Welcome readers,
I would like to thank you for taking the time to read and review this light novel of mine. Just how long it will last is yet to be determined, however I plan on making it a very thorough adventure that is well rounded. There will be a taste of just about everything and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. I'm open to all positive criticism, as it allows me to tighten up my writing in the future.
Again, I hope you all enjoy this original story of mine and I look forward to your feedback.
Keyworks Kid
Prelude
"Perception is reality", as the old saying goes. What defines us and the universe we create for ourselves is merely the concept of tangibility and the bringing of order from chaos within this reality. Such is the nature of the human mind.
Every experience we encounter as animate beings upon a higher level of consciousness is a reflection of our senses. Thus, they, our sensations, are our gateways to the world and the means through which we act accordingly in response. Herein, we construct our concrete definition of our own reality through our senses.
How so easily this perception can be shattered in an instant.
This saga chronicles the journey of a special group of young men and women in their attempt to come to terms with their own definition of reality, all the while discovering the true meaning of themselves and one another. Through times of both triumph and despair, they forged on through the darkness and into oblivion, battling forces both internal and external. They came from backgrounds as diverse as the world itself, but found themselves entwined in the destiny of their brothers and sisters beside them. And as such, our fates were interwoven with theirs as well.
They would not be the first to be thrust into the unknown of the "Digital World", nor the last, but nonetheless their story is one worthy of mention for ages to come. They were the Chosen Ones; the Digi-Destined.
Chapter 1: Static Line Beckoning
Within the walls of the university dorm, a soft noise pierced the silence of the midday siesta, slowly increasing in volume to reveal itself to the world. Little by little, the song that was once unnoticeable to the human ear was now forming into a story; a small chapter of the epic it was helping to compose. Just as gingerly as the beautiful yet eerie story began, it vanished into the silence of the listening walls.
With the quick click of a button the story abruptly returned, coursing with distortion and adrenaline, giving birth to a mental visualization of science fiction and war. Skillful fingers found their way to their appropriate notes, writing the scene in the strings of the guitar the same way an author paints a novel on a typewriter. Upon the face of the young musician who wielded his instrument, a confliction of expressions became apparent as he kept his mind focused on the task at hand while simultaneously becoming lost in the sound flowing from the instrument. His subconscious reminded him periodically of the length of the epic and his need to keep an even cadence so as to not burn himself out too soon. It was a composition of complexity that he had never reached before.
As the song reached the eight minute mark, victory was in sight. Notes poured forth from the amplifier with little error, closing in on the climax of the grand final chorus. Unfortunately on this particularly calm autumn day, fate was not fond of her tranquility being disturbed.
From outside the steel door that guarded the musical sanctuary came an ominous thundering of footsteps and jubilant laughter. The construction of the long hallway that housed the numerous dorm rooms only intensified what seemed to be a Running of the Bulls outside. Panic swept through the young man's head. He couldn't stop playing the song to reach the lock on the door, but he knew all too well what would happen if he didn't. The confliction of priorities bounced back and forth within his mind while trying to stay focused on the final thirty seconds of the song; a hesitation that would cost him dearly.
As the steel door slammed against the adjacent wall with enough force to shake the windows, two heavy set figures burst through the entrance with astounding speed and power in order to quickly overtake their prey. The artist barely had enough time to brace himself before the figures were upon him.
"Dogpile!" the two shouted in unison as they landed atop of their intended victim.
"Hey! Watch the merchandise!" a muffled voice came from underneath the pile of bodies.
"Hold him still," a voice commanded to his partner in crime.
Try all he might, the poor victim couldn't break free of the two larger masses pinning him down. Using what little movement was available to him, he pushed his prized instrument out of harm's way before he was immobilized entirely.
"Say you surrender," the second assailant demanded calmly, offering his one and only opportunity for escape.
This ritual was nothing new to all three of the boys. In fact, it would be considered an odd day if any of them went by without a daily roughhousing. Sometimes, as in the present case, it initiated at the most inopportune of times. It was always in good fun, at least for two of the three.
"Get off of me, Andreo!" the smallest of the three grunted to his much heavier attacker.
Any effort of resistance was only an exercise in futility. Andreo Oreking was a collegiate wrestler and a master of body locks and holds. Short and heavy set, his outward appearance was one of incredible deception. From first glance, the slightly overweight man with buzzed chestnut hair looked out of shape, slow, and as graceful as a newborn calf, but nothing could be farther from the truth. A born athlete, he excelled in football, wrestling, and surprisingly running. Beneath the initial layer of fat lay a powerhouse of pure muscle and agility that was a true force to be reckoned with.
"Hey Trio, do you surrender yet?" Andreo mocked, sitting on the victim's chest causing all the air to be expelled from his lungs.
"Up…. yours," Trio managed to squeak out. As always he was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. However, egging Andreo on brought a small degree of joy out of an otherwise unpleasant situation.
Naturally small and skinny, Trio Borromean was the youngest of the three and their appointed punching bag. The farthest thing from a fighter, the dark brunette was a self-proclaimed introvert, recluse, and thinker, often spending much of his time holed up in his room to focus on his art and music. Rarely did he ever spend his time socializing at bars or large parties like his two companions, preferring the company of a small group of closely-knit friends and family instead.
Every day he wondered how the two men currently overpowering him had become members of his inner circle of confides. Perhaps it was just coincidence, but Trio wasn't one to believe in such notions.
"He's resisting arrest," Andreo joked. "What do you think we should do with him, Croix?"
The second of the two figures stepped back and watched the scuffle with a light-hearted grin, running his fingers through his short tangled black hair in contemplation. Tall and broad shouldered, Croix Chasseur was the definition of a farm boy in every sense of the word. Raised on a Southern ranch and the son of a small town sheriff, he had a defined country accent that went perfectly with his love of fast trucks, loose women, and cowboy hats. He also had a love for going to the gym and consequently developed a slightly narcissistic attitude towards his body, much to the annoyance of those around him. Despite this, he was a true friend to everyone that got to know him.
"Not sure," the country boy drawled. "I say just sit on him until he tells us what he and Kiela did last night."
"Nothing happened…we just played… video games." Trio managed to force out. With each passing second, he could feel his ability to breathe properly diminish. He knew his friends wouldn't ever purposely harm him, but the fact of the matter remained that his chest was being crushed by two men nearly twice his size.
"Lies," Croix stated waving his hand. If there was one thing he was a true master at, it was getting underneath people's skin and picking them apart for his amusement.
"C'mon Trio, it's a simple question and we already know the answer," Andreo chimed in. "Just admit you and Kiela had 'fun' last night and we'll let you go."
"I'm telling the truth…. now… get off," Trio wheezed.
"Did ya French her?" Croix grinned slyly with a chuckle. "I betcha you did. Just tell us what you two really did and we'll let ya go."
"We didn't…"
"Say it!" the two aggressors interrupted together.
"Damn it…" Trio mumbled. The only way out of this one was to play along.
In an apparent lucky turn of events for musician, all three of boy's cellphones began to ring. It struck them as peculiar though as they all rang at precisely the same time. Releasing his prey from his crushing constraints, Andreo pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked down to see who was attempting to contact him. With a puzzled look, he saw an equal expression upon his friends' faces.
"What does yours say?" Andreo inquired, turning to Croix.
"Mine just says 'Unknown Caller'."
"Same here," Trio piped in. "It could just be one of those automated campaign calls. All the politicians are running for election right now,"
He flipped open the cellphone and pressed the "Accept Call" button. Placing the device to his ear, all he heard at first was silence followed by the slight crackle of white noise. Then without warning, the phone exploded with a shrill and complex sound. Within the mixture of sounds, Trio heard what he later would describe as a quick series of beeps and what he swore was a voice. Moving the phone away in response, he ended the call.
"Bad connection I guess."
A soft plume of grey smoke billowed from the end of the cigarette that rested between two plump ruby lips. Save for the glare of the multitude of computer monitors feeding information to her, the glow of the flame was the only other source of light available to her at the moment. Leaning back in her leather chair, the red-headed scientist arched her body to relieve the tension that had built up from tiring hours of sitting stationary.
"They don't pay me enough to work in these conditions," she griped to herself.
Solitude was the epitome of the subterranean base which she had come to know as home. Buried seventy-five meters beneath the surface, only fifteen scientists, four military guards, and the Secretary of Defense knew of its whereabouts in the middle of the New Mexican desert. In its prime it was once a bunker built to be used as a shelter for the President and his family in case of a nuclear attack during the height of the Cold War and aptly named the "Rat Hole" by its occupants. Built for protection rather than luxury, it was only housed with the barest of necessities. Rooms that had been meant for housing had now been outfitted with walls upon walls of the latest state of the art technology, making living space even more cramped than before. Privacy among individuals was a rare commodity.
Returning to the piles of information before her, she typed away on her keyboard as she analyzed the strings of data. Lost within her duties, only the sound of footsteps behind her alerted her to the figure standing over her shoulder.
"Miss Rizzland, I thought we've been over you smoking in here before," his voice said coolly. "You know how the smoke can interfere with the equipment. Plus a pretty lady like you shouldn't need to resort to such disgusting habits."
The female scientist swung around in her chair to face the man she had come to know as her superior. If there had been any light shining on her face at that moment it would have clearly shown just how much she was not amused by the comment. She was too tired and too frustrated to be dealing with fraternization attempts, especially from her project director.
"What do you want, Doctor Millson?" she questioned with a tint of agitation in her voice. All she wanted to do right now was clock out and go take a hot shower. Dealing with pestering incompetents was not on her agenda at the moment.
"Please, Miss Rizzland. There is no need for formalities. You know you can call me Xillis like everyone else," he stated in his most charming voice.
"I'll stick with formalities if you don't mind," she countered harshly. "Now what do you need?"
Oblivious to the waves of annoyance that flowed through her tone, Millson continued to pour on his best act. Understanding body language must have been another course not offered to the preppy computer prodigy. As much as Millson's technical knowledge was to be admired, chivalry was clearly something they didn't teach in the Ivy League.
"Well, you know me; always curious about everything," he informed. "I just wanted to see what our progress was concerning Project Binary. Also, I was wondering if you would like to join me in my room later this evening for dinner. No need in spending your nights cooped up all by yourself."
Rizzland was clearly at the end of her rope. Taking a deep breath, she managed to calm herself down enough to not unleash all her fury upon her fellow scientist. This was a topic they had discussed numerous times, each one ending with the same answer.
"For the last time Doctor, the answers are as follows: I'm making progress and no."
"I'm glad to hear that," Millson smiled undeterred. "I'll come by your quarters at seven to pick you up."
The young doctor left the room just as stealthy as he had appeared, leaving Rizzland in a mixed state of confusion and pure rage. She sat silently, rubbing her temples for a minute before reaching for another cigarette.
"I need a drink," she grumbled angrily.