The Bond Wars: A Clean Society

Hi guys. I know I haven't done anything on here yet, but I'm planning on changing that. I had an obsessive need to figure out how to start my book, and I think this will be a good intro. Now that it's out of the way, I'll feel better able to read other people's things. Thanks for your patience and epic writing :) Here's the introduction for my Bond Wars series. First drafts are mostly dialogue for me, but I've tried to incorporate some setting into it for you. I'm trying to make this intro shocking/gripping, so any feedback/advice/anything you have to offer is kindly appreciated.

Enjoy if you are so inclined. -Rue Lane

“What do you mean you killed him?”

“I only know of one way to interpret that sentence, Seth. Don't play dumb.”

“But you couldn't have! He's...he's your--”

“My what? My father?” Canter replied. He couldn't help the tone of disgust that embedded itself in the word. Father. The title was meaningless now, along with plenty of other titles in the world. “He stopped being my father when he murdered my mother.”

“He didn't murder her,” Seth protested.

“No, I suppose he didn't,” Canter admitted, nodding his head in beat with his footsteps as they ascended the stairs, heading out of the secret dungeons his father practically called home. “But he arranged her death all the same.”

Canter was sorry for not warning Seth about the murderous intent of this visit. Seth was the one person he could rely on in this world, the friend who stuck with him after his mother's death so many years ago. Those black months after her murder, Canter didn't speak to anyone, not even Seth, but for some reason his friend stayed by his side, defending him against the other children who made fun of his self-imposed muteness. It was difficult to keep any secrets from his best friend, especially the truth about his mother's death and the revolutionary plan Canter had already set in motion.

But he feared that if Seth had known beforehand, he would've tried to stop Canter. Seth was always a gentle person, avoiding violence whenever possible, and so Canter felt there was no other option but to wait until this moment to reveal the truth. As Canter was gathering his thoughts, preparing to explain the situation and his plans for the future, Seth said something that shook him down to the innermost core of his being.

“It wasn't like that. He did it for you, Canter. He didn't want to, but he had to. I thought you understood that.”

Canter stopped on the staircase and held out his arm to stop his friend from passing him. “How did you know about this?” He slowly turned his head. “How did you...” Canter couldn't finish his sentence. Too many thoughts were clogging his head, making speech difficult, if not impossible.

“Everyone knew what he'd done. How do you think he became the leader of the Society?” Seth looked confused, concerned. “He was willing to sacrifice the love of his life to further the cause, to gain your loyalties to the Society. It was the only way to seal his authority, to convince everyone that he deserved his position not just because of his bloodline, but because he was committed to the cause. No one else could imagine making that sacrifice.” Seth put his hand on Canter's shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “Cant, your mother was corrupting you. It wasn't personal.”

“She wasn't corrupting me!” He jerked back and watched his friend's arm fall through dead air. “Why didn't you tell me this?” The pain at his friend's secret, the betrayal, ran deeper than his anger at his father. “All this time, and you didn't tell me!”

“I thought you knew,” Seth replied in wonderment. “Your father said he'd explained it all, that you took it well, but that you never wanted to speak of it again. He said you went mute because you were ashamed of your mother, that you were ashamed you ever trusted her. He told everyone to respect you and forget the matter. So we did.”

Canter felt as if reality had shifted—and indeed it had. His whole life since he was seven years old, it was all tainted by betrayal. Betrayal by his father, betrayal by Seth, betrayal by the entire Society. They murdered his mother, and his father arranged for it to be kept a secret from him, all to ensure they'd retain the loyalties of the ancient bloodline, the rightful heir of the First Noble. His plans for the future had to be altered now. Not much, but enough to test Canter's resolve to do the right thing.

“I didn't know until a few months ago,” Canter revealed.

“I would've told you if I had known, you know I would,” Seth promised.

“I do, don't worry. I know your loyalty for me runs deep.” It was that fact that made it so hard for Canter to do the right thing. Canter proceeded up the stairs, Seth following closely behind. “But I must tell you the truth. I do not regret my actions. I apologize if this upsets you, Seth, because I know how much you admired him, but it was easy to kill my father.” He turned to face Seth again, pausing for a moment to once again notice the torches hanging in their brackets on the side of the spiral staircase. The flames never seemed to die out. “He stopped being my father when he killed my mother, the person I loved most in the world.” Canter's voice was calm, as if he were explaining the life-cycle of a butterfly to a child. “When he killed her, he also killed my love for him.”

“Canter, you can't mean that.”

“But I do,” he insisted. He dropped his head, as if embarrassed about the words he was about to say next. “When I found out he was behind her murder, I felt nothing but hatred. All love and respect for my father faded as quickly as a wickless candle,” he said as he set his hand atop the closest torch. He fought the urge to pull his hand away, the instinct to scream at his burning flesh. Soon enough, the torch went out, replaced by the scent of charred skin.

“Canter! Your hand!”

“Let me finish,” he said, waving his friend's concerns off in the now darkened underground tower. “As I said, my love for him was gone. And now that I found out you knew about it, that you understand why he killed her...”

Somehow in the darkness, Seth could see a sly grin on Canter's face. Maybe it was his imagination playing tricks, but Seth couldn't help taking a step back in fear. It was that step that cost him his life, for he could easily have outrun Canter, the slim man who never found much joy in exercising to prove his strength. No, Canter was a man of the mind, and Seth knew from the look in his eyes that Canter was about to prove just how strong a man of the mind could be. But that step backwards caused Seth to lose his balance. He stumbled down a few stairs, reached out for Canter, calling his name.

“Well,” Canter continued. “Let's just say that I've never felt this way before.” Canter watched his friend's silhouette as it struggled to maintain balance, suppressed the slight feeling of doubt he had in his mind, and then pushed him down the stairs. Canter knew the fall would be fatal. Such steep stone steps were unforgiving.

And so Canter completed the beginning of his mission to do the right thing and cleanse the Society. He had originally planned to keep Seth at his side through the restoration of the original beliefs and ways of the First Noble, but it was clear that Seth was...what was the word he'd used? Oh, yes. Corrupted. Seth was corrupted.

Canter examined his hand on his way up the stairs, back to ground level. It wasn't bleeding--not that he expected it to. It was a cauterized wound, of course. But he'd have a nasty scar for the rest of his life, a fact he relished. If ever he became discouraged or doubted his abilities to fulfill his mission, he could look at his hand and remember the night he killed Seth, the night he killed his father.

It was Dread... a Dread that I'd felt before...

It was Dread... a Dread that I'd felt before.

by Joshua Bailey on Tuesday, June 16, 2009 at 1:15am

This whole thing was actually originally written in a fit of boredom in a note-binder, and subsequently posted to my site, Subtle Misdirection but I thought it was worth a repost as a note here, so that more people might consider reading it.

Getting away from the crowd was easy, everybody was busy milling around, waiting to learn when their little check up interview, just to make sure everything was on track, would be. Having previously concluded that I didn’t particularly care when I’d been booked, as I didn’t particularly care to go to any more meetings in a day than I could help, I felt free to wind my way ahead of the crowd to the stage that was somehow designated as our class. If worst came to worst, and somebody forcefully educated me on the matter of when I was to have a heart to heart talk, it was a simple matter to keep it short, and simply inform the interviewer that things were likely going as smoothly as they could imagine they could with me, which is to say about as smoothly as a bareback ride on a drunken rhino, and then let them use their imagination to fill in the blanks.

There’s always a downside to trying to be clever though, and it’s hardly ever one that’s easy to see before it happens. In general, when there’s not a mad epidemic of standing around waiting for nothing, I’m one of the last to arrive to class, it’s a good deal for somebody who doesn’t care to be called on, or even seen by the instructor, since it’s easy to find a place in the back of the room. Being the first to arrive I presumed that it would work the same way, setting up a chair far enough back in the room to allow for everybody else to fill in the gap and sit in their usual spots. Like most failing ideas, it all sounded very good in theory, but proved to be anything but successful in practice. I admit, meeting on a curtained stage does have its advantages every now and again, today it was that many of the drapes were pulled, and I found a spot between the main curtain and another shorter one that I presumed would garner me a bit of seclusion in what would soon become a fairly crowded space.

Soon, others began to ramble into the room, some taking places already set, some setting their own. To my utter horror, as I sat, content with my place, a neighbor began walking towards me, a smile on his face, a folding chair in his hand, and pocket full of good intentions, ready to take a seat next to me to keep me company. This comes from the odd presumption that people get when they see somebody they know sitting alone. The presumption being that somebody sitting alone in an out of the way spot is sitting there because they really want somebody to sit next to them. I’m sure that he thought he was doing me an imense favor as he jokingly referenced the newly created row as the “sleeping seats,” and with misplaced showmanship, swept back one of the curtains and set his chair uncomfortably close to mine. It wasn’t long before an entire row had developed to my left, with four or five people “keeping me company.” Generally a row isn’t an odd thing, but today was special. It was as if somebody had set an invisible elephant in the middle of the room, forbidding any from setting up a chair in the space it occupied.

Whatever the real reason, I soon found myself quite surrounded, with most of the class members seats focused around me, a smaller separate group sitting in the very front row, and a gaping circle of negative space in between. It was life’s little way of reminding me not to try and get ahead of it, using perfectly innocent and well meaning bystanders to make the point, and twist my plan against me. With a weary, but unsurprised, sigh, I reached for my bag, took out a pen and note binder, and began to write, “Getting away from the crowd was easy…”

What the Crap?

Just thought I'd throw out there to the internet at large, that this is the refining ground, primarily for the stories of Scott, though also for the stories of myself, Joshua, the ever writing Brittany, and our good ol' buddy Austin, maybe more will be added later.

As a reminder, be certain to check each individual blog as we write.  There'll likely be more posts there for the other three, can't vouch for myself though, as posting to my blog is not a strong point for me.  Reading and editing however, is, so you'll see a few contributions here and there from me as edits are posted, mostly in the form of revised versions of Scott's work.

Anyway, happy reading, try not to miss out on anything.

Upgrade [edit]

Upgrade

By Scott Keith Hess

An event in the history of The Bleeding Roses

Rain, on a day like today, it just had to rain.  School was out, and I was on my way to get an upgrade.  Earlier, Dad had said that he had a surprise waiting for me at the hospital, a shiny new set of parts, cutting edge he’d said.

"Anna!" I stopped walking and turned around, only to see Tesla running towards me.

"Wait up," Tesla gasped, as she stopped beside me to catch her breath.

"Whats up Tes?" I shifted my shoulder as the bag I was carrying started to slip from it.

"Can I go with you? I want to see you get your upgrade," Tesla was looking to major in cybernetics, much like my dad had.  She would want to talk to him too, geek out about the advances in cybernetics, and the roles that they, as doctors and technicians, play.

"As long as you don’t spam the web with what upgrade I got, 'OMG a DIY kit, liek totally lame powers o.O'," I didn't need the people at school freaking out about what brand I get.

"You know me, I'm a wall," she mock flexed, and made that look, the one that was a total liar’s face.  I knew very well that Tes was completely unable to keep a secret.  I was convinced that it wasn’t in her genetic makeup.

"A wall?” I returned her face with my face, the one that meant, ‘I’ve known you too long for that to work,’ “Whats it made of, croutons?" Tesla just looked at me.  It was uncanny, Tes’ ability to actually show emotion on her face as the emoticons she so loved, right now, "XD" was plastered all over it.  Obviously I let her come along regardless, she was my best friend, there really wasn’t even a doubt that she would stay behind.  Tesla practically floated along behind me as we walked through the parking lot.  If she had been a dog, I was certain that she would have flown away into the stratosphere due to the energy of her tail wagging.  That, or her ass would have lit on fire.

As we walked, I wondered how well she would handle riding with me again.  Last time she had almost puked in her helmet.  As my bike came into view, I turned to see the look on her face, as I’d hoped, it was priceless. Her face went pale as the blood drained from it, right into the pit of her stomach, I was sure.  I on the other hand, felt amazing.  The simple knowledge that I was getting rid of these awful medical prosthetics made me feel like cooling fluid was circulating through every vein.  Dad said these new parts would be more responsive, but really, what I was most excited about was the new look.  The sterile, rounded parts of the hospital tech was boring, and didn’t match anything I wore. The sky-blue frame and green rubber-covered joints meant that every shirt I owned was long sleeved.

My bike was big, very big.  Dad wouldn’t let me buy one unless it was a tank, and had me change over to mid-grade Grinder-pilot rated cybernetics, not a lot mind you, only what it would take to be able to ride the bike with improved performance.  The synchronization with the bike that the Grinder parts gave me, allowed me to better balance while riding, and in all, ride with more efficiency.  Most people who tagged along for the ride ended up sick, but if they could only see things the way I did, they would understand me better.

I unlocked the bike’s saddle bags and donned my jacket and helmet.   Tesla just stood there, already looking a bit queasy.  I handed her my extra helmet and she put it on as slow as she could.  Before getting on my steed, I pull the cable from its instrument panel, and run it to the connection on my neck.  Syncing with my bike changed things, the way I felt, the way I saw, the way I experienced and perceived the world around me.  It felt like I had been pulled into a lucid dream, my body began to feel numb as I took my position.

"Alright, lets go Tes," she hesitated, standing firmly on the safety of the paved ground, but soon slid onto the seat behind me, gripping me like I was a pillar of safety in a storm, holding on for her life.  All there was to do was punch it, and the bike pulled out of the quickly emptying University parking lot, and hit the freeway.

We arrived at the hospital in record time, for some reason the streets weren’t as cluttered as I was used to them being.  We parked in the underground garage, and took the elevators to level seven of the hospital, cybernetics and prosthesis.  The floor was extremely active, everything happening at once, all hanging in a delicate frenzy.  It seemed to me to be much like carefully synchronized dominos, moving together, but never touching, fragile enough that if even one person slipped, beautiful, and terrible chaos would ensue.

"Oh, why hello Anna," it was Barbara, the receptionist, who woke me from my thoughts.  She had looked up from her monitor to see Tes and I standing at the mouth of the elevator, my friend still searching for her land legs.  Barbara smiled softly, as she was apt to do, as we walked to her desk.

"Looking for your father are we?" she asked, her voice was sweet, and comforting.

"Yeah, I'm getting my upgrades today," I responded, I felt myself swelling with pride at the thought.  The happiness was almost more than I could handle, and it showed in my smile.

"Oh, well good for you,” from anybody else I wouldn’t have believed they really cared, but Barbara was different, I knew that she was really happy for me, “You'll be surprised when you see what they look like, you’re really in for a treat!" she smiled as if she were keeping a big secret.  It made my anticipation that much greater.

"Your father, Dr. Nicholas is in the middle of a big project at the moment, but his break is coming up soon.  We'll start you in room 706, down the hallway on the left" she stood from her seat and held my hand, though the gesture was kind, it was lost in the prosthetic somewhere along the way.

"Remember, if you and your father ever need anything, I'm always here for you," It was just Barbara being Barbara, but I was tired of the ‘in need of sympathy,’ image I somehow emanated everywhere I went.  It had been years, but no matter what I did, I could never seem to adequately express the fact that I could very well take care of myself.

"Thanks Barbara," I said, rolling my eyes, the tone and manner expressing that I was upset by the show of sympathy for me.  Barbara, ever kind-hearted, simply smiled her soft smile, and took her seat once more.  Tesla and I strolled our way over to the room, and tussled a bit over who got the comfortable seat in which to wait for my dad, I lost, and ended up sitting on paper covered examination bed, which crunched every time I moved.  It wasn’t long before the door opened, and my father walked in, seriously considering a clipboard.

"It’s... cancer.  I'm afraid, we'll... have to remove the head," he said, looking up to grin at me as he shut the door behind him.

"Oh Dad, think your a funny guy huh?" Dad smiled at me, his cheerful demeanor slipping only a notch, and only showing for a moment, when he saw that Tesla had tagged along.

"Why hello Tesla, would you mind terribly if I asked you to wait outside for a bit," Tesla sprung from her seat and headed for the door.

"Nope, not at all Dr. Black, as long as I can get in on Anna's procedure!" I rolled my eyes and leaned away, my futile attempt at hiding, Dad looked over at me, and I nodded in acceptance.

"How about a front row seat,” Dad smiled, warily this time, “we'll hold it for you in the theater." Tesla bounced on her heels, giddy with excitement, before practically flying out the door in obedience.  Dad sat down across from me, he looked exhausted.  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, a clear sign he was frustrated.

"You okay Dad?" I ventured, stretching my metal limb out to him and letting him grasp it, his grip firm, though my metal hand couldn’t feel it.

"It’s this project Anna, its kicking my ass.  I've told you about my work, most of it you shouldn't know.  But this..." he slumped his back, and exhaled deeply.  Whatever it was that he was working on, it was beating him up.  Inside and out.

"I love you Anna," he looked at me, his face was both stern, and soft.  It was open, and showed some of the sadness that he kept inside. It was the face he made when he was serious.

"I know Dad." I said.  Softly squeezing his hand with my own.

"This one is a girl, she's... so young, so frail looking.  Marcus just sees her as a platform for scientific progress, a new set of parts to work with.  We’re... we're turning her into a machine, a monster, and... I'm part of the development," I spotted a tear on his face, I wrestled my hand from his and wiped it away, unable to feel the rough stubble beginning to cover his face, it was longer than I knew he liked it.  Another sign of his physical and mental stress.  I got off the bed and sat next to him.

"She's younger than you, I cant even imagine what life she lived before she got here, and I’ve tried as hard as I can not to imagine what life she could have lived had she had the chance to."  He breathed deeply as he spoke, and raised himself up to lean backwards in his chair, his hand once again moved to his eyes.

"Where is she Dad? Can I see her?" I wanted to try and better understand it all.  Better support him.  After all, he was all I had as far as family.  He had always been there for me, always smiling.  I tried to smile now.

"Her torso is complete,” he sighed, and sat up, “her arms are done, down to the elbow right now.” turning to me, I saw the decision made through his eyes.  “Once your upgrades are complete, and the physical therapy is dealt with, she'll be done, then I’ll let you meet her." He had regained his composure now, he set his glasses back into place, as well as his business face.

"I'm sorry my darling, but I won’t be able to oversee your upgrade this time.  This project is too high a priority for any of us to take on other work until it’s completed.  I’m sorry, the project began on very short notice, I wasn’t able to receive leave.  I'm leaving you in Vincents hands, you know Vincent, he’ll do good work." I didn’t like the idea of Dad not doing my work but this didn’t seem like something I could argue with him over.

"If you have to,” I felt disheartened, and looked away for a moment.

"I do, the only other option would be to postpone the upgrade.” Dad knew what my response would be.

"Yeah,” I smiled at him, “That’s so not happening. Oh yeah! Barbara said that you have a big surprise for me," he smiled.  Standing, he walked to the room’s counter, and pulled a large metal briefcase out of the cabinet.  My heart was beating hard, he turned it around.  The case read 'Dark Blood Works: Model 88 "Stampede"’ My organs almost jumped out of my throat, it was the exact model that I wanted.  It was childish, but I still jumped for joy, hugging my father, maybe a little too tight, as he quickly set the parts down on the counter.  Seconds later Tesla barged in, no doubt because of the shouts of joy and thank yous that were streaming from my mouth, and joined in the celebration, but not before sending out a mass message.  The nurse entered the room amid the din, likely unsure of what to do

"Um, Dr. Black, we're ready for your daughter now," she decided to interject.  Having to raise her voice a bit and knock on the already open door.

My dad was the only one to notice the nurse, and responded, "Thank you nurse.” embarrassed, I let go of my father, so that he could continue to speak to the nurse.  He gestured at Tes, and adjusted his glasses in one fell swoop. “This is Tesla Watchman, she would like to observe the operation.  Be sure to let Vincent know." The Nurse nodded her understanding and escorted Tesla and me out.  I gave my dad another quick hug before leaving the room.  

Me and Tesla spoke as we made our way to the operating room, not about anything specific, just random chatter, things from school, fashions, thoughts.  Eventually we turned down a hall which was much less trafficked, a single woman stood in the hallway, waiting outside a closed door with one of those indoor cigarettes, the end was glowing a light purple.  She was dangerously twirling a knife between her hands, stopping to admire the weapon now and again before continuing to pass it gracefully through her fingers, and between hands.  As we walked past her, time seemed to slow. She looked me straight in the eyes, there was a break in our contact as her knife passed into view obscuring her eyes.  For what seemed to count into minutes, all I could see was her silver hair, with hints of yellow and green reflected from the lights.  When our eyes met again, Tesla nudged me.

"Hey are you even listening to me?" she whined?  Feeling under-appreciated for the falling of some story of hers on deaf ears.

"Oh, sorry Tes, Daydreaming I guess," I looked back and heard a faint call from the room the woman was guarding.

"Ed, c'mere please," the voice called, the woman deftly slipped the knife away, making it seem like it simply disappeared between passes, and left the hallway.  

We soon made it to the operating room and I changed into the medical gown which was set out for me.  Afterwards, I simply stood, looking at my reflection.  Both legs, an arm, most of my internal organs, a single eye, and my ears, all of them made from plastic and metal. I held my prosthetic arm out, if I concentrated hard enough I could make it stand still.  If I ever forgot, it would twitch a little, sometimes when it left my mind completely it would have a tendency to more than just twitch, ranging from a gentle nudge, to a full swing of the arm, or a kick.  Part of it could be blamed on Tes, part on myself, for letting her experiment on occasion, it didn’t make the already finicky parts better.  All the sleep I'd lost because of it all.  After this my insomnia will be a thing of the past.  There was a knock on the door, as well as an announcement.  It was an announcement which I was certain heralded the beginning of my new life.

"We're all set to begin."

Dreaming in digital [edit]

Dreaming in Digital

By Scott Keith Hess

An event in the history of The Bleeding Roses

Here I am, standing in a snow covered field.  There’s a ship lying on its side, the single object of any worth, everything else a barren wasteland.  I can hear a voice in the back of my mind.

"Tell us Dakka, what is it that you see right now?"

"I see a ship, an old tanker of some sort just lying here, as if it sunk decades ago.  It makes me wonder if this was the bottom of a lake," there is chatter in the recesses of my mind, voices whispering to each other.

"What do you desire to do, Dakka?" I’m cold out in the field, I have little clothing and the frigid wind is nearly more than I can bare.

"I want to go inside the ship," I say, and proceed to do so.  The inside will likely be hard to walk around in but I'm confident that it won’t be an issue.  I step atop the deck, various colors in the rust spectrum dominate the once light blue deck, walked upon by the crew of times past.  The deck is slicker than I think it will be, I have to time my movements to get to the door, the door I see just a few yards away.

I make it.  Out of breath and cold I manage to get the handle.  I swing with the door and get a foot in the arch.  The delicate balance is hard to maintain but with concentration, I get in.  I stumble once inside. it feels like the gravity has shifted upright in the ship. More eerily, the innards look as if the halls have never been out of service, it’s clean.  I explore, there isn’t a soul to see.  I come closer to the center I hear music, a piano.

"Whats going on?" the voices asked me.

"The inside, its so luxurious.  No rust, no decay, its a cruise ship of the most exquisite type." More chatter between the voices.

"What will you do?"

"I'm curious about the music I hear, I'm investigating it." I hold a hand out to the wall, the paint is rough on my fingertips as my hand slides across its black and gold accents.  As I get closer, the music becomes familiar.  I stand.  Staring at a door 'GRAND HALL LVL 2.'  The piano just behind it.  I slip my hand into the elaborate brass handle and cautiously open the door.

"Honey, I'm home." I see who is sitting at the piano and jerk away in surprise and shock.  A replication of the cybernetics within my body.  The wires within me, naked, running to exposed plugs on the surface of what should have been my skin, form a vague and frightening skeleton.  Arms, legs, torso, all there.  Nausea.  Confronted with the reality, the vision, of myself, as I am.  Frightened by the thought that this may be how others see me.  There are more metal replacements than I’d imagined.  More metal replacements than flesh.  My red and yellow spine emits a deep purple glow between each link.  I look down at my hands and arms, over all of myself.  The plugs and other exposed machinery are all missing. I remember, it’s as if that horrible surgery, which feels so far away, yet so close, never happened.  

The skeletal figure at the piano stops, the gentle melody turning to discord, then silence.  It looks at me.  Something is wrong, the cybernetics which should be set in the front of the cranium were set in the back. A chill goes down my spine, this isn’t right. It’s terribly wrong.  I look around the room and find other metal bodies, bodies floating as if unbound by the laws of nature.  Bodies that I recognize.  One is Breech. The observation made plain by the heavy work in the arms, chest and head, and confirmed by the eyes.  The eyes are the same as hers.  Blank, but filled with experience that belonged to Breech and no one else.  A void, with all the wisdom, and potential, of the night sky.

There is another.  Just an arm.  Ratchet.  A total nutcase.  The amount of work she's inflicted upon herself simply for a cybernetic arm is immense.  Only one body remains.

It is an absolute work of art in a cybernetics.  A total human replica down to the musculature.  Such a beautiful piece... but merely a cage. Even the most beautiful of cages is still a cage, this, a cage for a soul to live in, alone and afraid.  The question burns within me, killing me, to whom does this cage belong?  Or rather, who has been committed to it, locked away, with no chance of escape but death.  Not Delta, his body isn’t nearly so... fine, and feminine.  MooK? or even Levan?  The only possibilities I know of, the only two whose lithe frames might match what I see before me.

The voices return, buzzing in a place of my mind I cannot identify.  They fade, the already faint whisperings turn to static and the semblance of music. I turn to the piano, expecting it to be the source of the melancholy tune.  My skeletal metal doppelganger however, is not playing it.  It’s coming towards me slowly, along with the other chassis. They’re surrounding me.  I back towards the door, fear and claustrophobia setting in. Before I make it far, the door snaps shut behind me, I turn to it, pounding, but nothing I do can break through it.  A hand grabs my shoulder and turns me around.  I see the fist of the unknown body, the work of art, the cage, flying through the air towards my comparatively frail and soft human flesh.  Soon it will strike me, break me.  I brace myself for the blow, but something changes.  Everything around me distorts into a psychedelic twist of tie-dyed colors before reverting to wire frame.  My psycho-analysis for grinder piloting was complete.

"Do you want the good news, or the bad news Dakka?" A voice speaks to me, it still feels far off, unreal.

"The bad news?" Even the sound of my own voice seems alien.

"The bad news is... you get to go out and get shot at again"  My vision returns, to reality, or as close as I know to it.  I raise myself to look at the speaker.

"And the good?"

"You get the benefit of piloting a grinder to protect you.  Your evaluation went well," the analyst fits the words in between grunts as he fights off Ratchet, alive, in the flesh, who doesn’t hide her eagerness to view the instrument cluster.

"Were you guys able to see what I saw when I was in the machine?" My mind fights between the relief of disclosure, and the horror of judgement.

"No, why? did you see something strange? a glitch maybe?" On short thought, I find that I’m not sure how to explain what I saw near the end of the analysis.  I decide that the experience is one best kept to myself for now.

"The... sky...” I mock thought, even as the words hesitantly spill from my mouth, “It looked a little too blue." I can only wait, breath locked away, for a response, one which comes quickly, but in a silence which feels to last a lifetime.

"Hmm...” the analyst turns to a clipboard to take a note, perhaps a reminder, and checks some of the readouts on the panel before him.  I still wait. “I suppose we'll have to look into the coding again,” more notes, “regardless,” he turns his eyes back to me, “you’re free to go."

 

I stand, uncomfortably to say the least, and head towards the door, looking to ditch the miserable form fitting test suit which they had made me wear.  I step into the adjoined room and put my catsuit and coat back on, more ready than ever to head back home.

~~~~~~~~~

Walking the familiar halls of the unit’s combat carrier, I wind my way to Kata's room, I need to ask her what she knows about the body, the angelic and unknown wraith which has stalked my mind since seeing it aboard the ship.  I knocked on her door, not knowing what to expect, or why I expect anything at all.  However, I know of nowhere else to turn, and if anybody will know anything, it will be Kata.

"You may enter" Kata’s muffled voice drifts through to me from the other side of the heavy door.  I push the door open to find her sitting and working at her desk.  She stops to look up, and speak to me, slightly surprised it seems.  "Dakka, do you need something?"

"Kata,” I began, “I need to ask you about something.  Something I saw while I was in analysis.” Kata looks interested, but says nothing.  I continue, “Near the end of it all, I came across representations of our cybernetic implants.  Mine, Breech's, Ratchet's, and another.  One that I couldn’t identify.  Is there a Rose,” I picture the work of art in my mind, its details etched into my mind, “with nearly one-hundred percent body replacement?" Kata’s face twists from a look of interest and concern to one of dismay, as if it’s a question which she hoped never to be asked, and which she would be unhappy to answer.  She seems to struggle with herself, her eyes dart from object to object on her desk.

“I didn’t come in for a display of nervous ticks,” I nearly growl, “,just tell me what I want to know, or tell me to get out."  I can hardly control what I do or say, so strong is my obsession, my need to know.

"Alright,” Kata replied firmly, “just cool down.”  She lets a sigh, of relief, or of distress, I can’t tell.  “Now, let me get this straight, you’re saying that while you were put under for analysis, you saw what your cybernetics look like, along with some others that you believe were the other Roses.”  I had taken a seat as she spoke, and now nod, wary of the implication of there being something wrong with my account.  “What I would like to know from you, Dakka, is how you know just how both of these comrades cybernetics are set within their bodies." Kata stands, and turns to look out the porthole behind her.  I consider response, but she doesn’t allow time for it.

"Unless what you see is merely what your subconscious mind wants them to look like on the inside...  In other words," Kata looks back at me, “merely what you think their cybernetics look like.

"I doubt you’ve ever seen blueprints, it’s all far more complex than your projections would indicate. More to the point however," Kata leans on her desk, and pulls a tablet from one of the many slots on her terminal, with a short investigation of the contents, she tosses it across the desk to me.  I catch it, and  scroll through the information it contains.

"Wait... this is... who owns it?” I feel my mind racing, “of all the people to have a body... like that." I’m nearly whispering, not certain whether the words I speak are directed at Kata, myself, or to no-one. I close my eyes and bend my neck over the head of the chair I sit in, exhaling deeply.

Kata speaks again, "The percentage of machinery in this model is so extreme, it would make more sense to give it grinder classification rather than cyborg."  Kata again turned to the tiny window.  "Dakka, this information is not to be discussed with anyone else.  Nobody.   I showed it to you only because I trust you.  We've been through a lot together, and I feel this is the right thing to do, don’t prove me wrong."

"Kata, this...” I can hardly speak, “this information is... incredible.  From anybody else I would never have believed it.  I don’t know what to say."

"Good,” Kata turned her head to me to finalize the conversation, “Then don’t.  Not a thing."