|
Suddenly Memories: Jonixlord
By Dac
The pain in his stomach was blinding. Jonix stumbled through the streets clutching his stomach, watching the blood seep through them. It spattered the pavement as he stumbled around, and he turned weakly to people on the street as he passed them, but no matter how many times he thinly cried for help, they stared at him in shock and moved swiftly around him. He gazed blindly after them, not understanding why none of them stopped to help him. He continued stumbling aimlessly down the street, clutching his bleeding stomach and forcing himself to move despite the shock.
The pain was relentless, stabbing through his gut and spreading like fire throughout his body. Every nerve was alight and he could barely see through it. His vision grew steadily foggier and his movements were erratic and unconscious. He was barely aware of the fact that he was even walking. He did not feel the ground beneath his feet, or the movement of his legs. All he felt was a small puncture wound, magnified a thousand times by rivers of agony flowing through his body, and the trickle of rapidly-escaping blood, soaking through his clothes and all over his hands. The sensation was unpleasant, but it was the only thing he could feel that wasn’t harsh, raging pain. He couldn’t even tell if he was about to throw up, or if he was throwing up at that very second, so great was the pain.
He dropped to his knees and did not notice. He choked, trying to suck air into his lungs, and one offhand part of his brain wondered if it had been they which were damaged. It quickly realised no; breathing did not cause pain, any more than he could already feel. It had to be his stomach itself, or possibly an intestine. Maybe a kidney. Something down there. It was screaming in anguish, and he couldn’t work out what it was.
He fell slowly backwards onto the pavement and spread his arms. His vision was going dark and his eyes rolled back in his head, the world outside ceasing to be. The pain overtook his entire body and he lost himself in the back recesses of his head.
***
His eyes snapped open.
He didn’t move the rest of his body for some time, instead lying there, breathing slowly, taking in his surroundings. He didn’t recognise them; the room he was in was dark, lit only by a few small LEDs that flickered intermittently. The light hurt his eyes and he blinked, slowly twisting away from them. The room seemed to contain nothing but the table he lay on, and he eventually sat up, looking around to see if there was anything more. There wasn’t; aside from the lights, the room contained nothing but his table, the door and the walls, all dull and black and featureless. He slowly swung his legs to the side and over the edge of the table, sitting there for a moment. His memories came back to him in a haze, and he pieced the events together, as well as he could recall. He did not remember falling; the last thing he remembered was staring at his blood-soaked hands. He held them up and looked at them again, the harsh light from the LEDs reflecting nothing but clean skin. He felt unnerved. Where did it all go? What had happened after he had fallen unconscious?
Gingerly, he raised his shirt, also clean and devoid of blood, and touched his belly. Tracing his fingers across his skin, he felt a scar that had not been there before. There had been stitches but they had already been removed, and now there was just a small line of scar tissue, already healed. Jonix frowned. It didn’t hurt to breathe, and he wondered what the bullet had done to his innards, when something in his mind spoke up. It sounded almost like a voice, someone unfamiliar, talking about the bullet’s path. It had passed through his gut but had, by luck, bypassed all of his organs, grazing the exterior of his stomach but causing no lasting damage before erupting from his back. Instinctively, he slid his hand behind him and under his shirt, feeling around on his back until he found a similar scar. He almost stopped breathing as he realised why he knew exactly where the bullet had travelled.
While he was unconscious, someone who had operated on him. In the process, his ever-roaming subconscious had picked up their stray thoughts.
He slid to his feet and squared his shoulders, walking cautiously to the door. He put his palm on the door handle and hesitated before slowly opened the door and stepped into the room beyond, unsure what he would find.
He was in a corridor also lit by annoyingly flickering LEDs. He rubbed his eyes and kept walking towards the only other door, as blank and forbidding as everything else here. There were no windows in the corridor, no way to tell if it was day or night. He walked towards the door, ominous sensations coursing like icy water through his veins. Just as he reached the door, he stopped and peered closer. There was a small brass plate on the door he hadn’t seen until he came closer, with a word inscribed on it. He squinted at the plate. It read, “GEN-TEC”. Jonix cocked his head. He didn’t know what Gen-Tec was, he had never heard the name before. Somehow, though, he found it relaxing to see the brass plate. Some corner of his mind took comfort in seeing a feature, something other than blank black paint and sputtering LED light. Something he could identify. Heartened, he opened the door and stepped through.
The light in this room was no less harsh, but thankfully it did not flicker. Jonix stopped squinting vaguely and looked around in relief, and blinked in surprise. The room here was arranged like a small conference room, with a long table surrounded by chairs in the middle. The walls were just as blank as everywhere else, but the table was a cheerful mahogany, and the chairs looked incredibly comfortable. Jonix took another step forward towards the table when he jumped in shock.
He was not alone.
The chair at the head of the table swung around and its occupant smiled at him. He froze, staring. The woman was wearing tight black shorts and a black tank top that left very little to the imagination. Her head was framed by shoulder-length black hair, and her eyes were a startlingly bright blue. For all that, there was something Jonix found uneasy about her, attractive as she was. The ease at which she held herself in the chair, the demure smile playing on her lips, something about it did not sit right with him.
“Good afternoon,” she said lightly. “I trust you’re feeling better.”
Jonix stared warily at her. She gestured to a seat at the table, and he cautiously sat down, not once taking the time to blink. The nagging feeling that something about her was very wrong lingered, and he tried to work out what it was. His mind worked furiously, but he could not work it out. She pushed a plate towards him. He pulled it close and eyed it in confusion; it was full of bacon and eggs.
“I expect you’re hungry,” she said calmly. “Eat up.”
Jonix looked down at it and his eyes hardened. After his accommodation in Celtic’s dungeons, he had become healthily paranoid and distrusting of gift horses. Suspecting poison or something similar, he cleared his head, instinctively reaching out with his mind to probe hers to see what she was up to, who she was, and why she was helping him.
He fought to keep his jaw from dropping. He could not find her mind.
He tried reaching out, but his telepathy could not pick up a thing. It was as though she wasn’t even there, another empty chair, invisible to him. He looked down at the food, then back at her. Her blue eyes watched him expectantly. Looking down at the plate, he pushed it away.
“No thank you,” he said raspily. His throat felt dry.
“If you insist,” she said, utterly unperturbed. “How do you feel? How’s your...body?”
Jonix felt a mild spasm at the way she said the word, the look in her eyes. He tried to avoid looking at her body in response and forced himself to answer. “Fine. Much better. Is that thanks to you?”
“My people, yes,” she smiled sweetly. “I found you in the street and had them bring you here. It’s not my usual location, but it serves a purpose when I need it.”
Jonix nodded, not sure what to say to that. The way she kept looking at him made him uncomfortably aware of every little thing he was doing, and he wasted a moment trying to find a posture that didn’t feel so awkward under her probing gaze.
“Who are you?” he finally asked.
She laughed lightly and sat back, and he had the strange feeling he’d said something wrong. She kept looking at him, calm and saccharine, still smiling. “Do you always ask a girl for her name when you’ve just met her?” she asked cheekily. “I think you owe me your name first. Come on.”
He hesitated. His paranoia clashed with a need to be honest with someone who had saved his life. In an instant, the two options were weighed inside his head, and he made a decision. “Jonixlord. Yours?”
She smiled. “Interesting name. So how did someone like you find himself nearly bleeding out all over my doorstep?”
He leaned back in his seat, and his armour went back on. His name was one thing, but Jonix had no interest in telling anyone about his business. He folded his arms and stared at her, saying nothing. Her eyes seemed almost hurt by his cold, silent refusal.
“You don’t want to tell me?” she asked.
He said nothing, staring at her flatly. His mind sealed itself, and he sat motionless in his seat. He had played this game before; not even Ren could make him talk once he had lapsed into stony silence. He placed himself in a familiar mindset: he had nothing to gain and a lot to lose if he opened his mouth, so he remained statuesque in his chair, watching the woman. She leaned her face forward, her blond hair falling in front of her face as she looked up at him like a young child begging forgiveness. He didn’t twitch. When she realised the puppy dog eyes weren’t working, she resumed smiling and leaned back in her chair.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said casually. “I’m just curious about something strange that happened. Not all of us can be as intuitive as you, Jonixlord.”
He fought the urge to narrow his eyes, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. A mischievous glint came into the woman’s eye and her smile turned devious.
“Oh, but I forgot...you can’t read my mind.”
His eyes flared.
“How the hell-”
He cut himself off, cursing himself for his mistake. She’d baited him and he’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker. She knew it, too; her smile twisted into a devious smirk. He tried to resume his emotionless, flat composure, but the damage was done.
“It doesn’t matter how I know,” she said. “What matters is, I know. Don’t be upset, I’m not going to sell you out to the Guardsmen.” Something must have changed in his expression, from the way her eyes flicked across his face. “I know you’re not a Guardsman. If you have powers and you’re not with the Guardsmen, you’re against them. I don’t know about your affiliations but I know that much.”
“How do you know I’m a telepath?” he said through gritted teeth. He gave up on trying to maintain an emotionless facade and bit the bullet, glaring at her.
“I know,” she said simply and calmly. “What I don’t know is how you came to be shot in the streets.”
He scowled. “And I don’t know how you know I’m a telepath. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m the woman that saved your life,” she smiled. “But if that means nothing to you, then by all means, continue being rude.”
He fell silent, staring at her. Something in her tone affected him, and he lowered his eyes, feeling ashamed despite himself. He tried to find something to counter with, some argument he could make, but nothing came. He sighed.
“I got shot by accident,” he said slowly.
He felt her stir slightly, but she said nothing, watching him closely. Her eyes seemed to focus, as though he had gone from mildly interesting to something fascinating.
“I was breaking into a software company,” he went on. “A...friend of mine...needed some equipment from them, which he couldn’t get himself. I went in to get it from them. I walked past the security guards, and used them as shields so I could hide from the cameras. I made them stand between me and the cameras. I kept going in. Deeper and deeper, and no one stopped me. No one could even see me. I collected everything my friend needed and got out about an hour later. But just as I was walking out...I was too busy controlling security guards to notice him. I was just out the door when I heard gunfire. I turned around, I thought I’d been found out. A bullet... it passed through the wall and hit me.”
He paused, rubbing his face with both hands. His stomach didn’t ache, and the lack of pain was alienating. The memories felt like someone else’s, like he had invaded another mind and brought them back with him. They felt like his own memories had taken a painkiller, leaving him numb and disaffected.
“Had you been discovered?” asked the woman curiously.
“No,” laughed Jonix bitterly. “The shooter was just some dude who’d been fired by the company a few days earlier. He wasn’t even aiming, he’d just fired wildly around the place to scare people. The bullet just happened to get me, and I don’t think anyone inside even noticed. I must have dropped my bag. All I remember is stumbling around with both hands on my gut.”
The woman shook her head slowly. She looked like she was fighting the urge to laugh herself, to Jonix’s distaste. “I wonder, what good is telepathy if you can’t stop yourself getting needlessly shot?” she pondered.
He tensed with anger. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but the lights on the roof seemed to fade slightly. “I didn’t know...”
“You could have,” she replied, as though it was obvious. “You’re a telepath. Of the many, many powers that exist, from the rational to the absurd, you have one of the most powerful, one of the most subtle. But you’re not using what you have. You’re treating it as a convenience, not a blessing. Even now, you’re not really using it.”
Jonix cocked his suspiciously. “What do you mean? I can’t read your mind. You said that yourself.”
“Have you considered the possibility I may not have been truthful?” she suggested. “Maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.”
She stood up and walked slowly around the table, leaning on it right in front of him. He failed to stop from stealing a glance at her ass. She smiled calmly at him, still watching his face. One of the lights in the room went out, but neither paid it any mind.
“Your mind is on other things,” she said. “You’re too preoccupied with other, irrelevant details to focus on what’s really in front of you. You’re not using your telepathy like you could be. Why is that, I wonder?”
“What do you know about it?” he snapped abrasively.
Another light went out. Shadows fell across her face as she smiled down at him, her features turning eerie and unnerving. He forced himself not to look away, staring up at her defiantly. Her smile, under the shadows, looked more snakelike than saccharine. He tried not to blink as he held her gaze.
“It was mid-afternoon in a busy city that you were shot,” she said. “The streets would be lined with people. People who could help you, but no one did.”
“Most were running away from the gunfire,” he explained darkly. “The rest ran away from a man spilling blood all over his hands.”
“They ran from you?” she inquired quizzically.
“People are bastards,” he growled acidly.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said calmly. “People are flawed, certainly. Panicky, prone to reckless decisions, mob mentality. They shirk responsibility and expect other people to do what they refuse to because it would interrupt their perfectly planned lives. But ultimately people will try to help someone in need for some reason, idealists call it decency and cynics call it guilt. Out of all those people, not one called an ambulance for you? Not one person in crowded streets tried to help? Not even one person had the decency to help? That doesn’t sound right. What are you not telling me?”
Jonix hesitated, and his bone-dry wit took over for him before he’d even realised. “I guess I just have one of those faces that scares people,” he said thickly.
“The sarcasm doesn’t become you,” she said reprovingly. She stood up and walked slowly around his chair. One hand trailed idly across his shoulders and he felt a strange chill up his spine. Another light went out, and he frowned. Something was very wrong with the electronics. Before he could say anything, her face appeared next to his, uncomfortably close. He could feel her light breath on his cheek, and the smell that came to him was faintly seductive.
“What makes people run from a telepath?” she wondered. “You might be the only telepath left in the world, you could be the only person who could literally force them to come back and help you, but none of them did. Why didn’t you make someone pull out their phone and call you an ambulance?”
His insides filled with ice as he heard the question. He racked his brains, trying to think of some explanation, something that made sense in his mind. “I...I was distracted...it hurt...the bullet...” he stammered, not even thinking of the words before forcing them out. She smiled and shook her head.
“I don’t think so,” she whispered calmly, stroking his ear. “If you weren’t affecting anyone, then someone would have reacted to their nature. At least one person would have stopped to help. But everyone you came across ran from you. That doesn’t sound like human nature. That’s something...co-ordinated.”
She leaned in and exhaled softly next to his ear. He trembled involuntarily, and she ran a hand through his hair. Standing up, she put her hands on his shoulders and massaged them gently. His skin was covered with goosebumps. Another light went out, and the room was almost entirely bathed in darkness. He suddenly felt very cold. Her voice drifted to his ears from above his head.
“Why did you push them away, Jonix? Tell me. Why were you ready to accept death like that?”
He did not recall standing up and shoving her hands away. He felt like he was instantaneously on his feet, and without warning he was shouting into the darkness where she had vanished.
“Because I hate it here!” he roared.
There was nothing but silence, echoing heavily around him as though dampening out any other sounds. He placed his hands on the table and leaned over, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide and he could feel them begin to well. He clenched his hands into fists as he stared at the mahogany beneath him.
“I hate it,” he repeated. “I’ve been here for months, and all I see is more death and destruction. Since I came to this world I’ve been incarcerated, tortured, impersonated by a shape shifter, hunted and shot. That’s all this world is good for! Just slaughter!” He sank back into the chair, wiping the tears from his face. “All it’s good for,” he repeated. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to be a telepath. I don’t want to be a hero. I don’t want anything to do with this world. I just want to go home.”
The silence remained after he finished as he sat in the chair, his eyes screwed shut. He tried to stem the flow of tears, but something inside him was broken. He felt ashamed of himself, crying like a child because he couldn’t accept his lot in life. Not even when locked in Celtic’s dungeons had he felt as pathetic as he did then. He admonished himself for his behaviour, but at the same time he couldn’t shake it. As horrible as it all was, it was the truth.
He felt something lightly touch his shoulder and looked up. The woman was standing there, smiling calmly at him. Her eyes were pitying and friendly, not judgmental or condescending in the slightest. She stroked his cheek lightly with her fingertips, and he felt a stirring in his skin.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting that,” she said. “You shouldn’t feel bad.”
The lights slowly seemed to fade back in, and the dark room was illuminated again. Jonix barely noticed them, staring up at the woman in something just short of awe. She seemed almost angelic in that moment, as the shadows receded from her face and he beheld her in full. Her face was warm and kind, her expression caring, and the LEDs brightened behind her like the lights of heaven. His breath seemed to get stuck in his lungs.
“But if that’s what you want,” she went on. “You need to use what you have.”
His eyes were blank, uncomprehending. He tried to work it out, but nothing came. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve gotten used to waiting for someone else to come up with the answer to your problems,” she said gently. “You’re not searching for any answer yourself, or going to any other people who might have one. You complain about not having an answer, but you don’t try to find it yourself. That’s no way to live. If you want this, really want it, you need to find a way yourself.”
“I...I don’t know how...” he protested weakly.
“All the more reason to look,” she said. “You need to use what you have. Put aside whatever misgivings you have, and look for an answer in the darkness as much as the light. Seek help from everywhere, not just your closest friends. Be prepared to do things you don’t want to do.”
Something about her words jarred in his mind. In the back of his brain, some long-dormant piece stirred, and ideas began to creep out. Ideas that, had he been at base with Qwirtle, Fools or Puma, would have seemed ludicrous, but here they didn’t seem to be. He raised his eyes and stared into empty space, not noticing her smile in satisfaction.
“Do you know what you need to do?” she prompted softly.
“Sort of,” he replied. “I think...I know where to go.
“Where?”
“To see someone...someone who I honestly hoped never to see again.”
She smiled. “Very good. Use what you have. Good or bad. If you really want something, good and bad don’t exist. They’re all things you have to use.”
Her scent was almost intoxicating. For the rest of his days, Jonix never recalled actually leaving the building or even the room. He seemed to find himself in the street, just as dusk was setting in. He had no idea how much time had passed since he had fallen unconscious, but he knew instinctively what he had to do, and where he had to go. He marched purposefully up the street. Far behind him she stood in a doorway, watching him go. A satisfied smile played on her lips, and her blue eyes glowed eerily. In the hall behind her, something seemed to stir in the dark. The fading light caught the edge of it, revealing something metal that gleamed brightly.
“What seed did you plant, Neomi?” asked a deep, heavy voice. She did not turn to look back at the large shape hidden in the shadows of the hallway, but her smile broadened as Jonix turned a corner and vanished into the night.
“Nothing that wasn’t already there,” she replied. “That one’s a very troubled young man, a ship carrying rats with the plague on it.”
The shape moved up behind her, standing tall. Two ugly yellow eyes with narrow slits for pupils ignited within the folds of darkness as the figure stood up straighter. With each footstep it took, there came the sound of metal landing on carpet. “Where’s he going?” asked the deep voice.
“A harbour, Skatho. A harbour,” she smiled. There was nothing pleasant in her lips this time. “With any luck, he’s heading towards a terrible mistake. ”
***
Data sipped a whiskey as he read the newspaper. He’d been away for the city for some time and was scanning the headlines to see what he had missed. As far as he could tell, not much. The Guardsmen had mostly kept the peace, although there had been skirmishes, with the heroes or with civilians. Marksman was currently in the medical bay, and Data had already had to listen to complaints when that story had come out. He leaned back in his chair, idly flipping past stories that got more and more mundane, when he heard a knock at the door.
“Yes?”
The door opened and his secretary, Jessica, walked in, looking around as though she’d never seen the place before. Data raised his eyebrows. Her movements were erratic and ungainly, as though she was exhausted, and her expression was wide-eyed and cautious, not one he’d ever seen there before.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, his tone blending bewilderment with condescending amusement.
At the sound of his voice, she turned and her gaze narrowed. She strode across the room and planted her hands on the desk boldly, her expression one of suicidal glee. Data stared at her, astonished.
“Hiya, Data,” she sneered. Data looked briefly at his whiskey, then back at her.
“Uh, hi,” he said. “Have you been drinking, Jessica?”
“Jessica?” she echoed. “Oh, no, Data. Jessica’s not here right now. Jessica’s taking a break. I’ll let her back in a second, but for now it’s you and me.”
Data’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Slowly the pieces fell into place and he sat forward, intrigued. “Well, well,” he said. “It’s good to hear from you, Jonix. I’m impressed, this is a pretty bold move. Where are you now?”
“Not like that, Data,” said Jessica, her accent all wrong. “I want to talk to you.”
Data nodded slowly, his mouth twisting in amusement. “I’m listening.”
11/5/2011 8:51:09 AM
Comment on this fan fiction!
|
|
|
