Futuristic Perchance to Dream

[Elle Joyner]

" The dreamer can know no truth, not even about his dream, except by awaking out of it" George Santayana

It’s 2052 and for a number of years now, sleep has been outlawed. No one knows why, but no one argues. They just apply their medication patch, follow the rules and go to work, and that’s how it’s always been… until now. The Nudge Patches, designed as a sleep supplement, are malfunctioning and people everywhere are falling asleep… and worse yet - they're dreaming, and everyone knows there's nothing more dangerous than a dream.

Except waking up...

​

|| A Roleplay by Elle Joyner and

@Mordecai ||
​

 

[Elle Joyner]

-Perchance to Dream-

Dolly looked over the edge of the building and fought the sudden urge to throw up. It was more difficult than she would have liked, but there was a reminder in the back of her mind that being discovered in a puddle of sick would be exceedingly mortifying, and it was enough to quell the discomfort in her stomach. Three minutes remained until the deadline. Her watch ticked away, the seconds zipping by at double speed, in time with the pounding of her heart.


He’d promised her it would work. He’s assured her it was a guarantee… Still, nothing was a sure thing except death and taxes. Ironic, all things considered.


A frown on her lips, Dolly clutched the letter tightly in her hand. The instructions were clear and concise. All it would take was a little bit of trust. Well, maybe not a little bit...


Two minutes…


Dolly felt her stomach clench again as she stepped up on the ledge and grit her teeth. She’d always liked her teeth – they weren’t perfect… not like the people you saw on television or in the theaters, but they were nice. Straight, white, no over bite… no chips or cracks or gaps. She wondered, idly, if she’d still have all her teeth when she landed. It would be awful, a face full of broken porcelain.


Her breath collapsing into a sigh, she shoved the letter into the pocket of her pants. When the idea had first been presented, she hadn’t thought twice about volunteering. All her life, she’d wanted to be a part of something – She’d felt the wrongness, like an ever-present fog in the air, and she had wanted so badly to change it. Now, looking down at what waited for her, she wondered if she’d made a mistake.


He’d promised it wouldn’t hurt. One minute to go…


Shuffling forward, the tips of her black saddle shoes met the edge of stone barricade. She’d called her mother the night before. There were, she was sure, more difficult conversations out there, but it had certainly not felt like it, at the time. She hadn’t, of course, told Mother everything. The letter had specified… Tell No One. And while she herself knew the context of the plan, the absolute importance of it being carried out to the very last second, somehow, she’d still felt like she’d be remiss in not saying goodbye.


Heart pounding, Dolly looked down at the world below, and as her thoughts came to a head she felt the burden of tears building, blurring her vision.


10 seconds.


She inched closer to the edge…


9 seconds…


Her breath caught on a sob and the letter slipped from her grasp.


8… 7… 6... 5 seconds…


Maybe she’d pass out on the way down…


4… 3… 2…


Her watch buzzed and shutting her eyes, Dolly stepped off the roof, into thin air.

no slide

no slide

 

[Sunbather]

Ava Sadaat

? Yeah. No, of course not. It was no surprise that everyone attempted to shield her vision. Like they cared, all of the sudden. Maybe they were trying to meet their "good person quota" for the month. Or maybe they were trying to justify their latest wet night. Their latest escalation at home. They cared, right? We care. All of us.

Bullshit.


Not that she wasn't used to it by now, but her inferior physique presented some difficulties today. Less severe than she had to experience in previous situations, but noticable. A tree of legs. A maquis of people, all suddenly too emphatic to continue their assigned tasks. With an excuse at hand, duty became trivial. Not that they really cared. We already established that was a load of crap a few moments ago. Or a few days ago. Weeks, months, years. Really, pick out a moment in history, any moment, push aside a couple of bystanders and take a look around you, and all you see is blatant disregard and apathy. Today, however, a story to gush over during the criminally short lunchbreak unfolded amidst the drones. A cause worthy of at least feigning emotional depth. As if even one person felt affected. Genuinely affected. Insulting. That's what it was, really. To the woman who, for god knows what reason, had forfeited her life. Then again, she deserved it, didn't she? Denying her aching lungs to supply her body with the polluted air. Put a stake through her heart that was so diligently pounding. The body is a machine. Sustaining. Sturdy.


Or fragile...


Oh, if only Demitri had enlightened her as to why she was here. Maybe his paternal instincts had sprouted, and in their first action in the office decided to force her to come closer to a life outside the abyss that was prostituion. Then again, Candy - Not Ava(!) - yearned for the abyss to swallow her. Swallow her whole. Jealousy sprawled underneath the soft skin. How dare her escape life. A good life, even. What did she try to escape from? There was no sullied bone inside her, yet she threw herself into death's lovely arms. The teenager would've taken personal offense, if it weren't for the lack of clear sight. The absurdity was almost palpable, but made perfect sense inside her little head. The hatred was cowardly and would remain as such until she dared to look into her eyes. Into her empty eyes. They would be a different empty than her own though. Or even Delilah's. They are going to be - and were right now, just outside of Ava's reach - empty like those faces she had robbed herself. In the district. In the backyard. They fell, clenching hands on their wounds. Aching. Hitched breaths. And then, after wrestling with the inevitable, they'd turn empty. Somtimes unsettlingly close to their alive version, making them a weird sub-type of the uncanny valley.


In any case, the crowd giving their best (or worst) rendition of the worried parent became increasingly annoying. Denying her right to gaze upon the body like them. She had seen worse. She had seen herself, not a dead girl, but less than that. The urge to take her knife out and just cut her way towards the woman that had always had it better than her, and has it better than her right now, grew, the imagery tempting.


No. Not allowed.


A sigh escaped her lips. They were almost the same color as her skin, blending them into the visually flawlessly smooth appearance.


She was so...


... so pretty.


Flinching, the growling, alcohol-drenched laughter hovered over her, infiltrated her brain. The first time she had heared it was a few years ago, in a room outfitted in red fabric where a sweet, clearly artifical scent billowed through the air. The memory was emetic. Cold sweat building on her forarms and neck, she fastened her steps.


Stop. Thinking.


Stop. Remembering.


She could feel her heart jumping in her throat.


Finally, an opening. There she laid. There she stared. Ava's gaze fixed upon her petrified expression.


Bitch...

 

[Mordecai]

“This is just bad, bad, bad,” Chai muttered to himself as he hugged a welder’s mask to his side as he made long strides across the hallway and towards the courtyard. While a bit late to the party, he had gotten the news that was wildly circulating around the Warehouse staffers since earlier that morning. He knew bad things were going to be happening that day from the moment he had woken up (or from the moment he stopped playing video games, as he told his peers). His horoscope had even told him to counteract potential problems or conflict and to avoid whatever makes you uncomfortable or puts you in a negative state of mind. Well, damn, because suicide was really cramping his style for the day and there was not a thing he could do to avoid it besides mutter under his breath and try and go with the flow as much as humanly possible. Pulling up the sleeve on his black sweatshirt, Chai glanced down at his wristwatch and took note of the time. He could spare just a few minutes to investigate the happenings, he supposed. He was about due for his mid-shift break, anyways.


While most of his breaks were reserved for sipping tea and fervently checking the web for new horoscope updates (they were updated bi-hourly), he supposed he could make the exception for today. He was impossibly set in his ways and really hated making such exceptions-- but today's events simply called for his attention.


A part of him wanted to do nothing more than get back into work, as there was quite a ‘to-do’ list for him to accomplish that day, but his innate curiosity got the better of him. Before long, Chai had sauntered out in the morning sun and into the throngs of people huddling around the Do Not Cross police tape and the dead body. The site made his nose crinkle and stomach churn a little as he quickly adverted his eyes from the body that was displayed across the cobblestone courtyard like a piece of art. It was disappointing how slow the police seemed to be moving, but then again, who was Chai to judge their work? With a low hum, the young man shoved his hands deep in his jean pockets and idly stroked the nickels with one hand. They were coins that were long since obsolete in favour of the credit money plan, but they were a gift from his grandfather and Chai never failed to keep them with him. He felt as though they possessed mystical, soothing powers.


They didn’t, but whatever.


Humming softly, Chai glanced over to the person directly to his right. The man next to him looked friendly enough with a twist of long, off-blonde hair on his head and tears collecting on the rims of his eyes as he clamped a hand over his own mouth. “Hey—“ Chai murmured to him, a chunk of his thick, dark locks tumbling down his tanned cheek as he moved to lean closer, “What’s going on ‘ere, aye?” he asked, offering the man a sympathetic, if not shy, smile. Perhaps it was best just not knowing what was going on, but even sweetheart Chai couldn't resist the temptation of some good gossip and of all the faces he could see. He reached up and pushed the welding googles off the bridge of his nose and used them to collect his hair back on top of his head like a headband.


The man gave him a scowl, telling him to bugger off (in less kind words that Chai wished not to repeat), causing him to recoil and slink towards the back fringe of the group that was gathered around the poor young woman… whatever her name was. “Bad, bad, bad,” he continued to mutter a bit under his breath, folding his arms across his broad, muscular chest. His hands were still dusted with soot from his morning’s toil, smudging coal black streaks across his off-grey shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he had half a mind to just leave the scene altogether and go to the now (very) empty cafeteria and quietly eat his lunch. He bet that the cheesecake dessert, which was always sold out by the time he got there, wouldn’t be sold out today with everyone busying themselves here.


Still, he was drawn to the crowd like a bug to a lamp, so he stayed, no matter how much he willed his feet to move.

 

[A Murder Of Corviknight]

Aleksei Thrussell

Location: Just outside The Warehouse, still in the crowd but just.


Status and Mood: Haunted to startled


Mentioned: --


Tagged: @Mordecai

Alex’s morning had turned out relatively normal. As normal as it could be with his...condition. He milled around his room with a book in hand getting ready for his usual shift at The Warehouse. Ate breakfast. Drank coffee like it was milk. Nearly dozed in the sunny spot on his small desk. Which was a terror and a great dose of insanity as per usual. Shook off the claws sleep with a quick shower. Shot off a morning text to his mother and his sister before slipping out house quietly. He breathed in, feeling a few more layers of gripping insanity flake off, as he got closer and closer to The Warehouse. It was around 8 o'clock by then.


...


Now normalcy seems to be something of a far off distant past. Staring at the woman...the body. With its almost abstractly terrified expression...he felt his composure slip just a bit. ’Oh god...oh...god…’ his fingers trembled as they danced quietly by his side with a choppy rhythm. Forming half words. Half letter. Chaotic as his thoughts. Quickly, he looked away and shut his hands into fists before crossing his arms, letting the firm knuckles dig harshly into his elbows. He sucked in a breath, letting his expression loosen into a less panicked frown, nearly choking on lingering heavy thoughts. Why was he letting this affect him? It wasn’t like he didn’t know about death. He accepted that he was going to die some day a long time ago. Hell, he’s seen death before.


As if to prove a point, dark hazel eyes flicked back to the gruesome slow moving scene before feeling the argument dying in his mind...like dying echoes of screams. A dying voice. Like those dreams-


Shoving his hands into his pockets, Alex pushed and weaved through the crowd to get away from the...mess. The corpse. There was...something about its expression. That shook him down to the core and dragged those...nightmares back up to the surface of his mind. And left a small irrational part of him wondering and dreading whether or not he was still sleeping. Because it was like the screams from the (Visions? Deja vu?) nightmare were still there, echoing in his mind. He couldn’t hear them. But seeing the body made him feel the haunting feeling of the screams rake up and down his spine like preying claws.


Weighing thoughts were jarred when he nearly ran head first-...or was it nose and chin first, into another man in the crowd. Startled by the--thankfully light--bump, he pulled his hands out his pockets and reflexively let them flutter out an apology before realizing that he probably didn’t know what in the world he was trying to say. His eyes briefly rolled in irritation as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed out a quick message. ...It wasn’t the latest or flashiest phone, but it did its job by doing what he needed and wanted it to do.


Pulling the keyboard of the phone out of the way, Alex flashed his phone into the view of the man’s face. ”Sorry, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

 

[Writer]

James Johnson





As old as James was, if there was one thing he valued, it was getting paid to not do his work. It was kind of like an art form, meeting the bare standards as dictated by his job, but making his bosses think he was perhaps their greatest asset on the team. In general, James would commit to a deadline that was far longer than the actual time needed to get the job done, proceed to get the job done in the actual amount of time it would take, slack off for some of the remaining time, and then report back to his boss just slightly early that the job had been taken care of. It was a win, win, win. The job got done, James got to slack off, and his bosses sang his praises. So when the woman jumped from the roof, landing on the ground some X floors below, you'd better believe that James was one of the first ones to seize on the opportunity to waste even more of his working hours doing absolutely nothing. Heck, he even was telling others about it, trying to draw as many of his office mates outside so the bosses couldn't single out anyone.


By the time James made it outside to where the body had jumped from, a crowd, growing larger with each minute, had begun to form around the body. Well, James couldn't actually tell the body was in the center, but he assumed that's what they would likely be gathered around. James and his coworkers interspersed among the crowd, going to talk to friends and acquaintances that were from other floors or areas. James kept to himself, content to sit back and watch the events unfold. His facial expression, compared to the shocked and grieved faces of those around him, was rather neutral. People died all the time. It made no difference if they died from age, drugs, fighting, guns, the police, or jumping off a higher floor of the Warehouse. In the end, they were all dead.


After a few minutes of standing, James faced a dilemma. He wanted to continue to waste time, but standing in the crowd was becoming quite tiresome. That's when he spotted one of the cafe tables just outside of one of the Warehouse's outdoors cafeterias. It was on a elevated patio at the top of some stairs, just high enough that James would be able to sit down and see over the crowd that had surrounded the body. Unfortunately, the table was occupied by a young lass who couldn't be older than thirty. Making his way up the stairs, James approached the young woman.


The conversation was short and sweet. Using his honed in weary old person accent which he saved specifically for occasions like these, the girl had only been too eager to give up her seat to an elder who was so clearly in need of standing. Being an old fart did have its perks at times, and this was certainly one of them. With a well-deserved smile across his face, James kicked back and focused his eyes on spectacle below.


Just as James was getting settled in, he was approached by the young woman again, this time with a new cup of coffee in her hand. Yes, he had asked her to get him a cup of coffee. He had offered to pay for it, but when he started to reach for his money to pay the girl for the coffee and her time, the girl profusely refused the money before going on her way. Of course, James thought, as he really settled in and sipped from his coffee, that had been his intention all along: a free seat and free coffee. Yes...being old definitely had its perks.

 

[Jays]

Kirstie Anderson


Monday


10:15 AM


She actually saw the girl fall.


It was another slow day, as Mondays often were, when there hadn't been anyone in the office during the weekend to trash, stain, smudge or splatter their working space expecting someone else, often her, to be able to predict their actions and grab the garbage before it can touch the floor, like some sort of discounted Captain Planet. Still, it was not easy work for a tiny girl to scrub Mr. Mery's glass wall of 9 feet completely spotless, and even harder when the man himself hovered at her shoulder, waiting for her to finish so he can get back to his fanciful work of reading online blogs all day expecting to be called in for a copy-machine crisis. It was 10 in the morning but her muscle was already aching horribly from overreaching, and her shirt soaked in sweat under an contemptuously impatient dagger-like gaze. If she was lucky, she thought to herself, this would be the lowest point of her days after which everything will improve.


She was going to see her mother that day, the first time after more than a month. The first time since the blackouts came. She had moved out as soon as she could, avoiding all contact with her mother, whom she knew would be worrying sick by now. But she was getting everything under control, keeping the sleep to her own time, carefully finding excuses for when she would disappear several hours at a time. It would work, she was sure of it. Or if not, her mother would know what to do, she always did. She might even know what to make of the message.


Everything was going to be alright.


Then a girl came hurtling through the air in front of her toward the courtyard below, and nothing was alright since.


Kirstie could distinctly felt her fingers slackening, and heard the crash of heavy objects hitting the floor, but her mind was entirely on the figure below, on the horribly twisted posture and the widening puddle of crimson spreading on cobble, on the gathering crowd and the terrified screams that could be heard even two dozens stories up. "Dear God above." Murmured Mr. Mery beside her. Without so much as glance at the mess of dirty water on the floor, which on a normal day would have driven to rage across 9 hells and back, he left the room running and after a brief consideration, Kirstie followed.


The crowd was thickening by the moment, pressing her small frame this way and that when she tried to get to the front, to see if it was someone she recognize. Perhaps they had passed each other in a corridor. Maybe even talked for a bit. Her heart stopped in its track when a possibility occurred to her. Could it be Claudia? She wasn't even Kirstie's friend, but she was close enough for it to hurt.


But of course it wasn't Claudia, or anyone she had met for that matter. She let out a breath of relief, then caught herself. For a moment guilt flickered in her heart, and was gone. Open your heart for such senseless emotion would destroy her eventually, her mother always said.


It was clear that the day's routine had been completely broken.


What was happening?

 

[Master Attano]

Mathias Pembroke


The girl was dead; very clearly dead for that matter. Thirty stories would do that to a person. It had been quiet as well, no frantic cries or demands, just a clean floor one moment and the next…not so much; barely a whisper of fluttering cloth heralding the departure of one life to the next; well, that and the sickening thud of a soft body impacting cold hard concrete.


It wasn’t as if this was the first suicide he had ever seen, but the sudden unexpected nature of this one had caught him off guard. Just when this floor was starting to look clean, he thought, gripping his mop handle and dragging it, bucket and all, over to the corpse. People were beginning to gather, drawn to the gruesome seen like blowflies to a carcass


I’m not sure whether I pity you, or envy you, he thought, staring blankly down at the still face of the girl. Even with the damage there was a macabre peacefulness to her features that all dead possessed to some extent. Least you had the courage to do it. Wrapping his arm around the mop he pulled a cigarette from the pack in the top pocket of his plain work clothes, grabbing a loose match from a pocket with the other and running it along the wood of the mop handle to light it.


Standing quietly for a moment, he took a draw from the cigarette, staring down at the girl as he slowly breathed out the cloud of smoke; Gasps of discovery and shock rolling around the room like the buzzing of an angry swarm of bees as more people clamoured into the courtyard.


Bloody sightseers, he thought, shaking his head as he threw the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with a twist of his foot before making his way to the small supply closet off to the side of the courtyard. He was done cleaning the floors for the day, and if management didn’t like it they could shove it where the sun didn’t shine, he mused, leaning against the courtyard wall as the crowds continued to gather.

 

[Kiroshiven]

Isaac Faust

​

The sweat and grim of yet ANOTHER machine falling apart coated his skin when the word got to him. Isaac wanted to go on and gawk with the others, but he first had to finish repairing this damn conveyor belt, otherwise the boss would have his hide and that wasn't exactly something he wanted to have to deal with. "Joey, give that fucking monkey wrench will ya? And while your at it, bring me the duct tape and those stacks of paper clips." Just need to fix this until I can put in a requisition for the real parts to keep it from breaking down again. After a couple of minutes Isaac had it ready to roll again. "Alright the piece of shit should be up and running. Now what's all this about a girl offin herself?"


Isaac followed Joey who seemed unable to speak about it. Guess he went to see her while I was workin. Can't blame him though. Isaac immediately saw the crowd. "Oi, the lot of you move your asses got it?" Isaac whispered to some of the younger workers who seemed disgusted by this. He huddled them together and slid them towards Joey. "I can't help em right now, but take em to the infirmary for something to ease their stomachs. Youngin's shouldn't see shit this disturbing." Isaac was thankful when Joey led the small group off into the Warehouse. Good.


He turned back around and forced his way forward to see the police tape and the horrid sight of the girl lying there. Isaac recognized her only from passing glances when he had to go in and fix the copy machine for the HR department. She'd smiled at him politely and out of necessity. After all, Isaac never wore clothes that made him look presentable. I must look like a fucking hobo half the time. Isaac quieted his chuckle at his stupid thought. This isn't time to laugh about the past like a dipshit. This girl is dead right now and for what reason? From what I could've seen she should've been happy. Isaac sighed as he quickly clasped his hands together. It wasn't entirely uncommon for someone to practice religion on occasions, but Isaac only practiced in moments that he felt were right. Lord, watch over this poor girl. Isaac nodded as he wormed his way back into the crowd, he didn't feel like going back because nothing new would've broken while anyone was out here and there was bound to be more people that would be to traumatized to move themselves to the infirmary. He felt responsible and started looking for those unfortunate souls.

 

[LadyMatsudai]

The machines were groaning loudly in the belly of the warehouse, sparks flying from engineers working to fix broken down machines as conveyor belts whined from carrying the final product towards the inspection line. No natural sunlight could be seen inside the belly of the warehouse, leaving Sage staring down intently at a small part in her hands, examining the detail carefully with her glistening brown eyes, the magnifying glass pushed to the side. She never did like that thing much anyway...the glint from the artificial light beaming down on the glass always skewed her view. Her bare feet were crossed over each other beneath her table, turning the product carefully in her hands before setting it down and picked up another part, starting her thorough investigation yet again for the next product along the line. It wasn't too long before Sage's eyes had drifted up for a moment, frowning to coming to realize she was the only one at her station. The inspector had looked around just in time to see the last of the workers running through the doors to head outside.


"What the hell is this?" she said to herself, a scowl creasing her lips as she quickly slipped on her shoes and turned off the belt to have the machine rest for a moment. Whatever was distracting the others was enough to peak their interest, possibly enough where they would be too distracted to come back to work. Adjusting her backless shirt, the bull's golden eyes staring intently to those who dared to peer at its majesty on her back, Sage started to hurry to follow the crowds. She grimaced to the sudden change to natural light, hand quickly shielding her eyes from the blinding sun. It took her a moment to adjust before she watched more people hurry past her, people from all different departments of the Warehouse, gossiping amongst themselves as they merged with a massive crowd just in the courtyard.


The woman frowned to the wall of people building and building with each passing second. Whatever was going on, she would not be able to see the attraction. Eyes darted around for something for higher ground, gluing to a lamp post not too far away from the edges of the crowd. Running quickly towards the lamp, Sage grunted in the effort to jump on top of a bench, reaching like a monkey for a decorative extension from the base of the lamp, climbing up to the very top to sit on the beam. Adjusting herself to make sure she didn't fall, the inspector sighed and finally glanced towards the major attraction.


She felt her stomach drop...face growing pale to the site...


A small body...lifeless...a red sea shrouding the figure...a woman...one of the women from the higher positions of the Warehouse...a nameless face with glass like eyes staring into the crowds with a sea of black filling them...


Sage's frown elevated, now a sickened neutral line along her lush lips...mind flooding with the mangled mess of her mother in a pool of blood in the middle of the floor of their old home...black eyes like a doll's staring at her pleadingly for help that would never come.


A bandaged hand immediately clung to the rosary around her neck, squeezing the crucifix for spiritual support. Sage had prayed she would never have experienced this again...witnessing the death of another person, someone she knew or not, with their eyes wide open, pleading for help from anyone even after it was far too late. The unsettled feeling in her gut was more along the lines of feeling somewhat...stoic. It was a tragedy yes, the life of a young woman snuffed out so soon and by her own hand so it seemed. She was a relatively close distance to the building, meaning she was not pushed unwillingly to her death. She had figured it could have been from experiencing the emotional heartbreak of her mother and the fact she did not know the woman...but whatever it was, Sage knew she did not like it.


The worker immediately slid smoothly down the shaft of the lamp post, landing with a firm thud to the ground as she glanced through the crowds, registering each person's expressions: mixtures of neutrality, horror, shock, and perhaps a hint of jealousy. There was no way now she would be able to force her coworkers to come back with her...not with a show like this. Turning on her heel, Sage began to march her way back to her position...work would hopefully be able to distract herself from the gruesome scene but she was afraid the eerie silence would make it even worse. Her steps slowed a little as her hands tucked into her pockets, her mother's rosary dancing across her neck to each step.

 

[Poe]

Skye Fiera

​

The sound of bones crunching on the concrete was enough to snap Skye’s attention. Standing with a cigarette pinched between her fingers, her wild red hair tugged up in a messy ponytail, Skye had come out for a smoke break near ten minutes ago and had already managed her way through two cigarettes. Mondays were always difficult for her to try and endure after her eventful and work-filled weekends.


Though, arguably, she was not having the worst Monday. No, she would give that accolade to the pile of flesh on the concrete only a few hundred feet from her.


Fuck, she was pretty too.


Against her better judgment, Skye pushed herself off the wall and took a few steps forward, the sound of frantic workers swarming around her and circling the body like vultures. Skye had seen death before, more times than she cared to count, but there was always something so funny about the human reaction. People were crying, some with nausea painted on their expressions, as though her death was something surprising. Everyone wanted to be the mourner, the one most affected by the death, and she was sure in the coming weeks she would hear stories of this beautiful woman and how no one understood how someone so wonderful could be so damaged, could be so…tortured. How did they never see it before?


But the truth was, she wasn’t tortured. She was dead.


Though it did seem like too grueling of a death for someone who had such soft features. No, someone like that deserved to die in their sleep or in a hospital surrounded by loved ones. Skye always imagined herself going out in some blaze of glory, but there was no glory here. Not in a place like New Miami. The pool of blood grew with the passing moments and the words of those around her floated into her ear drums only to be immediately rejected. Death was not pretty, not like those damn films. It was gritty, disgusting and people turned into heaps of flesh real fast.


The woman next to her took a step back from the scene. Go figure. People always stepped back when the pool of blood edged too close. But the crowd grew regardless, gasps turning into questions and even the police seemed to mulling about the scene. Of course they were slow moving, where was the urgency? Panic after death was useless. They were dead, they had no say anymore on how long they remained on the concrete. Whoever that girl was, she was long gone from this world.


So why was Skye still staring?


“Show a little respect,” one of Skye’s coworkers on the line, an older woman with large cheeks and cheap lipstick that got caught on her snaggletooth spoke with a deep malice. Skye looked over to her, watched as the woman’s eyes flickered from Skye’s face to the cigarette still in her hand.


Skye smirked, “Oh, where are my manners? You want one?”


The woman met her with a look of complete disdain.


“No, I suppose not,” Skye took one last long drag and tossed it to the ground, meeting it with her shoe. “Y’see, they’re relaxing for me, but I think you’d need a bit more to pull that stick from your ass. I’ve got a dealer you can talk to—“


Immediately the woman stomped away and into the crowd, leaving Skye to smirk. “I’ll take that as a no, then?”

 

[Elle Joyner]

Grier Davis


Location: Warehouse Courtyard
​

The needle went in smooth as a spoon through broth, the light prick barely a sensation anymore. Smooth, warm adrenaline coursed through the syringe, into her blood stream and with a long, slow sigh, Grier retracted the needle and pressed a cool fingertip to quell the tiny droplet of blood which came in it's wake. It wasn't her drug of choice, Epinephrine, but she'd fallen asleep again the night before and drastic times called for drastic measures.


"Hey! Davis!" A voice called out, and Grier jumped, the needle and small glass bottle falling from her lap, clattering to the bathroom floor. Swearing under her breath, she scooped them up and jammed them into the muff of her sweatshirt, rising to her feet, "It's been ten minutes, Grier! Floor Manager's askin' where the hell you went."


Pushing open the stall door, Grier frowned at the figure of the red headed woman, glowering from the threshold of the restroom. Cynthea Shanders - the woman could manage to stick her nose in anyone's business, even if it were lopped off from her face.


"I told you I wasn't feeling good. You wanna smell my breath? Test the toilet for biologicals? God, Cynth... Take a pill." Rolling her eyes, Grier shuffled past the woman, who backed away, apparently repelled by the suggestion. A smirk of satisfaction touched the blonde's lips and she turned, heading in the direction of the 8B Assembly Line. Halfway down the hallway, she was halted by the site of a small group, huddled together in front of the window overlooking the courtyard, their mumbled voices carrying through the narrow passage.


"Did you know her?"


"No... But I heard she was pretty high up... Had dinner with the President and his family, even."


"Maybe it was an affair, that made her do it...?"


Brow quirked, Grier approached the gaggle. Three of the four were strangers, but she recognized Dan Phelps. He'd worked on her line a few times. He was a nice enough guy, when he wasn't staring at your boobs.


"What's going on?" She asked, and Dan glanced up. She considered it a testament to what had happened that he looked her in the eye first.


"HR Rep jumped... Pancaked in the courtyard. It's some pretty grisly stuff, down there."


"Gross. Suicide?"


"Looks like it, yeah. Cops are here, though. Wonder if they're gonna start askin' questions..."


Her hands twitched inside the sweatshirt pocket and Grier shrugged, "I don't see why they'd need to..."


"Yeah, probably not. Still... how cool would that be."


"You forget somebody died, Phelps?"


"Oh. Right! Yeah. Sorry... Say, Grier... You never call--"


Before he could finish, Grier was gone, but not in the direction of the assembly lines. Curiosity... however morbid... was often times a Siren's call. She hadn't known anyone in HR personally, but it was the first real news the Warehouse had since that chick chopped off her toe... or finger... or some body part. It was fascinating stuff, and it was a hell of an excuse not to return to the line until the Adrenaline really kicked in. Taking the elevator down to the lowest level, Grier stepped out in the lobby, hit hard by the heat coming off the floor to ceiling glass windows. She followed the line of gawkers out into the sticky heat and was immediately met by the impression that any kind of news like this wasn't beneficial to the Warehouse's business. It was a mad house - hundreds of workers, bundled together, stretching on tiptoes, peering round one another, hoping to get a glimpse of what was happening. It all seemed a little sick, but then... wasn't she there for the same reason? Grateful for once that she was so small, she found a hole in the crowd and pushed her way through.

Finn Carver


Location: Warehouse Courtyard
​

Dolly was dead. He'd gotten the news through the gossip pipeline - not the way he would've liked to hear it, certainly, but it was better than being the last to know. Half the Warehouse was down there, now, driven by twisted curiosity and a weird psychological need to be a part of the freak show, but not Finn. He couldn't bring himself to do it... to go down there and try to sneak a peek at the body. Thinking about it made him feel sick...


They'd only dated briefly - a few weeks, really, but their break up had been amiable and he had always considered Dolly a good friend. They both had their secrets, which was why they never worked as a couple, but ultimately, she was a good person, full of life and ways to live it to the fullest. Knowing what had happened, knowing what she'd done... It wasn't just upsetting, it was mind numbing. It made no sense.


He'd made it outside, but only to the front portico and no further. He refused to join the voyeuristic rabble... even if it might mean getting information.


His eyes hurt from tears, held at bay, and Finn blinked uncomfortably, digging into his pocket for a cell. Pressing in a few digits, he waited until the voice on the other end answered, "Dixon. Make it quick."


"Hey, Dix. It's Finn. I need a favor..."


"Yeah, kid? What's up?"


"...I want in on tonight's fight... Can you make it happen?"


"You aren't on the roster, kid. Not sure if the Boss'll like it."


"...Don't worry. I don't mean to win or anything... Just... got some bad news today, and I need a distraction."


"Yeah, sure, kid. I'll make it happen. See you tonight."


"Thanks, Dixon. See ya."


Pressing the button to end the call, he moved to slide his phone into his pocket, but noticed a message, blinking in the corner. Frowning, he tapped on the screen.

SENT 10:46 || UNKNOWN NUMBER


1913 Hamish Ave. @8:30 on Tuesday.


All that is Gone is not Lost. -- D
​

As cold terror slid along his spine the phone dropped from Finn's quivering hands, splattering Dorothy Whitfield on the pavement all over again...

no slide

no slide

 

[LadyMatsudai]

Sage's steps echoed in the hallway leading back towards the belly of the Warehouse, her mind eager to be distracted by her work in the hopes to get the images of the dead woman out of her head...as well as the remnants of the memories of her mother found murdered in the middle of the floor when she returned home that one day. Her mind in the midst of her trance, Sage gasped out loudly to the sudden buzz of her phone, her legs immediately stiffening to keep her body locked in place, heart pounding in her chest. It took her a moment to collect herself before she started to rummage for her phone in the large pockets in her pants. She had figured it must be her boss messaging her to get back to work, only he would be the one to tell people to not mourn the dead and get back to their duties.


But the small envelope on her phone's screen blinking with the name of the messenger beneath sent chills down her spine, her fingers growing numb where she had to hold the phone with both hands to make sure she didn't drop it.


Unknown... Who could it be? Sage never gave her number to anyone else other than her boss, a couple of her co-workers if she needed to come in to cover their shifts and the boss of the brothel her mother worked in years ago. No one else had it...no one... Slowly, Sage dragged her fingertip across the screen, the color slowly leaving her face to the text message left to her...


SENT 10:46 || UNKNOWN NUMBER


1913 Hamish Ave. @8:30 on Tuesday.


All that is Gone is not Lost. -- D


"It can't be...it can't be..." Sage repeated to herself, quickly reaching through her pockets to pull out the crumpled paper that had been delivered to her small apartment not too long before, glancing between the wrinkled parchment and the phone screen. Her heart sank, her legs weak forcing her to stagger and nearly collapse against the wall of the hallway, slowly sinking to the floor. Her hands shook violently, fingers having a death grip on the phone and the paper, feeling the entire world spin as she slowly leaned her head forward, closing her eyes to pray that the sinking feeling in her gut would disappear.

 

[Mordecai]

Chai

“S’okay, mate, s’all groovy, I wasn’t paying much mind. Sorry about that,” Chai chuckled softly when another, a man a smidge taller than him, smacked straight into his chest when neither of them were paying much attention. A certain brightness coming across his face that lit him up like only laughter could. Laughter might not have been the best choice in the crowd of concerned on-lookers gazing out over the death of a handsome young woman, but Chai was not exactly known for making the best choices. He looked down to the other, raising a brow when he had whipped out a phone and began typing away furiously, as if possessed by the devil. Whatever the man was doing, it seemed somehow tied to their collision, so Chai waited patiently for him to finish. His horoscope had told him not to meddle in affairs like this… yet what was he doing? Meddling in affairs like this. He sighed and nervously patted the coins clinking around his pocket, the amused laughter long having disappeared into a more brittle expression. It didn’t help that the day was blazing hot and sweat had begun to collect in the centre of his chest underneath the heavy layer of clothing he donned for welding. His hair, too, in thick, brunette locks was beginning to stick to the back of his neck and forehead as they continued to bake in the sun that was crawling up closer and closer towards midday.


Suddenly, the screen of the phone had been turned to face him and he leaned down to read the small print: Sorry, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Huh. Chai looked between the screen and the man a few times, his cheeks wrinkling with a frown. What a strange man; Chai almost felt a little uncomfortable in his presence because the sound of one’s voice could be quite lending to their personality. Without hearing tone or inflection, Chai wasn’t sure what to make of him. “S’all good,” he repeated again, “It happens. It’s a busy place.”


The crowd that had gathered for the scene quickly moved from spectating a corpse to socializing. It had been nigh silent when he had first crossed the courtyard several minutes prior, but slowly, conversations were beginning to crop up in a blanket of white noise. Still, the man was handsome in a way even Chai, a heterosexual, could appreciate. He imagined he had an aura that was a shade of frolicsome periwinkle. Chai had always imagined his own name being the colour of eggplant. Eggplant and periwinkle: two colours that were completely compatible on the colour wheel. Assigning colours to people’s auras (as he saw them) was how he decided whether or not he was compatible with them as friends, lovers, or otherwise. It was just something his brain sort of did, and had always done. He could still hear his mother’s voice ringing in the back of his mind like a vice:‘Willam, words are not colours.’


His mum, Deborah, had always loved him as her son, but her name was blood-orange red, and from it, Chai knew she was embarrassed of him.


“Anyways, I’m Chai, nice ta’ meet ya—“ he tried to continue the conversation with the man on the phone, but was surprised when his own phone played the melodic jingle of an incoming text message just moments after Frankie’s. Pulling his phone from his pocket he opened the message and had to read it several times, trying to figure out who D was. Dmetri in accounting? Diane in packaging? Dennis in welding? He scrolled through a mental list of all the people he knew but couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer. Still, Chai was not perturbed by the bizarre message as he was simply too innocent to believe it was anything but a friend with a new phone.


Putting his phone away with a pleasant smile, he squinted into the sun. “Unfortunate ain’t it?” he cooed again, deciding the man with the phone was interested in having a conversation, “What’s your name, mate?”


But, again, his attention came cheap and without much time to wait for an answer, his attention was pulled away by a little tart of a woman who was pushing her way through the crowd, nearly nudging him off his path as she brushed through them. He rocked on his heels a bit as his eyes followed her and her blonde mop of hair.

@Birb, @Elle Joyner

​

 

[Sunbather]

Ava Sadaat

? Despite the overwhelming yearn to retreat and never leave whatever hole was available, there was one thing you could always appreciate about her time at the warehouse. The muffled conversation, the gossiping, gasps and whatever else have you were never of the same nature as the surpressed noise in the redlight district.

The fear of being heard was not the omnipresent companion here that it was there. In all honesty, it was more than just a pleasant change of scenery for the mind though. There was little Candy found more useful in accomplishing whatever she was asked to do (or, alternatively, decided to do) than people blabbering about freely.


Freely...


A barely audible ache found its way out of her lips, prompting her to seal them shut with pressure. Not now. Not here. With a tense expression, her gaze found its way back to the body, eyes squinting full of contempt. Ava had done her part. Though... fuck Ava. This is Candy. Candy faced her. Now justified in her hatred, the girl felt free to take a few deep breaths and let her mind wander off along with her body, though just as her feet turned to leave, an older looking woman laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked offended, as far as the girl could tell, though Ava had no idea why that was.


"You shouldn't look at this, it's not for kid's eyes."


Right. How about taking off those veiny fingers before they hit the floor? The shiney knife hidden by thin fabric was hungry.


A bright smile illuminated Candy's face, eyes wide like a Disney fawn. "Well, gee, miss, you're right!" The way the now sugary sweet voice seeped into the stranger's wrinkly face, effectively softening it was utterly pathetic. "I'll better go so nobody worries, miss."


Ugh. Gross. But worth to get away from yet another scumbag pretending to care. How dare them.


How. Dare. Them.


What now, was the question. There was little doubt that work was postponed for at least a little bit more, and no reason to complain about that whatsoever. Ah, yes, it was weird how free she was to move wherever. People never paid a kid much attention. It would've wrestled a smirk from her if it wasn't coated with bitter assocations. Small steps carried her away from the center of the warehouse, until a garishly red mane glared the the cracks of hastily moving bodies.


Red.


Almost unintentionally, the little feet plodded to close the distance as fast as they could, a soft hand reaching out to tug on the woman's clothes.


"Hey..."


@Poe

 

[Jays]

The crowd seemed to grow thicker and more murderous by the minute, especially for one of her size. Unintentionally and unfortunately, she had chosen to stand near the main entrance, where most of the lower floors assembly lines section exit. At first Kirstie had to force her way in through a forest of 8 feet tall uniformed figures, and now she was fighting helplessly against a huge opposing wave of closely packed giants, pressing her back under their weight, until she had lost all sense of direction. Mr. Mery's bald head rose above the surging mass for a moment, and was gone before she could call out for help. Now only strange faces surrounded her, intense eagerness colored their expressions, each one seemed looming and inhuman to her terrified mind. Like they were coming to see a freak show. Kirstie had never been afraid of crowd, but neither had she been in the dead center of one. The cacophony of the mob battered against her, drowning her in its overwhelming weight.


And then she was free, fallen through a narrow gap between two workers and crashed onto the courtyard's hard cobble, spraining her left write painfully. No one even glanced at her once, much less helped.


She picked herself of the ground, still dizzy and close to tears. Kirstie hadn't cried once since the death of her father, but someone the last 15 minutes had driven so close to the edge. That brief experience with the faceless mob had shown her a side of the world she hadn't wanted to believe despite the tragedy in her life, that unexpected, out of nowhere experience. She had recognized some faces in the crowd, but at the same time she hadn't. All of the usually nondescript Warehouse workers were very much themselves, casual and amused. Casual and amused at a twisted bleeding body, at the death of a woman whom many of them probably knew, entertained by the spectacle and and the gossiping. That was what terrified her the most, they had not been cold, or unconcerned, but entertained. In a which or two, the death will just be regular gossip used by the dead woman's acquaintances as a chance to be the center of conversations, and in a month it will be forgotten. Just like that. Just like when her father was beaten to death while the crowd cheered on.


Quickly, Kirstie got a handle on herself and choked down the sob that came with the memory. The world was a horrible place, but of course there must be good people somewhere, somehow, her father had taught her. Just not here among the mass of workers milling around the body. How very much she wanted to be away from that horrible place.


Her phone rang once, a message.


In her mind popped up these words:


"You will be contacted soon."


D? What was the point of the signature if she hadn't meant to be able to figure out who it was from?


Kirstie would have to deal with this on her own, she decided quickly. There was no need for her mother to be involved, especially when she found herself growing ever more curious about the individuals behind these unsettling messages.


One hour earlier, Kirstie would have been terrified of this message, of the implications the anonymous letter had brought.


But right then she very much wanted to believe what the sender of the letter had to say.


Right then she feared reality more than the dreams.

 

[Kiroshiven]

Isaac collected the last of what he could tell were the small children and started guiding them out. Fifteen year old kids being allowed to see something so gruesome is just beyond acceptable. What fucking idiot lets that kind of shit slide? He sighed as he patted one that looked like he was about to cry on the back. "Hey, I know it's tough, but you gotta be strong little guy, okay?" He knew that his words weren't going to help, but he was going to try. "You've got some really unsettled coworkers and some of them are girls to boot. You gotta be strong enough to help yourself and them. I know it's a lot, but you look like the kind of man that can handle it." Calling him a man really seemed to help the boy as he looked ahead. Just as Isaac figured he'd do, the boy wiped his cheeks and walked off to go support his friends. He's a strong lad. He'll make a fine man some day. Isaac smirked as he left the boy to handle the rest.


"Alright, now I gotta get back to gettin mah shit done." Isaac sighed, just because someone died, didn't mean that everything was going to magically not break down. He cracked his knuckles as he pulled out his phone. He'd taken a picture of the list of things to do. Fix the conveyor belt, check. Next is to go see what's up with that rusty ass boiler, again. "Why don't they just replace the damn thing like I tole them to do six months ago? If I have to go in and do work on it twice a week, then it's at the end of its life. I'm not a miracle worker!" He shook his head as he felt his phone vibrate and a message popped up on his screen. Unidentified sender. Isaac felt tempted to delete the message, but it felt odd that some unknown person sent him a message the same week he got a letter from an unknown sender. Gotta be a coincidence.





Although he thought that, Isaac found himself opening up the message. "1913 Hamish Ave. @8:30 huh? And what does the person mean, all that is gone is not lost? And who the fuck is D? I mean this message is barely fucking understandable!" He shook his head again. Of course, they could naturally not want to be figured out. After all, we're talking about sleeping here. Isaac felt the need for coffee all of a sudden. "Just one cup, then back to work." He said but as he rounded the corner he found someone slumped over on the wall. "Oi, you okay miss?" Isaac approached the woman warily. She must've seen what happened outside. As he got within six or seven feet he came to a stop with the squeak of his boots. "Miss?"


@LadyMatsudai

 

[LadyMatsudai]

Sage could hear all of the distant talking and walking, the earth almost shaking to each footstep that dug into the ground beneath them as they passed. No one stopped...no one checked on her. To be honest, Sage was a little happy she had this moment of peace...well, peace was perhaps a strong word. It was just a mild nightmare compared to the horror she was going to live through for the rest of the day...


This can't be happening...it just can't...please...please...


But just when Sage thought she would recover just a little bit from her spell, her brown eyes glanced up, tears staining her cheeks, all wide and full of fear as she stared up at the face of Isaac Faust, aka Scraps, the beloved cook of the Warehouse. She did not know the man in person but she had often seen him wielding his knife like a master swordsman, crafting the best dishes she could have imagined with what little they had to work with. He just like everyone else must have gone to see what the commotion was about...


Suddenly, out of nowhere, Sage's face grew extremely pale, leaning over her knees as she got sick on the cobblestone, coughing to her sudden sickly action as her hands pawed at the ground for what little comfort it offered, her phone falling out of her hand to land screen up on the ground beside her, still bright with the text message that threw her into her spell.


@Kiroshiven

 

[Poe]

Skye Fiera

​

It was beginning to get chaotic and Skye didn’t do chaotic unless she initiated it. Stomping out what was left of her cigarette, she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket and she couldn't help but be intrigued. A client? She pulled her phone out and tapped the screen, the text message brightening up every inch of the screen.

SENT 10:46 || UNKNOWN NUMBER


1913 Hamish Ave. @8:30 on Tuesday.


All that is Gone is not Lost. -- D
​

Skye read it over once, twice, and furrowed her eyebrows at the new information. It could not be a coincidence that this pretty little blonde had met her maker at the crunch of pavement beneath her nor could the text message. Well, actually, she wouldn't have minded much. This seemed like a whole lot of other people’s business and she did not have time for it. Some people in this world were trying to make a damn living and inch their way by the skin of their teeth. All that is gone is not lost. What a cryptic message to send — who the fuck was D? Why the hell would they choose 8:30 on a Tuesday?


This all just felt like a ton of bullshit already.


Shoving the phone back in her pocket, Skye sighed and was about to make her way back into the Warehouse when she felt a gentle tug at her shirt. Red, the small voice called up and immediately Skye’s demeanor softened a bit. “Kid?” she responded, turning to see Candy standing beside her. An amused and pleasant smirk touched her lips, “Hey there,” she chuckled a bit, “How’re you?”


“Excuse me, do you know this girl?” the same uppity woman who had given Skye trouble earlier about the cigarette scolded. “This is no place for a child! I would never —“


“Come on, kid,” Skye interrupted, putting a hand on Candy’s back and leading her away from the crowd and towards the wall where they’d have more privacy. Skye’s break was over ten minutes ago but she felt like there was no way anyone could yell at her. After all, someone was dead, and if she had to — she would feign some sort of friendship or relationship with the girl. “Pretty girl, huh? Damn shame.”


“Sick though, the way they all just kinda lurk. She’s not getting up from something like that — so there’s no point in staring.”


Skye had known the girl a long time, through Dimitri, and knew the atrocities she had seen. While some coddled the small girl, Skye knew better than to sit there and patronize her in any way. Age was just a number in this world and maturity came fast. It was hard to be in their line of work and not grow up fast. Between the two of them, they had enough to shatter any psyche, but it always went unspoken. There was no point, but she did like to check in once in a while. Just to say hello.


“So,” Skye breathed out and leaned her shoulder against the wall, looking down at Candy. “What’s the deal? How’ve you been?”

@Sunbather​

 

[A Murder Of Corviknight]

Aleksei Thrussell

Location: Just outside The Warehouse


Status and Mood: Mixed. Mainly anxiety.


Mentioned: @Elle Joyner


Tagged: @Mordecai

Alex blinked, as the other man’s gaze flickered from his face to his phone multiple times before frowning as if confused or uncomfortable. But the man seemed to brush past his discomfort, at least Alex hoped so, and began to introduce himself as “Chai” when he was interrupted by the jingling of a text notification. Alex barely had time to wonder about the strangeness of the name “Chai” when his own phone lit up and vibrated obnoxiously to get his attention. Staring down at the small screen, he frowned at the “unknown number” but opened the message anyway.


’Maybe mom changed her number again,’ he thought idly. But his frown only deepened, brows furrowing in both confusion and annoyance, when he read over the rather cryptic message. That’s...definitely not his mother. Who could it-...be…


He paled.


He didn’t know if it was because of the corpse that was currently just a couple of meters away from them. ...Or if it was because of the lingering echoes of the nightmare that always seems to cling like a stubborn layer of grime. The text somehow reminded him of that letter from a while ago. The letter that made him feel both a little bit more sane yet a bit more insane at the same time. And desperate. He always felt desperate when it came to sleep. To the nightmares.


Closing his eyes to ground himself, Alex took a breath--when did he even stop?--to push away the sudden weight of paranoia and anxiety that came with the little text message. He’ll deal with this later. At home. With no one to see him pace like a maniac.


With those firm thoughts in mind, Alex glanced up with a neutral expression on his face when Chai asked for his name. But he barely unlocked his phone again to type out an answer for him before a little woman with a mop of blonde hair brushed through them. Followed by a loud cringe worthy yelp of “Alex!” and a sudden weight crashing into his side.


’...At least he’s got my name now. he thought dryly, putting away his phone and glancing down at the head of long brown hair. Ignoring the glares and glances from some of the crowd, he hushed his sixteen year old little sister, Riza, with a brief gesture and a looked that practically screamed “are you serious?” What was she even doing here in the first place? He doubted his mother would let her even go near here without a good reason.


“Mama said to look for you while you were on break. You didn’t answer last night about getting together for dinner.” ...Ah. It was probably when he was...sleeping.


Glancing at Chai briefly he flashed an apologetic smile, Alex waved good-bye before he, with a flutter of his fingers asked his sister to start walking and talking. The two moved away from crowd and towards the Warehouse building, with her chatting away quietly and him replying with almost lazily dancing fingers. But as they got further and further away from the corpse, Alex felt the weight of the text message get heavier and heavier in his pocket.


What should he do?

 

[Master Attano]

Mathias Pembroke

SENT 10:46 || UNKNOWN NUMBER


1913 Hamish Ave. @8:30 on Tuesday.


All that is Gone is not Lost. -- D




The message flared to life on the screen of his phone. A stillness spreading out across his body as the words seemed to soak into his very psyche. Whispering cries of pain and despair echoing through his mind. Wrenching his eyes from the phone Mathias stepped away from the wall, quickly scanning the crowd, eyes darting from figure to figure. "Where are you?" he snarled under his breath, gripping the phone tightly as he searched. The effort proved fruitless however, nothing jumping out at him but the general mindless mass of humans before him. "Shit." he swore, slamming his palm into the wall behind him. The message was so cryptic it had to be from the same origin as the letter.




You have been chosen.


Don't fear the dreams.


Fear everything else.

You will be contacted soon

The words had been burned into his mind, lingering at the back of his consciousness. How did they know? It was the question he had asked himself then, and continued to ask ever since. He had sworn he had been careful, making sure he always had some of the drug on hand if a spell overcame him. The constant weight of exhaustion that followed him a reminder of the danger he faced. Whoever these people are they know what I am, the fact that they haven't demanded anything yet only adds to the threat they pose. He had seen first hand what happened to Narcs when they were discovered and it had never been pretty. A blank look crossing his face as the memories of countless people screaming as they were ripped from their homes and family and thrown off into the ISO compound stirred to life.


Experiencing such a thing from the other side of the barrel was not an experience he wished to endure anytime soon. Shaking his head, he checked his watch before striding back to the storage closet, pulling the door shut as he stepped inside. With the buzz of the crowd outside he simply stood for a moment, the silence washing over him in calming waves. His eyes beginning to droop. The small amount of peace he had was shattered however as the image of a pale woman with light brown hair seared across his mind, her mouth contorted in a silent scream, her eyes agony; the woman stood against a backdrop straight out of the lowest depths of Hell itself, a broken wasteland stretching out into infinity. With a crash, he slammed into the aluminum shelves behind him, gasping for air as cleaning bottles and equipment scattered across the floor. As the image faded all he could do was slowly sink to the ground, lungs gasping for air. The shock and fear eaten away as an overwhelming ache uncoiled from the tight ball in his stomach like a hungry serpent, and spread out across his body.


Gasps turning to sobs as the shelves shook under his weight. With one last breath however, the fallen man throttled his sobs to nothing, pulling himself to his feet with a look that could curdle milk. Throwing his plain grey work clothes off, he pulled on some loose suit pants and a plain, slightly stained, white button up shirt. Stepping out of the supply closet he slammed the door behind him, flicking his eyes across the crowd as the locked it behind him, disgust welling up inside him. This city is a parasite. he thought venomously, and it's people are no better than mindless sheep drifting from one thrill to the next. Pulling out his phone once again he looked over the message.




1913 Hamish Ave. @8:30 on Tuesday.


All that is Gone is not Lost. -- D

"Time to get some answers." he muttered, pocketing the phone as he began to push his way through the crowd, having a modicum of thought that stopped him from simply throwing people out of his way.


​

 

[Elle Joyner]

"Ladies and gentleman, if I might have your attention!"

​

The booming voice filled the courtyard with the resonance of a schooled theater Prima Oumo, a strong, sturdy sounds, without tremor or wave. It belonged to a man both tall and thin, a wiry sort, with fine white hair and a subtly handsome face. He wore a suit in charcoal grey and a bright blue tie with very little character. Classically, he might be called striking, except for the cold, steel eyes, fixed then, on the large crowd surrounding the unfortunate display.


"My name, as most of you know, is Silas Reid...Vice President here at the Warehouse. This horrendous episode is most regrettable, but I would like to assure you we are doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of what's happened, here. In the meantime, to ensure that no one is left without the proper emotional support, we will be providing half an hour of mandatory grief counseling, between the hours of 9 and 11, for each Warehouse unit. In the meantime, I would ask that we pull ourselves together, so that we might continue the work day. If you would all kindly return to your positions, it would be greatly appreciated. Remember - The Warehouse can't run without you... and if the Warehouse doesn't run, New Miami doesn't run. Thank you."

Grier Davis


Location: Warehouse Courtyard
​

...Of all the pompous, self absorbed, superficial suits that made up The Warehouse hierarchy, Silas Reid had to be one of the foremost. The idea that a suicide victim laying in their courtyard was nothing for than an episode... it was disgusting. But it also wasn't remotely surprising. That was the way things worked, wasn't it? Death was brushed aside, because work was more important.


Rolling her eyes, Grier pulled her phone from her pocket, eyeing the text message she'd received a moment before. A frown crossed her lips as she read over the words before tucking the device away again. She'd talked to her dealer in the past about getting cute with his texts... Incidentally, not an effective conversation.


"Idiot..." Grier mumbled, before turning round to make for the entrance again. The elevators would be a nightmare, so she bypassed the lifts and headed instead, for the stairs. Ultimately, whatever had happened, she didn't doubt for a moment there would be no real investigation into it. A low level HR chick swan diving into the courtyard was hardly worthy of the cops attention, and it certainly wasn't going to draw out a figure like the infamous President, whoever the hell he was...


All Grier wanted was to get through the rest of her shift, get through the idiot gab fest of 'grief counseling' get downtown and find as many ways as possible to keep her eyelids open...


Easier said than done when time seemed to be running backwards...


In reality, the counseling sounded like a brilliant waste of time. Judging from the way folks were chattering about what happened with moronic smiles on their faces, the gossip mill running wild about why she'd jumped in the first place. The popular theory, of course, was that she was having an affair that had ended less than civilly. Of course, there was also talk that she was on drugs that had her so addled she'd walked right off the roof... And some suggestions that she was a Narc, and was so depressed about it that she'd chosen to end her life, rather than getting caught and sent to ISO.


By the time the bell rang, signalling the end of her shift, the voice calling over the loudspeaker for their unit to head to the lounge for their session, Grier was ready to violently strangle someone...


But mandatory was mandatory, and so, fighting a yawn, she made her way down to the lounge, where she found herself pleasantly alone for a moment, sinking down on the couch with a sigh of resignation.

Finn Carver


Location: Warehouse Courtyard
​

He couldn't concentrate. No matter how hard he tried, how desperately he keyed his focus to the task at hand, Finn was absolutely wrapped up. Dolly was gone, yet no sooner had she jumped than he'd received a text message from her. There was no question, of course. D... It had been her call-sign as long as he'd known her.


But it was also impossible, which inevitably meant someone was playing games... How and why, he didn't know, and it ate at him, throughout the remainder of his shift.


At long last, the bell rang, indicating the Warehouse shut down and before the chime ended, Finn had grabbed his things and was out the door.


Grief Counseling. How anyone could think it would help was a mystery. What he needed was a fight - but he'd get one, soon enough. After he'd managed to reassemble the splintered pieces of his phone to a degree that they actually functioned, he'd read a message from Dixon, letting him know they'd found a slot in the Colosseum for him that night. He only needed to get through the next half hour or so, and he could put the whole mess behind him.


Making his way downstairs he found himself in the lounge, occupied by a young blonde, Grier Something or Other. He gave her a nod, then found a spot as far from the windows as he could manage. He knew it was out there, the Courtyard... Night had fallen and they'd cleaned up any traces of what had happened, but the memory was burned in his mind of Dolly, lying there... like a beautiful broken doll.


Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. The meeting couldn't end fast enough...

no slide

no slide

 

[Sunbather]

Ava Sadaat

? It is barely a second the glimmer of infantile joy rushes over her face. Arguably too subtle to be caught by anyone, even those it is directed at. Nevertheless, such a thing is testament of just how much the young girl appreciated her bond with the ever so sturdy, ever so sassy and ever so stunningly beautiful Skye. Like a little reflection, similar to how daughter would imitate mother, Ava turned to face the broken body laying in the courtyard, still pierced by glaring eyes.

"Pretty girl, yeah..." she answers, the voice brittle to begin with cracking halfway through the short sentence. "Very pretty."


Behind the veil of behavioral competence, a quiet voice drills through her organs to scream "She's pretter now than before." but surpressing the words and instead banishing them to an eternally inaudible cell is a managable task.


"I've been staring." The uninitiated feeling cold feet, Skye must've been used to the odd combination of ugly truth, cold tone and adorable facade. Still, admitting was admitting and it sounded as such. Maybe to feign guilt, maybe to mask genuine regret, a little hand slips into the equally small pockets sewn into the much too little jeans skirt hugging her thighs above her black tights. A buzz had prompted her to react, as messages were a rarity. And even then, most of them would turn out to be commands from Demitri or good wishes from Delilah. A twitch shooting through her right arm, Ava's eyes suddenly leaked pure life, only to almost instantly die anew. "D..."


A reluctant little smile wrestled with resisting to turn into a jittering pout as tragedy seeped through her every fiber. Head still down, she had become unable to resist resorting to need. A hand crawled up on Skye's frame, modestly requesting a hand to hold, forcing a maternal quality onto the red-haired vixen without any inclination to do so. "I... I've been fine." A snivel granted a rare peek behind the reflective shards of the broken mirror that her stability was, though she caught herself. There was no way she'd intelligibly confess to the whole-hearted belief her father had returned and prepared to meet with her. Confusion failed to set in, as curiosity was drowned out by grief. Grief over what essentially was another death suffered, one she basically had to process once before, years ago.


"And you?" A single sleeve wiping over her slightly reddening face as she speaks. Avoidance of being "found out". Composure, fought for mentally and physically. Just then, an announcement would begin, made by an easily hatable figure. "Great", she thought, "Just what we need. Therapy."


@Poe

 

[Poe]

Skye Fiera

​

A hand snaked up her side and clung to her own, nearly throwing Skye off guard, but instead she simply tightened her grip around the young girl’s hand. Between the two of them, Skye had always tried to make her see that she was not the only one with morbid thoughts — that this life? It changed you and things little suicides and darkness were not uncommon. Little Ava…Candy, was blunt, always. She never seemed to know how to sugar coat anything and with good reason. It was hard to look at life through rose colored glasses when all you’d ever known was disappointment and abuse.


“It’s okay, I’ve been staring too,” Skye finally spoke to her, keeping the girl’s small hand enveloped in hers as they both looked onto the scene a few paces away. The smallest little snivel escaped the young girl’s body, immediately setting off Skye’s brain but she did not look down. No, breaks were personal matters. Tears were things you kept for yourself and the young girl had plenty to cry over. More than any of them, really.


Skye let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall, her head hitting the concrete ever so slightly as to send a bit of a jolt through her. She needed a drink, more than anything, but she wouldn’t see it until after shift. “I’m good, kid, always good,” she smirked a bit, glancing down at the girl who had managed to regain her composure. Crouching down just enough to get on eye level with her, Skye brought her free hand up to wipe just under her eye though there was no tear there yet, it was something Skye’s mother used to do. “I—“


Just as Skye opened her mouth, the damn Vice President of the Warehouse stepped out to make an announcement. Silas Reid. Go figure he wouldn’t give them the fucking time of day to process what had happened. “Most regrettable, my ass,” Skye bit out, “Just wants to ship us through a shrink before throwing us back on the line. Shouldn’t have expected any less.”


Just a half an hour and then she could get out of that damned place.


“C’mon,” Skye breathed out, tugging on the young girl’s hand just a bit, “The sooner we do this, the sooner we’re out of here. A half an hour never killed anyone.”


Well, ten seconds had killed that pretty blonde, but she held her tongue.


By the time the two had made it down, there were already two bodies occupying the lounge. A lanky little blonde had taken the couch, while across the room and furthest from the windows was a young man that Skye had seen before. Fighting, maybe? Hell if she ever remembered nights out anyway, but there was something distinctly familiar about his face. Together the two women made their way into the room and found that no matter where they sat, they were stuck close to one of the two parties.


Skye hated therapy.


Taking a seat closer to, but not encroaching on, the man away from the windows, Skye thought it best to keep her companion away from the windows. She knew all too well the way thoughts raced in the aftermath and the last thing she needed was to torture herself with the image of the girl on the ground. Splayed out like a martyr.


With a sigh, she sunk back a little into her seat.

@Sunbather​

 

[Mordecai]

Chai

As quick as he had come, the lanky gentleman with the phone had disappeared, but not first without giving a small wave. Alex, as his name, at least that’s what someone had suggested—a young woman who had popped through the crowd. Chai responded with a small wave of his own, though his eyes pulled away from the man, and the blonde woman (the living one, incidentally), when the sturdy sound of Tokyo Purple, smooth but omnipresent, rippled through the crowd. Voices continued to murmur, even as the man began to speak, but few were listening long enough to do anything but air their grievances about the mandatory counseling.


Chai, on the other hand, found himself pleasantly surprised by the president’s directive. The hours at the Warehouse were long and grueling, even for Chai, who moderately enjoyed welding, so any opportunity to not work (if only for a half hour) was nothing short of blessing. So, at Silas’ direction, Chai neatly tucked his nose towards the ground and made a beeline back for the warehouse.


He was a good little worker bee, Chai was. He always followed directions, was never late, always early, and had a pleasant demeanor about him that other employees seemed to enjoy. Oh, sure, he was a bit outlandish, even for New Miami standards, but he was agreeable enough. Just as promised, like clockwork, a memo arrived for him around mid-morning, telling him exactly when and where to go for his counseling. It must have been his lucky day too, because the session was taking up the last half-hour of his work shift, which meant once it was concluded, he could book it back to his apartment.


Merrily tossing side his face shield and washing his hands clean of grime (never mind there was still a small smudge of soot across his left cheek), the young gentleman strolled, no, flounced, towards the therapy meeting point. A few people had already gathered in the area, though it was the two women who captured his attention the most. There was one with a fiery red mane and a rather unusual emerald green colour to her, which Chai was simply not known to be compatible with, and another—a blonde, the blonde, who came in a pretty shade of Tangerine. He liked that colour.


So, in typical Chai style, he slid into the seat next to her on the couch and did the only thing Chai could think to do, that, of course, no other human being would ever even consider: he gave her a pet.


His hand gently touched the blonde, nearly white, locks as he flashed an equally white-toothed smile. “Hello,” he greeted her, amusement playing a note in his tune. “I’m Chai. Well, I’m not. I’m really Willam but people call me Chai. It’s a nickname, but I’m sure you already understood that. I don’t know where it came from though, golly gee.” A normal person might have been embarrassed by the babble of words spilling from between his lips like a stream trickling down rocks, but Chai never missed a beat, his pleasant expression never wavering.


And for what reason would it? People always seemed to orient themselves around the little nugget of joy named Chai. He was the sturdy rock, the ever-flowing spring, the light at the end of the tunnel… living proof that happiness could be experienced and felt in a place like the Warehouse, as soul sucking as it was. Never mind that he had a few nuts and bolts knocking around loose in his brain.


“Your hair, by the by, is a nice colour.” Actually, it was the absence of colour nearly, as stark blonde as it was, but details were details were details, and Chai always preferred to speak about the big picture and paint in metaphorical big strokes.

@Elle Joyner
​