[Fan Fiction] Black Forest [Updated for Next Chapter]

This story is a continuation of this one

Thanks so much to Zola for fixing my many mistakes.

Black Forest

There is a veil that clouds the minds of the inhabitants of this city, a veil that mirrors the unseen scaffold encompassing the city itself. One is built of welded iron and metal, the other is a structure built of vain dreams and imaginings; it is not hard to discover which of the two is the harder to tear down.

Something fell from the sky, something black and metallic that gained speed and heat as it barreled its way towards Paradigm. It crashed down in an abandoned building outside of town, sending up a cloud of smoke and debris that alerted the city to its presence.

General Dastun sent a team of men out to investigate the disturbance with strict orders that they carefully document their findings before the evidence was turned over to the Paradigm City Council. He was quickly informed that it would be a good idea if he came to examine the debris himself. When he arrived, one of the military cranes was already hoisting something out of the wreckage of the destroyed building.

Dastun was shocked when he realized what it was: a large red and black robotic foot, complete with electrical entrails sprouting from its base. It was a piece of a megadeus. However, Dastun learned little else about the mysterious object before it was dismantled and carted off in a set of authoritative looking vehicles for further examination by the science division of Paradigm city.

Officially, the thing was no longer Dastun’s concern. Unofficially, Dastun was intrigued. He was tired of giant robots and the way they made the military police seem useless. To him, any evidence of a new megadeus in the city was not good news. However, he was almost positive that he could use his position and the notorious loopholes in Paradigm’s system of government as a way to gain access to the thing that had fallen from the sky. Perhaps if he could discover the truth behind it, then he could prepare the police force to deal with it.

Dastun turned back to his car and was about to climb inside when he paused and stared at something in the distance. It was the old tower that stood silently abandoned in the center of Paradigm. For a moment, Dastun felt as if there were something he should remember about the old building--something important--something to do with the government, but he couldn’t seem to get hold of whatever it was. After a while, he gave up chasing the elusive memory and climbed into the car. He had more important things to deal with at headquarters.

I was one who searched for the truth that was buried behind this facade, but when one layer of falsehood is pulled away all that is exposed is another layer of lies and deceptions. Even the mighty giants that built this city only to have it destroyed time and time again do not reveal their intentions. They seem content to let the people of the city continue to forge their chains of ignorance and doubt, but shackles built by men always contain a weak link. One day the bonds will break and we will see the truth that lies behind the delusions.

Inside the central tower, Dastun’s police vehicle was displayed on one of several television screens that stood in the center of an otherwise deserted room. On the other screens were displayed further images from Paradigm, and in the center of this mosaic, on the middle screen, a large, stoic white face stared down at the young woman who was slumped over on the control panel below it; she was Angel Rosewater.

She was unconscious and her breathing was shallow and labored. In her back, caked in dried blood, were eight probe cables; their long tentacles reaching back into the monitor screen and vibrating gleefully like snakes that were either feeding on or poisoning their victim.

From somewhere in the back of the room there was the sound of a door opening and closing and the tap, tap, tap of high heeled shoes on the concrete floor.

“Slander, you cannibal,” said a woman’s voice, “what are you doing to your program now?”

The glow of the monitors partially illuminated the face of the woman who was now standing behind them looking at the negative images on the back of the screens. She was a short woman in a blue dress and heels. She had violently curly brown hair that fell down to her waist and lips so red they were almost black. At the moment, she had a sharp, angular arch in her eyebrows that made her face very unattractive.

The face in the central screen, which glowed an eerie pink when seen in reverse, seemed to scowl at the woman.

“What I do is none of your business Lisa,” said a smooth, metallic voice that synced with the image on the screen, “What you do, however...”

The woman scowled, “What are you planning to do? Erase me? It doesn’t matter; I’ll disappear either way. I don’t really exist.”

At this the construct appeared to sneer, “Then I guess all that matters is if you enjoy time you have. You have done what I asked?”

The woman nodded.

“Then it is time to take care of the other one.”

The woman smiled, “That should be fun,” she said.

She made as if to turn away, but stopped for a moment to stare at one of the monitors that was now displaying the dissected remains of the object that had fallen from the sky.

“You’re not worried about the props you’ve left lying around?” she asked.

Slander laughed. It was an unnatural, cold mechanical laugh that was deeply unpleasant. “Should an elephant be concerned about an ant?”

Lisa wondered for a moment whether Slander was really as unconcerned as he appeared, if he was simply sloppy, or if this director he called Angel was not as perfect as he would have her believe. After all, there had been that messy job with Mrs. Edwards. The woman had been irritatingly vocal about a son that no longer existed, making everyone dig up things that should have remained buried. Lisa suspected that Mrs. Edwards was the reason why Slander had gotten his hooks into Angel so quickly: he needed to fix up that little mistake. But if he could change that, then why did he allow the reappearance of Big Duo? Why hadn’t the megadeus disappeared as well?

“Maybe,” Lisa mused, “There are some things he can’t control. Maybe he’s not as omniscient as he’d like to believe.”

She said nothing at all about this, however. She was not stupid. She simply turned and left the way she had come, letting the motions squeal in her joints a bit, just because it would disrupt Slander’s concentration and annoy him. It was a small bit of power, the ability to piss him off--but Lisa relished it just the same.

Therefore, rise up citizens of this forsaken city! Look and see for yourselves what your lives really mean! For when, at last, you can finally call a thing by its true name, that is the moment when its power finally becomes your own! Wake up and bring the barriers crumbling down! For if you remain contentedly idle, you simply choose to accept the fate that draws close to destroy you.

Dastun had a set of pictures detailing the object that had been recovered outside the domes. He had found it impossible to actually enter Paradigm’s science facility, but a friend that worked in the building was able to send him some prints. At the moment they were spread out on the desk and he was examining them one by one.

He was thus engrossed when a knock on his office door brought him to attention. A tall man in a dark suit was leaning casually against the doorframe. It took a moment for Dastun’s mind to register that the man was Roger Smith.

Dastun sighed, picked up the nearest photo, and held it out to Roger, “I suppose you’re here for information?”

“What?” Roger asked, smiling, “I can’t just come by to say hello?”

Dan laughed and relaxed, scratching his head absently as Roger took the photograph and held it up for examination. He grinned as his friend’s face broadened into a look of amazement, “Why that’s...” Roger began.

“A megadeus,” Dastun finished.

Roger paused for a moment as if he had been going to say something different, but then he shrugged and gave the photo back. “A part of one, at least,” he said, “What’s being done about it?”

The General snickered, “Examination, debate, and discussion; do we ever do anything else?”

Roger walked toward the office window and stared upwards absently.

“Why would something like that simply fall out of the sky?” Dastun asked.

Roger Smith didn’t answer.

For in this world in which we seem to be mere puppets in the hands of unseen masters, this is the one luxury that has been left to us: the power to accept the destiny for which we have been fated or to rebel against our natures and change our path.

Dorothy Wainwright was waiting patiently for Roger in the Griffon, her hands resting demurely in her lap. She watched quietly as Roger walked from police headquarters, a few of Dastun’s pictures in his hand, and joined her in the car. He tossed the pictures in her lap as he turned the key in the ignition. R. Dorothy picked them up and ran a cool hand along their surface.

“Big Duo.”

“So I’m not crazy,” Roger said, “I thought I might be when that name popped into my head earlier.”

Dorothy said nothing.

“And the name Seebach,” Roger said, “That means something too, doesn’t it?”

Again, Dorothy said nothing.

Suddenly, they both heard the sound of screams and a terrific thud that sent a ripple through the ground, shaking the car, and ripping a crack through the center of the street.

As the quake rolled through the city, Roger threw his right arm in front of Dorothy in a protective gesture. Only after the trembling had died down did, he realize how silly and futile his action had been. If Dorothy really had been in danger of being thrown from the car, it would take more than his arm to hold her back, a fact that she made him keenly aware of with a simple look of inquisitiveness, “And how was that supposed to help?” Her eyes seemed to be asking.

Roger just coughed uncomfortably and put the car in gear. This was not the time to deal with such things. Big Duo, it seemed, had just made his arrival in Paradigm city.

How foolish then to close ourselves up in protective domes that hide the truth from us in materialistic lies. How foolish it is to assume that we have conquered the demons of forty-years ago, that we have progressed, and that we have become civilized. It is the egotism of each generation to assume that it has progressed beyond those who came before it, when in reality they simply to continue to deepen the pit that they were born in.

When they arrived at the epicenter of the tremor, all that could be seen was a gigantic crater in the earth. Something had definitely fallen here (the cloud of debris it caused would not settle for days) but whatever it had been was now gone, without even a clue to as how it had left.

Roger turned and began to walk back towards the Griffon, but as he did he heard something, a violent hiss, almost like the sound of steam sliding through the lid of a kettle. He turned back and saw that a thick yellow gas was creeping noisily from a crack at the bottom of the cleft.

The curious onlookers nearest the bottom of the pit began to cough and sputter violently, and Roger noticed that the ground had begun to shake again. The crack in the pit was growing wider and something long and metallic was sliding from the gap. It looked like the arms of some long forgotten underwater terror. “Get out of there!” Roger shouted, “Get out of the crater!”

The crowd had already begun to run out and away. Roger could hear screams as the black tentacles flailed about, wriggling their way free. A man was caught in their path while climbing out of the hole and was sent bouncing to the other side by the force of the swing. Others were beginning to drop as the thick yellow liquid gushing from the end of the arms filled their lungs and suffocated them.

Roger knew that he should follow his own advice and run from the fumes and the twisting, eyeless arms, but he could almost see what was connected to the bottom of the wild appendages, something that was beginning to emerge as the arms widened the gap. He was desperate to know what it was.

He pulled his coat over his nose and mouth and peered forward just as something rushed passed him and pushed him back out of the reach of the gas. The shove was not a gentle one, and he fell down to the ground, realizing only after catching his breath that it had been R. Dorothy. Immune to the fumes, and quicker than the tentacles, she was helping the unfortunate gawkers out of the hole. Roger realized it was time for him to take some action as well. He held up his watch and called for Big O.

I could not be content to remain within such a prison. I choose freedom and was destroyed in consequence. All who choose veracity over delusion must expect such results. Yet the freedom of the soul is worth any aftermath. Still, this is a decision that each must make for himself. Remember that Paradigm City.

Moments later, Roger sat in the cockpit of Big O watching as Dorothy pulled the last victim from the pit. Just as she did, the long, black arms pressed down against the edge of the crater and lifted their body from the crack. After a moments tugging, a black sphere emerged at the center of the long arms, which were now surrounding it, spider-like.

In the center of the sphere a circular chamber opened and a tube telescoped out from the interior of the machine. Roger could see the sparks of electricity gathering at the end of the tube, and so raised Big O’s arms to block the blast, but to his surprise, the machine ignored him, stepping over and around Big O, and letting loose a burst of energy from its central cannon that cut a hole in the nearest dome.

As quickly as was possible, Roger swung Big O around, only to be met with a blinding cloud of black smoke that was now billowing from an opening at the base of the sphere. Within moments the megadeus was blind. He quickly switched the communicator display to radar mode. The picture on the display would be accurate enough for him to deal with the spider, but he wasn’t sure if it would stop Big O from running into buildings or plowing over pedestrians. When the radar showed that the machine had let off another blast at the domes, presumably widening the hole it had already cut, Roger realized that there was nothing for it but to go in swinging.

He pulled back Big O’s arm and swung it towards the area where the spider robot’s body ought to be, but nothing connected, and the radar showed that his opponent had moved down and towards him as he swung, and its tentacles were now wrapping around him, crushing him and blocking off the missile and gun bay. He considered letting loose the missiles anyway, but he wasn’t sure exactly what would happen after they tore through the black arms. If they remained trapped instead of cutting through, it would rip the megadeus apart instead.

He flipped open a switch and released Big O’s pistons, which ripped through one of the embracing tentacles and made the spider loosen its grip just enough for him to slip one arm free and grab the robot by it’s spherical head and fling it away.

The cloud of black smoke dissipated as the spider reoriented itself in the air, landing upright like a cat a short distance away. Again the thing turned its back on Roger Smith and began to make for the domes, sliding through the streets with an arachnid’s speed.

With one last, desperate blast, Roger shot Big O’s eye lasers at the thing, blasting through the center of the robot’s body until at last it lay on the ground in two quivering halves that still spewed yellow and black liquid like the blood of a smashed insect.

The sight of it disgusted Roger, although his primary concern was the welfare of those in the slums who might have been within the reach of the robot’s kamikaze death. Fortunately, the military police had already begun to evacuate and section off the area. It appeared that everything had been taken care of, but Roger still felt ill at ease. Perhaps it was the lingering memory of a megadeus, and the telltale words of the man that had piloted it.

Remember that, in the end, it is your choice.

--Schwarzwald

Something stirred in the forgotten underground that at one time had been a subway: a man drew in deep breaths into lungs that felt new and eyes that felt strangely clear. He was lying on the ground wrapped in bandages that appeared superfluous since there was nothing wrong with him. Beside him there was something incredibly large and black. Something that also seemed a bit disoriented, but wiser than the man would ever be.

In the darkness, the man stood up and pulled away the bandages, then he walked towards the thing beside him and ran a hand along its surface. He sighed and his face welled up with pleasure.

“Big Duo,” was all he said.

To Be Continued...

Next Episode: Oh Ye Mortals!

That was interesting. I'd have been happier to have seen some more of the study of Big Duo's foot, but maybe that will show up in the next chapter.

The underground spider robot reminded me of the opening credits of Jonny Quest, of all things.

Pygmalion

I really enjoyed this! There is a very ominous feeling throughout all of your chapters thus far, and I really like that. Your descriptions are lovely, which I also like-- I get very vivid images in my head while reading this. Best of all, I think, was Schwarzwald's speech throughout the chapter. You're setting up a lot of interesting mysteries that I can't wait to see solved!

Another great installment, Jane. Things are really getting interesting now. Schwarzwald's speech was a real standout. It was very much in character for him. Once again, looking forward to the next installment.

Oh Ye Mortals!

The Paradigm Speakeasy was never at a loss for customers. Tonight it was unusually crowded, which never failed to put the bartender in an especially good mood. He hummed a jaunty tune softly as he mixed the drinks, and as he set them before the customers one by one, he dropped a happy word as well. He set the last one down in front of a skinny blond man that was sucking on a cheap cigar.


“Beautiful night tonight, isn’t it?” Dale said.

The blond man just sighed and sipped his drink dejectedly, juggling his smoke between his fingers. Instantly, Dale switched his approach from friendly to empathetic. “What’s got you down, chum?” he asked compassionately.

The man doused his cigar methodically in the ashtray. He spoke quietly as he twisted it back and forth, “What makes you happy barkeep?” he asked. “What is it you desire above everything else?”

Dale was unsure how to answer the question, so he decided to turn his answer into a sales pitch. “Why! A good drink!” he said, holding up the bottle proudly.

The man nodded, “Good drinks, good smokes, good women,” he said, “A red-lipped babe on each arm and a wallet full of cash, that’s what brings the ultimate happiness, but do you know what that is bartender? Do you know what happiness is?”

He said it so solemnly that Dale couldn’t help but lean closer in anticipation. “What?” he asked, “What is happiness?”

The man smiled and raised his drink. “Happiness is to have everyone know you by name,” he said. Then he toasted Dale and drank greedily from the glass.

“I’ll second that,” said a woman who was sitting a few stools away from the man in the yellow suit, “In fact, bring the man another drink on me, Dale.”

The bartender smiled and went to get the beer. The woman slid her drink across the counter and sat down next to Beck, who looked her up and down with greedy satisfaction.

She was a short, curvaceous woman with a slim attractive face, dark brown eyes, and wickedly curly hair that cascaded down her bare back. She was wearing a dress that clung to her attractively and heels that made her striking despite her height. She leaned towards Beck and he could smell the scent of all things soft and feminine.

Softly she whispered in his ear, “I know your name Jason.”

He looked at her with fascinated suspicion and picked up his drink for one final swig.

“You have big plans, don’t you? This city could be yours if you could just find the opportune moment and the right equipment,” she paused and smiled knowingly, “Something like a giant robot perhaps?”

Beck choked on his beer. Sputtering, he slammed the bottle down on the counter and looked squarely at the woman. “Is this some kind of prank?” He asked angrily.

She laughed and grabbed a napkin from the bar. Then she took a pen from her purse, and wrote something on the back. When she was finished, she slowly slid the napkin towards Beck. “It’s no joke,” she said, “You won’t be disappointed.”

He took the card and read what she had written on the opposite side. Suddenly a ridiculous grin spread across his face.

The woman smiled and stood up from the counter. She pulled some bills from her purse and set them on the counter to pay the tab and began to turn away.

Beck grabbed her arm, she turned back and he smiled up at her hungrily.
“You’re a peach of a girl,” he said, “Who are you anyway?”

“Sorry Jason,” she said, “Ultimate happiness was not meant to be mine.” Then she winked at him and left the Speakeasy.

***

Across town, R. Dorothy was dreaming. Technically, as an android, she didn’t sleep, and thus, technically couldn’t dream, but she had come to think of her occasional “flashbacks” as such.

Ever since her construction, the memories of a girl who had died long before had crept up occasionally to haunt her. She had eventually learned to deal with them, and sometimes even to relish them, but she had thought that when Beck robbed her of her core memory she would finally be free of them. She had thought that, at last, she could be herself--whoever that might be. She had also thought that she could still remember who she was when she had reappeared on the sidewalk after Roger’s negotiation with Angel, because, technically, she was no one, and how could Angel reset the memories of a being that had none?

Apparently she had been wrong. Here she was again, with the same awkward sensation of unreality, as a scene was played back on her optical nerves without her consent and without any clue as to of how the images had become recorded in her circuitry in the first place. Now it was worse, for she could not even dismiss them as an unknown portion of her core memory that had been implanted by Wainwright or Soldano. Worse too, because this dream was stranger than any she had ever seen.

She saw herself standing by her father in a crowd of people. The fiery red sky gave an eerie light to the death and destruction around them. The one building that had not been destroyed was the building where they had gathered, a tall building with a spiral base--a building that looked strangely like, but not quite the same as, the old Paradigm Headquarters.

There was someone standing on the steps of the tower, shouting something to the crowd that made them cheer. Dorothy began to dance around her father; grasping his hands and forcing him into a wild dance of happiness that made the people nearest them clap their hands in joy. Then, one by one, the crowd began to file into the tower. Finally it was her father’s turn. She watched him as he stepped into the building, and then, when he had disappeared inside, she went in herself. There was a bright flash of light, and Dorothy had the horrible realization that something had gone terribly wrong—the machine was not working for her. In one terrible instant, she felt the life slip out of her. Suddenly everything was black and empty.

R. Dorothy screamed.

She knew that her scream was harsh and painfully inhuman, and she clasped her hands over her mouth to stop it as the dream left her and she found herself safe in the mansion. The terror she had felt, however, at watching her own death--no--the death of the girl she had been built to resemble, refused to leave her.

He scream had been heard. Roger Smith opened the door, his eyes gentle with some emotion. Is this what concern looked like?

He ran to where she was seated and took her in his arms. She knew that her body would be stiff and rigid to him and that her cheek against his would be cold; because of this he would pull away. There was nothing she could do about it, although she wished there was.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his heart beat accelerated, “Are you all right?”

She ran a quick check of her systems. “Yes,” she said, “I am functioning properly.”

Roger laughed. Dorothy wished she could discover what the trigger was that made him do it. Sometimes it was such a pleasant thing to hear, but at times like this, it seemed completely irrational. All she had done was answer his question.

He kissed her on the forehead, and then turned to acknowledge the call Norman had been sending for the past five minutes. “Yes, what is it?” He asked.

“Master Roger,” the butler said calmly, “There is a man at the door. He says his name is Michael Seebach.”

A look of silent astonishment passed between Roger and Dorothy. “Let him in,” he answered.

Although neither of them knew what to expect from a meeting with the man who called himself Michael Seebach, they were both astonished at how alien he was. Though he was a striking man, Roger was sure that he would have never drawn a connection between the man who now sat across from him and the enigmatic Schwarzwald.

He was tall, lean, and muscular, with a long face and inscrutable eyes that were emphasized by deep, tired circles. His hair was unkempt and a rich brown, as was the suit he wore. He was leaning forward leisurely with a sphinx-like half smile on his face. Seeing him sitting there so calmly put Roger ill at ease

“So,” Roger began, not quite sure what to say, “You came here to… to discuss a negotiation?”

Seebach laughed, “Not really, I just came by for a nice chat with an old friend.”

“Then you remember?” Roger asked.

“Remember?” Seebach asked scornfully, “Does that word even have any meaning? No. I have no memories, only the relics of such: phantom flashbacks that haunt my waking hours.”

“The memories stored in the megadeus,” commented Dorothy.

Michael raised a brow, “So that’s what they are?” he said. “I thought I might find some answers here, especially since the two of you play key roles in my fiery fantasies.”

“So tell me,” Roger said, “Who are you?”

“Until a week ago I was a reporter,” he sighed, “A man who loved the truth and the written word above all else, but then I awoke underneath the city and…”

He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure what lie to tell them, but Dorothy finished for him. “You woke up next to Big Duo.”

“So you know that too?” he asked, “She’s sure the smart one, isn’t she?” he snidely said to Roger before continuing, “Yes, I found myself next to Big Duo. It seemed to me that such a gift should not be one given lightly, however, Big Duo seems to think that I have already paid the price.”

Roger was beginning to see a parallel with his own “first” encounter with Big O. It had seemed so strange to him when he found everything ready for him in the old bank, but now he wondered what price he might have paid in a previous reset to win the companionship of Big O.

“And now I am at a loss,” the reporter was saying, “I have in my hands a source of power and truth, but no clue as to the key that unlocks that knowledge.”

Seebach’s humility was startling. Was this what he had been like before he became Schwarzwald? Or was this something new brought on by the events of the latest reset? A man could go mad meditating on questions like this.

“Yet the question is moot,” Michael went on, “Big Duo has become a cripple, and I do not have the knowledge or equipment with which to repair him.”

“That’s too bad,” Roger said, although secretly he was relieved. He was not ready to start trusting the man whom he had known as Schwarzwald.

***

The Paradigm Council’s Science Facility was the perfect place for a young man. The older scientists, those who had worked in the division for years, were tired and disparaging after many years of attempting to solve one too many impossible mysteries. Men like Ryon Cummings, however, fresh out of college, could look over the cryptic pieces of unbelievable robotic monsters and actually see the possibilities in them. He was the only one in the building this afternoon, as everyone else took weekends off. He was using his time today to examine the robotic foot that had “Chicken Littled” Paradigm City, and enjoying the fact that no one was looking over his shoulder making sarcastic comments, or belittling his attempts to take the thing apart and see how it worked.

No piece of machinery had captured his attention as much as the megadeus. He was surprised that his coworkers couldn’t see the amazing simplicity of its design: a metal skeleton powered by hydraulic pumps that were connected by an electrical nervous system and encased in a tough metal shell. He was also amazed by his own intuitive knowledge of how all the pieces would fit together when connected to the robotic body. It was almost as if he had seen the machine before, but that, of course, was impossible.

He wasn’t sure why, but he had been sneaking portions of the machine out of the facility for days now to study at home. He knew that he would be caught and fired, his possessions seized, for they would surely notice after today, since he was packing away the final sections, and there would be nothing left. Yet he didn’t care, which was strange for a young man who had always considered himself ethical.

He was just putting the last part in a large brown case, when he heard a gunshot and the sound of splintering wood as the lab door was kicked open. He turned towards the sound and found himself starring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

“Hey buddy, How’s about you take a seat over there.” The man behind the gun said as he gestured to a chair in the corner, “I don’t want any trouble.”

Ryon picked up his brown case and began to walk towards the chair, but the man grabbed the container from him at snapped it open, examining the contents.

“So I’m not the only one who’ll be raiding parts today,” the man said, handing the case back to Cummings, “I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me. Now sit.”

Ryon took the case and sat in the chair, watching the other man wander through the facility like a kid in a candy store, while two goons covered him with their guns. The thief was a lank man, with a sloppy stride. Ryon imagined he had a long and sloppy face as well, underneath the black mask he wore.

He was stuffing small robotic pieces into a large black crate, and now and then he would call over one of the thugs to help him carry something larger outside. The crate was taken outside a few times as well only to come back empty and ready for more. When he had looked over the whole facility, the man walked casually over to Ryon and placed the gun on his temple.

“Are you scared kid?” The burglar asked.

Ryon nodded.

“Well, don’t be chum, I’m not a murderer. I just have the same appreciation for fine art as you do.” He nodded for a goon to tie Ryon to the chair and gag him. Then he opened up the janitor’s closet and kicked the brown case inside. “Good luck buddy,” he said, and then left with his thugs.

It was at this very same moment that Angel Rosewater woke up. It was a struggle for her just to open her eyes, let alone get them to focus on her surroundings. She felt dense and lethargic and her body seemed loath to respond to her commands. “Get up!” She screamed at her dim-witted limbs, using all her strength to push away from the dark desk on which she had been drooling. She would have been better off saving her energy for an attainable task, for the searing pain in her back as she pushed away quickly forced her back into the same arrangement she had been so eager to leave.

“Where?” she spoke the words out loud, forming the words carefully, and fighting the urge to fall back into oblivion, “Where am I?”

She ran a hand over her shoulder and down her back as far as it would reach and felt the edge of one of the probe cables that was imbedded in her spine. It was only then that she remembered her dream—the one in which she had been the director of a play called “Metropolis”. Was it real or was it simply just a metaphor for what was happening to her? How did she know that this reality wasn’t the illusion. “I could go crazy thinking about this,” she cried out in frustration.

She stared up at one of the screens on the monitor above. In it three men were unloading machine parts and dragging them into the old abandoned building that had once belonged to Wainwright. One of the men was a lanky blond in a yellow suit. Beck. What was he up to?

She looked at another screen that showed a young man in a room filled with machinery. He was sitting on a chair being interviewed by a policeman. She didn’t recognize him, so she let her eyes wander from screen to screen, none of them showed the one person she wanted to see. “Where are you Roger?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

Instantly all of the television screens blinked out and then in unison switched to an image of Roger. He was sitting at the table having dinner. R. Dorothy had pulled a chair out of place and was sitting next to him. They seemed happy.

“Why am I always the one left alone?” she asked with a sob, “Why is there never anything left for me?”

In her head a voice seemed to speak. “That is an easy thing to take care of. Awaken another of the cast-off demons; those whose souls have been exiled. Send another one to destroy Roger Smith. Only when he is dead will the cycle end. Awaken a fiend, we already have a pilot.”

She realized that the screens were now showing a view of Beck the buffoon. As she looked at him she felt something within her reach out and awaken a thing that had been buried beneath the building. A machine that Beck had repaired which now awaited only the presence of a soul. She felt something leave her through the cords in her back. It had all happened so quickly that Angel barely realized what she had done.

When understanding dawned, she was horrified. “Oh no!” She cried out as the tentacles dug more deeply into her spine. Her eyes glazed over with pain and her head feel forward onto the desk.

“Don’t forget who you belong to,” said the miserable and menacing voice of Big Venus.

Beck was finishing the repairs on the robot that the woman from the pub had told him about. He gave a shout of delight as the eyes lit up and the gears began to whir. “Didn’t I tell you dopes I could do it?” He bragged gleefully to his thugs, “Now all I have to do is climb inside and…”

He shimmied up the back of the robot and into its small interior. He caressed each control and lever, and strapped himself in. “Crow Boy is finished,” he said with a sneer.

He pressed down hard on the foot pedals and the giant monstrosity burst through the wall and lumbered into the street, headed for the old bank where Jason Beck knew he would find his destiny.

***

Roger felt… annoyed. He and Dorothy had been having a quiet conversation over dinner when he felt the sudden emotional tug at the back of his brain. It was the way he usually “spoke” with Big O. He looked at Dorothy, who had stopped mid-sentence and now sat with her lips pursed, as if she was thinking hard. “Did you feel that?” Roger asked.

“Shh,” Dorothy hushed him, “Big O is telling me something.”

Roger waited.

In a moment she looked up and said, “Beck is coming. He does not remember who he is. He has been stripped of everything except his hatred of you. He is coming for revenge.”

Roger threw his head back in agony, “Not Beck! I can’t take Beck and Schwarzwald in the same day!”

Dorothy rolled her eyes as Norman opened the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there appears to be a robot headed our way.”

“Thank you Norman,” Roger said, “I’ll head out in the Griffon. Get Big O ready.”

***

Lisa was sitting on one of the balconies of the Paradigm Headquarters Tower. From that high, she had a pretty good view of the battle that was going on below. She watched as Beck’s robot drew near to Roger Smith’s home, only to be cut off by the sudden appearance of Big O emerging from the underground.

First came a succession of wild punches on the part of the thief that were easily diverted by the megadeus. It was immediately clear that Big O would eventually win. Beck was fighting with little skill, and too much rage, but that, after all, was the only thing that Slander had left him with. She knew that this “fight” was really only an attempt to do away with a man who had a dangerous ability to retain memories, even after frequent erases.

Of course, it would be convenient if Roger Smith could be destroyed as well, but it would accomplish little, for he was sure to reemerge in the next reset. Lisa looked down at her small, mechanical hands and sighed, wondering if she would ever see these hands again when it was over. She turned away and went back inside, looking back only long enough to watch as the megadeus sent a crippling punch towards the robot, that threw it backwards to the ground. The fight was almost over.

***

Beck lay on his back in the squirming machine, his feet aimlessly kicking the foot pedals and twisting the hand gears like a twitching insect in its last struggles. He could see the gigantic hand of Big O through the visual panel, reaching toward him in order to rip his machine apart.

“No!” Beck screamed, “You will not humiliate me again!”

The irritating laugh of the Negotiator rang through the metal hull. “What are you so angry about Jason Beck?” He asked triumphantly, “Do you even know what it is you’re after?”

Beck sat in the cockpit, confused by the question, but then he felt the cool steel of the machine between his fingers, and a flood of memories came to him. He knew his answer.

“I hate you, Roger Smith, because you have everything I ever wanted, and yet you care nothing for it! I hate you because you consistently show me to be nothing but a bum and a thief underneath my fancy clothing. But most of all, I hate you because when you saw me again, after you had sent me to prison the first time; you had forgotten who I was. You had forgotten Jason Beck! You will never forget me again!”

With a wild kick of his biped’s feet, he attempted to bring Big O down, but the black megadeus already had his machine’s head in it’s vice-like grip, and was ripping the hull from the body. Beck felt himself being lifted, controls and all, from the machine. He screamed as he was carried in the Big’s great hand, to the one place he dreaded above all others—military police headquarters.

***

After handing Beck over to the police, Roger left Big O to return underground and walked over to where five policemen were tearing Beck from a tangle of wires and controls. Finally they got him out, and dragged him towards their vehicle.

As a young policeman clamped down the handcuffs, Jason Beck turned and saw Roger. As their eyes met he began to laugh hideously, his sides shaking and his feet stamping on the ground in overzealous glee. His reaction was so violent the young policeman almost dropped the cuffs. “Well, well, Crow Boy!” he said, “You sure take better care of your robot then your woman!”

Roger didn’t know what he was talking about, but he didn’t like it. He was suddenly afraid, and he ran back to the Griffon, ignoring Beck’s taunts. He sped all the way home and ran into his house, flying past Norman on his way to Dorothy’s bedroom, but he had known from the moment he had stepped into the building what he would find there.

R. Dorothy was gone.

Oh no! Well, I sure didn't Dorothy's kidnapping coming. One of the things I really enjoy about your writing is that you don't spend too much time on the fighting. While that's an integral part of the series, it's not as interesting to read about as the characters themselves, and you give enough detail without dragging it out too long.

I really like how you portrayed Seebach. I've always wondered what kind of person he might have been before he was Schwarzwald. Your writing has an almost surreal atmosphere about it that I really like. As I keep saying, I'm very eager to read more! )

Wow, poor Beck! An insurance salesman. And poor Angel, a puppet of Big Venus. I rather like your Seebach, and would like to see more of him as well.

One small concern I had was with pacing. It seemed to speed up considerably during the fight scene, and I wonder whether you intended the threat to Roger to be trivialized in that way.

Dorothy's kidnapping came out of the blue, and I will certainly have to read the next installment now. Good cliffhanger!

Pygmalion

Jane, you seem to have grabbed my undivided attention. I am aching for more. Great stuff.

Kudos

I've loved all of your stories so far in this series. And the ending to this one has me anticipating the next even more. More, more, more!

Ooh, the plot thickens nicely. I'm liking this set quite a bit, Jane. There's only 2 suggestions I'd like to make, and both have to do with how you post them. The first is that even when we haven't Come to Terms, you should probably put in something, a "To Be Continued," a "Merry Xmas," whatever, so that we know you're done for now. The other is that, unless one of the mods has told you to put these all in one super-sized thread, each episode should probably have its own thread. I almost missed "Oh, Ye Mortals!" because I was looking for a thread called that. I'm glad I didn't, since it looks like a nice, slow-paced, broad-canvas work. Good job so far. I'm looing forward to seeing where you take it. Thank you for bringing us along on the ride.

Thanks for clearing that up NotAsleep. This is turning into one long story instead of being episodic, so I thought it might be better to put it all in one thread, but if it's better to post in separate ones I'll do that.

And believe me everyone, your comments are very valuable to me, so don't think I don't appreciate them if I don't respond. I'm thinking it might be better to wait until I'm all finished before I give any of the game away.

Jane, I hope you post another episode to your interesting third season.

I love your writing! As someone (forgot who) said before, your Season Three seems darker than ACT's. I like that, though. Both S3s are good in their own ways! Keep it up! ^___^

I really like your revisions of "O Ye Mortals" for two reasons. First, they make the story flow better and second, they give me hope for a sequel to "In the Circle Cocytus" Hope you enjoy writing this series as much as I enjoy reading it.

There is no such thing as too much good fan fiction.

quote:

Originally posted by 6 moon dance they give me hope for a sequel to "In the Circle Cocytus"

It's coming.

Well Jane. I'm very impressed with your season three. I really like how some people remember things and others don't. I also like the little twist with Angel and Big Venus. Your Michael Seebach is also very interesting. I could just go on about this.

I should have read this a long time ago. Off to the next one.

BabyGhia