08-26-2013, 11:39 AM
God was he tired.
Alric had long since sunk within himself during his time here. It was the constant feeling of being watched which was more than a feeling for him. Gone was his sun kissed skin and handsome features; replaced with an unkempt beard and a sickly appearance. Gone was the physique that he and his trainer, Philippe, worked tirelessly on. Alric, the present one that laid on a cold rigid table under a ring of too bright lights and the electronic pulses of whatever machine they wired him for this go-around, didn’t serve him well enough to continue rebelling. All that earned him was the echo of his own voice before his throat simply gave out. Today, like the past couple of days, he thought of such things. Beforehand he couldn’t recall much of what transpired during his stay here. Aside from the insane amount of testing done to him.
.
Vaguely he recalled traveling to Moscow, am I still even in Moscow?, with Philippe and Julian his manager and make-up artist, who was also Philippe’s husband. Julian had introduced Alric to his then-boyfriend when Julian signed Alric’s contract. They had just flown into Central for a meeting, some kind of shoot for a private security firm’s recruitment poster. It should have been an easy job, given that prior to his modeling career, Alric’s resume was filled with details about his service in Dominance VII’s military police force. ‘The military made him strong and tough,’ Philippe liked to boast on camera about his star-client, ‘but I chiseled out the god-man you see today.’ At the time, the Frenchman didn’t seem like such a taskmaster, but even during the supermodel’s allowed stints of vacation, Julian made sure to keep tabs on Alric’s schedule, diet and life. Then again, Alric didn’t mind so much. He may be the man’s investment, but they were also friends.
Alric’s head began to pound, and his recollections of the past faded to indistinguishable memories, but one remained clear as day. Soon after landing but before they made it to the hotel, there was an accident. A big rig, if he could trust himself with the memory. It was the sort of thing to stick in a man’s mind, but surprisingly, the accident that shut down the highway wasn't the memory in his head. It was what came after. Falling ill - almost identically to a time once before. They’d been climbing in the Alps, but one faulty hold sent him tumbling down the mountain side. When he was medevaced to a nearby hospital, he was flagged almost immediately into isolation: his symptoms matched those of the WHO’s alerts about the pandemic that had been spreading across the world.
A familiar darkness that haunted his memories of the recent past took hold once again. His musing of his two friends’ fate brought back that familiar weight that stayed his rebellion in recent days. What happened to them? A deeper darkness began to consume him. Why me? This is ridiculous! This is something out of a movie! He was a nobody. Just a man with a pretty face. His mother, a Swedish model now turned immunologist, cautioned him to take care. There were many people, men and women, both that weren't stable and could obsess over him. His father began to instruct him in self-defense once he began to take on modelling jobs in his teenage years because of this revelation. Xavier, a retired medic and sniper in the GSG 9 always stressed stillness of mind and smooth logic will win the day. This is too elaborate for a psycho.
But Alric’s anger crept to the forefront of his consciousness and began to consume him. His outrage reached it’s zenith. His hatred for his captors, the hopelessness that he wallowed in, the exhaustion of all of the poking, the prodding, the pain and isolation these people inflicted on him, it all built up within him. It boiled against his mental block, his safety valve that his brain developed to keep him safe and in control. But his wrath would not be denied.
Just beyond his reach was a radiant object. He was scarcely aware of what it was but he knew that he had taken hold of that object that eluded him once before. He pushed harder. He knew that it was the key to his salvation, that it had saved him once before on the Alps and it could do so here again. He focused his seething fury as much as he possibly could. He needed absolute strength if he was fight. Steeling his resolve he continued to force his desire of freedom against the ceiling within his mind until it fractured and crumbled.
Power rushed into him. The feeling was orgasmic. It moved like blood within him; coursing through to every fiber of his being. A coarse laugh passed his lips, as he struggled to remain in control of the fire and ice that flushed his being. It wouldn't be much longer, he knew, till he would have it in hand and settle the vendetta with those nearby.
Alric had long since sunk within himself during his time here. It was the constant feeling of being watched which was more than a feeling for him. Gone was his sun kissed skin and handsome features; replaced with an unkempt beard and a sickly appearance. Gone was the physique that he and his trainer, Philippe, worked tirelessly on. Alric, the present one that laid on a cold rigid table under a ring of too bright lights and the electronic pulses of whatever machine they wired him for this go-around, didn’t serve him well enough to continue rebelling. All that earned him was the echo of his own voice before his throat simply gave out. Today, like the past couple of days, he thought of such things. Beforehand he couldn’t recall much of what transpired during his stay here. Aside from the insane amount of testing done to him.
.
Vaguely he recalled traveling to Moscow, am I still even in Moscow?, with Philippe and Julian his manager and make-up artist, who was also Philippe’s husband. Julian had introduced Alric to his then-boyfriend when Julian signed Alric’s contract. They had just flown into Central for a meeting, some kind of shoot for a private security firm’s recruitment poster. It should have been an easy job, given that prior to his modeling career, Alric’s resume was filled with details about his service in Dominance VII’s military police force. ‘The military made him strong and tough,’ Philippe liked to boast on camera about his star-client, ‘but I chiseled out the god-man you see today.’ At the time, the Frenchman didn’t seem like such a taskmaster, but even during the supermodel’s allowed stints of vacation, Julian made sure to keep tabs on Alric’s schedule, diet and life. Then again, Alric didn’t mind so much. He may be the man’s investment, but they were also friends.
Alric’s head began to pound, and his recollections of the past faded to indistinguishable memories, but one remained clear as day. Soon after landing but before they made it to the hotel, there was an accident. A big rig, if he could trust himself with the memory. It was the sort of thing to stick in a man’s mind, but surprisingly, the accident that shut down the highway wasn't the memory in his head. It was what came after. Falling ill - almost identically to a time once before. They’d been climbing in the Alps, but one faulty hold sent him tumbling down the mountain side. When he was medevaced to a nearby hospital, he was flagged almost immediately into isolation: his symptoms matched those of the WHO’s alerts about the pandemic that had been spreading across the world.
A familiar darkness that haunted his memories of the recent past took hold once again. His musing of his two friends’ fate brought back that familiar weight that stayed his rebellion in recent days. What happened to them? A deeper darkness began to consume him. Why me? This is ridiculous! This is something out of a movie! He was a nobody. Just a man with a pretty face. His mother, a Swedish model now turned immunologist, cautioned him to take care. There were many people, men and women, both that weren't stable and could obsess over him. His father began to instruct him in self-defense once he began to take on modelling jobs in his teenage years because of this revelation. Xavier, a retired medic and sniper in the GSG 9 always stressed stillness of mind and smooth logic will win the day. This is too elaborate for a psycho.
But Alric’s anger crept to the forefront of his consciousness and began to consume him. His outrage reached it’s zenith. His hatred for his captors, the hopelessness that he wallowed in, the exhaustion of all of the poking, the prodding, the pain and isolation these people inflicted on him, it all built up within him. It boiled against his mental block, his safety valve that his brain developed to keep him safe and in control. But his wrath would not be denied.
Just beyond his reach was a radiant object. He was scarcely aware of what it was but he knew that he had taken hold of that object that eluded him once before. He pushed harder. He knew that it was the key to his salvation, that it had saved him once before on the Alps and it could do so here again. He focused his seething fury as much as he possibly could. He needed absolute strength if he was fight. Steeling his resolve he continued to force his desire of freedom against the ceiling within his mind until it fractured and crumbled.
Power rushed into him. The feeling was orgasmic. It moved like blood within him; coursing through to every fiber of his being. A coarse laugh passed his lips, as he struggled to remain in control of the fire and ice that flushed his being. It wouldn't be much longer, he knew, till he would have it in hand and settle the vendetta with those nearby.