[Fan Fiction] Big O Parallel Universe

(I AM going to finish this bad mother....)


Afterwards, Angel would tell himself he didn’t remember anything that happened in the long hallway beneath the Comery mansion. But for the first fifteen minutes after he came to his senses he had trouble convincing himself of that. He climbed back into the cart he “borrowed” and smoked nearly half a pack of cigarettes. He was certain now that no one from the house would follow him because no one in their right mind would ever willingly go into those tunnels. He didn’t want to go any farther, at least not for a while, and he couldn’t go back. The wreck in the study would surely have been discovered and there would be someone waiting there for him. So he sat and he smoked and he wondered what drove him to get into these awful jams.

It was about the time he ran out of matches that he started hearing things. At first, he considered it just an auditory hallucination, which wasn’t all that special after the visual ones he’d just had. It couldn’t be footsteps, not down there. But they were getting nearer. He got to thinking that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea if he kept going, just in case he wasn’t imagining things and someone apart from the mad doctor and himself was crazy enough to wander the tunnels after all. He started up the cart again and drove right into another wave of terror.

The world was going to hell and he wanted to race it there. He had just enough time to notice the speedometer read 110 before he met the graffiti covered concrete wall of the overpass. He was shocked and even a bit dismayed to find that he wasn’t killed on impact. He couldn’t breathe, but that was hardly surprising given where the steering column was. Smashed beyond all hope of repair, just like him, the car labored on as well. He could swear he still felt the engine rumbling.

This time, Angel screamed.

******

(...soon. It's just such a downer. I had to write something silly and Beck infested to cheer up. I think I can see my way to the end of this one now. Bear with me.)

She almost missed it. Roxanne nearly tossed the slip of paper from Comery’s yard out the window when she realized it was just an invoice for a liquid nitrogen delivery and not the magic key to everything or cleverly disguised absolution. But as she started to crumble it in frustration, she noticed the delivery hadn’t been to the mansion, but to a location nearly two miles away.

No one in the quiet East Town neighborhood that was kept at a near constant 72 degrees seemed phased by the fact that the model home for their gated community was receiving “oil” deliveries twice a week. Roxanne had to play hide and seek with the suspiciously well-armed town rent-a-cops to take a closer look and found that an over protected closet in the model house concealed a narrow service shaft that followed the pipes the chemical was delivered to deep into the underground.

What do I hope to accomplish from this? Maybe I can find my way back into the house and find out what became of Dorian, but there’s a reason even bankrobbers refuse to use these tunnels. I still remember the irrational terror and strange visions from the last time I went underground. I’m not eager to repeat the experience.

After 20 years of working in the underground, Dr. Comery knows more about the strange effect it has on the human mind than anyone. He told me not to stay down here for more than 2 hours at a time and to bring along a pair of earplugs, since they often seemed to work for him. I suspect it’s a placebo. There’s nothing to hear and probably nothing to be afraid of except for what we bring with us. Real or imagined, I’ll take all the help I can get.

It was a long and difficult climb down the ladder in the dark, especially in heels. There wasn’t much room between the pipes and the wall and the ladder took up a fair bit of it. Since there were no guns blazing or dogs attacking, Roxanne wasn’t about to complain. After a while, a faint light appeared from below and a snippet of half-remembered fairy tale came to her.

“Down, down, down. I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen by this time? I must be getting near the center of the earth...”

The ladder ended when the pipes joined the network that fed the Dewars below. A small, many-legged robot creeping along a nearby pipe stopped to look at her. It was almost cute in an industrial sort of way, until several of its brothers lined up along side it in a manner that clearly said “Touch these pipes and you’re a dead woman.”

“Take it easy, fellas. Just passing through.”

She didn’t take threats seriously unless heavy firepower or steel fangs backed them up. Ignoring the irritated spider-bots, she attached the grapnel from her watch to a rung of the ladder and lowered herself the rest of the way to the floor.

Even if it was the most violated tomb in the city, Roxanne was uncomfortable intruding in Dr. Comery’s so-called “Library”, particularly when she saw the first converted Dewar. Considering how the people inside died expecting to be healed one day and brought back but were instead mined for information made her angry.

“I think I’m getting cremated.” She muttered to herself as she walked between the rows.

Reasoning that there had to be a wall and a door somewhere beyond the eerie metal crypts, she struck out in the direction she figured the house would be in and walked right into Dorian.

“Dorian!”

She was on the verge of sounding genuinely happy to see him. She recovered quickly and tempered her surprise and delight with gallows humor.

“Well, you’re a lot less tortured than I expected. Why aren’t you shot full of holes?”

It wasn’t until he started talking that she remembered the earplugs she wore just in case the Doctor wasn’t completely out of his tree and removed them.

“Should I be?” he asked.

“You didn’t notice the army defending the entrances to this place?”

“No.”

“Huh? So…what are you doing down here?”

“I had a memory.” He replied, as if that would explain how he came to be in the heart of a top secret, heavily guarded, research facility without a scratch on him.

“Memories.” She sniffed. “The less said about memories, the better. Let’s get out of here. It might be safer if we go this way…”

She turned back the way she came, but Dorian didn’t follow.

“Roxanne.”

She looked back over her shoulder.

“I didn’t ‘screw up’.” He said.

“I know.”

“There’s a lot you neglected to tell me when you sent me here.” He continued.

“I didn’t send you here. I sent you to see my client’s estranged husband. Who knew what he was working on?”

The question was rhetorical. She didn’t expect an answer, but the one she got was hardly surprising.

“Casey Velasquez.”

“What!”

“Shall I assume you also didn’t know that he was a common criminal when you took that job from him?”

“Common’s not exactly the right word and no, I didn’t. Tell me he’s not down here, too.”

“If you insist.” Dorian replied. “But that would be lying.”

“Great. So now he’s after memories, huh? I’ll never understand the depths to which people are willing to sink for a glimpse of the past. But this place has got to be a new low even for him. ”

“There was no point to his coming here.” Dorian insisted.

Roxanne wasn’t sure she wanted him to elaborate or not. She didn’t have a chance to ask. Dorian and the Dewars disappeared in clouds of thick, black smoke with an oily, chemical tang. She didn’t remember sitting down, but she was and her hands were wrapped around controls she could barely see in the gloom. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember anything short of looking into the dark, stoic face of the red crested iron mountain that filled the small, round screen beyond the haze in front of her. It was coming closer.

“Work!” she coughed. The voice wasn’t hers, but she didn’t notice.

The controls were sluggish and unresponsive. She reached out to jam buttons she couldn’t see but knew were there. Nothing happened.

“Why don’t you (cough) work? Target its main weapon and fire!”

All around her the crackle of frying circuitry and small electrical fires drowned out the normal steady hum she was used to. Her eyes stung and she could feel the sweat trickling down her neck.

The blisteringly hot control center lurched as she managed to awkwardly sidestep an incoming blast that bathed everything in her smoke shrouded vision in brilliant pink light. She’d already taken too many hits and was now merely delaying the inevitable. It was becoming as impossible to maneuver as it was to breathe and the weapons were all offline. Coughing, she leaned closer to the screen so she could make out her opponent pulling back a massive arm with a huge piston in preparation for the killing blow. With a defiant cry she urged the megadeus forward one last time for a strike of it’s own.

Roxanne gasped for air and found it suddenly cool and smelling of antiseptic. The smoke and the waking nightmare had receded, leaving her shaken and coughing again.

“The only memory they have is of dying.” Dorian finished.

In-TENSE! Sort of creepy, too, in a Lovecraftian sort of way, now that I think about it.

kyaaa~a

I know this thread is dead fred (*sniff* he's gone on to a better place...), but since it's stickied at the top I was reading it over. Awesome, awesome fics and fan art here, makes a girl really kick herself for missing out on the height of O's popularity.

Anyhow, these two crawled into my brain and wouldn't go away. Since it doesn't look like anyone else has tackled them, figured I'd give it a try. So: Viktor Rhondstadt and Alanna Gabriel.



Viktor was tough. Really, how do you make Vera manly? (It might have helped if those curls were dropped. Hmm...)

~J

quote:

Originally posted by Jixie Viktor was tough. Really, how do you make Vera manly? (It might have helped if those curls were dropped. Hmm...)

Nice renderings, Jixie! Actually, if Vera is a manly woman, making Viktor a bit of a prissy man might be just the ticket. And I can just imagine your Alanna caressing her pistol with her tongue.

Pygmalion

*peeks*

Keep stirring the pot like this and maybe it will boil again, Jixie. I especially like your Alanna. I wonder what her voice would sound like. Certainly not Columbia's from Rocky Horror, but that's the first thing that popped into my head. Must be the fishnets. Anyway, nice gender bending.

I thought someone did draw Alanna?

None the less, I like these renderings.

I acutally ran into my chocolate idea not too long ago again, as I was hunting other stuff. I really should get to that...I was actually trying to find a way to base it from the one manga story.

You might have started the gears in my mind again, Jixie.

Later,
Pen1300

Wow, wonderful work, Jinxie.

I've also been going over my work for Reciprocal Paradigm, and I would like to resurrect this universe.

Writing this on an episode-per-episode basis is what's twisting my knickers - that and not being able to write fight scenes or robot battles on my own (I always need help with that).

Still, I'll see what I can toss out ...

And don't forget, side stories and character studies are always welcomed.

Thanks everyone!

Lady Tesser - yea, I can never write stuff chronologically. Way too short of an attention span.

quote:

Originally posted by Pero_Is_Crying Keep stirring the pot like this and maybe it will boil again, Jixie.

*cackles*

Like this?

Hmmmm, 'don't be vulgar, Alanna'. Mwahahahaha!

I got lazy with the background

~J

quote:

Originally posted by Jixie Like this? Hmmmm, 'don't be vulgar, Alanna'. Mwahahahaha!

Oh, my, with the position of that pole, it's a good thing Alanna is a girl!

Pygmalion

Pointless post but:

People still interested in this? I actually picked up a story I started that was in the parallel universe and I'm *hoping* to post soon. The only thing I'm going to say is that it happens after the reset and some people you thought died, didn't.

Though, it actually goes against my latest threories of what went on in the last three episodes...

Later,
Pen1300

Oh, go ahead, RP is another reset, anyway.

*kicks self for losing control of the project to begin with*

Sorry once again, Lady T.

*tries to commit Seppuku with a mechanical pencil, but only manages to draw an "L"*

I don't have the climax to my last sorry contribution gumming up the works here, but I figure I might as well put up the end. I'm tired of the file staring accusingly at me when I open My Documents. So here it is, A Cold Day in Hell's parting shots-

****
It was late in the evening, but Roxanne was restless. She’d spent more than enough time in bed sick. Despite the day’s exertions, now that she was feeling a little better she couldn’t sleep. She took another stab at the newspaper, but found she couldn’t care less and crumpled it. She had to DO something, even if it was only pacing barefoot around the penthouse.

A dozen Dorian Waynerights glanced up from a dozen freshly polished spoons on the table when she entered the dining room. He sat at the foot of the table, which was full of silver flatware, trays, and other items, most of which were still lightly tarnished and awaiting his attention. Without a word he returned to earnestly working the troublesome tarnish off a candlestick with a dab of polish and a white cotton cloth.

“It’s late, Dorian.” Roxanne observed. “You’ll be doing this all night.”

“I couldn’t get to it this afternoon.” He replied without pausing in his work.

She sighed. It was something to do. She picked up an extra rag, liberally applied some polish and took to her usual seat at the opposite end of the long table where a platter awaited her. Dorian stopped and watched her struggle with a kaleidoscope cloud of tarnish for a moment.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“It’s easy, but it takes more patience than polish or brute strength.”

He picked up his chair in one hand, grabbed the polish bottle and the canvas bag full of cotton scraps with the other, and moved to Roxanne’s end of the table. He selected a tray from the assemblage and started over, explaining as he went.

“Silver is a very soft metal. You have to be careful with it.” He began. “You put a dab of polish on the cloth and then gently wipe the silver until the tarnish disappears, reapplying polish as needed. When you finish, you remove the polish with a clean cloth.”

Roxanne watched him slowly return the tray to its proper luster with the efficiency of a pro. Then she looked back to the ponderous collection on the table. It was easy to see how anyone could get bored with such a thankless (and endless) task. But the silver wouldn’t polish itself. She followed his example and they worked in silence for several minutes before the full impact of the crushing tedium began to grate on her nerves.

The silence was broken by a shrill, teakettle scream from the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, a pasty, sniffling ghost in a white monogrammed bathrobe and pink fuzzy slippers shuffled through with a teacup. She frowned with a clenched jaw, leveling her good eye at Roxanne for a moment. The eye really did all the talking. You did this! You brought this killer bug into the house! YOU!

“Will there be anything else this evening, Mistress Roxanne?” Norma rasped hoarsely, for forms sake.

“Not at all, Norma. Get some rest.” Roxanne replied. “You’d better take tomorrow off.”

Norma was already drifting back towards her quarters before she replied.

“Very good, Ma’am.”

After a few moments had past and Norma was safely on her way, Dorian spoke up.

“Who is WMJ?”

“I don’t know.” Roxanne said. “But right now I’d rather bare-fist box a megadeus than ask her.”

“Me too.” Dorian agreed.

[No side]

is this dead? i hope not, because i love this kind of fanfiction. switching genders, and roles, it opens up endless possiblilities. although i am confused. is it a paralell, or another cycle?

Well: the doctors say that the persistent vegetative state indicates brain death. The next of kin feel different and are still praying for a miracle. So far there've been no signs of improvement, but they haven't pulled the plug yet.

Ok yea I think it's dead. *sniff* You're not alone, I also came too late to really enjoy the brief time it had here on this earth.

~J