Disclaimer: all characters and locations unless featured in the Teen Titans
show or otherwise, are property of Mr. Bigg.
(single quotes signify thoughts)
LOCATION: Pacific Northwest, USA (P.I.A. Headquarters)
Conary stepped out of the helicopter with a wince, rubbing his sore posterior. From what he could tell, that chopper could trace any moving object in a mile radius and deliver a missile to every doorstep in Queens, but where was the fun in wanton destruction when your seat kept curving your spine?
"Having problems, Mr. Nealson?" Rayfe asked, cocking an eyebrow at Conary's apparent agony.
"No, sir, I'm just looking for my tailbone. Rather, the remnants of my tailbone," Conary replied, standing up straight. He let off a soft 'oh' as his back cracked audibly.
"Hah! Better get used to that feeling, kid. In two weeks, you're gonna be begging to feel the way you feel now," The pilot laughed as he finished his post-flight check. Conary paled upon hearing the implication of physical activity.
"Wait, chief. What work? 'You going to put me through a typing course or something?" Conary asked. From his few experiences with it, he knew physical activity well enough to put it on his 'no' list.
"Boot camp, Mr. Nealson. When you agreed to work with us, it came as a complimentary bonus. You can thank us later," Rayfe replied, walking inside. Conary hurried to follow him.
Rayfe walked down the halls quickly, his boots clacking loudly against the white floor. The narrow corridors forked constantly, showing no signs of dead ends. Officers and personnel seemed to be walking through walls, but on closer inspection, Conary realized that they walked out soundless sliding doors, ones that were nigh impossible to make out except for the door control panel at the right of each one.
Realizing he was falling behind, Conary sped up to find Commander Rayfe. He ventured up and down several halls to no avail, only to find Commander Rayfe standing right behind him.
"I see you've found the room already," He said, barely louder than a whisper. All the same, Conary jumped at the sound of his voice. He glanced at the door panel. It read "Room 124- Debriefing."
"Well, aprez-vous, sir," Conary said, in a fake accent. Rayfe punched in the door code, shoving Conary inside. The door closed silently behind him.
He found himself in a white room filled with plastic furniture. In one corner of the room was a large glass cylinder, with strange devices sealing the ends. They pulsed constantly, sending waves of electricity through the chamber. Upon closer inspection, Conary was shocked to find translucent girl inside, apparently unconscious.
The only other occupant in the room was a strange figure huddled in the corner. The bright orange robes he wore were made resplendent by the whiteness of the room. The figure sat with his knees drawn to his chest, hiding his face in his arms. Resting against his body was a 6-foot red pole, topped with a short yet wicked-looking blade.
Suddenly, the orange-garbed monk looked up, studying Conary intently. Conary got a quick look at the boy's face. He looked the same age as himself, with dark hair and tan skin. His face seemed impassive, as if he was in a constant state of deep thought. The boy then closed his eyes, apparently focusing on a thought.
"Uh, hey," Conary said weekly. Bad impressions were not the way to go when you meet someone with a naginata.
The monk did not reply directly, but Conary noticed his mouth moving slightly. The boy was whispering feverishly in Chinese.
"Hey, uh, I don't speak Chinese," Conary said.
The monk didn't reply.
"You hear that? NO...SPEAK-EE...THE CHINESE! DO...YOU...UNDERSTAND!?" Conary asked loudly, with deliberate slowness.
I'm sorry, I do not understand what you're saying,' a quiet voice said in Conary's head. He whirled around, expecting to see someone talking from behind him. It suddenly dawned on him: the Chinese was speaking to him through his thoughts.
'Um... Damn shame, I guess. I understand you. I'm not sure how, but I do,' Conary thought back.
'Our minds are united for the moment. That's why you can hear me. My name is Hotei,' Hotei's voice said.
'Uh, ok. I' m Conary,' thought Conary. He could feel a numb pain originating from his forehead- telepathy was a painful ordeal.
'May I ask you a favor, Conary? It would be much easier for us to communicate if you let me use you knowledge of your language' Hotei asked politely.
'Will it, like, hurt? 'Cause I've seen EVA and all that mind-rape stuff, and the hell I am gonna submit just so I can wind up in a hospital bed with some kid doin' something NASTY over me*-'
'I don't know if it will be painful. But it must be done if we are to get anywhere,' Hotei replied. Before Conary could respond, Hotei pressed his palms tightly against Conary's temples.
What came next was a feeling Conary couldn't quite place. He assumed it felt akin to someone driving a nail into a piece of wood, prying it out, and then hammering it back in again, over and over. When it was over, Conary sank to his knees.
"Are you ok?" Hotei asked in plain English. Whatever he did to Conary's brain had worked; he didn't even have an accent.
"I don't know. I feel like someone took my brain, used it as a urinal cake and gave it back," Conary replied in plain English.
"Thought transfer! Your abilities are impressive, young monk," Rayfe said, entering the room. Behind him followed a dark-skinned girl, dressed in a crisp dress uniform. Pulling a remote from his pocket, Rayfe pointed it at the glass cylinder and pressed the button. The wispy girl inside quickly opened her eyes, frantically examining her prison.
"Now that I have your attention," Rayfe said, "Let's begin."
*Situation courtesy of Neon Genesis Evangelion: The End of Evangelion
(single quotes signify thoughts)
LOCATION: Pacific Northwest, USA (P.I.A. Headquarters)
Conary stepped out of the helicopter with a wince, rubbing his sore posterior. From what he could tell, that chopper could trace any moving object in a mile radius and deliver a missile to every doorstep in Queens, but where was the fun in wanton destruction when your seat kept curving your spine?
"Having problems, Mr. Nealson?" Rayfe asked, cocking an eyebrow at Conary's apparent agony.
"No, sir, I'm just looking for my tailbone. Rather, the remnants of my tailbone," Conary replied, standing up straight. He let off a soft 'oh' as his back cracked audibly.
"Hah! Better get used to that feeling, kid. In two weeks, you're gonna be begging to feel the way you feel now," The pilot laughed as he finished his post-flight check. Conary paled upon hearing the implication of physical activity.
"Wait, chief. What work? 'You going to put me through a typing course or something?" Conary asked. From his few experiences with it, he knew physical activity well enough to put it on his 'no' list.
"Boot camp, Mr. Nealson. When you agreed to work with us, it came as a complimentary bonus. You can thank us later," Rayfe replied, walking inside. Conary hurried to follow him.
Rayfe walked down the halls quickly, his boots clacking loudly against the white floor. The narrow corridors forked constantly, showing no signs of dead ends. Officers and personnel seemed to be walking through walls, but on closer inspection, Conary realized that they walked out soundless sliding doors, ones that were nigh impossible to make out except for the door control panel at the right of each one.
Realizing he was falling behind, Conary sped up to find Commander Rayfe. He ventured up and down several halls to no avail, only to find Commander Rayfe standing right behind him.
"I see you've found the room already," He said, barely louder than a whisper. All the same, Conary jumped at the sound of his voice. He glanced at the door panel. It read "Room 124- Debriefing."
"Well, aprez-vous, sir," Conary said, in a fake accent. Rayfe punched in the door code, shoving Conary inside. The door closed silently behind him.
He found himself in a white room filled with plastic furniture. In one corner of the room was a large glass cylinder, with strange devices sealing the ends. They pulsed constantly, sending waves of electricity through the chamber. Upon closer inspection, Conary was shocked to find translucent girl inside, apparently unconscious.
The only other occupant in the room was a strange figure huddled in the corner. The bright orange robes he wore were made resplendent by the whiteness of the room. The figure sat with his knees drawn to his chest, hiding his face in his arms. Resting against his body was a 6-foot red pole, topped with a short yet wicked-looking blade.
Suddenly, the orange-garbed monk looked up, studying Conary intently. Conary got a quick look at the boy's face. He looked the same age as himself, with dark hair and tan skin. His face seemed impassive, as if he was in a constant state of deep thought. The boy then closed his eyes, apparently focusing on a thought.
"Uh, hey," Conary said weekly. Bad impressions were not the way to go when you meet someone with a naginata.
The monk did not reply directly, but Conary noticed his mouth moving slightly. The boy was whispering feverishly in Chinese.
"Hey, uh, I don't speak Chinese," Conary said.
The monk didn't reply.
"You hear that? NO...SPEAK-EE...THE CHINESE! DO...YOU...UNDERSTAND!?" Conary asked loudly, with deliberate slowness.
I'm sorry, I do not understand what you're saying,' a quiet voice said in Conary's head. He whirled around, expecting to see someone talking from behind him. It suddenly dawned on him: the Chinese was speaking to him through his thoughts.
'Um... Damn shame, I guess. I understand you. I'm not sure how, but I do,' Conary thought back.
'Our minds are united for the moment. That's why you can hear me. My name is Hotei,' Hotei's voice said.
'Uh, ok. I' m Conary,' thought Conary. He could feel a numb pain originating from his forehead- telepathy was a painful ordeal.
'May I ask you a favor, Conary? It would be much easier for us to communicate if you let me use you knowledge of your language' Hotei asked politely.
'Will it, like, hurt? 'Cause I've seen EVA and all that mind-rape stuff, and the hell I am gonna submit just so I can wind up in a hospital bed with some kid doin' something NASTY over me*-'
'I don't know if it will be painful. But it must be done if we are to get anywhere,' Hotei replied. Before Conary could respond, Hotei pressed his palms tightly against Conary's temples.
What came next was a feeling Conary couldn't quite place. He assumed it felt akin to someone driving a nail into a piece of wood, prying it out, and then hammering it back in again, over and over. When it was over, Conary sank to his knees.
"Are you ok?" Hotei asked in plain English. Whatever he did to Conary's brain had worked; he didn't even have an accent.
"I don't know. I feel like someone took my brain, used it as a urinal cake and gave it back," Conary replied in plain English.
"Thought transfer! Your abilities are impressive, young monk," Rayfe said, entering the room. Behind him followed a dark-skinned girl, dressed in a crisp dress uniform. Pulling a remote from his pocket, Rayfe pointed it at the glass cylinder and pressed the button. The wispy girl inside quickly opened her eyes, frantically examining her prison.
"Now that I have your attention," Rayfe said, "Let's begin."
*Situation courtesy of Neon Genesis Evangelion: The End of Evangelion