Leviathan Fugue: Satanic Reunion

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Asmodeus, May 27, 2013.

  1. Mount Fuji, sixty miles southwest of Tokyo


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    "Zero-stretch... calibrating cross-pitch... harmonics check... streaming now... compensate for flux variance. See that?"

    "Copy. Picture is good."

    "My God..."

    "Yes. This is what I tried to describe to you, Prime Minister. We call it The Nexus, as in a series of connected pathways both hyper- and sub-spacial. To use an analogy: imagine a river flowing from the mountain. The Nexus would be the root system beneath the river bed and the rainwater evaporating from the surface, joined in tangible cycle and acting in reverse."

    "So that Witch in your basement was right! This is a gateway to other worlds?"

    "So she claims. Right now, we've managed to map only a few hundred kilometers. But the hex-dimensional markers are constant. There is no deviance. We are opening this portal in the same place; each time."

    [​IMG]

    "And.... what about... them?"

    "I assume you mean the Uriels? Well, Prime Minister; just wait three more seconds."

    It was but a glimpse, a skeletal hand the size of a truck, sweeping from the corner of the viewscreen, a moment before it sputtered to black. There was an explosion in another chamber. Lights flickered off then on again and the sound could be heard throughout the facility... of another drone hurled against the wall and shattered into pieces.

    [​IMG]

    The N.A.G.A. personnel went into action. Damage reports were filed, power re-routed and backups put in motion. It was a well-practiced drill. This was the fifteenth time a drone had been hurled out of The Nexus and back through the Mount Fuji portal. The command centre was a haze of white coats and blue screens, circled whole by the shadows of the cave network.

    Only one figure did not move. A slender, sharp-featured man stood before the main screen where the Prime Minister's face glowed.

    "The Uriels have destroyed each of the fifteen drones sent into the Nexus, Prime Minister." A cigarette bobbed up and down in the mouth of Director Elsinger as he spoke. His eyes were lazy, but astute, his report delivered in a manner as clipped as his appearance. "Each time the attack is made on the 58th second after crossover. Upon studying the wreckage, it seems the forward parts of the drones have been cauterized on the molecular level."

    "They're being burned?" The Prime Minister's face was huge on the viewscreen, eyes eclipsed by thick spectacles. With the reflection it seemed as if he had no eyes at all.

    "Burned in a pattern indicative of slashing wounds."

    The Prime Minister paused then recited, almost mechanically, "Then the Lord drove man out of Eden, and placed an angel with a flaming sword, to guard the way to the Tree of Life."

    "The Witch has a name for these beings, but it is almost impossible to pronounce. So we settled on Uriels."

    Silence held between the Director and Prime Minister. In the other chamber technicians could be heard gathering up drone wreckage and powering down the particle accelerator. A background chatter from the N.A.G.A. control staff was almost choral, like a circle of monks in prayer.

    "Dammit, Elsinger!" the Prime Minister sneered. "I know what you want and I'm not going to do it. Every country but Japan has abused the Leviathan Children - used them as pawns and lab-rats. I will not bring shame upon my government by doing the same!"

    "Then I hope you are content with 58 seconds of heaven, Sir." The director blew a ring of smoke and slung his suit jacket over the back of a chair. He was almost silver in the glow of the consoles. "To get past the Uriels, and to reach the sister worlds the Witch has spoken of, we will need things larger than shuttles and tanks."

    "They are just children! You want me to condone sending children on a suicide mission?"

    "They are not children, Prime Minister. They are trained mutants. They are weapons. And they are mine to command."

    Another stretch of silence. The lights flickered again as klaxons ceased and with a shiver in the air the hadron accelerators went offline. The N.A.G.A. facility was powering down from its fifteenth cycle and as the portal closed it was with the sense of sanity returning to the Earth. Everything seemed a little clearer again, and the staff at the other consoles visibly relaxed.

    The giant white-sheen spectacles of the Prime Minister shifted slightly then looked away. "I will consult the Diet. You'll get my answer tomorrow."

    The screen went blank, matching the one beside it where the drone-uplink had cut out.

    Robert Elsinger stubbed his cigarette on the nearest console edge and exhaled a last cloud of smoke through his nostrils. "Get Hector on a plane. It's time for us to gather the children."

    The nearest technician stared at the Director. "But Sir, the Prime Minister didn't give us approval!"

    "Yes he did." The Director was already moving down the hallway, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. "I saw it in his eyes."



    EPISODE ONE

    A bed for snakes

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    #1 Asmodeus, May 27, 2013
    Last edited: Jun 14, 2013














  2. They always start with emptiness, our myths about creation.

    Christians believe that in the beginning there was nothing but God. Just him and a big, empty plane of nothingness. In Norse Mythology, there’s nothing but an endless stretch of ocean until Borr’s sons decided they were going to lift the Earth out of it. Practical motherfuckers, the Norse; they made the Earth first, and it was only after that the gods decided to set up the sun and the moon and all that other nonsense. The Navajo Native Americans tell tales of Spider Grandmother, who birthed the world through the shimmering threads that came out of her belly.

    But all these tales and legends neglect one question, one burning question that has stuck in my mind and the minds of millions since these stories were first told centuries ago. This question, I reckon, was posed by Carl Sagan the most eloquently.

    “In many cultures the customary answer is that a god or gods created the universe out of nothing. But if we wish to pursue this question courageously we must of course ask the next question.

    Where did god come from?”



    The music blasts out from the speakers built into the roof of my garage at a volume that probably isn’t exactly beneficial to one’s hearing.

    But fuck you. It helps me work.

    For two weeks solid I’ve been pumping my free time into this project, and now I’m very, very near completion. Tracking down an original frame for the 1967 Chevrolet Impala took months, getting all the components and parts even longer. So you better believe that now it’s all here at my finger-tips I’ve been working my ass off to get this beauty restored.

    Some girls are into horses. Or music.

    But fuck them. Cars are where it’s at.

    My face is obscured by a mask and goggles, my body hidden by black coveralls. In my hands I clutch an airless spray gun, this beautiful little number my benefactors were kind enough to pick up for me, weaving it carefully across the metal frame of the car and watching as it applies a thick, consistent coat of crimson paint. It’s an excellent base colour, crimson; once it’s dried I can get to work on some proper designs, yellow racing stripes and all that good stuff.

    My garage is a sizeable affair, storing all the gear I need for my various projects as well as my other cars and bikes. I’ve assembled quite the collection over the last couple years, which I’m more than a little proud of. All of them restored and customised to my satisfaction, relics from bygone eras restored to their former glory by my hands. It’s a good feeling, taking in the sight of them sitting in a row.

    But no time for ogling my previous projects. The airless spray gun makes it easier to create a level layer of paint, but if you’re not paying attention you can still fuck it up.

    For another ten minutes, I’m in the zone. The music’s barely registering with me anymore; I’m just watching as I pour crimson across the car’s frame with wipe, sweeping strokes. Therapeutic, really. And yes, I’m well aware of what it says about me if I find blasting away with a high-pressure paint gun whilst listening to black metal peaceful.

    So caught up am I with finishing this job that I don’t notice the arrival of a second person in my garage. The hum of a spray gun and powerful speakers aren’t exactly conducive to hearing approaching footsteps, after all. Fortunately I’ve got a second pair of eyes in the room, and these eyes are good at watching my back. As the figure steps further into the room something thin and metallic uncoils from one of the support pillars and lets out an audible hiss that makes me spin around, snapping off the spray gun.

    “Looks like it’s just about done,” Hector Landsend observes as he examines the Impala with a critical eye, “Nice colour choice.” Pulling off the mask and goggles I grin.
    “Thought you’d like it. Always a sucker for pretty old cars like this beauty. I think I caught the bug off you, actually.” Hector laughs as he steps over and pulls me into a hug.
    “Good to see you, kid.”
    “You too, old man,” I reply, hugging him back, “how goes the whole ‘saving the world’ thing?”
    “It goes. Would you mind turning that fucking racket off? Jesus, I can barely hear myself think right now.”

    Chuckling, I pull away and wander over to the desk, where a small desktop PC whirs away. I jab at the keyboard, and Johan Hegg cuts off mid-roar.
    “You’ve no taste in music,” I jokingly chide him, starting to climb out of the coveralls.
    “That’s not music, Helen. That’s just noise. Angry, angry noise.”
    “Awww,” I adopt a mock-baby voice as I grin at him, “does the nasty heavy metal hurt the old man’s ears?”
    “Damn right it does. I’m surprised you can still hear anything, kid. You’re gonna damage your ears at this rate.”

    How very typical of Hector. I don’t have a father (not anymore, at least), but if I had to choose one I’d pick NAGA’s Head of Field Operations. He was the man who brought me into the project, and since then he’s always kept an eye on me. Most people at NAGA don’t view us leviathan kids as anything other than assets, and that makes it rather hard for me to view them as anything other than assholes. But Hector’s different; the old man’s got my back, and so I’ve got his.

    “So, what’s the occasion?” I ask as I hang up the coveralls and pull my vibrantly-dyed hair back with a bandanna. “Much as you love old cars, somehow I doubt you flew all the way out to LA just to see this one.” Hector’s grizzled face suddenly changes, becoming far more serious. That’s when I start to get just a little nervous.
    “Afraid you’re gonna have to put your restoration project on hold, kid. Director’s calling in the troops, wants you all in Japan ASAP.” I stare at him blankly for a moment. Japan? That’s a fucking new one. I get annual visits from NAGA’s representatives, and Hector visits when he can, but they’ve never asked me to head out across to a whole other goddamn country before.
    “Dare I ask why?” I say finally, watching Hector’s face for any hints. But the old man’s not meeting my eyes anymore.
    “Afraid I can’t say just yet, Helen. You’re gonna need to trust me on this one. You still got Jörmungandr ready for transit?” Silently I nod, not quite sure what to even say anymore. “Good, because it’s coming with us. Níðhöggr too.” From the support beam, Ouroboros lets out an irritated hiss.
    “I’m bringing my snake as well,” I inform Hector, wandering over to the metallic creature and draping him around my neck. This finally provokes a semblance of a smile from the old man, which reassures me slightly.
    “I figured as much.”

    He turns and starts to walk towards the door of the garage, before stopping and looking over his shoulder at me. “We leave in an hour, kid. Best get packing.” With that, he wanders out, leaving me to my thoughts.

    I get the sudden impression that something big is about to begin.
     
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  3. Kuro Orochi what a man to be his life was made and his day’s so far have been great, He had just woken up in his California king bed. Sitting up a bit of drool hung from his lower lip his right hand quickly retrieving the drop of salivation dangling from his lip, Rolling himself out of bed he was walking into his nice large kitchen. Where he was met by Aruma his first ever made project, The small Armadillo Lizard rolled on the counter holding its tail in its mouth he picked it up and placed it on his shoulder where it usually sat. He was going through the cabinet when he saw a small bug fly into the cabinet, He smacked it with unusual speed. The bug caught in between his hands would wither and flinch in pain, He slowly raised his hand so that Aruma could eat the bug off his hand.


    The lizard snapped it up and began chewing faintly in Kuro’s ear, Kuro pulled down some cereal and was met by his chef. He smiled politely at him and said “ Mr. Orochi please let me make you Breakfast”



    Kuro smiled at him and said “ Mr. Mashimoto please take the day off I've bothered you enough” The chef didn't have any second questioning, he simply turned around and walked out. He smirked and said “ I’ll see you later Mr. Mashimoto” He munched on some cereal and leaned on his open sliding glass door, He looked out at the beach and let a small sigh go as he closed his eyes.

    The doorbell rang and he frowned he said to himself as he set the bowl down and began walking towards the door “ Mr. Mashimoto i thought i told you t-” He stopped talking as he opened the door and saw Hector. Kuro looked at him and his heart seemed to skip a beat in fear, Hector’s eyes looked right at him but Kuro smiled and hid the random push of fear.

    Hector spoke in a monotone voice and Kuro listened “ You must be Kuro, mind if i come in”, Kuro then said “Sure i'm just eating breakfast” Hector was led by Kuro to his
    kitchen where they sat at the table. Hector then said “ look we don't really know each other so I'm going to get to the point and tell you why i'm here” Kuro nodded and continued to look at him while he ate his cereal Aruma still on his shoulder. “ You have your” He looks down at the paper "AkaHebi and Musei Boa right?” Kuro smirks and says “ Yeah why?” Hector shoots him a look as if to say don't interrupt me. He continues to talk then “ I have a helicopter coming to get you to take you to an airplane, You are to get on the plane and do not ask questions understand” “ Yup don't ask questions and do as you say boss-man” “ Good now when you're on the airplane i will fly your AkaHebi And Musei Boa on a separate military carrier” Kuro furrowed his brow and said “ So why am i being put on this plane?” Hector looked at him and said “ What did i say?” Kuro smiled and said “ Sorry no questions” Hector nodded and stood up saying “ Good now your helicopter will be here soon do not be late to get on it and pack your bags quick” Hector



    nodded to him and fixed his jacket walking out the front door and going to his car. Kuro rubbed his head and swallowed hard saying “ He is a tough looking man...i better listen to him” kuro was to be taken by a Helicopter that would land on the beach soon that would take him to an airplane that's taking Kuro to Japan. Kuro closed his door and clasped his heart taking in a deep breath and said “ He is so...Serious...i wish i could get to know him more” He was walking with Aruma on his shoulder and began packing a few light things like clothing and other hygiene needs. He picked a backpack up and slung it around his shoulders, Aruma climbed onto his head and then rested there while Kuro dragged his one suitcase and His backpack out the back door. He stood there until he heard the sound of Rotating blades from a helicopter.


    Kuro pressed a button and the house went into lock down mode, He walked out to the helicopter and climbed in with his bags He nodded and leaned back into the seat thinking, What an meeting this is going to have to be they normally just come and check up but this...this is big. His black hair flowing in the wind that the helicopter was not blocking, His red eyes scanning over the beach and the Ocean which they were flying over. What a beautiful sight and what a gift it was to them but, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the people that work for him. But atleast its not him he always told himself but everyone deserves respect was his way of thinking about it.
     
  4. 14 hours earlier...

    The world Hector Landsend once knew had come to a crushing end. All that he had held sacred... all that he had cherished in his golden memories... now lay despoiled.

    He was in the mansion once owned by George Harrison.

    And it was fucked.

    Stepping over tipped statues and broken vases, Hector made his way along a hallway wreathed in chaos. Pictures had been torn from the wall, carpets scuffed and McDonalds wrappers stuck to the ceiling. There was even even a coatstand hung with five empty bottles of Jack Daniels. It was as if an angry God with Tourettes had come this way and brought along his violent step-brother. As the agent crossed an atrium where champagne bottles bobbed in the water fountains, a cat spraypainted like a Union Jack yowled and scurried from his path.

    He had left his driver and bodyguard with the zombie in the front room. The mansion's owner, Johnny Aames, if memory served. Though with the beard, dark glasses and heroin needles it was hard to know if he was human at all. The driver had set about checking the man's pulse while Hector continued alone into the wasteland.

    But this mansion was no ghost-town. For there was sound... lots of it.

    "BUT IIIIT'S TOOO LAAAATE FOR MEEEE-EEEEE! SO TAKE A KNIFE AND STIIIICK IT IIIIIIIIN ME!!!"

    The walls shook as a guitar was thrashed, sending more portraits of the Beatles crashing. Hector, silently, followed the sound through hallways and sitting rooms.

    "YES, IIIIT'S TOOO LAAAATE FOR MEEEE-EEEEE! THIS SHADOWED HEART IS FAAAAAALLING NOW!!!"

    He arrived at the second lobby, where a marble staircase twisted up into a domed gallery. And he was just in time to dodge a suit of platemail as it tumbled down the stairs and crashed into a coffee table.

    "BUT IIIIT'S TOOO LAAAATE FOR MEEEE-EEEEE! ALL THAT YOU LOOOVE IS A CRIMSON TRAGEDY!!!"

    Up on the stairs, a white haired boy cavorted while strumming an electric guitar. He was topless, his neck wreathed with garish fake-pagan charms, and his jeans were stained with booze, cigarette ash and burger grease. Between broken furniture and shattered ornaments he twirled and shrieked with a sound like Linkin Park gang-raping Akira Yamaoka.

    Suddenly, Hector missed the black metal.

    " IT'S JUUUUST TOOO LAAAATE FOR MEEEE-EEEEE....!"

    The boy thrashed a bad chord.

    "....THE DARK...."

    He thrashed another bad chord, while kicking over a rubber plant.

    ".... HAS....."

    He heaved the guitar above his head, playing a final note that snapped the strings.

    ".....WOOOOO-OOOOOO-OOOOOOOO-OOOOO-AAAAA-UUUU-EEEEEEE-OOOO-AAAA-NNNNN - NUH!"

    Bolan Aames, a child named by his drug-addled father after the singer Marc Bolan and thus doomed from birth to dysfunction, ended on his knees with his head tipped back. His eyes were closed and the huge grin on his face spoke of imaginary audiences going wild in the daydream stadium.

    Hector put his foot on the suit of armour.

    Bolan opened his eyes.

    They stared at one another.

    Hector narrowed his eyes.

    "Get in the fucking car."


     
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  5. [​IMG]

    The day started the same way it always did, a rough tongue flickering over Jack's cheek for either seconds or minutes; it never mattered, the tongue reigned supreme.

    "Du Arschloch, Vinzent", I complain drowsily, swatting a hand over the pillow until I find scales. Vinzent does his best to blend in to the covers, but even chameleons aren't that good at hiding from a few inches away. The tongue rhythmatically slaps against the palm of my hand, and I groan, sitting up from my bed to the dark earthy colors of the bedroom, like a mined gemstone cavern complete with curtains.

    Tick. Tock. The eager chameleon kept to his schedule, a breakfast of ten juicy flies and dried fruit for dessert, leaving me to attend to myself. Down through the equally polished and immaculate floors of the estate, I arrive at the herb garden on the eastern edge of the grounds, kneeling in the dirt as I pick my way through the differing plants, gathering rose petals, jasmine, and gingseng, or whatever close relative of it the NAGA contacts had planted for this climate. Tick, tock, step by step. I'm not truly awake until I feel the cold water from the kitchen sink running over my hands as I fill a small basin to wash the ingredients for my morning tea.

    The pot is left on an automatic setting, some might prefer to use the stove, but coffee brews the same as tea, leaves me more time to spend in idle observation. The garage isn't far, arriving inside I see the Lexus LFA still shining bright from the polishing the day before, perfectly content with its condition from the paint coating, down to its engine and gear box, and more at peace with the damage i plan to bring to it later in the day when I bring it to the track.

    A scatter of birds emerges from the black forest, of which the estate is settled alongside. The flutter of wings carries in through the open window, catching my attention long enough for the alarm of the coffee pot to make itself known. Complete with copy of On the Origin of Species, I drink my tea beside the pool outside, watching in the distance as an elk is harassed while eating by some Kolkrabe, little bastards they are.

    It's while I'm sipping my tea that I catch the fainest shimmer in the still water of the pool, and set the cup down. "Can I offer you some tea to start the day?" Vinzent scales the edge of my chair, perching on my shin before he begins tasting the air. "... or has there been... a development?" Another sip of my tea, I tilt my head back towards the garage. "Hector." The NAGA agent leaves the shadow of the garage, silhouette reflecting nicely across the smooth front of the water. His eyes look tired, not in any way he might allow himself to, but it shows under his eyes. With a bit of clarity, I realize I must be latter on the list of a very long series of flights.

    "Jack, how very good it is to see you. Let me take a guess, Vonnegut?" he questions, though had he asked a week prior, he might have been correct. Holding up the copy of Darwin, his face remains blank of opinion, though not unkindly so. "You are aware that not everything he said is part of the Modern Synthesis?" I nod, but the knowledge isn't why I read it, and I'm certain Hector understands that, the way he doesn't pursue it any further.

    "How's Eirheart?" he tosses casually, taking a slackened posture by the chair next to me, though markedly still ready to depart at a moments notice. With a sigh, I wipe my face and down my tea, facing him directly after swinging my legs to the side of my recliner, transferring Vinzent to my shoulder. "Too direct, too fast, Hector." My criticism makes him smile, but before he can do so, I ask the now obvious. "Where and when?"

    Another agent exits from the house, holding a large sealed pitcher and a cup of tea in the other. Hector drains the cup without a second thought, smirking mildly at the bottom of the porcelain. In the past, might have been rude to not seek the flavors, but now I'd be surprised if he missed any of them. "Japan, Now" was all he had to say.
     
    #5 Davion, Jun 2, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 2, 2013
  6. sovereignty_by_las_t-d35uk00.png

    Horns and sirens could be heard in the below as the busy New York City streets came to life, men and women pacing up and down the sidewalks moving faster than the cars now stuck in grid lock. Just another day for these people going through the motions trying to get where they need to be on time; mean while Mamoru relaxed on the balcony of his penthouse suite. He certainly enjoyed living the life of Luxury looking down he was glad he'd never have to be stuck in the same rut as the people below. Reaching across the table he picked up a remote and pressed play, instrumental music began filling every inch of the suite the tempo rising and falling. Next to him was a freshly a freshly brewed cup of coffee, not some mocha or Frappuccino just ordinary homemade coffee.

    Next to him Nosoma laid curled in a tight ball over a heating pad, it wasn't for another thirty minutes before a knock came from the front door Nosoma's eyes opened a low hiss coming from it. Mamoru sighed setting down the half-finished cup down before making his way to the door. He peered through the hole a slight chill running down his spine, it was Hector but a NAGA agent had already come by a few days ago what could he want? Opening the door Mamoru greeted the old man "Pleas come in, can offer you a drink?"

    Hector nodded his head then made his way into the penthouse "No thank you we're on a tight schedule so I have to keep things brief."

    "Of course" Mamoru and Hector make their way into the living room, Hector taking a seat in the recliner Mamoru the couch just adjacent to it. "So shall we get right down to business, I can assume it's something important considering you guys were just a few days ago."

    Hector looked around the penthouse taking in all of the decorations and furniture "I wish it wasn't but...." his eyes focusing on Mamoru "HQ has called it in we're going to need you to pack your bags and come with us back to Japan; you've got one hour to pack everything you need, we'll nee you to bring Komodo as well."

    Mamoru sighed he really didn't want to leave this place it had everything he'd wanted and more, but NAGA had set the whole thing up for him, "Fine I let you know once I'm finished." Hector stood up from the recliner he didn't say a word or even look at Mamoru on his way out. Shutting the door behind the old man Mamoru walked over to his room and began packing his things. Once he was done he called for Nosoma and the two made their way outside where the NAGA agents were for him.
     
  7. “What do you mean she’s not in Prague?!” Setsuko Takahashi, NAGA’s Chief of Internal Affairs, paced, naked, the perimeter of her cramped studio apartment. It was 3AM, but the street lights of Tokyo poured through the window, illuminating the sparse furnishings. She held her communicator in a white knuckled strangle hold with one hand while drying her wet hair with the other. The somber voice of Hector continued through the receiver.
    “Her parents have no idea where she went. But we’ve confirmed that both Skala and Cizek are secure in the Czech facility.”
    “And what about them?”
    “They don’t seem too concerned, honestly. They say she’s old enough to make her own decisions.”
    “No! Skala and Cizek.” She ceased drying her hair and wrapped the towel around her body.
    “They’re prepped and ready to come to Tokyo. Though they won’t be of much use without their pilot.”
    As Hector continued to debrief her, Chief Setsuko peered out her window and into the street below, where something caught her attention. “What the...?”
    “Chief Takahashi, there is another matter we need to discuss.”

    “Hold on, Hector, I’ll call you back.” The Chief didn’t even bother hanging up, only dropped the device onto her futon and dashed out of the apartment, down two flights of stairs and into the street.
    A holo-advert projected from a shop window featuring a renowned Czech manga artist and literary critic; a girl with wild dark hair and a feline grin. Eva Kriz, the missing Leviathan Child was touring in Tokyo. The holo-advert looped sound clips of her previous interviews.
    “...I choose to publish my work on paper media rather than data because stark intimacy of experience was something the earliest writers and manga-ka were able to utilize. Holding a book, feeling its weight, cutting yourself on pages, finding tears, fingerprints, notes from readers long past. Ghosts in pages. This revelation came to me from reading underground comic from the early 2000s. The artist spilled coffee on one of the pages and kept beautiful brown stain on black and white, rather than start again. I experienced stain again in 2030. I want to haunt my fans.”
     
    #7 Tegan, Jun 2, 2013
    Last edited: Jun 12, 2013
  8. THE WITCH: “Izagi, a variant misspelling of the Japanese Primordial God, Izanagi, in Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. You named me after a typo.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “You have many names, most of which cannot be pronounced by humans. Izagi is practical. Your existence is indicative of the divide between races.”
    THE WITCH: *laughs* “You use that word a lot. ‘Indicative;’ of, relating to, or constituting a verb form or set of verb forms that represents the denoted act or state as an objective fact.” “You know a lot of facts, don’t you? Such as the fact that it doesn’t matter what you call me by. You know what I am, Elsinger.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “Then why did you save me?”
    THE WITCH: “Why did you lock me up in a box?”
    THE DIRECTOR: “To keep you from escaping again.”
    THE WITCH: “I’ve already told you everything I know.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “That is a lie.”
    THE WITCH: “I don’t know what a lie is.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “Yet you know the truths we each conceal. I have kept your existence a secret from all but the elite of humanity. And in return you tell me nothing of the First World. Must I expose you to make you talk? Give you over to the surgeons and xeno-biologists?”
    THE WITCH: “It’s not the First World you should be worrying about. It’s the things that guard it.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “And we will not get past them without your help.”
    THE WITCH: “You persist in thinking me of use in that regard.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “Eleven scientists died that day. Yet you brought me back.”
    THE WITCH: “I collided with you. Nothing more.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “You blocked the sword of an angel. Forgive me if that stokes my curiosity.”
    THE WITCH: “Curiosity is for cats and naked gardeners.”
    THE DIRECTOR: “And for witches.”
    THE WITCH: “One thing you never told me, Elsinger. Were you in charge that day? Were you the one who led the other scientists when the Hadron Collider opened the portal?”
    THE DIRECTOR: “What difference does that make?”
    THE WITCH: “The difference of similitude. You’ll get the Leviathan Children killed like you did those scientists. Only this time I won’t be there to knock you from the heavens. Unless, of course...”
    THE DIRECTOR: “No. I like you in this box.”
     
    #8 Tegan, Jun 2, 2013
    Last edited: Jun 12, 2013
  9. EPISODE TWO

    A Mortal Coil

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    Mount Fuji, sixty miles southwest of Tokyo


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    "Hang on, mate. You ain't coming?"

    "I've been with enough teenagers in elevators."

    With a shove, Hector sent Bolan stumbling inside the elevator and the doors thudded shut over the old man's bearded, smiling face. There was a rumble and then the chamber descended. Straightening up, Bolan turned and grinned at his fellow Leviathan pilots. "Alright lads." Then he winked. "Ladies."

    They sunk into the depths of the mountain, the sleek elevator piercing layers of rock and metal. At times the tiny strip-window would show them views of chambers carved into the interior, some the size of towns. They would glimpse hangars and launch tunnels, staging areas and cargo bays. It was like a hive carved out by worker bees, and sure enough they saw the N.A.G.A. personnel, dressed in blue, as distant as ants and working to calibrate machinery the children could not fathom.

    "Let's hope they've got a fackin' Burger King, eh?" Bolan looked at the others then struck a rock pose. "The name's Boa. Like the snake." He grabbed his crotch. "And let me tell ya, my snake is fackin' hu--"

    "WELCOME, LEVIATHAN CHILDREN." a voice boomed from the elevator walls and Bolan ended his introduction with a terrified scream. "YOU ARE NOW ENTERING THE N.A.G.A. FACILITY, PRIME STAGING AREA FOR THE NEXUS INCURSION. FOR FOURTEEN YEARS WE HAVE DEVELOPED MOUNT FUJI INTO A SELF-CONTAINED MILITARY FIREBASE. CONSIDER THIS YOUR NEW HOME, YOUR WORKSHOP AND YOUR HAVEN."

    "What the fack's a Nexus when it's at home? And what does N.A.G.A. stand for--AAAGH!"

    "HERE YOU WILL BE PROVIDED WITH PERSONAL QUARTERS AND NUTRITIONAL SUPPLEMENTS. OUR AIM IS TO ACCELERATE THE CULTIVATION OF YOUR SERPENT CELLS. WHAT YOU EACH BEGAN IN THE PARADISES WE GAVE TO YOU WILL NOW BE FINISHED, HERE, NOW."

    "WHERE'S MY GUITAR!?" Boa yelled at the speakers, before looking back at the others. "AND MY SERPENTS! I WANT MY SER-- oh cunt!"

    "DIRECTOR ELSINGER WELCOMES YOU ALL AND BIDS YOU REST WELL TONIGHT. FOR TOMORROW MORNING, WE SHALL MAKE HISTORY."

    The announcement ended and with a second thud the elevator halted. There was a chime and the doors parted to reveal the next N.A.G.A. agent who would lead them to the briefing room.

    [​IMG]
     
  10. The boy with the white hair was...pretty. And angry. Pretty angry. Yeah.

    Daisy watched him silently, eyes wide and so dark blue, they looked purple. She wondered if everyone here was going to be so angry. Or at least so...sweary. Miss Leotta would not have approved of his language. Or of the way his grabbed his dick mid-sentence. That was simply not done.

    Then she wondered if maybe in a place where food was called 'nutritional supplements', dick-grabbing was okay. The cold metal doors and the cold metal voice certainly weren't giving off a very homey feeling, but then again, fourteen-year-old Daisy knew she'd been spoiled in that vein.

    She still couldn't remember just how she'd discovered she was a Leviathan Child. She wasn't even sure she'd known the term until recently--more specifically, yesterday afternoon, when she'd been dragged out of rehearsals for an insta-departure flight to Japan. That still grated on her. An only child (as far as she knew), and a home-schooled just-below-average student, she'd always had plenty of time for extra curriculars. In particular, Broadway...or as close as Napa could get. She'd just been selected for her first big role in the touring version of The Lion King that was to hit San Francisco for the summer, and was up to her ass in dance and singing lessons, ready to become the "Young Nala" that changed the world.

    And then...this. Miss Leotta promised she'd be changing the world, though in an entirely different way.

    "They want Bella? And Mico?" she'd said, a little cautiously. Daisy didn't take much seriously--what fourteen-year-old girl did?--but her serpents were precious to her. Mico especially, who'd been perched on her shoulder at the time, a golden clockwork mouse she'd had since she was four, was as close to a best friend as she could imagine.

    "They want you, honey," Miss Leotta, Daisy's stout caretaker had responded, in her typical Southern no-nonsense tones. "They want you and everything you can do."

    "That doesn't sound ominous..." But she supposed she'd known the day would come eventually. Ever since she'd first built Mico. Ever since the uptight Japanese men in white coats had come to visit on her fifth birthday. She knew she wasn't normal. 'Special' Miss Leotta had called it. 'Whatever' had been Daisy's personal terminology. She was what she was. If it meant she got her own bedroom on a private estate, and could skip going to school to visit the city thrice a week, all the creepy adults in the world could call her whatever they wanted.

    But now she was here, a hundred thousand miles away. In a cold elevator. With Dick Boy, and some other children who looked equally...children-y.

    Daisy turned to the white-haired boy, eyebrows raised. "You're kind of annoying, aren't you?" she said matter-of-factly. "But if they have your serpents, too--"

    Something pinged. The door slid open. A woman--a girl, really--with green eyes and brown hair smiled at them like she was about to sell snow to Eskimos.

    Daisy exhaled. It was way past her bedtime.

    ---

    Charlie liked kids. They were like...miniature people. All the fascination, with half the jaded cynicism of adulthood. Freaky little puzzles to put together and study under a microscope. All for their own good, of course. Making sure the kids were healthy and happy was her primary goal here. Never mind that these particular kids were scientific and medical wonders. Never mind that maybe she was just the teensiest but curious how they worked, biologically.

    That would come later.

    Now, there was shit to do. Important shit. There was a group of bewildered teenagers staring at her, just waiting, among them an angsty looking boy, and a rather perturbed looking girl, younger, dark-haired and dark skinned.

    Charlie tried not to let her smile falter. Oh. She hadn't been expecting to deal with kids quite that young. Fuck, what if she, like, started her period or something? Would Charlie be expected to take care of that? Because she really wasn't good with crying children. Or at least, not in the way someone in her position was supposed to be. You couldn't be analytical when you kids were crying. You had to be warm and comforting, and--

    "How old are you?"

    Daisy tilted her head. "Fourteen. How old are you?"

    Charlie blinked. The girl had seemed genuinely curious. A good sign that Charlie should avoid answering for now.

    "I'm...um...I'm Dr. Charlotte Teal." That's right, Charlie. Sound like you know what you're doing. But also accessible. Sound accessible! "You can call me Charlie. Or Doctor. Or Teal. Or Dr. Teal. But Charlie is fine." Super. "I'm here to make sure you're all well and happy and...and...oh, you'll be meeting my associate, Takahashi Setsuko, later."

    There was a pause, as if she expected the kids to say something. Then Charlie remembered that she was the grown-up here. "Oh. Um. C'mon with me, guys. We're going to...down this hallway."
     
  11. Why am i here? why am i stuck in an elevator that looks like it is going to give way any minute now. His red eyes scanning everything and every small movement and sound, He wasn't to much of a wild out kid but he could be if his body wasn't so stupid. Kuro crossed his arms and leaned back on the unstable feeling elevator wall and looked at the boy with white hair, Kuro's red eyes once again scanning him over and picking up different things on this guy and the way he acted. He smirked as he began talking about who he was and what he..had to offer to the ladies. He hadn't bothered to introduce himself to the other pilots since he wasn't much of a social guy, But his height definitely made him stand out through all the rest.

    The scream from Boa made him chuckle a bit but then the voice grabbed his attention, Where was this coming from. Probably a built in speaker but what is a Nexus Incursion, which probably everyone was wondering about by this point on this crazy trip. He then stood up straight and slid his hand into his pocket and something began crawling up his sleeve, He smirked a bit as Aruma popped up out of his shirt at the neck. The small armadillo lizard crawled its way to his head and laid on it like it was a bed. He finished picking up on what the speaker had to say and let a smile sigh go as the elevator came to a halt at the bottom, So far so good.

    But then a women was standing outside the elevator Dr. Charlotte Teal, What a magnificent name. But she seemed so antsy like she was over excited to see us, Maybe she was happy to see us but that would really be a first time for him. But his eye sight quickly directed him to a young girl about the age of fourteen , Or at least that's what she said, she was just as flamboyant as Ms. Teal over there. But something about her just gave Kuro goosebumps she seemed more relaxed than he was and he just wanted to be relaxed to.

    But as she began to lead them down the hallway he decided to introduce himself which started off weird for him since he normally didnt do such things " Hello...uhm all of you...I'm Kuro Orochi...nice to uhm meet you all " His voice was loud enough to be heard but seemed to sound a bit hushed like he was a small kid at a big spelling be competition. His red eyes scanning everyone as he talked just to make sure he wasn't getting any harsh looks from the people who he will be spending most of his time with now.

    But his wonderful pet Aruma was still there to make him feel good, Aruma slid down the front of his face and latched on to the bridge of his nose. He smirked and grabbed him pulling him off his face and putting him on his shoulder, Aruma was excited to be in this new wonderful place. More excited than Kuro could ever be but the same question bounced around in his head, Were is his serpents he was mainly worried about his AkaHebi which he held most dear to him. As if it was his child, Just like he did Aruma but Aruma new that Kuro loved him or at least enough to feed him.
     
  12. “Mmm, 'nutritional supplements',” I observe in a tone I feel is remarkably calm, given the circumstances, “That sounds so very, very appealing.”

    Here I stand in some cramped-ass elevator with several other 'Leviathan children', including one white-haired muppet who's shifting between grabbing his crotch and screaming like a schoolgirl. Next to me is a kid who can't be older than thirteen or fourteen at the most, hair pulled back in pigtails and an expression that she's just about as unimpressed with our new cohort as I am. And then there's the other guy over in the corner, all dark hair and creepy red eyes.

    Fantastic. Just fan-fucking-tastic. Thanks for the heads-up, Hector.

    Leaning against one of the walls, a headphone from my iPod in one ear and the second dangling against my neck, I watch through the windows as we descend further into the earth. NAGA's sure as shit been busy down here; I can see the hangers, the tunnels, the inter-connected rooms staffed by blue-uniformed individuals with grim faces who work away at machines even I'm unable to ascertain the purpose of. I'm reminded of the dwarves and Svartálfar of Old Norse tales: ancient creatures living within the mountains, master smiths and craftsmen. Grouchy little bastards, too, if the stories are to be believed. I best watch myself down here.

    The last words that emanated from the speakers stay with me. 'For tomorrow morning, we shall make history'. Suitably vague, and more than a little concerning. Far too late to do anything about it, I start to realise how very little I know about my benefactors. Aside from Hector I've rarely had anything to do with them, this strange bunch of people who swept me out of hell and dumped me in a paradise. At the time I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth... but now I'm really starting to regret that decision.

    But hindsight isn't going to do shit for me now. I'm stuck in this situation, so I may as well make the best of it.

    White-Hair has finally stopped screeching: I turn my attention back to him and look the boy up and down. The first thing that comes to mind is images of Axl Rose back in his hey-day, before he got all old and released that god-awful album. Tight jeans, weird necklaces and the smell of booze, cigarettes and a body that has had but a fleeting relationship with showers.
    “Dude, I've got some bad news for you,” I tell him, the same bored expression on my face, “The 80's are over. Finished. Kaput. Move on.” This is when the elevator finally comes to a halt and the doors slide open.

    On the other side is a woman in her early to mid twenties, dressed like a college freshman. She has the sort of look that just screams 'school-teacher'; I've never met such a person, admitedly, but this lady seems to epitomise what you'd think they'd look like. She rattles off a bunch of names and grins the sort of simpering grin that makes me want to grind my teeth. Suddenly I'm really missing Hector again. At least he talks to you like you're an adult: this Doctor Teal or Charlie or whatever-the-fuck has the tone of a person who's under the impression she's having a conversation with toddlers.

    “Great. Fantastic. Helen Frigg. Sure we'll be the best of friends and stuff.” I keep my tone dis-interested as I push past Doctor Teal and out of the elevator: I've never done well by confined spaces (too many bad memories), and I'm not about to let Little Miss Schoolteacher keep me penned up in one. “Let's get this over with. I've been travelling all goddamn day.”
     
    #12 Grumpy, Jun 18, 2013
    Last edited: Jun 20, 2013

  13. "Yeah, it must be tiring being a BITCH in eighteen timezones."


    Bolan exited the elevator behind Helen and jostled with her for room in the corridor. Smoothing down his jeans and Iron Maiden t-shirt, he greeted Doctor Teal with a wink. "Alright, Chazza? You can make me happy any day!"

    He filled the ensuing silence with a sigh and a whistle, hands in pockets as he looked around the passage. It was a cross between a mining chamber and a nuclear bunker. He didn't know whether to ask for a safety helmet or a geiger-counter. "Yeah, I heard you N.A.G.A. lot had taken over Mount Fuji. That must'a pissed the tourists off. Still, you Japs are fucking weird so you probably get some kinda thrill outta erecting military blockades."

    He switched subjects suddenly and turned to address the red-eyed Kuro. "Y'know, I saw somethin' on the internet the other day. Leviathan Porn. Yeah, some of those German tossers who've been released from the camps are making all kindsa videos now. Some geezer sheds his skin over a bird, who masturbates while covered in his flakes, and then he fucks her with a hand-grown dildo."

    He took a few steps and shoved past Helen, making sure he was at the head of the group. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Doctor Teal. "Hey Chazza, we're not making one of them videos, are we? I know you look like a porn star and we're about to meet your lezbo lover. But seriously luv, I'm trying to record an album, not Volcano Vixens."

     
  14. “Holy shit!” I exclaim with mock-surprise, “Twentieth century refugees like you have heard of a broadband connection? Incredible!” Jostling past the oh-so-eloquent Boa, I make my way to the front of the group again. I'm not about to let some jumped-up cockney fuckwit push ahead of me like he owns the joint, and apart from anything else standing down-wind from my new companion isn't something to be recommended.

    Guys smells like a burnt-out brewery someone's pissed on to extinguish the flames.

    “Unless of course you're talking about dial-up,” I continue with my retort mid-stride, “Must be a nightmare downloading your creepy fetish porn on that.”
     
  15. Charlie watched the kids unload from the elevator, her cut-and-paste smile showing just the slightest hint of strain.

    Well, this is what she'd signed up for. To a teenager, everything was trivial and life-ending all at the same time. It was cute. And funny. And stressful. She was already making notes in her head:

    -- The outspoken blonde girl used sarcasm as both shield and crutch. How original! Why, she wasn't sure just yet, but getting there was half the fun.
    -- Crotch-Grab King (Charlie thought she ought to learn these kids' names, so they could, like, trust her, or whatever), he was just as oversexualized and horny as any other teenage boy. Issue being, of course, he was not a teenage boy. Which meant he was overcompensating. For something. Interesting.
    -- The quiet one, Kuro, he'd said, he was something new. At least compared to these other far-too-fucking self-assured kids. A gentle soul, perhaps. She'd have to be kinder to him. Being 'just one of the gang' wouldn't work here. Assuming she could get it to work at all.
    -- And the young one was yet indecipherable to her. Charlie did better with post-pubescent kids. Anything else she found too like enigmatic toddlers. THey didn't even speak grown-up language yet.

    Oh, right. Introductions. Talking. Go.

    "To my knowledge, filming porn won't be part of your official day to day," said Charlie, ushering the last of the Leviathan kids off the elevator. "Though the facility does provide state of the art tech equipment. Assuming all goes as planned, there will be free time at the end of the..." what? Quarter? Mission? Mourning period? "...time spent here, and you may fill that however you wish."

    "Bummer," said Daisy sagely, studying the hallway around and over her head. "You mean we can't tell those two to get a room right now?" She jerked her thumb at Angry White Hair and Angry Sarcasm Girl. In her experience, or what little of it she had, anyone who appeared to hate another person so much right after meeting was after more than said person's ire. Besides, everyone here was older than her. Isn't that what older kids did?

    The Sex?
     
  16. “What, NAGA's not got anything better to do that to give the wannabe Keith Moon over here the bandwidth needed to acquire whatever nasty shit he's into?” I ask, resuming the bored tone I was using earlier. I'm not exactly endearing myself upon my fellow freaks or our newly-assigned handler, but bollocks to them and fuck her. I didn't ask to get sent down into a fucking mountain with these guys, and adults make me nervous. They always have, with but a few notable exceptions to this rule that I can count on one hand.

    Seriously, I miss Hector. Much as I want to smack his shit for not at least warning me about what I was walking into, I wish it was his gruff British tones accompanying me down this corridor instead of the dainty, sing-song voice of Doctor Teal or Charlie or whatever she wants us to call her.

    I shrug and keep walking. “Your funding, I guess,” I say, just as the girl with pigtails pipes up. Kid's got some sass, it turns out. As she finishes her sentence I let out a chuckle, the first laugh I've had since I got loaded onto a plane and sent across the ocean to this fucking country, and swing an arm round to point at the girl as I walk. “You. I like you. You should keep saying words.” The arm swings further to face Boa. “You should not. For the sake of all our collective sanity.”
     

  17. Boa pointed right back at Helen, arm fully outstretched.

    "And YOU need to get the Mirena installed so you can stop having yer fucking period in the middle of the corridor, darlin'."

    He then copied her arm-swinging gesture in an over-dramatic way while rolling his eyes and crossing his legs over each other. It was possibly his way of miming 'a woman'. He pointed at Daisy. "As for you... mind your umbilical cord when the elevator closes, dimple cheeks."

    He ran ahead again and got in front of Helen, the chains on his jeans rattling. "COME ON THEN, CHAZZA! WHERE WE GOIN'?!" He sprinted down the corridor and drummed his arms against the lefthand wall, then the right, before leaping to bat at one of the overhead lights.

    "Fuck me, this place has good acoustics."

    He stopped midstride and tipped his head back, spine arched, crotch thrusted.

    And he sang.

    "HELEEEEEN FRIIIIIIIIG! THE YANKIE PIIIIIIIIIIIG! SHE MAKES MY DICK RETRACT! INSIIIIIIDE MY URINAARRRRY TRACT!!"

    It was sung in the style of Aerosmith... as far as anyone knew...

     
  18. [​IMG]
    Jack waited silently by the agents at the end of the hall, not yet acclimated to the new subterranean expanse, though the defined dimensions were something that seemed to bring additional order to the world, if he ever felt it needed some. Having taken the elevator down just before the rest arrived, first he thought that maybe he should have waited, but he dismissed the notion, some of the others were barely kids, not even teenagers and in the same gathering of cultivated outcasts, purpose wholly unknown. Just as his opinion on moving ahead of the group wavered, he heard what sounded like singing, talent completely lost in the lyric department; meaning that was that for his social psychology debate.​
    The singing continued until the group and Boa, who arrived first in all his... glory, had gathered at the end of the hall. Jack rubbed the sleep from his face and picked himself up off of the railing, taking a few steps apart from the group of NAGA, all of which had been silent and insistent on waiting for the others. "Halt deine Fresse.., You're a loud one." He looks over the rest of the group, somewhat happy to see that they aren't all prepubescent.​
     
    #18 Davion, Jun 19, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 19, 2013
  19. Sitting in the back of the group and remaining quiet was the easiest way to stay out of conflict with this crowd, Feeling like saying one word would fuck up a whole friendship shouldn't come upon you when your suppose to be working with someone. His eye sight then adverted to the two up front, He began processing things through his head but obviously these two were going to be at conflict the whole time they were here..unless somehow she finds him the least bit attractive. He scoffs to himself and rubs the back of his head as he makes his way down the hallway, the N.A.G.A were really hiding in a mountain no one would guess that something was going down inside a mountain....unless there some type of conspirator but why would there be.

    His thinking interrupted by his pet Aruma who had begun licking the inside of his ear, He looked at the lizard and smirked saying " Hungry? " Looking at the lizard who was just staring at him. It made a small innocent noise and he smirked again looking around the tunnel for some type of bug, which didnt take him long to find since it is a mountain with caves. He snatched at the bug and brought it down towards the lizard who snapped it up and began chewing on it while resting on Kuro's shoulder.

    Kuro's attention was then brought to immediate attention when he heard the loud screeching of a cat, He looked up but it was just the white haired guy body squealing out pitches he didnt think should go together. But at the same time he was throwing some weird type of insult that Kuro just couldn't get. Kuro was a simple man who didnt care much for whats in the world, but he seemed to be easily irritated by arrogance.
     
  20. I've heard of sound assaulting a person's ears before. Hell, given the sort of music I listen to I'm not exactly adverse to the whole concept. I've even heard of music attacking a person's hearing before.

    But never before have I heard of or experienced sound laying siege to one's ear-drums.

    Yet that's essentially what the singing that emerges from Boa's throat does. I think his style might once upon a long-past time been inspired by ol' Steven Tyler, but the semblance is just cursory. As he hits his final note I cannot help but physically wince as the raw wall of noise slams itself against my ears. He wasn't wrong, the acoustics in this hallway aren't bad; it's just that right now, I really wish they weren't.

    Up ahead are a few new figures, one a guy who cannot be too much older than me with a thick German accent who seems to have enjoyed Boa's show almost as much as I have. I begin a slow clap as he finally stops his audio assault.
    “Preach it, Hans,” I say in response to the new arrival, “truly, he's the voice of our generation. A modern day Gary Glitter. I'd liken that little show to someone strangling a particularly tuneless cat, but I'm worried that might not be fair to tuneless cats that get strangled.”

    My ears are still ringing and now my head hurts, but I'm not giving Boa the satisfaction. Best just to sark my way out of this and take it all in stride.

    Unless he keeps going.

    In which case, I'm going to slap that cockney fucktard's shit.
     
    #20 Grumpy, Jun 20, 2013
    Last edited: Jun 20, 2013