[1 year ago]

He held to the steel pipe as hard as he could as he slowly slithered his body down it. Turning his head he looked down to check how far the flat surface was below him. It was made of steel and covered with rocks and debris from fallen ships and inoperable sentinels from battles fought. The floor was much closer now then before. When he first crawled unto the rusty pipe and started down the long tunnel there was nothing but an emptiness below him. Now he could see a landing. Now he could see the end of his journey through the Real. Now he could see the ship.

He clenched his body closer to the pipe and tensed his muscles just before flinging his body from the pipe and to the base of the sewer. He fell for what could be estimated as four-hundred yards before smashing into a pit of glass and shards of metal. Bones snapped and cracked as his body bounced from the impact. He lay for a moment before sitting up and shaking the dirt and glass from his head. He reached down and slowly slid his hands along his body, feeling out each shard that had wedged into his cold flesh. He wrapped his fist around a large piece imbedded into his leg, then another in his lower back. He pulled out a final piece, deep within his ribcage, imbedded so deep it was taking all his effort to remove. The edges scrapped along his bone as each inch raised out, and with a final jerk he pulled it out in front of him.

He examined the brown quagulated blood that slowly oozed down the grimy glass shard. His head then dropped down to his chest and studied the blood that slimed down the open wound a quarter inch before stopping. There was little blood left in his rigor body. He raised to one knee, then planted his hands to the ground and slowly raised to his feet. His limbs were stiff and cracked with every movement. Almost naturally he slid the large shard of glass into the waist line of his tattered shorts and moved forward.

He slowly began to stumble forward, and gazed up at the ship ahead. This was not a standard ship, it was much shorter, smaller then most. He stumbled to the hull and slowly slid his hand along the steel surface, with his fingers he made out an imprint of a brilliant horse standing on it's hind legs with wings like an angel.

"Yessss..."

His tongue flopped out of his mouth and slowly ran along his lips. He could taste the blood already. He kept running his hand along the underbelly of the ship, weaving between hover pads as he made his way to the landing gear. He used the steel strip to prop himself up and slowly began to slither through the gears into the ship. He flaccidly worked his body in and out of the gears, breaking and popping bones as need be to further himself. Without warning the weight of the ship shifted, and his fingers somehow wedged between two large metal pieces of the ships machinery. He pulled a few out with ease, but one was crushed underneath the steel. He began yanking as hard as he could, popping the bone from it's place and stretching the flesh apart until the finger ripped from his hand.

He climbed further up and found his way into the undercarriage. He rolled onto his back and glanced up, noticing a dim green light glowing through the steel platform above him. Reaching up he grasped a hold of the steel caged floorboard and pulled himself to his knees. He observed the deck above for any signs of life before gently lifting the steel and sliding it aside. Hobbling his body up, one limb at a time, he slumped it into the room above him. Finally, pulling his body fully into the ship, he laid lifeless on the steel floor.

"Sir." The young operator turned around in his chair, addressing the captain with a bit of urgency. The older man, long beard and pepper hair, know as the captain turned his attention to the operator and acknowledged him with a simple nod. "Our scanners have picked up a body beneath the ship." "Is it alive?" The captain asked curiously. "It doesn't appear so sir, our thermals are picking up no sign of body heat." "To hell with it then." The captain turned stubbornly, only to come face to face with his first mate, his most trustworthy, his lover. "Were going down there and burying the body." She said as she crossed her arms, her eyebrows folded into a stern look. "Like hell we are." replied the captain. His first mate then argued back, "What if that body down there was one of ours, would you care then? Either way that doesn't matter. That was someone, and that someone deserves a proper burial." The captain grunted and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, while his first mate stood there giving him the same glare. Eventually the captain turned his eyes away from the roof of the ship and to his lover, "Fine." He then raised his voice for the whole crew to listen, "Anyone who cares about this..." He looked to his lover, "Person, can go below deck and bury it themselves." Before he finished with his last word he was marching off, heading towards his steel cabin. A smile of triumph grew across the first mate's face. She then raised her voice for all to hear, "Anyone willing, follow me." She began for the elevator that would lead them down to the surface. The entire crew, made up of 5 men and one other female, followed closely behind.

As the elevator slammed into the hard warped surface they began to pile out, shovels in hand. The first mate walked slowly to the body, signaling to the others to stay back while she investigated. She knelt down beside it, pinching her nose from the awful scent that elevated from the corpse, then began running her eyes up and down the cadaver. "Dear God!" She let out. The other's around her looked on with curiosity. "What is it?" The other female blurted out. The first mate shook her head, "This poor, poor man. He's ripped to *poop*." She lifted an arm, which followed with several cracking sounds coming from the stiff joints. "His arms are broken..." Then she let the arm drop and reached down to squeeze the thigh, "...and so are his legs, but that's not the worst of it." The crowd leaned in, drawn by the grotesque description of the body. Finally one of the men, the one who had informed the captain of the body, questioned with intent, "Well, what is the worst?" The captain slowly stood, leaving her eyes on the cold body that lay before her. "He's missing his jaw, like the entire thing, gone." The other female of the group let out a sound only described as utterly grossed out, while the male at the end of the group hunched over and let out a belch followed by his lunch. One of the other men laughed at him, "Nice." He said in a humorous tone. The spewing one was able to blurt out the words "Shut up" between belches. The group began to laugh, but was quickly silence by the first mate. "That's enough. Let's give this man a peaceful place to rest." The crew nodded and lifted their picks and shovels, digging into the hard earth. The first mate stayed by the body, watching over it with caring eyes.

The crew laid exhausted, their shovels and picks lying about, used from a hard labor. The hole was now dug, rather deeper then to be expected for this quick burial. The first mate let the crew rest a bit, then roused them up while clapping her hands, "Alright you guys, let's put this poor fellow in there, say a few words, then be on our way." The group moaned a bit, but raised to their feet with a slight quickness. They all gathered around the body, bending down and lifting it slowly, their heads turned in avoidance to the repulsive stench. As they raised it the arms fell limp to it's sides, swaggering with rigor. The crew couldn't keep their eyes on the body as they carried it, all except for one, the other female, who let her eyes look down upon the face of the dead. She screamed and dropped her portion, throwing the whole ensemble off. "What is it?" one of the men asked. "The eyes... they're open.." She answered, her body shaking in panic. "Yeah, so.." the man replied, "They're sometimes like that." The woman shook her head to his response, "No... they weren't...I mean...They opened!" She shrieked. The group looked at her like she was mad. "What do you mean they opened?" Asked the first mate. "Well..." replied the girl, "I was watching his face...the eyes...at first they were closed... but then they opened!" One of the men crept over the body and glanced down, studying the face. "They're closed now, you're just seeing things." She shook her head, knowing that couldn't be true. With all her might, fighting the sheer panic surging through her body, she crept forward to examine the eyes that once scared her half to death. She peered down on the gruesome face, and noticed the eyes at had glanced up were now once again shut. She shook her head, "No...no...I saw them open!" She exclaimed.

She glanced back down, and as she did the eyelids of the body flung open, and in the same swiftness the arm of the body raised, it's hand clenching her throat. She tried to scream, but only a soft shriek emerged, and the group around her screamed for her as they jumped back from the surprise. Suddenly there was a loud snap, and the girls head fell sideways, her neck crunched together. Her body quickly became limp. One of them men quickly ran up and began kicking the body in all his might, but it left no effect. The body twisted, full of life despite it's appearance of death, and grabbed the man's leg, quickly snapping it in two. He fell to the ground beside the body, and the corpse rolled over on top of him, digging it's thumbs into his eyes till finally the over-grown finger nails reached his brain, leaving a nothing limp body. The remaining crowd stood back in awe, preparing themselves to fight as they gathered together. The corpse crawled off the lifeless body of the man and crawled forward, reaching for a left behind pick only a foot away. It grabbed hold, then, in an orchestra of cracks and snaps it raised to it's feet, turning to the remaining crew. The crew stood there, looking on in horror and anger, one holding a pick, two holding a shovel, readying themselves for what was to come next.

The largest of the crew, holding the pick, stepped forward two paces, coming in a close enough range to the corpse. He swung it with all his might, and the deceased man didn't move an inch to dodge the steel spike coming straight at him. It pierced his side, and had bumped him over a little as to where he had to readjust his position. The dead man looked down at the wound with a sinister grin, then glanced up at the man still holding the handle of the pick. He shot the man a menacing grin, then swung the metal spike of the pick directly into the top of his head. The man still stood, held up by the pick that the corpse still had a hold of. Then with a few jiggles of the handle, the man's head slowly slid off of the pick and fell to the floor, creating a bloody splash from the top of his skull. The corpse reached over, and ripped the other pick from his side with his free hand.

There he stood, what once was a worm ridden corpse now held two picks in his hands and gave the remaining crew what looked to be a evil smile with his remaining upper lip, beckoning for them to come to their death. All five of the remaining crew members just stood there, looking at the cadaver with tear-filled fearful eyes that expressed pain and anger. They stood there in silence, sizing each other up as the brown blood slowly dripped from the side of the corpse man's side. Without warning the silence was broken by the radio attached to the first mate's side. "Dabnabit, what the hell is taken you guys so long?" The captain's voice rang out and echoed through the empty tunnel. Slowly the woman reached down and spoke into the microphone, "He's alive." She said. "What do you mean he's alive?" The captains voice questioned through the intercom. She reached for her mic and spoke again. "He's alive, and he's killed a few of us. Call for help." "What!?" replied the captain. "I'm coming down there right now." He said. She quickly responded, "No, don't. Radio for help, we'll take care of him." She said sternly. There was silence again, and the cadaver was looking on, still holding his menacing grin, waiting for the team to move.

"On three..." The first mate whispered. "One...two...three!" The entire crew ran full force at the corpse, screaming with all their lungs might. The cadaver didn't move, he stood motionless till the first swing came at his head. With a startling swiftness he ducked down, dodging the blow, then twisted his body to avoid the oncoming shovel at his side. For what seemed forever the dead man twisted and spun, ducking and dodging nearly every blow sent in his direction. He didn't fight back at first, not even when the seldom blows that did make contact sent him in a rage. Finally he spun around, letting the head of the pick but the first mate in the jaw, sending her flying back several feet. The assault didn't weaken with his sudden will to fight back. Blows rained, and he even took a smack to the face by one of the shovels, but nothing could slow him down. He swung his body in a full circle, catching one in the side with the pick in his left hand. The man went down just as swiftly as the pick entered his body. Three were left, two on his side and one right in front. The one on the right was banging a shovel against his back, while the other two threw first left and right. He spun the picks around in full circle, planting the tips in the bottom of the two men's to his sides jaw line. The man in front keep wailing until he realized the other two had been taken down. He stood there, panting heavily, staring the corpse in it's dead eyes.

The dead man raised one of the picks, taunting the man with it. Quickly the man flung his arm out and grabbed hold of the handle, tugging at it, trying to pry it from the dead guy's hand. It was of no use, the dead hand had a tight grip that wouldn't let go. The dead flicked his wrist and in an instant the sharp end of the pick was lodged in the shoulder of the man's arm. The man screamed in anguish, lifting the spike out his arm. He watched in horror as blood squirted and ran all the way down, dripping off his finger tips. He held the wound, staring at it till he heard a faint sound come from the corpse. It sounded of a slight gurgle at first, as if the dead guy was downing, but then he could make it out. He was laughing. The corpse was laughing at the man. Enraged the man swung with his good arm, driving his fist straight for the dead guy's face. But to his dismay, the only thing it struck was the steel head of the pick, crushing his knuckles against it. The cadaver laughed even harder now. The man looked at the cadaver, and with sorrowful tears in his eyes he began to beg for his life. This ceased the laughter, and the dead man looked straight into the man's eyes, the anger in them piercing like darts. The corpse then opened his arms, as if to make wings of them, then turned the handles of the picks, holding them sideways. The man begged, "Plea.." but before he could finish the word the cadaver brought the two heads of the picks together, concaving the man's head from the sides. The body dropped, and the corpse looked about at his victims.

He tossed the picks aside and grabbed a hold of the feet of two of the men, and began to drag them to the empty hole in the earth. He flung them in, one by one, saving the female he had first killed for last. As he dragged her limp body by the air to the open hole, a shadow began to rise behind him. Suddenly, he was being grappled from behind. The first mate dug her nails into his flesh, and squeezed his rib cage with her legs until she could feel the bones snap in two. Enraged the cadaver reached behind and grabbed her by the air, flinging her over his head, and yanking out a large patch of hair in the process. The first mate hit the dirt with a loud thud, then laid there, coughing in pain. He grabbed her once more by the hair, still holding the hair of the other female he began to drag both of them. He stopped by the pit and flung the dead woman in, then continued to drag the first mate all the way up to the elevator.

"Emergency, emergency! This is the captain of the SS $%!$l(&*t, we need back-up immediately! Immediately! Do you understand?! There is something out there killing my crew members. Some sort of... dead body... is attacking my crew. I want the nearest ship to get their asses over here now!" "Dead body you say? Dear lord, I thought it was just a rumor." Replied the voice on the other end. "What are you talking about?!" Demanded the captain. "Well," The voice came back, "It might be, but I'm not sure, I mean I've heard of this exile that has control over a human body in the real. I always thought it to be foolish but..." The captain flung the headset against the computer, the faint voice over the microphone rang out, "Help is on their way." But the words meant nothing to him as he sobbed in the operators chair.

Suddenly he jumped, the noise of the elevator had caught him off guard. It was moving, someone was coming up. Quickly he jumped out of the seat and darted across the room, picking up an e.m.p. gun and charging it up. The sounds of the gun and elevator began to fade under the shriek shrill of a female's screaming as the elevator moved further up. He couldn't, didn't, accept it. He whispered to himself, "It can't be." But just as soon the elevator had stopped, and there laid his lover, held like a disciplined dog by this, walking corpse. It raised her up to her feet by her hair, and slowly began walking forward, holding her out in front of it. "Stop...don't...don't you come any closer or I'll shoot! I know what you are, and who you are!" yelled the captain. His lover shrieked back, "No! Don't shoot! You'll kill me too!" and the captain quickly realized she was right. He slowly set down the gun and began bargaining with the corpse, "Take it, take it all. Take anything you want. You want the ship, it's yours. Just don't hurt her, please don't hurt her." A slow gurgling noise began to form behind the woman's head, which quickly turned into laughter. The captain then grew furious, "If you harm a hair on her head I swear to god..." The corpse only laughed harder. It walked slowly into the light, letting it's face be shown to the captain. "Dear god..." The captain said, startled by the hideous features. The corpse then let his tongue flap around, eventually sliding across the cheek of the first mate. Infuriated, the captain ran quickly towards the cadaver, ready to attack. The corpse then flung the woman aside, ready for the captain. With a fist high in the air the captain went to strike, but as soon as he got close enough he was stopped dead in his tracks. A large piece of metal shrapnel pierce him, dead center of his rib cage, right through the bottom of his heart. Blood began to trickle down his mouth and out the wound, and his lover, the first mate, screamed in sheer horror as she saw her love pierced. In a last breath he collapsed to the floor, defeated.

The cadaver let go of the piece of metal as the captain sank, then turned his attention back to the first mate. She sat on the floor, sobbing, painted white with grief and horror. The corpse walked slowly up to her, letting his shadow cover her entire curled body. He slowly reached down, she slapped his hand away, then he slapped her. Defeated she looked up, and he reached for her jaw once more, and began to caress it with the most gentle of touches that a corpse can give. He then raised his other hand and grabbed the back of her head, and in one quick twist followed by a load snap, he spun it back-ways.

He walked to the main control room, and took a seat in the captains chair. Voices rang out over the load speaker of the intercom. "Were here captain, were hovering right behind your ship. Just tell us what to do. Captain? Captain, are you there?" The corpse picked up the mic and began laughing into it, but all that came out on the other end was a gargling noise they couldn't quite make out. Voices kept ringing in, "Captain, is that you? Are you hurt? Say something, if you cant send us a feed, at least type something for Christ's-sake." The cadaver set down the microphone and picked up the controls for the ship, pressing numbers and buttons, activating it's hover-drive. More voices came, "Captain, what's going on?" Then faintly in the background came, "Someone's taken over the ship, it's got to be. Get our ship ready for evasive maneuvers. We might have to chase the sum-a-*CENSORED*."

"Ma chère mort, how good it is to see you."

His sleek mohawk bristled in the breeze that flowed through the towering structures. He lowered his head slowly. There he sat upon one knee before his liege, his round black glasses slid forward down his nose revealing his devout glare. He said nothing as he waited.

"It is such unusual that I should see you this early, non? Normally you sleep, deux, cinq cents years, non? Not that it matters. What really matters is why you are here. You know exactly why you are here, non?"

17 paused for a moment leaving the silence to the birds. His eyes slowly rolled up to meet the tips of his eye brows. A sinister look formed in his ugly face, yet oddly a silly look gleamed in his eyes. The Merovingian laughed slightly and tapped his cane on the cement before him. He tipped his head back and quickly returned the conversation.

"This is what I love about les morts, always straight to the point. You know exactly why you are here, as do I. You had a dream. A silly peu de rêve. Ah, yes, but in this dream you found something, what was it, do you know? Of course you do, or else you would not be here awaiting your next move. Yes, it is simply obvious you know all about your present time, but tell me dead, have you not forgotten your past? Have you not forgotten how you betrayed me for that silly masked cause?"

His exposed vocal cords began to vibrate beneath his black bandana. His voice was deep. It wasn't in the aspect that his vocal cords let out a shallow shrill, it was mostly from the blood he constantly gargled on that gave his voice this horrid deep appearance. This was undoubtedly one of a hundred reasons why he rarely took the time to speak.

"I have since paid for my actions."

"No. You were my concierge lackey only as a means to, how do you say, put you in your place. The real debt is yet to be paid. Which brings me to your future. Do you know what your future will be, la morte?"

"No."

"Of course you do not. Alas, not even I know precisely what the future will bring us, but we do know whom may have such information on the subject, non? The answer to that is so simple any rouge de pillule could answer it for us. Such a tragedy, the little girl gone, 'er bodyguard indisposed. Ah, yes, it is in your eyes, you now see what it is I want, non?"

Seventeen nodded his head slowly.

"Good. I will hold you no longer. Bring them to me."

Dead stood slowly with his head still lowered. He began to turn his body and take his leave before he was restrained by the Merovingian's hand on his shoulder.

"..And remember, ma chère mort, there will be consequences."

O noez knot anuder 1!

That's right, this is my goodbye. My account doesn't officially end until the 12th, but I'm as inactive as neo's floaty RSI at this point. I'm not leavening because the game isn't 100% up to par, nor out of spite to any fellow MxO gamers. It's just not my bag anymore. I'm done with games all together, so don't take it personal.

Phrack ol' buddy, give 'em hell. MMFJFL.

Same goes to Lezel, MCL to all the ninjas in the shadows.

E, TEH PARTAY NVR DYEZZ!!!!!!11!

Vanil, don't let these haters slow you down just because they're jealous. You write with a grace they cant match nor ever will.

Alice, sorry I wont have much injuries for you to fix anymore.

Vesueveus - I've always admired your courage. Never stop pursuing your dreams.

Void, Hm, still a mystery but I do not disregard any interaction, and such has always been pleasant. Blessed be.

Same goes to everyone else whom I have interacted with at some point in this game. Even if it was something as simple as a handshake, thank you.

I leave you all with these final words.. and a final thought. Always remember, the difference between Role-Play and Screenplay is simply * and []. My only regret is never taking the opportunity to join The Tetragrammaton.

PEACE!

I waited. I was early, but I always liked to be early. Not too early, though. The station was silent, save for a bum that tossed on his cardboard box. This didn't last long, as the sound of footsteps began to echo through the station. I watched as he came down the stairs, an unusual man indeed. He was dressed to impress, or so they say, for he wore a suit and tie covered by a long trench. Everything he wore was red, save for his boots. The entire suit, blood red. I thought that to be odd. Odd enough, he also wore a bandana across his face. Huh. Here's this business like man coming down, yet he wears that bandana like a common street thug.

His boots echoed as he made his way toward me, toward the edge of the platform, and veered down the tunnel to see any sign of the train. I just stared. I know it's not nice, but I couldn't help it, this guy was almost from some sort of science fiction novel of some sort. He began to turn his head to look at me and I quickly darted mine away, to avoid suspicion of my staring. I nearly jumped out of my flesh as he began to speak.

"Time?"

I looked at him baffled.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you happen to have the time?"

"Oh, uhhhhh."

I looked down at my watch.

"9:41."

"We have time."

"Time for what?"

I asked, but soon regretted.

"Would you care to hear a story?"

He asked. What a question to ask. I didn't care for this guy, or his story, but he struck me as so odd. I thought about it for a second, a guy like this has got to have a great story.

"Sure. How long is this going to take?"

"Only a minute, or two..."

((

I'm completly changeing SeventeenDead around to something less stupified. Honestly, Im sick of Jon Rico, and want him to lay to rest, so from now on, my blue pill name means nothing but a false identity to cover him up in a blue pill society. I'm absolutly no longer human, not 1 oz. Not a red pill. Therefor, I will never be in the real, and I am obviously an Exile. The current past of my character I have now is going to be tossed out the window, though he will remain jawless. My ethnicity is no longer Hispanic, and is now Navaho. One main thing that will remain constant is my sneaking in the shadows, I'll never stop sneaking.

Considering my Exhilism, and the background I'm planning, 17 will no longer be defient of every org and every person within the Matrix as before. He is in service to the Mero along with the others like himself, of course as gratitude for his current position within the Matrix. I'm no longer aboard Vanil's ship, but under the code of Dark Lotus, and in the faction Mercenaries Inc. Which means one important thing, the hitman is back.

Happy Gameing.

))

"....rain a coming'; it's Rollin' 'round the bend,
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when.
I'm stuck at Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin' on.
But that train keeps Rollin' on down to San Antone."

He sighed.

"When I was just a baby, my mama told me, "Son,
Always be a good boy; don't ever play with guns."
But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
When I hear that whistle blowin' I hang my head and cry."

Web browser add-ons: what you need to know

Web browser add-ons add functionality-like extra toolbars, animated mouse pointers, stock tickers, and pop-up ad blockers-to your Web browser to make browsing a little more fun or effective.

How add-ons end up on your computer

Many add-ons come from the Internet. Most add-ons from the Internet require that you give your permission before they are downloaded to your computer. Some, however, might be downloaded without your knowledge. This can happen if you previously gave permission for all downloads from a particular Web site or because the add-on was part of another program that you installed. Some add-ons are installed with Microsoft Windows.

Some add-ons can shut down your browser

Add-ons are typically fine to use, but sometimes they force Internet Explorer to shut down unexpectedly. This can happen if the add-on was poorly built or created for an earlier version of Internet Explorer.

Here's what you can do:

• Update it: If the add-on is an ActiveX component, you should check to see if the item has been updated.
• Disable it: If an add-on causes repeated problems, you can disable the add-on.
• Report it: When prompted, please allow the problem to be reported to Microsoft. This is completely anonymous and requires nothing from you but permission. These reports are used to improve our products and to encourage other companies to update and improve theirs.

I have restarted my web browser at least 15 times trying to insert an image. Everytime, it shuts down on me, why? These forums are a sorry excuse. My phpBB forums are better, hell, least they have edit.

I'm not asking to go back to the old forums, and I'm not complaining either. I'm simply telling you what is wrong. Consider this my ccr ticket in regards to these forums.

*Wizzzzzzzz*

Another bullet passed before his face. He watched it float by like a butterfly, there was no need to dodge, that bullet wasn't meant for him. He sighed lightly through his mask, the air creating a whistle through his empty throat.

"Humans.."

He said to himself lightly.

The exile in him rolled his eyes.

The human in him rolled his eyes.

He stood in the shade of a tree as the people around him continued to fight. This wasn't his battle, and the only time he got involved was when a freshly released human missed his target with a blade and sent it straight for Seventeen, in which he simply swatted the knife out of the sky like a bug and wagged his finger at the red pill. Of course, he went on to make his usual a**hole comment...

"Perhaps a dart board will help teach you, tastee wheat."

The red pill squinted his eyes before being jumped from behind by another human. Seventeen just laughed. He couldn't care any less. Voices continued to go on, shouts of pain and cries of war echoing through the Camon back alley ways. He continued to ignore every noise but the own humming inside his mind, until one voice rang out like a fog horn in the mist.

"Your time is up, deary."

He looked out of the corner of his dark oval glasses to notice a women in a black dress, with a rose pinned to her chest. Her grey hair swayed as she rose the rifle, aiming it directly at Seventeen's head.

"What... the..."

He responded as the bullet left the chamber, gliding towards his masked face like an eagle swooping to its prey. He knew it quickly, this was no similar bullet he had watched wiz past his face all day.

"No!"

It was too late to dodge, she had blind sided him. The bullet struck his right temple, sending his body into the tree beside him.

The Lady slowly walked over to the fallen body. A small smile of satisfaction on her face. He had a past with her, a long time ago he had been hired to take a hit out, but instead of death, she chose to pay extra. The old switch-er-oo, happened all the time. The only problem was, he had never held his end of the bargain, ergo he walked away a pocket heavier, while she watched her rival live to see another day. As she came upon his fallen body, she slowly pulled a long stem rose from her pocket.

She slowly kneeled down and placed it on top of the decaying self image, tugging ever so slightly on one of the blood red pedals, to straighten out a wrinkle.

"You belong to me now, my dear Seventeen."

He opened his eyes to a white room, no floor, no ceiling, just white. He tried to move, but could not, he needed darkness, so much as his own shadow could give him the strength to hop a lake, but there was no darkness, only bright, white light.

"That Vixen!"

He shouted inside the construct. He knew where he was, he had lived in the same place for a human lifetime, just before it was consumed by his human host. Needless to say, he wasn't happy with his current position. He sighed and did the only thing he could do, sit.

He opened his eyes. He reached around and pulled the jack out of his head like he had always done, this time a bit more frantic. He noticed immediately, the constant buzzing in the back of his head was gone. This scared him. After so many years, he had gotten used to it, almost dependant on it, but now without the humming, he felt helpless. He took a deep breath, inhaling the stench of rotting bodies. He began to gag and cough, the smell was un-bearable. As his eyes darted to the smell he realized for the first time he was by himself on a ship full of dead bodies. He leaned over in his chair and began vomiting. Several minutes had passed, and the sloppy goop had finished expelling from his mouth. He looked back at the stack of dead bodies...

..He asked himself in dismay. Suddenly it hit him like a fright train. The ship, and it's course.

He jumped from his seat, sliding on his own extremities but quickly gaining his balance. He darted to the ladder across the deck, heading up to the cockpit. As he raced up the ladder his feet slid on every other step, but he continued to struggle to the top. When he had finally reached the cockpit he looked out the window to see the newly reconstructed Vatican off in the distance, no more then five-hundred yards.

He let out a sigh of relief and sat down in the pilot seat. He pressed a button on the main steering column. A female electronic voice came out.

"Auto pilot engaged."

He flipped a switch directly next to the button..

"Auto pilot disenga... Auto pilot engaged."

He cocked his head sideways like a curios mutt. He flipped the switch once again.

"Auto pilot disenga... Auto pilot engaged."

"What the f*ck!"

He shouted into the computer, actually expecting a response. He flipped the switch once more, the female electronic voice replied..

"Auto pilot engaged. Sorry Jonny boy, but it's the end of the line."

"Oh god..."

He couldn't believe it. Even in the real he never had control over himself, even in the real the virus could get to him, control his actions blindly. He began to slam on the brakes, but much to his dismay they did nothing but turn on another electronic response.

"Accept your fate, Jonny boy"

He slammed the brakes again. Watching the Neonite temple grow closer.

"Accept your fate, Jonny boy"

He slammed on them numerous times...

"Accept your fate, Jonny boy

Accept your fate, Jonny boy

Accept your fate, Jonny boy

Accept your fate, Jonny boy

Accept your fate, Jonny boy"

Finally he couldn't take it and shouted back at the system...

"Shut the f*ck up!"

He slammed his fist into the voice box, and the voice slowly died down. Suddenly the intercom rang out with a familiar voice, a human voice.

"SS Opfer, we have received your signal. Slow your speed and bring her in lightly. Welcome home."

"Sh*t! They don't know!"

He was frustrated. There was nothing he could do, nothing but what the voice had told him to do, accept his fate.

He told himself..

He jumped out of his seat and slammed open the cockpit door, then dove out of the cockpit into the main hall, slamming on his face. He quickly rose to his feet and bolted to the body or Sorella, grabbing it by the ankle and dragging her off of the seat she had died in. He could hear the voice COM link from the cockpit ring out.

"SS Opfer, slow your speed, now!"

He continued to dart to the elevator, slamming the gate open and tossing Sorella's body inside. He began to hear a loud static as the EMP burst through the halls of the ship. His body fell, almost lifeless, he couldn't move, he was paralyzed. He laid directly across from the young female body, having no choice but to stare at her pale face. He heard the crashing behind him begin, and quickly after he watched as fire wrapped around, and consumed his body.

Was all he could think as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, into the darkness.

For Barakoa

"Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he's a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.

I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen' that we all were on their side.

Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.

Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter, I'm the Man In Black."

~ Johnny Cash

((so some things make sense, he killed a zion crew and took their ship.))

The code falls aimlessly, yet in a pattern. The only light source on the deck. He chucked rocks into all the other lights on the ship, save a few in the mess hall. He liked it that way, dark. He sat in front of the monitor, never looking up, his eyes only focus on the blood. Silence. He liked it that way, too. Since he first walked out he's picked up a few stragglers along the way, and from time to time they could get rowdy, he always told them Silence is bliss, but they never listened. He glanced up at the bodies stacked on one another. Yet another sense he oddly seemed to like, the smell of rotting flesh. His attention went back to his hand, in which he was carving numbers into with his blood-stained shard of glass. He dug the shard deeper as he carved a vertical line, straight across his palm prints.

He whispered to himself in the darkness...

He went on, carving the top line, completing the seven. His ear twitched as he heard the sound of small, soft steps, pitter pattering into the deck. Another nightmare he thought. He braced himself...

"Why the F%^& haven't you cleaned this garbage up!"

She yelled at him, pointing down at the rotting bodies. He didn't even look up, just kept staring down at his hand, watching the blood drip as he began to carve a circle.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

He continued to stare down, ignoring the shouts, needless to say that didn't make her happy. THWAP! His head bounced a bit, and the constant undertone of ringing in his ears grew louder, but he never looked up, just cringed as he finished the circle with a sharp puncture from the smack. Then he began another circle right beside it.

"Nut job."

She said as she walked into the mess hall, slamming the door shut with all the might her young body could produce. He looked up. She was a rowdy one, if you couldn't already tell. Always interrupting his silence. He loved her for it, though. He loved them all for it. If it weren't for their senseless sanity, he wouldn't have the tiny bit left. He went back down to his work, finishing the final curve of the circle.

"There."

He said to himself after completing the final circle. He held his hand out, blood dripping down the side onto his already-blood-stained shirt. He gazed upon the carved numbers in his palm. His eyes were wide with glee and a smile grew ear to ear, his Mona Lisa, his Van Gogh, his masterpiece. Oh, how proud he was. His thank you speech began in his mind...

He continued smiling, still staring down at his palm. He raised out of his seat and slid the shard of glass back into his back pocket.

"Ooooh, Soooorrrrr..."

~ Jon Rico

For Barakoa

"Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he's a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.

I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen' that we all were on their side.

Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.

Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter, I'm the Man In Black."

~ Johnny Cash

The code falls aimlessly, yet in a pattern. The only light source on the deck. He chucked rocks into all the other lights on the ship, save a few in the mess hall. He liked it that way, dark. He sat in front of the monitor, never looking up, his eyes only focus on the blood. Silence. He liked it that way, too. Since he first walked out he's picked up a few stragglers along the way, and from time to time they could get rowdy, he always told them Silence is bliss, but they never listened. He glanced up at the bodies stacked on one another. Yet another sense he oddly seemed to like, the smell of rotting flesh. His attention went back to his hand, in which he was carving numbers into with his blood-stained shard of glass. He dug the shard deeper as he carved a vertical line, straight across his palm prints.

He whispered to himself in the darkness...

He went on, carving the top line, completing the seven. His ear twitched as he heard the sound of small, soft steps, pitter pattering into the deck. Another nightmare he thought. He braced himself...

"Why the F%^& haven't you cleaned this garbage up!"

She yelled at him, pointing down at the rotting bodies. He didn't even look up, just kept staring down at his hand, watching the blood drip as he began to carve a circle.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

He continued to stare down, ignoring the shouts, needless to say that didn't make her happy. THWAP! His head bounced a bit, and the constant undertone of ringing in his ears grew louder, but he never looked up, just cringed as he finished the circle with a sharp puncture from the smack. Then he began another circle right beside it.

"Nut job."

She said as she walked into the mess hall, slamming the door shut with all the might her young body could produce. He looked up. She was a rowdy one, if you couldn't already tell. Always interrupting his silence. He loved her for it, though. He loved them all for it. If it weren't for their senseless sanity, he wouldn't have the tiny bit left. He went back down to his work, finishing the final curve of the circle.

"There."

He said to himself after completing the final circle. He held his hand out, blood dripping down the side onto his already-blood-stained shirt. He gazed upon the carved numbers in his palm. His eyes were wide with glee and a smile grew ear to ear, his Mona Lisa, his Van Gogh, his masterpiece. Oh, how proud he was. His thank you speech began in his mind...

He continued smiling, still staring down at his palm. He raised out of his seat and slid the shard of glass back into his back pocket.

"Ooooh, Soooorrrrr..."

~ Jon

"Hello Randy" I said to the man walking through the door. He took a seat next to me at the sushi bar and replied "Hello Jon, it's been a while". I know I'm not the prettiest, and without a bandana on I would send tormenting thoughts through people that would end in their asylum, but that's just another reason to love the Matrix. Things can be fixed, written over with new code, humans can never tell the difference. That is, unless their eyes are open. Randy's eyes were open. Everyone saw a lowly civil worker with a name badge, but he saw the truth, black bandana, mohawk, tattooed face, the works.

"It's been a while." he said picking up his menu and opening it. I tapped my fingers on top of mine, I never looked inside, never needed to. I nodded my head to him slowly, acknowledging the past me and him had together. The Army makes family out of people, pardon the cheesy slogan, but it does. He ordered and I sat quietly. Me and the virus had a talk before, we both agreed this was my area of expertise. I could hear it humming a song quietly in the back of my mind, being the never ending headache that it is. To break the silence, and the non, I decided to bring back an old memory. "Remember when we ransacked the command ship of it's supplies and destroyed our first ship?" "I'm still hung-over." he snapped back as if he were thinking of the same memory. We had a laugh that only lasted a moment. It was back to silence again, and the waitress was pouring our glasses of sake. She took his order, and our menus, and we sat silent a moment sipping our cups. "So it'll be just the same?" he asked out of the blue. "Exactly as it was before." I said sternly, this was business to me. "Good." he said with a sigh. He looked at the floor for a moment then began to speak "It's just not..." "I know." I interrupted. He nodded his head.

The cook came out smiling with our meals. He placed them down on the table, smiling and bowing with praises of tanoshimu as he walked back into the kitchen. He picked up his chopsticks and shoved his head into a bowl of rice, picking up a sushi roll in-between gulps. I didn't even look at my meal. Instead I reached into my pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. It's reflection from the lights caught the eyes of a couple people in the restaurant, but they paid no mind, it was just a twinkle in their eyes. I opened it up, taking one out and gently placing it down on his napkin, in plain sight. Neither of us smoked. He slowly began to stop eating, and stared down at it out of the corner of his eyes. The white of the napkin making the blue stand out like a patch of sky on a cloudy day.

He set his bowl and chopsticks down, staring down at the pill on his napkin. His eyes rose up and looked directly to me. He looked past the outer shell of code, through the glasses kept underneath, and into the yellow eyes of mine that hid in the dark. He knew it was time, and a nod from me made no difference. He pinched it and lifted it to his eyes, the same twinkle shining bright from the reflection inside the blue pill. He looked back at me once more, "Exactly as I remember, right? Every last detail?" I nodded to him with sincerity. He placed it on his tongue and tilted back his cup of sake. I closed the case and placed it back into my pocket, then placed my napkin on my un-touched food and stood to walk away. He grabbed my wrist and looked up into my eyes again, "Thank you." he said. I nodded, again, and he let go of my wrist and I began to walk out. "I'll see ya around." he said to me with my back turned, trying to get one last response. I reached the door and pushed it half way open, then turned around and faced him. "No, you wont." I responded, and walked out into the rain.

"Shut up."

"I Pour Out My Soul To You Makes Me Suffocate"

Here I am, left with the decision, stay or go? A month ago I stopped payments on my station pass, planning on paying for MxO alone, but now that I reach that point I sit and wonder if I should bother renewing my account. I can think of a number of reasons to leave, all that I will not name here to leave to your imagination. There's also a number of reasons to stay, probably just as many as there are to leave. So here I am, torn.

Can you tell me, Recursion, why I should stay?

You think..... I wanted this? My last memory.... there was no pill, no rabbit hole. Instead of emotions flared with curiosity and excitement, the thrill of a new world, a new home to leave your empty shell of a life...

..Instead...... I got suffering......and pain.......and guilt. My home gone. My family gone. Oh, it's ok though, I got a new one in the real. Where are they now you ask? Most are dead.... even more missing. Home?...

..Well, funny story see, this is my home. Not bad if I do say so myself, I came to the conclusion that I would paint the walls red with your crew mates blood, in the memory of the ones I loved...

I know, you think I'm a hypocrite, right? Killing my own kind.... well, I got news for you, you aren't my kind. My kind would have told your kind to shove that pill into the darkness of your *CENSORED* jack. Choice, truth, the real world...

..That may have been your sails pitch, but I never bought it before, I still don't. It took a force to remove me from my home, a force I never wanted, a force that still plagues me. You use your lies to tell the truth to so many, so many lives wasted, and for that, I force you out of your home. Welcome to the truth, b*tch, the truth that in the real, there's more suffering then the rabbit hole can handle. And in the end of your crusade, you will be consumed by the darkness....

..And in the darkness, you will bow before your enemy, and kiss their feet.

It's safe for you to come in now.

Message Edited by SeventeenDead on 07.07.2006 10:26 PM