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A Long Memory

Marty's online game, set in the ever-dark city of Redoubt

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marty
Weaver
Posts: 7
Joined: Mon Oct 14, 2019 7:59 pm
Pronouns: He/Him

A Long Memory

Post by marty »

She breathed in, and she breathed out. In and out. In. out.

Clearing her mind was a natural activity after so many years of practice, but it today was like taking a breath through a bit of cloth. It was very manageable, but still slightly aggravating. Still, in and out, and she pushed aside the aggravation as well. Something to deal with later.

Much like finally stepping down a long flight of stairs, she knew she had arrived at her mind being cleared - not a sudden revelation, but an expectation of the process. A clear mind still had many things in it, but they were all paused and muted. Her mind was her greatest weapon, and she had to keep it sharp and clear. In the clarity of the moment, she slowly let each piece of her new issue be presented and resolved. To someone outside looking at her, this would be mere seconds, but inside her mind, this was its own eternity. Her body was breathing quietly and carefully while her mind was racing.

The first thought she began to explore was her new team - the Actors. There was a lot to break down there, so she started to do so. Was she certain of her reports of who attacked them? She followed the thread of logic. His team- er, squad- accidentally targeting hers could be a genuine answer. They were in an unusual spot with a vehicle common enough for their enemies. They were well known for carrying heavy firepower when called in - and she knew from reports that someone had called in the vehicle.

But it was too convenient that they had let Ansel and his "pilgrimage" in, were looking at some of the harbor research, and digging into the Beacon for her to dismiss another player on the field. She was starting to think they might be some of the Second Peoples and not just some war-addled mercenaries. It really seemed particularly odd when she heard their rigger use her own accent - a distinct departure from their archaic usage of sounds and insistence on words that she hadn't heard in years.

So was that damnable dra-

Suddenly, alarms, magical and physical, went off. Her careful meditation was interrupted abruptly. Preparing for the worst, she quickly strode to over to a small table and drew a small-chambered gun. The streets may encourage the use of bigger bullets and ordinance, but a lifetime of zen practice made her as deadly with this as any gangster with shotgun. Swift hand motions ensured that the chamber had a round in it, and 7 more stood ready in the clip. She had yet to need more than 3.

Reaching out with her mind, she knew they approached her door. Not they. One, it. Not with rage or malice or even duty, but curiosity. She carefully slid the firearm into her waistband and covered it up with her shirt. And merely watched them move with their thoughts. Even more curious, they knocked. Powerful enough to disable traps and alarms, but they knocked as though they were a courier.

Her voice, with her earned confidence, "Yes? Who's there?"

A male voice responding, in Draconic "Qyrsit, it is I, Chielrir"

"[Censored]," was her automatic reply, not switching to the Draconic tongue "Who in the hell is it actually?"

"I would not lie. Be sure, look into my thoughts. I am prepared for this."

With an opportunity, she did. She didn't give them a chance, completely crushing their mind and consciousness. His scream of agony wasn't even registered as she was focused on the battlefield she knew the best. It was a one-sided war, in which she held the advent of all technology against a stone wall - and soundly broke through. As she crashed through it, she paused her mental crusade.

"Chielrir," she gasped, switching to Draconic "It is truly you."

Withdrawing from his mind promptly caused him to pass out, slumping against her yet unopened door. She opened the door, letting the stout human collapse against the floor before dragging him in. She gauged the ceiling and the room, before prodding his mind, and waking him up.

She muttered, switching back to the more familiar common "How many godsdamned pieces of the past are going to show up today."
 
 
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