Thesis Statement. [Free Verse Intro Recap - Syntax]

Sykin

"Everyone, over here please,"

"Gather around." Sykin said.

The aging man took a moment to briefly scan the crowd with his hard eyes.

TPaine, Faithlessness, Romav, Atem, P0ET. D4sh, GamiSB, Plectrum, XPimp. BlackSpade, Mibli, Pyroclasam. ChloeAnn, Caillech, Reeverb, Gookin, Perde (Better known as Cynara). Even the Taxidermist with a Stinger slung across his back. Many respresentatives of factions and Organizations well known and some obscure. Many of the people that showed up the man who gathered them did not know. Yet they were there, and that was good. Waiting and listening.

"Well met, one and all. Thank you for coming," Sykin began again. His lips felt chapped; the chill air on top of MetaCortex was thin and unmerciful. It felt like being on the surface of the Real World. But that was a lie, the aging soldier had conditioned his mind to believe. Everything in the Matrix was a lie.

"As you newcomers might have undoubtedly guessed: I am Sykin."

There was an uneasy silence. The man standing before them had a mysterious past in the Matrix, riddled with tales of betrayal, war, assassination, great declarations; of tracking the Masked as one of the famed 'Hunters', of being branded with the Devil's Hoof on his left forearm after being thrown from the Visati, which was turning into a Cypherite order. There were tales that he freed hundreds of humans from the Matrix, was on the level of Ghost and Niobe, rubbed elbows with Commander Lock, even slapped Anome in public. There were stories that told of him orchestrating battles and hatred between many factions, even the new strife between the Exiles and their supporters. He was rumored to be behind the existence of every gathering. He was said to have won in every duel he had fought in. Some thought he even met the Oracle on a daily basis.

Many of those clever stories Sykin didn't even know about himself. He believed that they could think of whatever they wanted of him. He was just a man, in his mind.

And before him was an army he gathered for one purpose.

"Over the past few weeks I have found disturbing news." Sykin was then interrupted by whisperings and discussions within the group; many voices were worried and filled with curiousity.

"Let's stay on topic here," BlackSpade muttered forcibly. The crowd began to quiet automatically.

"Indeed," Sykin voiced, "...At any rate: I was hired by the Machines to investigate recent errorous code found in the Matrix. This code came in the form of pieces of paper. Illegally reproduced with strange poems writ upon them. Some of you may have seen them."

A few operatives looked around as if they would. Others, like Cynara, simply nodded.

"I have looked into these as much as I can. Some of you..." Sykin nodded to TPaine and Faithlessness, "Helped me decipher them. For that you were rewarded. However, there's more to these poems than just... Baffling creativity."

A slight pause.

"The nature of these poems was created by an insidious ghost in the System. Its plans are unknown but it seems like it wants to become something more than just code in the background of the simulation."

"Ghost? Seriously? I think we've outgrown campfire stories." TPaine interjected.

He was met with a taunting murmer from Cynara, who happened to be an Exile recently come out of hiding: "Don't be so sure... TPaine, isn't it?" Even GamiSB, a fellow human Zionite, questioned TPaine's belief.

0beron's comment, "And a man made of flies was just a story as well." seemed to settle the matter.

"Think of it as an 'incomplete virus' I think." Sykin corrected. "This seemingly 'program' is bent on something wrong. Something that threatens the stability of this world."

Immediately, like a bad memory (For that was what it was) came from the mouths of a few: "Smith."

"No."

"Morpheus, maybe?"

"No again."

A few then quieted the crowd once more and crossed their arms waiting for Sykin to continue his monologue.

"This is something new. But it's using old tricks." He stated.

Once again: "The General?"

"The Merovingian?"

"Let the man speak!!" Gookin shouted.

"You see, whatever this 'poet' is..." Sykin considered for a moment, "...He is a threat to both our worlds."

"Sykin, does this have something to do with your anomalies?" Pyroclasam asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, anomic code, that's what we determined the threat as, myself and the Agents." Some were confused by Sykin's association with Agents of the System, but the man himself thought it was a necessary thing to work with them in order to uphold the dire Truce between them. "But I quickly learned as well I would not be able to stand up to this alone."

And in a strange voice, with a hint of fear in his usual deep, thoughtful growl: "This threat somehow has... Personal ties to my past... Well, anyways."

"The poems that were found point to one place in the Matrix again and again: Here. We believe there will be some kind of attack by the insidious 'ghost'. Why, even a few days ago..."

Suddenly, the wind blew. It brought more cold and foreboding feelings, but it also brought a ray of light that glowed down on a tiny speck which floated towards the man who spoke. Sykin grasped it from the air gently and without much effort, senses and reactions enhanced by his knowledge of the Matrix.

"A piece of paper." There were words on it. He slowly read them to the crowd...

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above:
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love:
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind...

He finished almost at a whisper, his eyes fixed on the last line, "In balance with this life, this death."

There was a flash of sickly green lightning that exploded within the crowd, knocking people away in a great circle of force. Some operatives were hurled from the top of the MetaCortex building, others were left laying on the ground and struggling to get up. They drew weapons from concealed places and focused to achieve a center of gravity for a martial art stance almost immediately when the recovered, as was the fashion of operatives.

The circle in the stone had made a rift of void space, humming dully with a dreadful wobbling sound in the hearts and ears of everyone's Residual Self Image. Then the circle started to brim with strange life; purple and diseased code fragments ruptured and spun in a vortex within the impossible hole in the fabric of the Matrix simulation.

There were some kind of horrible shrieking noises, like when an Agent takes a new host only more distorted, and then seven figures appeared to be melting from out of the air, bodies for that moment squirming with the strange lilac code.

And then all at once, seven man-sized beings in white suits with wings stood in the midst of the surrounding operatives. Ancient digitally rendered avatars, angelic in their power. There was a name for these menaces:

The Imposter Seraphim.

Fighting broke out instantly, epic in its own way. The Seraphim were able to dodge bullets like Agents, summon firearms from thin air, even heal themselves incredibly fast. Outnumber as they were, the Seraphim drove back everything they could with a bloodlust stronger than any Blood Drinker or Lupine ever could command. The operatives were hard pressed. Many of them were falling rapidly.

The first of the Seraphim that appeared in the beginning was killed by Masteria, a Ballista Class Hacker.

When most of their number began to die, they fought harder. Sykin was seen locked in combat with one until he was able to grab a hold of its wrist and blow open its forehead with an armor piercing .45 from his engraved Lancet.

Before the last one fell, more pale-green lightning shattered the rooftop and made the darkening clouds in the sky whirl. Dropping down from the heavens were more disturbing figures that formed into a great host of Seraphim; greater than 15 in number.

The battle raged. Blood from the human and Exile fighters painted the marble rooftop here and there, making one slip at times. Cracks in stones told tale of immense power conflicting. Yet still the battle raged, still the battle raged, and the operatives were losing.

This cannot be, Sykin thought, still fighting strong as he watched his friends being killed only to have to wait while their operators began the reconstruction process. What power could have summoned them without the Pandora code?

Sykin sensed a bullet ripping through the air towards him, but was fighting and could not dodge it. The round grazed his leg and he stumbled for a moment, receiving a few quick jabs to the face from his angelic opponent. The False Angel grabbed Sykin's collar, veins popping out from the back of the thing's hand, as it raised its fist. The killing blow fell like a hammer, falling as the fighting continued without much hope, falling...

...Then stopped with a harsh thump.

Sykin looked up to see a smooth ridge of a palm hit the False Angel's forearm when the hand quickly locked on to key points in the arm of Sykin's opponent, seizing with grace, and then a small twist.

The False Angel's eyes opened wide as its simulated bones cracked. Those eyes were shut permanently a second later when a sneakered foot smashed against the face of Sykin's opponent with tremendous, lethal force.

Sykin's brief saviour reset his stance, and in the blur of motion he was able to register who it was...

Seraph.

"Oh my...! SERAPH!!" GaZZunka shouted when he looked over to see their new ally in the fight. There were common shouts of surprise from all around:

"The Seraph?!"

The white coated warrior looked around briefly before he continued to fight, side by side with the operatives.

"Seraph! Well met!" Sykin said with a nod to Seraph. The legendary fight had just become a bit more legendary. Morale of the operatives shot sky-high.

"He's here to save the Matrix..." XPimp said with a bit of wonder.

"Pick on someone your own generation, Wingman!" Cynara screamed with delight as she, an Exile as well, continued in the fray. "Sorry, not you Seraph, no offense dear. An old friend of yours, perhaps?"

Nothing seemed to be able to phase the bodyguard of the Oracle. He pommeled his way through the enemy, fighting off the False Angels with an easy, tactical grace whose speed was unparalleled.

When at last the strongest of the host of Imposter Seraphim, Balthial, was fought and thrown off the tower to evaporate as damaged code as he fell down the one hundred floors of MetaCortex, defeated.

Everyone took a moment to catch their breath. Nothing like that had ever happened to them before. Seraph stood next to the entrance that lead out onto the rooftop of MetaCortex, composed. He was soon confronted with many of those he fought next to, many offering countless amounts of thanks and words of admiration for him.

"Seraph..." Sykin begin. "You have my gratitude, ten thousand fold."

They both bowed to one another as the others watched on.

"I have been looking for them," Seraph said with his quiet voice, "They are not supposed to be here, in this world."

"They were summoned by some unknown source, my friend." Sykin stated.

"I see. That is quite serious."

"We are thankful to have fought them back by your side."

"You fought very well." With those words by Seraph, Sykin wonder if this meant he wouldn't have to suffer a beating from the Exile just so he would get to know him better. Sykin was also extremely humbled.

"We all fought well." Sykin said.

Seraph replied, "You did not need my help. But I confess that I came..." He thought for a moment, "...Because I had to fight them for myself."

There were a few more pleasantries exchanged, and some questions were asked. Seraph had word of Sati: "Sati is well. I watch her grow every day." And, "Yes, I know who these "Seraphim" are. I was one of them."

There was some surprise from the crowd.

Sykin nodded; he thought as much. "I understand, though... I would like to hear your story, one day, Guardian..."

"Hm... 'Guardian'." Reeverb repeated, ponderingly.

"I must go. Thank you again." Seraph concluded. He then turned from the gathering towards the rooftop door and produced a key from his sleeve. Mysteriously, upon opening the door with the key, there was a white hallway inside that was not there before...

"Farewell, Seraph. We shall meet again." said Sykin.

When the door closed, Seraph once again made his way through the Backdoors; back to the Oracle and Sati, leaving Sykin and the crowd to speak more of their own affairs.

"Thank you. Thank you, all." Sykin stated again.

"You draq quite the diverse crowd, dont you Sykin..." Cynara inquired, jokingly.

"Well... I try to keep my friends close."

"And your enemies under your boot?"

"Indeed..." Sykin said, many of those around grinning at the interplay.

"...As you can all see..." He continued, "This... Free Verse Poet... Whatever he wants, it's a fight he will receive."

Once more the crowd agreed, this time with shouts and applause.

"I am honored by your bravery, this day!"

"I'm sure it's far from over." Procurator said.

"Yeah yeah, now your side of the deal..." Plectrum finally spoke up. There was a brief silence as the onlookers basked in a bit of confusion.

Sykin frowned, but he had made a deal. "Come forward, Plectrum. There are so many... Take this. It is a key. This key will take you to a door. Beyond that door you will meet my client... He can set you free."

Sykin momentarily thought of how pathetic that analogy was. Plectrum was a Cypherite. For his help fighting back the Imposter Seraphim, Sykin promised that he would secure a means where he can return to the Matrix via reinsertion. And Sykin did. Plectrum wasn't like other Cypherites; he wasn't like the cold blooded murders in many ways. But he wanted to be reinserted nonetheless.

"...Looks legit. This had better work."

"Return you to prison, you mean!" TPaine started out with an outraged cry. Many got the picture then. Sykin calmed them.

"Please, friends. He is not like other Cypherites. He means no death and destruction..."

Plectrum shot Sykin an accusatory glare "...Ok. I trust I'll see you at Parallaxis on the 13th..." Which was a fateful meeting later that week, the day in which Plectrum was successfully reinserted, the day when TasteeWheat was pronounced dead. The day when Sykin began to think about other friends he had lost, and despired. But that was later.

Sykin shook the man's hand, and Plectrum said, "If I remember anything, I hope it's this."

When Plectrum left the rooftop of MetaCortex, Sykin continued his closing speech on that eventful day. It was night time. The building's rooftop was in disarray; the damage lay silent and the rift had closed with the passing of the False Angels.

"What now, what now... So many paths to wander. So many words to say. Won't you come with me, all. Down the rabbit hole?"

There were instantly proclaims of 'Yes' and 'Always' and 'I will follow you' much to Sykin's surprise. He laughed, "Sorry, a little free verse of my own..."

There were salutes and thanks passed between every individual. Then Sykin said, "I will inform everyone when I can. The Matrix is safe... At the moment."

"Good day to you all." Sykin then walked from the crowd and towards the edge of the building. He stopped, reached into his pocket, and pulled forth the piece of paper he caught from the wind earlier that day.

The poem was gone but a new line remained. He read it aloud, softly, and cautiously, before he jumped into the night, releasing the paper to float down while the building behind him was changed by the System, instantly repaired, causing a small glitch in which the fall of the paper stuttered in the air...

"Vague memories, nothing but memories..."

**Procurator**

(( Very nice! SMILEY

I do enjoy reading narratives of events. You missed my name out in the initial list, mind. SMILEY

I look forward to the next chapter - or the next chapter I'll be in-game to help out with. ))

Sykin

(Heh, the initial list was made up of everyone Taxidermist clicked to see their info in the beginning of his log... And even I knew that wasn't everyone. We had tons more joining in after the event was going on. Thanks for the encouragement/compliments, Proc!)

**TPaine**

((One of the best event recaps I've read. I especially liked your elaborations on the Pandora Effect and the fighting that ensued. I assume the next episode is upcoming? Though if it is a poetry contest, you may have to deal with some incredibly corny limericks. With puns. :smileytongue: ))

TheTaxidermist

((cool , I'll have to keep in mind who im clicking on in the future SMILEY

Nice way of including people, and even better job of working in the spam from the crowd))

Sykin

TPaine wrote:
((One of the best event recaps I've read. I especially liked your elaborations on the Pandora Effect and the fighting that ensued. I assume the next episode is upcoming? Though if it is a poetry contest, you may have to deal with some incredibly corny limericks. With puns. :smileytongue: ))

(Haha, so someone has been paying attention to the forums. However, don't get so cocky--It definitely won't be happening next as far as I can tell. And thank you for the compliments. There's a few typos but... Eh. Glad you liked the read!)

RockyB

(( Hmm, "Even the Taxidermist with a Stinger slung across his back". Does this have anything to do with the fact that was the ONLY thing he did in this entire event? SMILEY

))

Sykin

(Heh, the Taxidermist got an extra nod of detail because it was his log and I couldn't erase the millions upon millions of 'You did ### damage to _______ with a Stinger (### + ###) vs. (### + ###)!)

H4TERADE