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  • Slate Morrison

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    Atticus recalled the ‘uprising’ with a furtive nod. While most fought against the titanic beasts, he focused upon the obelisk. The spire that shot from the depths of the sea, sinking the Statue of Liberty only to recoil back into the earth without a trace. It was a dark day. A day of reckoning, yet another fallen domino that was the shrinking line of his humanity — a loss for all desperately gripping onto the world that was and would be no more.

    Once upon a time his brooding companion had spoke of a hellish pit and myth come to life. Mere shadows of a tale shared over a few beer brought to light by memories etched in Mason’s mind by the crystal clear clarity of trauma. He would not have forgotten so easily, so carelessly, and would not for some time, her recount of the day she by all rights, died.

    Yes. She died. Atticus was almost certain of it but the ‘shard’ brought her back, changed her. He remembered well the residual effects of the minute fragment Pharos had long since buried deep within it’s archives, long before he would ever call himself an agent of their ranks. It wreaked havoc on his ‘unearthly abilities’. Direct contact would have…

    Well. Atticus had always believed that touching the small Nevusian fragment would have destroyed him. All evidence gathered had seemed to point to this conclusion, including the several test subjects in the form of rats that had been subjected to the otherworldly particle. They simply ceased to be. Completely annihilated? He had thought so, but now listening to Mason’s story the scientist had other theories. Translocation and transformation among them.

    ’Alive.’

    Yes. They were ‘alive’ but not as they understood and perceived life. That opening statement alone proved to Atticus that she had touched upon a fragment, but not just any. By her description the ‘shard’ was immense by comparison to the sample he had found all those years ago. He couldn’t even fathom the raw power of it!

    ’It had become a part of her?’ Atticus’ hand unconsciously rose to his face, anxiously stroking the stunned flesh, wide eyes reacting with belief and perhaps horror of what she had described. ’My God! She had absorbed a part of the manifestation of the Nevusian fragment!’

    Atticus didn’t know where to start. He would need to perform a battery of tests. Even now he wondered if she was somehow effecting the very fabric of reality in their immediate vicinity. ‘Had she had an effect on the strange phenomena at sea? Had she caused it?’ He had so many questions but the foremost currently resided in the mystery of her final words.

    [atticus]Protects itself?[/atticus] He inquired, struggling to comprehend the precise meaning of the statement. [atticus]An unconscious, intelligent reaction or an autonomic defensive response? What are you saying?[/atticus] he asked, leaning forward.

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    His silence spoke of intense attention to her words. It was both disconcerting and comforting at the same time. He didn’t seem to think she was insane which was a plus.

     

    She listened to his quickened breathing. Excitement. Perhaps a bit of anxiousness. But nothing that screamed he was discrediting her story with his own internal dialog. Fingers pinched the bridge of her nose when she finally paused, the throb of the migraine still very present.

     

    [atticus]Protects itself? An unconscious, intelligent reaction or an autonomic defensive response? What are you saying?[/atticus]

     

    That whole story and THAT was what he locked in on? Clearly of the who, what, when, where and how, Mighty Mouse was only really interested in the "what". Of course, that was really what she was interested in as well. What….as in what the hell was it, though "why" was it parasited onto her was a close second. Thumb tapped the back of the chair with a rhythm only she heard before air exhaled her lips and a shrug lifted her shoulders. There was no point in holding back facts now.

     

    [derrick]….I am sporting fifteen puncture wounds from being bitten out there. Can you guess which of them are currently not bleeding?....which are not even punctures anymore?[/derrick]

     

    Hand reached for the mug only to realize it was empty with a frown, setting it back down once more. The furled brow was thoughtful This wasn’t the first time it protected itself either.

     

    [derrick]There have been other times too, disruption of the scar only drives it to heal itself, sometimes to the detriment of its host….namely me.[/derrick]

     

    She drew the line at confessing she had tried to carve off the coarse black ink on the scar with a knife before. It didn’t seem to appreciate the effort and had not only caused a violent migraine that had her losing consciousness, but she had been out for two whole days. The scar completely intact when she finally woke. Scowl etched her brow at the memory as she reached for the empty mug again, this time the base was lightly tapped on the table as her chin turned towards the barista. If he was even remotely decent at his job he would be aware of all his guests and such a signal would entice him to bring another of the same. She wasn’t disappointed as he came over and put a fresh cup on the table taking the old one away with a quiet "there you go"…. her nod and thanks seemed to lighten his steps as he walked away.

     

    Hot multi-espresso bathed down her throat eliciting a very soft moan of appreciation to purr in her chest before the mug was set back on the table, tongue snaking the dark drops from her lips before shoulders lifted with a deep breath.

     

    [derrick]…it mucked around with the abilities that I got in the original event as well.[/derrick]

     

    Fingers were ghost playing once more as they hung off the back of the chair, waiting to see how he reacted.

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    Atticus’ boldly cut chin balanced upon the bridge of his folded fingers as he imperturbably hung upon her every word. He had sat like this, many times before, listening to similarly bizarre recounts.

    For years now he had worked at the Ward Foundation’s Facility for the Treatment and Study of the Altered. One of the many corporate extensions of Pharos where Atticus had had the privilege of helping many Empowered individuals cope with their transformations. Assisting people, on a genetic level, control and regulate their ‘extra-abilities’. A lengthy process, it often began with a psychiatric evaluation, followed by counselling before the patient would ever be subjected to his particularly invasive side of the treatment. The genetic side. Mason clearly needed help but her ‘condition’, if he could call it that, clearly went above and beyond what he normally dealt with. Not that he was ill equipped for such things. On the contrary, he was more than capable, but Atticus had sensed her apprehension. The fear of becoming a ‘lab rat’ was a common reaction, one that he had over his many long years come to respect.

    With that respect came honesty.

    [atticus]So, I’m not going to lie to you. I’m kinda thinking that even if I tried that bull-shit-o-meter of yours would just sniff it out, wouldn’t it?[/atticus] He assured her, hands rising in a submissive gesture, then promptly falling to his lap as soon as he recalled she couldn’t see. [atticus]You’re a rare case. Usually I don’t jump to conclusions without the DNA to back it up but I have no doubt that everything you’ve just told me is the result of direct contact with purest form of energy in the universe.[/atticus]

    Atticus paused, trying to subdue the harshness of his words but then it occurred to him that she probably dealt with far worse everyday. [atticus]You should have died. I think, maybe in some capacity, you did. And you seem to already realize that you’ve endured a significant transformation on the cellular level… and beyond.[/atticus] Atticus didn’t elaborate on the ‘beyond’ — the ‘magic’. The Nevusian factor that had altered the very fabric of their existence.

    [atticus]You’ve endured a spontaneous alteration of a pre-existing ‘resonation’. But, this change, this ‘symbiosis’, is unlike anything I’ve encountered.[/atticus] Which was saying a lot considering the amount of ‘resonations’, that is to say magical mutations, Atticus had studied. He was one of the world’s leading authorities on the phenomena which in reality wasn’t saying much. It was not unlike being an authority on black holes. The amount of concrete data possessed was minuscule in comparison to the speculation and theory surrounding them.

    [atticus]I’ll need a blood sample if that’s alright.[/atticus] He requested, sparing her the ‘We’ll need to run some tests’ line. A woman like her being so forthcoming meant something to Atticus. Maybe it wasn’t trust, but for someone like him, it was as good as. He guessed he’d become a lot more sentimental in his old age. Slate would say that ‘Maybe he just had a soft-spot for gruff, mafia types with long legs.’ Damn! Away from the guy for less than a part of a day and he was haunting him already!

    [atticus]So how did it effect your abilities?[/atticus] He had to ask, [atticus]I’m just curious if the changes were adverse or beneficial? In cases like this, they often seem to go hand-in-hand.[/atticus]

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    [atticus] So, I’m not going to lie to you. I’m kinda thinking that even if I tried that bull-shit-o-meter of yours would just sniff it out, wouldn’t it?[/atticus]

     

    Brow quirked up over the dark shades as head tilted at him, quiet a moment.

     

    [derrick]Pretty good assumption there Mighty Mouse.[/derrick]

     

    Words were quiet and faintly menacing. She was no one's patsy and even exhausted she could be lethal if she needed to be.

     

    [atticus] You’re a rare case. Usually I don’t jump to conclusions without the DNA to back it up but I have no doubt that everything you’ve just told me is the result of direct contact with purest form of energy in the universe…….. You should have died.[/atticus]

     

    Snort was soft as she lifted the fresh cup of espresso to her lips, dropping it to the table once more as tongue snaked the dark pearls from her lips.

     

    [derrick]…tell me something I don’t already know.[/derrick]

     

    As he noted she likely knew how significantly she was transformed, she again was left with the feeling of being told the obvious. This whole tryst was beginning to feel like a huge mistake. Home. Couple bottles of amber and a death sleep for two days. She'd be right as rain.

     

    Right?

     

    The words that followed didn’t make her feel any better. Unlike anything the good doctor who studied these things had ever encountered.  So she was some anomaly, some freak even among the freaks of the altered world.

     

    [atticus]I'll need a blood sample if that's alright.[/atticus]

     

    Hand paused rubbing the back of her neck as she half mumbled under her breath.

     

    [derrick]…probably a fair 'mount in your bathroom already.[/derrick]

     

    She knew for sure there was a towel full of it that she had used to clean her wounds back at his place.  This was where she started feeling like a guinea pig. She had played that role when she was little to an insane mother who thought she was damaged goods. She had made a point of never being one again.

     

    Thoughts had wandered almost missing the question regarding her abilities. Hair on the back of her neck bristled and shoulders stiffened as the brow scowled downward. She never talked about her abilities…to anyone. Not even Gaspari had gotten more than "I see things" out of her.

     

    Thumb tapped the top of the wood back as head turned, attention seeming to wander and abandon the conversation. In truth she was listening, mapping where everyone was before dry lips were licked. Words were quiet and emotionless.

     

    [derrick]….I am wired different than others. .. nothin' to do with the Nevus stuff, just born that way.[/derrick]

     

    She wasn’t about to make any confessions regarding being born "disabled" it wasn’t a word in her vocabulary.

     

    [derrick]….been able to echo locate since I was three. Nevus just sorta amped it up. Best I figure it enhanced my wiring, let me locate at distances.[/derrick]

     

    She didn’t feel the need to mention that she had a more advanced version when she fought that let her become oblivious to pain. There were some things he just didn’t need to know.

     

    [derrick] That fall, it…..[/derrick]

     

    Frown marred her brow. She was looking for words. She still was trying to figure out what the hell it had done herself. Abilities were still not fully under her control.

     

    [derrick]… amped it again I guess. Can create shields and sometimes move things without touchin' them.[/derrick]

     

    That the latter happened when she was pissed and could decapitate a man didn’t seem important enough to mention. Hand slid from the back of her chair to reach for the mug, pausing before murmuring quietly the other half of the stories.

     

    [derrick]….after nevus abilities had headaches…. nosebleeds….. since the fall they can be….. more intense…[/derrick]

     

    The shrug was indifferent, the pit bull was not one to give power to weakness.

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    Eyes curiously narrowed, but not at the thought of his new towels being reduced to bloody swabs, rather that he could be so blind to the extent of her injuries. An apologetic smile ensued while nodding to her suggestion of where he could obtain his blood sample. [atticus]That’ll do then.[/atticus] he agreed.

    Atticus didn’t want to press the woman. She had already revealed more about herself than he felt she was comfortable with, he’d make due with bloodied fabric. He always tried to accommodate his ‘patients’…

    ‘Was that really what she was? A patient? A test subject?’

    His expression turned cold as past ghosts stirred to the forefront of his mind. Apprehension? No, it was fear that slowly crawled up his spine as her story echoed across the distance of his brilliant blue gaze. The same fear that had haunted his every action since those dark days when he had first adopted a new identity, became Atticus Gale. But the trepidation spanned beyond the Resonance, back to when the world was blissfully ignorant of it’s fate. Back when he was one of the most prominent figures in the society of genetic science; the brilliant and enigmatic Dr. Toril Njordhagen, founder of Genomorph Laboratories.

    He had been aware of ‘accelerated mutations’ for at least fifty years prior, a break-through in the study of the Human genome. These rare individuals with their spontaneous adaptions were the key to unlocking the genetic doorways to the stuff of science fiction and fantasy. They were studied, tested, even sacrificed to rip out those secrets and every day the man whom he had conveniently convinced himself that it was, ‘All in the name of science’. The common mantra declaimed by all scientists who sought to justify felonious research practices. Striving to attain that ‘holy grail’. To unlock the ‘human potential’.

    Such discoveries were often, if not always interlocked with the ignorance of war. Militant governments paid handsomely for the unbeatable soldier. Gale’s fortune ran red with the blood of immoral experimentation. A past that would haunt him for the rest of his days, experience that unfortunately was still blinded by passion, curiosity and sometimes ambition. Yes, Atticus was still very a much a slave to the trappings of the human ego and it was this uncertainty that forced him to question his motives.

    ‘What was she to him?’

    A question reduced to it’s simplest form often yielded the answer. She was nothing. A stepping stone to his research. A catalyst for the monolith he had long harboured. Of course, she was so much more than that which resided within her, a criminal in fact.

    ‘What was more important to her?’ he wondered.

    An ambiguous smile broke the stone facade of his features, a burning blue stare boring into that perfectly unreadable visage. His pulse quickened. This was no small step. Few had ever seen it and for those that had, the relic had long been moved to another location. It had been his sole responsibility, his secret alone, for many years.

    [atticus]Thank you.[/atticus] The two words chimed like a church bell, resolute in their meaning. [atticus]I know how difficult it is. These things we can do, talking about them can feel so narcissistic… exposing.[/atticus] His smiled broadened, [atticus]Don’t hear me laying the ‘real me’ on the table, do you? Doesn’t really define us anyway.[/atticus] he shrugged, [/atticus]It’s how we use them.[/atticus]

    The way Mason used her abilities spoke volumes to the scientist, to the ‘god-like being’ that resided within. Since before they had sat down he’d been recounting their time on the ship, studying the minute inflections of her speech. She loved her ‘family’, her fellow criminals, her gang, and in their defence had displayed a rare trait these days. Honour.

    The racing thud in his chest softened to a moderate rhythm as Atticus came to terms with his decision. Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket he retrieved a business card upon the back of which he had wrote down an address while still back at his apartment.

    He placed the card down in front of her, knowing that not only would she be able to locate it, but decipher the slight indentations of the pen depressions as well. It lead to a location in the Baywood area of Long Island. A primarily industrial region nearly at the center of the island. It specifically lead to a warehouse off of Harrison Avenue and if she was so inclined to dig into it’s history she’d get nothing but the previous owner from ten years back. Many of the buildings were abandoned after the economic collapse.

    [atticus]If you want answers.[/atticus] He simply left it at that. It was her choice.

    [atticus]We both need some rest. I need to readjust, get a few things in order. I'll meet you there, let’s say, ten’o clock, three days from now? And please do try and keep the location discreet, eh.[/atticus]

    He hadn’t planned to be on the move so soon after returning, but fate was a fickle thing. He had no idea whether or not the artifact would react to her but if it did, there would definitely be some traveling in the immediate future.

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    She was glad he would make due with what was left behind in his home of her blood. She had no intention of getting stuck by any needles at this point.

    There was something behind his breathing, behind the quiet around him, behind the faint thud in his chest that seemed quicker now. Hesitation? Doubt? It was hard to read not knowing him better. But there was definitely some distance there. Brow quirked at him as he thanked her and mentioned he knew how difficult it was. Just what did he think difficult was? If she didn’t want to talk to him, she wouldn’t have. He underestimated her strength of will.

    [atticus]….. Don’t hear me laying the ‘real me’ on the table, do you? Doesn’t really define us anyway. It's how we use them.[/atticus]

    Brow lifted at him once more.

    [derrick]….it would be a mistake to believe you know the 'real me' Mighty Mouse.[/derrick]

    Head made the faintest tilt at the sound of cardstock style paper going down on the table in front of her. Silently listening to his 'invitation', or rather direction to meet him three days from now. The arrogance of men never ceased to surprise her. Hand laid palm down on the table over the card, the technique ensuring it was under sensitive fingers somewhere so it could be picked easily up without fumbling for its exact location. Sliding it from the table she stood smoothly, hand reaching down to pull the strap of the duffle up and over his shoulder. There was a reason she hadnt left it at his place.

    [derrick]….we'll see Mighty Mouse. I got a life to get back to.[/derrick]

    Weight of the duffle was adjusted on her back as the pull on open wounds elicited a soft grunt in her chest. Chin lifted in goodbye.

    [derrick]…thanks for the coffee.[/derrick]

    She left no doubt that she wasn’t paying for it as she turned and headed for the door. Truth was she couldn’t take another espresso and she needed a long hot shower followed by a bottle of old Macallan scotch waiting for her. Chin lifted in 'thanks' to the barista before she slipped out into the chill of the winter winds.

    Home….definitely.

    ((fin))

     

    CONTINUED TO 'SANDS OF TIME'.

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