The Voices: The Man In White saga

Nathics

This series is based on Nathics (blue pill name - Adrien Schadegg) whose life as a blue pill is no longer relevant as he is not who he once was. Upon being unplugged a program ,whose function is not yet known, was on its way to being deleted. As it passed through Nathics's RSI Nathics was unplugged with the program within him, this wrought a new mind, half human and plenty program. The programs inside Nathics can gather information for him whithout him having to be there to see it or hear it (almost a sixth sense). Upon re-entering the matrix, Nathics complex mind was detected by the machines who understood the importance of such abilities. Upon detection a strange new agent was sent out to capture Nathics. This agent resembles a psychopathic hospital doctor due to the mission he must perform, this agent is known as The Man In White...

Although no one else can add to the series (sorry guys Sad

), you can definately give me ideas on what your character would do in a certain situation and so on. The reason I dont want anyone else to add to it is because at this point in the story everything about Nathics, TMIW (The Man In White) and his mission including the mysterious woman known as Violet must be kept secret. When these secrets are revealed I can then let others contribute. I will be starting a new topic outside of the voices that people can contribute to though. Thats about all I have to say. So take it easy guys.

Vying to rule the ever-lasting tourment within, Nathics must also encounter a new enemy other than himself...

Nathics

The Voices, Episode 1: Nathics's Awakening

They say our induction into the world with no sky twisted our mind. We cannot find words to create pictures of our blue life, that was twisted too. Another's code tripped over mine, so both of us were unplugged in the one flesh. I hear his voice, We talk, he can know things I cannot. We are Nathics, the fallen over thought bubble. Sometimes I dream, He becomes visual, and my eyes drift through the blue sky, whilst I remain in the scorched sky, wireless. We see the man in white coming for us with his peeler clenched in one hand, his swirling dark mind clenched in the other, and a twisted good, bad feeling manifested on his face. His hide is fashioned of an old fashioned doctors outfit, the kind that represents a tough yet criminally insane individual, a perfect fitting white, short sleeved one piece suit, buttoned up along the left side of his chest, with white sneakers and black combat gloves. The man in white, he speaks with his face, but never says a word. We must dance The Rain Of Bullets.

We sit down on the chair of dreams, on the tack that's always waiting. We whoosh into the sea of green characters. From the Magic Box We travel through the sky and perch upon the drunkards branch under the red lady with wings, waiting for someone, and waiting for another someone. No buzzes, not cracks of pavement, just waiting. Do they see our words? The Maid asks us if we are ever going to drink their fluids, "We would not like to ingest the other garbled voice from our days of your blue world." We reply whilst wearing the face of a friendly face. According to the voice that look upon her face was one of confusion, amazement, garnished with horror. Panic and intrigue suddenly grasps my insides and its time to make another strange exit. This time Lady Luck favors my flesh, but not my outfit, the glass from the window slices through my clothes, We thank whatever forces allow us to simply code another one for free. The sound of our panic stricken footsteps alerts him to our exact location, that and the glass shattering and our sent. He's too fast to dance with us and too sharp to don the costume of the jester. The problem is choice, because in this instance the window We choose was one of poor choice. We look around a hundred meters to the left and catch the blue eyes of the man in white, plugging up the drain pipe that is the only escape route. The voices speak of an aid near-by, with eyes that search for us, all We have to do is play carousel with the man in white. Can We dance around him without receiving his friendly, yet harmful psychotic welcoming? Who is the beholder of the searching eyes?....

"When the sky's eyes open wide it means that night time has set on us once again, but when the eye is blue the bright white light has no where else to go, but Earth. Next episode: Back Alley Blues... The moon has never smiled so..."

Nathics

The Voices, Episode 2: Back Alley Blues

An icy cold sweeps through the alley and sends a chill up our spine. A man in white stands at the end of the alleyway, unwavered by the artic winds. We move towards the man like a rodent seduced by the mousetrap. The only light in the ally comes from behind the man in white, as if he were keeping it from us.

His eyes don't move from the wall opposite him, but his smile infects us. We feel it chilling our blood, stealing our breath, sending tremors to our knees. We can smell his hospital freshness choking up the ally, yet he stands as still as a corpse. He is like a hangman, giving us all the rope we need to choke ourselves with fear before the dance has even begun. Like a super hero out of a cartoon we rush at him; soaring gallantly through the air we almost make it to his side. He looks up at us, his smile never changing, and suddenly the laws of physics are no longer in our favor. In painful mockery of cartoon slapstick we are hit by a ton of bricks from one stagnent punch thrown by the vigalently static figure. As we connect with the wall opposing us we feel like it was a silent conspirator in his trap and now we are smashed flat against the ground before we even know what to do.

Through the dust in the air we think we see his smile widen ever so slightly at our pain. Is it joy we see in his face? If joy is the fruit of our suffering then we should make like a banana. In a burst of motion and mortar we spring from the rubble and past him into the light. We look over our shoulder as we turn the corner and see again his simple smile of joyous pain, but then he is gone. The throbbing pain brings static to our eyes and we move forward blindly. Suddenly he is above us, in front of us, coming towards us like a propelled rock, and even still like a gargoyle. We roll out of the way as the as the hiss of his unexpected leap soars past us through our ears. We look up to greet familiar eyes with a one of his boots fully extended. Altais' silhouette materializes behind the space my nemesis just held, we believed he was the motivation for the sudden spring reaction the man in white displayed. As soon as he and we confirm each others safety all turn to look up. Soon the white figure becomes another speck in the night sky. Atalis drops his head in bewilderment, raising a brow, leaning over to us.

"Who the hell is that and... Where did he go?"

These words were an indication that the situation had now been garnished with an extra element of the jack-in-a-box.

"The man in white's elongated enthusiasm to peel our mind from our RSI has brought him to our location. We must hollow the area of our hustle and bustle." We reply in a bubbly, red watery tone.

"Yeah whatever you say. I recon we can take the **bleep**." Familiar eyes draws his sidearm as he says it.

I think aloud to what we must do, "We are having an organ sensation and are in dire need of a different medical attention, vis a vie his. We need as much of our inner self to be functional as possible. Now we must get out of here with pitter and patter."

"....Fair enough," familiar eyes replies, "Can you make it on your own?"

"Our eyes will be watchfull." The voice reminds us of gargoyle-like eyes still trailing our movements as we flee the scene.

Altais's box of voices garbles into his head followed by a beep. " Avat, Draconis and Romav are on their way to meet us at a secure location. If the clean freak shows up here he's not gonna be leaving with that smile intact."

"We had sprung the trap, but did that make us the cheese?" We wondered aloud and very confused.

"We might as well get the **bleep** now and put this behind us. Besides this'll be fun. Anyway, how ya holdin' up?" Altais produced his own grin to rest above the situation.

We pause for a moment in a park. "Your code magic is wondrous and tingly and has subdued our organ sensation," we murmur as healing sedates us. We stand for a second crouching next to a bench that Altais had leaned us up against.

"Right O', we need to get you... on your feet. Then we need to find somewhere to lay low. I told the fellas we'd met them by that office building over there." Altais helps us to our feet and walks us to a nearby worker drone complex.

Altais always got a kick from helping his mates, so it seemed joy was already screaming through his blood with vibrancy. As we sat in the storage room of a soulless building, the voices kept taunting us that the white clad man smiled because his equable eyes are always on us. When out of nowhere a crashing cacophony at the front door interrupts our reverie.

"We brought guns, lots of guns...." Proclaimed the beaming mouth of Draconis as he marches into the building.

"And goodies, you know ," adds Romav, "fun for the whole family," his grinning face says as he follows close behind.

Speak of the devil and he appears. No one saw him enter but the man in white was there. That slanted smirking mouth, resting upon that vacantly statuesque man, suddenly he was all we had eyes to see. The voices remind us of how today was turning out to be a grinning theme park. The carousel goes round and round all night; you pay your money and you take your ride, but where does it stop? As if he had read our minds, there he was standing in front of the merry men who had come to aid us in our time of need.

"Hey you must be the bag of tricks , Altais told us about!" Romav says flashing a smile of pearly teeth. His voice is all bravado but he never takes his eyes of the man in white standing before us all.

Avat smirks, loading his Bradley, " I'll be ya' huckleberry.."

Now everyone is armed, everyone is grinning, seconds are minutes, for minutes we are the gargoyles. Our many arms draw points on the man in white, this arm wrestle with many is going to break bones and someone will end up shattered before the night is through....

"Nathics, you are the reason for my creation. You are the target, my work, my life. The wretched existence you leave must be corrected, even if it means the end of many others... Next episode: The Man In White... Is that me their talking about?"

Nathics

The Voices, Episode 3: The Man In White

Smile, smile, smile and the world will smile back, but move, and the world will throw your fate into a chain of dominos. Never move, never speak unless its worth the energy it takes to perform. My smile is worth its weight in gold, it keeps the dogs at bay, it burns the strings holding his twisted mind together. Nathics, you disgust me. Every sentence you, and that program, dribble is filled with garbage. So disorganized, so filthy. You are a testimony to all that is corrupted, twisted, an abomination, wrong. I’m here because of what must be done, and I will leave when it’s over. Quick, clean, in and out. When Agent Harvey is completed with the Nathics upgrades I will return to the source for termination, this is the meaning of my creation. Fortunately my body will be dealt with...

They were confused when I entered. This is the advantage the files stated would reward me a dominating advantage. My presence at the counter startled the archivist, he didn’t notice my swift movements. I have him now, my hand around his neck enforced the feeling that I meant business. His expressions plainly displayed a look that something wasn’t ‘right’. I waited the expected ten seconds for him to loose his cool and for the other to make her move. They always move without considering their move. Judging by her stance, position relative to me and her heavy breathing, her first attack will be to go straight for my head, this will be due to her fear and eagerness to ‘make it all stop’, to eliminate threat swiftly. To combat this movement I will turn ever so slightly and catch her fist my in between my shoulder and chin, if I twist her arm ever so slightly she will lead forward and attempt to summersault to regain balance. I watched her fall straight into the chain reaction I had calculated for her. I calculate where she will land, sweet her legs behind her, causing her face to make contact with the ground creating a cracking sound. Weakened, vulnerable, mine, I lift my foot above her neck, the sound of completetion; the crisp snap of a spinal cord. With the threat now neutralized I am able to proceed with the first objective, entering Nathics’s proximity in the Sakura construct. The archivist gazed down at his fallen comrade, choking out cries of sorrow. Analysing his face I notice fear, horror, sorrow, the target is now shaken to the core.

“Give me the Sakura construct key...”, I made sure to be clear.

“Who the hell are you? What the hell are you?”

This wasn’t going to do. I continued to stare at him, waiting for the correct reply, but no one is ever so cooperative. I tighten my hold around his neck for twenty seconds longer while he attempted to gargle his reply. However, ‘a job worth doing.. is worth doing right’, I waited the twenty seconds even after the reply I was anticipating.

“Okay, okay! Heres the key, just take it!”

The peculiar situation, his fallen comrade and my tactical smile worked perfectly; according to the interrogation file downloaded into my memory upon creation. It -always- works according to the files.

“Just don’t kill me, please! ”, mummbled by the archivist's assistant. His face twitching as he hung on the last word.

The energy it would have taken to snap his neck would have been a waste. No... His memory and fear of me may become useful once again as long as I know where to find him.

I was also interested in the spectator that had perched upon the archivist’s desk. Victim number one's , the now late archivist, movements had changed four point three seconds ago when he realised she was here. I never heard her or saw her, yet I noticed she was there and she knew it. Judging my her expression and pupils, this Merovingian agent was startled, I will definitely use this as an advantage over her psyche, a startled foe makes hasty decisions. She was dressed from collar to toe in black and violet , wearing a slightly unnerving grin across her face. I turned to her, and summing up her body language lead me to confer that victim number two left the premises while my attention was diverted. I needn’t bother to ask who she was and what her business was, she looked Merovingian and smelt ready for combat, a Merovingian in a Zionist archive usually is prepared. Suprisingly she seemed to reconsider her next movements; anticipating the choreography of the coming fight in her mind. Indeed, it was unusual to see someone at least give their movements a second thought, the respect such actions deserve. As soon as she realised she had my full attention she began to talk, saving me the trouble of having to waste anymore energy.

“Strong silent type huh? Do you guys grow on trees or something? Red pills and programs seem to take on that personality lickety split because somewhere in time it became ‘cool’. I hate strong silent types, your not that great at it either, ‘Mister Man in White’." Her words cut clear through my tact.

She was not disturbed by my personality type. According to the files the smile would still have some effect, but she won't expect me to speak a sentence or two while displaying total disinterest.

“Who are you and why are you here? You have thirty seconds to answer.” The file ran successfully but she gave no reaction.

I must eliminate her and proceed to the construct immediately. She’s startled by the speed at which I move toward her, she’s good at hiding it. I miscalculated her body language, interesting... She swings her legs over her head and lifts off the desk with her arms, grabs her Kahr 9mm PM9 and shoots three bullets through the window behind her. She moved like clockwork, every gear responding to the movement of another, every cog reacting to the way it was supposed to, driven with purpose as she smashed through the weakened glass. An evasive manoeuvre, perfectly executed. She must have known that I had taken complete control of the situation. My advances were too straightforward; her caution was too well hidden for me to calculate the variables into the equation. It seems she knew my capabilities before hand, able to read my movements, a skill, which is not common amongst the scourge. Her covert pistol, the new Kahr 9mm PM9 leads me to the conclusion that the Merovingian organisation has sent a spy out for me, another distraction.

“Sorry if I don’t stay and chat but, your no fun. Your not even a -gentleman-.” With that she jumped backward into the sky and out of my periphreal vision.

Reassessing the situation, retreating was the only accpetable odds. There are too many variables, I am no longer prepared to deal with Nathics. This set back must be compensated immediately. Tomorrow I will intercept Nathics at Club Succubus. This girl must be taken into account; she knows me now, and can anticipate my movements in our next encounter. She will certainly make contact with me again, I must be prepared...

...for the girl I would later know as ‘Violet’…

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Figero, Figero, FigeroOoOoOoo! Smile, smile, smile and the world will smile back at you, but laugh and sing like we do and they will cower in fear! AHHHH HA HA HA HA HA!….. Next episode, Drunk on Joy, Fun. The hands on the clock have conspired to allow us the bag of smiles.”

**AItais**

((I've said it before and I'll say it again, these stories are top shelf mate. Can't wait for the next one))

Nathics

The Voices, Episode 4: Drunk On Joy Fun

~Nathics~

The world begins to swirl into our thoughts; all we can manage to do before the lights go out is scream,
“It’s getting darker, getting darker, THE JOY OF LOOSING CONTROL!”

We hold its tail as the laughter drags me kicking and screaming down the hall once again. No smell of cookies, no sight of Morpheus, no, no, NO FIXED STARE ABOVE A GRIM SMILE!.. Her door opens and we are dragged inside. A strange feeling wraps itself around my throat and squeezes, brought on by the lack of activity in her oven. Where the future is baked there is only fog. Curious to see what lies in her oven we cautiously open its door. Without a polite introduction the fog swoops from its lair and rushes down our throat, laughing, screaming, dancing. Our skin falls from my body and we cry out in horror. Then everything around us shatters like glass and our faces greet each other warmly. This is what may be, unless we stop dancing as many, and fight as one! Everything starts to blur and sounds begin to echo, but the one thing that remains is the joy our insanity wields, the beauty of LAUGHTER!
“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”

The others are swept into our pools of vision once again, the pools deeper, larger than ever.
“Figero, Figero, Figero! Oh, there you are! Let the passion, oh so crimson, flow. Let the floor receive the taste of his whiteness! AH HA HA HA HA HA!”

In the misty flames of our fury, our joy, we hear Altais’s voice tearing through our skull, “Nathics what the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell are you dancing?!”

White all around us, all around the room, too fast, but not fast enough. We dance as if the singing in our head foe we must destroy. The voices appearing all around us, taunting us to strike.
“Nathics, your just a blur!”
“Kill yourself in his eyes Nathics!”
“Shoot here Nathics, shoot here!......Stay here and he will scribble you out..”
“Wait for two seconds here!”
“That’s right!..... Say good bye Nathics, he’s going to take your head!”
“You won’t win Nathics!.......Fight oh so much harder!”

Their words plucking our harp of hearts, every taunt precise. Those metal flies of devastation erupting from our arms, carrying out their duty and doing it well, all on the correct course, to the enemy. Piercing the air but never hitting the intended target, hitting nothing. The Man In White stops moving and clips fall from his arms as we do the same.

“Where did all those flies fly off to?” We scan for the metal flie's hovels, but nothing except their grave before us. From behind a shield wracked with our mind tearing screams, rise our comrades.

“Nathics, why the hell are you two shooting blanks!?” Raijn yelled in anger garnished with cautiousness.

“Swell those pools of vision around and 'round 'til they drip drips on the littered foreground.” We raise a finger to the ground before us, to the metal flies that now have headaches.

“That’s very impressive Nathics… You two have been hitting each other’s bullets! How are ya doing this?” Avat looks closer at us, spotting the difference. * click *. Without the knowledge of doing so, the clips of both The Man In White’s arms and mine are loaded and grinning…

“Ha ha ha ha. Eh heh heh heh heh. HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAA! LOOSING CONTROL! ALL THE CONTROL!” At that the other voices resume the stalemate. Bullets flying once more, but not because of us, because of the others. The voice's hands grip the reins once more, reading all the information in the matrix surrounding us. Calculating all the movements of everything, the ultimate calculators, just like they were programmed for. Every metal fly, flying like its supposed to, just like his. A foreign substance through our veins, intoxicating, his smiles no longer like mercury. As the metal fly graveyard expands we continue dancing as a tribute to eternity. * Click-click click-click *.

“Awww no more metal flies at home…”

“Nathics, you will submit. Corrections must be made.”

“The ground is littered and our knees too clean for them. Not until you wield a mop will we fill that pastry. Smile.”

~The Man In White~

Two bullets remaining. Remaining stamina; thirty percent. Enemy ammunition depleted. Enemy energy at ten percent. Threat detected, executing evasive maneuvers.

“All the voices screaming to release the reins. We.. Avat…”

Nathics’s comrades take advantage of the situation and return covering fire to provide the fallen Nathics time to recover. I raise my arm to shield my head from the oncoming bullet. * Chrunch * I can hear the bullet lodging in my bones. I dive through the near window firing my remaining two bullets behind me. I only just manage to land on my own two feet. Bullets rain down from the sky as I run to minimum safe distance. I can hear them all screaming.

“Die! Die!” - Raijn
“See you in hell!” - Avat
“Time to die!” - Altais
“Waste him!” - Romav
“Come back you coward!” - Denolus

Attempt failed. It was what we expected, the programs are adapting to Adrien’s mind and body. They are close to maximum efficiency. Although that was just a random occurrence of all the programs computing, it may happen again. I must rethink my tactics to only attack Nathics when he is cut off from the others…

"The Man In White, a walking scalpel. Our erosive cohesion accelerates each day and in every way his visits mimic this obscurity. Today’s mirror is shattered to provide tomorrows weapons. Where is he on the day of this blue moon? The garden.. Next episode’s a Rock and Roll Ride."

**AItais**

((Another awesome additon Nath, Well done. Although i will

admit that this one is a little weirder than usual.))

Nathics

Hehe its gonna get wierder SMILEY

. Nathics's new found 'abilities', as you can see, are taking their toll.

Nathics

((If your a fan of this series and wondering why I haven't posted any episodes lately, its because Im quite busy with school. However, I will be releasing two episodes very soon.

For those of you who read these stories and don't exactly know what to make of it, or wonder about what is going through my head, Id like to answer any question people may have. If I can make the reading experience better for people by answering their questions, I will happily be obliged.))

Nathics · 03/30/2006 23:34:05

The Voices: Episode 5, Rock and Roll Ride

This mind of ours blurs beneath our sheets,

All we think now is what was thought before.

In our dreams we see things, people to meet,

Hear things they share behind closed doors.

And while we never leave our fleshy cell,

Those voices, they are always steps ahead.

For what reason do they send us all to hell,

This hell on earth, this hell of mine, inside our head.

The Man In White, we know of, but Violet.. Why do the voices speak of Violet? And that other.. The voices whisper from side to side but never do they share. There are words with which we are generous, and others whispered, followed by a the silence of their absence…

“There are a couple things I would like to say to him.”

The army’s steps are the chorus, which shatters the minds of those in our path, burning all that dwells in the back alleys. Altais’s words continue the work of our footsteps.

“Heh. Lets give him a real good reason to stop smiling.”

Altais’s electronic axe rests on his shoulder. From his weapon, a wire connects to a suitcase.

“Nathics, are you sure he’s gonna be at Club Succubus again?”

“Altais’s preparations will ensure our visit goes without the need to watch grass grow Avat.”

The moon gave us an eternity of grim smiles to speed us onward, its light, the blistering agony for those who were sure to fall into their dreams. The sand neared the bottom of its container as time had conspired, unfolding the night. Avat’s words pierced the dream around us all, tearing our attention back from its icy hell.

“When we get in there, spread out, keep your eyes open and do not get side-tracked. This guy is good, real good. He will take advantage of even the slightest opportunity to attack Nathics and may even come out on top.”

Avat pauses to scan the area before continuing with his words,

“Ready everyone? Move out.”

One by one after another, like ghosts whose presence is not extraordinary they take their place amongst the crowd. Altais’s face presents a grin to convay his intent,

“This will get his attention while the others move in.”

Altais salutes us with his heavy metal weapon and continues inside by our side.

“Ahh. The nest of the red lady, how it’s vibrations shatter our mind. How cleverly it ambushes us with its broken bladder stench. Memories…”

The two of us are drawn to the drunkards perch to greet the amber liquid god, leaning over the bar.

“What in the hell will it be gentlemen?”

“Crown Lager please. Nath, you want anything?”

“No, thank you. Is there need for poison at this time Al?”

“When isn’t there a need for beer?”

The two of us hide our searching eyes with laughter before returning to the drunkard’s god, a fat man wearing a wife beater, stained jeans all of which were covered in endless amounts of sweat.

“The last time I was here the same song was playing and it hasn’t gotten any less crap.”

The fat man’s face catches alight as he leans over to Al.

“Yeah, and its gonna keep playin, unless you’ve got any bright ideas?”

“Take it easy fat man or you’ll drown us in sweat. I got it covered. Nathics, sit tight.”

Altais makes his way to the DJ, their conversation veiled by the DJ’s music. Our thoughts crumble beneath the weight of the fat man’s words.

“Your friend had better please the crowd and yours truly or he’s gonna know what my boot tastes when I jam it that far up his *CENSORED*.”

We hold the fat man from our thoughts so as not to grant encouragement to continue with his words.

“The music will stop.”

The voices calculations were verified by the music’s death. Our mind wanders to our comrades whose bodies assumed a sudden alerted stature in response to the atmospheric… evolution. We gaze upon Altais’s smile as it’s brother of manifestation appears. Altias adjusts the combination to his mysterious briefcase, then the satisfying crack it makes to open, unfold, bizarre. What madman’s efforts constructed such a stealthy device for music, this foldout speaker? This action grips the minds of all those beneath the fluoro sky and twists their head around to meet his grin. Silence becomes the only member of conversation, stillness, the only member allowed to move. Before eyes had speed to notice, Altais was already wielding his instrument of mental annihilation. He strikes it’s strings, letting out a tremendous shrieking splendour. From amongst the crowd Avat’s voice takes it’s place amongst the chaos.

“Where does he get those wonderful toys?! Rock on Al!”

The continuation of Altais’s maddening vibrations sends ruptures through the crowd’s stillness, like gargoyles coming to life; they begin to dance once more. Even the fat man’s mass seemed more urgent in it’s duties.

“Is your friend looking for work?”

We answer the fat man’s farcical jaw movements.

“His work is aligned with Zion, whatever organization you run has no prize for him.”

“Oh yeah Zion. Isn’t that the crappy-*CENSORED* joint in Mara? Tell him if he wants to make some real money, come to me.”

“Real money?”

Our reply bursts through the many layers of laughter of our many minds. The fat man goes about his usual business, flowing our pools of vision to the Merovingian operatives on the other side of the beverage glass.

“Not many people know me, not many people can. Those who have ever spoken to me know what lies beneath the chaos. Those who have the luxury of memory cannot understand his pain. Being one step closer to what I want to be, my feelings catch up and I have to feel bad again for what I have done. Soon there will be no one I must share sorrow for…

Next episode of The Voices will remind us of what it is we have fought so hard for Before Falling Skies, others will not even know its meaning.”

Message Edited by Nathics on 03-30-200611:33 PM

Message Edited by Nathics on 03-30-200611:34 PM

Nathics

The Voices Episode 6: Before Falling Skies

“Do you ever look around and think of what you see as just a picture. As though you’re looking through something other than your own eyes. Like a TV screen has been stuck right in front of you, no remote, and no escape. Lately, its like everything looks different. Not because anything has changed, but because I’ve changed… It questions my own ability to feel, my own free will. I wonder if anything I have done, if any path I have chosen was of my own designs or just a simple reaction in a long and heavy chain of reactions. Were my choices and decisions preordained the instant I arrived from the pink water of the womb? Would I be where I am today if two hundred years ago someone did something so simple such as moving a rock? Could even the slightest change in the earth have altered the momentum of fate? I desperately try to believe that everything I have done was for something, and that any of my sacrifices were real.”

“We can’t think about that now. We have a job to do and your existential discontent is not going to hinder this operation. In fact, some of the data we have been asked to acquire may answer one of your questions. It seems that this facility is a secret division of the Neuro Spirit Faction.”

“Are you serious?! That’s insanity! Why would the NSF commission research into debunking their own philosophy?”

“With success, might I add? It seems the new chairman has taken the faction in a new direction… Four months ago chairman Repulber contracted mercenaries to secretly infiltrate KALT chemicals.”

“Infiltrate KALT? That’s suicide!”

“Well, his employees are indeed devoted.”

“Even if they managed it –“

“They did. I know what you’re thinking, what business would the NSF have with anything inside KALT? I checked around and realised the more I checked the more there was left unanswered. Eventually I managed to contact a KALT double agent working inside the NSF. They caught wind of the NSF’s plans and decided to shut it down. Don’t ask how the NSF still managed to complete their operations with KALT being as prepared as they were. In any case. I found a disc on his corps. I couldn’t make sense of any of it, it sounded like a science fiction movie.”

“Why would a double agent carry data into the organisation they are trying to undermine? Unless… What if Repulber had someone in KALT sneaking information out on the double agent without him knowing?”

“… I hadn’t thought of that. It makes sense now. Look, heres the disc. Check it out yourself. To quote the double agent, ‘It will lift the veil’…”

“Right… What’s your plan of attack? We can’t go about this with our usual vigour. It will be very easy to trace this us back to Shadow Division Nine. Especially considering our targets resources and KALT.”

“I know our orders were to acquire hard data but… I don’t wanna be anywhere near hard proof that would link us to this facility. We are just gonna have to memorize what we need and get out. Dante owes me a couple of favours, I’ll be able to get him to trust our word.”

“I’ll head to storage. You should probably check out their IT section… And Figero?”

“Yeah?”

“Be carefull.”

“I will. Take care yourself Adrien…”

"Memories... Next Episode, "What a Thought, What a Night..."