproval. “Ah…” he began, looking down at the mask he held. He traced his thumb over the smooth porcelain visage. “I see.” Bertan stared into the vacuous eyes of the mask, and it remembered.

Visions of serpentine, fiery undulations dispersed hot ashes. The noise of abject terror and pain wracked his mind--the sounds of his own screaming. The stench of burning flesh, of cooked blood, of cinders, and of fear filled his nostrils. Memories of smothering smoke and the agony of all his singed nerves overwhelmed his thoughts. Petrified, he could not tear his gaze away from the false face.

He continued, eyes wide. "Yes, I... I died." Glistening beads of sweat lined the topography of his features. Questions swirled in his head. Other mortals? Where are you taking me? What is Irriss? How did you restore my body? What purpose are you talking about? What is the function of this mask? Instead, he tucked the mask into the interior pocket of his jacket, suppressing the trembling in his hands and in his voice: "Please, call me Mr. Bertran. The situation is... Less than ideal. I apologize for my rudeness, but the circumstances were poor, to say the least." Zino extended his hand in greeting. "I look forward to working together. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Three."

Zino Bertan turned his attention toward where the girl gestured. Beyond the shifting stillness of the static he could see some sort of realm. It grew into focus as he gazed upon it, studying its verdant hills and sprawling cities. Crystal towers embossed in gold gleamed in the distance--shining and exemplary. On the outskirts of the plane were immense holds, shadowy and ragged, veiled in their own tall, craggy walls. The forests, plains, and hills were dotted with smaller, mundane settlements.

This entire world is picturesque, albeit antiquated, he thought, enthralled by the view. The classified documents he read ran burning fingers through the back of his mind. The mask called out to him. It compelled him to accept, it urged him to follow along, and it drove him toward Something, toward Irriss.

"I'm ready," Zino announced. He placed a hand over the mask in his suit pocket. "I'm ready to go."

In collaboration with @Redward

Worlds Apart

“What…?” Zino Bertran was full of cold disbelief. One of younger agents stammered out a reply, but his mind was already turning over the problem. He interrupted, “Those are highly sensitive materials… If they fall into the wrong hands…” Bertran’s eyes flicked across his desk, searching for any clues.

Zino’s office was had once been immaculate, but now it looked like the room had hosted a tornado. Papers were scattered across floor, the file cabinet had been emptied, the trash hatch had been flung open, and a chair laid toppled over--missing its cushion. “Of course,” he breathed, leaping over a pile of crumpled files to the trash shoot. A shred of fabric had wedged itself between two sheets of metal. “Quick, get out of my way.”

He shoved his way past his junior and sprinted down the hall. Bertram threw himself against the door to the stairwell and slid past the first flight of stairs. If I get there fast enough, there’s still a chance I could-...! Zino stumbled down a few steps as his outpaced himself, but managed to catch his balance. Shit…

By the time he reached the basement, his breath was ragged. The foundation of the building was dark and quiet. His footsteps echoed in the concrete tunnels. Zino patted his pockets searchingly. “Where did I…? Ah.” The flashlight cast a perfect moon of light where-ever it pointed. Further down the hall, Zino saw the door to the incineration chamber--the metal bolt left unlocked. He narrowed his eyes.

He swung open the door loudly, kicking up a small cloud of soot from inside the room, and shone the light. Piles of paper and garbage lined the walls to the ceiling, and ash caked the floor. “No footprints…” No later than the words had left his mouth he felt something solid violently contact the back of his head.

Zino Bertran’s muscles were slow and stiff. He did not remember losing consciousness, but the side-effects were all too familiar. He screwed his eyes shut briefly before cautiously looking around. His head throbbed with each pump of his heart, and pain radiated from his temples. Ash covered his hair, his clothes, and his face. “Shit.” He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but his flashlight had grown dim from constant use.

Carefully he sat up, testing his body to make sure all of his sore muscles still worked. It was then he saw it: a folder with large cautionary letters stamped across it--classified. Zino scrambled to recover the information, shoving the paperwork back into the folder and clutching it to his chest. He staggered to the door and tried to open it. “...Shit!” It was firmly bolted shut. He beat on the door, yelled, and tried to call up the ducts--to no avail. After some time, he gave up and sat, exasperated, where he had fallen.

He sat on something hard. “What the hell…?” Zino pulled a simple, round mask from underneath his backside. He wiped a smear of ash from its smooth surface. Something about the object was deeply disturbing, unsettling. Bertan could see his reflection in the lacquered forehead: he was stripped of all pretense; dirty, bloodied, and weak. The dark pits of its eyes gazed at his innate self. It terrified him.

As if trying to shake off the thoughts, he turned his attention back to the paperwork:

Classified Documents

Page 67-B File BT-TF-01
Cont’d

1/3/20XX: Juvenile suspects terminated.

2/16/20XX: Testing begins on [Data Expunged] to determine the function and safety of exposure.

7/23/20XX: Space-time anomalies resulting from exposure to [Data Expunged] are confirmed. Testing is suspended until further notice.

10/9/20XX: The unaccounted-for remains of one of the original nine test subjects appear unexpectedly outside [Data Expunged]. The remains are not decomposed in any manner and are still warm to the touch. Blood remains uncoagulated. The remains are remanded for testing.

10/12/20XX: [Data Expunged] has ordered the site inside [Data Expunged] to include emergency storage for all specimens.

4/22/20XX: Emergency storage is operational. Labs and containment units are complete.

5/25/20XX: Sightings of test subject [Data Expunged] have been reported within the exposure areas.

6/02/20XX: Youth have been reported missing outside the exposure area of [Data Expunged].

7/19/20XX: Two victims are discovered outside one of the exposure zones. Time of the attack is estimated to be around 2300-2400 hours. Victims are catatonic.

7/26/20XX: Two more victims found outside [Data Expunged] near one of the exposure zones. Cause of death is related to severe internal trauma. Time of death is estimated to be around 2300 hours.

7/29/20XX: A second set of unaccounted-for remains from the nine original test subject appears within the exposure zone. Remains in similar condition as previous test subject. Remanded for testing.

8/03/20XX: Another group of victims found inside [Data Expunged]; authorities believe there is a serial killer at large around zone [Data Expunged]. Victims are catatonic. Time of attack unknown.

8/4/20XX: The warm body of a young man was found within one of the exposure zones; mask found near the remains. Unknown origin, unknown materials. Object remanded for testing.

8/9/20XX: Corpses found outside laboratory, believed to be the victims of a serial killer. All personnel have been relocated to [Data Expunged] facility to continue testing on the object. (Cont’d)

Before he could finish reading, liquid began to pour from a series of pipes in the ceiling. “Water? No...” Horror gripped his stomach. “Gasoline!” Zino Bertran flipped open his cell phone. The thick, insular concrete blocked any reception. Still gripping the paperwork and the mask, he moved to beat on the door. “Please! Help! There’s someone in here…! Help me!” His pleas echoed in vain throughout the chamber. The fumes of the gasoline were enough to force him to sit. “Th-the furnace shouldn’t even be in use…” Zino coughed, going through the papers. “All of this is…!” His eyes grew wide. The man struggled to pull himself up to the door. It remained firmly bolted shut. “You can’t do this!! Please, let me out! Let me go!!”

A glimmer of orange light sparked across the room, igniting the classified documents and consuming everything it touched like a wraith. Zino beat against the door again, shouting. Hot smoke and ash flooded the chamber. The air was smothering. Muffled shrieks and the metallic banging could be heard from the outside, just barely audible over the roar of fire.

Data Expunged.

Worlds Apart

Name: Zino Bertran

Age: 27

Appearance I:

A Humble Reflection

Personality: Zino is strong-willed and dutiful: working hard and staying focused on his goals. Highly determined, he strives to meet his obligations. His word is a promise, and a promise means everything. Zino would rather run himself into the ground with extra days and lost sleep than fail to deliver the results he said he would. He believes that order is accomplished best when everyone involved knows exactly what is going on and why. He rarely tolerates unclear guidelines and people who break established rules undermine this effort. Structure and rules foster dependability; chaos creates unforeseen setbacks and missed deadlines. His strong work ethic allows him to apply himself to a variety of situations, picking up and applying new data and grasping the details of challenging situations as a matter of course. Zino believes in brutal honesty at all costs. Emotional manipulation, mind games and reassuring lies all run counter to his preference for managing the reality of the situations he encounters with straightforward candor.

However, these traits can make him stubborn, insensitive, and judgmental. While not intentionally harsh, his love of factual decision-making and veracity can wound the emotions of those more sensitive. Zino is unlikely to respect people who disagree with those facts--especially those who remain willfully ignorant of them. He finds it difficult to accept that he was wrong about something, and struggles to admit any failure with grace. His strong desire to adhere to the rules makes him reluctant to bend those rules or try new things, even when the downside is minimal. All this can combine to make Zino Bertran believe he is the only one who can see tasks through reliably, which can lead him to believe the responsibility for the success of events is his alone to bear.

Occupation: Classified

History: Classified

Semblance Type: Enlightened

Semblance Appearance:

Innate Visage

As simple white mask designed to cover the entire face.

Semblance Abilities: Chronomancy

• Temporal Administration - Allows for a single target to be made slower or faster in their actions, reflexes or abilities.
• Instantaneous Direction of Will - Teleports the user and those in contact with the user to any other place in visual range instantly.
• Dimensional Control - Creates a pocket-sized portal to private storage dimension.
• Manipulation of Permanence - Causes a single effect or ability to be permanent as long as Zino can maintain concentration.

Appearance II:

Glorious Perdition

Fallen Information: Classified

Worlds Apart

Name: Zino Bertran

Age: 27

Appearance I:

A Humble Reflection

Personality: Zino is strong-willed and dutiful: working hard and staying focused on his goals. Highly determined, he strives to meet his obligations. His word is a promise, and a promise means everything. Zino would rather run himself into the ground with extra days and lost sleep than fail to deliver the results he said he would. He believes that order is accomplished best when everyone involved knows exactly what is going on and why. He rarely tolerates unclear guidelines and people who break established rules undermine this effort. Structure and rules foster dependability; chaos creates unforeseen setbacks and missed deadlines. His strong work ethic allows him to apply himself to a variety of situations, picking up and applying new data and grasping the details of challenging situations as a matter of course. Zino believes in brutal honesty at all costs. Emotional manipulation, mind games and reassuring lies all run counter to his preference for managing the reality of the situations he encounters with straightforward candor.

However, these traits can make him stubborn, insensitive, and judgmental. While not intentionally harsh, his love of factual decision-making and veracity can wound the emotions of those more sensitive. Zino is unlikely to respect people who disagree with those facts--especially those who remain willfully ignorant of them. He finds it difficult to accept that he was wrong about something, and struggles to admit any failure with grace. His strong desire to adhere to the rules makes him reluctant to bend those rules or try new things, even when the downside is minimal. All this can combine to make Zino Bertran believe he is the only one who can see tasks through reliably, which can lead him to believe the responsibility for the success of events is his alone to bear.

Occupation: Classified

History: Classified

Semblance Type: Enlightened

Semblance Appearance:

Innate Visage

As simple white mask designed to cover the entire face.

Semblance Abilities: Chronomancy

• Temporal Administration - Allows for a single target to be made slower or faster in their actions, reflexes or abilities.
• Instantaneous Direction of Will - Teleports the user and those in contact with the user to any other place in visual range instantly.
• Dimensional Control - Creates a pocket-sized portal to private storage dimension.
• Manipulation of Permanence - Causes a single effect or ability to be permanent as long as Zino can maintain concentration.

Appearance II:

Glorious Perdition

Fallen Information: Classified

Echoes: Starlit Change

"Did you guys hear tonight's broadcast?" A mousy-looking girl in large, round glasses closed her textbook and looked up from her notes to address the study group.

"Yeah! I heard it w-..."

"No, you didn't, Meena." Aalex interjected, not moving his eyes away from his homework. "None of us do." He finished scrawling out a few more lines before pointed closing his book."The only reason any of us nosebleeds are us so late is to study for midterms... Stop trying to act so tough." Aalex shifted uncomfortably, his face changing to a shade of crimson.

The others turned on him. "Just because you're too chicken doesn't mean the rest of us are!" Meena grinned at him tauntingly.

"Yeah! You never do anything fun anyway, Aalex. You're always stuck at home, studying or playing that stupid violin."

"I-t's not stupid," he objected, but was ignored.

"I know! Let's drag Aalex to the Neon Strip. I'm tired of studying anyway." The others chimed in agreement, and Aalex En's protests were stifled.

"We have school tomorrow... I-I can't be out past curfew." Meena grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him out the door. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and continued listing excuses. "We're going to get mugged. Y-you know, we don't have adult supervision. What if one of us gets hurt, or worse... What if we do poorly on our tests?" His brows folded in a mixture of concern and fear.

Meena rolled her eyes. "Nothing bad is going to happen... Live a little! Besides, my friend said his friend's brother said that the broadcast tonight didn't even list anyone this week for the Death Roll." A knot tightened in the pit of Aalex's stomach, but he swallowed his last complaints. Perhaps it would do him some good to loosen up, to spend a night on the town, and to enjoy the company of his friends. Still, his nerves boiled over in this gut, and he couldn't put the worry to the back of his mind.

Meena led the way, Aalex in tow, through a maze of tight alleyways and closely-knit businesses. In the distance, Aalex En could hear the low rumble of bass and the sky seemed to glow with smog and neon. The sound of hundred of voices all speaking at once filled the air with a buzzing, busy sound. His friends turned the corner, pulling him along, and the alleyways opened into a large, light-filled road--the gentle whispering electricity of neon, the patter of a crowded plaza, food mongers in carts, shouting their wares. Aalex moved in closer to his friends, gripping the strap of his pack tightly.

The group turned to face him, the colorful glow casting tints of color onto their cheeks as they grinned expectantly at him. Meena let go of his hand, and he felt suddenly even more vulnerable--the certain surreal sadness of feeling alone at a party, the quietness of loud spaces. He gulped. "Sooo," Meena cooed, her sing-song voice almost buried in the bustling streets. She rocked back and forth on her toes, shoving her glasses up on her face. "What do you want to do first, Aal?"

He had heard of the many game shops along the Neon Strip. He had passed through the area many times before on his way to and from school, but never at night--and certainly never for recreation. "Uh... We could-... We could check out the arcade, he offered, glancing to the side. The others seemed to approve, and before he realized it, they were already at the game room. Prizes were displayed along the walls on glowing pink shelves, and a voice over the intercom droned on about daily jackpots and bonus games. His company had split apart to play the games of their choosing, and he was relieved to have a moment of peace, despite the migraine-inducing environment.

He found a table and began to read over his notes. Glancing up, he watched Meena play, her head encased in a reality altering visor. Aalex smiled softly to himself. "Perhaps this isn't so bad..."

But he had spoken too soon. The power to the entirety of the Neon Strip cut out. Even in the dead of night, it was not as dark as this. Cries of surprise pierced the darkness. Aalex En stumbled to Meena and helped pull her from the helmet. "Are you okay? Let's get out of here." Before he could continue, she took his wrist again and guided him to the street. Confusion, panic and amusement had stricken the crowds outside. Everyone was murmuring to themselves about the sudden power-outage.

As quickly as the lights had died, they returned--flickering back to life with the warm radiance of noble gases. "Please, Meena, let's get out of here. Please... Let's go home." He pleaded, but she was already pushing her way through the confused masses and toward a large LED sign. The brightness and worry were making him sick to his stomach. His head was throbbing in pain, and hot and angry bolts of lightning coursed through the back of his vision. "Meena, wait!" The crowd had already swallowed her, and Aalex En was lost in a sea of people.

"E-excuse me... Pardon me. I'm sorry. Sorry." He pushed his way through the masses, searching for his friends. Above the bobbing heads, he could see a Restech Sentry approach. Aalex's eyes widened. He had never been this close to one before. Its hull was dotted with a network of pulsating nodes and shimmering circuits; the robot had what appeared to be ventilation slats down the entirety of its frame. The very air around it seemed to pulse with what Aalex could only assume was Resonance. The machine was amazing. The Sentry lifted its arm, and the atmosphere around it radiated heat waves. Sudden realization dawned upon his features. "Get down! It's firing!!"

The missile rocketed past his head, leaving his hair singed and his ear ringing. An expletive fell out of his mouth as the crowd lurched forward, threatening to trample him. He shoved his way past, moving toward the place of impact. Did it hit someone? Is everyone okay? Is Meena okay? Fear tightened in his gut. I never should have come here... We never should have come here! Blood stuck to his shoes and soaked into the cuffs of his pants. The acrid smell of smoke and burning hair, of cooked flesh, and dust surrounded them. He could hear the Sentry charging again for another shot.

What remained of the bodies lay crumpled on the street, smoking and in pieces. Aalex couldn't look away. His eyes were round and wide with fear, entranced by horror. Something crunched beneath his shoe. Stepping back, he slowly looked down: it was a pair of thick, round glasses. "Meena..." The name left his mouth before the gravity of it hit him. Everything was slowing down, a dream of a dream; the screaming was distant, and he was numb. The sound of another decompression sounded lifetimes away.

I didn't even want to be here.

Echoes: Starlit Change

I should have a reply up this week. I'll try to squeeze it in today whilst at work, but I don't know if I will be able to finish. Expect it soon...ish.