Justric Member
STATUS: No longer here. youtube.com/watch?v=RLBo1HJK.. 9 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Justric
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What scenes need to be completed to finish Day One? I know Hob and OLGA in the computer system, and then there's Mike, Pauline, and Deli making candy explode (POP ROCKS!). Anything else?
“Yes,” Reynard replied politely although with an impish grin beneath the mask. How foolish they always looked whenever they were stopped, how at a loss for wit! At best they would quaver or bluster, while at worst they would become creative in their panic. Thankfully, the genteel woman before him seemed the former; Reynard would have hated to have to shoot her. Some unkind portion of his mind, however, had to wonder if doing so might not be a great boon unto her spouse. The woman’s voice was shrill on his ears. “You are quite correct, dear lady. I have no wish to cause any more harm than required for my efforts, and I deeply regret the shooting of the other serving man. Be that as it may, that shall not stay my hand should you refuse me my simple request.”
Belatedly, he realized he had never cocked the second pistol. He hid his own rueful forgetfulness with theatrics, cocking the hammer now with a decisive click as he took aim at her down the gun’s length. It made for a punctuation to complete his demand.
“Let us not banter and bargain here, dear woman.” Easily, Reynard grabbed the luggage rail once more and gracefully swung himself down to land easily before the pair. “You may keep your carriage, your luggage, your life, and your honor.” Saying the last part was a trial, for the highwayman could not imagine anyone trying to take the woman’s virtue without a full array of siege engines. “To go through all of that would take far, far too much time. So to be of an expedient nature, your monies and jewels will do me well enough. In a pile there, by the step of your coach, if you please. Not you, sir,” he held up his free hand in forbearance as the driver reached for his own purse. “I would not take from yeomanry, honest or otherwise. The lady’s wealth is my only quarry here. So set it down and step away towards the ditch. In it actually.”
As trained, his horse began to walk towards him as the driver automatically backstopped towards and then down into the drainage ditch that lined the road, his hands carefully remaining in sight. Reynard grinned again. The woman was wearing a fortune in jewels, and no doubt that purse of hers was fatter than a Christmas goose.
“Please, do not make a scene, dear woman,” he urged kindly, “for when you regale the magistrates with this tale, it should be with an honest tongue that you recount both your own bravery. Not to mention prudence and common sense. Should it temper your wrath, know that my deeds are not done solely for my own benefit.”
Reynard was more pleased with himself than he could imagine, for with his horse close at hand and his prize soon to be claimed, he would be away into the forest to count his blessings and his coins.
***
Robert sat in the parlour, his pipe lit and a snifter of brandy close at hand. His usual comforts did little to ease his nerves. True, the arrival of his wife’s closest confidant and companion would certainly lift her spirits and make him all the more free to pursue his desired solitude. Once Fanny arrived, he could easily take his leave for a time without notice. He imagined himself visiting the tavern once more, and moreover trying to gain the attention and affections of the lively innkeeper’s daughter! Even were she not willing, it was the chase that livened the Captain. The thought of her quickened his blood, sharpened his eye, and though he might never lay with her save in day-dreams, the sight of her lush body and the sound of her quick laughter made himyoung again! How gladly he would slip away to look upon the fiery lass once more!
If only that wretched woman would arrive!
Once more, Robert glanced at the mantle clock in disgust. What comfort his wife found in Fanny’s presence was beyond any comprehension of his own. Perhaps it was simply some quirk of the female persuasion? At least the cavalry officers who would attend them for tomorrow night’s dinner had something in common with him, tales of war and trials of command, all of that! Fanny grated upon his nerves. Worse, there was little doubt in Robert’s mind that she would be sharing no end of ill advice with his wife. She couldn’t damn well leave well enough alone, that was her problem in his eyes. There was something about her that drew such words as ‘machinations’, ‘plots’, ‘scheme’, and (worse of all) ‘good intentions.’ Heavens knew what foolishness she would inspire Diana to sample!
Diana… His wife had been more accommodating the past week. Since their late night conversation, she seemed far more subdued and, while not allowing him to stray too far from the house, Diana had been more willing to allow him his moods. The thought of his own wife did sooth his anxious nerves somewhat. He would have been far calmer if it had not been his wife’s friend that they were waiting upon. Calmer still if she wasn’t expected at all!
That imagined scenario led to a shudder of distaste. Fanny… arriving unannounced and uninvited… Now there was a mental image of the foulest hell!
Belatedly, he realized he had never cocked the second pistol. He hid his own rueful forgetfulness with theatrics, cocking the hammer now with a decisive click as he took aim at her down the gun’s length. It made for a punctuation to complete his demand.
“Let us not banter and bargain here, dear woman.” Easily, Reynard grabbed the luggage rail once more and gracefully swung himself down to land easily before the pair. “You may keep your carriage, your luggage, your life, and your honor.” Saying the last part was a trial, for the highwayman could not imagine anyone trying to take the woman’s virtue without a full array of siege engines. “To go through all of that would take far, far too much time. So to be of an expedient nature, your monies and jewels will do me well enough. In a pile there, by the step of your coach, if you please. Not you, sir,” he held up his free hand in forbearance as the driver reached for his own purse. “I would not take from yeomanry, honest or otherwise. The lady’s wealth is my only quarry here. So set it down and step away towards the ditch. In it actually.”
As trained, his horse began to walk towards him as the driver automatically backstopped towards and then down into the drainage ditch that lined the road, his hands carefully remaining in sight. Reynard grinned again. The woman was wearing a fortune in jewels, and no doubt that purse of hers was fatter than a Christmas goose.
“Please, do not make a scene, dear woman,” he urged kindly, “for when you regale the magistrates with this tale, it should be with an honest tongue that you recount both your own bravery. Not to mention prudence and common sense. Should it temper your wrath, know that my deeds are not done solely for my own benefit.”
Reynard was more pleased with himself than he could imagine, for with his horse close at hand and his prize soon to be claimed, he would be away into the forest to count his blessings and his coins.
***
Robert sat in the parlour, his pipe lit and a snifter of brandy close at hand. His usual comforts did little to ease his nerves. True, the arrival of his wife’s closest confidant and companion would certainly lift her spirits and make him all the more free to pursue his desired solitude. Once Fanny arrived, he could easily take his leave for a time without notice. He imagined himself visiting the tavern once more, and moreover trying to gain the attention and affections of the lively innkeeper’s daughter! Even were she not willing, it was the chase that livened the Captain. The thought of her quickened his blood, sharpened his eye, and though he might never lay with her save in day-dreams, the sight of her lush body and the sound of her quick laughter made himyoung again! How gladly he would slip away to look upon the fiery lass once more!
If only that wretched woman would arrive!
Once more, Robert glanced at the mantle clock in disgust. What comfort his wife found in Fanny’s presence was beyond any comprehension of his own. Perhaps it was simply some quirk of the female persuasion? At least the cavalry officers who would attend them for tomorrow night’s dinner had something in common with him, tales of war and trials of command, all of that! Fanny grated upon his nerves. Worse, there was little doubt in Robert’s mind that she would be sharing no end of ill advice with his wife. She couldn’t damn well leave well enough alone, that was her problem in his eyes. There was something about her that drew such words as ‘machinations’, ‘plots’, ‘scheme’, and (worse of all) ‘good intentions.’ Heavens knew what foolishness she would inspire Diana to sample!
Diana… His wife had been more accommodating the past week. Since their late night conversation, she seemed far more subdued and, while not allowing him to stray too far from the house, Diana had been more willing to allow him his moods. The thought of his own wife did sooth his anxious nerves somewhat. He would have been far calmer if it had not been his wife’s friend that they were waiting upon. Calmer still if she wasn’t expected at all!
That imagined scenario led to a shudder of distaste. Fanny… arriving unannounced and uninvited… Now there was a mental image of the foulest hell!
The Colonel finished reviewing the written complaint forms, each in their own time, before raising his head to look dispassionately at the three who stood before his desk. He did not lean back in his chair nor steeple his fingers in contemplation. Instead, he fixed an inquisitive eye on each one in turn as he sat ramrod straight with his hand upon the desk, almost as though examining three very different and unique insects that still managed to have one thing in common. Which, actually, was very much what they were! In fact, to say that the people who compromised his subordinates were a diverse bunch would have not only been an understatement but a gross misconception! He had made some great strides in getting them to work together, although there was simply far too many differences for them to ever become a truly cohesive team. You couldn't take a computer networking engineer and turn him into a medical engineer so easily, after all!
Which brought the eye of the command unto Mr. Beale first. A nervous little man with little backbone or spine, the sort who did far better with machines than with people. He wasn't so much in charge of the physical components of the Neuro-Interface program as he was the first among equals. Beale was also the only awake at the moment. The rest were still in cryo-stasis. "These are some very serious charges, Mr. Beale," the Colonel finally commented. "You entail that she willfully put the whole of the ship at risk by compromising its network for the sake of one man. That her orders to disengage the NI-tech from the system and... ah... 'reboot him'... endangered the entirety of the mission. You go on further to claim that the Major did not even allow you to explain that the tech's extraction was still undergoing careful study so as to best decide how to minimize the risks to both the ship and the tech himself, but instead immediately ordered you to obey under threat of military arrest and incarceration."
The sweating civilian engineer shifted nervously but still gave a sharp nod of affirmation. "I mean, she talked about how precious the techs are and that they're human and all of that. No problem there as far as I'm concerned. But she didn't get that without the chambers the techs are useless and visa versa! I wanted to explain to her how fragile the whole thing is, but she wasn't having none of it! It's a patchwork system, sir, it really is! The least little thing could-"
"Yes, Mr. Beale, so you have said before. I am well aware of how... kludged, I think is your word for it, the system is." Flicking his eye to Lt. Harris, he raised an eyebrow. "And to add to Mr. Beale's accusations, Lt. Harris, your own submissions cite that the Major altered several established procedures without any input from the other departments, that she blithely ignored regulations and standing orders regarding the NI-techs." Colonel Grissom did his best to not ask the woman if she had used a dictionary to look up the word 'blithely.' She seemed the sort to open a dictionary only when she wanted to complain about someone as thoroughly as possible. "That she accused you of human rights violations and torture?"
"Sir, that is correct, sir."
"At ease, Lt. Harris, at ease," he waved at her.
Looking over to the third of the trio, he lifted his chin as a sing of measured respect. Dr. Lattimore and he were of an age, for one thing, and while there was much that the two of them did not agree upon they felt united in their ultimate goal: survival of the human at whatever personal cost to themselves. Lattimore, now well into his sixties, stood calmly frowning as he listened to the other two. The Colonel could see the specialist was less than thrilled with the reports being tendered and would want action taken. Grissom agreed. "Dr. Lattimore, seeing as how the accused has military standing, I would like to handle this. I understand and acknowledge the co-authority of the Combined Intelligence Services in the Neuro-Tech Program, of course, and I shall see that things are brought back into line. I believe this to simply be a matter of ignorance on the Major's part, a misguided drive to right some wrongs, and not a willful threat. Give me a week to see how she continues, and then I will address matters with her myself."
The specialist gave a stiff nod of consent. The remains of several different intelligence agencies had formed into the CIS, an organization that became almost entirely devoted to the NI-tech program out of a lack of external or internal threats to guard against. It had been the backbone of the program's recruitment efforts. Those efforts had not been to Grissom's liking. Not in the least. But it had all taken place before he had come on board. When he had taken command of the program, he found himself very much trying to make an omelet big enough for thousands of survivors with only but a handful of eggs, eggs which the CIS had shattered to pieces. Grissom was left in charge of sieving out bits of shell with only his fingers. Still, the CIS, while small in number, had their uses. For one thing, without Lattimore and his coterie of surgeons and behavioral specialists, they wouldn't be able to create new NI-techs! Speaking of which...
"While you are here, Doctor, how goes the search for replacements?"
Lattimore's sour expression deepened. "We are still having some troubles," liver spotted man extemporized, "Those pre-qualified are showing a great deal of reluctance, although we are expanding our searches. Still, it is not looking promising. We may have to resort to-"
"No," Grissom said politely firmly. "Not unless there is no other course of action."
"Forgive me," the doctor contradicted primly, "but we may be at that point, Colonel. The surgeries take time, as does recovery and training. As Mr. Beale has pointed out, the system is fragile. No less so are the NI-techs themselves, both physically and mentally, and frankly it is surprising that we have done as well as we have, especially given the failures of the first iteration! We need at least seven more NI-techs, Colonel. At least. Eight, if Sung-Pak does not make a full recovery. As I understand it, the Major currently has whisked him away to Dr. Brock for evaluation." Lattimore cocked his neck to one side. "Again, in the face of established-"
Colonel Grisson waved his hand in a chopping motion. "Yes. Thank you. I am aware. You are all dismissed."
Lt. Harris saluted, a salute that he returned before she left. The two men followed her out, leaving Grissom to himself. He rubbed at his brow for a moment before reaching over to snag a form authorizing the revival of certain CIS agents. Certain paperwork remained exactly that, paper. Grissom did not wish to risk having any of it electronically filed, no matter how Mr. Beale and the others insisted it could be secured from prying eyes. All of it was saved, of course. There was a certain room where every order he ever signed with his fountain pen was carefully filed; Grissom regarded them as the chains of damnation he would wear after his soul was condemned to hell. As he worked, the Colonel grumbled his favorite curse.
"Fucking lowest bidder..."
Which brought the eye of the command unto Mr. Beale first. A nervous little man with little backbone or spine, the sort who did far better with machines than with people. He wasn't so much in charge of the physical components of the Neuro-Interface program as he was the first among equals. Beale was also the only awake at the moment. The rest were still in cryo-stasis. "These are some very serious charges, Mr. Beale," the Colonel finally commented. "You entail that she willfully put the whole of the ship at risk by compromising its network for the sake of one man. That her orders to disengage the NI-tech from the system and... ah... 'reboot him'... endangered the entirety of the mission. You go on further to claim that the Major did not even allow you to explain that the tech's extraction was still undergoing careful study so as to best decide how to minimize the risks to both the ship and the tech himself, but instead immediately ordered you to obey under threat of military arrest and incarceration."
The sweating civilian engineer shifted nervously but still gave a sharp nod of affirmation. "I mean, she talked about how precious the techs are and that they're human and all of that. No problem there as far as I'm concerned. But she didn't get that without the chambers the techs are useless and visa versa! I wanted to explain to her how fragile the whole thing is, but she wasn't having none of it! It's a patchwork system, sir, it really is! The least little thing could-"
"Yes, Mr. Beale, so you have said before. I am well aware of how... kludged, I think is your word for it, the system is." Flicking his eye to Lt. Harris, he raised an eyebrow. "And to add to Mr. Beale's accusations, Lt. Harris, your own submissions cite that the Major altered several established procedures without any input from the other departments, that she blithely ignored regulations and standing orders regarding the NI-techs." Colonel Grissom did his best to not ask the woman if she had used a dictionary to look up the word 'blithely.' She seemed the sort to open a dictionary only when she wanted to complain about someone as thoroughly as possible. "That she accused you of human rights violations and torture?"
"Sir, that is correct, sir."
"At ease, Lt. Harris, at ease," he waved at her.
Looking over to the third of the trio, he lifted his chin as a sing of measured respect. Dr. Lattimore and he were of an age, for one thing, and while there was much that the two of them did not agree upon they felt united in their ultimate goal: survival of the human at whatever personal cost to themselves. Lattimore, now well into his sixties, stood calmly frowning as he listened to the other two. The Colonel could see the specialist was less than thrilled with the reports being tendered and would want action taken. Grissom agreed. "Dr. Lattimore, seeing as how the accused has military standing, I would like to handle this. I understand and acknowledge the co-authority of the Combined Intelligence Services in the Neuro-Tech Program, of course, and I shall see that things are brought back into line. I believe this to simply be a matter of ignorance on the Major's part, a misguided drive to right some wrongs, and not a willful threat. Give me a week to see how she continues, and then I will address matters with her myself."
The specialist gave a stiff nod of consent. The remains of several different intelligence agencies had formed into the CIS, an organization that became almost entirely devoted to the NI-tech program out of a lack of external or internal threats to guard against. It had been the backbone of the program's recruitment efforts. Those efforts had not been to Grissom's liking. Not in the least. But it had all taken place before he had come on board. When he had taken command of the program, he found himself very much trying to make an omelet big enough for thousands of survivors with only but a handful of eggs, eggs which the CIS had shattered to pieces. Grissom was left in charge of sieving out bits of shell with only his fingers. Still, the CIS, while small in number, had their uses. For one thing, without Lattimore and his coterie of surgeons and behavioral specialists, they wouldn't be able to create new NI-techs! Speaking of which...
"While you are here, Doctor, how goes the search for replacements?"
Lattimore's sour expression deepened. "We are still having some troubles," liver spotted man extemporized, "Those pre-qualified are showing a great deal of reluctance, although we are expanding our searches. Still, it is not looking promising. We may have to resort to-"
"No," Grissom said politely firmly. "Not unless there is no other course of action."
"Forgive me," the doctor contradicted primly, "but we may be at that point, Colonel. The surgeries take time, as does recovery and training. As Mr. Beale has pointed out, the system is fragile. No less so are the NI-techs themselves, both physically and mentally, and frankly it is surprising that we have done as well as we have, especially given the failures of the first iteration! We need at least seven more NI-techs, Colonel. At least. Eight, if Sung-Pak does not make a full recovery. As I understand it, the Major currently has whisked him away to Dr. Brock for evaluation." Lattimore cocked his neck to one side. "Again, in the face of established-"
Colonel Grisson waved his hand in a chopping motion. "Yes. Thank you. I am aware. You are all dismissed."
Lt. Harris saluted, a salute that he returned before she left. The two men followed her out, leaving Grissom to himself. He rubbed at his brow for a moment before reaching over to snag a form authorizing the revival of certain CIS agents. Certain paperwork remained exactly that, paper. Grissom did not wish to risk having any of it electronically filed, no matter how Mr. Beale and the others insisted it could be secured from prying eyes. All of it was saved, of course. There was a certain room where every order he ever signed with his fountain pen was carefully filed; Grissom regarded them as the chains of damnation he would wear after his soul was condemned to hell. As he worked, the Colonel grumbled his favorite curse.
"Fucking lowest bidder..."
Hob couldn't bring himself to look at her, ashamed of his rage and the uncontrolled emotions that were so blatantly on display in front of OLGA. Bad enough that he couldn't find answers to his own heart's dilemma when it came to her, but to expose her to such primal wrath?! Unthinkable! She was still very much on innocent in his eyes. Blowing his top in front of OLGA something he had never wanted to do, and he feared what she might think-
And then there she was, in his arms, hugging him. The girl pulled him into a gentle embrace and guided his head to lean against her shoulder in gesture of comfort and compassion that, by Hob's thinking, could not have been feigned or programmed. He wanted to cry. He wanted to, but he didn't. When had been the last time anyone had held him like this? Not since before it all began, certainly. The NI-techs shared to much of their minds in the system to make physical contact anything other than awkward, and there hadn't been anyone else to vent to or confess or listen... Now here was OLGA, holding him and soothing him. For a timeless moment, it was only them in the barn. Closing his eyes, Hob held her back and took a deep calming breath of the straw scented air, tinged with that teasing perfume she liked so much. The only sounds were the rattle of the old time projector nearby and the sound of the wind blowing the corn out in the fields... Gradually, he began to relax and let go of the hate and anger.
A brief flash of Devi's smiling face went through his inner mind, the core carefully not exposed to the virtual world where chaos had to be imposed upon order to make sense in the human mind. Guilt came with that image, and passed just as quickly. Hob was left wondering why he should feel guilty at all about a woman who had merely been decent to him...
OLGA's own sudden surprise caused the NI-tech to look up in alarm. Hob was both gratified and sad that their shared moment had passed. Sad for the lose of such human contact as had been denied him and the other NI-techs for some time, gratified because he still ashamed of his outburst and wanted it forgotten. He glanced up at the projector screen and squinted at the image of the man. Frowning, he glanced at the board to confirm that the matching ID photo was there. "Three hours, twenty-two minutes," he murmured, "almost as long as Grissom."
Disengaging with a slight reluctance from her youthful limbs, Hob knelt and scooped up the files. Their flip-book animations continued to skip ahead, given him quick previews of upcoming (or in this case, previous) scenes. "It's not the only time, either," he pointed out. "Projections show at least three other times they connected before and still counting. Without going into this step by step, it looks like this guy had lots of contact with Sylus earlier on. A lot of it is just corner shots, showing them walking or talking as they turn corners or go into private rooms out of camera view." Grimacing, he shook his head. "Not many of these have audio. You'd think with modern day technology, they'd have put in audio as well as video, or something. And silly me, I didn't take any courses in lip reading."
Hob glanced over at the board again to check the tally. "So far he's had the most contact with Sylus outside of the attorneys and guards, for whatever it's worth. At least since he was captured." Something else stood out to him then, something that caused him to scowl. "Hey, a lot of this footage is marked as being unread yet."
And then there she was, in his arms, hugging him. The girl pulled him into a gentle embrace and guided his head to lean against her shoulder in gesture of comfort and compassion that, by Hob's thinking, could not have been feigned or programmed. He wanted to cry. He wanted to, but he didn't. When had been the last time anyone had held him like this? Not since before it all began, certainly. The NI-techs shared to much of their minds in the system to make physical contact anything other than awkward, and there hadn't been anyone else to vent to or confess or listen... Now here was OLGA, holding him and soothing him. For a timeless moment, it was only them in the barn. Closing his eyes, Hob held her back and took a deep calming breath of the straw scented air, tinged with that teasing perfume she liked so much. The only sounds were the rattle of the old time projector nearby and the sound of the wind blowing the corn out in the fields... Gradually, he began to relax and let go of the hate and anger.
A brief flash of Devi's smiling face went through his inner mind, the core carefully not exposed to the virtual world where chaos had to be imposed upon order to make sense in the human mind. Guilt came with that image, and passed just as quickly. Hob was left wondering why he should feel guilty at all about a woman who had merely been decent to him...
OLGA's own sudden surprise caused the NI-tech to look up in alarm. Hob was both gratified and sad that their shared moment had passed. Sad for the lose of such human contact as had been denied him and the other NI-techs for some time, gratified because he still ashamed of his outburst and wanted it forgotten. He glanced up at the projector screen and squinted at the image of the man. Frowning, he glanced at the board to confirm that the matching ID photo was there. "Three hours, twenty-two minutes," he murmured, "almost as long as Grissom."
Disengaging with a slight reluctance from her youthful limbs, Hob knelt and scooped up the files. Their flip-book animations continued to skip ahead, given him quick previews of upcoming (or in this case, previous) scenes. "It's not the only time, either," he pointed out. "Projections show at least three other times they connected before and still counting. Without going into this step by step, it looks like this guy had lots of contact with Sylus earlier on. A lot of it is just corner shots, showing them walking or talking as they turn corners or go into private rooms out of camera view." Grimacing, he shook his head. "Not many of these have audio. You'd think with modern day technology, they'd have put in audio as well as video, or something. And silly me, I didn't take any courses in lip reading."
Hob glanced over at the board again to check the tally. "So far he's had the most contact with Sylus outside of the attorneys and guards, for whatever it's worth. At least since he was captured." Something else stood out to him then, something that caused him to scowl. "Hey, a lot of this footage is marked as being unread yet."
No, no! You folks have it all wrong! He wants to... No, no, wait. Have to save it for the villian's narrative. There will, however, be no milking of the giant cow.
Colonel Elijah Grissom, USN.
I think we're slowly moving towards Day Two, by the sounds of things. Or at least some sort of time jump.
Kuro - I'll PM you later about some torture ideas.
Lillian - I have an idea for something we might do with Stella, something that came to me recently. I'll PM you later, as well.
Kuro - I'll PM you later about some torture ideas.
Lillian - I have an idea for something we might do with Stella, something that came to me recently. I'll PM you later, as well.
Time for a STATUS CHECK! (blows party whistle and rattles tin noise maker)
Jack... is off to bed. Custodians are up WAY earlier than the rest of the crew. Future plans include courting Penny, setting up a small bar for a select few friends, and being asked to take a rather peculiar test.
Hob is currently having a bit of a moment, holding off now for any response/discoveries on OLGA's part before continuing. Said continuation will include replies to both Devi and Connor. Future plans? Continued GHOST hunting, being torn between one reality and another (and the women therein), and maybe some petty revenge...
Also coming up soon... You may love him! You may hate him! Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Colonel Elijah Grissom, Head of the Neuro-Interface Program!!
Jack... is off to bed. Custodians are up WAY earlier than the rest of the crew. Future plans include courting Penny, setting up a small bar for a select few friends, and being asked to take a rather peculiar test.
Hob is currently having a bit of a moment, holding off now for any response/discoveries on OLGA's part before continuing. Said continuation will include replies to both Devi and Connor. Future plans? Continued GHOST hunting, being torn between one reality and another (and the women therein), and maybe some petty revenge...
Also coming up soon... You may love him! You may hate him! Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Colonel Elijah Grissom, Head of the Neuro-Interface Program!!
Sylus was... unremarkable. Even reviewing the footage, there was nothing about the man that said to Hob that he was a killer. No glasses, short brown hair, brown eyes, scruff on his chin and cheeks - He was decent looking, average build if a bit stocky. The man's nose had been broken at some point, but that was hardly an indicator of criminal or violent behavior so far as Hob knew. The face wasn't even a bland one! No one could say that Sylus was nondescript or blended into the background, that he was one of God's extras in life. While his features were common enough in their parts, the sum was uniquely Sylus. All the same, it gave the impression of just a normal guy. Hob could easily picture him sitting besides him at a bar or listening to his music on a street corner.
What did stand out to Hob was what Sylus was dressed in: rust covered overalls.
Hob felt his jaw clench as the footage continued to play in reverse. That they should put a convicted killed in the same 'uniform' issues to the NI-techs was galling. Perhaps it was because they had an excess of such overalls? Stores on the ship were limited. Yet the NI-tech could not help but feel it sent a completely different sort of message. He let it slide for now, and filed it away to see if he could follow it up later; were the rust colored overalls (the only clothes most of the NI-techs owned) marking them out as more than just NI-techs? Were there other prisoners on board who wore them? Granted, they didn't stick out as brightly as prison-orange overalls might back on Earth, but...
OLGA was speaking, he realized guiltily, and he tilted his head to indicate that he was listened to her. "Already going to reverse anyway," he shrugged, "but if you just want from the time he was captured onwards, then I can slow it down. That'll make it a bit easier, actually."
A flick of his mind and a green felt board appeared on one wall of the barn, crew ID photos appeared with numbers besides each. The numbers began to incrementally increase. "There, I've linked up a separate database. It'll keep track of who visited him, when, and how often. We can see if anyone unusual stands out so we-"
Hob came to a dead stop. Even playing backwards, he recognized the face of one of Sylus' visitors, a face that had no reason to be there in any way that Hob could even think of. "What the fuck is he doing there?!"
The vehemence was not lost in his voice, and the expression upon his face was one of distinct hatred at the sight of the man in a blue military uniform sitting across from Sylus at an interrogation table. In the NI-tube, another universe compared to the agricultural setting he was in now, Hob's fists balled. The officer, a colonel, was well into his fifties with iron grey hair cut neatly short. His eyes were not merely intelligent but outright shrewd as the regarded the prisoner, a stack of paper between them. There was nothing sinister about the colonel. Quite the contrary, he looked like someone's elderly favorite uncle! The two of them were talking, clear and calm for the colonel's part and anxious for Sylus'. The scene had started with the officer shaking his head and leaving, Sylus bowing his head as though in defeat, but as it continued to play out in reverse Hob began to become aware that the scene was all too familiar.
"I don't believe it," Hob finally growled. "I don't fucking believe it. He's giving Sylus the test! He's giving him the fucking test! That asshole wanted to see of they could turn him into one of us before they spaced him! They were going to make a goddamn murder an NI-tech if he passed the fucking test!"
With the rising crescendo of his voice, Hob rose up to his full six foot height as though he were ready to assault the projection that played out in front of him and OLGA. The files on his lap fell and scattered upon the barn floor. "God damn, Grissom! You fucking asshole! You puking, shit-sucking, cock-blowing, mother-fucker!" It was clear that Sylus failed the tests. He didn't have whatever special spark was needed to make a potential NI-tech, that much was clear by the disappointment on both men's faces. It didn't matter. That didn't change the fact that Colonel Elijah Grissom had tried to circumvent justice and had been willing to use the NI-tech program as a means of someone serving out a criminal sentence.
Hob's was angry enough that within the virtual reality of the computer system parts of him seemed to peel off without his noticing. They were like faint shadows stepping away from the core of his computer generated identity and fading away into nothingness before OLGA's eyes. Each of them bore rage and sadness and hatred. They were the barest wisps of what Hob really was, and yet each contained terrible power and fury in their eyes. The tech was emotional enough that he was throwing off Ghosts and didn't even realize it. The whole of the barn shuddered and waved from the force of his ranting, the matrix unable to keep up with the sudden flow of powerful emotion that flooded Hob's brain.
"You dickhead! You pickle-dicked, Goering wanna-be! I hope you get strapped down to your own goddamn surgical table and vivisected, you festering-"
He bit his lip. Hard. With a great deal of willpower, Hob reigned himself in. The structure of reality about them stabilized after a cycle or two, though Hob himself stood rigid and vibrating with anger. It was only with a glance at the green felt board with its pictures that he confirmed what he wanted to know. The man in charge of the NI program, the head honcho who had headed the whole thing up, had only visited Sylus twice: once to administer the test and once to turn him down. As much as he wanted Grissom to be connected with the murders, it seemed unlikely. Besides, the bastard had other crimes to be laid at his feet.
Casting his eyes down, Hob mumbled an apology through clenched teeth. "Sorry, OLGA. I just... wasn't expecting..."
What did stand out to Hob was what Sylus was dressed in: rust covered overalls.
Hob felt his jaw clench as the footage continued to play in reverse. That they should put a convicted killed in the same 'uniform' issues to the NI-techs was galling. Perhaps it was because they had an excess of such overalls? Stores on the ship were limited. Yet the NI-tech could not help but feel it sent a completely different sort of message. He let it slide for now, and filed it away to see if he could follow it up later; were the rust colored overalls (the only clothes most of the NI-techs owned) marking them out as more than just NI-techs? Were there other prisoners on board who wore them? Granted, they didn't stick out as brightly as prison-orange overalls might back on Earth, but...
OLGA was speaking, he realized guiltily, and he tilted his head to indicate that he was listened to her. "Already going to reverse anyway," he shrugged, "but if you just want from the time he was captured onwards, then I can slow it down. That'll make it a bit easier, actually."
A flick of his mind and a green felt board appeared on one wall of the barn, crew ID photos appeared with numbers besides each. The numbers began to incrementally increase. "There, I've linked up a separate database. It'll keep track of who visited him, when, and how often. We can see if anyone unusual stands out so we-"
Hob came to a dead stop. Even playing backwards, he recognized the face of one of Sylus' visitors, a face that had no reason to be there in any way that Hob could even think of. "What the fuck is he doing there?!"
The vehemence was not lost in his voice, and the expression upon his face was one of distinct hatred at the sight of the man in a blue military uniform sitting across from Sylus at an interrogation table. In the NI-tube, another universe compared to the agricultural setting he was in now, Hob's fists balled. The officer, a colonel, was well into his fifties with iron grey hair cut neatly short. His eyes were not merely intelligent but outright shrewd as the regarded the prisoner, a stack of paper between them. There was nothing sinister about the colonel. Quite the contrary, he looked like someone's elderly favorite uncle! The two of them were talking, clear and calm for the colonel's part and anxious for Sylus'. The scene had started with the officer shaking his head and leaving, Sylus bowing his head as though in defeat, but as it continued to play out in reverse Hob began to become aware that the scene was all too familiar.
"I don't believe it," Hob finally growled. "I don't fucking believe it. He's giving Sylus the test! He's giving him the fucking test! That asshole wanted to see of they could turn him into one of us before they spaced him! They were going to make a goddamn murder an NI-tech if he passed the fucking test!"
With the rising crescendo of his voice, Hob rose up to his full six foot height as though he were ready to assault the projection that played out in front of him and OLGA. The files on his lap fell and scattered upon the barn floor. "God damn, Grissom! You fucking asshole! You puking, shit-sucking, cock-blowing, mother-fucker!" It was clear that Sylus failed the tests. He didn't have whatever special spark was needed to make a potential NI-tech, that much was clear by the disappointment on both men's faces. It didn't matter. That didn't change the fact that Colonel Elijah Grissom had tried to circumvent justice and had been willing to use the NI-tech program as a means of someone serving out a criminal sentence.
Hob's was angry enough that within the virtual reality of the computer system parts of him seemed to peel off without his noticing. They were like faint shadows stepping away from the core of his computer generated identity and fading away into nothingness before OLGA's eyes. Each of them bore rage and sadness and hatred. They were the barest wisps of what Hob really was, and yet each contained terrible power and fury in their eyes. The tech was emotional enough that he was throwing off Ghosts and didn't even realize it. The whole of the barn shuddered and waved from the force of his ranting, the matrix unable to keep up with the sudden flow of powerful emotion that flooded Hob's brain.
"You dickhead! You pickle-dicked, Goering wanna-be! I hope you get strapped down to your own goddamn surgical table and vivisected, you festering-"
He bit his lip. Hard. With a great deal of willpower, Hob reigned himself in. The structure of reality about them stabilized after a cycle or two, though Hob himself stood rigid and vibrating with anger. It was only with a glance at the green felt board with its pictures that he confirmed what he wanted to know. The man in charge of the NI program, the head honcho who had headed the whole thing up, had only visited Sylus twice: once to administer the test and once to turn him down. As much as he wanted Grissom to be connected with the murders, it seemed unlikely. Besides, the bastard had other crimes to be laid at his feet.
Casting his eyes down, Hob mumbled an apology through clenched teeth. "Sorry, OLGA. I just... wasn't expecting..."
Not to badly, thanks! Fell behind in writing a lot these past few weeks, what with the blizzard and the clean up and the Thanksgiving that followed. Trying to get caught up with all my RPs now. Otherwise? Status quo. Saving for trying to get ready for Yule. I have yet to figure out what the heck I'm going to get Herself for Christmas!
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