This is how it always began...
Complete darkness...
Every single time...
Weighlessness. Floating through an endless void in no particular direction. Up became down, left became right. It was all the same without any point of reference. The vacuum of space seemed less disorienting by comparison. He could be falling for all he knew, but there was no telling. Wasn't falling without ever hitting bottom just the same as floating if no other tangible thing was present to let you know that you were, in fact, falling? Despite the sensation of buoyant suspension, his body felt heavy, completely relaxed dead-weight as though he was coming out of a dream...or maybe just beginning to enter one? The comforting silence of complete nothingness was broken by a faint rhythmic pattern; a sound so dulled and distorted it took on the likeness of being completely submerged under water. The noise he heard was the slowed and steady beating of his own heart. If he'd simply continue on this way, he wondered how long it would take until something changed. Wasn't something supposed to happen eventually?? At least he felt like it should... but he couldn't remember.
"Hey, you...."
His pierced eyebrow twitched at the sudden, unexpected sound of a very familiar voice. 'Hmm?' What the hell? Was he drifting toward insanity and having auditory hallucinations? The rhythmic heartbeat continued to provide the dark void with some ambient background noise while he continued to float onward.
"Yo, ass-clown... Try opening your eyes, genius, that might fucking help. You don't have a whole lot of time left, so c'mon and get with the program. Whatever you do, do NOT stop fighting."
Now he recognized it. It was his own voice that rang and echoed through the black, empty space. Open his eyes? Were they not open already? Lids that felt like lead weights slowly parted, allowing the dim, warm ambient light to pour into pupils that failed to constrict. Wherever it was that he found himself now, that weightless sensation persisted. Limbs felt paralyzed. Vision was a complete blur. Even if he'd wanted to begin figuring out this mysterious new environment he'd drifted into, the attempt would be completely futile... So much for 'Open your eyes'... Thank you, internal voice of reason, for the utterly useless shred of advice.
His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, breaking the steady cycle of previously shallow breaths. It was difficult, like some heavy weight was resting right on his chest. Was he even laying on his back? Lids pressed shut, re-opened, and then shut again. Weightlessness suddenly turned to vertigo the more he thought about it. Things looked like they were beginning to come more into focus when he re-opened his eyes once again, though now noticed that with every beat of his heart; every pulse, a terrible pain bored its way from temple to temple straight through his skull. Nausea ensued. This definitely topped any hangover he'd ever had.
-*Drip*-
As his senses gradually progressed toward some resemblance of clarity, like watching a mirror slowly de-fog, he came to a chilling realization: The reason for the inability to move his limbs wasn't due to some form of sleep-paralysis, trapped in a limbo of waking and slumber. No, this time when he attempted to move, he felt the distinct strain of muscle against some unseen counter-force. The pain radiating through his skull turned from pulsing to static and steady the instant he successfully managed to lift his head. Everything, the whole room, was washed in a stale grunge of desaturated hues; stagnant air heavy with scents of moisture, mold, and copper rust. Blurred shapes in the dim light resembled some ancient pipe-lines, maybe a breaker-box or two? Skeletal framework of simple, utilitarian shelving? Suspended from a gridded ceiling directly above him was a standard, rectangular box-light. The long fluorescent bulbs were either switched off or burnt out, which wouldn't be surprising considering the rest of the place. His back was pressed against a cold, hard, elevated surface. Maybe a table or countertop of some kind? But why? Was this the stage-set for some nightmare born from whatever horror-flick he happened to be watching before he'd fallen asleep? Or hell, it might even turn out to be the beginning of a kinky little twisted Silent Hill-type nurse fetish fantasy... There wasn't really any way of telling which scenario his depraved brain was going to hit the ground running with night after night... although this particular one carried with it an uncanny familiarity, with a hint of de-ja-vu.
-*Drip*-
What he was able to make out from the limited view he had to work with, constraining his chest and upper arms, holding him firmly bound to the metal surface, resembled one of those thick, industrial, nylon ratchet tie-down rigs. Judging by the amount of pressure distributed across both thighs, just above his knees, it was safe to say that the same (or similar) bindings were implemented there. A little overkill maybe? Sure, he was strong... but he wasn't THAT strong... Well, it was time to figure out how to pull a Houdini and ditch this thing. The level of confinement and the drowsiness in conjunction with the horror-flick setting was beginning to make even him a little nervous. And it seemed like it could be a fairly simple escape; wiggle a little, reach up and pull the ratchet-release, and Voilla! Freedom! When fatigued forearms moved, however, all attempts at executing said escape plan were quickly sent back to the chopping-block by the a painful snap of metal felt against the bones of both wrists. What the fuck?!
Jaws snared shut from the underlying shock that sparked a small surge of panic.
Handcuffs.
The hinged, latching jaws locked onto each wrist and attached somewhere beneath the metallic surface beyond his field of vision. Struggling desperately to fight of another tidal wave of drowsiness, he laid his head back down. Fucking hell... The tiny key to his impending freedom hung bundled with his ID tags on the chain around his neck, with no possibility of being reached. A little irony to top it all off.
-*Drip*-
A little sigh of frustration gusted his lips as he stared up into that broken fluorescent overhead light. God, he was parched. Each little movement proved cumbersome and strenuous. Every muscle in his body ached, riddled with fatigue. The whole surface of his skin tingled faintly, clammy under a film of cold sweat that transformed his clothes into a damp prison of cruel punishment. This was slowly starting to turn into an endurance trial with every second that trickled away like that aurally chafing drip.
Wait a minute...
He blinked, the pain resonating through his skull was now accompanied by a soft ringing in his ears. Hadn't there been something else he'd briefly glanced over whilst inspecting the restraint around his left wrist? Better check again... But was it really worth putting forth the physical effort? He was honestly exhausted enough to just lay there and let this freak-show of a dream have its way with him, but he knew for a fact that the sound of repetitive drip every 15 seconds would get really annoying, really fast. Hell, it was already pretty fucking annoying, right along with the headache and the nagging feeling of de-ja-vu. With what felt like the last remnants of reserved strength, he lifted his head again, knowing he was fighting a slowly losing battle with fatigue. It took a short moment of complete concentration to focus his still mildly blurred vision. Auburn brows furrowed as he finally realized just what it was he was now staring at.
Fanged into the crook of his elbow and secured with medical tape, was a lancette needle attached to a length of white rubber tubing. Clarity of his vision faltered as he fought to re-focus. What the hell?! Was this some type of I.V.? Was this a hospital? Or maybe some medical room deep in the bowels of Cipher Corps Science Labs? ... No, this was entirely too old and dingy to be any part of Cipher... Maybe he was being fed some type of intravenous sedatives so that some freak could take his organs and sell them one by one on the black market. No, that didn't seem quite right either... Closer, but not quite. He honestly wasn't sure exactly how he knew, but this synthetic serpent latched to his arm wasn't an I.V. drip... This was just the opposite; stuff wasn't going in...But coming out...
-*Drip*-
'Ah, shit...' He thought to himself, coming to the realization that he'd had this dream before, hence the creeping sensation of de-ja-vu. But how did it usually end? Why couldn't he remember that, to save his life? And who was the villainous mastermind turning the crank at the bottom of this whole setup? Would someone suddenly charge in at the last minute for a daring rescue that would end in an epic fight to the death? ...Or maybe he'd slowly regain his strength and find some way to free himself? Why the hell couldn't he remember?! He was fishing blindly for some flicker of a memory to grab hold of. It was like sticking your hand in a pool of muddied water and feeling along the silt at the bottom for something you can't even say, with any sort of certainty, ever existed to begin with. These mental acrobatics were beginning to wear him terribly thin again. Endurance was quickly approaching rock-bottom, so he layed his throbbing head back, as gently as he could, against the metallic surface of whatever it was he happened to be reclined on. He could almost feel himself begin to drift again, as lids fell shut in a slow blink. Wasn't someone else supposed to be here with him?
-*Drip*-
Then... Somewhere behind him, far beyond the blurred edges of his vision, he could hear what sounded distinctly like a door opening and falling shut with a muted creak. A few shuffled footsteps ensued. Yeah, someone else had definitely arrived and was making their presence known.
"Chad?..." His throat was so dry and hoarse that the usual, deeply resonant growl of a voice barely managed to produce any sound whatsoever.
"Wrong... Again...." The other male voice echoed through the space of the room, slithering its way through grime and grit before it triggered a retrospective flash that hit him as quickly as the agony which shocked his system when the tubular bulbs of the overhead light suddenly sprung to life. It was like he'd been completely blinded; white-washed by overwhelming fluorescence. For fuck sake, what was going on with his eyes?! Behind lids that pressed shut, accompanied by a strained and guttural groan, he could make out the transparent edges of an after-image; traces of a memory that had burned itself into the reel of his sub-conscious. That face... He could see it now without even having to look. The abrupt flash of light... the pain....and that face polluting his mind's eye were enough to re-kindle dying embers of an ever-burning rage.
-*Drip*-
Jaws clenched firmly, pulse quickened, adrenaline leaked into his system. Fingers twitched and tightened to coiled fists.
"Some of your stamina came back... That's good! Excellent! That means I can continue my work now... Keep working until it's perfect... My masterpiece." That disembodied voice had grown closer, footsteps shuffling nearer until they stopped entirely. Then he felt the startling sensation of a warm touch against the clammy skin of each cheek. Eyes remained tightly pressed shut to avoid re-experiencing that surge of searing ocular agony. Fingers brushed the side of his face in small, sweeping strokes before the other male figure leaned down to touch his forehead to the perspiring surface of the redhead's own. Every ounce of his being wished that he could just reach up and twist that bastard's head between his hands until he heard the satisfying sound of snapping vertebra. Wrists pulled their metal fetters against bruised flesh in desperately futile retaliation.
"It'll be perfect this time, I just know it'll be perfect..." Puckered lips pressed a kiss against his forehead.
Lids flitted open over glassy, summer-meadow eyes before the deep vibrations of a low, ferocious growl rumbled in his throat.
-*Drip*-
The figure hovering over him appeared out of focus, washed out and blurry around the edges; brightly blown-out like and overexposed photograph. But that face was without a doubt the one branded into his memory. Fighting through the pain assaulting his eyes, he watched the blurred figure move to his left side. With the best effort he could muster, he forced his gaze to follow. At last, it was when the other twisted open the valve attached to the rubber tubing that it all began to solidify in his thoughts... This wasn't just another recurring nightmare like all the others that haunted him like relentless phantoms. What truly drove it all home in the end though, wasn't the paralyzing chill at the small of his back, or the silent cacophony of screams that welled in his throat... It was a melody; the sound of the other's voice slowly easing into a jovial, content hum. It wasn't the nature of the melody itself that filled him with unmitigated despair, but rather what he'd subconsciously learned to associate it with. Shallow breaths rose and fell, anxious like a dog about to be put down.
The distorted figure of the other male bent down briefly, then stepped over, reaching out to touch an extended index finger to the skin between Ace's eyebrows. It felt much warmer than before. One final struggle against the restraints proved useless as the previous two. There was just no point in fighting, was there? He might as well just close his eyes and wait for that melody to lull him to the inevitable darkness that always followed. The nameless villain bent down once more, all the while humming, though when he returned to Ace's fogged field of vision this time, he'd place that finger against the space between his own eyebrows. Leaving behind a print in wet crimson, he'd marked his Third Eye.
How many times had he done this before?
3?
4?
5?
He couldn't say for sure... but what he did know now, without a single doubt, was that this was far away from being a dreamscape. No one had come for him and the melody always announced the darkness that seemed to have become both prison and reprieve. Maybe this would be the last time that haunting melody would carry him to unconsciousness. A part of him really didn't seem to oppose that prospect. Another part of him however, couldn't subdue the flame of that fighting spirit. The last shreds of coherent thought lingered on the others; the ones who meant so much to him he'd readily give his own life to defend them.
"I can't die like this..."
This is how it always ended...
Complete darkness...
Every single time...
When the shadows encroached on the edges of his vision, Ace felt shipwrecked; fighting to stay afloat rather than sink back into the abyssal void. But the tides of that melody dragged him down into the undertow of unconsciousness at last, where the current of a reminiscent hush prompted scattered memories of how this entire nightmare came to fruition...
And much like all the others, not to anyone's surprise, it had begun with just another (yet not so average) freelance assignment...
The punishment for his violent actions toward a certain dick-bib named Jason Sterling had been a rather bland dish, served in the form of unpaid classroom work at Cipher Corps Headquarters. Apparently the 3 days he'd spent locked in one of their containment cells hadn't been quite sufficient enough... So once Ace had finally agreed to call-off any considerations of personal vendetta, Carmon had saddled the freelancer with the task of coaching a few of her new recruits on how to improve their skills with firearms. It felt like his days of community service all over again, but at least having to give the rookies routine lessons in marksmanship beat the hell out of cleaning vomit or piss from the couch-cushions in a retirement home while some Mr. or Mrs. Old-As-Fucking-Dirt watched their fifth re-run of Bonanza at full volume... So yeah... it wasn't all that bad. Plus, it gave Chad a chance to tag along and get in on some target practice too, which was usually a good way for any teenager to blow off some steam.
Classes were to be held twice a week, for two hours each. Ace had never really exhibited a huge fondness for people when it came to being surrounded by complete strangers. Usually there was some form of alcohol involved when the redhead decided to mix with the masses, just to help blunt the edge. Another thing the ex-hitman didn't possess too much of was patience, especially in dealing with said total strangers on a student-teacher basis. At least it was a small class... even smaller now that he'd already kicked out a guy on the first day for trying to argue with him. Two women...four men... and then there was Chad... who probably got more of a kick out of watching Ace struggle not to lose his temper than anything else. The day had begun overcast and drizzling. It wasn't cold in the least, but the outdoor practice range was definitely out of the question.
Inside of the indoor range, Ace wandered slowly from firing lane to firing lane. He'd stop to observe, make a few comments on what improvements could be made, and then moved on to the next individual. All were dressed in their usual Cipher Corps garb, with the exception of Ace, who had once again opted out of the dress-up session. Black leather and denim; that was his uniform... until Carmon could serve up something better than those atrocious blue and black vestments.
The female in the next lane he stepped up to had just brought the automated, paper silhouette target back to her bench for inspection. Most of her shots had been aimed at the human figure's chest and several others at the head. She was a decent shot. All bullets had struck in a neatly grouped cluster, but Ace found that she definitely had potential for improvement... along with potential for various other things. "You see how the shots are grouped where you were aiming but still a little too scattered, right?" The volume of his voice was elevated to make sure his words more audible over the cacophony of surrounding gunfire. He was looking down at her with an attentive gaze harmonized with a deceptively charming smile. For anyone who knew him well enough, it usually served as a less than subtle bright red flag, warning that the redhead wanted something. Upon hearing Ace's words, the young woman nodded her head of blonde-streaked auburn hair. A stern look of intense concentration morphed quickly into curiosity as her focus turned to the freelance-division leader who stood at her side.
Ace shifted his weight to bear the majority on one leg, right thumb hooked into the hem of a blue-jean pocket while he looked her over. With that expression smeared across his features it was almost difficult to tell if he was inspecting her posture or simply letting a lascivious gaze drift hungrily over the landscape of her feminine curvature. It was like a predatory animal, sizing up its next meal... imagining what array of flavors would erupt between his teeth while he slowly tore her apart.
"Your stance looks solid, your arms are steady... So there's a problem somewhere else. Reload and give me one more shot at 30 feet. Center chest." He instructed.
By the time she slid her re-loaded magazine into the grip of the pistol, Ace had clipped a new silhouette to the automated, high-tech target track and sent it 30 feet down range. From the moment her fingers gripped the slide and pulled it back with that distinct sound associated with racking a round into the empty chamber of a semiautomatic pistol, the freelancer's piercing eyes were glued to her. There was just nothing he found quite so visually delicious as watching a lovely young woman go to town with a deadly weapon right in front of him. She assumed her stance, took aim, and fired. The LCD monitor built into the lane bench flashed an image of where the bullet had struck, marking the entry point with a bright red dot. She'd missed the center point by a little over an inch, and after having studied her more than he'd probably ever studied for a school exam in his entire life, Ace was finally able to give her some useful advice.
"I see what's going on now." He began by saying, allowing his focus to drift away from the display and back to her figure.
"Your grip is too tense, and you blink right before you fire." He'd raised the volume of that uniquely resonant growl of a voice another notch because the guy in the adjoining lane decided to empty his whole mag into his target all at once. The young woman looked slightly surprised at first, having been made aware of something she'd never previously realized. It was determination, however, that found her features next, when she took aim again and fired a second shot, this time keeping in mind what Ace had told her. Another red dot appeared on the display, this time slightly closer to dead-center than the previous. The freelancer's lips curled into a smug and mischievous little smile.
"Good... But I think you can do better than that.... Here, let me show you." As he addressed her with those words, he stepped around, moving his body directly behind hers. She had been prepared to step out of his way as soon as he had suggested wanting to show her something... but it didn't seem as though the freelance instructor wanted for her to move from her spot whatsoever.
The female's expression turned from confident determination to bashful anxiety when the redhead's leather clad arms draped around her shoulders. Ace could feel her muscles tense once all the space was closed; when the length of his body fully met with the back of hers. The poor rookie was probably feeling a little intimidated. Who knew what sort of stories were floating around headquarters about him after that whole ordeal with Sterling.... 'Rebel freelancer, disrespectful punk, violent misfit with destructive tendencies...' Probably nothing too far from the truth...
As he placed his hands directly on top of hers; warm, guiding, and supportive, he lowered his head over her right shoulder to bring lips close to the ear behind which, auburn and blonde-streaked strands were tucked away.
"Ssshhhhh, just relax.... Don't be so tense." Words trickled easily past the plug in her ear and although the warmth of his breath against her skin had caused an involuntary shiver, she did manage to make herself relax a bit. At least at this rate, Ace could speak to her at a normal tone... not only that, but it would make for a much more memorable demonstration all together.
"You chose this pistol from the armory, like everybody else. It doesn't frighten or intimidate you, does it?" Lips almost touched against the tip of her ear when the response to his inquiry ensued with a gentle shake of her head and a quiet, yet conclusive "No, Sir."
At any other given time, Ace would have told her to stop calling him 'Sir', but in conjunction with the overbearing scent of gunpowder wafting from her, not to mention the submissive position she was stuck in, he was actually beginning to like it... Every sense went into overdrive, causing his lips to curl into an almost malicious smirk once he replied.
"Good."
Ace began moving a little closer still. "Then you should start treating it like a lover, instead of just using it, like a tool." Lids blinked shut over golden-green irises encircling his now dilated pupils.
"You wanna hold it dear, not hold it hostage.... So relax your grip." He closed his fingers over hers with a gentle squeeze and just like that, she acquiesced. Dangerously enticing words continued to surge into her ear, like poison nectar leaking from a ravenous smile.
"Close your eyes... Take a deep breath, and just forget for a minute that what you're touching was created to be incredibly deadly." Her lids fell shut while lungs pulled in a breath of industrial scents to be expelled again through succulent lips, ripe with quivers of a guilty pleasure.
((There is still more....))";
Complete darkness...
Every single time...
Weighlessness. Floating through an endless void in no particular direction. Up became down, left became right. It was all the same without any point of reference. The vacuum of space seemed less disorienting by comparison. He could be falling for all he knew, but there was no telling. Wasn't falling without ever hitting bottom just the same as floating if no other tangible thing was present to let you know that you were, in fact, falling? Despite the sensation of buoyant suspension, his body felt heavy, completely relaxed dead-weight as though he was coming out of a dream...or maybe just beginning to enter one? The comforting silence of complete nothingness was broken by a faint rhythmic pattern; a sound so dulled and distorted it took on the likeness of being completely submerged under water. The noise he heard was the slowed and steady beating of his own heart. If he'd simply continue on this way, he wondered how long it would take until something changed. Wasn't something supposed to happen eventually?? At least he felt like it should... but he couldn't remember.
"Hey, you...."
His pierced eyebrow twitched at the sudden, unexpected sound of a very familiar voice. 'Hmm?' What the hell? Was he drifting toward insanity and having auditory hallucinations? The rhythmic heartbeat continued to provide the dark void with some ambient background noise while he continued to float onward.
"Yo, ass-clown... Try opening your eyes, genius, that might fucking help. You don't have a whole lot of time left, so c'mon and get with the program. Whatever you do, do NOT stop fighting."
Now he recognized it. It was his own voice that rang and echoed through the black, empty space. Open his eyes? Were they not open already? Lids that felt like lead weights slowly parted, allowing the dim, warm ambient light to pour into pupils that failed to constrict. Wherever it was that he found himself now, that weightless sensation persisted. Limbs felt paralyzed. Vision was a complete blur. Even if he'd wanted to begin figuring out this mysterious new environment he'd drifted into, the attempt would be completely futile... So much for 'Open your eyes'... Thank you, internal voice of reason, for the utterly useless shred of advice.
His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, breaking the steady cycle of previously shallow breaths. It was difficult, like some heavy weight was resting right on his chest. Was he even laying on his back? Lids pressed shut, re-opened, and then shut again. Weightlessness suddenly turned to vertigo the more he thought about it. Things looked like they were beginning to come more into focus when he re-opened his eyes once again, though now noticed that with every beat of his heart; every pulse, a terrible pain bored its way from temple to temple straight through his skull. Nausea ensued. This definitely topped any hangover he'd ever had.
-*Drip*-
As his senses gradually progressed toward some resemblance of clarity, like watching a mirror slowly de-fog, he came to a chilling realization: The reason for the inability to move his limbs wasn't due to some form of sleep-paralysis, trapped in a limbo of waking and slumber. No, this time when he attempted to move, he felt the distinct strain of muscle against some unseen counter-force. The pain radiating through his skull turned from pulsing to static and steady the instant he successfully managed to lift his head. Everything, the whole room, was washed in a stale grunge of desaturated hues; stagnant air heavy with scents of moisture, mold, and copper rust. Blurred shapes in the dim light resembled some ancient pipe-lines, maybe a breaker-box or two? Skeletal framework of simple, utilitarian shelving? Suspended from a gridded ceiling directly above him was a standard, rectangular box-light. The long fluorescent bulbs were either switched off or burnt out, which wouldn't be surprising considering the rest of the place. His back was pressed against a cold, hard, elevated surface. Maybe a table or countertop of some kind? But why? Was this the stage-set for some nightmare born from whatever horror-flick he happened to be watching before he'd fallen asleep? Or hell, it might even turn out to be the beginning of a kinky little twisted Silent Hill-type nurse fetish fantasy... There wasn't really any way of telling which scenario his depraved brain was going to hit the ground running with night after night... although this particular one carried with it an uncanny familiarity, with a hint of de-ja-vu.
-*Drip*-
What he was able to make out from the limited view he had to work with, constraining his chest and upper arms, holding him firmly bound to the metal surface, resembled one of those thick, industrial, nylon ratchet tie-down rigs. Judging by the amount of pressure distributed across both thighs, just above his knees, it was safe to say that the same (or similar) bindings were implemented there. A little overkill maybe? Sure, he was strong... but he wasn't THAT strong... Well, it was time to figure out how to pull a Houdini and ditch this thing. The level of confinement and the drowsiness in conjunction with the horror-flick setting was beginning to make even him a little nervous. And it seemed like it could be a fairly simple escape; wiggle a little, reach up and pull the ratchet-release, and Voilla! Freedom! When fatigued forearms moved, however, all attempts at executing said escape plan were quickly sent back to the chopping-block by the a painful snap of metal felt against the bones of both wrists. What the fuck?!
Jaws snared shut from the underlying shock that sparked a small surge of panic.
Handcuffs.
The hinged, latching jaws locked onto each wrist and attached somewhere beneath the metallic surface beyond his field of vision. Struggling desperately to fight of another tidal wave of drowsiness, he laid his head back down. Fucking hell... The tiny key to his impending freedom hung bundled with his ID tags on the chain around his neck, with no possibility of being reached. A little irony to top it all off.
-*Drip*-
A little sigh of frustration gusted his lips as he stared up into that broken fluorescent overhead light. God, he was parched. Each little movement proved cumbersome and strenuous. Every muscle in his body ached, riddled with fatigue. The whole surface of his skin tingled faintly, clammy under a film of cold sweat that transformed his clothes into a damp prison of cruel punishment. This was slowly starting to turn into an endurance trial with every second that trickled away like that aurally chafing drip.
Wait a minute...
He blinked, the pain resonating through his skull was now accompanied by a soft ringing in his ears. Hadn't there been something else he'd briefly glanced over whilst inspecting the restraint around his left wrist? Better check again... But was it really worth putting forth the physical effort? He was honestly exhausted enough to just lay there and let this freak-show of a dream have its way with him, but he knew for a fact that the sound of repetitive drip every 15 seconds would get really annoying, really fast. Hell, it was already pretty fucking annoying, right along with the headache and the nagging feeling of de-ja-vu. With what felt like the last remnants of reserved strength, he lifted his head again, knowing he was fighting a slowly losing battle with fatigue. It took a short moment of complete concentration to focus his still mildly blurred vision. Auburn brows furrowed as he finally realized just what it was he was now staring at.
Fanged into the crook of his elbow and secured with medical tape, was a lancette needle attached to a length of white rubber tubing. Clarity of his vision faltered as he fought to re-focus. What the hell?! Was this some type of I.V.? Was this a hospital? Or maybe some medical room deep in the bowels of Cipher Corps Science Labs? ... No, this was entirely too old and dingy to be any part of Cipher... Maybe he was being fed some type of intravenous sedatives so that some freak could take his organs and sell them one by one on the black market. No, that didn't seem quite right either... Closer, but not quite. He honestly wasn't sure exactly how he knew, but this synthetic serpent latched to his arm wasn't an I.V. drip... This was just the opposite; stuff wasn't going in...But coming out...
-*Drip*-
'Ah, shit...' He thought to himself, coming to the realization that he'd had this dream before, hence the creeping sensation of de-ja-vu. But how did it usually end? Why couldn't he remember that, to save his life? And who was the villainous mastermind turning the crank at the bottom of this whole setup? Would someone suddenly charge in at the last minute for a daring rescue that would end in an epic fight to the death? ...Or maybe he'd slowly regain his strength and find some way to free himself? Why the hell couldn't he remember?! He was fishing blindly for some flicker of a memory to grab hold of. It was like sticking your hand in a pool of muddied water and feeling along the silt at the bottom for something you can't even say, with any sort of certainty, ever existed to begin with. These mental acrobatics were beginning to wear him terribly thin again. Endurance was quickly approaching rock-bottom, so he layed his throbbing head back, as gently as he could, against the metallic surface of whatever it was he happened to be reclined on. He could almost feel himself begin to drift again, as lids fell shut in a slow blink. Wasn't someone else supposed to be here with him?
-*Drip*-
Then... Somewhere behind him, far beyond the blurred edges of his vision, he could hear what sounded distinctly like a door opening and falling shut with a muted creak. A few shuffled footsteps ensued. Yeah, someone else had definitely arrived and was making their presence known.
"Chad?..." His throat was so dry and hoarse that the usual, deeply resonant growl of a voice barely managed to produce any sound whatsoever.
"Wrong... Again...." The other male voice echoed through the space of the room, slithering its way through grime and grit before it triggered a retrospective flash that hit him as quickly as the agony which shocked his system when the tubular bulbs of the overhead light suddenly sprung to life. It was like he'd been completely blinded; white-washed by overwhelming fluorescence. For fuck sake, what was going on with his eyes?! Behind lids that pressed shut, accompanied by a strained and guttural groan, he could make out the transparent edges of an after-image; traces of a memory that had burned itself into the reel of his sub-conscious. That face... He could see it now without even having to look. The abrupt flash of light... the pain....and that face polluting his mind's eye were enough to re-kindle dying embers of an ever-burning rage.
-*Drip*-
Jaws clenched firmly, pulse quickened, adrenaline leaked into his system. Fingers twitched and tightened to coiled fists.
"Some of your stamina came back... That's good! Excellent! That means I can continue my work now... Keep working until it's perfect... My masterpiece." That disembodied voice had grown closer, footsteps shuffling nearer until they stopped entirely. Then he felt the startling sensation of a warm touch against the clammy skin of each cheek. Eyes remained tightly pressed shut to avoid re-experiencing that surge of searing ocular agony. Fingers brushed the side of his face in small, sweeping strokes before the other male figure leaned down to touch his forehead to the perspiring surface of the redhead's own. Every ounce of his being wished that he could just reach up and twist that bastard's head between his hands until he heard the satisfying sound of snapping vertebra. Wrists pulled their metal fetters against bruised flesh in desperately futile retaliation.
"It'll be perfect this time, I just know it'll be perfect..." Puckered lips pressed a kiss against his forehead.
Lids flitted open over glassy, summer-meadow eyes before the deep vibrations of a low, ferocious growl rumbled in his throat.
-*Drip*-
The figure hovering over him appeared out of focus, washed out and blurry around the edges; brightly blown-out like and overexposed photograph. But that face was without a doubt the one branded into his memory. Fighting through the pain assaulting his eyes, he watched the blurred figure move to his left side. With the best effort he could muster, he forced his gaze to follow. At last, it was when the other twisted open the valve attached to the rubber tubing that it all began to solidify in his thoughts... This wasn't just another recurring nightmare like all the others that haunted him like relentless phantoms. What truly drove it all home in the end though, wasn't the paralyzing chill at the small of his back, or the silent cacophony of screams that welled in his throat... It was a melody; the sound of the other's voice slowly easing into a jovial, content hum. It wasn't the nature of the melody itself that filled him with unmitigated despair, but rather what he'd subconsciously learned to associate it with. Shallow breaths rose and fell, anxious like a dog about to be put down.
The distorted figure of the other male bent down briefly, then stepped over, reaching out to touch an extended index finger to the skin between Ace's eyebrows. It felt much warmer than before. One final struggle against the restraints proved useless as the previous two. There was just no point in fighting, was there? He might as well just close his eyes and wait for that melody to lull him to the inevitable darkness that always followed. The nameless villain bent down once more, all the while humming, though when he returned to Ace's fogged field of vision this time, he'd place that finger against the space between his own eyebrows. Leaving behind a print in wet crimson, he'd marked his Third Eye.
How many times had he done this before?
3?
4?
5?
He couldn't say for sure... but what he did know now, without a single doubt, was that this was far away from being a dreamscape. No one had come for him and the melody always announced the darkness that seemed to have become both prison and reprieve. Maybe this would be the last time that haunting melody would carry him to unconsciousness. A part of him really didn't seem to oppose that prospect. Another part of him however, couldn't subdue the flame of that fighting spirit. The last shreds of coherent thought lingered on the others; the ones who meant so much to him he'd readily give his own life to defend them.
"I can't die like this..."
This is how it always ended...
Complete darkness...
Every single time...
When the shadows encroached on the edges of his vision, Ace felt shipwrecked; fighting to stay afloat rather than sink back into the abyssal void. But the tides of that melody dragged him down into the undertow of unconsciousness at last, where the current of a reminiscent hush prompted scattered memories of how this entire nightmare came to fruition...
And much like all the others, not to anyone's surprise, it had begun with just another (yet not so average) freelance assignment...
The punishment for his violent actions toward a certain dick-bib named Jason Sterling had been a rather bland dish, served in the form of unpaid classroom work at Cipher Corps Headquarters. Apparently the 3 days he'd spent locked in one of their containment cells hadn't been quite sufficient enough... So once Ace had finally agreed to call-off any considerations of personal vendetta, Carmon had saddled the freelancer with the task of coaching a few of her new recruits on how to improve their skills with firearms. It felt like his days of community service all over again, but at least having to give the rookies routine lessons in marksmanship beat the hell out of cleaning vomit or piss from the couch-cushions in a retirement home while some Mr. or Mrs. Old-As-Fucking-Dirt watched their fifth re-run of Bonanza at full volume... So yeah... it wasn't all that bad. Plus, it gave Chad a chance to tag along and get in on some target practice too, which was usually a good way for any teenager to blow off some steam.
Classes were to be held twice a week, for two hours each. Ace had never really exhibited a huge fondness for people when it came to being surrounded by complete strangers. Usually there was some form of alcohol involved when the redhead decided to mix with the masses, just to help blunt the edge. Another thing the ex-hitman didn't possess too much of was patience, especially in dealing with said total strangers on a student-teacher basis. At least it was a small class... even smaller now that he'd already kicked out a guy on the first day for trying to argue with him. Two women...four men... and then there was Chad... who probably got more of a kick out of watching Ace struggle not to lose his temper than anything else. The day had begun overcast and drizzling. It wasn't cold in the least, but the outdoor practice range was definitely out of the question.
Inside of the indoor range, Ace wandered slowly from firing lane to firing lane. He'd stop to observe, make a few comments on what improvements could be made, and then moved on to the next individual. All were dressed in their usual Cipher Corps garb, with the exception of Ace, who had once again opted out of the dress-up session. Black leather and denim; that was his uniform... until Carmon could serve up something better than those atrocious blue and black vestments.
The female in the next lane he stepped up to had just brought the automated, paper silhouette target back to her bench for inspection. Most of her shots had been aimed at the human figure's chest and several others at the head. She was a decent shot. All bullets had struck in a neatly grouped cluster, but Ace found that she definitely had potential for improvement... along with potential for various other things. "You see how the shots are grouped where you were aiming but still a little too scattered, right?" The volume of his voice was elevated to make sure his words more audible over the cacophony of surrounding gunfire. He was looking down at her with an attentive gaze harmonized with a deceptively charming smile. For anyone who knew him well enough, it usually served as a less than subtle bright red flag, warning that the redhead wanted something. Upon hearing Ace's words, the young woman nodded her head of blonde-streaked auburn hair. A stern look of intense concentration morphed quickly into curiosity as her focus turned to the freelance-division leader who stood at her side.
Ace shifted his weight to bear the majority on one leg, right thumb hooked into the hem of a blue-jean pocket while he looked her over. With that expression smeared across his features it was almost difficult to tell if he was inspecting her posture or simply letting a lascivious gaze drift hungrily over the landscape of her feminine curvature. It was like a predatory animal, sizing up its next meal... imagining what array of flavors would erupt between his teeth while he slowly tore her apart.
"Your stance looks solid, your arms are steady... So there's a problem somewhere else. Reload and give me one more shot at 30 feet. Center chest." He instructed.
By the time she slid her re-loaded magazine into the grip of the pistol, Ace had clipped a new silhouette to the automated, high-tech target track and sent it 30 feet down range. From the moment her fingers gripped the slide and pulled it back with that distinct sound associated with racking a round into the empty chamber of a semiautomatic pistol, the freelancer's piercing eyes were glued to her. There was just nothing he found quite so visually delicious as watching a lovely young woman go to town with a deadly weapon right in front of him. She assumed her stance, took aim, and fired. The LCD monitor built into the lane bench flashed an image of where the bullet had struck, marking the entry point with a bright red dot. She'd missed the center point by a little over an inch, and after having studied her more than he'd probably ever studied for a school exam in his entire life, Ace was finally able to give her some useful advice.
"I see what's going on now." He began by saying, allowing his focus to drift away from the display and back to her figure.
"Your grip is too tense, and you blink right before you fire." He'd raised the volume of that uniquely resonant growl of a voice another notch because the guy in the adjoining lane decided to empty his whole mag into his target all at once. The young woman looked slightly surprised at first, having been made aware of something she'd never previously realized. It was determination, however, that found her features next, when she took aim again and fired a second shot, this time keeping in mind what Ace had told her. Another red dot appeared on the display, this time slightly closer to dead-center than the previous. The freelancer's lips curled into a smug and mischievous little smile.
"Good... But I think you can do better than that.... Here, let me show you." As he addressed her with those words, he stepped around, moving his body directly behind hers. She had been prepared to step out of his way as soon as he had suggested wanting to show her something... but it didn't seem as though the freelance instructor wanted for her to move from her spot whatsoever.
The female's expression turned from confident determination to bashful anxiety when the redhead's leather clad arms draped around her shoulders. Ace could feel her muscles tense once all the space was closed; when the length of his body fully met with the back of hers. The poor rookie was probably feeling a little intimidated. Who knew what sort of stories were floating around headquarters about him after that whole ordeal with Sterling.... 'Rebel freelancer, disrespectful punk, violent misfit with destructive tendencies...' Probably nothing too far from the truth...
As he placed his hands directly on top of hers; warm, guiding, and supportive, he lowered his head over her right shoulder to bring lips close to the ear behind which, auburn and blonde-streaked strands were tucked away.
"Ssshhhhh, just relax.... Don't be so tense." Words trickled easily past the plug in her ear and although the warmth of his breath against her skin had caused an involuntary shiver, she did manage to make herself relax a bit. At least at this rate, Ace could speak to her at a normal tone... not only that, but it would make for a much more memorable demonstration all together.
"You chose this pistol from the armory, like everybody else. It doesn't frighten or intimidate you, does it?" Lips almost touched against the tip of her ear when the response to his inquiry ensued with a gentle shake of her head and a quiet, yet conclusive "No, Sir."
At any other given time, Ace would have told her to stop calling him 'Sir', but in conjunction with the overbearing scent of gunpowder wafting from her, not to mention the submissive position she was stuck in, he was actually beginning to like it... Every sense went into overdrive, causing his lips to curl into an almost malicious smirk once he replied.
"Good."
Ace began moving a little closer still. "Then you should start treating it like a lover, instead of just using it, like a tool." Lids blinked shut over golden-green irises encircling his now dilated pupils.
"You wanna hold it dear, not hold it hostage.... So relax your grip." He closed his fingers over hers with a gentle squeeze and just like that, she acquiesced. Dangerously enticing words continued to surge into her ear, like poison nectar leaking from a ravenous smile.
"Close your eyes... Take a deep breath, and just forget for a minute that what you're touching was created to be incredibly deadly." Her lids fell shut while lungs pulled in a breath of industrial scents to be expelled again through succulent lips, ripe with quivers of a guilty pleasure.
((There is still more....))";
