https://thefirstage.org/forums/ Wed, 13 May 2026 11:58:08 +0000 MyBB https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1905.html Sun, 26 Oct 2025 22:50:31 +0000 Daphne Du Cadeau]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1905.html
She exhaled once, slowly, then stepped forward.

Inside, the gallery was warm and loud with music: elegant but just tasteful enough to disguise the excess. The smell of old stone fought with perfume and food wood. Paintings hung in staggered levels beneath high ceilings, some backlit with halos of gold, others hunched in various light-scapes.

A man in black approached, tablet in hand. His gaze flicked over her hair, her gloves, the earrings that had once belonged to her Volthström great-grandmother. He drew breath as if ready to deny her entrance.

“I’m not on the list,” she said, her French accent soft, vowels touched crystal and cool. “But I was told the artist is showing new work. I’m prepared to purchase. If any are for sale.”

She let the silence wait a few moments without being forceful. Just enough time for the man to think of a commission if one existed. He stepped aside.

“Welcome, ma'am.”

She inclined her head once and entered.

---

She moved like water through the crowd, her silvery-white gown caught the light in spectral flickers. It was neither sequined nor adorned, but perfectly tailored, as if the dress had been sculpted for her by stillness itself. The fabric clung with dignified reserve. She was well accustomed to such attire.

Her skin was pale as porcelain, untouched by the cold outside. Blue eyes peered with curious iciness, intelligent, and faint distance. Her long dark hair had been smoothed and drawn back on one side with a silver pin, leaving the other to fall like polished obsidian over her shoulder. She wore opera-length gloves, pearl white and unwrinkled. Around her throat, only a thin thread of silver chain dangled.

The emotions struck her immediately.

Laughter was like birdsong at the edge of a canyon. Pride billowed from a man boasting about his art collection. Desire, sticky and gold-edged, leaking from a corner where a woman leaned into a man not pretending he hadn’t noticed. And beneath it all: longing, sharp and sudden and foreign issued off of him in return.

She stilled herself. A gallery attendant offered her champagne. She declined with a motion of her hand, fingers straight. Her gloves were lined with silk, but they were like a shield. She did not wish to muddle her mind with alcohol.

She breathed, adjusted her posture, and pressed on.

---

She saw the painting halfway through the adjacent gallery.

It was not the largest, nor the loudest, but abstract in form and framed in a way that set it slightly apart. Perhaps it was intentional. A soft shape washed in pale grey and bloodred tones. The composition drew her study, but there was a simple nameplate on the display: Araminta Rosewood.

A voice to her right stole her attention.

“That's one of the artists' earliest works. She never sold it despite fabulous offers."

Daphne turned. A man stood beside her. He felt of curiosity, and something fuzzy that she assumed was the effects of the prosecco in his hand. He wore a fashionable blazer with a pin shaped like a magnolia leaf on his lapel. His smile was loose but not unkind.

She offered a polite smile, hoping it would draw out his curiosity.

“I would like to speak with the artist.”

He laughed softly. “Oh, Minty is around somewhere."

Daphne studied him a moment, her senses sweeping through the warmth of his mood. Minty? Her gaze connected the nickname with that on the display plate.

“Does Ms. Rosewood own the gallery too?"

That paused him. His brow furrowed faintly, then smoothed. “Of course. How do you not know that?" He chuckled and wandered away.

---

Her Wallet buzzed. She stepped aside and glanced at it.

MOTHER: Daphne. There is rumor of a border lockdown that begins at 4:00 a.m. your time. You cannot risk it. We will send a car.

She exhaled through her nose and typed quickly.

DAPHNE: Those rumors have been incorrigible. I'm sure nothing of the sort will happen.

Another message appeared instantly.

MOTHER: Do you want to sit in customs for hours? Have you the faintest idea how awful that will be?

She didn't need her sixth sense to imagine her mother's frustration. She silenced the phone, but not before doing a quick search for Araminta Rosewood.

---

The music swelled. From a corner near of the gallery a violinist had begun to play. A live quartet was now blending into the crowd’s crescendo. Laughter rose. Talking gained momentum. Excitement filled the room. The countdown was soon to begin.]]>
She exhaled once, slowly, then stepped forward.

Inside, the gallery was warm and loud with music: elegant but just tasteful enough to disguise the excess. The smell of old stone fought with perfume and food wood. Paintings hung in staggered levels beneath high ceilings, some backlit with halos of gold, others hunched in various light-scapes.

A man in black approached, tablet in hand. His gaze flicked over her hair, her gloves, the earrings that had once belonged to her Volthström great-grandmother. He drew breath as if ready to deny her entrance.

“I’m not on the list,” she said, her French accent soft, vowels touched crystal and cool. “But I was told the artist is showing new work. I’m prepared to purchase. If any are for sale.”

She let the silence wait a few moments without being forceful. Just enough time for the man to think of a commission if one existed. He stepped aside.

“Welcome, ma'am.”

She inclined her head once and entered.

---

She moved like water through the crowd, her silvery-white gown caught the light in spectral flickers. It was neither sequined nor adorned, but perfectly tailored, as if the dress had been sculpted for her by stillness itself. The fabric clung with dignified reserve. She was well accustomed to such attire.

Her skin was pale as porcelain, untouched by the cold outside. Blue eyes peered with curious iciness, intelligent, and faint distance. Her long dark hair had been smoothed and drawn back on one side with a silver pin, leaving the other to fall like polished obsidian over her shoulder. She wore opera-length gloves, pearl white and unwrinkled. Around her throat, only a thin thread of silver chain dangled.

The emotions struck her immediately.

Laughter was like birdsong at the edge of a canyon. Pride billowed from a man boasting about his art collection. Desire, sticky and gold-edged, leaking from a corner where a woman leaned into a man not pretending he hadn’t noticed. And beneath it all: longing, sharp and sudden and foreign issued off of him in return.

She stilled herself. A gallery attendant offered her champagne. She declined with a motion of her hand, fingers straight. Her gloves were lined with silk, but they were like a shield. She did not wish to muddle her mind with alcohol.

She breathed, adjusted her posture, and pressed on.

---

She saw the painting halfway through the adjacent gallery.

It was not the largest, nor the loudest, but abstract in form and framed in a way that set it slightly apart. Perhaps it was intentional. A soft shape washed in pale grey and bloodred tones. The composition drew her study, but there was a simple nameplate on the display: Araminta Rosewood.

A voice to her right stole her attention.

“That's one of the artists' earliest works. She never sold it despite fabulous offers."

Daphne turned. A man stood beside her. He felt of curiosity, and something fuzzy that she assumed was the effects of the prosecco in his hand. He wore a fashionable blazer with a pin shaped like a magnolia leaf on his lapel. His smile was loose but not unkind.

She offered a polite smile, hoping it would draw out his curiosity.

“I would like to speak with the artist.”

He laughed softly. “Oh, Minty is around somewhere."

Daphne studied him a moment, her senses sweeping through the warmth of his mood. Minty? Her gaze connected the nickname with that on the display plate.

“Does Ms. Rosewood own the gallery too?"

That paused him. His brow furrowed faintly, then smoothed. “Of course. How do you not know that?" He chuckled and wandered away.

---

Her Wallet buzzed. She stepped aside and glanced at it.

MOTHER: Daphne. There is rumor of a border lockdown that begins at 4:00 a.m. your time. You cannot risk it. We will send a car.

She exhaled through her nose and typed quickly.

DAPHNE: Those rumors have been incorrigible. I'm sure nothing of the sort will happen.

Another message appeared instantly.

MOTHER: Do you want to sit in customs for hours? Have you the faintest idea how awful that will be?

She didn't need her sixth sense to imagine her mother's frustration. She silenced the phone, but not before doing a quick search for Araminta Rosewood.

---

The music swelled. From a corner near of the gallery a violinist had begun to play. A live quartet was now blending into the crowd’s crescendo. Laughter rose. Talking gained momentum. Excitement filled the room. The countdown was soon to begin.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1851.html Wed, 04 Jun 2025 21:45:16 +0000 Ascendancy]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1851.html
On the northern side of the checkpoint, technically on American soil, families huddled in old camping tents and mismashed cardboard. There was no power except for a few diesel generators, but the gasoline was so expensive, nobody could run them more than an hour at a time. A few old wood stoves puffed smoke into the gray sky instead, their warmth shared by too many.

Outside one such tent, a man stood with a pair of battered binoculars pressed to his eyes. He was about fifty, though the cold had carved deeper lines into his face than the years alone could claim. His coat was Army surplus. The hem of a red flannel shirt poked out under the cuffs, threadbare and faded. Through the fogged lenses of his binoculars, Dominance IX shimmered like a distant promise.

On the southern side of the checkpoint, CCD soldiers in environmental armor moved in clean, practiced lines. Portable heaters glowed along the waiting lanes. A holographic video flickered to life every few minutes, casting blue-green light across the tarmac. Families gathered in neat rows, children cradling shrink-wrapped “Unity Gifts” in their arms—each box bearing the mark of the Ascendancy’s double crescent and the symbol of their new Dominance.

And above it all, projected twenty meters high on a drone-suspended emitter rig, was the face of the Ascendancy himself. Speakers made sure that those on the other side of the border would be able to overhear.

“In this sacred season,” he said, voice rich with gravitas and calm, “we honor peace not as a dream, but as an achievement. Dominance Nine is proof of what unity brings. Where once there was chaos, now there is light. Where once there was fear, now there is prosperity.”

A little girl waved at the screen. The Ascendancy didn’t wave back, but his smile widened. It had the precise warmth of a calibrated sunrise.

The man with the binoculars lowered them. His name was Danvers. Once a high school chemistry teacher in Oklahoma City. Now just another border ghost.

His fingers fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside were a few crumpled U.S. dollars. Not digital. Not encoded. Just paper. Once powerful. Now nearly useless. He stared at them a long time. Folded twenty. Two fives. A ten that was starting to tear along the crease. From behind him, a younger man muttered, “Might as well burn ’em. Worth more that way.”

Danvers looked down at the fire barrel, then back at the bills. He lifted the ten-dollar note slowly, feeling the wind tug at it like it was already dead. His fingers hovered just above the flame. But he stopped. Not out of sentiment. Just... inertia. He returned the bills to the bag and the bag to his pocket.

“They’re worth more as memory,” he said, mostly to himself. A child’s voice rose nearby. “Is he coming, Papa?” Someone else laughed bitterly. A mother pulled her child closer. Danvers didn’t answer. He just looked south again.

“To the brave people of Texas, of Mexico, and our brothers and sisters in Central America,” the Ascendancy’s voice rang out, “you stood in the face of uncertainty and chose peace. You joined not a nation, but a purpose. Tonight, your children sleep beneath warmth and order. Tomorrow, they will wake beneath the banner of the future.”

A convoy of CCD trucks passed behind the border fence, gleaming with chrome and efficiency. Danvers watched them disappear into the depths of the Dominance. New roads. New infrastructure. New money. On the American side, a woman bartered with a man for three AA batteries. Two strips of aspirin in exchange.

Danvers blinked and adjusted his binoculars again. The CCD broadcast resumed—bright, seamless, confident. The Ascendancy’s face loomed above the border like a secular messiah.

“This is not conquest,” the Ascendancy intoned. “This is communion. Together, we shape a new era unbroken by chaos, untainted by corruption. We offer continuity. Revival.”

A cheer rose from the Dominance side. Or maybe it was just audio piped through public speakers. Danvers couldn’t tell anymore. Then, a quiet hiss behind him. He turned. On the corrugated wall of a gas station, someone was spray-painting a phrase in red. Sloppy, rushed, but legible.

“DON’T BELIEVE HIS PEACE.”

The paint was still dripping as the person with the can ran. He had a hood over his face, which explain why he had risked coming out in daylight, within sight of CCD drones, just to scrawl that.

Danvers stared at the words. Not revolutionary. Not clever. But it stuck in his mind like a sliver.

A second later, a teenager jogged past and slapped a torn flyer on the same wall. It fluttered in the wind before sticking. Danvers squinted. A silhouette of the Ascendancy’s face—overlaid with a barcode and a chain. The teen was gone by the time anyone noticed.]]>
On the northern side of the checkpoint, technically on American soil, families huddled in old camping tents and mismashed cardboard. There was no power except for a few diesel generators, but the gasoline was so expensive, nobody could run them more than an hour at a time. A few old wood stoves puffed smoke into the gray sky instead, their warmth shared by too many.

Outside one such tent, a man stood with a pair of battered binoculars pressed to his eyes. He was about fifty, though the cold had carved deeper lines into his face than the years alone could claim. His coat was Army surplus. The hem of a red flannel shirt poked out under the cuffs, threadbare and faded. Through the fogged lenses of his binoculars, Dominance IX shimmered like a distant promise.

On the southern side of the checkpoint, CCD soldiers in environmental armor moved in clean, practiced lines. Portable heaters glowed along the waiting lanes. A holographic video flickered to life every few minutes, casting blue-green light across the tarmac. Families gathered in neat rows, children cradling shrink-wrapped “Unity Gifts” in their arms—each box bearing the mark of the Ascendancy’s double crescent and the symbol of their new Dominance.

And above it all, projected twenty meters high on a drone-suspended emitter rig, was the face of the Ascendancy himself. Speakers made sure that those on the other side of the border would be able to overhear.

“In this sacred season,” he said, voice rich with gravitas and calm, “we honor peace not as a dream, but as an achievement. Dominance Nine is proof of what unity brings. Where once there was chaos, now there is light. Where once there was fear, now there is prosperity.”

A little girl waved at the screen. The Ascendancy didn’t wave back, but his smile widened. It had the precise warmth of a calibrated sunrise.

The man with the binoculars lowered them. His name was Danvers. Once a high school chemistry teacher in Oklahoma City. Now just another border ghost.

His fingers fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside were a few crumpled U.S. dollars. Not digital. Not encoded. Just paper. Once powerful. Now nearly useless. He stared at them a long time. Folded twenty. Two fives. A ten that was starting to tear along the crease. From behind him, a younger man muttered, “Might as well burn ’em. Worth more that way.”

Danvers looked down at the fire barrel, then back at the bills. He lifted the ten-dollar note slowly, feeling the wind tug at it like it was already dead. His fingers hovered just above the flame. But he stopped. Not out of sentiment. Just... inertia. He returned the bills to the bag and the bag to his pocket.

“They’re worth more as memory,” he said, mostly to himself. A child’s voice rose nearby. “Is he coming, Papa?” Someone else laughed bitterly. A mother pulled her child closer. Danvers didn’t answer. He just looked south again.

“To the brave people of Texas, of Mexico, and our brothers and sisters in Central America,” the Ascendancy’s voice rang out, “you stood in the face of uncertainty and chose peace. You joined not a nation, but a purpose. Tonight, your children sleep beneath warmth and order. Tomorrow, they will wake beneath the banner of the future.”

A convoy of CCD trucks passed behind the border fence, gleaming with chrome and efficiency. Danvers watched them disappear into the depths of the Dominance. New roads. New infrastructure. New money. On the American side, a woman bartered with a man for three AA batteries. Two strips of aspirin in exchange.

Danvers blinked and adjusted his binoculars again. The CCD broadcast resumed—bright, seamless, confident. The Ascendancy’s face loomed above the border like a secular messiah.

“This is not conquest,” the Ascendancy intoned. “This is communion. Together, we shape a new era unbroken by chaos, untainted by corruption. We offer continuity. Revival.”

A cheer rose from the Dominance side. Or maybe it was just audio piped through public speakers. Danvers couldn’t tell anymore. Then, a quiet hiss behind him. He turned. On the corrugated wall of a gas station, someone was spray-painting a phrase in red. Sloppy, rushed, but legible.

“DON’T BELIEVE HIS PEACE.”

The paint was still dripping as the person with the can ran. He had a hood over his face, which explain why he had risked coming out in daylight, within sight of CCD drones, just to scrawl that.

Danvers stared at the words. Not revolutionary. Not clever. But it stuck in his mind like a sliver.

A second later, a teenager jogged past and slapped a torn flyer on the same wall. It fluttered in the wind before sticking. Danvers squinted. A silhouette of the Ascendancy’s face—overlaid with a barcode and a chain. The teen was gone by the time anyone noticed.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1754.html Fri, 07 Feb 2025 19:31:50 +0000 Sage]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1754.html
It wasn't nefarious, and it wasn't sneaky, he just wasn't there taking care of Lily completely like he promised. Thankfully she was loud and her cries of hunger and pain pierced his brain fog and he could tend to the child. Nox was asking almost too much, but then what he had asked of Nox was just as much -- blind trust. And Nox gave it freely, no questions asked.

Sure it was selfish motivation, he wanted a new arm. But he didn't know what else it all entailed what other experiments he was part of. Blind trust was dangerous and Nox gave it freely to him. Sage had earned that right, built the trust. And he wouldn't hurt Nox, Sage knew this would work. He'd never hurt Aurora's little brother. Never put him in undue danger without his consent. Not that Nox ever said no.

The former scientist who worked for his mother and father was working for someone else in Alexandria. He'd been persuaded to do the surgery and provide the prosthetic. And Sage would do the rest. That's all he needed, just this one thing and the man would be free of all the evil he did when he worked with Sage's parents. Sage would leave him be. It was a simple price for the things he'd done. And he knew it.

Nox lay in a gown on the gurney and Sage stood over him. "You sure you are cool?"

Nox just looked at him with that look that said you know the answer.  Sage smirked. "Good.  You won't regret this."  Sage took the syringe from his pocket and tapped it gently before squeezing the the plunger just a little to remove any air. "It's the same tech in my body helping to maintain my chip. It'll help me give you what you have wanted since losing your arm, and we'll study the power from with in."  Sage smirked. "And it'll give you a little healing advantage since it'll be programmed to heal the wound we are creating to give you the new arm, and it'll just keep on doing it.  Good?"

"Fine.  Just get it the fuck over with." Nox's eyes hadn't left the needle Sage held up.  Opps, forgot his fear of needles. Was an easy thing to do since Nox wasn't afraid of much, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. 

Sage injected the nanobots into the IV port and then tossed the needle into the red bin. "All done.  Now you sure?"

"Let's just get it over with Sage. I don't want to be in the hospital any longer than I need to."

"You won't be here longer than necessary and the bots will help. I promise."

Nox nodded but he didn't say anything as the nurse came in and pushed Sage out of the room -- almost physically. "I'm going, I'm going."  Now it was just a wait and see sorta thing. The surgery would go well, the man had preformed it thousands of times, it was a regular prosthetic.  But when Sage was done with it, he'd feel again.  Nox would not break a tiny China cup with the mechanical hand. He could touch his lover as he did with the other one. All the things he's terrified of now, he'd be able to do -- when it was all done. When Sage's connections were all made.

His parents had experimented on him, and now he was experimenting on his friend, but it wasn't the same he told himself. This was not an experiment -- it would work, because he'd tested it, simulated it and he even gave a bionic arm to a rat in the lab. Things that few people knew he did in the depths of his boyfriend's home. He didn't experiment on kids or people and he hadn't done this without knowing the result. Nox would touch again, and feel again.  He would be as whole as he could be.

Sage would remove the fucking horde if he could, if he even knew where to begin.  His friend deserved a calm life but he wouldn't ever seek it or ask for it. So Sage would give it to him.  One way or another.]]>
It wasn't nefarious, and it wasn't sneaky, he just wasn't there taking care of Lily completely like he promised. Thankfully she was loud and her cries of hunger and pain pierced his brain fog and he could tend to the child. Nox was asking almost too much, but then what he had asked of Nox was just as much -- blind trust. And Nox gave it freely, no questions asked.

Sure it was selfish motivation, he wanted a new arm. But he didn't know what else it all entailed what other experiments he was part of. Blind trust was dangerous and Nox gave it freely to him. Sage had earned that right, built the trust. And he wouldn't hurt Nox, Sage knew this would work. He'd never hurt Aurora's little brother. Never put him in undue danger without his consent. Not that Nox ever said no.

The former scientist who worked for his mother and father was working for someone else in Alexandria. He'd been persuaded to do the surgery and provide the prosthetic. And Sage would do the rest. That's all he needed, just this one thing and the man would be free of all the evil he did when he worked with Sage's parents. Sage would leave him be. It was a simple price for the things he'd done. And he knew it.

Nox lay in a gown on the gurney and Sage stood over him. "You sure you are cool?"

Nox just looked at him with that look that said you know the answer.  Sage smirked. "Good.  You won't regret this."  Sage took the syringe from his pocket and tapped it gently before squeezing the the plunger just a little to remove any air. "It's the same tech in my body helping to maintain my chip. It'll help me give you what you have wanted since losing your arm, and we'll study the power from with in."  Sage smirked. "And it'll give you a little healing advantage since it'll be programmed to heal the wound we are creating to give you the new arm, and it'll just keep on doing it.  Good?"

"Fine.  Just get it the fuck over with." Nox's eyes hadn't left the needle Sage held up.  Opps, forgot his fear of needles. Was an easy thing to do since Nox wasn't afraid of much, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. 

Sage injected the nanobots into the IV port and then tossed the needle into the red bin. "All done.  Now you sure?"

"Let's just get it over with Sage. I don't want to be in the hospital any longer than I need to."

"You won't be here longer than necessary and the bots will help. I promise."

Nox nodded but he didn't say anything as the nurse came in and pushed Sage out of the room -- almost physically. "I'm going, I'm going."  Now it was just a wait and see sorta thing. The surgery would go well, the man had preformed it thousands of times, it was a regular prosthetic.  But when Sage was done with it, he'd feel again.  Nox would not break a tiny China cup with the mechanical hand. He could touch his lover as he did with the other one. All the things he's terrified of now, he'd be able to do -- when it was all done. When Sage's connections were all made.

His parents had experimented on him, and now he was experimenting on his friend, but it wasn't the same he told himself. This was not an experiment -- it would work, because he'd tested it, simulated it and he even gave a bionic arm to a rat in the lab. Things that few people knew he did in the depths of his boyfriend's home. He didn't experiment on kids or people and he hadn't done this without knowing the result. Nox would touch again, and feel again.  He would be as whole as he could be.

Sage would remove the fucking horde if he could, if he even knew where to begin.  His friend deserved a calm life but he wouldn't ever seek it or ask for it. So Sage would give it to him.  One way or another.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1716.html Mon, 30 Dec 2024 19:52:33 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1716.html Setting up, Round and Round we Go, and They Found me ]]

Sage's Pizza place wasn't exactly around the corner, it was across the Potomac River in DC proper. It literally was the best place to be for what was about to go down. Walking distance from the spots we knew our assassins were about to take their shots. Or at least where Sage and the other intel pointed them to. It was perfect for it. And the timing was down right near impossible.

Sage sat in a booth in the far corner with an entire plain pie on a stand and the empty baby carrier for Lily when Nox dropped her off. Hopefully it wasn't in the middle of his conversation with Connor but you never know. Connor and his wife weren't exactly privy to his schedule, though they were here to kill him for some reason, he just wasn't sure why.  There was no other reason for out of the blue for Connor to contact him. Sage had been digging deep all night, though he suspected he had his own things on his mind too.

Ryker was at another table, while Nox sat in a window booth with his back to the window, and Lily propped in his lap while his legs feet were on the seat by the aisle holding the child firmly in the light coming through the window.  He wove a four inch thick wall of air as hard as steel and hopefully strong enough to stop whatever caliber bullet she might use to take him out.  A secondary weave of shattered glass floated invisibly through the air by the window to eliminate the use of a laser sight.  Probably not enough to deter a power augmented sniper, but enough for her to not use that pesky laser that would get a clean shot.

Sage had several stealthy drones flying through the air around the buildings in question and Nox had the feeds on the hud on the warrior lens he now wore. He hated contact lenses, but Sage insisted that it was better for this mission and for the future augmentation of his new arm.  Whatever he had planned Nox wasn't sure but having a functioning hand would be nice.  But it was still days or even weeks away if he had to wait on his body to heal naturally.

Nox ordered a couple of slices of pizza heavily loaded with meat and vegetables, probably more than the people wanted but pizza was so not a thing he wanted to eat, but a good pie was hard to come by and he did enjoy one now and then.  He also just a plain slice of cheese, a simple slice but the one he'd actually indulge in.  He had a glass of water with lemon and waited for Connor to show up. He imagined Ayden was about to set up her rifle on the building adjacent them and he'd be in shortly there after.]]> Setting up, Round and Round we Go, and They Found me ]]

Sage's Pizza place wasn't exactly around the corner, it was across the Potomac River in DC proper. It literally was the best place to be for what was about to go down. Walking distance from the spots we knew our assassins were about to take their shots. Or at least where Sage and the other intel pointed them to. It was perfect for it. And the timing was down right near impossible.

Sage sat in a booth in the far corner with an entire plain pie on a stand and the empty baby carrier for Lily when Nox dropped her off. Hopefully it wasn't in the middle of his conversation with Connor but you never know. Connor and his wife weren't exactly privy to his schedule, though they were here to kill him for some reason, he just wasn't sure why.  There was no other reason for out of the blue for Connor to contact him. Sage had been digging deep all night, though he suspected he had his own things on his mind too.

Ryker was at another table, while Nox sat in a window booth with his back to the window, and Lily propped in his lap while his legs feet were on the seat by the aisle holding the child firmly in the light coming through the window.  He wove a four inch thick wall of air as hard as steel and hopefully strong enough to stop whatever caliber bullet she might use to take him out.  A secondary weave of shattered glass floated invisibly through the air by the window to eliminate the use of a laser sight.  Probably not enough to deter a power augmented sniper, but enough for her to not use that pesky laser that would get a clean shot.

Sage had several stealthy drones flying through the air around the buildings in question and Nox had the feeds on the hud on the warrior lens he now wore. He hated contact lenses, but Sage insisted that it was better for this mission and for the future augmentation of his new arm.  Whatever he had planned Nox wasn't sure but having a functioning hand would be nice.  But it was still days or even weeks away if he had to wait on his body to heal naturally.

Nox ordered a couple of slices of pizza heavily loaded with meat and vegetables, probably more than the people wanted but pizza was so not a thing he wanted to eat, but a good pie was hard to come by and he did enjoy one now and then.  He also just a plain slice of cheese, a simple slice but the one he'd actually indulge in.  He had a glass of water with lemon and waited for Connor to show up. He imagined Ayden was about to set up her rifle on the building adjacent them and he'd be in shortly there after.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1671.html Tue, 05 Nov 2024 22:24:39 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1671.html
Sage drove them to a nice hotel. They had a suite though it only had two rooms. Nox pointed at one. "Sage and I'll take this one, the other is yours. We can talk plans after a nap, dinner and a shower, but probably not in that order."

Though Nox probably had a run and some yoga in that mix specially since there wouldn't be any trolling for sex for a bit. And he wasn't about to ask the two he was with to help with that.  Specially not Sage, Sage would agree, but Nox wouldn't do that to Aiden.  They already pushed the boundaries of friends sometimes, that was one line Nox wasn't going to cross.

But right now. He needed food.  "I'm ordering anyone else want anything?"

After he ordered his phone rang. A strange call to get but he went into the other room to take it. Not that he cared if Ryder listened, but he wasn't sure if Connor wanted anyone else to know -- though sage had already been on it.

When he was done the food had arrived and he was starving.]]>
Sage drove them to a nice hotel. They had a suite though it only had two rooms. Nox pointed at one. "Sage and I'll take this one, the other is yours. We can talk plans after a nap, dinner and a shower, but probably not in that order."

Though Nox probably had a run and some yoga in that mix specially since there wouldn't be any trolling for sex for a bit. And he wasn't about to ask the two he was with to help with that.  Specially not Sage, Sage would agree, but Nox wouldn't do that to Aiden.  They already pushed the boundaries of friends sometimes, that was one line Nox wasn't going to cross.

But right now. He needed food.  "I'm ordering anyone else want anything?"

After he ordered his phone rang. A strange call to get but he went into the other room to take it. Not that he cared if Ryder listened, but he wasn't sure if Connor wanted anyone else to know -- though sage had already been on it.

When he was done the food had arrived and he was starving.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1628.html Mon, 29 Jul 2024 12:40:27 +0000 Ayden]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1628.html
She grabbed her pad from  her pocket and approached him.  His eyes looked up and she could have sworn he recognized her as someone who he knew. But she didn't know this man.  She would remember him.  He smiled at her. "I'll have a coffee, cream, no sugar." He paused then his smile turned dark. "Anne."

Ayden's face went white. That was not her name -- it hadn't been her name for many years. It wasn't even close.  "I'm sorry, we are out of coffee." she said without letting him know she was panicking on the inside.  Someone found me.  Holy fuck!  We have to leave.

"That's alright. I'll take the #1 special and a chocolate milk shake. And then you'll come sit down and have a little chant with me. Chastity."

Fuck! He knew more than he should! 

"Right.  I'll get that right in." She said with a waiver in her voice.  This was going to go badly.  What the fuck!

Ayden put the order in and then went into the back room to call her husband... While still officially it still felt weird.  Her name was Nikki and she was married to Josh.   

Connor picked up and Ayden didn't even wait for him to say hello.  "Someone found me. Start packing, we need to go." She hung up quickly and made her way out to the front "I'm going to take a break." She told the girl up front and then went to sit down with the man who knew too much.]]>
She grabbed her pad from  her pocket and approached him.  His eyes looked up and she could have sworn he recognized her as someone who he knew. But she didn't know this man.  She would remember him.  He smiled at her. "I'll have a coffee, cream, no sugar." He paused then his smile turned dark. "Anne."

Ayden's face went white. That was not her name -- it hadn't been her name for many years. It wasn't even close.  "I'm sorry, we are out of coffee." she said without letting him know she was panicking on the inside.  Someone found me.  Holy fuck!  We have to leave.

"That's alright. I'll take the #1 special and a chocolate milk shake. And then you'll come sit down and have a little chant with me. Chastity."

Fuck! He knew more than he should! 

"Right.  I'll get that right in." She said with a waiver in her voice.  This was going to go badly.  What the fuck!

Ayden put the order in and then went into the back room to call her husband... While still officially it still felt weird.  Her name was Nikki and she was married to Josh.   

Connor picked up and Ayden didn't even wait for him to say hello.  "Someone found me. Start packing, we need to go." She hung up quickly and made her way out to the front "I'm going to take a break." She told the girl up front and then went to sit down with the man who knew too much.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1626.html Sun, 21 Jul 2024 17:17:11 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1626.html
Kai walked into the office building like he had been everyday for a week. "Hey, Mercer." the security guard said as he walked through the checkpoint and to the cleaning closet and readied his cart.

Across town, Finn was doing the same thing.

Preparation for something like this was always key. And this one was a big key job. The pay was excellent and the cause didn't matter. It was just another job for the Mercer brothers.

They were almost ready. They had the schedule down pat. It was like clockwork. And the riots all around made it even more predictable.The whole country was under curfew and it was days away from a full fledge lock down. They only had a little more time left and then the rest of the world would go into a frenzy.

Kai set the last peice of the rifle in his hiding spot. Their plan would happen in one more day. It was almost ready.]]>
Kai walked into the office building like he had been everyday for a week. "Hey, Mercer." the security guard said as he walked through the checkpoint and to the cleaning closet and readied his cart.

Across town, Finn was doing the same thing.

Preparation for something like this was always key. And this one was a big key job. The pay was excellent and the cause didn't matter. It was just another job for the Mercer brothers.

They were almost ready. They had the schedule down pat. It was like clockwork. And the riots all around made it even more predictable.The whole country was under curfew and it was days away from a full fledge lock down. They only had a little more time left and then the rest of the world would go into a frenzy.

Kai set the last peice of the rifle in his hiding spot. Their plan would happen in one more day. It was almost ready.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1624.html Sat, 20 Jul 2024 16:26:42 +0000 Ayden]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1624.html
Her and Josh eventually found a home in a small town just north of the New Mexico border and the Southern Ute Reservation.  It was quaint if you discounted the tent city that most of the town was made up of.  But they had a house of their own.  It was small, barely livable for the two of them, and now with a baby on the way -- things were about to get more crowded.

Nikki Haydensen was now three months pregnant with her first child -- it would be Josh's second, though they never told anyone that, it was their little secret.

Nikki was working at a local diner making very little money, but she wasn't worried about that. She had enough stored up as Ayden Hayes to work through whatever they needed going forward.

Her nightmares still plagued her.  The blood and the sacrifices still kept her awake at night.  And images of Connor, no Josh, dying were pulling at her restless nights more times than she could count.  And now images of the baby held up high in her hands all akuna matta style and then stabbed in the chest or thrown from the top of some Aztec temple or another plagued her nightmares.

That was when Nikki and Josh went on a sight seeing tour just south of the Colorado border to the Aztec Ruins National Monument.  Though her dreams resembled something from south of the border, Nikki called upon her ancient learning and knew some bits about the Aztecs.

Sadly the Monument was for the Pueblo Native Americans but it was still an interesting trip they took together.  They vowed to do that more -- see the things they never got to see before. 

It was a happy little life thought she did miss the job.  She made a trip out to a gun range once a month.  It was quite the drive to get there, but it was worth shooting the rifle in a safe environment. The loud pops and the feel of the trigger under her finger made her feel at home -- something Connor/Josh would never truly understand, but it wasn't her little secret.  He knew.  She told him it was just to stay sharp and not lose her edge.  But it felt good to watch the bullet smash into the target down range.  And she was good at it.]]>
Her and Josh eventually found a home in a small town just north of the New Mexico border and the Southern Ute Reservation.  It was quaint if you discounted the tent city that most of the town was made up of.  But they had a house of their own.  It was small, barely livable for the two of them, and now with a baby on the way -- things were about to get more crowded.

Nikki Haydensen was now three months pregnant with her first child -- it would be Josh's second, though they never told anyone that, it was their little secret.

Nikki was working at a local diner making very little money, but she wasn't worried about that. She had enough stored up as Ayden Hayes to work through whatever they needed going forward.

Her nightmares still plagued her.  The blood and the sacrifices still kept her awake at night.  And images of Connor, no Josh, dying were pulling at her restless nights more times than she could count.  And now images of the baby held up high in her hands all akuna matta style and then stabbed in the chest or thrown from the top of some Aztec temple or another plagued her nightmares.

That was when Nikki and Josh went on a sight seeing tour just south of the Colorado border to the Aztec Ruins National Monument.  Though her dreams resembled something from south of the border, Nikki called upon her ancient learning and knew some bits about the Aztecs.

Sadly the Monument was for the Pueblo Native Americans but it was still an interesting trip they took together.  They vowed to do that more -- see the things they never got to see before. 

It was a happy little life thought she did miss the job.  She made a trip out to a gun range once a month.  It was quite the drive to get there, but it was worth shooting the rifle in a safe environment. The loud pops and the feel of the trigger under her finger made her feel at home -- something Connor/Josh would never truly understand, but it wasn't her little secret.  He knew.  She told him it was just to stay sharp and not lose her edge.  But it felt good to watch the bullet smash into the target down range.  And she was good at it.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1332.html Mon, 18 Jan 2021 02:36:45 +0000 Evelyn]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1332.html
Her driver’s name was Devin. He was in his mid-forties, lean and kept his hair styled short and neat. She came to know him in the few weeks he worked for her. His replacement was retracted by the Personal Security Committee after Evelyn’s stances changed from pro-CCD to pro-annexation. The Chairperson of the committee was staunchly opposed to both, and sudden budget-reallocation meant Evelyn was without personal security detail and a driver. It was quite inconvenient.

Until one day when Devin showed up. She explained that she couldn’t afford his salary at the time, but he reassured her that his services were affordable. There was something about him that Evie trusted, though she couldn’t define why. He was polite and cordial, and extremely respectful of Evelyn’s privacy. He knew routes through the city that impressed the Representative and handled himself with an air of easy attentiveness. They got on well.

Like the other evenings, this one was the conclusion of a particularly long day. Before she could go home to find rest, she was dropped at the door to another Congressman’s house, a Representative from California who chaired a committee pieced together to handle the legality of the recent Texas withdraw legislation. Evelyn managed to get herself an invite to the Representative’s house for drinks. She intended to sway his perspective toward annexation as a lesser of the two evils compared to the union breaking apart.

It was deep into the midnight hour when she left, rubbing her eyes despite the makeup likely to be smeared by the gesture. She was practically asleep in her heels but managed to gracefully descend the steps of the townhouse toward the street. Some rowdy, college-aged looking kids were laughing and hollering as they intercepted her on the sidewalk. One cat-called her. Another asked her to come back to their place. Evie was suddenly quite awake.

She declined and told the trio they should go home and take care of themselves. Suddenly one was tugging on her handbag.
“Hey! Let go,” she yanked back on instinct. Someone shoved her. She lost her balance and fell backward into the bushes.

Then there were yelps of pain and thuds. She twisted up and found the three sprawled unconscious on the sidewalk. Devin, the driver, was zip-tying their wrists, and after a few moments, Evelyn was assisted to her feet. The townhouse lit up with awareness. The police came. It was a far bigger of an ordeal than she wanted.

So much for her visit being on the down low.

---

As soon as Devin saw the drunk trio wandering up the street, he emerged from the town car and simply leaned against the hood. He watched them meander and joke, knowing trouble when he saw it. He had a charged up taser in his jacket, but for the Representative’s sake, didn’t want to use it unless necessary. When his lady exited the house at the same moment, Devin hurried to intercept. Two of the three made a scene with stealing her bag, but it was the third aiming a gun all too steadily at the Representative that Devin rushed. A punch knocked him down, and Devin kicked the gun far from grasp. The other two were finished just as quickly. In the aftermath while the police were in route and the homeowner came out to help the Representative inside to rest, Devin stashed the gun. If an attempted mugging was not good press for the Representative; an assassination attempt would be devastating. The late night invitation and the mugging gone bad in a nice neighborhood like this was too coincidental for his taste, and he made sure to put as much in his report to the Custody.


- Devin, undercover Custody agent assigned to Evelyn Avalon’s protection.]]>
Her driver’s name was Devin. He was in his mid-forties, lean and kept his hair styled short and neat. She came to know him in the few weeks he worked for her. His replacement was retracted by the Personal Security Committee after Evelyn’s stances changed from pro-CCD to pro-annexation. The Chairperson of the committee was staunchly opposed to both, and sudden budget-reallocation meant Evelyn was without personal security detail and a driver. It was quite inconvenient.

Until one day when Devin showed up. She explained that she couldn’t afford his salary at the time, but he reassured her that his services were affordable. There was something about him that Evie trusted, though she couldn’t define why. He was polite and cordial, and extremely respectful of Evelyn’s privacy. He knew routes through the city that impressed the Representative and handled himself with an air of easy attentiveness. They got on well.

Like the other evenings, this one was the conclusion of a particularly long day. Before she could go home to find rest, she was dropped at the door to another Congressman’s house, a Representative from California who chaired a committee pieced together to handle the legality of the recent Texas withdraw legislation. Evelyn managed to get herself an invite to the Representative’s house for drinks. She intended to sway his perspective toward annexation as a lesser of the two evils compared to the union breaking apart.

It was deep into the midnight hour when she left, rubbing her eyes despite the makeup likely to be smeared by the gesture. She was practically asleep in her heels but managed to gracefully descend the steps of the townhouse toward the street. Some rowdy, college-aged looking kids were laughing and hollering as they intercepted her on the sidewalk. One cat-called her. Another asked her to come back to their place. Evie was suddenly quite awake.

She declined and told the trio they should go home and take care of themselves. Suddenly one was tugging on her handbag.
“Hey! Let go,” she yanked back on instinct. Someone shoved her. She lost her balance and fell backward into the bushes.

Then there were yelps of pain and thuds. She twisted up and found the three sprawled unconscious on the sidewalk. Devin, the driver, was zip-tying their wrists, and after a few moments, Evelyn was assisted to her feet. The townhouse lit up with awareness. The police came. It was a far bigger of an ordeal than she wanted.

So much for her visit being on the down low.

---

As soon as Devin saw the drunk trio wandering up the street, he emerged from the town car and simply leaned against the hood. He watched them meander and joke, knowing trouble when he saw it. He had a charged up taser in his jacket, but for the Representative’s sake, didn’t want to use it unless necessary. When his lady exited the house at the same moment, Devin hurried to intercept. Two of the three made a scene with stealing her bag, but it was the third aiming a gun all too steadily at the Representative that Devin rushed. A punch knocked him down, and Devin kicked the gun far from grasp. The other two were finished just as quickly. In the aftermath while the police were in route and the homeowner came out to help the Representative inside to rest, Devin stashed the gun. If an attempted mugging was not good press for the Representative; an assassination attempt would be devastating. The late night invitation and the mugging gone bad in a nice neighborhood like this was too coincidental for his taste, and he made sure to put as much in his report to the Custody.


- Devin, undercover Custody agent assigned to Evelyn Avalon’s protection.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1195.html Sat, 22 Feb 2020 18:01:16 +0000 Jensen James]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1195.html
     ”I promise I am telling the truth, as ridiculous as it sounds. That doctor lured her. I was worried about her, so I asked permission to go along. What we found was out of a horror movie.”
Jensen’s recount of the tale was shared with all the emphatic storytelling of a master orator. The detective’s expression left little for interpretation, and Jensen knew how bad this looked. He was accusing powerful people of fraud and murder while suggesting the police themselves were involved in the coverup. Drug lords and custody officials were tangled in the barbed wire of the guilty, but Jensen feared Ascendancy enough to exclude him from the details. That he was the husband of the governor made the investigation treacherous, and he had to consider how much longer it would be before his wife’s goons fetched him for official summons home. How much did she know?
Anything? Or everything?
     He shivered and returned his head down on the table. Shortly after, the bars of a holding cell surrounded him. Strangely, the hefty sound of the lock wasn’t as defeating as it once was.

     The next day, he was awoken by the grinding mechanism of the locks unlatching. A man and woman in matching black suits entered. The blur of sleep washed quickly away by sudden intrusion, and his heart thud in his chest for no apparent reason.
“Mister James, come with us please,” the woman said. They had to be some kind of agent. What he initiated last night must have escalated quickly. He pushed his hair behind his ears as he rose to his feet. What a filthy sight he must have cut.

     ”Where am I going?” He wasn’t cuffed or in any way threatened by either presence, but he cautiously peered into the hallway bustling with activity last night. Today, or maybe it was still the middle of the night, it was a ghost town. Somehow, the emptiness was more ominous. Prayers tickled the back of his mind, but Jensen didn’t partake in their tempting comfort. Instead, he mentally tested the boundaries of the Gift.

     No answer was returned as he was escorted from the station. Dim light outside told him it was dawn. It had been almost an entire day since Cayli and Axel died yet mourning didn’t wrack tears from his body. It was an odd sort of numb stamina. Maybe this is what shock felt like. The agents deposited him into the back of a car. The Carpenters would now know the fate of their children by now but were unlikely to understand why. As soon as the doors sealed them in, a video screen woke. Jessika’s immaculate face appeared. She looked angry. He’d been summoned. 

     “Jensen, you idiotic buffoon. You ruin this for me and you’ll wish you’d never been born,” she said. She was all done up, hair big and makeup heavy. She looked ready to go on camera. For reasons unknown, his chest tightened. It only took hours for him to break his promise to be the penitent husband.

     He could see an image of himself in the corner of the screen. Drenched in darkness, dirty, and slimed by the filth of jail, death, and betrayal, he was a ghastly sight. “You knew all this was going on. What those doctors were doing at that school. Is that why you agreed to shelter the Carpenters in the first place? It wasn’t love for me that embraced them with charity. It was a pre-arranged deal to deliver an innocent teenager. You made a deal with the devil. What I don’t understand, Jessika, is why? You’re a good person. You’re a mother and a friend,” passion cut the words from his chest. He loved her as he always had, and could not believe the person he knew his whole life was so cold-hearted. Finally the tears began to form. Tears he couldn’t shed to mourn innocent loss of life. These were tears shed over the loss of happy memories. The loss of his whole life. “Why?”

     His accusations did not penetrate the armor she wore.
“Jensen, you poor fool,” was all she said. Looking into his eyes, even Jessika struggled to hold her own defenses.

     She looked over her shoulder then, called forward to something going on in the background. A man appeared in the background. He was dark-haired, older and distinguished, but also cut a severe expression. He seemed familiar, but Jensen couldn’t place where. He said something he couldn’t discern, and Jessika moved to leave. “Get yourself cleaned up. I expect you to behave,” she said. Jensen frowned with concern for where this was going.

     ”But what about the Carpenters? What about—” but they were disconnected before anything else was said. The female agent in the front seat turned and pointed at a package in the seat alongside him. They didn’t seem concerned about the conversation overheard, and Jensen had the distinct feeling that everything he reported to the police was about to be wiped from existence. Maybe it wasn’t the drug lords or the pharmaceutical companies in charge of the whole operation.

Oh God. Maybe it’s my wife. He thought he was going to faint. 

     By the time they arrived at a television studio, he was hurried through paparazzi, obscured by secure delivery, and deposited into a bathroom with a bar of soap, hair gel, and a clean suit.]]>
     ”I promise I am telling the truth, as ridiculous as it sounds. That doctor lured her. I was worried about her, so I asked permission to go along. What we found was out of a horror movie.”
Jensen’s recount of the tale was shared with all the emphatic storytelling of a master orator. The detective’s expression left little for interpretation, and Jensen knew how bad this looked. He was accusing powerful people of fraud and murder while suggesting the police themselves were involved in the coverup. Drug lords and custody officials were tangled in the barbed wire of the guilty, but Jensen feared Ascendancy enough to exclude him from the details. That he was the husband of the governor made the investigation treacherous, and he had to consider how much longer it would be before his wife’s goons fetched him for official summons home. How much did she know?
Anything? Or everything?
     He shivered and returned his head down on the table. Shortly after, the bars of a holding cell surrounded him. Strangely, the hefty sound of the lock wasn’t as defeating as it once was.

     The next day, he was awoken by the grinding mechanism of the locks unlatching. A man and woman in matching black suits entered. The blur of sleep washed quickly away by sudden intrusion, and his heart thud in his chest for no apparent reason.
“Mister James, come with us please,” the woman said. They had to be some kind of agent. What he initiated last night must have escalated quickly. He pushed his hair behind his ears as he rose to his feet. What a filthy sight he must have cut.

     ”Where am I going?” He wasn’t cuffed or in any way threatened by either presence, but he cautiously peered into the hallway bustling with activity last night. Today, or maybe it was still the middle of the night, it was a ghost town. Somehow, the emptiness was more ominous. Prayers tickled the back of his mind, but Jensen didn’t partake in their tempting comfort. Instead, he mentally tested the boundaries of the Gift.

     No answer was returned as he was escorted from the station. Dim light outside told him it was dawn. It had been almost an entire day since Cayli and Axel died yet mourning didn’t wrack tears from his body. It was an odd sort of numb stamina. Maybe this is what shock felt like. The agents deposited him into the back of a car. The Carpenters would now know the fate of their children by now but were unlikely to understand why. As soon as the doors sealed them in, a video screen woke. Jessika’s immaculate face appeared. She looked angry. He’d been summoned. 

     “Jensen, you idiotic buffoon. You ruin this for me and you’ll wish you’d never been born,” she said. She was all done up, hair big and makeup heavy. She looked ready to go on camera. For reasons unknown, his chest tightened. It only took hours for him to break his promise to be the penitent husband.

     He could see an image of himself in the corner of the screen. Drenched in darkness, dirty, and slimed by the filth of jail, death, and betrayal, he was a ghastly sight. “You knew all this was going on. What those doctors were doing at that school. Is that why you agreed to shelter the Carpenters in the first place? It wasn’t love for me that embraced them with charity. It was a pre-arranged deal to deliver an innocent teenager. You made a deal with the devil. What I don’t understand, Jessika, is why? You’re a good person. You’re a mother and a friend,” passion cut the words from his chest. He loved her as he always had, and could not believe the person he knew his whole life was so cold-hearted. Finally the tears began to form. Tears he couldn’t shed to mourn innocent loss of life. These were tears shed over the loss of happy memories. The loss of his whole life. “Why?”

     His accusations did not penetrate the armor she wore.
“Jensen, you poor fool,” was all she said. Looking into his eyes, even Jessika struggled to hold her own defenses.

     She looked over her shoulder then, called forward to something going on in the background. A man appeared in the background. He was dark-haired, older and distinguished, but also cut a severe expression. He seemed familiar, but Jensen couldn’t place where. He said something he couldn’t discern, and Jessika moved to leave. “Get yourself cleaned up. I expect you to behave,” she said. Jensen frowned with concern for where this was going.

     ”But what about the Carpenters? What about—” but they were disconnected before anything else was said. The female agent in the front seat turned and pointed at a package in the seat alongside him. They didn’t seem concerned about the conversation overheard, and Jensen had the distinct feeling that everything he reported to the police was about to be wiped from existence. Maybe it wasn’t the drug lords or the pharmaceutical companies in charge of the whole operation.

Oh God. Maybe it’s my wife. He thought he was going to faint. 

     By the time they arrived at a television studio, he was hurried through paparazzi, obscured by secure delivery, and deposited into a bathroom with a bar of soap, hair gel, and a clean suit.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1192.html Sat, 01 Feb 2020 19:17:47 +0000 Evelyn]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1192.html
Well. There wasn’t exactly a wardrobe of suit swaps in the last stall, so she was stuck with her current look. Evie shrugged and prepared her best smile. The underground hallways were busy with the typical traffic of staffers. She passed a couple of older Republican Senators, both of whom ignored her.

At the appropriate point, Evelyn stood from her place in the Chamber to seek recognition and address the Chair: “Mr. Speaker, I ask unanimous consent to address the House for one minute and to revise and extend my remarks.”

Without much fanfare, the Speaker responded in drone monotone, “Without objection, so ordered.” Evelyn smiled slightly then proceeded to the podium in the Well to give the speech. The Chair informed her that when her one minute had expired she would be allowed to finish her current sentence, but no more time would be allowed to her. It was typical House rules on Decorum and Debate in practice since Thomas Jefferson wrote the Order and Debate manual.  

Surprisingly, no flutters turned her stomach. She’d spoken the one-minute deliveries many times since her election. She was also quite familiar with the rules. For instance, although old tv cameras pointed their black eyes her direction, she was not allowed to reference the televised audience. Today, she was going to break several rules, but nobody would notice once they heard the topic of the following minute’s attention. Representative Avalon spoke to the sleepy members and the mindless glass like they were her best friends.

“Thank you Mr. Speaker for the recognition to address our colleagues in the House of Representatives as well as the American public.”

“As the only Powered Member of Congress, it is my sincere recommendation that the Chairman reconsider H.R. 8011, Global Century Integration Act. This act was declined by committee over the years, but I have new information to rewrite ordinances within the resolution that I believe committee will find favorable.”

She was of course referring to the proposed dissolution of the United States. It wasn’t the first time that Members spoke in favor of integration into the Central Custody of Dominion, but it was the first she spoke of it.

“Powered and non-powered individuals, channelers or non-channelers, may divide our entire world if we allow it. Global integration into a wider network of inclusion is a natural evolution during these times. I understand that I have previously taken differing opinions on HR 8011, but I have firsthand experience that has swayed my opinion.”

It was like she could feel the Speaker’s eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Luckily, her hair held its soft curl under the incinerating heat of old men’s judgment.

“I hope to solicit a bipartisan effort toward these ends and look forward to working closely with my colleagues toward a resolution that reinvigorates the country and serves the people. You will find these submissions in the hopper by the end of the day. Thank you for your time,” she said before the Chairman could warn her of the time allowance.

She folded her speech up and vacated the Well in order to retreat to her offices where no doubt the calls would flood in.]]>
Well. There wasn’t exactly a wardrobe of suit swaps in the last stall, so she was stuck with her current look. Evie shrugged and prepared her best smile. The underground hallways were busy with the typical traffic of staffers. She passed a couple of older Republican Senators, both of whom ignored her.

At the appropriate point, Evelyn stood from her place in the Chamber to seek recognition and address the Chair: “Mr. Speaker, I ask unanimous consent to address the House for one minute and to revise and extend my remarks.”

Without much fanfare, the Speaker responded in drone monotone, “Without objection, so ordered.” Evelyn smiled slightly then proceeded to the podium in the Well to give the speech. The Chair informed her that when her one minute had expired she would be allowed to finish her current sentence, but no more time would be allowed to her. It was typical House rules on Decorum and Debate in practice since Thomas Jefferson wrote the Order and Debate manual.  

Surprisingly, no flutters turned her stomach. She’d spoken the one-minute deliveries many times since her election. She was also quite familiar with the rules. For instance, although old tv cameras pointed their black eyes her direction, she was not allowed to reference the televised audience. Today, she was going to break several rules, but nobody would notice once they heard the topic of the following minute’s attention. Representative Avalon spoke to the sleepy members and the mindless glass like they were her best friends.

“Thank you Mr. Speaker for the recognition to address our colleagues in the House of Representatives as well as the American public.”

“As the only Powered Member of Congress, it is my sincere recommendation that the Chairman reconsider H.R. 8011, Global Century Integration Act. This act was declined by committee over the years, but I have new information to rewrite ordinances within the resolution that I believe committee will find favorable.”

She was of course referring to the proposed dissolution of the United States. It wasn’t the first time that Members spoke in favor of integration into the Central Custody of Dominion, but it was the first she spoke of it.

“Powered and non-powered individuals, channelers or non-channelers, may divide our entire world if we allow it. Global integration into a wider network of inclusion is a natural evolution during these times. I understand that I have previously taken differing opinions on HR 8011, but I have firsthand experience that has swayed my opinion.”

It was like she could feel the Speaker’s eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Luckily, her hair held its soft curl under the incinerating heat of old men’s judgment.

“I hope to solicit a bipartisan effort toward these ends and look forward to working closely with my colleagues toward a resolution that reinvigorates the country and serves the people. You will find these submissions in the hopper by the end of the day. Thank you for your time,” she said before the Chairman could warn her of the time allowance.

She folded her speech up and vacated the Well in order to retreat to her offices where no doubt the calls would flood in.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1168.html Tue, 13 Aug 2019 00:05:18 +0000 Jay Carpenter]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1168.html Saving Jay].


Natalie’s look may as well have been a mirage. A trick of the imagination. A sure sign of insanity. Yet she didn’t run. Neither did he. Not yet; anyway. Now, yes. 

He grabbed her hand, one last glimpse at Cayli behind, and ripped his own heart from his chest. He ran like his feet might dig craters into the ground. The rifle was strapped to his back, but ammunition was low. Spent far too easily. He steadied it with one hand, and with the other, pulled Natalie along by sheer will to cling to something and not lose her along the way; she was fading as much as he before Jensen’s attention. It was likely to be the last time he would see Cayli, but the ripped veil between life and death didn’t make him want to claw his own eyes out. It was something else that turned his stomach to lead. 

They had to flee.

Scorching Texas heat crunched shards of grass beneath their feet. Fences were no barricade. The houses were boarded up or those within huddled in fright. Nobody impeded their path. He yanked whatever clothing floated in the wind from clothes lines in one yard. On another street, he checked every car they passed along the way. Until something of interest among his rusted fenders caught his sight. He couldn’t hot-wire the heavy-computer-based engines of newer cars. But an old-fashioned, 40-year-old pickup was another story.

The butt of the rifle smashed the driver’s side window, carefully avoiding spitting glass into the passenger seat. A slide under the dashboard and the diesel-engine roared to life a minute later. The shocks to his fingers didn’t even make him flinch. Not after the attentions of the past few days. Probably never make him flinch again.

The clothes were balled up and stuffed away. He’d change later. Priority was escape. No matter what, getting involved with the police was the last thing they wanted. The truck didn't even have a/c, but it was a beast. Fine with him.

They ran dangerously low on gas along the interstate headed south and were forced to stop at a gas station/bar/strip-club.]]> Saving Jay].


Natalie’s look may as well have been a mirage. A trick of the imagination. A sure sign of insanity. Yet she didn’t run. Neither did he. Not yet; anyway. Now, yes. 

He grabbed her hand, one last glimpse at Cayli behind, and ripped his own heart from his chest. He ran like his feet might dig craters into the ground. The rifle was strapped to his back, but ammunition was low. Spent far too easily. He steadied it with one hand, and with the other, pulled Natalie along by sheer will to cling to something and not lose her along the way; she was fading as much as he before Jensen’s attention. It was likely to be the last time he would see Cayli, but the ripped veil between life and death didn’t make him want to claw his own eyes out. It was something else that turned his stomach to lead. 

They had to flee.

Scorching Texas heat crunched shards of grass beneath their feet. Fences were no barricade. The houses were boarded up or those within huddled in fright. Nobody impeded their path. He yanked whatever clothing floated in the wind from clothes lines in one yard. On another street, he checked every car they passed along the way. Until something of interest among his rusted fenders caught his sight. He couldn’t hot-wire the heavy-computer-based engines of newer cars. But an old-fashioned, 40-year-old pickup was another story.

The butt of the rifle smashed the driver’s side window, carefully avoiding spitting glass into the passenger seat. A slide under the dashboard and the diesel-engine roared to life a minute later. The shocks to his fingers didn’t even make him flinch. Not after the attentions of the past few days. Probably never make him flinch again.

The clothes were balled up and stuffed away. He’d change later. Priority was escape. No matter what, getting involved with the police was the last thing they wanted. The truck didn't even have a/c, but it was a beast. Fine with him.

They ran dangerously low on gas along the interstate headed south and were forced to stop at a gas station/bar/strip-club.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1148.html Tue, 07 May 2019 20:58:46 +0000 Natalie Grey]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1148.html
“I skipped breakfast to make it here. You don’t mind?”

They’d left the city behind when Doctor Diaz swung the car into a drive-through and parked up. He’d been mostly quiet during the journey (ever since a brief and furious text communication on his wallet, actually), offering just a few pleasantries that Cay let flutter over her head. Her insides were all squirming so she didn’t mind that the adults paid her little mind, and she was equally glad of a chance to stretch her legs -- once she’d pleaded with her best doe eyes for the privilege. Half of her was desperate to race as fast as possible to wherever Jay was, while the other half was terrified of what they might find.

She sat on the hot curb to drink the shake Diaz brought her (she wasn’t hungry), watching the doctor and the pastor from the corner of her eye as they loitered by the car. Convinced he was suitably distracted, she pulled the wallet from her pocket and shot a quick message to Natalie.

Where the hell did you go?? I’m okay, and I know what I’m doing, I promise. I don’t think evil assassins stop for a late breakfast. I even got Jay some pie.

---

Raul Diaz leaned against the car and watched the girl typing away on her phone. Probably he should have concocted some pretext for taking it off her, but he probably should have sedated her too, just in case. Her abilities were dangerous, a poison that should have killed her by now, and yet Cayli Carpenter had survived the Sickness for so long he’d been convinced it meant something. That theory was lost to dust now, and he did not even know what cured her in the end. 

Opal might be curious; such specimens were difficult to come by, least of all with the sort of parental support the Carpenters were willing to give. But of course that was not why he had been tasked with bringing her to the research facility.

Diaz might have stretched the truth about Jay Carpenter’s predicament, but the man was beyond doubt a complete psycho. Andres had never deserved the meaty mess left of his body, and Diaz never blamed Zacarías for the vengeance that burned in his heart. Family was a debt that must be paid. His jaw tensed. Discomfort sank the pit of his stomach, threatening a shake to his hands as he retrieved a cigarette packet from his suit pocket. He offered one to Jensen before he put them away and lit up.

“She’s a sweet kid,” he said. “I remember my daughter at that age.” The brief smile on his face faded as those memories surged. Sacrifice for science was the noble endeavour he’d built on that grave; a vow to rid the world of such heartache as his family endured the day she writhed and screamed and died in his helpless arms. Everything precious burned in pursuit. He exhaled a trail of wreathing smoke, glancing at where a gold band once circled his finger.

He’d sold his soul more times than he could count in an effort to right his world, and never found peace. He understood why Zacarías wanted to do it. But as he watched the kid’s bowed head, her fair hair aglow in the shimmering sun -- the perfect picture of health; as he recalled how many times he had sat by her hospital bed and squeezed her small hand while the fear filled up her eyes, and he waited for a last breath that never came… knowledge of the hell he would drag her to sat uneasy.

---

Signs farther along the highway told them their destination. Jensen knew the area. He drove these highways himself, and a mental image of every hospital in the region populated his mind’s map. They passed exits that he hoped would be their detour. When finally the majority of likely turns were ignored, his growing anxiety seized the Gift to his control. A sign far in the distance told him what he feared. They were leaving the metro. They’d been on the road quite a while. 

He was grateful for breakfast. Cayli’s demands were enough to detour even the most hardened of hearts, and the doctor yielded in the end. A few moments alone between them was surprising. The normally chatty Jensen fell easily into conversation. “My children are still young. I have no idea if they are destined to the same fate that took so many other innocent souls. I am so sorry for yours.” He replied, knowing that if either of his boys were in Cayli’s place, he would move heaven and earth to save them, which was why he owed so much to Cayli. The past-tense with which Diaz described his child struck sadness between them. So many children that died from the sickness, and Jensen had no idea why some survived and others perished. He himself was one of the lucky ones, though it was possible he would succumb eventually. In the meantime, he could do nothing to make up for the hurts he inflicted upon Gabriel and Malachi, and it was unknown if their relationship would ever be healed, but he could save another child. 

He took a breath and spoke on faith, “You don’t need to do this, doctor. Whatever is obligating you to your course of action, we can undo it. I understand that when we are desperate, we make decisions that are so easy to justify at the time.” He turned to Diaz with a gaze that said he was trying to reach into the depths of darkness stirring in his soul, “All can still be made right. I can help you. Let the poor child go on with her life. What if she was your child? You would not have doomed yours to the same fate.” He didn’t describe it plainly, but the tone that deadened Diaz’s expression meant he understood what was implied. They climbed back into the vehicle soon after without any further detours. Jensen quickly updated Natalie with their status.

At his side, Cayli was a marble statue of serenity not unlike the expression sometimes draping Natalie with chill emptiness. She was a strong woman, but he did not want whatever frayed the edges of her soul so badly that it retracted deep inside to be Cayli’s future. When life and death hung in the balance, the problems Jensen wrestled with seemed miniscule. He longed vaguely for the anonymity of his motorcycle helmet. 

A distant smile flickered his expression as he leaned toward Cayli. The story was for her alone despite the close proximity of riders in the van. “When I was your age, I was saving money to buy an old motorcycle and fix it up. We lived in the country, and even though I didn’t have a license, I would ride it around anyway,” he realized he had her attention. It was a distracting story not unlike the kind that he would tell a patient awaiting surgery who was scared to death just waiting around for it to start. 

He showed her some pictures from his wallet. A young Jensen posing on a motorbike. “I talked my folks into letting me race at 18. There’s Jessika in the background,” he pointed her out standing on the edge of a dirt-track alongside other spectators. She had a big smile on her face. Jensen did too, but his focus was the bike more than anything. Maybe she’d seen one of them tucked away in the garage.  Stories flowed like water. He was a natural storyteller.

A change in direction grabbed both their attention. A small town rolled around them and quiet filled the van once again.

---

“A motorcycle? Get out.” Her mom would probably blush embarrassment for the amount of incredulity in Cay’s voice then. But she beamed bright as she leaned in to look at the pictures. Had the pastor really just admitted to driving without a licence? The distraction scooped her up somewhere pleasant. Jensen seemed pretty ancient, even though he was probably not far off Jay’s age, but the story shaved years. He looked happy in the past. “Will you teach me to ride?” she pleaded hopefully. “When this is all over?”

Jensen kept her occupied the rest of the journey; in fact Cayli didn’t pay much attention to the world beyond the car until they reached a town, when her nose pressed close to the window, confusion spreading like someone spilled icewater in her chest. This didn’t look right. This didn’t look right at all. The squat building was surrounded by fencing. A few men with guns peppered the perimeter, and as they rolled past a guard post a bored soldier glanced at Diaz and his ID before they continued through. Cayli’s mouth stuck dry when they entered the building, and she glanced at Jensen for reassurance. It didn’t look much like a hospital inside, though neither was it as dated as the rest of the neighborhood suggested. It wasn’t where she expected the doctor to take her, though, that was for sure. The wide entrance hall felt more like a school.

“Doctor Diaz, can I see my brother before we start the tests?” She thought her ribcage might burst from the pressure inside, her heart a jack hammer. Fear pinched worry to her brow as she tried to put some context to her surroundings. She’d played the scenario of their arrival in her head a hundred times on the journey south, but she’d never realised she would feel so scared. “I just need to see he’s okay. He is here, right? I just need to see him please.”

“Of course, Cayli, of course.” Diaz squeezed her shoulder gently, and smiled the kind smile that did make her feel somewhat better. But there was a sheen of sweat on his brow too, and something slithering behind his gaze that stole him a thousand miles away. He was distracted. Cayli breathed deep as he spotted a woman in a lab coat coming towards them. Diaz made a gesture that bid her to wait while he strode to meet her. She did not look happy, and his knuckles were almost white over the handle of his briefcase. They huddled some distance away, voices low.

Cayli looked up at Jensen, worried as the doctor left them standing there. The pastor wouldn’t let anything happen to her, she was sure of that, and remembering his promise sparked a familiar bolster of bravery. Jay was here. And she was going to find him. Steeling herself, she pulled the power around her, catching the barest muffle of Diaz’s low voice. "We’re scientists, not murderers. I need to speak with him.”

Her eyes widened. The doctor returned, pressing his hand against the back of her shoulder. Cay’s feet shuffled in the direction he led, uncertain if he meant to fulfill the promise to show her to her brother, or something more sinister. She swallowed dryly, peering wide-eyed into every doorway (all closed). A frown pierced her brow as she caught sight of a trio of children intersecting a hallway ahead, just a moment before she was steered into a room. Laboratory equipment surrounded them. Cayli blinked.

“Just wait here.” Doctor Diaz’s smile was perfunctory. When he closed the door softly behind him, she was sure she heard a lock click in place. There was a panel on the wall; far more high-tech than the system she had broken into at the casino. Her blue eyes bounced to Jensen a moment before she tried the handle. Nothing.

She stood back. Fear swirled in her guts, but it was sheer determination holding her young face rigid. “We have to find my brother,” she said to Jensen. Saying it aloud fortified her. She’d already asked nicely, and the doctor had looked more rattled than in control of the situation. Jay wouldn’t wait for fate to snap him up. Nor would Cay.

She ignored the lab equipment and the worrying question of what the hell it all meant. Instead she arched her neck and searched the ceiling. They had to have alarms in here, right? The power flooded in as she chewed her lip, casting her thoughts back to those lessons on the grounds of the James’ mansion. Mostly the exercises were benign, but Natalie never stopped her pawing all through that app. Some of the complexities of the things she'd done in Africa made Cay dizzy.

A fire would trip the alarms and release all the doors. The patients, or whoever else was here, would have to be trooped outside to safety, and that would include Jay. But the threat had to be real, and it had to be done quickly. That was a lot of pressure. The power squished through her grip, tangling red threads that didn’t quite want to go where she urged them. Frustration edged her rush. She knew she could do this! But it was surprise more than victory that witnessed the giant ball of flame burst into tremulous life. As the net of her control began to snake free she realised she should have warned Jensen.

“It’s me!” she gasped, just as something snapped. The force knocked her back. Smoke roared a thick sheet, and the power ripped loose. An alarm blared shrilly and Cay clapped her hands over her ears, flinching. The lock released with a whoosh just as something sparked and crackled amongst the equipment on the far of the room. She grabbed blindly for Jensen and burst from the room, sleeve pressed up against her nose. “We need to find him, let’s go!”

---

It was instinct that gripped Cayli’s hand in his own. He stroked her knuckles when his tongue was lost for words, but the connection held like an anchor. He’d not leave her side. The Gift rolled within his limbs, but he did not act on it. Everything was heightened as a side-effect. All the tension within sharpened thorns in his skin, yet somehow his footfalls were true and steady. Truth be told, he was terrified.

But he refused to let Cayli see it. 

He smiled for her when she looked to him for comfort. You’re safe with me here, his eyes whispered. He prayed the promise would hold in the end. The building throbbed with an energy he’d never sensed before, as though the very walls were about to burst from tension leeched into the mortar. The doctors convened, voices low, and he heard every doubt-filled word Diaz shared. The ‘him’ mentioned chilled his own heart as it implied someone to whom they all answered. Jensen did not want to know who that was.

They were holed in a room brimming with machinery that dizzied Jensen just to comprehend them all when a chill of sudden a/c iced his skin. A crackle snapped his ears and he gasped as orange and red flared their faces. A moment later, Cayli snatched his hand and they ran to the hall. “Cayli!” he cried and looked over his shoulder, but before the Gift could contain the fires, she pulled him toward the search.

------------
written with @"Jensen James"]]>
“I skipped breakfast to make it here. You don’t mind?”

They’d left the city behind when Doctor Diaz swung the car into a drive-through and parked up. He’d been mostly quiet during the journey (ever since a brief and furious text communication on his wallet, actually), offering just a few pleasantries that Cay let flutter over her head. Her insides were all squirming so she didn’t mind that the adults paid her little mind, and she was equally glad of a chance to stretch her legs -- once she’d pleaded with her best doe eyes for the privilege. Half of her was desperate to race as fast as possible to wherever Jay was, while the other half was terrified of what they might find.

She sat on the hot curb to drink the shake Diaz brought her (she wasn’t hungry), watching the doctor and the pastor from the corner of her eye as they loitered by the car. Convinced he was suitably distracted, she pulled the wallet from her pocket and shot a quick message to Natalie.

Where the hell did you go?? I’m okay, and I know what I’m doing, I promise. I don’t think evil assassins stop for a late breakfast. I even got Jay some pie.

---

Raul Diaz leaned against the car and watched the girl typing away on her phone. Probably he should have concocted some pretext for taking it off her, but he probably should have sedated her too, just in case. Her abilities were dangerous, a poison that should have killed her by now, and yet Cayli Carpenter had survived the Sickness for so long he’d been convinced it meant something. That theory was lost to dust now, and he did not even know what cured her in the end. 

Opal might be curious; such specimens were difficult to come by, least of all with the sort of parental support the Carpenters were willing to give. But of course that was not why he had been tasked with bringing her to the research facility.

Diaz might have stretched the truth about Jay Carpenter’s predicament, but the man was beyond doubt a complete psycho. Andres had never deserved the meaty mess left of his body, and Diaz never blamed Zacarías for the vengeance that burned in his heart. Family was a debt that must be paid. His jaw tensed. Discomfort sank the pit of his stomach, threatening a shake to his hands as he retrieved a cigarette packet from his suit pocket. He offered one to Jensen before he put them away and lit up.

“She’s a sweet kid,” he said. “I remember my daughter at that age.” The brief smile on his face faded as those memories surged. Sacrifice for science was the noble endeavour he’d built on that grave; a vow to rid the world of such heartache as his family endured the day she writhed and screamed and died in his helpless arms. Everything precious burned in pursuit. He exhaled a trail of wreathing smoke, glancing at where a gold band once circled his finger.

He’d sold his soul more times than he could count in an effort to right his world, and never found peace. He understood why Zacarías wanted to do it. But as he watched the kid’s bowed head, her fair hair aglow in the shimmering sun -- the perfect picture of health; as he recalled how many times he had sat by her hospital bed and squeezed her small hand while the fear filled up her eyes, and he waited for a last breath that never came… knowledge of the hell he would drag her to sat uneasy.

---

Signs farther along the highway told them their destination. Jensen knew the area. He drove these highways himself, and a mental image of every hospital in the region populated his mind’s map. They passed exits that he hoped would be their detour. When finally the majority of likely turns were ignored, his growing anxiety seized the Gift to his control. A sign far in the distance told him what he feared. They were leaving the metro. They’d been on the road quite a while. 

He was grateful for breakfast. Cayli’s demands were enough to detour even the most hardened of hearts, and the doctor yielded in the end. A few moments alone between them was surprising. The normally chatty Jensen fell easily into conversation. “My children are still young. I have no idea if they are destined to the same fate that took so many other innocent souls. I am so sorry for yours.” He replied, knowing that if either of his boys were in Cayli’s place, he would move heaven and earth to save them, which was why he owed so much to Cayli. The past-tense with which Diaz described his child struck sadness between them. So many children that died from the sickness, and Jensen had no idea why some survived and others perished. He himself was one of the lucky ones, though it was possible he would succumb eventually. In the meantime, he could do nothing to make up for the hurts he inflicted upon Gabriel and Malachi, and it was unknown if their relationship would ever be healed, but he could save another child. 

He took a breath and spoke on faith, “You don’t need to do this, doctor. Whatever is obligating you to your course of action, we can undo it. I understand that when we are desperate, we make decisions that are so easy to justify at the time.” He turned to Diaz with a gaze that said he was trying to reach into the depths of darkness stirring in his soul, “All can still be made right. I can help you. Let the poor child go on with her life. What if she was your child? You would not have doomed yours to the same fate.” He didn’t describe it plainly, but the tone that deadened Diaz’s expression meant he understood what was implied. They climbed back into the vehicle soon after without any further detours. Jensen quickly updated Natalie with their status.

At his side, Cayli was a marble statue of serenity not unlike the expression sometimes draping Natalie with chill emptiness. She was a strong woman, but he did not want whatever frayed the edges of her soul so badly that it retracted deep inside to be Cayli’s future. When life and death hung in the balance, the problems Jensen wrestled with seemed miniscule. He longed vaguely for the anonymity of his motorcycle helmet. 

A distant smile flickered his expression as he leaned toward Cayli. The story was for her alone despite the close proximity of riders in the van. “When I was your age, I was saving money to buy an old motorcycle and fix it up. We lived in the country, and even though I didn’t have a license, I would ride it around anyway,” he realized he had her attention. It was a distracting story not unlike the kind that he would tell a patient awaiting surgery who was scared to death just waiting around for it to start. 

He showed her some pictures from his wallet. A young Jensen posing on a motorbike. “I talked my folks into letting me race at 18. There’s Jessika in the background,” he pointed her out standing on the edge of a dirt-track alongside other spectators. She had a big smile on her face. Jensen did too, but his focus was the bike more than anything. Maybe she’d seen one of them tucked away in the garage.  Stories flowed like water. He was a natural storyteller.

A change in direction grabbed both their attention. A small town rolled around them and quiet filled the van once again.

---

“A motorcycle? Get out.” Her mom would probably blush embarrassment for the amount of incredulity in Cay’s voice then. But she beamed bright as she leaned in to look at the pictures. Had the pastor really just admitted to driving without a licence? The distraction scooped her up somewhere pleasant. Jensen seemed pretty ancient, even though he was probably not far off Jay’s age, but the story shaved years. He looked happy in the past. “Will you teach me to ride?” she pleaded hopefully. “When this is all over?”

Jensen kept her occupied the rest of the journey; in fact Cayli didn’t pay much attention to the world beyond the car until they reached a town, when her nose pressed close to the window, confusion spreading like someone spilled icewater in her chest. This didn’t look right. This didn’t look right at all. The squat building was surrounded by fencing. A few men with guns peppered the perimeter, and as they rolled past a guard post a bored soldier glanced at Diaz and his ID before they continued through. Cayli’s mouth stuck dry when they entered the building, and she glanced at Jensen for reassurance. It didn’t look much like a hospital inside, though neither was it as dated as the rest of the neighborhood suggested. It wasn’t where she expected the doctor to take her, though, that was for sure. The wide entrance hall felt more like a school.

“Doctor Diaz, can I see my brother before we start the tests?” She thought her ribcage might burst from the pressure inside, her heart a jack hammer. Fear pinched worry to her brow as she tried to put some context to her surroundings. She’d played the scenario of their arrival in her head a hundred times on the journey south, but she’d never realised she would feel so scared. “I just need to see he’s okay. He is here, right? I just need to see him please.”

“Of course, Cayli, of course.” Diaz squeezed her shoulder gently, and smiled the kind smile that did make her feel somewhat better. But there was a sheen of sweat on his brow too, and something slithering behind his gaze that stole him a thousand miles away. He was distracted. Cayli breathed deep as he spotted a woman in a lab coat coming towards them. Diaz made a gesture that bid her to wait while he strode to meet her. She did not look happy, and his knuckles were almost white over the handle of his briefcase. They huddled some distance away, voices low.

Cayli looked up at Jensen, worried as the doctor left them standing there. The pastor wouldn’t let anything happen to her, she was sure of that, and remembering his promise sparked a familiar bolster of bravery. Jay was here. And she was going to find him. Steeling herself, she pulled the power around her, catching the barest muffle of Diaz’s low voice. "We’re scientists, not murderers. I need to speak with him.”

Her eyes widened. The doctor returned, pressing his hand against the back of her shoulder. Cay’s feet shuffled in the direction he led, uncertain if he meant to fulfill the promise to show her to her brother, or something more sinister. She swallowed dryly, peering wide-eyed into every doorway (all closed). A frown pierced her brow as she caught sight of a trio of children intersecting a hallway ahead, just a moment before she was steered into a room. Laboratory equipment surrounded them. Cayli blinked.

“Just wait here.” Doctor Diaz’s smile was perfunctory. When he closed the door softly behind him, she was sure she heard a lock click in place. There was a panel on the wall; far more high-tech than the system she had broken into at the casino. Her blue eyes bounced to Jensen a moment before she tried the handle. Nothing.

She stood back. Fear swirled in her guts, but it was sheer determination holding her young face rigid. “We have to find my brother,” she said to Jensen. Saying it aloud fortified her. She’d already asked nicely, and the doctor had looked more rattled than in control of the situation. Jay wouldn’t wait for fate to snap him up. Nor would Cay.

She ignored the lab equipment and the worrying question of what the hell it all meant. Instead she arched her neck and searched the ceiling. They had to have alarms in here, right? The power flooded in as she chewed her lip, casting her thoughts back to those lessons on the grounds of the James’ mansion. Mostly the exercises were benign, but Natalie never stopped her pawing all through that app. Some of the complexities of the things she'd done in Africa made Cay dizzy.

A fire would trip the alarms and release all the doors. The patients, or whoever else was here, would have to be trooped outside to safety, and that would include Jay. But the threat had to be real, and it had to be done quickly. That was a lot of pressure. The power squished through her grip, tangling red threads that didn’t quite want to go where she urged them. Frustration edged her rush. She knew she could do this! But it was surprise more than victory that witnessed the giant ball of flame burst into tremulous life. As the net of her control began to snake free she realised she should have warned Jensen.

“It’s me!” she gasped, just as something snapped. The force knocked her back. Smoke roared a thick sheet, and the power ripped loose. An alarm blared shrilly and Cay clapped her hands over her ears, flinching. The lock released with a whoosh just as something sparked and crackled amongst the equipment on the far of the room. She grabbed blindly for Jensen and burst from the room, sleeve pressed up against her nose. “We need to find him, let’s go!”

---

It was instinct that gripped Cayli’s hand in his own. He stroked her knuckles when his tongue was lost for words, but the connection held like an anchor. He’d not leave her side. The Gift rolled within his limbs, but he did not act on it. Everything was heightened as a side-effect. All the tension within sharpened thorns in his skin, yet somehow his footfalls were true and steady. Truth be told, he was terrified.

But he refused to let Cayli see it. 

He smiled for her when she looked to him for comfort. You’re safe with me here, his eyes whispered. He prayed the promise would hold in the end. The building throbbed with an energy he’d never sensed before, as though the very walls were about to burst from tension leeched into the mortar. The doctors convened, voices low, and he heard every doubt-filled word Diaz shared. The ‘him’ mentioned chilled his own heart as it implied someone to whom they all answered. Jensen did not want to know who that was.

They were holed in a room brimming with machinery that dizzied Jensen just to comprehend them all when a chill of sudden a/c iced his skin. A crackle snapped his ears and he gasped as orange and red flared their faces. A moment later, Cayli snatched his hand and they ran to the hall. “Cayli!” he cried and looked over his shoulder, but before the Gift could contain the fires, she pulled him toward the search.

------------
written with @"Jensen James"]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1143.html Wed, 24 Apr 2019 20:24:34 +0000 Natalie Grey]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1143.html Sanctuary]]

He offered no argument and asked no questions, though the pause did suggest some internal deliberation measured the decision first. Natalie made no guesses as to the colour of his conscience. Whatever meagre ties remained between he and Jay, and whatever Jensen had said to convince him, Axel certainly owed nothing to her. He proved indifference time and again with the world shifted perilous for those around him. Bringing him was a risk, but a calculated one, and not necessarily because she expected a favourable outcome. Desperation had that effect, and she was fatalistic with such things when the need arose. Her father cautioned her to choose allies with care. He did not caution her to wise decisions.

Natalie sent a brief message to Jensen before she slid into the driver’s seat. The Carpenters have been granted asylum by the Custody. Take the chance if you get it. An unlikely salvage now, but better that he knew of the lifeline anyway. Frustration simmered, stamped down before the panic took root. The engine purred. She checked the rearview as they set off, but no one appeared to follow. Maybe the agents had never picked up the trail from the casino. She supposed it didn’t matter now.

The journey wasn't long. Laurie hadn’t exactly picked the most discreet place to meet. After parking up, the street Natalie led to was touristy and busy, teeming with flashy bars and restaurants. The dichotomy tightened her stomach, like the mere witness of something so blithe and careless was a betrayal. She felt herself slipping but forced her step into the restaurant instead. A Mexican place. Within, a brief glance at the bar revealed a familiar flash of red.

--------
@"Jensen James" for the text message
@"Lawrence Monday" for the thread]]> Sanctuary]]

He offered no argument and asked no questions, though the pause did suggest some internal deliberation measured the decision first. Natalie made no guesses as to the colour of his conscience. Whatever meagre ties remained between he and Jay, and whatever Jensen had said to convince him, Axel certainly owed nothing to her. He proved indifference time and again with the world shifted perilous for those around him. Bringing him was a risk, but a calculated one, and not necessarily because she expected a favourable outcome. Desperation had that effect, and she was fatalistic with such things when the need arose. Her father cautioned her to choose allies with care. He did not caution her to wise decisions.

Natalie sent a brief message to Jensen before she slid into the driver’s seat. The Carpenters have been granted asylum by the Custody. Take the chance if you get it. An unlikely salvage now, but better that he knew of the lifeline anyway. Frustration simmered, stamped down before the panic took root. The engine purred. She checked the rearview as they set off, but no one appeared to follow. Maybe the agents had never picked up the trail from the casino. She supposed it didn’t matter now.

The journey wasn't long. Laurie hadn’t exactly picked the most discreet place to meet. After parking up, the street Natalie led to was touristy and busy, teeming with flashy bars and restaurants. The dichotomy tightened her stomach, like the mere witness of something so blithe and careless was a betrayal. She felt herself slipping but forced her step into the restaurant instead. A Mexican place. Within, a brief glance at the bar revealed a familiar flash of red.

--------
@"Jensen James" for the text message
@"Lawrence Monday" for the thread]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1114.html Tue, 12 Mar 2019 00:31:21 +0000 Jay Carpenter]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1114.html Continued from: Sanctuary


His head pounded from inside. Like a cracked bowling ball, heavy and unsteady, he lifted his eyes and found the world blurry. Didn’t matter. He stretched outward.

..But everything fell numb. There was no wall to punch through, no barrier to breech. But something remained, a glimmer of light unattainable as grasping stars in his hands, but with all his might he tried, harder and farther than ever under Nox’s tutelage to seize it to his control. Tightness gripped his chest. Fear rising and falling like a vengeful tide. His head throbbed blood in his ears.

Minutes lost to failed attempts, he had to stop. Take a breath. Two breaths. Steady, slow. Even. Focus on the internal.  Slow the heart rate. Breathe steady. Mind calm and logical. Breathe and assess. Cold stretched under his forearms; fingers tingled with diminished blood flow. The pinch of zip ties clamped wrists to a metal chair. The same bound his ankles. More squeezed his chest.

He remembered them tying him down. Remembered flexing every muscle in his body; enlarging the circumference with which they’d tighten the restraints. Little things, like the shape of hands fists or flat, opened that constriction. Even a small amount of movement would be enough to break free.

Eyesight returned with the calm permeating his body. The room was dark; ceiling low. Concrete and cinderblock. Machinery filled an entire corner of the room; but he couldn’t tell what kind. Pipes and vents. A giant tank rotted with rust. That didn’t bode well. There was one door around which glowed a dim light, enough to realize there were few items he could use as weapon when he escaped.

His eyes roamed the corners and ceilings. Smelled the flavors of the air. Survival was the first priority. All else could be determined later. They wouldn’t kill him so long as Cayli was free. That was his only hope. She was with Natalie and Jensen. If all went according to plan, they’d disappear in the Custody.

He carried a razor blade in his boots, but given that they were already removed, he anticipated the enforcers that worked him over were trained enough to anticipate the tool. Many of the best cartels recruited from special forces of lower tier nations. Given that most of those were trained by the US in the first place, Jay wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate what he was against. He had to get free before they decided he was too comfortable sitting around waiting.

As quietly and swiftly as possible, he scooted the chair toward the rusted tank, seeking a sharp edge to shave through the ties at the wrist.]]> Continued from: Sanctuary


His head pounded from inside. Like a cracked bowling ball, heavy and unsteady, he lifted his eyes and found the world blurry. Didn’t matter. He stretched outward.

..But everything fell numb. There was no wall to punch through, no barrier to breech. But something remained, a glimmer of light unattainable as grasping stars in his hands, but with all his might he tried, harder and farther than ever under Nox’s tutelage to seize it to his control. Tightness gripped his chest. Fear rising and falling like a vengeful tide. His head throbbed blood in his ears.

Minutes lost to failed attempts, he had to stop. Take a breath. Two breaths. Steady, slow. Even. Focus on the internal.  Slow the heart rate. Breathe steady. Mind calm and logical. Breathe and assess. Cold stretched under his forearms; fingers tingled with diminished blood flow. The pinch of zip ties clamped wrists to a metal chair. The same bound his ankles. More squeezed his chest.

He remembered them tying him down. Remembered flexing every muscle in his body; enlarging the circumference with which they’d tighten the restraints. Little things, like the shape of hands fists or flat, opened that constriction. Even a small amount of movement would be enough to break free.

Eyesight returned with the calm permeating his body. The room was dark; ceiling low. Concrete and cinderblock. Machinery filled an entire corner of the room; but he couldn’t tell what kind. Pipes and vents. A giant tank rotted with rust. That didn’t bode well. There was one door around which glowed a dim light, enough to realize there were few items he could use as weapon when he escaped.

His eyes roamed the corners and ceilings. Smelled the flavors of the air. Survival was the first priority. All else could be determined later. They wouldn’t kill him so long as Cayli was free. That was his only hope. She was with Natalie and Jensen. If all went according to plan, they’d disappear in the Custody.

He carried a razor blade in his boots, but given that they were already removed, he anticipated the enforcers that worked him over were trained enough to anticipate the tool. Many of the best cartels recruited from special forces of lower tier nations. Given that most of those were trained by the US in the first place, Jay wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate what he was against. He had to get free before they decided he was too comfortable sitting around waiting.

As quietly and swiftly as possible, he scooted the chair toward the rusted tank, seeking a sharp edge to shave through the ties at the wrist.]]>