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Masterverse based fanfic, "Explosive Litter" Part 2 (cowritten with Patrickngo)

knightraider6knightraider6 Member Posts: 396 Arc User
Ain't found a way to kill me yet
Eyes burn with stinging sweat
Seems every path leads me to nowhere
Wife and kids, household pet
Army green was no safe bet
The bullets scream to me from somewhere
Yeah, they come to snuff the rooster
Yeah here come the rooster, yeah
You know he ain't gonna die
No, no, no, you know he ain't gonna die
Here they come to snuff the rooster
Ah yeah, yeah
Yeah, here come the rooster, yeah
You know he ain't gonna die
No, no, no, you know he ain't gonna die
Yeah they come to snuff the rooster
Yeah here come the rooster, yeah
You know he ain't gonna die
No, no, no, you know he ain't gonna die
Walkin' tall machine gun man
They spit on me in my home land
Gloria sent me pictures of my boy
Got my pills 'gainst mosquito death
My buddy's breathin' his dyin' breath
Oh God please won't you help me make it through
Yeah they come to snuff the rooster, ah yeah
Yeah here come the rooster, yeah
You know he ain't gonna die
No, no, you know he ain't gonna die
Alice in Chains, Rooster

Somewhere else…

The corridors were scraped and stained, and it smelled like a mix of urine, sweat, blood, and the underlying tang of raw terror.

Marissa stepped over a broken bench gingerly, and listened.

A scrape of nails on the broken tile, a shuffling under-sound, the flickering glow-tubes made it so real.

A drifting fetid smell, like swampwater, tingled at her nose-they’re close. Her heartbeat increased as her senses felt like they were expanding, a flake of broken paneling drifted in front of her, and a scrabbling sounded behind her.

A movement made her register a poster on the wall announcing the vital information that StarKleen would remove your acne. The animated image on it flickered, fractals in the surface failing.

She moved forward, motioning to no-one to follow.

Another movement, she brought the Delisle to her shoulder, and touched the arming switch.

The cool plastic stock felt good against her firm cheek-weld, the textured grip was friendly, the smell of the lubricants it used added a spice to the stench of the train-station’s massacre.

A bank of small, lockable spaces-used by travellers to store minor belongings, creaked and moved.

The Fekkies were close.

A fixture on the ceiling moved, and then, the shadows flowed, with pale, half-naked, stooped forms.

She felt the zone, even as they seemed to slow down, her finger tightened on the trigger, and the weapon began coughing quietly, in rapid succession.

They had revealed themselves, and she was executing.

It felt so good. The mild pulses of the weapon’s recoil, the dancing jerking of enemy shapes, the sensation of running, the spike of adrenaline as she raced to change the sixty round magazine, the sizzle as un-aimed or poorly aimed return fire-courtesy of Hordlings that were slightly bigger, better fed, more capable of rational thought-but slower than she was.

The weapon stopped cycling, the bolt locked open, and she fumbled for a magazine pouch-but it was empty.

And they were coming out of the train tunnel.

Sleep analysis lab, Deanna Troi in-patient rehabilitation center…

“The hell?” Technician Ilwanda Korfo gaped at the readings-they didn’t make sense.

In the monitoring bed, Marissa Chung appeared to sleep fitfully.

“I’m reading elevated stress-wait...endorphin release, again…”

T’Reya analyzed the same data over the shoulder of the African born medtech.

altered stress reaction, altered fight-or-flight reaction as well.

She had counselled Bajorans, Bolians, Klingons and others who boasted of enjoying combat, but the readings here, and what she’d glimpsed in the meld, indicated something quite different beyond mere verbal bravado.

Biologically, her patient had been wired to actually derive pleasure from the release of biological rage and fear chemicals in her brain.

From actual violence.

It was closer to examinations of Jem’Hadar mental processes done by the Romulans and shared with Starfleet during the Dominion war, or the Orion thugs who were little more than slaves to their Matron’s Slua...

The concept was repugnant. To re-engineer a sapient being like this went beyond what the Eugenicists had done in creating Khan. It was on the level of Breslar’s crimes.

Moreso, because this was a subconscious reward system rooted deep in the girl’s physiology, then papered over with a synthetic past and imprinted memories to try and contain...and control..it.

In peacetime, the girl could only barely function, and it had been done to her on a fundamental level, consciously aware of morality, consciously clinging to the civilizing influences, but when she was free in her own mind...in her dreams, the war just kept going.

It explained a puzzle T’Reya had pondered since Marissa was placed in her care, prompting her to investigate the files of the MCDF.

The suicides, over the last few years they tapered off, but immediately after “Discharge Day” thousands of ex-Moab military had been unceremoniously dumped into the civilian world…

A significant share of those ‘discharge kids’ wound up taking their own lives within months.

Without a waking outlet, the biological regulators were overwhelmed by neurochemicals dumped during sleep, leaving them in much the same condition as a clinical depression case. Sufficiently sustained, the depression became severe…

Until waking life became not worth living. Outlets in drugs, petty crime, violent or dangerous hobbies, and such only provided a short reprieve.

With her Vulcan intellect, T’Reya followed the flow of causality. Without sufficiently stressful input, without the sense of immediate impending danger, or stimulus for rage and fight-or-flight releases, the inevitable result was of a time-bomb which invariably self-destructs.

“Continue monitoring.” she ordered, “Pay special attention to neurochemical deficits when she wakes.”

Is this treatable? a few ideas formed, possible ways to mitigate the biology until a healthy, grown persona could form to handle it.

somewhere in the Delta Quadrant…

“What’ve you got there?” Jake asked.

“Marissa’s latest test results.” Nola told him. “From the deep-dive.”

She was quiet, subdued.

Jake read the report. Halfway through it, he started swearing. “What the TRIBBLE is this Vulcan shrink playing at?” he muttered.

“She isn’t playing. I did a contraband sweep.” Nola told him, “This morning. Bao Pedersen has enough Nepata in her locker to qualify as a dispensary, along with refined ammonia and I don’t have a clue where she’s gotten the Therom seeds, but those are the key ingredients for Sezzanine. She’s on lockdown to quarters and the doc’s looking her over as a possible addict.. Gaines and Chao almost got into a fight during third watch on the mess deck, and Lillinger showed up in our sick-bay with morning sickness symptoms looking for Hogwart Leaf-which, among other things, causes miscarriages, the doc said she’s going to need treatment for some social diseases and counseling before he’ll release her-seems she had a go at, according to rumour, half the Talaxians on that last shore leave… and yesterday I caught Billings drawing genitalia on the wall of the men’s head. He’s scrubbing every head on the ship, but the signs are all there-they’ve got ‘the bug’.”

“The Bug?” Jake asked.

“It’s derived from a French term I won’t even try to pronounce.” Nola told him, “and it fits with Marissa’s problem-we need to give these guys something to do before we start having to clean up bodies or chase deserters. In the ancient foreign legion, the ‘cure’ for the bug was a rifle and somewhere to use it.”

He totaled up the numbers in his head “that’s still, about twenty percent of the numbers we hired-within the percentages of human norms when dealing with mental illness, at least in this timeline.Still..” he rubbed his head as he thought, looking over the list. “They don’t want a job, they want a mission. Something that triggers their drive to do something worthwhile.”

“You’re not thinking of-”

“It’s either that, or we ship them back to the MSF base at the Dyson sphere and let the docs wook at them. And the more people who poke at these guys, the more chances of what they are and who did it coming out there is.”

Tan nodded “which is bad, I know. Especially now that things are stabilizing back home.”

“Yeah. knowledge that the Federation used them for experiments-not factually true, but how it would be perceived, it would totally unite the Confederacy-along with the Klingons, Cardassians, Denali, and several Fed worlds against the Federation.” he glanced at another padd that he was reading. “I think i can get two birds with one stone here. Is our latest ‘acquisition’ here yet?”

“It’s inbound on one of the long range shuttles. Quentin verified it’s authentic, she also said it’s giving her headaches being that close.”

“Ask her if she can put up with it for a bit longer-we’ll rendezvous at this singularity here, then dispose of it” he said, pointing a spot on the display of the local sector.

“You really thinking of briefing them into Kerberos?”


“They need a Mission. I may have hired them for other things...but this may help with one of MY missions.”

seven hours later, shuttle bay, Starship Frontier

“Okay, who knows what one of these is?” Jake asked, as the side of the stasis container shifted to transparency.

There was a moment of stunned silence that was thick enough to feel physical.

“Warseed...oh TRIBBLE.” Bao Pedersen was the first to speak.

“And this?” Nola asked, pointing to another stasis-crate, as the inspection panel revealed it’s contents.

“Holy @#$%.”

“We’re collecting them and dumping them into a black hole.” Jake said helpfully, “Now, there’s more of these-you guys know what it means for them to be out in the ‘wild’, I don’t have to explain that part. We’re going after them to destroy them because others are going after them to use them-and we can’t have that. I recruited you for a reason, and here it is.”

“Some of the people we’re racing against, aren’t going to be taking too kindly to what we’re about.” Nola contributed, “There may be fighting, we’re not looking for one, but you can bet if we find these the same time as our adversaries do,there will be.”

“Means I need you on-side and sharp.” Jake added. He watched them closely, hoping the doctor was wrong in her analysis. But he could tell just by their slight shifts in posture that she was right. Almost like flipping a switch, the troubled young men and women were calm and serious. They had a mission, and all was well in their world.

Dayroom, Deanna Troi Rehabilitation center, Betazed, secure wing…

Ensign (formerly Captain) Dion Lyndsey was here for hamburgering a dozen or so civilians, then trying to off himself when he came down off the psychic intrusion that made him do it. Starfleet medical had declared him to be free of the Redjac possession, but he’d been left with the memories of what he’d done while he was under the entity’s control.

Marissa studied the map, and moved a Knight from level two to three, taking his second bishop and putting his queen in jeopardy.
<Bad move, Mars, if he sees the flank opportunity you left on the third level, his pawn could lock your rook.> Corliss sat between them, watching the game like a whisp of smoke..

“Your move.” Marissa said.

Naros Gluck, a former Commander who’d been brainwashed by Orions, stumbled through Corliss, not even feeling a chill as he passed through. Gluck had been ‘persuaded’ to kill his commanding officer and four of her security detail by a TRIBBLE’s promises and an Orion’s pheromones. The detox had broken what little remained of the man’s stability. Marissa found she was irritated with him-unlike Lyndsey, Gluck didn’t even pretend to notice her ‘imaginary friend’.

“Party foul, Glucko.” Lyndsey said, and moved his remaining knight down one level to take her bishop. He hadn’t fallen for her dilemma, instead he’d moved like the Chessmaster he’d been before a non-corporeal energy-based entity turned him into a serial killer, and the man he’d been before being released from that, turned him into a near-catatonic ruin. “Count to ten, Chung, from one hundred, Glucko didn’t mean anything.” he added, “oh, and checkmate...so how long can you hold it together?”

“Day by day.” Marissa answered, “sixty seven…”

“You’re not planning a move, are you?” he asked.

“Not today, fifty three…”

“Good, nobody on the floor is worth a damn at chess.” he said, his small smile didn’t meet the permanently horrified look in his eyes.

"It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier." R.A.Heinlein

"he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."



Comments

  • knightraider6knightraider6 Member Posts: 396 Arc User
    When we were young the future was so bright
    The old neighborhood was so alive
    And every kid on the whole damn street
    Was gonna make it big and not be beat

    Now the neighborhood's cracked and torn
    The kids are grown up but their lives are worn
    How can one little street
    Swallow so many lives

    Chances thrown
    Nothing's free
    Longing for what used to be
    Still it's hard
    Hard to see
    Fragile lives, shattered dreams

    Jamie had a chance, well she really did
    Instead she dropped out and had a couple of kids
    Mark still lives at home cause he's got no job
    He just plays guitar and smokes a lot of pot

    Jay committed suicide
    Brandon OD'd and died
    What the hell is going on
    The cruelest dream, reality

    Chances thrown
    Nothing's free
    Longing for what used to be
    Still it's hard
    Hard to see
    Fragile lives, shattered dreams
    The Offspring, The Kids Aren't Allright


    Deanna Troi Rehabilitation center, Ward 7…

    “You know what you are.” Corliss said.

    “GO AWAY.” Marissa growled, “I’m trying to TRIBBLE’ sleep.”

    “I’m not going away, and you know why.” he said, “You screwed it up Mars. screwed it up, and so I’m dead, and so I’m not going to leave you alone unless you fix things.” he stepped around the bed, “Make things right, you know, Be all you Can BE.”

    “I’m f**king tired, Corliss..” she mumbled, “Leave me alone.”

    “Did you notice-of course you did.. New meat in the security force.” He knelt down close enough that she could smell the cannabis on his not-really-there breath. “We could get out, start setting things right.”

    “Leave me alone Corliss.” she said, “I want to get some sleep dammit.”

    “Come on, Mars, you’re bored, I’m bored, let’s get out of here and do something.



    Port Arthur IV, Commercial Station, near the border between the old Cardassian Union and the Klingon Empire...

    “You’re sure he’s here?” Randall Evans asked. It was a long shot-but it was on the way, sort of. And who they were looking for was a known associate of Marissa who may have information they needed.

    SgtMaj Wendy Moon shrugged, “It’s where his contact info says he is, and there’s nothing on the dead register.”

    The commerce station was owned by the Ferengi Commerce Authority, and there were charges on the charges here. Still, it bustled with activity-loading and unloading of cargo, mostly, and passenger service.

    Wendy flashed a stack of Latinum strips at a Ferengi manning the infokiosk. “Looking for something?” the Ferengi asked.

    “I’m in the market for info on a colleague.” Wendy Moon said, “Well, former associate, anyway, last dip I had on him was he was working here.”

    “Could be expensive, people pay quite a bit to be left alone here.” the alien said. To Randall, it was almost freaky, dealing with informants usually involved more of a dance, and less showing money. Unless one was dealing with Ferengi. The large eared alien peered at Randall closer, then blinked when he recognized him “a bit out of your jurisdiction aren’t you Law-man?”

    Randy just grinned “I’m not here officially-I’m with her, and she’s looking for someone. I’m Just along for the ride.”

    “I’ll pay half up front and half on delivery.” She said, the mention of money getting the Ferengi agent’s attention, “good prices, if he’s a client he might still be one once we’ve talked, this isn’t hostile, you diggit?”

    “Depends on the client...who do you want to find?”

    She opened her palm and activated the holo emitter the Choblik had given her.

    “This guy.” she said. “How much to see him?”

    “Twelve slips.” the Ferengi said, “And that’s a discount if you’ll get him off the station.”

    Twelve slips is almost free when you’re dealing with a Ferengi infobroker.

    “And if we’re not leaving with him?”

    “Ten Bars.” the alien said firmly, “he’s a troublemaker but…”

    She handed the slips over. “Where am I going to find him?”

    “Deck Seven, in the Red zone, he likes to drink at Pharley and Suen.”

    Randall joined her as they walked to the turbolifts. “Pretty open.” he said.

    “Station Security always knows where the trouble makers are-every port I’ve ever been in.”

    “Heh, was true even back when I was a MP in the United States Marines. Need to find Lance Corporal Schmuckatelli? Ask the bouncers. Still not used to having to pay for intel though.”

    “Ferengi.” she shrugged, “Daimon Blog’s people run the port, own it, and they move a lot of weapons through here-or used to, I guess. It’s not really corruption if it’s in the local reg, right?”

    “So there’s a price list?”

    “Yeah.” she said, “We used to transship stuff we couldn’t make through here…” wendy tabbed the lift and in a few moments, they were on deck seven, in the ‘red zone’.

    Randall had seen fleshpits on his home earth, red light districts where police only come in squad strength, areas where even the Criminals walked carefully lest larger, more openly powerful, criminals crush them as upstarts.

    The hustles were out in the open, the air was thick with the smell of dissipation, alcohol, drugs, and body odour. Men and women of a vast array of species posed and strutted in revealing clothing, beckoning and barking for attention. On the far side, an Orion mel had a gaggle of Orion Fems, on leashes, with hourly rates posted. The Fems were clearly feral, moving with lewd grace and aggression. “Criminals.” Wendy said, “Orions call it something that translates as ‘gelding’-they suppress higher brain and personality function and overdrive libido, then hand them to the most humiliating sort of pimps or customers for use-the story I heard, is they leave just enough of the personality that when the hormones burn off after use, she can remember who and what she was-even if she can’t access the skills that she used to have.”

    Thumping music and body musk filled this promenade level.

    “And the Federation allows this?” Randall asked rhetoricaly, shaking his head.

    “They don’t have a choice, the station and the system aren’t technically Federation territory, and the Klingons have a hands-off policy on Orion internal matters-those girls were probably part of the attempt to topple Melani Di’an four years ago-see the crossed-out property mark? Former Navy. Mutineers, and before they were cut, probably members of the Cult. save your pity for people who deserve it.”

    He shook his head “It is what it is, don’t mean I have to like it.”

    “Trust me, I don’t either.”

    The music got louder as they passed by, and Randall noticed a rough-looking spacer passing latinum and picking one of these ex-mutineers out.

    “What isn’t allowed here?” Randall asked, remembering the Rogue Isles.

    “Blog doesn’t let anyone traffic in kids.” she said, “Drugs, sure, prostitution, no problem as long as you can pass an infectious disease panel, but no kids, and he only lets slavers deal in Orions, because it’s bad business otherwise.”

    Randall frowned, “Why Orions?” he asked.

    “It’s their culture.” she explained, “Everyone is owned among them-has an owner, usually owns someone else. It’s the only reason the Klingons tolerate the Trade at all-the Orions don’t have ‘family’ the way we think of it, instead they have chain of ownership. Price of which, is you break with the system that’s considered revolt, and they geld you for it.”

    They reached an intersection between corridors, and Randall spotted a lurid holographic sign showing a nude woman and man writhing together to a heavy, stylized synth-pop beat.

    Periodically the dancers on display changed to show a dabo wheel, and a bottle pouring liquid into a glass.

    “That’s our place.” Wendy said. “Pharley and Suen.”

    The doorman was a Nausicaan, and Wendy passed a couple slips of latinum to him, as they entered the establishment.

    Randall had seen adult clubs from the Rogue Isles to Amsterdam. This was like those, but on depressant medications. The place was lit with a white-blue lighting, an Andorian was gyrating on the bar with what looked like a cross between a woman and an Octopus-one with too many hands and arms and a row of mammaries from neck to hips.

    Most of the patrons were crowded around this, but there was a space maybe three to five meters around a single man, at the end of the bar away from the dancers, who sat with a square bottle of something brown, a row of ashtrays, and a single shot glass.

    The bar-girls even avoided that space, and a group of rough-looking types were eyeing him warily.

    Someone had removed some broken fixtures and furnishings recently, and there was a glitter of missed glass in the corners.

    It was their guy. William Quien, formerly MCDF, age nineteen.

    “Hey, Billy.” Wendy said, taking a stool next to him.

    The young man turned, and Randall could see recognition flicker in his eyes-then, it seemed to die. “Go away.” the young man said-slurred really, “Quit showin’ up, I know yu’r not actch..aaactual...real dammit. Jus’ a ‘lussinashun.”

    Up close, the kid smelled like a dumpster full of scotch and vomit. Randall noticed the open scrapes on the kid’s knuckles, and the bruising around his face and eyes.

    “I’m real, Billy.” Wendy said.

    The kid tried to focus. “Nope. not buyin’ it...not drunk ‘nuf yet.” he seemed to notice Randall, do a double-take, and suddenly the bottle was up in his hand-

    Enhanced reflexes, combat training, peak physical conditioning, and an age difference that should have-and if the young man had been sober might have-been impossible to overcome.

    Was all worth nothing. Billy Quien was so inebriated and obviously exhausted that a late 40’s lawman who’d been spending the last few years dealing with Klingon drunks (many of whom outmassed him) caught the arm, put it in a joint-lock, and applied a quick and dirty sleeper hold that put the kid out.

    The music, and the dancers, stopped, and Randall felt every eye in the bar on him.

    Followed by a slow clapping.


    Some hours later…

    “Aw TRIBBLE, you’re real.” Billy Quien stared up at them. Randall hadn’t argued when Wendy insisted on restraints.

    “How’s the head?” she asked.

    “Feel like TRIBBLE.” he muttered, “So is this where you take me in for the bounty?”

    She shook her head, “Bounty was suspended.” she said, “Seems like a little thing, don’t it? Lieutenant William Quien, but apparently someone saw fit to pay your outstandings ahead and bought your appeal.”

    “No appeals for deserting.” he reminded her.

    “Yeah, but there are for circumstances. You get to keep your life and maybe get it back if you cooperate, since the conditions of your departure impinge on a national security case. I want you to tell me everything about why you decided that escaping Goralis was so damn important-and why coming home was out of the question.”

    “Seems cut and dried doesn’t it?” he asked.

    “Not quite, Ell-Tee.” she answered, “See, I could see giving the authorities the slip and going to Denali, or taking the long way back on the smuggler routes, but you didn’t do that..and it was after a visit by some guy from Earth named Daniels-you know something.”

    He sat up. “It’s not what I know, it’s what other people know.” he said, “Like maybe what you know…”

    “Spill.” she snapped, “This is off-books right now, but it can be ON-books in a hurry if need be.”

    “Project: Siegfried.” he stated, watching their expressions, “Yeah, I thought so-you already know.”

    “How much do you know?” she asked him.

    “Enough to know I don’t have parents or siblings waiting for me in An Loc.” he told her, “I know my batch number, I know a few others too-you’re not in it.”

    “Duh.” Wendy observed, “I’m a baseline with some mods. So what’s the big plan of yours?”

    The young man barked a laugh, “I don’t have one.” he stated, “Other than avoiding involvements, anyway. I did my part, fought their war for them, I’m retired.”

    “Seeing people who don’t exist isn’t retirement, Billy..” she told him, “So they told you, or you found out, and you know your batch, so you found out pretty deep either way, why did you frikking HIDE?”

    Billy glanced at Randall in the doorway. “Because I don’t want to be there when everyone else loses it.” He stated, “We’re made to go nuts... yeah, I have had some schiz episodes already, it was designed to be untreatable.. They even used a first Gen augment to help design the goddam conditioning, set up the genetic markers even. We’re all going to go blitz-raging nuts if we don’t die first-might as well hit the bucket-list and see the universe in some style first.”

    “How do you know this?” Randall asked.

    “I stole the guy’s personal PADD reader.” Billy stated, “Something was twiggy with him and he was advocating some lunatic TRIBBLE with some of the others, grooming them like a pervert grooms underage victims.” he shrugged, “So I cracked his encryption and did a dee-ell of his personal data device while he was busy talking to some of the kids from Gamma company, I copied it, wanted to see what he was really into.”

    “And you found out..?”

    Billy snorted, “And TRIBBLE if I didn’t wish I hadn’t. The TRIBBLE’s from the future, had the full files on the project, including names...er...batch series, breakdown of what they did to us when they were brewing us up, only thing I didn’t find was whatever his mission really was-the crack in his security was apparently enough to spook the f**ker because he was diddee-mao by the time I was ready to go after him.”

    “So you just sat on it??”

    “What’s the point of telling your friends that they’re going to end up either killing themselves or going insane and getting put down?” He asked rhetorically, “I took option two-I got out of there to where I won’t have to see it while I’m experiencing it.

    “That’s not the full answer.” Randall stated, “You were hoping you were immune?”

    Billy sighed and nodded, “Percent of the ‘officer models’ were built differently, they’re supposed to have sustained careers and get briefed into the project to serve as the next generation’s core leadership.” he shrugged, “I rolled the dice on whether I was one of the lucky ones or not-and came up snake eyes.”

    The older man just shook his head “Bulls**t.”

    “What?”

    “I mean bulls**t. Son, you got sold a bottle of snake oil. Just because this guy is from A future doesn’t mean he’s from your future.

    “Look I saw the files-”

    “So have we. and the Federation was behind the Siegfried project. Now, think about that for a moment. What kind of reason would an organization like that ever have to go through all that work-then design you to go off your rocker? That’s like making a phaser with a one in six chance of shooting backwards.”

    Wendy looked thoughtful “I think I’d have to agree with that. The Federation is so anal about safety, with triple redundancies on toilet paper dispensers, much less a project like this. There’s no way that they’d have gone forward with it if they risked their soldiers losing control.”

    “But...he’s from Starfleet in the future-”

    “Not the Future. A future. Son, I don’t let folks know this much. But in the Earth my family comes from? All this,” Randy said, waving his hand around “is just a show on TV. Ambassador Picard isn’t french, he’s a bald british actor, who personally, I liked better in Macbeth. In my reality, spandex clad behemoths regularly beat each other up in the center of town, people could fly, hell my oldest daughter was bitten by a radioactive skunk and ended up being one of those spandex wearing capes before she was out of junior high school.”

    At Billy's skeptical look he continued “Look, you’ve heard of the Terran Empire right?”

    “Well yeah.”

    “That ain’t the only other alternate reality out there. Neither is this one, and just because this guy says he’s from a future Starfleet? Maybe he is-but that still doesn’t change the fact that it doesn’t have to be your future. Every decision you make creates another branch point, another possible future. Just because he says he knows one outcome, doesn’t mean it’s the right one.”

    The young man thought for several moments, then began swearing “you’re right-the Federation wouldn’t logically have made us knowing we’d go crazy. But that doesn’t mean a time traveler with an agenda wouldn’t have interfered, and done that. Which means I still may be screwed.”

    “How the hell do we deal with time travelers changing things?”

    Randy thought for a second, then grinned, pulling out a QT com “I call in a favor from a friend of the family…”
    "It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier." R.A.Heinlein

    "he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."



  • knightraider6knightraider6 Member Posts: 396 Arc User
    IKS Maxim 14, in orbit over Qo’noS


    “..say again?” If lady Nova Riorr-Schrodinger hadn't known Randy Evans personally she'd have trouble believing what he was saying. While there were worse times for news like this, having it come in while explaining to the high council the sudden appearance of a Paradox class timeship in orbit wasn't the best one. Especially when the AI on board had proper codes, and listed her as the commander. J'mpok seemed almost amused at least, probably due to the fact it was the first time anyone had seen her at a loss for words. Fortunately they had broken for lunch and she was in the head...

    ”It’s the only thing that fits. I’m not a doc, but there’s something off with this kids biochemistry according to the diagnostic routine in the tricorder. And this ’Professor Daniels’ matches who Marissa’s therapist said Marissa had contact with.”

    She almost groaned at the irony She hadn’t even had been allowed to take command of the timeship yet and already she had temporal problems being dropped in her lap. “Send me what you have, I may know someone who can help, and if nothing else Michelle isn’t too far from your neighborhood. And while I know you don’t want to involve Rhonda probably, I know that Dr Moriarty is planning on visiting her. Between the two of them, they can probably figure out something to make the ones affected from going off their rockers.”

    Wait..MARY MORIARTY? She was in the files for being part of the Siegfried program, one of the only two still alive.”

    “You can trust her-while her moral compass may be a few degrees off compared to Starfleet, closer to mine actually to be honest. I can guarantee she had nothing to do with them going insane. It’s not her style.”


    “[i[If you’re vouching for her that’s good enough for me. Sending it now, I really appreciate this Doctor.[/i]”

    “No problem, if you get any more information on your mysterious time traveling professor let me know Immediately.”

    After the connection closed, Nova rested her face in her palm, before She looked up at the ceiling of her ready room “Johnny! Did you get that?”

    There was a shimmer as a human hologram appeared, dressed in a KDF uniform. “I did indeed” John Rico replied “and I know who the Sheriff was discussing. We may have a problem.”




    Deasnna Troi Rehabilitation centre, Betazed…

    Marissa sat uneasily as the medtech finished taking her blood sample.
    “Are you seeing him now?” T’Reya asked in her most amiable ‘patient/doctor’ voice.

    Marissa glanced to the cabinet, where Corliss was sitting.. “go ahead and tell her.” he stated, “I’m not going anywhere, unless you are.

    She closed her eyes, and sighed, “Yes. He’s sitting on the storage cabinet in the corner.”

    “Is he the same person you’ve been seeing?” T’Reya asked, “Since you started on the tranquilizers?”

    “Yeah.. Corliss, one of my guys.” Marissa was too tired to make up anything. “He bought it during the first battle of Goralis-his suit heat exchangers failed after we were hit with a torpedo spread-cooked to death before we could get him under pressurized conditions to get his suit open.”

    “Were you close to him?”

    “When he bought it? No. I wasn’t.”

    “I meant emotionally close.” the vulcan counselor clarified..

    “Oh, no, we TRIBBLE a few times, but it wasn’t anything serious.” a glance, a twitch. A tell..


    T’Reya made a mental note that it was the girl’s first lie of the day.

    “I’m preparing a new course of treatment for you, Miss Chung.” T’Reya announced quietly, “But I can’t be assured of a proper test if you refuse to be honest with me, or with yourself.”



    FMS Volantis, outbound from Port Arthur….

    "look, these episodes keep happening. it would be safer if you kept me out till you got to this doc you want to look at me.” Billy said it through a locked door.

    “BIlly, the crewman’s going to be fine…” Wendy entreated.

    “Not good enough!!” he barked back, “I’m dangerous and unstable.”

    Randy on the other hand, had dealt with this sort of thing elsewhen “I’m afraid I have to agree. Because the next time we might not get there before some crewman pulls a weapon, and dead’s kinda hard to come back from. At least here.”

    Wendy sighed and looked at the medtech. “Soporifics?” she asked.

    “That room is full of somnozine already.” the Ferengi replied, “Do you see it working?”

    “Billy, I’m coming in..” she announced, and looked at Randall, “Wish me luck, you’re the backup, right?”

    “Right.”

    The second officer on the freighter/liner keyed the override and ducked back behind a tripod mount phaser, as the cyborg went in.

    The sound of a lot of violence echoed out, and Wendy came out again, carrying Billy’s unconscious body over one shoulder. “Stasis pods?” she asked, and snorted a bit of blood back into her newly broken nose.

    “You know, Jake’s business partner’s going to have a cow when she sees the overages on this.” Randall said conversationally as one of the crewmen led them to the pod.

    The Ferengi officer just laughed “Hey she’s family, my uncle's second cousin. She knows all about the 111th Rule of Acquisition”



    Deanna Troi Rehabilitation center, 1930 local hours, thirty minutes before lights out…

    The 31st century provided some unique perks for a mission like this, Five noted. The ident documentation and a file inserted into the ‘staff’ files, coded to ‘coincidentally’ link to the duty roster and put him inside the facility with full staff access at just the right time, for example.

    Psionic shielding is another one-with an overlay that would pass a casual telepathic scan, and of course, the genetic kit, which provided a better disguise than any hologram.
    His orders were pretty simple-and for once, not even that dangerous. He input the code into the medical dispenser, it was a small change, a simple molecule, and it would probably later be traced to a simple error in the vendor’s software package.

    The tranquilizer was even a tranquilizer-if you were a Bolian, or a Klingon, or a horse.

    Giving Phencyclidine to a human, however...and in an Augment, the violence and dissociative behaviours would naturally be amplified.

    He finished his work, nodded to a fellow staffer, and collected the dose for his ‘patient’.

    He rolled the cart through the halls of the locked ward, to her room.

    “Hey!” he smiled, “Time for your meds.”

    Marissa hesitated and looked at him oddly, “okayy..” she said.

    He steeled himself, “Will you take ‘em if I don’t call the security goons in to hold you down?” he asked, feigning nervousness..

    She rolled her eyes, and held out a hand, “Gimme the drugs.” she said, “I won’t make a fuss.”

    He handed her the ampoules, in a self-injection kit, then stepped back and let the panel slide closed on the door..

    He watched her administer the dose, and place the autoinjection hypo on the tray, and step back.

    He opened his side, and took the injector, checking it to see if the display panel was indeed red-indicating that the device had been used.

    It was.

    “Sleep well.” he said cheerfully, and continued his assigned rounds as an orderly.

    The dose was calculated based on her medical and genetic file-the nasty effects wouldn’t be apparent for nearly half an hour-plenty of time for ‘Gord’ to finish his shift.

    Whatever else, the projections indicated she’d be dead-either suicide, or suicide-by-security in a little over two more hours, and with her, would go any real chance of identifying Agent Daniels.

    A simple medication error, and the patsy was already on ice, ready to be found, a victim of random accident.

    He completed his rounds, and stepped out into Betazed’s clean sunset. “Pull me out.” he intoned over the mastoid transmitter, “mission accomplished..”
    I hate everything I am becoming,
    This change is torture
    There is never enough to give,
    Only plenty to take, and this I wage.
    When the ground parts from below,
    Will it feel so?
    How can I gain from another
    When the other goes?
    This hand, this hurt, my heart,
    I'll flirt with disaster,
    Just know now man,
    The deal is off.

    I'll be no good this time defines,
    I'll put this touch around the grip of this knife
    These dirty hands just won't come clean.
    I'm a murderer, the worst these worlds will see.

    Mercy
    Please leave her
    Just a little bit longer,
    She's all my world
    My love, I apologize,
    With that you
    Will see the end of days
    Just rest assured
    Cause they won't let her go
    And I remain so
    Alone to work out a clever
    Way to get her home
    I will do what I must
    I'll flirt with disaster,
    I just know now,
    Boy you're out of luck.

    I'll be no good this time defines,
    I'll put this touch around the grip of this knife
    These dirty hands just won't come clean.
    I'm a murderer, the worst these worlds will see.

    Oh, save me from defeat again, This is war
    Murder the one so close, while she trusts, you curse,
    Die, my darling!
    If only you know how
    Lovely you glow in the flame of error

    Oh, I ask too much
    Please turn back the clock and take me instead.
    How have you come to lose the only thing,
    The other one to your two?
    I've become the wrong
    In everyone's sleep,
    Please burn me a God

    I'll be no good this time defines,
    I'll put this touch around the grip of this knife
    These dirty hands just won't come clean.
    I'm a murderer, the worst these worlds will see.

    Oh, save me from defeat again, This is war
    Murder the one so close, while she trusts, you curse,
    Die, my darling!

    I'll be no good this time defines,
    I'll put this touch around the grip of this knife
    These dirty hands just won't come clean.
    I'm a murderer, the worst these worlds will see.

    Oh, save me from defeat again
    Oh, save me from defeat again
    in the flame of error
    Written by Claudio Sanchez, Travis Stever • Copyright © BMG Rights Management US, LLC
    "It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier." R.A.Heinlein

    "he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."



  • knightraider6knightraider6 Member Posts: 396 Arc User
    20:30 hours, Deanna Troi Rehabilitation centre, Betazed…


    The staff were screened regularly and Betazoid staff, had training to deal with dangerous psychotic breaks-most of that training being focused on prediction countermeasure.

    Automatic locks on doors and lifts, emergency lockdown procedures designed to handle Vulcans and Klingons were in place, and the security staff were well trained in non-lethal takedowns in the event a patient’s sudden down-turn became dangerous, but this was a Rehabilitation site mostly focused on dealing with relatively normal patients. The genuinely dangerous types-the serial killers, were usually still relatively weak, with ordinary training if they even had any.

    This was something different. Different because it was a combination of psychotic rage, and absolutely ruthless and rational methodology-informed by extremely high quality training in combat and commando operations-the equivalent of a MACO veteran with escape and infiltration training had broken loose.

    She’d moved fast-knocking out the alarms and seeming to breeze through the lockdown overrides as if she did it every day.

    T’Reya looked at the control/nursing dispatch station, and evaluated.

    Most of the injured were members of the security staff, except for Nurse P’iann, who tried to stop the girl (foolishly) after she’d already broken a man’s spine.

    The Reman nurse’s arm was broken, and the concussion was mild-but only because Remans are somewhat more durable than other vulcanoid species. “She was not seeking to kill.” T’Reya finally spoke.

    “Doctor?” Tofa Konen, the Betazoid security chief sought clarification. Politeness, combined with an operational edict, dictated that he address the Vulcan woman verbally, rather than simply hearing her thoughts.

    “With the exception of one instance, she did not kill, but merely disabled her targets.”

    Security Officer J’org was the one exception. Marissa Chung had broken his neck, and then crushed his windpipe. Even with the redundancies built into Klingon physiology, the young man had died-violently, and immediately.

    “But she’s still out!” Tofa insisted, “We’ve got the internal surveillance grid back up, and she didn’t bother to cover the fact to throw us off.”

    T’Reya mentally calculated the timing involved. The distances from Marissa’s room to each encountered staff member, the footfalls, the seconds which each blow would require to inflict. Events had transpired seventeen point nine minutes ago.

    “Inform the authorities that we have a Case Red situation-an armed and dangerous person suffering violent mental illness who is out of our control,” T’Reya remarked calmly. “It would be illogical to detail personnel to sweep the island, because unless she somehow got lost, probability would suggest that she has already taken the tram and entered the city.”

    Medtechs were carrying out the body of officer J’org.

    “I have to confirm with the Site Administrator-” Tofa began, before T’Reya spoke over him.

    “She killed a MACO veteran with her bare hands. She has training in demolitions, small arms, security systems, and an intelligence quotient on the upper end of human capability,” the Vulcan doctor observed. “She got past Betazoid security personnel and medical professionals. She is outside the complex, among the civilian population. She has to be restrained before she harms anyone else. To do that, means finding her before she harms anyone else. The authorities need to be informed immediately. Administrator Carini can be contacted subsequently.”

    Betazed interplanetary Starport….

    Randall and Wendy stepped off the transport platform and were just about to clear customs, when the alert sounded.

    On every display surface, the face of Marissa Chung, followed by a holocap of her apparent rampage at the hospital.

    In seventeen languages, the words “...do not approach this escaped mental patient. Inform authorities and maintain safe distance,” appeared.

    One of the Royal House Guard approached as soon as the first bulletin went up, holding a PADD.

    “Sheriff Randall Evans?” the Officer, wearing the rank pins of a Starfleet Reserve Captain, addressed them.

    “Yeah…”

    “Under the joint authority agreement with Risa’s governing council, and under Starfleet Regulation 2271-Four Six Alpha, as well as treaty provision Sixteen sixty one, I…”

    “I know the law, and the treaty, Captain.” Randall admitted, “You want to see my notes.”

    “Sir, I want your help.” the Betazoid clarified, “I’m authorized to deputize you and bring you into our investigation...and I’m asking on behalf of the royal family. Miss Chung has managed to evade telepathic scans and searches, as well as standard surveillance, she’s presumed armed and dangerous…”

    “And you’re out of practice chasing an offender like her.” Randall filled in, “This is Sergeant Major Wendy Moon, Adjutant General’s office of the Moab Marine Corps…”

    Wendy crossed her arms, “How many hours has she been loose?”

    “Two-we…don’t have…”

    “Technically, Captain, I’m holding a secondary KDF rank of bu' chaH Dapon 'e' yI in the discipline of QI' chut, under the revised Khitomer Accords she’s technically a citizen of a Klingon Protectorate, so I’m already legally obligated to be involved, especially as this is a matter of cross-border jurisdictions...and we were, as you no doubt were informed, coming here to conduct an investigation into her situation.”

    The man blinked and said, “well, that was simpler than I thought-”

    “Not so simple, Captain. I’m still not sure if I don’t need to be her advocate.” Moon continued, “But we’ll deal with that after she’s been secured safe and sound. What led up to the escape attempt?”

    “We’re still looking into that. We’ve locked down any outgoing shuttles, as well as securing the spaceports.”

    “Well, she’s not flight qualified, so locking down departures and securing all vessels and shuttles groundside is a good first move.” Wendy continued, “but that still leaves a bleeping planet worth of hiding places to search. I need details on what happened in the immediate twelve hours before she broke loose, and I’ll want to review your statement of charges.”

    “Paperwork later” Randall said, all business “has the crime scene been processed yet?”

    “Just superficially-the fatality has been moved to the morgue. We knew you were inbound, and to be honest…”

    “Ya’ll haven’t had a murder here in a long time.” Randy finished for him. Which being both a Federation core world and a planet of telepaths, wasn’t surprising.

    “Correct. If you’ll follow me, the transporters are this way.”





    21:12 hours, Deanna Troi Rehabilitation centre, Betazed…

    While there was much about the early 21st century that Randy missed, scenes like this weren't one of them. Risa’s weapon policies made sure that crimes of passion usually were survivable-plus with the level of both mental health care and the ever present surveillance on Federation worlds, murders weren't as common as Chicago or Paragon City back on old Earth.

    He stood, feeling older than his technical 52 years, cowboy hat in hand. “She took him down pretty quick.”

    “And pretty sloppy.”

    At the glares from some of the Betazoid security Sgt Major Moon shrugged as she paused the playback of the security video. “She was a soldier-trained by both Humans and Klingons in hand to hand fighting. I see three ways she could have disabled him, two where he’d have been crippled-instead she simply killed him rather brutally and quickly.”

    Randy just shook his head “Don’t need to see that. Who did she interact with in the last 24 hours?”

    “Two seconds” the Security officer said as he keyed commands into the console. It was just a few frames of the security footage every time Marissa got within arms length of someone, playing chess with another patient, talking with her doctor, getting her meds-”

    “Stop.” They all looked at Randy, who peered at the screen. “Pan right and pull back. Stop. Enhance 34 to 46. Give me a hard copy right there.”

    There was a beep as an image formed, and a hard copy replicated.

    “What do you have?” Wendy asked

    Sheriff Evans looked at the image. “This was just over two hours before her escape. Who was this?”

    Tofa looked at it and shrugged “He’s just an orderly.”

    “He doesn’t move like an orderly.”

    The Sgt Major frowned “No..no he doesn’t.”

    “What do you mean? Tofa looked puzzled.

    Evans brought it back up on the monitor “Here, look how he moves. This boy’s had training of some kind.-there. Checking line of sight before he goes into the room.”

    Tofa was shaking his head as he pulled the file up. “His name’s Gord Rant, and he’s just been declared DOA in a tram accident.”

    The sheriff swore under his breath, then had a thought. He swiped a tricorder one of the crime scene techs had set down and started fumbling with it. “Knew I should have spent more time on hows these things worked..how do you set this for temporal flux particles?”

    Tofa looked at him like he had grown a second head. “What?”

    “Oh that’s right..ya’ll call them something else. Chro..chronitons.”

    The Sgt Major reached out and changed the setting for him. “Here, I see you’re thinking the same thing I am.”

    “That’s crazy, why would there be-” Tofa’s protest was cut off by the squeal of the Tricorder, it’s volume up a bit too high.

    “Sorry” said Randy as he turned it down, then handed it off to the Sgt Major “Tell me if i’m reading this right…”

    Wendy looked at it, her eyes narrowing. “Our mysterious Professor perhaps?”

    “Maybe” Randy handed the tricorder to the Security chief, who paled.

    “This.. this is a bit more than an escape maybe. I’ll have to notify people.”

    T’Reya, who had been watching quietly, visibly distressed (well as distressed as a Vulcan ever did. To Randy’s eyes it looked like minor annoyance on her face) spoke up “Why did you think to scan for that? And by ‘professor’, do you refer to a Professor Daniels? Marissa had spoken of him.”

    “This isn’t my first rodeo with time traveling crooks, both here and back home,” he replied. “Do we have the injector the ‘orderly’ gave her?”

    T’Reya shook her head “It was been recycled, but the template can still be retrieved from the replicator’s interface.” She keyed it up, then observed. “This, is most problematic.”

    Randall looked past the Vulcan woman’s shoulder at the molecules displayed. It was a mix he’d seen before. “PCP...and BZ. Jesus christ…”

    “What is it?” Wendy asked, peering over his shoulder.

    “I think this is the part he meant to have me demanding what kind of circus you’re running here.” Randall commented, “I’m not going to-the evidence of tampering is right on the security feed.”

    “What is it?” Wendy repeated insistently.

    “Back home the junkies used to call it ‘angel dust’.” Randall supplied, “Also known as PCP, also known as ‘incredibly bad TRIBBLE to give to a schizophrenic with violent tendencies’. When she comes down, she’s going to be in a lot of pain, but while she’s high, she’s going to be goddamn dangerous.”

    Wendy parsed the dictionary definition without much more than a thought, then processed it. “Double setup.” she said, “Not just setting off our girl, but also smearing the place that was holding her.”

    “Probably cover.” Randall agreed, “A botched prescription is something that can be explained away without a serious investigation, and if the orderly dies of an accident, well…” he shrugged, “Not the best plan, I’d have to say a supervillain would do a better one, but it’s a serviceable one...or would be, if he hadn’t been that sloppy.”

    “So how do we find her?” Wendy asked.

    “She’s not thinking right.” Randall said, and looked to T’Reya, “You’ve been in her head, doc, where would she see as ‘safe’?”

    T’Reya pondered, considering the question. “Somewhere open,” She finally determined, “With as few other people as possible. However, her programming would draw her to somewhere that is obviously dangerous as well.”
    "It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier." R.A.Heinlein

    "he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."



  • knightraider6knightraider6 Member Posts: 396 Arc User
    Somewhere in the city…

    The shadows were long and confusing, and Marissa was surrounded by the walking dead.

    It was down-town Xiao Loc, but the streets were full of animated corpses, the Fek flickering in the periphery of her vision, stalking her.

    The weapon was wrong-she didn’t remember where she got it, but it was like the disruptors the KDF advisors had-worthless against Fek, or anything else.

    She hugged it to her chest and staggered barefoot down the avenue. The zombies, at least, mostly ignored her.

    Mostly.

    Clammy hands clawed at her, and a dead thing opened it’s mouth wide…

    She reacted.

    There were too many of them.

    Security command shuttle, in the air over the city…

    “Phaser fire detected, Emergency response triggered on Olwitt Avenue and Coronation street, medical monitoring indicates casualties.”

    Randall looked at Wendy, “It’s her.” Wendy said, “It has to be.”

    “Dispatch tactical and riot units to the disturbance, leave an opening in the direction of the docks.” Randall instructed.

    “An opening?”

    “Give her a route she thinks she can escape. If you corner her there will be significant casualties,” T’Reya explained, “The girl is not, at present, capable of rational threat analysis. If she is cornered she will use deadly force. And Captain, she is better at using it than you are, even in her present condition. Channeling her away from civilians and containing her until she comes down is the logical option.”

    “Is this how you used to handle them?” Wendy asked Randall.

    “We had tactical teams and superheroes.” Randall told her, “Teams trained to take them down. Do we have visual on the situation?”

    “She’s avoiding most of the sensors...but not all of them.” the Betazoid security officer said.

    A holoimage appeared on a panel.

    Randall watched.

    Old habits triggered as he observed the drugged girl’s rampage. “Brute one, maybe.” he began, “Possibly a tank two, the martial arts training makes her a scrapper classification, but there’s the stealthing-not a power, just good training, but it’s enough to maybe class her at a stalker one class threat...hampered by the drugs.”

    “What’s all that add up to?”

    Randall crossed his arms, “Tougher than Malta agent, could be tricky to take her alive, at least without serious injuries. Not a lot of top shelf villains had low stats like her, but quite a few of the better Heroes did back home...cordon that intersection off with force fields, leave the east side open, and advance a field behind her so we can get emergency responders in, and keep tabs on her movement, get the buildings and streets ahead of where we want her going emptied of civilians-she’s not taking hostages, she’s just trying to escape.

    “Where are we channelling her to?”

    “The same direction she was already heading-toward the sea.” Randall explained, “the industrialplexes and warehouses along the waterfront, we help her ‘escape’ to somewhere where serious force can be used to subdue her without risking further civilians, it’s what you do when a Metahuman goes on a rampage-we’re all just really lucky she’s not genuinely superhuman, or there’d be a lot more damage.”

    Betazed…

    “This is what you were made for.”

    Marissa looked at her hands, and then down at the man on the pavement.

    “Please!!” the man..not a thing, not a fek. He was bleeding out, broken limbs tangled.

    “They’re never going to forgive you for this.” she stared.

    no.

    Her memory cycled as the civilian on the ground begged. they were people…

    The guard, the driver...the hallucination stripped away and she saw them for who they were.

    no! no…

    “You broke faith, troop. You’re supposed to protect the civilians.”

    The feeling was an avalanche-and she ran, leaving the wounded and the dead behind her.
    “You broke faith.”

    Everything caved in.
    These quiet words, they carry me away
    Returning
    They keep coming back
    In idle thoughts and hollow cutaways
    Disarm me
    No will to attack
    Though the sorrow and fear they may depart you today
    I will fail you
    Of that I'm sure
    I will remind you of the pain forevermore
    And when my sins are just a memory
    Faith restored
    I will fail you
    To the core
    Lost in the shadow of an endless grace
    Relentless
    My reign is unbound
    In this abandon I will devastate
    Dismember
    'Til agony's found
    Though the sorrow and fear they may depart you today
    I will fail you
    Of that I'm sure
    I will remind you of the pain forevermore
    And when my sins are just a memory
    Faith restored
    I will fail you
    To the core
    I know they prey upon me
    I feel them just beyond my
    I will fail you
    Of that I'm sure
    I will remind you of the pain forevermore
    And when my sins are just a memory
    Faith restored
    I will fail you
    To the core
    I will fail you
    Of that I'm sure
    I will remind you of the pain forevermore
    And when my sins are just a memory
    Faith restored
    I will fail you
    To the core


    Songwriters
    PATRICK JOHN JUDGE, RYAN CURTIS CLARK

    Demon Hunter -url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0l0YOHO5jg] I Will Fail You[/url]
    "It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier." R.A.Heinlein

    "he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."



  • knightraider6knightraider6 Member Posts: 396 Arc User
    Part 3, Peace of mind
    Put a gun to my head
    The storm's too deep outlook dead
    Handing down that anger
    Nothing good ever lasts
    Moody violence
    Now a fool in my eyes
    What's the answer, I'll search till I die
    Try a little harder I hear myself say
    Make it last before it's taken away

    Wading through the darkness
    My head held in my hands
    Wading through the darkness

    Forced to forget this anguish
    I'm half of what I used to be
    Erase my memory
    Now gone forever goodbye
    But I know my memories won't die

    Wading through the darkness
    My head held in my hands
    Wading through the darkness

    Dead inside with a heart that bleeds
    Relax my tension needs
    Tightness suffocates
    Too dense to focus
    I'll see it through the day
    No longer churning inside
    Rotted memories inhabit my mind
    My rage destroys the calm
    Destroys the calm

    Wading through the darkness
    My head held in my hands
    Wading through the darkness


    Flotsam&Jetsam, “Wading through the Darkness”




    Betazed…

    “I’ve got her..” Randall announced. “Warehouse, see it? Near the overlook.”

    “Overlook? We’d call that a cliff.”

    “I was being nice. Put down a team at the north and east entrances, Wendy, you’re with me, we’ll go in the South doors-security teams are to take up defensive positions and establish a perimeter to keep civilians out of the area.”

    “You’re going in alone?”

    “I’ve got backup.” He clarified, “she’s confused, scared, and probably coming off the high, and I’ve handled junkies on PCP before-without killing them.”

    “What if you can’t?”

    “That’s what I have the Sargeant Major and Billy for, and if WE can’t handle her, it’s a good bet your teams will need to be able to concentrate fire.” Randall said grimly. “You might want to think about a sniper, or mortars if we can’t talk her down.”

    The Warehouse…

    Laughter, and chittering among the boxes and crates. Her fingers were sticky and in the fringes of her vision, things moved.

    You failed them all, and why not? You’re a defect, Augment!

    Heavy breathing, whimpers, the face of a stranger as she died, the screams…

    Bones breaking under her hands.

    why did you kill me? in their eyes, what did I do to YOU to deserve this?

    “NO!!!” she turned and struck her head against a stack of crates, trying to drive the voices out, again and again.

    they’re going to come for you.

    She beat the wall with her fists, but it didn’t stop.

    Murderer! a hysterical cackling accompanied the accusation, devolving into screams.

    She realized she was holding onto someone, struggling and pleading.

    She opened her hands, and the man scrambled back, blood flowing from his nose and bubbling with his ragged breaths-and then he vanished.

    why did you do it?” a woman with a broken neck whispered beside her, eyes starring vacantly with shock and surprise.

    Clammy dead hands brushed her skin as she fled deeper into the darkness.

    Webs choked the spaces, and shapes writhed within them. Help! Why won’t you help me?

    “Please...no...not here…” she moaned.

    you were supposed to save us!

    “Im sorry...not here...no…”

    you failed them.

    Small faces and hands and bodies, so many times, so many…

    you were supposed to save us. Why won’t you help us?

    She could smell them, hear them, felt the webs on her fingers…

    It should have been you.

    “It should have been me.” she moaned. “It’s all my fault…I couldn’t save you.”

    The darkness filled with pleas, and screams, accusations...all the failures, all the ones she failed, all her victims, demanding answers, demanding justice.

    She bumped into something as she backed up, and looked up.

    The cable. It made perfect sense.

    She found a pallet mover, and started shifting boxes.

    I can climb my way out… it was enough like a rope. It would make them stop screaming at her.

    Randall…

    The building was a storage warehouse for a boutique importer selling seedstock, replicator patterns, and ‘primitive goods’. This importer, according to the Guard officer, was currently out of business for moving contraband and laundering funds for a group of syndicates.

    The place was poorly lit, and the cases stacked a good twenty feet high in places, making it a maze of hauler paths between the cases, crates, and shipping containers.

    Bloody footprints made it a lot easier to follow her though. It wasn’t her blood, he knew that from the dismantled security guard and the two men in civilian clothes she’d killed coming in. The ‘civilians’ had been carrying compact sonic disruptors and she’d killed them both.

    “Marissa!” he called.

    There was movement deeper in. randall signalled Wendy, and she released a pair of light drones from her pack.

    “Movement that way, thermal says it’s probably our girl.” she said, “about three meters up, twenty meters southwest.”

    He checked around a corner without exposing himself.

    She’d made a pile of boxes near one of the cargo lifts.

    He’d seen this before… “NO!”

    The top crate tipped off, and the hoist went taut. His mind raced over options as he scrambled up the pile. seven minutes if she’s just strangling, two if she broke her neck…

    His reflexes kicked in as he first checked to make sure she hadn’t broken her neck...then he took her down while he called in backup and an emergency medical transport...
    "It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier." R.A.Heinlein

    "he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."



  • knightraider6knightraider6 Member Posts: 396 Arc User
    Epilogue: Wading through the darkness


    “She’s still not awake?” Randall asked.

    “I’m sorry Mister Evans. There was some trauma to her brain from the cargo-hook she used as an improvised noose.” the Doctor explained, “We’re not sure if she will ever wake up-even assuming the brain injury can be healed-sometimes patients just don’t want to wake up...sometimes life is just too painful, we see it with the occasional suicide attempt-the attempt might fail, but the patient enters a catatonic state. Miss Trung managed to damage areas of her brain associated with autonomous organ function-the brain stem, so...but she has a good chance of recovery, even regaining consciousness. We just have to wait and see.”

    He was in a foul mood when he got back to the waiting area. This Daniels character had tried to go after both of his older children-the old English Admiral back on Earth, who tried to induce his oldest daughter to miscarry, and now this, using Marissa to try to kill his son. He sat down, fuming next to Sgt Major Moon. “No change in her condition...and doesn’t look like there will be.”


    “Well, I might’ve found something.” Wendy Moon’s tone was quiet in the ward.

    “What did you find?”

    She handed a PADD over, “We might have found Pope Daniels.” she said.

    “Where?”

    “Not where, when.” the information next to the image cited the source.

    “Virginia...in nineteen seventy eight?

    “Facial rec is over ninety percent, sir.” she stepped back, “Any ideas how we’re going to get him? I know Captain Evans used to have a Wells-class ship."

    He looked grimly out of the window. Betazed was such a pretty world..if they made it back, he might bring his wife here sometime. He probably shouldn’t go off half cocked-but he was beyond PISSED. Try to kill his oldest daughter, his granddaughter, and his son? And what the TRIBBLE did to Marissa in the process? That made it personal.

    “Getting there? That’s the easy part.” He pulled a small device out of his pocket and pressed a button. A glowing sigil appeared on the floor, that at first looked to Wendy like an infinity symbol..but upon looking closer, was a snake eating it’s own tail.

    “What the hell?” was the last thing she said before they vanished.
    "It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier." R.A.Heinlein

    "he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."



  • jonsillsjonsills Member Posts: 10,354 Arc User
    He's an agent of the Council of Ouroborous? And here I thought naming the ship's AI "Johnnie" was just a reference... :smile:
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  • jonsillsjonsills Member Posts: 10,354 Arc User
    I will say that that's the smallest Burroughs-Carter Continua Device that I've ever heard of, especially if it slides along the local temporal axis, which I thought required the use of a Libby Paradrive. Still, it's nice to see someone remember a ficton (Paragon City) that includes superheroes - Task Adam Selene would have gone much easier if Lazarus had overcome his prejudices and borrowed Superman, or even one of the Green Lanterns, for the mission...
    Lorna-Wing-sig.png
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