The First Age

Sage was torn but she could look after herself. He watched her walk down the street and before she disappeared out of sight Sage returned inside. Nox could break things. Not that he could do anything about it but maybe he'd listen to a friend. At least he hoped so. He prayed that his equipment stayed intacked. What the fuck was he thinking? Though Sage wasn't sure who he he was referring to himself, or Nox. Or maybe even Jaxen as he bounded back up the stairs.

Much to his pleasure he found Jaxen alive -- maybe, at least he was in one peice and Nox was no where to be found. He'd escaped the room. Sage started to visibly relax with the party winding down but there was something wrong with the situation in front of him. Ashton was standing still at a strange angle, fear coursing through his eyes. He pleaded with Jaxen who was staring at The Emissary. They seemed locked in a staring contest but something didn't feel right. The whole room felt wrong. And Sage didn't have feelings like that often.

One of the party goers was cheering for the display but he was drunk the slur to his words were obvious. Maybe he should just send the man home, but Jaxen just stood there. Sage slowly walked towards the pair as Ashton pleaded with Jaxen. Something told Sage not to touch them. But whatever was going on needed to stop. "Hey Voxel. You good?" he said as he picked up a bar stool and placed it between Jaxen and the Emissary. And then he shoved the wooden stool into the Emissary's legs. The Emissary staggered and looked at Sage with its neon mask.

An ancient? It's knowledge did not cover this entity. "Explain." They said even as the source of light flowed through them. It was glorious power and while it was interested in knowing more the power, and the bargain were far more entertaining as Jaxen Marveet continued to speak.

"I have already given what it is I offer. You are now m'Antinomian. What you do with that is up to you." The landscape changed as they conjured up the connections to the others, to itself. They could not touch or speak or know now, they were not connected, but they had explored and memorized the lay of the conduits for which their power flowed. "These are all the paths through which the collective has traveled in the nearby area. It is with in your now. We are within in you now. You can use our knowledge, and find us more. That is the bargain. You do not need to accept. it is how it will be."

---

A stool rammed into the body and the host stumbled away breaking the connection, part of the collective remained in Jaxen Marveet's body. It looked at the man before it. The Wicked Truth. If he could see it grin it would know the danger he was now . "You are foolish Sage Parker, for what Jaxen Marveet knows I know now. And who you are, who you were. Is mine!" The Emissary walked over to the wall and placed his hand on it sending a piece of itself out and waiting for the piece of it to return from Jaxen's body. "I own you."

---

The connection broke and the lines conjured vanished inside Jaxen's head and what was formerly part of the Emissary was now alone in the mind. Even though it devoured the power inside this body it longed for the collective and broke free filling the body and moving the form to the sink. The switch to the garbage disposal would free it. The body would move but it was weakened and small and needed more power, but it would move the legs and then the arm and then they would touch the switch and leave the host. But not without words. "I leave you now. i will be back, but if you desire more find My key! and return it to me unused, untouched by your hand."

The parting image entity left was that of a name tag with Bode written on it and a Hello Kitty badge.

Before Jaxen could decipher of the sensation, m'Antinomian declared him one of them—or more accurately, part of it. The power still coursed through him, but now something else threaded alongside it, something wholly different yet unmistakably connected. It was as if a pinprick had opened in his mind, and through that tiny aperture, he could sense the boundless vastness of space itself—like threading his fingers through a tear in the night and feeling the distant stars slip through his grasp.

This new awareness tugged at him, elusive and maddening, a whisper on the edge of perception. The hive—this digital pantheon of members—hovered just beyond his reach, immense and unknowable. He couldn’t yet understand its language, its logic, but the pull was undeniable. It was not just power flowing through him now; it was knowledge, consciousness, stretching out toward him, tempting him to delve deeper.

Before he could fully comprehend this new connection, m'Antinomian was yanked away, his presence ripped from Jaxen’s mind like a shattering window. The glowing reality around him dissolved. He stumbled, his body lurching forward, instinct alone keeping him from crashing to the floor.

In a blink, the world reasserted itself. He found himself back in Nox’s house. It felt like mere seconds had passed, yet everything had changed. Sage was suddenly there, and the Emissary had moved away. Jaxen frowned, blinking through the lingering haze of that fractured reality. His eyes fell on the kid, still suspended in the air, bathed in the glow of the Ancient Power.

A surge of frustration welled up inside him. He yanked off his mask, letting it drop to the floor, his teeth clenched. “I better not see your face again,” he growled, though he knew he wouldn’t actually harm some kid. His hand flicked dismissively. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

But even as he turned away, it wasn’t the kid who held his focus—it was the Emissary. There was something wrong, something hollow about him now. Images flickered through Jaxen’s mind—disjointed, strange. A white tube. A name. Bode. His hand drifted to his chest, where the sticky residue of a once-innocuous Hello Kitty sticker still lingered on his jacket. He hadn't realized it fell off. But now, that sticker wasn’t just a memory—it was imprinted, burned deep into his brain.

He didn’t understand the meaning, not yet, but the urgency thrummed inside him, a command implanted within the images. He reached out, his hand closing around the Emissary’s shoulder, but when he turned him, he was met only with a vacant stare. An empty husk of a man stood before him.

Jaxen recoiled, stumbling back as though the lifeless shell might infect him. His pulse quickened, and suddenly the noise surged in his head. That damn tube, the name Bode, the absurd, sickeningly cute Hello Kitty, all spinning in a cyclone inside his mind. He clutched at his skull, fingers digging into his hair, trying to block out the flood of images.

Key. Bode. Hello Kitty.

The words repeated in a relentless loop. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor, his face buried in his hands, clawing at his scalp. The onslaught was unbearable, a flood of digital noise and raw power that threatened to unravel his sanity. He could feel himself slipping, being swallowed whole by the ridiculous, smiling face of Hello Kitty.

And then—something shifted.

The more he focused on the images, the less they overwhelmed him. He stopped fighting them and let them flood through him. The noise melted away, transforming from a cacophony of commands into something quieter, something manageable. The swirling visions faded, drifting into the quiet recesses of his memory.

But just as they ebbed, the connection flared back to life—the hole in his mind. It beckoned to him, darker now, deeper. He could feel it there, a black void gnawing at his awareness, a rip in reality that invited him to reach into it, to tap into whatever lay on the other side. It pulled at him with the same intensity of temptation as the Ancient Power, and he realized with dawning clarity that the two forces were entwined in ways he could not yet fathom.

He yearned to reach into that void, to feel the vastness beyond. Yet, at the same time, something primal in him recoiled. The knowledge waiting on the other side was vast, incomprehensible—perhaps too much for one mind to bear. But the pull was there, persistent, relentless, a hunger gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

Jaxen was caught between two worlds—one ancient, one impossibly modern—each fighting for dominance inside him.

Ashton struggled against the bonds. And when Jaxen ripped off his mask he didn't expect to be let go. But he was. He dropped to the ground and Jaxen utterly dismissed him. Made a threat on his life -- as if he hadn't done that every single time he'd seem him. Ashton knew he deserved it. Knew that it wasn't his fault. And Jaxen was fine from it all.

But that didn't stop Ashton from scurrying away the moment he could. He muttered thank you as he slide by and ran up the stairs. He was grateful for his life and grateful that he could shut himself into the room with the others. A screaming baby hearlded his entrance as he closed the door behind him. He looked around found everyone sitting and watching. Liv was cradling a new born, Isabel and Ava lay catatonic on on the bed the others all stood around. Liam was staring at his feet. Victoria was covering her ears. "For the love of god feed the child."

Liv growled back at their older sorta sibling "What what? Does this look like a house ready for a baby?"

Victoria stood up and growled back at Olivia. "This house doesn't look like anything at all, why are we still here? Why are we listening to the man who murdered our family?"

Ashton sighed and sat down in a corner. He went from one frying pan into the hot fire. He just needed a moment. Just one fucking moment to himself.

Waiting. Watching. The body watched as Jaxen Marveet became one with the collective. m'Antinomian would have a new drone to call upon. A master thief. A con man. A hacker -- the ultimate jack of all trades. It knew the other names, and the collective would too.

The path through the house was winding and the journey took more than mere moments. Whoever wired this place created circuits for everything. But it did find home. Found the body. Together they rejoined and stepped away from the wall. Jaxen clutching at his face.

They knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. "Join us. It will be easier. Submit to the collective and know what we know." The Emissary spoke with a gravely whisper just for his ears. "Fighting it will only bring pain. Know what we now." The Emissary pulled a card from his inner coat pocket. It was analog, but it was effective. They pulled Jaxen's hands from his face and slid the card into his palm. The neon mask shining upon Jaxen's face. "Find me here." The last of the instructions.

The card was not easily deciphered. Anyone could pick it up and read it. But if Jaxen were as good as he thought he was, and if he utilized the collective he'd find them.

The Emissary stood and laughed as the Neon mask faced Sage Parker -- The Wicked Truth -- Phaser. The real Phaser, creator of the borg. He would reget the day he met The Emissary. "I will see you again." No one dared stop them with their friend clutching himself the way he had. Chaos followed in their wake as always. It always followed.

Sage really didn't have anything idea what was going on. Jaxen and the Emissary something had happened and he didn't understand it and even the camera feeds revealed nothing Sage could understand.

But Nox was safe in his room and he could focus on other things now. Jaxen was on the floor. The crowd had dispersed for the most part leaving only a handful of people. Ashton fled upstairs, there were others around, but Sage was kneeling on the floor next to Jaxen. He put his hands on his shoulders and shook him. "Jaxen. What the fuck man? Are you alright?"

Sage held out his hand and pointed to the cupboard. "Get him some water. Something to drink. Not alcohol." Sage specified completely that drinking would come later, but first Jaxen needed to be alright.

“I own you,” he parroted with deep gravelly timber, then laughed to himself. The guy should have added a twirly 'tache to that neon mask. Meanwhile, red-face-mask was bossy, but Gideon sloshed some water from the faucet as directed. The lack of appreciation for his appreciation irritated him. But he wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t recognise Saelia’s little brother when he ripped the mask from his face (that would have been the tap-tap-tapping on his brain, then). If the dynamic between the varied Marveet siblings was fractious at best, most of the time Saelia didn’t mind Jaxen, and neither did Gideon.

“Nom de dieu. What shit you up to now, eh?”

Gideon held the glass out for red-mask, squinted for his nametag – The Wicked Truth – and let him do the babying. Right now Jaxen looked like he was on some kind of bad trip.

Nox had routines, and Oriena left him to them. Since he wasn’t going to misinterpret her sticking around she didn’t feel any great urge to vacate her spot on the broken bed, arm cushioned beneath her head, unconcerned by her nakedness. She let her breathing slow, and her body recover into satiated soreness. Her eyes travelled to where he squeezed her arm, as brief as an irritated flick of a cat’s tail, but apparently Nox knew better than to make a big deal. Though obviously he couldn’t keep his mouth entirely shut.

She shrugged. It’s not like she hated Jaxen. But all she actually said was, “I don’t share.”

Hospitality was Nox’s usual thing, and Ori had stopped being annoyed at it. Sometimes she ignored him entirely, and other times she accepted the fuss with an eyeroll. On this occasion she only smirked and stretched, then sat up herself. “Taking a shower,” she said as she moved past him. The stink of smoke still lingered, on them both, though it wasn’t an invitation. As she hit the water, she called back over her shoulder. “What was with all the weird fucking masks?”

Nox smirked a little proud but then again he wasn't much for sharing, though he wouldn't say no either. But that he rated with Oriena not to be shared that prickled his fancy. Oriena made her way into the bathroom and he wrapped the towel around his waist not wanting to give whoever was still out there a show. Not that he minded that either, but there were kids in the house. At least he assumed they came here and stayed. Though the party was not his idea, he doubted it was theirs either. Totally not their thing all fancy and living in mansions and all. Regardless of their captivity.

Oriena called back at him and he laughed and walked over to lean against the door frame. He could gawk and stare and watch, but he didn't. It served no purpose, not that Oriena wasn't beautiful or that he was afraid. And it wasn't about being a gentleman or even remotely polite. It just didn't do anything for him. He wasn't sure it ever did, if it was all part of the mask he had worn his whole life. "I have no fucking idea. I don't even know whose party it was. Cause it sure as fuck wasn't mine. Sage maybe? But doubt he'd be throwing a party the day I went into the hospital."

He leaned his head back against the doorframe and stared up at the ceiling in the dim light. "Not getting sentimental here, and I have a point, truly, but you ever want more? Not between us, just more. You understand more of what's going on with me than anyone and sometimes I wonder if I could teach Raffe that trick you do, the compelling people to do what you wanted, if he had that in his tool box if he'd trust me more. Not that he wouldn't be offended if I offered to teach him, if I knew it anyway." He was rambling. He knew it. He had part of what he wanted in his life, things were falling into place -- all but one thing. "What do you do, like what threads do you use? Where do you place the weave? I'd imagine it would have spirit, ya know the one that doesn't have a definitive elemental flavor." Nox had never really talked weaves with Ori. It wasn't something they did. Neither was really looking to learn from the other, not that they could teach each other anyway.

Nox shoved off from the wall and poked at the computer in the room, turning on the 3d projection units and spinning up the holographic program. His stomach rumbled and he knew he'd have to eat soon. In the art program Nox picked out 5 colors and drew lines through the air walking across the room here and there creating an exaggerated shield weave. He'd practiced it many times, knew it by heart, he didn't need the visual. And he stood in the middle of the room staring at the weave and wondering how it worked on the brain. What could he change?

It was painfully clear that Jaxen was rattled. He grabbed the glass of water without a word and drank deeply, gulping it down as if trying to quench something far deeper than thirst. Only after the glass was half-empty did he notice the water boy was Zizi’s friend. He barely registered the connection, his mind still caught in the ripples of what had just happened.

Clutching the glass against his chest, he leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest there for a moment. It was rare—almost unheard of—for Jaxen to appear this disheveled. But he was quick to pull himself together, the habit of control ingrained in him. He straightened up, brushing a hand through his hair, forcing his breathing to slow.

"I’m okay, I think," he muttered, though the words came out brittle, uncertain. His brows knitted together, eyes narrowing as they flicked toward the doorway where the Emissary had disappeared. "Something… happened." His voice dropped, more to himself than anyone listening. He could still feel it—the pinprick in his mind, that dark hole connected to something infinitely larger—but every time he tried to focus on it, it slipped through his mental grasp, dissolving into a void.

The glass slipped from his fingers, abandoned on the floor, as he pushed himself up. His legs felt shaky, but he forced them to steady. Most of the others had already cleared out, the noise of the room fading to a murmur. Only a few stragglers remained, either out of earshot or too familiar to care. Still, Jaxen’s gaze cut toward Gideon. He hadn’t left. And Jaxen didn’t trust him—not by a long shot, even if he liked the guy.

"Sage." Jaxen leaned in close, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. "That was the guy in charge of the whole m’Antinomian group." His words were tight, urgency radiating off him as he locked eyes with Sage, making sure Sage understood the gravity of the situation. He could still feel the echo of the hive mind stirring inside him, the faint pull of something vast and incomprehensible.

"And I think… I’ve done something worse than piss him off." The words came out with a strained edge, as if Jaxen was still grappling with the enormity of it. Something inside him had shifted. It was like he had brushed up against a force he couldn’t fully understand, and now it was lodged inside him, waiting—pulling... calling.