Notes: It has been quite a while since I've used this account for anything beyond being kept abreast of updating stories and decided to ease back into writing with a serialization of one of my current games. Edited and/or embellished at points in the interest of good storytelling. Original dialogue and descriptions used when possible.
As far as the previously published stories on this account are concerned, consider them on permanent hiatus if you haven't already. Any further work on them is unlikely, but not outside the realm of possibility.
Exceeding praise and respect go out to my brothers Dren and Sol for their efforts to help me craft a better story as well as provide the medium for this fiction's existence.
/upload newsclip item::user Topix::02/01/70/
Firefight on the Freeways
Emerald City News-Seattle, UCAS-01/31/2070
[Audio Transcript]
Breaking news from the roads; there is a mobile firefight being waged along Interstate 405 as a black Rover 2068 is being pursued by several similar vehicles. The passengers are trading heavy weapons fire and posing serious risk to themselves and others. GridGuide has been unable to identify these vehicles, likely illegally modified to override the safety and monitoring protocols.
The destination of the chase is unclear and GridGuide is routing all traffic away from the Interstate as a precaution. No police seem to be in pursuit and Lone Star could not be reached for comment.
/end attachment/
Hong Kong (Sai Kung) [Judas's Safe House]
19:54:16-4/12/2070
The view from Silas Vespasiano's estate window is breathtaking in its beauty. Rolling green hills chase away towards the coast, replaced by beach and the glittering surf of the bay separating the districts of Sai Kung and Hong Kong Island. Warm shadows dance against the dying light of evening, slowly shrouding the land in a comforting and welcome night. The last rays of sunset caught the polished metal and glass of the Hong Kong metroplex, setting the city ablaze in a halo of sanctified light. To Silas, it seems both a shimmering mirage of unobtainable wealth and a stark reminder that he, like so many others, is on the outside looking in. Silas, better known as Judas to his more shadowy clientele, gazes adoringly towards the city while he nurses a tumbler of scotch. The sight began to stir up old feelings of wanderlust, greed, and a hunger he had not felt since his departure from Seattle.
The Italian-American magician takes a sip from his scotch, closing his eyes to the enchanting vision that is Hong Kong at sunset. He slowly relaxes, letting the almost-permanent tension in his shoulders ease to the backdrop of soft neo-classical music. His thoughts wander amongst the soft crisp notes and soaring strings, letting the meat slip away as he slowly falls into a deep meditative trance. Gone are the expensive trappings of his surroundings; the antiques, the polished wooden floors and furniture. He focuses on the silence of the moment, drawing from it a sense of tranquility to battle the coming storm of emotion. Seattle held too many memories; enough to last a lifetime in fact. Perhaps even more.
An errant memory of a woman's, his woman's, silk soft lips and agonizingly beautiful smile shatters his hard-won tranquility and wrenches it into a poisonous, seething wrath. Severe blue eyes snapping open, Judas drains the dregs of his scotch and knocks the glass harshly against a nearby table. Knuckles white from clenching the glass, Judas forces himself to take several calming breaths to fight against the towering inferno of rage still writhing in his soul. His awesome capacity for wrath is nothing new. He kept a meticulously-edited mental ledger of slights, snubs and insults against his person for which he is inclined to pay in kind, if not exceedingly. This particular woman, however, is an anomaly. They had spent such a short time together that her betrayal should not have hurt as much as it did. Somehow, she had burrowed deep under his skin and nestled close-too close-to his heart. Unacceptable.
He trails a finger around the rim of the glass, a soft ringing accompanying the action. A shifting pressure in his skull signifies the presence of his mentor spirit, Adversary. Rather, his manifestation as Satan; the root of all evil and Lord of the Pit who had, in his younger years, taken an avid interest in his development. His mentor's manifestation differs significantly from his classical depiction, however. No muscle-bound giant with red skin, large horns, and devilish wings appears before him, nor is there a smooth-talking businessman lounging around his luxurious living room. Only a voice in the back of his mind that offers advice, power, and a different point of view. There came a disjointed hiss from his psyche-an amalgamation of an agitated rattlesnake's tail, a radiator's hiss and a cicada's cry. ~Thinking of the mute again, Judas?~
A tightening around his eyes and thinning lips spoke for him, not that there was a soul to see it. Rather than admit weakness, Judas smoothly replies aloud, "Of course not. The only thing currently in my mind is you, it seems."
Satan's poisonous laugh itches at the corners of his conscious. ~She dances in the depths of your soul like a whisper in the dark. You can't stop thinking about the little traitor.~
Judas began to pace the room, his anger slowly building as his mentor plays him like a piano. "She made her choice. We worked well together, but she picked another over me."
~She took you for a fool, Judas, which you are. You fell head over heels for her and were surprised when she rejected you.~
Satan, it seemed, is bored; he is only ever this doggedly antagonistic when he finds himself without a life to ruin or a soul to steal. With a herculean effort, Judas compartmentalizes his tempestuous emotions and reasserts a cold, disinterested mindset. "What is your purpose. Aside from pissing me off, that is."
A chilling sensation settles into his bones; his mentor's preferred psychosomatic signal that he was imparting valuable knowledge to his ward. ~You'll need others to shore up where you're lacking, Judas. Puppets. Quality puppets, mind. Royalty, even. Queens, Judas. Queens come, and queens go. No matter how benevolent or helpful they might seem, they all harbor dark secrets. Everyone harbors secrets, Judas, you know that. Everyone harbors weakness.~
Judas pauses, hand hovering over the tumbler left on the table. Slowly, he retracts his hand and, in absence of a physical being to focus on, merely stares at the empty glass while his mind works through the vague, symbolic lesson. Queens. He couldn't possibly mean her, could he? "You want me to return to the shadows." Less of a question; it was something he was planning on doing anyway. "As well as exploit the weaknesses of a Queen." He puts an emphasis on the title knowing that, in the grand scheme of things, he is little more than a Pawn.
As if hearing his thoughts, Satan replies. ~Pawns can become Queens if one plays intelligently. You have escaped decimation twice before.~
A terrible smile slowly splits his face. "Dethroning a queen. I've always wanted a crown."
~You are a petty man, Judas.~
"I am what this world has made me." The man murmurs as he feels his mentor's presence fade away.
The solemn moment is broken by a soft chirp from the speakers. The music ends abruptly as the CHN's automated voice speaks in a soft, feminine tone, "You have an important call waiting from Lady Crone."
Judas suppresses a cold shiver as equal parts annoyance and apprehension fight for dominance at the declaration. Steeling his thoughts into a more collected state of mind, the magician waves a gloved hand towards the window. The AR-generated view of Hong Kong island shudders for a moment before cutting out, revealing the true view of forested mountains and mist for a half-second before the video feed patches through. Before him, reclining enticingly on a luxuriously appointed couch, sits the Shadow Queen of Europe. "Madame Crone," he purrs while offering a deep bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Madame Crone, were one to take her name at face value, is quite the misnomer. Indeed, the comely woman laid out across the screen would not have looked out of place among high society socials or upon the silver screen one hundred and thirty years ago. Flawless cream-colored skin, rich brown hair neatly placed into an updo, and warm expressive eyes that could, along with her hourglass figure, ensnare and enchant near anything with a pulse. She was the epitome of a classical beauty. Crone smiles indulgently and croons his name. "Judas, please. Must I need a reason to see my favorite protege?"
The tension in his shoulders returns in full force. Crone was not known to make social calls often, not to her underlings at any rate, and he was wary of her true motives. Best to play the part for now. "Not at all, my Lady. You favor me with your presence."
The sorceress's laugh is reminiscent of a delicate wind chime, equal parts melodious and insubstantial. "You and your honeyed words. One day you might even fool me." The woman's smile turns downright predatory. "That day, however, is still very very far off."
Judas dutifully nods while biting the edges of his tongue.
Falling back into the soft couch, Madame Crone holds Judas's gaze as she continues. "Your flight from Seattle, while not entirely unexpected, left me unprepared to fully accommodate your new surroundings. I will be sending you the contact information of an American albino named Durous." Her nose wrinkles in an adorable fashion. "He is an overweight fool who somehow manages to always make the ends he wants meet without leaving any loose thread. Despite my personal opinion of the man, it should go without saying that you are representing me and should act accordingly. You know how I feel about losing face."
He did; the purposely slow liquefaction of another protege would be forever seared within his mind. "I hear and obey, Madame. Thank you for all of your assistance." He bows again.
The deceptively young woman laughs once more and offers a few parting words before disconnecting the call. "Lift your head, little hawk; look to the sky, not my boots."
Straightening with an ugly sneer, Judas grabs the discarded tumbler and walks over towards the wet bar along the wall. His commlink chirps and a little note in the corner of his vision informs him that an encrypted packet had just been delivered from an unknown source. Dismissing the message with a blink he refilled his glass and walks back to the window, another wave displaying the real-time view of the nearby metroplex once more. A jewel waiting to be plucked, he muses internally. A sinister smile forms on his face as he sips at his drink, gazing intently at the city and all of the promise that it holds.