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 Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:06 pm
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:08 pm
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:09 pm
Sleepless Nights
He couldn’t sleep. Every time Wilson closed his eyes something would haunt him.
The first time had been sporadic memories of his past. He looked down at his child hands, so small and soft and weak. Wilson curled and uncurled his hands, somehow perplexed with the change. Wasn’t he twenty-two years old? When he looked only, child Wilson realized he had somehow returned to his bedroom. Moonlight poured through the blinds, casting shadows across his comforter and floor. In the distance he heard a dog howl.
Then came the giggle. Child Wilson gasped, ducking beneath the covers until he was a trembling blob on the bed. He covered his head with his arms for extra protection as he coiled into a tight ball. The air was warm and stuffy, but Wilson didn’t dare to peek out from his blankets. His closet carefully creaked open and something large came out—he could hear its slow, heavy thud of a footstep. Something else rustled beneath his bed and darted over his bed. It was like this every night. He remembered this. He also remembered when the monsters would creep up to his bedside and whisper. “Are you afraid of what goes bump in the night?”
He opened his eyes, and instead of finding himself in his college dorm or at home Wilson remembered that to the rest of the world he was dead. For a moment, he covered his face with both his hands before rolling to his side. He closed his eyes again.
This time Wilson was a full-grown adult, but his vision was severely restricted. Everywhere he looked things were coated in a tint of green. He scratched the back of his head, but found only a helmet. A horror of realization came to him—this was the examination. He became all too aware of the thin armor that covered his body from head to toe and his heavy breathing through the mask. In a panic, he reached up and ripped the mask off and—
He woke with a start, his body flying up into a sitting position. Sighing tiredly, Wilson leaned over. Another dream. He closed his eyes and gradually fell back, his head hitting the pillow.
It was the examination again; only this time he was crossing a chasm. Wilson drifted toward the edge of the island and peered into the pitch blackness. “Delta Six—“ He turned around to check on his comrade, but she had jumped. Her attempt was valiant, but it wasn’t enough. Delta Twelve yelled, stretching out a gloved hand toward her—their fingers brushed, and she fell into the abyss. He screamed. Emmaline. His Emmaline—
“Em.” Wilson spoke her name softly when he drowsily opened his eyes. Was he being crazy, or had Delta Six been Emmaline? It sounded like her, and sure they had been in golems, but there had been something between them. Tired, he reached up to cover his face.
There was a mask.
He yelled, clawing at the mask, but it wouldn’t come off. Why won’t it come off? Get it off. Get it off—
This time, he truly woke up for the third time. Wilson breathed in and out, a hand tenderly brushing his face to make sure it wasn’t another nightmare and that the mask wasn’t actually there. Unlike the other times, he did not fall back asleep immediately. He continued to sit up and stare at his lap with a sleepy gaze.
[Youngin’? Get back to sleep.] Gramps spoke softly, too tired to snap at his partner or put in some semblance of force or anger into his weak command. Wilson laid back in his bed, but didn’t try falling asleep again yet. He blinked, blinked, blinked…
There was something cold and slimy in his hands. Wilson didn’t even need to glance down to know that it was the decaying remains of a human. He loosened his grip, but it refused to fall away. His face turned pale when he finally looked at the body. It was rubbery and skeletal, just as he remembered it, except this time it slowly raised its head to him. Jaws moved as the corpse spoke, “Not here…Not here…” Other voices chorused along, and when the trainee searched the area he realized that the other fallen bodies were animated, idly ambling and creeping. The body in his grasp lifted a bony arm to cup his face. Wilson shuddered against the bits of rotten flesh. “Not here…”
Bones rattled as a familiar glowing scythe wrapped around his neck. When he slowly craned his neck to look behind him, he saw Caelius—further behind the Death leader was another Wilson. What—he reached up and now he wasn’t in his hunter uniform. He was another corpse. “You are all dismissed.”
Thud.
Wilson stayed up the rest of the night. He couldn’t sleep.
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:10 pm
Another Nightmare
The nightmares didn’t stop, not yet. They refused to leave his mind. Every time Wilson attempted to force them out of his thoughts they only stubbornly clung even more to the darkest recesses of his mind. His nightmares had transformed into cruel, cruel dreams that tormented him each time he closed his eyes to rest. It was only through the daily routines and missions that kept Wilson in check. Reality had become his anchor while fantasy had turned into his tormentor.
Against his wishes Wilson attempted sleep again. He should have become an insomniac, but the trainee knew better. Things wouldn’t get better. Things would get worse.
His nightmares were so cruel. They were nice at first. Pleasant, even.
Wilson first found himself in the backyard of his house. He looked down, once more staring at the pudgy fingers of a small boy. Realization flickered across his round face for a second—this was a dream—and then he was lost in his subconscious again. He smiled happily, giggling like a doofus. Child Wilson searched for a shovel. He didn’t know how, when, or why, but he wanted to dig. Clumsy fingers wrapped around the metal grip of a rusty shovel. Laughing, he dragged the tool to the base of the tree that loomed in the corner of the yard.
It was an old and big tree, a weeping willow to be exact. The draping leaves reminded him of hair, especially when the branches swayed to and fro in the breeze. The comparison seemed particularly apt to the boy when Winter’s Chill slowly crept into Wisconsin and breathed snow and ice onto everything within sight, the willow tree included. It was a breathtaking thing to behold. Every inch of the tree’s leaves would be coated in a thin layer of frost. The sight made Wilson think of his grandmother and her long, straight-albeit-wavy-at-times hair.
But right now it wasn’t winter. It was spring, and the branches were dark green.
With great effort Wilson managed to upright the shovel and then slammed it into the soft soil. Where was his mother? Or his babysitter? How mysterious that they weren’t here to drag the naïve boy back inside, away from handling difficult tools.
So he kept digging away with no one there to coddle him and worry over his safety. Child Wilson just dug and dug, shovelful after shovelful. Each shovelful of dirt brought him closer. Closer to what, he didn’t know, but it was something important—something big, he could feel it in his guts. His shovel hit something and he gleefully discarded it in favor of pulling away at the rest of the loose dirt himself. Wilson’s hands brushed against wrinkled skin as he uncovered his treasure. It was the Willow Woman.
Her skin was wrinkled and rough like the bark of the tree she rested underneath. Sagging lids were closed, but Wilson knew when she opened them they would reveal hollow holes filled with unending darkness. The woman’s hair was long and made out of willow leaves, framing her face. Child Wilson knew this woman. He saw her sometimes in his yard, other times standing on the street that lay beyond the whitewashed fence. Wilson liked to call her the Willow Woman because she looked so much like the willow tree growing in the backyard. He also liked to watch her from his bedroom window because she didn’t look human. She wasn’t.
Then child Wilson wasn’t a child anymore, he was adult Wilson. He was adult Wilson because he remembered the Willow Woman fully now. She wasn’t interesting. She was terrifying—
The woman in the hole woke up and she screamed. She possessed undeniable strength as the rest of her body wriggled free from her grave. A deep noise—something like leaves rustling and branches creaking, but it was incessant and loud—resonated deep in her throat as foliage-covered hands lunged for Wilson’s neck.
She was a beguiling creature who wept beneath the shade of her willow tree. She never wept in broad daylight; it was always in the evening or late at night. Her cries sounded human—sincere, filled with a deep sadness, and it never took much for someone passing by to swoop to her aid. Back then Wilson wondered why people couldn’t see her unnatural appearance, but he knew now. He could see things. One moment she was crying. The next moment everything was deadly quiet as she whisked away her prey to who-knew-where.
Tears streamed down her face as she caught Wilson in a choking hold. “Will you help me? Will you help me?” He could barely hear her words over the haze that overtook his mind. Her hold loosened and as his vision sharpened he saw the woman covered in a net. She screamed over and over again.
Yes, he would help her.
There was something reassuring about the mask that fitted over his face and how the cannons of his weapon shielded his hands as he plunged the blade into her throat.
The nightmares would end tonight.
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:11 pm
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:13 pm
Mysterious Trash
Fortunately, Christmas was over. Wilson liked the holiday season for a number of reasons, but the main ones were that he received numerous treats and was also greeted with a blanket of white snow during winter. He knew that in certain states, such as California or Texas, didn’t get to receive the wondrous gift of powdery goodness, so he always made sure to appreciate it whenever it came, ungrateful as he sometimes could be. Out of all of the winters he had braved through, this had to be the most memorable one hands down. It wasn’t just because this was his first Christmas while at Deus Ex, but the befuddling effects he had been through certainly stood out from his mind. Wilson still could not tell himself why he recalled spouting into random verses of holiday songs and acting way more chipper than he usually was. In fact, he even remembered waking up freezing in the snow and feeling not that bummed out about it at all. It was seriously confusing, but at least now he had regained control of his senses.
What Wilson did not find pleasing was the cleaning duties that had been piled onto the trainees after the superiors returned from Halloween. Sighing, he leaned over a pile of junk wood. The sounds of power drills and hammers slamming against nails rang in his ears, but by now the trainee had grown accustomed to the cacophony. Wilson frowned at the thought of how much damage this would inflict on his ears. Maybe in the future he should invest in a pair of earplugs. He was confident they would come in handy in a number of situations, but for now he would just have to bear with it. Sighing, he bent down to pick up a few slabs of the wood. Unfortunately, Wilson was barehanded and easily gave himself a few splinters. He hissed, kneeling down and staring at his palms. Wilson shook his head and reluctantly picked up the wood again. It was time to suck it up and do his punishment—a punishment he still didn’t understand why he received. He walked through the hallways, constantly steadying his hold on the pieces of junk wood until he finally made it outside and happily dumped his possessions into an ever-growing pile of wood. Wilson wiped his hands, careful to avoid the splinters, before he walked back inside.
By the time he arrived back at the room, he discovered that someone else had already carted off the rest of the useless pieces of wood and the room was now relatively clean, albeit dusty and filled with a couple holes in the walls. Wilson disappeared and returned with a broom and dustpan a few minutes later. He went about sweeping the room, staring in one corner and gradually spreading out to the rest of the floor. There were multiple objects strewn across the floor, most likely hidden under furniture and forgotten for months or years at a time. Most of it was trash that Wilson thought nothing of, but then the unusual sound of a bunch of bottle caps, soda rings, and other objects caught his attention. He stopped sweeping and looked down at his collected heap of dust and junk.
Crinkling his nose, Wilson bent down and reluctantly sifted through the pile. He picked up what appeared to be a necklace, except it was definitely not someone’s conventional necklace. Rather, it was a piece of jewelry made out of what appeared to be junk. Once he shook off the rough layers of dust it had attracted, Wilson stared at it. What kind of person wanted to make trash jewelry? It made no sense to him. Well, it certainly made sense why the necklace had been forgotten and abandoned. He moved to add it back to the junk pile, but a sheet of paper caught his eye. It didn’t seem unusual, but he spotted scribbles of writing on it. Wilson leaned over to take out the scrap of paper from the mess and carefully unfolded it. Judging from the contents of the paper, it was actually connected to the necklace. Furrowed eyebrows flickered over to the unusual jewelry. The necklace? Really? Well, okay then. The letter was signed by someone by the name of “Lowe.” Wilson cocked his head. It sounded like a man, and the paper appeared to be stained yellow from time. Perhaps this necklace and letter had been sitting in the dark for more than a few months? Perhaps a few years? Wilson didn’t know, but the letter’s contents had him wondering if he should keep the necklace or throw it out. After a moment of thought, he decided to stuff the letter and necklace into the pockets of his jacket. He stood back up, swept the rest of the room, and shuffled out to find a trashcan.
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:14 pm
CYOA
Unfortunately, Wilson was still cleaning. However, this time he was no longer hauling around scraps of wood into the dumpster or wherever he could put them. His fiasco with the box of romance smut novels had convinced him plenty that it was time for the man to move onto a different cleaning duty. The death trainee shuddered at the mere memories from the discovery. Romance novels were, overall, alright—in fact, he knew that Em rather enjoyed reading romance novels—but smut novels were an entirely new breed of romance novels that Wilson hoped his girlfriend did not touch. Especially the ones with two men…The concept itself didn’t bother him, but the fact that women enjoyed reading those things startled him, to say the least. He definitely did not want to read those kinds of books. He shook his head, smacking his face with his glove-covered hands. Why was he thinking about these kinds of things anyways?
Shaking the thoughts out of his mind, Wilson leaned over one of the death division computers. He squirted the screen with cleaning solution and began to wipe off the dust with a rag. Bits of dusty specks drifted through the air, but it wasn’t enough for the man to sneeze. However, when he zoomed in to clean the hard drive he actually pressed the power button. His expression immediately read “Oh s**t.” Wilson wildly searched in all directions for any nearby superiors, but to his relief found none. With that burden placed off of his shoulders, he decided to plop down in a chair in front of the computer and wait for it to load. As soon as it was ready, he would shut it back down and continue on with his cleaning. The man waited, idly tapping his hands, covered in bright yellow rubber gloves, against the desk and moving his head to a soundless beat before the desktop finally loaded. Wilson’s face lit up and he smiled. Great!
Wilson reached out for the mouse and moved toward the start menu, but the cursor was rather sticky. He frowned and furiously moved the mouse, except in his haste he accidentally started up a program. “Oh shoot…” he murmured, leaning back into the chair with his arms crossed. Although he had fully intended to exit out of the program, the bright colors caught his attention. He tentatively read the title spread across the small window. “Welcome to Deus Ex Machina?” The graphics were relatively simple and reminded him of the old retro computer games, but the buttons at the bottom were definitely indicative that this was a computer game and not his imagination. Wilson stared at the screen, baffled. Why would the computers have a game on it? Curious ,he clicked the instructions button.
This is a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure game based on the typical life of a hunter. Choose whatever option you like until you hit a dead end. You must then go back a step and pick a new option. Have fun.
Huh. Seemed simple enough. Wilson returned to the menu page and pressed ‘start’ once he confirmed that indeed no one was around to discover his slacking off. The screen faded to black, but eventually a pixel picture of a girl with blond hair in some meadow appeared.
You are Flair Bennet, the programmer of the game, because she wants to keep her story straight.
Wilson raised an eyebrow, but clicked the arrow. Okay then. He could live with playing a female character.
At the moment, Flair is in the examination trials for becoming a hunter. She is equipped with a rifle and has her cousin, Nico, to help her when need be. Flair spots another candidate. Pick an option: kill or escape
Okay, now he was a bit confused. Weren’t these examinations supposed to happen in golem suits, gas masks and all? Yet the girl was completely uncloaked and in normal clothes. Wilson shrugged and chose to escape. The screen instantly turned red.
Sorry. Looks like the candidate spotted you and shot you through the head. Sucks for you.
He leaned back even further into his chair. Whoever scripted this game wasn’t exactly the nicest person. Wilson went back and chose to kill, much to his chagrin. The blond girl on the screen mechanically brought up her arm and shot the other avatar twice before the figure fell, signature X signs in his eyes to denote his death.
It took a bit of hesitation and you’ll definitely have some nightmares about your first kill, but at least you’re alive. Nico suggests to make some camp since it is getting late. Pick an option: gather firewood, gather berries, set up shelter.
Wilson sighed. Which option should he pick this time? All three sounded sensible to him. Reluctantly, he decided to firewood and sighed again when the screen turned red a second time.
Are you stupid? The fire attracted other candidates and they shot you and Nico silly. Nice one.
He winced at the sarcasm.
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:15 pm
What's This?
Surprisingly, Wilson was not busy with repairing the facilities somehow. Right now he was chilling inside the comfort of his dorm. He felt rather glad that the dormitories were relatively intact from the mini-invasion during Christmas. He wasn’t quite sure what he would have done if his room had a hole or had become infested with bugs or other such similar problems. Wilson lay sprawled across his bed, resting on his back so he could blankly stare at the white ceiling while he thought and just…did nothing. It was nice to do nothing for once. Maybe it was just him, but Wilson felt like he had been a while since he lay on his bed like this, not since before the island. His fingers were folded finger and placed over his stomach. Mindlessly, he twiddled his thumbs before he lifted his hands to examine the splinters he had acquired over the past few days from lugging around wood and using power tools. He sighed, idly tapping his boots together until he decided that he had had enough of bumming around in his room. It was time to bum around the island.
Wilson swung his legs over the edge and eased out of bed. He swung his arms over behind his head and stretched them, his neck somehow rolling left and right while he did so. Once he stretched out his legs and arms a bit more, he finally exited his room. The door softly closed shut behind him. It was a rather empty and boring walk down the hallways, but at least now the trainee was outside. He scratched his head while he looked to and fro, pondering where to go. Most of the time he was either somehow training or lazing around the facilities, so perhaps this time he would venture out to one of the other areas he rarely visited. He stared in one particular direction. The town was in that vicinity, right? Flashes of the town appeared in his mind, probably from his time during the examinations. Wilson didn’t think about them too often, but occasionally memories from the event would resurface. At least now he didn’t stay up late, fretting over the nightmares the trials caused. He was over them now, fortunately.
It took him a while, but eventually he arrived to the area. His gaze switched between the school gymnasium and the construction work before he eventually opened to head for the gym first. While his original intention had been to visit the towns, the prospect of walking inside a gym seemed too nostalgic for Wilson to ignore. Granted, this wasn’t his gym, but still.
Unfortunately, the interior wasn’t exactly what Wilson had been imagining. Sure, it looked like any regular gymnasium, but the bloodstains certainly stood out. While the red blemishes weren’t the first thing that caught his attention when he stepped inside, they certainly made Wilson double take when he glanced at them. He gave the stains a few more seconds of hard staring before shaking his head and searching around for any sports equipment. It was a gym, right? Hopefully the staff hadn’t cleared them out. He was actually kind of hoping there were at least a couple balls for him to shoot baskets with or kick around. Wilson missed playing sports.
The death trainee only gave the portal in the center a passing glance before he descended into the basement. It was dark. He pressed one hand against the cold wall until his fingers ran over what appeared to be a light switch and flicked it open.
Something was very wrong with this picture.
The equipment was definitely stored in the basement, yes, but why were there a pair of undergarments here in plain sight? Wouldn’t they at least be hidden? But no, they were casually placed on top of a pile of tennis balls. Wilson frowned, wondering if he really wanted to go over there or not. It took him a couple moments of debating before he reluctantly walked over to the cart and cautiously picked up the pair of boxers with two fingers. What kind of crazy people thought it was alright to store underwear in the gym’s basement? Really. A note fluttered out from the boxers, which Wilson immediately dropped in favor of picking up the paper. He unfolded it, but it was only signed by some hunter named Cody. Disappointed, he folded the paper again and placed it on top of the boxers. Wilson turned his curious—yet somehow he just couldn’t look away, it was fascinating—attention toward the bra. While he didn’t dare pick it up, he did lean in to examine it. It appeared to be of a small size. What specific size? He didn’t know. He wasn’t a creeper who was familiar with boob sizes. His eyes picked up another note and he assumed it to be by the same Cody person. Shaking his head, Wilson turned around to pick up a soccer ball and race out of the basement.
Weirdos.
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:16 pm
Treasure Room
When Wilson thought back on it, it would have been nice to remain as a child for a while longer. Sure, when he was a kid he had been damn terrified of monsters and of the darkness, but his childhood had been filled with sweet memories too. He could remember his days in the kitchen, forced to bake various confectionaries with Aunt Nana as she laughed a high-pitched laugh that grated his ears. He could remember the moments he spent at home, laying on the floor as he read a picture book or outside in the backyard playing some sort of sport with his father. It had been a good childhood, despite the nightmares.
He definitely would have rather stayed a child for a while longer than face the end of that dreaded battle in the Treasure Room. Now that he had plenty of time to reflect on the battle, a part of Wilson wished he could forget the event, but then what would explain the indescribable aches and pains he felt right now?
His eyes were squeezed shut as he lay in bed, the covers half-draped over his body while the other half of the sheets grazed the floor. Wilson gritted his teeth and tried to move as little as possible. Most of his body was covered in bandages, but even those were covered in another of clothes that were suddenly too uncomfortable and scratchy for him. He couldn’t understand why. Wilson had been wearing these clothes for months now. Why now? Why now? It took him a while to realize that his muscles were stiff, so he eased them. An arm hung over the bed’s edge and brushed against the mattress. The movement, however small, still sent needles of paining shooting up his arm and torso. He clenched his jaw to hold back a pained groan. There was so much pain. His hands and feet were still broken. His head hurt. His lungs still ached from being nearly crushed. It seemed a miracle that Wilson could still think coherently.
Wilson bore through another round of pricks and shocks as he rolled onto his side. The comforter fell to the floor with a thump, useless. He was cold now, but his skin felt warm for some reason. Maybe he had picked up a temporary fever from his injuries. The trainee didn’t know if that was possible. Was he just imagining the heat? Maybe he was. Wilson breathed a slow, shallow breath to prevent his chest from aching.
Treasure Room. Pain. Treasure Room. Pain. That was all he could think about at the moment. He forced himself to recall the haunting figure that was the Horseman of Conquest. Wilson had seen some of the other horsemen, but this one in particular was on an entirely new level. The horseman had seemed older, with more experience and power that far surpassed the horsemen that had arrived to the facilities one day. He could still recall War’s smirk and her red wings. Another flash of the Horseman of Conquest’s face, seconds before he had felt the intense pressure weigh heavily on him.
Wilson began to breathe heavily now as his body recalled the painful sensation, but it was only a ghost of the original. Livestock. The horseman had called them all livestock, he remembered that clearly. He remembered those moments very clearly. This had been his first battle of sorts with Halloween after all. It would be a shame to forget it so soon after it had occurred. Everything felt so fresh in his mind. He frowned when he heard an echo of bones cracking—a trick of the mind, a hallucination, he was in his dorm now—before he recalled the black ball forming in Conquest’s hands. That was the end. That was what Wilson had that at that moment. With much effort, Wilson switched to his other side, releasing only more spasms of pain for his body.
Trainees are disposable. He could clearly remember those words, too. These weren’t the Conquest’s words, though. These were Caelius’. These words had come straight from his superior’s mouth. From his division leader’s mouth. Shaky hands reached up to cover his eyes, to shield them from what little light was in his room. He didn’t want to be awake right now. It would be better to sleep off the rest of his aches and worries.
He was disposable? No, he didn’t want to be disposable. Wilson had come here for a reason. He had come here with a goal in mind. Didn’t all of the trainees come here with a purpose they wanted to achieve? He didn’t want to be some sort of tool ready to be thrown away at a moment’s notice.
“Caelius…” His throat was dry. “Caelius you heartless b*****d.” Wilson murmured it softly, whispering them to himself as he reluctantly curled himself into a ball, dreaming of horsemen and scythes and treasure and gravity and creatures that used to keep him up at night, but not anymore.
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Posted: Mon Nov 21, 2011 10:20 pm
Jump
He could still see her eyes in his dreams. They weren’t like Em’s, a clear, mute purple he could and would gladly stare into for hours on end. Sandy’s eyes were green, not too dark or not too light as far as he could tell when he had first seen her at the start of the mission. Wilson would have investigated further, but he would never receive the chance because she was dead. Her body was buried in the Horsemen’s labyrinth, trapped forever with Barney.
Her eyes were green just like his scarf, only his scarf was a light green with frayed edges while hers were shades darker. Clearly they were two different shades of green, but whenever Wilson saw the splay of pale green dancing in the edges of his vision her eyes would flash in his mind. He had barely known the woman, but now her presence permeated his mind and penetrated his dreams like stubborn roots until they cracked into nightmares.
Nightmares just like this one.
Everything was covered in a pitch-black darkness sans the weak glow of his weapon and the dim beam of his flashlight. A free hand—letting one of the two cannons dangles by his side—crept up to readjust the mask on his face as Wilson walked through the nothingness. Once upon a time, he had once been deathly afraid of donning the mask. Back when memories of the examinations still plagued his thoughts, but new fears had swept in to replace his first experiences on the island. New fears that were bigger, terrifying, and never leaving. This time, the mask served as a means of protection. No one could see the terror etched in his face and no one could see the tears threatening to fall, because he knew this dream. He knew where this would lead to, but still invisible puppet strings forced him to keep moving.
Soon enough, he found the red glowing eyes he had grown accustomed to the past few days. Out of the black came specks of white, triangles of sharp teeth that appeared one by one, row by row. Wilson ran his light over its figure, the lion with a horse body and scorpion’s tail, the chimera. He ran.
How had he run so fast to escape its gaping clutches? He had been carrying two cannons and a backpack. They weren’t exactly a bag of feathers. The fear must have propelled him, pumping the adrenaline and energy into his veins and legs to urge him to move faster, to lengthen his strides, to escape and live.
To escape and live right into the elevator, where Sandy was waiting. They shared a look. The past nights Wilson had attempted to pull the lever himself, but Sandy would always scrutinize the trainee before she shook her head and took over, resigned to her fate. By then the rest of the trainees and Barney had disappeared. It was just Wilson and Sandy in the elevator as water quietly trickled in. There was plenty of room for him to retreat to the other corner in safety, but for some reason he always stayed right next to her, right where he had been on the mission. Was it the dream or guilt?
I could have pulled you away. His lips never budged, but his voice echoed throughout the room.
No, you couldn’t have. Sandy stared forward.
I could have helped you.
No, you had already tried.
I could have saved you. Wilson turned toward the death hunter, his face still obscured by the mask. His eyes never left her.
If you wanted to die, maybe. Her head turned to meet his gaze, the green of her eyes changed by the colored filter of his lens. If you wanted to die, that is.
“I’d die if I could save someone’s life!” The declaration tore out of his throat. His hands clawed at his mask, but he still couldn’t part with it. The mask protected him, comforted him in a twisted way.
By now the room had decorated itself with eyes of various sizes—Sandy’s eyes. They blinked in unison.
A relieved smile from Sandy and Wilson seemed hopeful. Her lips moved, “Jump.”
He jumped, her eyes staring all the while.
He always woke up with dried streaks running down his face and he always covered his eyes with his hands because maybe they would hide the hallucinations of her eyes, but still they pervaded his vision. They would not go. They stared at Wilson with a knowing light. It was easy to say lofty words, but another to actually do it. Sure, Wilson could exchange his life for another, multiple lives even.
But it was also too easy to confess that he didn’t want to die just yet.
Wilson sighed and closed his eyes, falling into the nightmare again.
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Posted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 6:20 pm
More Than Something
Tonight, he didn’t dream up another nightmare. It wasn’t Sandy’s green eyes that he looked into as he slept, it was something else altogether. It wasn’t something that filled him with fear, not the type of fear he had slowly assimilated to. It was a different type of fear, the kind that made him shudder and amusingly run away. It was a fear filled with dread and dismay. Tonight’s dream wasn’t terrifying, but more so baffling and undesirable.
It was the Shadow Run.
The run was as simple as simple could be, but still the course posed so many problems for the trainee. While the objective of tearing down shadows until he arrived at the other side of the trail was easy, Wilson’s countless attempts at the sun course indicated otherwise. When he had first woken up, Wilson wondered why they had placed him in the death division. He had always loved sports, cross country especially. While he excelled academically, his love had always been toward the athletics. It only took him a mere couple weeks to realize the reason: he was athletic, but he sucked at fighting. The weight of his weapon on his shoulders and the sensation of his hands covered by metal and his face by a mask felt comfortable now, natural even, but there was something within Wilson that prevented him from being a decent fighter. But in return he had remembered how he used to adore reading books, but school and literature classes had temporarily ruined it for him. Plus he had always been naturally curious and examined things on a constant basis.
TL;DR he was a better death hunter than a sun hunter. Therefore, Wilson and Shadow Run did not mix well. It was like oil and water.
So why was he standing in front of the entrance, donning a loose, black robe? Somewhere, a voice similar to his own called out, Allan.
That was when the truck hit him. No, it wasn’t actually a truck, but the sun leader running with the force of a truck as he eagerly ran over the trainee to lay the smack down on a horde of shadow creatures. Wilson wheezed while he rolled onto his stomach. Even in his dreams, Allan was a force to be reckoned with. Stop. The word was half-formed on his lips when he reached out a hand, crawling beneath the wave of shadows as Allan mercilessly dredged him up. No. The man uttered a string of unintelligible words before throwing him back into the sea of shadowlings.
No no no. He was unprepared. He had yet to don the mask and cannons. There was no fear, only indignation as he once again drowned in darkness, only to be dragged by the collar of his clothes.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Wilson clawed at Allan’s hands, but the man held a tight grip. Choking. Dying. He was gasping for air, but the leader didn’t seem to realize. His lips moved again before, with a smile, launched Wilson into the air—
He woke up, inhaling a pocketful of air. A haze blanketed Wilson’s mind as he cautiously stretched out a hand toward the ceiling. What had happened? The muscles in his arms screamed. He winced before reluctantly setting his arm back down by his side. There was something important tugging at the corners of his consciousness. What was it—
The promotion.
Wilson shot out of bed, only to be lovingly rewarded with spasms of pain rippling across his body. He breathed between gritted teeth while he slowly reclined back into the mattress. Allan was a nice guy. At least, that was the impression he had of the sun leader, but he didn’t seem to know the power of his own goddamn strength. The trainee groaned as he managed to flip over to one of his sides. He stared at the clock placed by his bedside, it was still early morning. Wilson closed his eyes, one arm slowly reaching back to feel the spot where Allan had smacked him on the back. Lips twisted into a pained scowl. Yup. There was definitely a bruise. Couldn’t the man someday learn the power of restraint? Wilson figured it would be a powerful skill to master.
A thought crossed his mind just then. Had he passed it? An arm draped over the side of his bed, feeling around for cloth. His fingers grazed against something and he forced himself to scoot over so he could pick up the jacket at last. It was white with gold trimming, just like all the other uniforms, but it also had splashes of his signature light green. Wilson cracked a smile then. Technically, his favorite color was actually blue, but now he kept imagining himself in green, the same pale green of his weapon and his scarf. He pushed back thoughts of Sandy’s green eyes.
Because he was more than something now. Are you proud of me? Wilson asked no one. Do you think I won’t die just yet? Do you? No answer.
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Posted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 6:21 pm
Insanity
The shower water was cold, but that suited Wilson fine. As long as he could wash the dirt and grime off his body he didn’t care. Most of the facility was probably gone by now anyways. What right did the trainee have to complain about the temperature of the water? None. His hair was still wet when he stepped out of the showers, but at least he was clean now. He ran a hand through his hair and flicked away beads of water. He reached up to tug at the goggles dangling around his neck. It was an absolutely useless action, but one of the few nervous ticks he had gained in the past half year. His steps were quiet as he entered the trainee barracks again. When he looked around there were only a few others lying around the room. He supposed they were out doing other things, doing something more useful than what he could do.
A corner of his lips twitched as a sense of failure washed over him. He was an intermediate trainee, but it was only a name, not an actual indicator of his skill. There was a dismayed neigh in the back of his mind, but Wilson ignored it as he walked over to an empty bed and flopped on it. He groaned softly, an arm dangling over the side until his fingers grazed the cold floor. He couldn’t do anything right. He was useless. Wilson knitted his brows together as he recounted the past few weeks. His time spent in the Sahara and Arctic had been less than perfect—not surprising. His venture into the horsemen isles, on the other hand, was another story altogether.
Wilson recalled Jude putting together half of the runes into the set of tiles. He hadn’t even lifted a finger to assist the other man. He closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. His hand idly brushed against the ground. Sure, the others hadn’t helped either, but Wilson still should have helped. It was the bystander effect, but he didn’t want to be another bystander. He wanted to be the person who resisted the temptation to do nothing and actually help, but he hadn’t. Wilson had stood by like a statue. Useless. So useless. The memory left a sour taste on his tongue, but he forced himself to drudge through the rest of his memories. Wilson had fought a boy with glowing chains, then an icy-looking girl with pointy ears. Then he had…he had fallen unconscious. His nails dug into the skin of his palm, leaving behind deep, crescent imprints lined up in a neat row. He was absolutely pathetic. How had he escaped the room when it collapsed? Someone must have carried him out, but Wilson didn’t know who. Did he even want to know who had lugged him around like dead weight?
Dead weight.
The words stung, rooting themselves in his consciousness. It was a dull pain at first. Only a p***k, but then the name stayed stuck in his mind. They repeated over and over, endlessly and endlessly until Wilson buried his face into the bed sheets and plugged his ears with his fingers, but the mantra rang through his makeshift shield. He was a dead weight that didn’t know any better. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even properly console one of his teammates. There was no meaning to his presence at Deus. No meaning at all. He was sure that if he disappeared into the fog no one would notice. After all, he was a deadweightdeadweightdeadweight. He was replaceable, just like Caelius had announced long ago. Words that Wilson had long buried resurfaced with a vengeance. He was just another soldier, another part to the overall machine. Wilson could be replaced. New parts could always be found when need be.
He rolled onto his back, his hands moving to cover his face as he sighed tiredly. He heard an intake of breath from Gramps, but no words came. The catoblepas remained silent. It was oddly reassuring to hear nothing from his partner. Gramps was usually chattering away in his mind, so the lack of words was relaxing. Hands over his eyes, Wilson attempted to fall asleep—wet hair and all—until the horrifying image of the phoenix reappeared. He remembered the individual faces of various horsemen as the faded in and out of the flying creature. They screamed, confusion flashing in their eyes as they died in an endless cycle of death. They had nearly wiped out an entire race. Monster or not, wasn’t that still genocide? The trainee grew uneasy as realization slowly dawned to him. The hunters had destroyed years and years of their existence. He didn’t have a clue about their culture, but all kinds of culture were important.
And he held a part in ripping that culture to shreds. Guilt surged through him and he rolled to his side. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to think of other things.
Dead weight.
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Posted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 6:22 pm
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 9:07 pm
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 9:09 pm
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