[BIG OLAF]

Author's Note(s):

- Okay, so. Just letting everyone know that this is the first time in over a year I've actually sat and written something seriously. I've had a bit of a confidence problem for a long time in regards to this kind of thing. So, it's probably going to be a bit rough around the edges, and a bit rusty and creaky in places. It takes a long time to dust off the ol' wordsmith skills and whatnot.

- The title is a work in progress, but I like the current one I have quite a bit. I may keep it as-is. We'll see. I'm bad at making names for my writings.

- Since the PSO2 lore and such isn't 100% known at the time, I'll be taking my own, personal canonical liberties with some things. Don't worry, I'm pretty good at keeping things sensible.

- Now, also, I'm extremely nervous about posting anything I write anywhere for anyone to read. I'm absolutely terrified right now. This isn't something I do lightly, but I do hope I learn to enjoy sharing this stuff as much as someone out there (hopefully) enjoys reading it. Here's chapter one.

__________________________________________


ARISE.

The morning light cracked through the glass in the bay window, revealing the shapes of a number of greasy handprints and ashy streaks against the pane. A faint haze of cigarette smoke lofted in the room behind the glass, it’s dancing and twirling more noticeable as the light through the window bared itself upon it. The windowsill showed a much similar treatment, as old cigarette butts lay bent and forgotten across the length of the metallic jetty, littered around black, chalky burn-markings where they had been snuffed out.

The office below the smoky haze looked relatively plain. Two simple metal chairs sat in front of the slightly less simple, but much heavier, metal desk. Three filing cabinets sat further away from the window, some drawers cracked open, as if slammed in a violent manner in which they had slightly slid back out.

On the monotone, box-like desk, sat numerous papers of, to the layperson, nigh-ineligible legal jargon; ordering forms, discharge papers, and recruitment sheets. A black pen lay across them in a diagonal angle, from being tossed in an oddly picante mixture of carelessness and tiredness. A simple, white mug sat but a few inches from the scatterings of papers, the bright, golden symbol of the Arks glistening in its gold-flake print against the equally golden rays of the new day.

The contents of the mug were quite cool, the result of its owner neglecting the contents in favor of his nose being buried in the morning headlines. He leaned back in the reclining chair opposite the two simpler seats on the other side of the desk, his Arks-issued, white alloy boots propped up on the end of his flat workspace, smoke from his half-finished cigarette lazily drifting upwards from behind the newspaper, spinning like an ethereal ballerina.

The front door of the small office slid open with its usual hissing noise, ending with the telltale clink. The man at his desk didn’t raise his head for a glance. The click-clacking of his female CAST assistant’s feet on the hard floor, let alone the time of day, alerted him to who it was without as much as an instinctual guess.

“Good morning, Commander,” she spoke in her soft, feminine voice; however slightly garbled it was due to the metallic buzzing in her speech that all CASTs possessed. “Did you sleep well last night?”

The Commander leaned the top half of the paper forward, but didn’t meet his assistant’s eyes, and instead looked down at his mug of now-cold coffee, the Arks symbol facing slightly away from the pair in the room.

“No pleasantries today, Andy.” He grumbled, the near-finished cigarette butt hanging from the corner of his lips. “Had the nightmare again. Worse this time, though. Just get to work, please.”

“Very well, Commander.” Andy answered, a more business-like tone in her voice.

The Commander took brief notice of the vivid, green pupils of his assistant’s eyes spinning and resetting themselves automatically to accommodate the new lighting of the room, as the sun had just began to grow slightly higher into the sky, before she stepped through the side door that led into her own office. The door slid shut, and The Commander could hear her heavy metal boots clanking, muffled, through the closed gateway.

He let out a long, noisy stream of air from his nose, his way of sighing without making the customary mouth groan, whilst opening the top drawer of his desk to pull out his office phone. The Commander always left it turned off and stored away until he had finished his morning coffee and cigarette. Being able to get out of the morning grogginess without your superiors talking your ear off about whatever menial task they deem so damned important is a tiny luxury that’s easy to afford.

No sooner had he reflected on that small, victorious thought after wirelessly connecting the phone to the Arks communications system, did the device begin to ring. It startled The Commander, making him fidget and slide several of his order forms right off of his desk with his foot.

Panting lightly, he quickly picked up the earpiece unit, slid it firmly into place, and pressed the ‘accept call’ button on the base.

“Hey, Derek! How are you this morning? Ha, that was one of them, uh, ‘restorical’ questions, brother! Hey, listen. Just got off the phone with the Colonel. Uh, well, one o' the Colonel's sexy lil' secretaries. But, uh, she says he’s looking for someone to go with him to some kind of party tonight. Said he’s thinking ‘bout taking you.”

Commander Derek shook his head back and forth hastily. “Whoa, hey! Slow down. You talk to fast, Jed. The Colonel wants me to go to some kind of fancy-ass shindig? What for?”

Jed chortled and continued. “Well, it ain’t like a personal invitation, brother. He’s just looking for someone to, uh, ‘protect’ him. Apparently there’s a rumor about that domestic terrorist cell…uh…what’re they called again?”

“Ugh. Uhm, I think it was like the ‘Red Halo’ or something goofy like that.” Derek responded in his deep, growling voice. “I don’t know where these stupid kids come up with this shit, or where the fuck their parents are while they’re waving guns around and threatening to blow up government facilities…

“…Uh, anyway, the Colonel wants to use me as his bodyguard, more or less? Here I was, thinking he hated me. Huh, how wrong can a guy be?”

“Well, maybe he’s using you because he knows that the Red Whatchamacallits really are gonna make an attempt on his life,” Jed coughed, raspy from the cigar he most likely was chewing on. “Maybe he’s hoping you’ll die or something! Never know!”

“Gee, that’s a wonderful thought. Thank you so much, my friend.” Derek groaned into the headset, becoming visibly annoyed with his just-a-touch-too-blunt conversation partner. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Got some forms to fill out this morning, or else the Admiral is going to have an aneurysm. See ya.”

Derek ended the call before Jed could get any sort of farewell out of his mouth. Tossing the headset down on the desk next to his coffee mug, he placed his hand on top of the stack of papers and pulled some towards him, snatching up his pen once it was within reaching distance of his other hand. He let another long, airy sigh from his nostrils and blinked hard, scratching at his frosty-white beard.

Derek was no old man. He had no wrinkles on his face, aside from stress-lines on his forehead. Not too bad for a guy who was in his mid-30’s. He’d always had white hair, since the day he was born. It was most peculiar, according to what his mother had said. The doctors that delivered him thought him to be an albino at first, with his usually pale skin and odd, rustic red eye color. Once he grew a bit, and his hair began to emerge from his head, the icy, colorless locks only reinforced the albino theory.

But, it was around that time that his eyes began to change from a dull, burnt-out red, to a vivid, almost iridescent violet shade, the irises glimmering like dark stars in any direct lighting. He was truly a mystery, not just physically, but mentally as well. Always at the top of his class through schooling, even military training. However, his innate intelligence was offset by the chronic night terrors he had suffered throughout his whole life, almost all of them being very similar to each other, more and more with each passing year. Those dreams had, over time, begun to take a heavy toll on not only his performance in the field, but also his mental state, which led to him being ‘grounded’ in his current position: an office monkey.

He finished the order requisition form he had begun moments ago, before getting lost in thought, and slumped his shoulders down by his sides, letting the pen dangle between his fingers, the cap an inch or so from scraping the ground. Derek let out a slow shudder and shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Andy!” he yelled towards his assistant’s door, moving only his head, and keeping his arms hanging over the sides of his chair. “Can I talk to you for a moment, please?”

There was a faint thud, the sound of wheels rolling, and papers shuffled; the familiar clacking of the metal-on-metal, the whirring of the sliding door. Andy stepped forward towards Derek’s desk, ending with a small, humbled bow, her slicked, black hair falling forward a touch as she lifted her body back upright.

“Yes, Commander, what do you need?” Andy sounded, her irises spinning and manipulating to adjust to Derek’s closer distance.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be heading out early to, uh, go to a dinner party with the Colonel. So, take the night off after I leave. Lock up, do all that. Sound good?”

Andy blinked and nodded, dipping her legs respectfully. “Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you for the early day. Is there anything else you require of me whilst you have my attention?”

“Hm? Oh, no. No, that’s all.” Derek replied, his attention already shifted back to his morning paperwork as his metallic cohort returned to her office.

As if on cue to stop Derek from getting any work done, his phone began to beep not a moment after he began filling out his portion of a new Arks prospect’s recruitment forms. He lazily glanced at the number, and saw it was coming straight from the Colonel’s office.

“Damn, this must be a big deal. Usually he just has one of his dumb bimbo secretaries that he acts like he’s not sleeping with call for any appointment, official or personal. Hm, well, I guess this would be a bit of bo-GAH!“ Derek interrupted his outward monologue, realizing that the phone was still ringing. He snatched his headset and hung it halfway onto his ear, in case the call ended while adjusting it correctly, and slammed his fist on the ‘accept call’ button.

“Yes, hello sir…..yes, I was informed about half an hour ago.” Derek told the Colonel, leaning back in his reclining chair and shooting a glance at the clock above the door to Andy’s office. He rubbed his hands up and down his face to force himself to wake up and pay closer attention to the Colonel’s words. “Indeed, sir…..what time? Of course, sounds good, sir.

….a suit, sir? Oh, no problem, sir…..I’ll see you tonight, sir. Goodbye.”

Derek pressed the ‘call end’ button and groaned loudly. He wondered if he’d have a good time, even if nothing bad happened. Would the Colonel use it as an opportunity to berate him in a public place? Perhaps he wanted to give him a proper celebration for a surprise promotion. Derek chuckled at the latter idea. The Colonel had always hated him since he signed up for the Arks. Maybe it was his devilish good looks, or he was jealous of his above-average skill with all manner of blades and firearms. Derek was good with a weapon, but by no means the best, and certainly it was no skill set to be jealous over.

He had all day to think about what the deal was. It wasn’t important now. Derek began grumbling to himself as he took a brief moment to pull another cigarette out of his jacket and light it with his cheap, plastic lighter he got at the cornerstore before getting to his office that morning. He planted his feet on the edge of his desk and pushed back, sliding his chair against the wall. He looked down at the lighter in his hands, and began to fiddle with it as the cigarette initiated its slow burn.

“A fuckin’ suit. Really?”

[Blackheart521]

Hey man, read it and seems pretty interesting... you definitely know how to paint every detail with words, Sounds like Derek has some weird biological secret or something of the sort... at least that's how it seemed to me.

Hope you continue this man.

[goldwing]

Dude wow. Im not going to lie im picky with my storys but yours hits the spot.

[BIG OLAF]

Thanks guys. I know my 'style' may be a a bit more wordy than some people may like, but I've always wanted to be thorough when I create these kinds of things. H.P Lovecraft is my favorite author, and that man could paint a picture with his words (though, the 'pictures' in question were more often than not horrifying given his usual subjects of literature).

I originally wasn't going to post anymore unless a bunch of people wanted me to. But, hey, even if there's two or three people that will read it, that's more than zero. Gotta start small! I'll throw the next part up within the next week, probably.

[Rock Eastwood]

Niiiiccee, whenever I "write" it's usually not in the form of actual story telling but a script. And I rarely read fanfictions so this kind through me off.

You definitely capture a lot of details, and your character's personalities and the mood of everything is kinda Noir-like,really cool.

The only thing that throws me off is... and your strong point of details kind of contractdicts this for me... Is the setting, At least with what I've read so far, it feels like none of this HAS to be or was MEANT to be in the Phantasy Star setting. Even with Andy, I was only reminded of it the few times you mentioned Arkz. If anything it seems like you really want to, or DID just make it your own original story completely and I think you could easily get away with making your own setting instead of having this as a fan-fiction.

Though admittedly making a setting that doesn't previously exist can be annoying. And turning to the Arkz or Darkers or everything else this game world has to offer can make it easier to help the story sometimes. (For example the army/company/aliance would have to be something else other than Arkz if this wasn't in the PSO2 relm. Like a cyberpunk Law enforcement or Mafia Gang, which examples only come to mind because of the Noir vibe I'm getting.)

[Xaeris]

I'm glad you scrounged up the courage to post. I know it was difficult for you, so I'm going to be gentle, but this may still sting a bit. Please don't doubt that I mean well. I wasn't expecting to see a PSO2 story so soon, but there's nothing particularly wrong with that.

So, let's talk details. Details are good. Probably the number one criticism handed out to writers, after "show, don't tell" is "needs more detail." The thing I hardly ever hear given along with that advice, though, is what kind of details you should be giving the reader. It's important that the details you give the reader are actually serving some kind of purpose other than filling space. It's really easy to find yourself writing a pile of nothing where your character is choosing what color tie they're going to wear that day.

Well, I'm making it sound scary, but I think you did well in that respect. Looking at the opening, you tell us what kind of environment the character keeps around himself: cigarette smoke, grease stained windows and immediately give us an idea of what kind of person this is. I'm not sure if this was deliberate or a happy accident, so I mention this because, if you're going to persist with the level of detail you have here, you have the aforementioned trap to be wary of going forth.

Let's see, what else...dialogue is fine mostly. Could stand to use less saidisms (using verbs aside from "said" to denote speech). "Andy sounded" really stuck out to me. Change that to 'said,' you lose nothing and the reader doesn't have to stop and think for a second if they're supposed to be getting something from the term 'sounded.'

Good job, mostly. If I had any clue where to find it, I'd show you some of my early attempts at fiction and you could feel really good about yourself by comparison.

[BIG OLAF]

Thanks for the input. I know that detailing things to a large extent is a very fine line to walk, but I'm confident in making sure I don't go overboard. It's how my favorite authors write, so i try to learn from them. Hopefully, with more practice, I can be almost as good as they were/are. The setting helping to describe Derek's personality was no accident, I can assure you that.

As for using "said", I absolutely despise using that word more than once, maybe twice a chapter, unless I'm out of other viable options. I try my best to keep it varied, since just the thought of putting a 'said' tag after the majority of speaking makes me cringe. I find doing so makes an otherwise rich dialogue sound a bit stale, myself. Duly noted, however, and I'll keep what you said in mind.

[CupOfCoffee]

I like this, Olaf, and I'm cool with the high level of description. It may be a little overwritten in parts, but who says fan fiction of a game with a schlocky anime vibe needs to read like Hemingway? Your descriptive narrative forms a pleasant Gestalt and really does paint a vivid picture. While reading this I could imagine camera angles, shadows, and even smells that weren't implicitly mentioned, and that's important.

That said (ha, ha), using "said" a hundred times is generally accepted to be more tasteful than replacing "said" with a bunch of goofy synonyms, RE: Xaeris. An exotic dialogue tag here and there is alright, but "said" is the bread and butter for most 20th and 21st century literature. Why is this? I don't exactly know, but that's just the Way Things Are Done, for better or for worse.

I was hoping PSO2 stories would start popping up soon, and I'm glad that the first one I stumbled across was this readable. So keep it up!

[goldwing]

So when r u planning on continueing the story hmmmm???

[BIG OLAF]

-Oh, man. I totally forgot it was Sunday (technically Monday now, but whatever). I tell you, that PSO2 is making me lose track of minutes hours days. I seriously thought today was Friday when I woke up, and just realized that it had been Sunday all along. Sorry about that!

________________________________________________

ATTACK.

The inside of the limousine stunk like ash. Not the ash of cheap tobacco that was swept from the floors of the cigarette factories that Derek just so happened to enjoy lighting up. The high-class cigars that the Colonel, and those close to him, went through daily. Derek shifted uncomfortably in his suit and slacks, newly purchased by a swindler down in the shopping district. On short notice, one doesn’t have a lot of precious time to devote to fitting themselves with formal attire they would actually enjoy wearing.

Derek had purchased a plain, black blazer with matching black slacks, and a gaudy, purple tie that had an irking habit of bending slightly back, so as to make a small loop at its own lower end. The glossy, black shoes were a size or two too large for the Commander, causing his heels to slip out of them if he walked too briskly, as what had happened while briskly stepping towards the vehicle when the Colonel and his other guests had come to pick him up from the market. As it were, his outfit was hardly appealing for a soiree of this magnitude, but would have to suffice.

Derek slowly cocked his head towards the Colonel, who had been looking out the window, rather uneasily, at all the passing nightclubs since they had started their drive.

“Sir, everything all right?” Derek asked, scratching the corner of his left eye. “You seem distressed.”

The Colonel slid around awkwardly in his seat, much like Derek himself had done only moments before, and began chewing his cigar harder than usual. “It’s nothing boy, just a bit nervous; haven’t seen this evening’s gracious host in quite a while, heh. He doesn’t like when people don’t keep in touch.”

“So, who is this ‘gracious host’, sir? I don’t think you told me.”

“Ah, didn’t I? His name is Toji Alastare, and he’s one of the richest men in the entire ORACLE fleet. He’s a collector of ‘fine wares’, and by ‘fine wares’, I mean junk that he thinks has magic powers! Hahaha-“ the Colonel was cut off by a cigar-induced coughing fit, by inhaling a deep gulp of hot smoke.

Derek looked out the window again, and adjusted his tie, attempting to flatten out the bottom, which was a futile endeavor. The city was vibrant and alive, beautiful women and handsome men walking to and fro between clubs, restaurants, and music venues. The bright, neon lights gave the streets a glow reminiscent of a rave party, the brilliant and dazzling colors of all shades and hues reflecting off of glass, metal, and plastic to make an electronic wonderland. The technology present on the ORACLE fleet was truly awe-inspiring, even technology like shiny nightclub logos.

The Colonel sputtered once more and continued. “Got-damn, sorry about that, son. It’s just I find the very concept of magic to be absolutely ‘ree-dick-you-luss! ‘ Outside of Force power, which is technically based off of science anyway, I just can’t see any of that freaky, universe-shifting shit to be possible. Oh, but Alastare, he’s big on it. His whole house, which is bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, save for the Arena in the downtown area, is dressed from rafters to floorboards in all kinds of weird, ‘magic’ items he’s found from one of his private expeditions down to the planet surfaces.”

His superior officer’s rambling beginning to get to him, Derek halted his train of thought to think about the Arena. One of the biggest constructs on the entire ship, Arena was a massive orb, with a angular ‘cut’ designs on its front, sitting atop a metal ‘base’ of sorts, where all manners of sporting events, concerts, plays, and other recreational activities were undertaken. It was a grand sight to behold, even from a distance. Sadly, they weren’t in that area of the city. It was truly a marvel at night, when the entire globe would light up, making it seem as if it was a giant, spherical projection.

“…and according to him, he’s found quite a ‘remarkable new toy’ recently, whatever that means.” The Colonel continued to drone. “Anyway, enough about all that garbage. Derek, there’s some things we’ve got to go over.”

Derek blinked and turned towards his associate for the evening. “There is, sir?”

“Correct, sonny. Alastare, being a fancy-pants rich boy, he’s, uh, got some rules.”

“Oh, great. One of those guys, sir?”

“Betchur ass. He don’t like being looked at in the eyes. He don’t like shaking hands. He only likes when people speak when spoken to, especially if you’re a stranger…like you. Now, I know how asinine all that is, trust me. But, Alastare privately owns quite a chunk of the city, including all of those clubs we passed on the way just a few minutes ago. Hell, he’s the one that funded the Stadium being built. So, just be sure to show some got-damn respect, even if the man is a self-important prude.”

The Commander didn’t know how to take that bit of information. This Alastare fellow seems like a royal prick, but…he owned the entire downtown district? He privately funded the Arena itself being built?! The man had some serious meseta if that was the case. Seemed there was something to that ‘useless magic junk’, as the Colonel had so eloquently put it, whether it was legal profit, or…something more.

The thought was interrupted as the limousine pulled to a smooth stop at the step of a massive marvel of technology, that just so happened to be a house. The whole building was a super-polished, cream-colored glossy metal. Great pillars twisted down from an overhang in front of the house, resembling water spouts frozen in time. The windows looked as if they were made out of liquid, seeming to pulse and move with each new blink of the eye, and a golden trim that would have otherwise been blinding if it weren’t nighttime, graced the edges of the windows, pillars, and front door.

The door itself, which seemed like it was half a mile up the front steps in the yard where Derek and the Colonel now stood, looked as if it had been forcibly broken off of a cathedral of some sort, and perfectly stuck into the front of the house like a puzzle piece.

As the two men began to walk forward, the steps began to move. They were a giant escalator, seemingly capable of moving at least 50 people on each ‘level’ of step at any time, given their length and width. Derek’s eyes bulged as he looked at the shimmering, almost glass-like stair under him move upward without so much as even a hint of noise or actual motion. At the end of the short journey up to the door, the stairs halted movement as swift and silently as it had begun. The Colonel cleared his throat, unfazed by the uncommon occurrence that had just taken place, and rapped on the door. The entryway to the home being so large and grandiose, that the Commander was unsure that his superior’s knocking had even been heard.

Derek took that moment to turn around and inspect the yard from an elevated point-of-view. Alastare’s front garden looked like something out of a dream. Below the steps, the circular road that looped back out to the street that he and the Colonel had come in from. In the middle of the loop of street, sat a lush patch of grass with a gargantuan fountain, three, four, five water geysers spouting off in sequence, the lights from the city in the distance passing through the liquid to create an effect like melting ice-pops that children often ate on hot days.

Beyond that, more lush grass plain stretched out alongside the road back to the main highway for at least one-fourth of a mile. Patches of wild, exotic flowers, no doubt from the forests of Naberius, littered the grass. Alastare certainly had an eye for style and pizazz, but with his kind of money, Derek figured that anyone would go the extra mile. No need to be shy when your funds are, most likely, virtually limitless.

His visual foray around the front yard was interrupted by the opening of the massive front door, which made no sounds as it slid into the wall and latched itself with a clinking noise, not unlike that of Derek’s office door, but on a scale twice as large.

Two rather large men, dressed in red suits, wordlessly escorted Derek and the Colonel towards another door, at the end of the long, white-marble hall they found themselves in, strange trinkets and artifacts strewn on the walls and in standing display cases. Derek raised an eyebrow as he noticed the back of the Colonel’s neck. The entire atmosphere began to rapidly change the closer the four men got to the door. Something certainly didn’t feel right.

“So, sounds like some…party, huh?” Derek shyly asked one of the mountainous mooks. As they proceeded through the second door into the main lobby of the mansion. “I figured there would be music or some-“

Interrupted by the new scene before him, Derek’s speech involuntarily halted itself. In front of him and the Colonel, stood at least fifteen men and women, all adorned in smooth, red leather jumpsuits, matched with a sort of scanner-type of eyewear. In the middle of each suit was a darker red ring-shape, etched white a whitish-silver accentuation, like a logo. Of course, the most interesting part of the group’s regalia was the photon rifles they all had pointed at Derek’s own head.

“You, on the ground!” one of the women shrieked at Derek. He hastily complied, not being one to try and fight impossible odds such as this. “…and you, old man! Come forward.

"Master Alastare, your guests are here!”

A faint sound of steps could be heard coming down the marble staircase, a gentle sliding of a hand accompanying it via the golden railings attached to the right side of the case. The gaunt man rounded the final curve in the stairs and came into view. He was tall, slender, and gaunt. Pale skin, to the point of almost gray, like a corpse. His eyes were a dull, frozen blue, and his hair white as a fresh layer of snow from Naberius’ mountain ranges.

“I see you finally made it, my friend. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show. But, ah, that would have been unwise, and I know you to be smarter than that, yes?” Alastare questioned the Colonel, reaching his hands out from the long, silken sleeves of his robe and brushing his hair behind his long, pointed ears before bringing them back to his center, folding his fingers together. “I trust you brought the…item I asked for?”

The Colonel sniffed and dug around in his pockets for a minute or so, until finally grunting with a shaky satisfaction and pulled out his hand. Alastare motioned for one of his men to approach the Colonel, and held out his hand. Derek’s superior opened hand, his arm visibly shaking. He had what appeared to be two mid-sized, triangular white earrings, complete with a red stripe. A smaller, teal-colored triangle accompanied the white objects on the hook.

“What in the hell is going on here?!” Derek burst out, quickly standing up. Alastare’s firing squad immediately turned all weapons to him again. Unfazed by that, Derek continued. “Was this some kind of setup? You son of a bitch, I knew this was going to be some kind of setup!”

“Please, spare your commanding officer the grief. He had no choice in the manner. This was all my doing, you see.” Alastare rasped, an air of self-importance in his voice. “I needed what your Colonel had, but I also needed...you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Needed me? Explain!”

“”As much as I would relish laying the entire plan out for you, Mr. Fultz, I’m afraid I just do not have the time to do so at present. Even though I’m still…lacking an item, my patience has worn thin. I want my prize immediately. We must get started right away.”

Derek spat at the Alastare’s mention of his surname, Fultz. He wasn’t overly-fond of it, and never had been. Anyone who knew Derek always asked why, as Fultz wasn’t a particularly insulting or mock-worthy name. Derek could never answer; he wasn’t sure, himself.

With a motion from Alastare, two of his armed posse members started towards Derek. What could be done? Was there a feasible way out of this? He figured whatever this ‘plan’ that the lanky Newman man had in store for him wasn’t going to be much better than death. So, Derek counted in his head as the gunmen approached to take him.

One.

Without moving his neck, he shifted his sight to the left, at a marble pillar only a few feet away from him, holding the balcony above him. It was probably thick enough to withstand a hail of photon bullets for all of five seconds or so. Decidedly ample time.

Two.

He cocked his head a bit more to the left, eyeballing the gold-railed stairwell only ten feet or so from the pillar he had just examined. The stairs immediately took a turn into itself, and would make for a hard shot by anyone other than a master gunslinger.

Ah, shit. Two and a half…

Looking up a bit from the stairwell, Derek noticed another rather large double door, almost as big as the one that led into the house. It was at a bad angle from where the mobs of guns were standing, so it would be plausible to maybe, possibly, hopefully get in there. He turned his head back to the guards that were now upon him, ready to drag him away to whatever torture their assuredly insane master had concocted.

Derek clapped his hands over the left-side guard’s ears, disorienting him, and dragged him behind the pillar, pulling his rifle away from him in the process. The right-side guard gave chase, firing rounds into his companions back as Derek used him as a shield. After his clip had been spent, Derek pushed the man he was holding back onto his partner, and dashed for the stairwell, the other twelve or so red-clad henchman peppering the ground where he ran. Derek took a few potshots when he could as he ascended the stairs, hitting one or two in the arm, or possibly chest.

Rolling over the last step, Derek crawled prone on the carpet lining the balcony that led towards his final destination. The door in sight, he heard Alastare yell something indistinguishable, and then a myriad of shouts and marching feet. Acting quick, Derek stood halfway up, into a crouch, and dashed towards the door, the doors sliding open for him as he approached.

With no time to waste, he dragged two large stands full of exotic garbage in front of the doorway and busted out the door controls with the butt of the rifle he commandeered from his initial victim. The shouting and the bashing started only seconds later, the doors rattling fiercely with the force of a dozen legs attempting to kick it in, and only the weight of the standing cases seemed to be stopping it. Derek frantically began scanning the room, looking for a way out. He spied a window opposite him, and started towards it. Then, he noticed something on a smaller, more ornate glass stand in the middle of the otherwise empty space.

A shimmering, ruby band of some sort, with a chrome center, and odd, black markings etched into the underside of the red gemstone that formed the circle.

Derek began to feel strange. The longer he stared at this object, the more inside-out he felt, like his very soul was attempting to rip itself from his mortal flesh. His skin felt like it was on fire; his mind felt like gelatin. His very essence of being felt like it was melting, like a popsicle left in front of a hairdryer. He grabbed his own wrist and pulled himself back, heaving onto the floor, making an impact that felt like he was a water balloon, bursting everywhere.

He slowly got to his knees, and began crawling to what looked like the window, his vision blurring as if he had just been hit in the side of the head with the broadside of a gardening tool. He began to hear noises: giggles, and whispers, and growling, and crying, and moaning. Derek found himself slipping on his own sweat, his wrists sliding out from beneath him, causing him to smash his face on the hard floor.

The noises grew louder. He could hear a young woman making sounds akin to what started as singing, but then began to grow more malicious. Her voice warped inside his head, until it sounds just like his own, but much darker. It hissed, groaned, gurgled, and roared at him. It snapped at him to get up, to run, to crawl to the window and fall out of it. His own inner thoughts, seemingly developing a ‘mind’ of their own, pushed and ushered Derek to trust in them, and to topple out a two-story drop.

Derek brought himself back to his knees, a rusty taste on his lips from the blood dribbling down his nose and into his open mouth. He was breathing hard, and the noises grew ever louder. Sickening wretches, pops, bubbling, and frothing in his mind, as if some sort of mutant creature was attempting birth in his ears.

Finally making it to the window, he used his very last bit of strength and punched out the glass, heaving himself over the windowsill, and allowing himself to freely tumble down the side of the mansion.