I own that little doll with the red ball on his head. Yeah that one.
Square can have the rest.
Seeing Beyond, Chap. 6
I am Blank.
I am only myself.
It could be likened to a cancer, the demon inside of him. Once beaten, it was not vanquished, to spiral away into the mists of time, gone forever. Rather, it went into a sort of remission, languishing inside of him – always there. Always whispering to him, subversive, manipulative whispers...
Kill him...kill her...destroy...endure...
But it was no longer in control. Blank was in control. Admittedly it was a tenuous control, a constant struggle for dominance, but it was a battle he was prepared to fight, for the rest of his life, if need be. He'd seen the light at the end of the tunnel, and would struggle towards it until the end of his days.
The world had changed, and he had changed with it. Peace abounded throughout the continent, trade had recommenced between the three Great Powers, and Blank had been able to find a job piloting a cargo hauler for Cid's mighty fleet. He had once again been returned to the clouds where he belonged – such a contrast to the dark dungeon where he had spent the worst centuries of his life. The demon hated flying, he hated the sun. Blank took grim satisfaction in the internal writhings it went through every time the ship took off – it was one of the few revenges afforded to him.
He sun-bathed a lot. He got a kick out of that, too.
It was a nice segment of his life. He liked his job, he liked himself, he liked his atmosphere. He liked the long, lazy afternoons he had just to lay around on the deck and watch the sky, or the mountains, or the many airships scampering for position as they headed through South Gate. He liked timing himself on the Alexandria-Lindblum-Burmecia run...yes, on the whole, it was all he could ask for.
And inside, the demon raged.
One day, in between jobs, he'd been kicking back in one of the twenty-six cafes that permeated Lindblum Grand Castle, just enjoying a good cup of coffee and doing a bit of people watching. Rather unexpectedly, a man sat himself at his table, setting his own cup down – although his contained beer. The man was brawny, wore a blue bandana, and was ugly as hell.
Blank flicked both eyes that way. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, maybe." The man was non-committal.
Blank waited for an elaboration, but none was forthcoming. The guy just sat there, downing the beer, watching him. It was kinda freaky, when you got right down to it.
Finally, Blank was goaded to speak. "...How?"
"We've been watching you," the man explained. "We think you show potential."
"We?" Blank snorted. "Is this the royal we? The proverbial we?"
The man refused to be goaded. "A couple of friends and me, actually. We run a sort of gang."
Blank threw back his head and laughed. It was all just to much, really...a gang? What was he, in third grade? "Do we get a secret handshake?"
Now the man showed some signs of anger, rising out of his chair. "Look, if you can't take me seriously, then you're out. I'm trying to let you in on a really sweet deal, here, but you seem to be happier making smart remarks. Now, do I walk out that door, or do you shut up and listen?"
Blank subsided, grinning. He waved for the man to continue.
"All right," the man said, sitting. "Listen up. We're a con group, if you will. We smuggle, we steal, but we do it with flair. And we're damn good at what we do. Everybody gets paid, and paid well...but we've been needing an airship pilot for quite a while, now. We checked around, and you seem to be the man for the guy. You did a little Special Forces work for Lindblum, didn't you?"
Now Blank was not grinning. "How the hell...?" NO one was supposed to know that. Hell, he wasn't supposed to know it himself. He was supposed to have "forgotten" it, or something.
The man smiled. "I told you, we're good at what we do. We know more than you'd think, buddy." He waved the waitress over with a positively horrific smile, paid his tab, and got to his feet. "Listen up. We're headquartered over in the Theater District, at this address." He handed Blank a little slip of paper.
He nodded to Blank. "Think about it, buddy-boy. If you're interested, come by tomorrow at eight A.M. sharp, to meet the boss and the crew. If not, no hard feelings." He extended a hand, which Blank neglected to shake. He shrugged, instead, and headed for the door.
Blank stirred. "Hey."
The man turned. "Yeah?"
Blank lifted his chin at him. "What's your name?"
"Marcus." And he was gone, striding purposefully out the door.
The whole encounter had Blank floored. How did Marcus know about his black Omega days? And how the hell had he been "watching" Blank? It wasn't like Blank sat around in a room with white walls and video cameras...no, something was definitely up. Blank wasn't sure if he liked it, but at least it was something new. Idyllic stretches of monotony aren't bad, but they can drag on.
Blank hopped to his feet, and paid his bills. He would meet with Marcus tomorrow, and his boss, and his "gang." He would agree to join them, because he'd been too long by himself. And because he needed something to do.
Walking through the door, Blank instinctively knew he was heading into another life.
Shit, he thought, not another one.
(Just when you thought I'd vanished into the annals of history, or maybe you thought I'd gone to prison...but whatever you thought, you haven't gotten rid of me yet. Those three letterbombs weren't enough. You'll have to try harder! HARDER, I say!)
Seeing Beyond, Chap. 6
I am Blank.
I am only myself.
It could be likened to a cancer, the demon inside of him. Once beaten, it was not vanquished, to spiral away into the mists of time, gone forever. Rather, it went into a sort of remission, languishing inside of him – always there. Always whispering to him, subversive, manipulative whispers...
Kill him...kill her...destroy...endure...
But it was no longer in control. Blank was in control. Admittedly it was a tenuous control, a constant struggle for dominance, but it was a battle he was prepared to fight, for the rest of his life, if need be. He'd seen the light at the end of the tunnel, and would struggle towards it until the end of his days.
The world had changed, and he had changed with it. Peace abounded throughout the continent, trade had recommenced between the three Great Powers, and Blank had been able to find a job piloting a cargo hauler for Cid's mighty fleet. He had once again been returned to the clouds where he belonged – such a contrast to the dark dungeon where he had spent the worst centuries of his life. The demon hated flying, he hated the sun. Blank took grim satisfaction in the internal writhings it went through every time the ship took off – it was one of the few revenges afforded to him.
He sun-bathed a lot. He got a kick out of that, too.
It was a nice segment of his life. He liked his job, he liked himself, he liked his atmosphere. He liked the long, lazy afternoons he had just to lay around on the deck and watch the sky, or the mountains, or the many airships scampering for position as they headed through South Gate. He liked timing himself on the Alexandria-Lindblum-Burmecia run...yes, on the whole, it was all he could ask for.
And inside, the demon raged.
One day, in between jobs, he'd been kicking back in one of the twenty-six cafes that permeated Lindblum Grand Castle, just enjoying a good cup of coffee and doing a bit of people watching. Rather unexpectedly, a man sat himself at his table, setting his own cup down – although his contained beer. The man was brawny, wore a blue bandana, and was ugly as hell.
Blank flicked both eyes that way. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, maybe." The man was non-committal.
Blank waited for an elaboration, but none was forthcoming. The guy just sat there, downing the beer, watching him. It was kinda freaky, when you got right down to it.
Finally, Blank was goaded to speak. "...How?"
"We've been watching you," the man explained. "We think you show potential."
"We?" Blank snorted. "Is this the royal we? The proverbial we?"
The man refused to be goaded. "A couple of friends and me, actually. We run a sort of gang."
Blank threw back his head and laughed. It was all just to much, really...a gang? What was he, in third grade? "Do we get a secret handshake?"
Now the man showed some signs of anger, rising out of his chair. "Look, if you can't take me seriously, then you're out. I'm trying to let you in on a really sweet deal, here, but you seem to be happier making smart remarks. Now, do I walk out that door, or do you shut up and listen?"
Blank subsided, grinning. He waved for the man to continue.
"All right," the man said, sitting. "Listen up. We're a con group, if you will. We smuggle, we steal, but we do it with flair. And we're damn good at what we do. Everybody gets paid, and paid well...but we've been needing an airship pilot for quite a while, now. We checked around, and you seem to be the man for the guy. You did a little Special Forces work for Lindblum, didn't you?"
Now Blank was not grinning. "How the hell...?" NO one was supposed to know that. Hell, he wasn't supposed to know it himself. He was supposed to have "forgotten" it, or something.
The man smiled. "I told you, we're good at what we do. We know more than you'd think, buddy." He waved the waitress over with a positively horrific smile, paid his tab, and got to his feet. "Listen up. We're headquartered over in the Theater District, at this address." He handed Blank a little slip of paper.
He nodded to Blank. "Think about it, buddy-boy. If you're interested, come by tomorrow at eight A.M. sharp, to meet the boss and the crew. If not, no hard feelings." He extended a hand, which Blank neglected to shake. He shrugged, instead, and headed for the door.
Blank stirred. "Hey."
The man turned. "Yeah?"
Blank lifted his chin at him. "What's your name?"
"Marcus." And he was gone, striding purposefully out the door.
The whole encounter had Blank floored. How did Marcus know about his black Omega days? And how the hell had he been "watching" Blank? It wasn't like Blank sat around in a room with white walls and video cameras...no, something was definitely up. Blank wasn't sure if he liked it, but at least it was something new. Idyllic stretches of monotony aren't bad, but they can drag on.
Blank hopped to his feet, and paid his bills. He would meet with Marcus tomorrow, and his boss, and his "gang." He would agree to join them, because he'd been too long by himself. And because he needed something to do.
Walking through the door, Blank instinctively knew he was heading into another life.
Shit, he thought, not another one.
(Just when you thought I'd vanished into the annals of history, or maybe you thought I'd gone to prison...but whatever you thought, you haven't gotten rid of me yet. Those three letterbombs weren't enough. You'll have to try harder! HARDER, I say!)