Glacier Irion
Whitefoxfire
Story
-----------------------------------------------: Less Than Human :
A bright light. Muffled voices. A heart monitors beep. A heart rate. A pulse.
Life...
"Congratulations doctor, it seems the surgery was a success- you sir will go down in the history books for certain..."
"Thank you nurse... but were not done with him yet... he may have survived to this point, but he still has a fight ahead of him..."
"Sir?... I thought this was the hardest point to get past?"
"No, this is only the first step, there is much more he needs to fight against before he's 'alive', much, much more..."
Much more.
Much.
More.
Much.
'BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-' the annoying alarm was silenced after a hand pressed down upon the cold surface, turning it off immediately and beginning a chain reaction throughout the room. Coffee began to brew on a silver titanium pot; a paste began to strew fourth a tube and lay itself on a plate before a breakfast began to unfold from the cream; lithium lights lit up the room and shed what little light they offered onto the form still laying in bed. Mismatched eyes opened and stared out in a crystal haze. No sleep to blur his vision, he saw every detail of the fluorescent letters of the clock that faced him, even after waking him from the reoccurring dream. 6:34 AM read the time in front of him, giving him precisely 1,560 seconds before he would need to be at work.
A pale hand came up from under the pillow to gently stroke the metallic silver hair that draped over those mis-matched eyes of his. He wasn't tired. He was never tired; or at least, not for long. Didn't stop the false feeling of being tired, the imagined feel of actually being exhausted, wanting to press the snooze button and go back to sleep; go back to dreaming. None of that. He got up with out a second thought more, already behind by 38 seconds and only having 1,522 second left before he'd officially be late.
1,520. Pushing aside the light covers, he found himself sitting there for another 15 seconds before removing himself from the bed. Another 172 seconds and he had his work pants on and was pulling the white button up shirt on over his military-trained skin. 20 seconds passed as he stared blankly at a spot on the wall, buttoning up this shirt. This slight drift was disturbed by the click of the coffee pot, his gaze flicking over to it and his prepared cup, made just how he preferred it; Black with hazelnut flecks. He skipped the last few buttons to pick up the cup and give it a test taste.
Perfect. 1,315.
He set the cup down to pick up a small device, placing it in his ear and once again finding a random spot for his gaze to focus on. "Hello?" his voice was smooth, deep and well toned; English. A voice rattled in his ear, but inaudible to anyone standing in the room, or even right up next to his ear. He listened to whoever it was speaking to him as he began to make his breakfast; eggs and toast. Well, actually, it was more like just fiddle around with his breakfast, as it had prepared itself and was now piping hot and waiting to be eaten. He prodded it with a fork, not really hungry or desiring to eat. He never really was. Another fleeting feeling that left him usually more quickly than being fatigue.
"Yes sir... I know sir... I'll keep an eye out for them sir... Yes sir... good day sir.." a flick of his gaze and the conversation ended, no emotion to show whether the call had irritated or bothered him in any manner. Though, the call left him with 948 seconds remaining. Again, no emotion reflected across his features, finally taking a bit out of the toast and proceeding to consume the precise combination of ammino acids, carbohydrates, water and wheat matter. The eggs were next, going down a bit more smoothly, though he was never too fond of the texture; left a dry feeling in his mouth. This was cured with a glass of fresh water.
707. He finished buttoning his shirt and pulled a jacket on over it, the bullet-proof material feeling like Egyptian silk and being just as light. His attire being 'complete' when the hand guns were placed in their holsters at his waist, a mace gun tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket and a electric taser tucked into the other. He paused in front of the mirror hanging above where the sink was in the room. His reflection didn't look any different from any other day; the same mis-matched eyes, the same metallic silver hair, brushed back and looking semi-descent. It was the same look he wore everyday, nothing has changed; it's been this way for 7 years.
67 seconds passed before he pushed lightly on the sink, letting it be swallowed into the wall and replaced with a cabinet. Filling through the cabinet, he found the bottle he was looking for, took it and gave it a gentle shake. The motioned was returned with a faint rattling. Opening it, he dipped a finger inside and pulled it out covered in a shiny silver dust. After replacing the lid, he set the bottle down back in it's place inside the cabinet, the dust have shifted and moved all the while he was taking his time in putting things back in order. Though, his attention eventually shifted to the shiny flecks, seeming to regard them for a moment before licking the dust off his finger. He grimaced, almost painfully, making a disgusted face before forcing back the saliva and making the substance go down. It took 58 seconds for it to go down.
Already he could feel the nanos at work, running down his esophagus and making their way to his organs to make sure they were functioning. He hated the process, but it was necessary for him to stay alive. He didn't linger on it much longer, grabbing a tie out of the dispenser and heading for the door, picking up his coffee before he got too far. It would only take 279 seconds to get to work, which left him 303 seconds to check over his paper work and glance through the files he was sure were piled on his desk. At least he would be 'on time'. Not like he'd get paid for being early.
It didn't matter. Those 303 seconds would give him optimal time to finish his coffee, check the boards for field jobs and chat, if he happened to run into anyone. If he happened to stop and care for a moment. He probably wouldn't talk to anyone so, scratch that off the list; finish his coffee and check the board. He had plenty of time. He always had plenty of time.
He arrives at work at 6:54, no one greets him, no one notices. He's never noticed. Especially when there's no one to notice you. His gaze flicked to the clock, almost questioningly. People would begin to arrive at 6:58, which left him 4 minuets ; 240 seconds to be alone. He debated about refilling his coffee cup with water, having finished it on the ride over. No, he'll just go to his desk. He goes there instead, deciding to skip the board as well. He could see it from here and it didn't look like there was anything interesting to handle. Maybe that thief case. Nah. He sets his empty cup down at his desk, a red light coming on in indication that it was ready to make another cup of coffee. Did he really need another cup? A long day of paper work, mundane filing and possibly some interviewing ran through his mind; he decided against it, having a feeling field work would be added into his schedule of the mundane.
He sat at his desk, having just enough room to reach whatever file he needed, the phone-booth style cubicle being made to improve posture and decrease excess space. Many didn't like them. He didn't care. He got his work done and moved one, what's there to complain about? After all, he was born after the system was put into place so, he couldn't exactly say he actually knew what he was missing out on. There was a lot of those instances.
The sound of voices and movement came at 6:58 sharp, just as expected. This proceeded the rest of his day, numbing his mind to the gossip and quite chatter that ran through the room, paper shuffling and pens tapping. Coffee was sipped, poured and sipped some more. A printer was working in the background, processing documents and spitting out the copy-cats and faxes that went through it. some of it was added to the already strenuous stack of paper on his desk. He briefly wondered why paper was still used. From what he had heard, it was an inefficient resource, artificially produced like their milk and almost as troublesome. However, he knew the answer to his own question; the government wanted a fail safe. If everything was digital, they could lose everything all at once. They needed something that couldn't be wiped with the press of a button, with a hack of the system; something outdated and barely used. Paper.
They were paranoid, so he heard. It wasn't his opinion, but instead the opinion of a local assassin. He didn't put much stock in the man's words; in fact, it was only mandatory that he even listened to him in the first place. If he could, he'd tune him out, just as he was doing this office. But his mind forced him to pay attention, stay alert, be ready. Anything could happen at any moment and he had to be ready for it. Even if this meant listening and analyzing the hypocritical speech of a one VinChrinstine Valenticent. There was always loopholes, flaws, scapegoats in his speeches; things that tied him in a knot of lies so thick, the acid rain wouldn't be able to burn through it. At least it was better than listening to the almost equally hypocritical Charleszander Wolfsworth. Now that one was a real thorn in his side.
The man's gaze flicked towards a screen on the wall, drawing him out of his thoughts for a moment as the lights on it lit up and began to relay him a series of code commands. A flicker of a frown went across his features before he lifted himself from his seat and made his way out of his office. Another field call and no time to waste. He was usually the one they called to these sort of situations; he wasn't surprised one bit either. A recently release and marvel of technology, the government wanted to make sure it put it's latest product to the test. He could hear movement elsewhere, guessing he wasn't the only one on call at this hour; again not surprising. The clubs were just getting out, so he figured the straggling drunks were throwing temper tantrums or something of that nature. Why the bouncers couldn't handle things on their own, he didn't know; wait, yes he did. They were limited to laws forbidding them with dealing with the unruly off the club property. If they dealt with the intoxicated on site, they would be the ones charged and convicted of 'breaking the law'.
Either way, was still an excuse to him. Not that he cared in the end. He was headed to Club Typtonic; a Were bar, bistro, strip club and night club. He figured trouble would brew there, just by location. It was on the North side, which was where Charlezander Wolfsworth frequented and liked to stir up trouble. There was a 78.6% chance it was his doing, though the description on the call was just 'disturbance'. He'd be the only officer there, so he figured it was a mild case. Mild cases usually meant that some drunk was either refusing to leave, or hitting on one of the girls. Or, alternatively, it meant this was a low-meter case where the involved were either famous or wealthy. Can't have their pretty faces black-marking the screens, now can we? That's why they'd only send in one officer.
He was honestly hoping for the earlier of the two possibilities, as drawing the least amount of attention to a situation was not his best forefront. He may be the best on the force, but he still didn't like to handle these sort of jobs. They were tedious, annoying, bothersome, tactical.
At least he was getting out of the office.
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: Only A Shell :
-coming soon-
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