Act 1 - Coming Home, Part 1
My name is Roger Smith. I was once an explorer out in the far reaches of the known world. My legs were my drive, my hands were my tools, and my head was my compass. Both an expedition intelligencer negotiating with all forms of life and an armored military pilot negotiating with all forms of death,, my fellow comrades and I took into the darkness and bolded the unknown, the unexplored, the once unreachable.
That was a year a go.
Now I wander the endless lands of the frontier. I travel through lands already unraveled, I trek through trails already trodden, and I pace through the streets of towns in infancy. The further west I go, the more barren the land is below me. The further east I go, the more barren the people are around me..
That's simply the way it is in Paradigm Nation, a union founded on amnesic history, a spotty past. A hundred years ago mankind received redemption, a second chance by the grace of the Seraph. Or so they say - most believe it, though some hold a skeptic eye. Either way, the history and memories of the time then and before were preserved, albeit the mystery and questions that exist up to this very day. Doesn't matter. People live with the existence they have today and with the past behind them, and they are content and pleased.
No other place is the perfect example of this than the heart of the Nation - Paradigm City. The City of Amnesia, the epicenter of humanity.
Paradigm City. It's been a while since I was here.
-------------------------
"Yo, pickup!"
A surly, red-headed waitress approached the kitchen window and picked up a tray of food. "Yo, I got your three orders on here."
The waitress glanced at the tray for a moment, noticing a plate missing from her tray.
"Hey Pauly, ya forgot my English muffin!"
"Ah, hell, right," said the cook behind the other side of the window, through the steam from the grill range. Plopping a small saucer onto the waitress's tray, he dropped two halves of a buttered English muffin on top.
The woman scowled at the cook briefly before picking up the tray and making her way towards the front counter. Making her way past several customers waiting patiently in their stools with cups of coffee, she stopped short of the end of the row, where a petite brunette, sporting an elegant red business dress softly sipped a cup of tea. A briefcase stood next to her feet below.
"Here ya go, dear, order of English muffin," the waitress said, placing the plate before the woman. "Ya sure ya don't want anything else?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you," hummed the brunette dryly.
"Ya sure?" asked the waitress.
"You always ask every time I'm here."
"And you always say the same thing. Gotta make sure - skinny girl like you's gotta eat, get some meat in your bones."
The brunette sipped her tea. "I'm perfectly all right with what I have now. Thank you again."
"Well, just the same, if ya want Pauly to fry somethin' up for ya, just let me know. I'll get ya squared away." Smiling, the waitress continued on her way. The brunette tipped her very well every time she was here, so the waitress was happy to oblige.
The brunette picked a half of her muffin with her delicate fingers and took a small bite, chewing and swallowing calmly before taking another bite. She savored another sip of tea while subconsciously drumming the counter with her free hand, as if playing the piano.
". . . would you like more coffee, sir?" the brunette heard the waitress say, her tray replaced with a coffee pitcher.
"No, I'll be fine. Almost done here," coolly replied the man in a relaxed voice, his face behind a newspaper.
"Okay. I'll be back with your bill, then."
The waitress began to leave when she turned back to her customer again, noticing the black bomber jacked resting on the back of his chair.
"Hey, you one of them robot suit pilots or whatever?" asked the waitress.
"Tech pilot?"
"Yeah, you one them guys?"
"Was," returned the black-haired man, lowering his newspaper.
"Really? My brother, he was in a military, he tried out to be one of those pilots. Didn't get in 'cuz he bombed one of his tests during training. I tell ya, bein' a Tech pilot's real tough. Though I bet ya saw a lot of action, huh?"
"I've seen my share."
The waitress grinned. "So, first time in the PC? Visiting?"
"Nah," said the former pilot, "it's just been a while since I've been in Paradigm."
"Ya sure ya don't want any coffee?"
"I'm pretty sure. Like I said, I'm going to head out pretty -"
The diner doors kicked open with a loud boom, and two masked figures entered the dining room. One shot out a pounding bang from his pistol, while the other swung the point of his pistol around the diner, threatening the patrons with his aim.
"All right, nobody move, nobody move!" barked the first robber. "Let's make this quick, let's make this simple. Empty out your pockets, purses, bags, lunch pails, whatever. Empty everything out on the table and put your hands up in the air. Do this and nobody gets hurt."
"You try somethin' and we blast a hole in your forehead!" shrieked the second.
As quickly as the robbers came, the patrons quickly unloaded their pockets. Some dumped the contents of their purses out, others threw out their wallets onto the table. The few slow ones received a strike from a pistol butt, particularly by the second robber who was decidedly more twitchy and nerve-ridden. Only the black-haired pilot and the brunette didn't place anything on the counter, though their hands were slowly raised in the air. The brunette tried to cover her briefcase with her legs.
The second robber noticed this and rapidly approached the brunette.
"Hey lady, you heard us! Everything you got, on the counter, NOW!"
The brunette faced the robber. "I don't have anything," she said dryly.
"Yeah? And that briefcase?"
"Nothing you need," said the brunette with a dry tone again.
"My ass. Empty it out,' barked the robber.
"Can you hurry this up?" replied the brunette in an almost monotone voice, "because I really do have to go to work very soon, and -"
WHAP. The second robber backhanded the brunette across her right cheek. She reeled back from the slap, but oddly enough sat back up again, with only barely managing a soft yelp instead of a cry. And though there was a red mark across her cheek, not even a drop welled up in her eyes.
The second robber didn't really much notice. "Empty the briefcase now, or get another one on the left to match your right."
"Like I said," began the brunette, "it is nothing you -"
The robber began to raise his hand with the pistol and slap her left cheek when something suddenly gripped his wrist and abruptly twisted it behind his back.
"Urk!" moaned the robber. His pistol dropped to the ground abruptly.
"Not very gentleman-like, are we?" a voice said from behind him.
The black-haired pilot, gripping the robber's hand from behind, punched the robber's kidneys and kicked his knees in. As the robber swiftly dropped to his knees, an elbow slammed onto his forehead before he could yelp, rendering him unconscious.
The first robber, coming around from the other corner of the diner with a plastic bag of wallets in hand, noticed this scene and abruptly raised his pistol as he dashed towards the pilot.
"HEY! YOU! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU -"
Before he could cross the brunette, a red elbow slammed into his jaw in mid- shriek. As he was reeling backward from the blow, the brunette knocked the robber's pistol away, grabbed his hand, and pulled it so that she threw him to the floor. The first robber too, was rendered unconscious.
"Hmm. Got a little fight in you, huh?" said the black-haired pilot, smiling warmly at the brunette.
Scores of applause filled the diner, the patrons clapping their hands in awe, shock, or relief. Either way, they were applauding at the scene that took place before them.
The brunette turned to the surly waitress, who was also applauding at the moment. "Aren't you going to call the police?"
"Nah," replied the waitress. "Pauly and Johnny, they'll take care of these fools, which reminds - hey, Pauly, Johnny, where've you two been?"
Hearing the shouts, two large cooks walked out of the kitchen.
"Yo, man, I was gonna go in there and whoop ass and stuff," stuttered Johnny, "but, but-"
"Hey, Linda, all we got was bats and kitchen knives and stuff," Pauly finished. "Those guys, they was packin' heat. We couldn't do nothin'."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go take care of these two idiots on the floor. Teach 'em not to mess with us at the Daily Egg."
The two cooks dragged the robbers into the kitchen and out the back door, the waitress occasionally kicking their unconscious bodies on their way out. Slowly, as another waitress handed out the wallets from the plastic bag to their respective owners, the diner slowly dulled back into a normal atmosphere.
"I should go," said the petite brunette. The former pilot couldn't help notice her elegant fingers as she slipped a couple money bills onto the counter when Linda, the waitress stopped her.
"Nah, don't you worry about it, darling. This one's on us."
"It's all right. I came in here for an English muffin and tea, that's all."
"But -"
"Thank you," the brunette said cordially while she picked up her brief case and made her way out the door.
"Wait a minute hold -" the pilot began, stopping the brunette short of the door.
The brunette turned around to face the black-haired man, into his unshaven yet oddly clean-cut jaw, at his eyebrows, unkempt yet strangely neat hair, and deep black eyes. With a fairly expressionless look, she said, "And thank you, sir, for helping me."
Managing to crack a small grin, she waved at the man as she pushed the diner door open and stepped out into the street.
The former pilot couldn't help but notice her soft, elegantly young features on her face as she turned away, or her petite body as she paced away from him, or the way the brunette's short hair blew gently behind her head as the outside wind blew softly.
He couldn't help it. He exited the diner and chased after her.
"Hey, miss, please wait for a moment," he said, as he approached the brunette. She stopped in her tracks and faced him.
"May I at least have the privilege of knowing the name of the fair lady I helped just now?" the former pilot said coolly.
The brunette cocked her head slightly, though remaining expressionless. "And what might be the noble knight's name, the one who decided to help said princess?"
The black-haired man extended his right hand. "The name is Roger Smith, ma'am. And it was of no consequence or burden whatsoever."
The brunette extended her right hand, at which Roger gently held and kissed softly. She couldn't help but crack a very small grin again.
"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Roger Smith," said the brunette. She turned around and began making her way towards the intersection.
"Still didn't catch your name," Roger said.
The brunette stopped in mid-step again. "Well, if you insist - you can call me Dorothy for now."
"Would it be too intrusive if I asked when can see each other again?"
"Maybe," said Dorothy dryly. "We'll meet again sometime soon, I'm sure."
She raised her hand out into the street, hailing a taxi. "But in the meantime, I have to go to work."
----------------------
". . . yes . . . yes sir. All the official services that I will render are on the contract. Officially, I will not be involved any other part of the operation other than the negotiation process. Yes. . . .yes . . . . yes, I know, which is why your people should be making your tracks as clean and anonymous as possible. Be aware that your actions are illegitimate, and that I am a citizen - I legally must report all information I know about you to the police.
No, no, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that any time you communicate to me or my firm, any forms of correspondence - yes, yes, even packages - yes sir, keep it anonymous."
CLICK bzzzzzzt.
"All right, now that our communication line is scrambled, let's touch on what's between the lines on the contract. Your fee is an additional 25% the official contract rate for off the books services my firm and I render. Yes sir. Yes . . .. yes . . .. yes, that's correct we - yes, yes, we have the logistics of our end of the operation planned out. Yes, yes. Let us take care of it. Uh huh . . .. yes . . . uh, huh . . no. Now that part, no. My off-books work I keep to myself. Sorry, part of the conract.
"The completion time on my end is by midnight tonight. So, are we agreed, then?
". . . . thank you. Thank you. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
CLICK.
A black-suit figure approached the executive desk, where a yellow-suit man just placed the phone on its hook. He propped his feet onto the desk, leaning back on his chair.
"So Beck, what's the word?" asked the black suit.
The golden-blonde Beck grinned wide, chuckling before he said, "It's on. We're going live tonight."
My name is Roger Smith. I was once an explorer out in the far reaches of the known world. My legs were my drive, my hands were my tools, and my head was my compass. Both an expedition intelligencer negotiating with all forms of life and an armored military pilot negotiating with all forms of death,, my fellow comrades and I took into the darkness and bolded the unknown, the unexplored, the once unreachable.
That was a year a go.
Now I wander the endless lands of the frontier. I travel through lands already unraveled, I trek through trails already trodden, and I pace through the streets of towns in infancy. The further west I go, the more barren the land is below me. The further east I go, the more barren the people are around me..
That's simply the way it is in Paradigm Nation, a union founded on amnesic history, a spotty past. A hundred years ago mankind received redemption, a second chance by the grace of the Seraph. Or so they say - most believe it, though some hold a skeptic eye. Either way, the history and memories of the time then and before were preserved, albeit the mystery and questions that exist up to this very day. Doesn't matter. People live with the existence they have today and with the past behind them, and they are content and pleased.
No other place is the perfect example of this than the heart of the Nation - Paradigm City. The City of Amnesia, the epicenter of humanity.
Paradigm City. It's been a while since I was here.
-------------------------
"Yo, pickup!"
A surly, red-headed waitress approached the kitchen window and picked up a tray of food. "Yo, I got your three orders on here."
The waitress glanced at the tray for a moment, noticing a plate missing from her tray.
"Hey Pauly, ya forgot my English muffin!"
"Ah, hell, right," said the cook behind the other side of the window, through the steam from the grill range. Plopping a small saucer onto the waitress's tray, he dropped two halves of a buttered English muffin on top.
The woman scowled at the cook briefly before picking up the tray and making her way towards the front counter. Making her way past several customers waiting patiently in their stools with cups of coffee, she stopped short of the end of the row, where a petite brunette, sporting an elegant red business dress softly sipped a cup of tea. A briefcase stood next to her feet below.
"Here ya go, dear, order of English muffin," the waitress said, placing the plate before the woman. "Ya sure ya don't want anything else?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you," hummed the brunette dryly.
"Ya sure?" asked the waitress.
"You always ask every time I'm here."
"And you always say the same thing. Gotta make sure - skinny girl like you's gotta eat, get some meat in your bones."
The brunette sipped her tea. "I'm perfectly all right with what I have now. Thank you again."
"Well, just the same, if ya want Pauly to fry somethin' up for ya, just let me know. I'll get ya squared away." Smiling, the waitress continued on her way. The brunette tipped her very well every time she was here, so the waitress was happy to oblige.
The brunette picked a half of her muffin with her delicate fingers and took a small bite, chewing and swallowing calmly before taking another bite. She savored another sip of tea while subconsciously drumming the counter with her free hand, as if playing the piano.
". . . would you like more coffee, sir?" the brunette heard the waitress say, her tray replaced with a coffee pitcher.
"No, I'll be fine. Almost done here," coolly replied the man in a relaxed voice, his face behind a newspaper.
"Okay. I'll be back with your bill, then."
The waitress began to leave when she turned back to her customer again, noticing the black bomber jacked resting on the back of his chair.
"Hey, you one of them robot suit pilots or whatever?" asked the waitress.
"Tech pilot?"
"Yeah, you one them guys?"
"Was," returned the black-haired man, lowering his newspaper.
"Really? My brother, he was in a military, he tried out to be one of those pilots. Didn't get in 'cuz he bombed one of his tests during training. I tell ya, bein' a Tech pilot's real tough. Though I bet ya saw a lot of action, huh?"
"I've seen my share."
The waitress grinned. "So, first time in the PC? Visiting?"
"Nah," said the former pilot, "it's just been a while since I've been in Paradigm."
"Ya sure ya don't want any coffee?"
"I'm pretty sure. Like I said, I'm going to head out pretty -"
The diner doors kicked open with a loud boom, and two masked figures entered the dining room. One shot out a pounding bang from his pistol, while the other swung the point of his pistol around the diner, threatening the patrons with his aim.
"All right, nobody move, nobody move!" barked the first robber. "Let's make this quick, let's make this simple. Empty out your pockets, purses, bags, lunch pails, whatever. Empty everything out on the table and put your hands up in the air. Do this and nobody gets hurt."
"You try somethin' and we blast a hole in your forehead!" shrieked the second.
As quickly as the robbers came, the patrons quickly unloaded their pockets. Some dumped the contents of their purses out, others threw out their wallets onto the table. The few slow ones received a strike from a pistol butt, particularly by the second robber who was decidedly more twitchy and nerve-ridden. Only the black-haired pilot and the brunette didn't place anything on the counter, though their hands were slowly raised in the air. The brunette tried to cover her briefcase with her legs.
The second robber noticed this and rapidly approached the brunette.
"Hey lady, you heard us! Everything you got, on the counter, NOW!"
The brunette faced the robber. "I don't have anything," she said dryly.
"Yeah? And that briefcase?"
"Nothing you need," said the brunette with a dry tone again.
"My ass. Empty it out,' barked the robber.
"Can you hurry this up?" replied the brunette in an almost monotone voice, "because I really do have to go to work very soon, and -"
WHAP. The second robber backhanded the brunette across her right cheek. She reeled back from the slap, but oddly enough sat back up again, with only barely managing a soft yelp instead of a cry. And though there was a red mark across her cheek, not even a drop welled up in her eyes.
The second robber didn't really much notice. "Empty the briefcase now, or get another one on the left to match your right."
"Like I said," began the brunette, "it is nothing you -"
The robber began to raise his hand with the pistol and slap her left cheek when something suddenly gripped his wrist and abruptly twisted it behind his back.
"Urk!" moaned the robber. His pistol dropped to the ground abruptly.
"Not very gentleman-like, are we?" a voice said from behind him.
The black-haired pilot, gripping the robber's hand from behind, punched the robber's kidneys and kicked his knees in. As the robber swiftly dropped to his knees, an elbow slammed onto his forehead before he could yelp, rendering him unconscious.
The first robber, coming around from the other corner of the diner with a plastic bag of wallets in hand, noticed this scene and abruptly raised his pistol as he dashed towards the pilot.
"HEY! YOU! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU -"
Before he could cross the brunette, a red elbow slammed into his jaw in mid- shriek. As he was reeling backward from the blow, the brunette knocked the robber's pistol away, grabbed his hand, and pulled it so that she threw him to the floor. The first robber too, was rendered unconscious.
"Hmm. Got a little fight in you, huh?" said the black-haired pilot, smiling warmly at the brunette.
Scores of applause filled the diner, the patrons clapping their hands in awe, shock, or relief. Either way, they were applauding at the scene that took place before them.
The brunette turned to the surly waitress, who was also applauding at the moment. "Aren't you going to call the police?"
"Nah," replied the waitress. "Pauly and Johnny, they'll take care of these fools, which reminds - hey, Pauly, Johnny, where've you two been?"
Hearing the shouts, two large cooks walked out of the kitchen.
"Yo, man, I was gonna go in there and whoop ass and stuff," stuttered Johnny, "but, but-"
"Hey, Linda, all we got was bats and kitchen knives and stuff," Pauly finished. "Those guys, they was packin' heat. We couldn't do nothin'."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go take care of these two idiots on the floor. Teach 'em not to mess with us at the Daily Egg."
The two cooks dragged the robbers into the kitchen and out the back door, the waitress occasionally kicking their unconscious bodies on their way out. Slowly, as another waitress handed out the wallets from the plastic bag to their respective owners, the diner slowly dulled back into a normal atmosphere.
"I should go," said the petite brunette. The former pilot couldn't help notice her elegant fingers as she slipped a couple money bills onto the counter when Linda, the waitress stopped her.
"Nah, don't you worry about it, darling. This one's on us."
"It's all right. I came in here for an English muffin and tea, that's all."
"But -"
"Thank you," the brunette said cordially while she picked up her brief case and made her way out the door.
"Wait a minute hold -" the pilot began, stopping the brunette short of the door.
The brunette turned around to face the black-haired man, into his unshaven yet oddly clean-cut jaw, at his eyebrows, unkempt yet strangely neat hair, and deep black eyes. With a fairly expressionless look, she said, "And thank you, sir, for helping me."
Managing to crack a small grin, she waved at the man as she pushed the diner door open and stepped out into the street.
The former pilot couldn't help but notice her soft, elegantly young features on her face as she turned away, or her petite body as she paced away from him, or the way the brunette's short hair blew gently behind her head as the outside wind blew softly.
He couldn't help it. He exited the diner and chased after her.
"Hey, miss, please wait for a moment," he said, as he approached the brunette. She stopped in her tracks and faced him.
"May I at least have the privilege of knowing the name of the fair lady I helped just now?" the former pilot said coolly.
The brunette cocked her head slightly, though remaining expressionless. "And what might be the noble knight's name, the one who decided to help said princess?"
The black-haired man extended his right hand. "The name is Roger Smith, ma'am. And it was of no consequence or burden whatsoever."
The brunette extended her right hand, at which Roger gently held and kissed softly. She couldn't help but crack a very small grin again.
"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Roger Smith," said the brunette. She turned around and began making her way towards the intersection.
"Still didn't catch your name," Roger said.
The brunette stopped in mid-step again. "Well, if you insist - you can call me Dorothy for now."
"Would it be too intrusive if I asked when can see each other again?"
"Maybe," said Dorothy dryly. "We'll meet again sometime soon, I'm sure."
She raised her hand out into the street, hailing a taxi. "But in the meantime, I have to go to work."
----------------------
". . . yes . . . yes sir. All the official services that I will render are on the contract. Officially, I will not be involved any other part of the operation other than the negotiation process. Yes. . . .yes . . . . yes, I know, which is why your people should be making your tracks as clean and anonymous as possible. Be aware that your actions are illegitimate, and that I am a citizen - I legally must report all information I know about you to the police.
No, no, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that any time you communicate to me or my firm, any forms of correspondence - yes, yes, even packages - yes sir, keep it anonymous."
CLICK bzzzzzzt.
"All right, now that our communication line is scrambled, let's touch on what's between the lines on the contract. Your fee is an additional 25% the official contract rate for off the books services my firm and I render. Yes sir. Yes . . .. yes . . .. yes, that's correct we - yes, yes, we have the logistics of our end of the operation planned out. Yes, yes. Let us take care of it. Uh huh . . .. yes . . . uh, huh . . no. Now that part, no. My off-books work I keep to myself. Sorry, part of the conract.
"The completion time on my end is by midnight tonight. So, are we agreed, then?
". . . . thank you. Thank you. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
CLICK.
A black-suit figure approached the executive desk, where a yellow-suit man just placed the phone on its hook. He propped his feet onto the desk, leaning back on his chair.
"So Beck, what's the word?" asked the black suit.
The golden-blonde Beck grinned wide, chuckling before he said, "It's on. We're going live tonight."