Shinjiro Aragaki (
mortal_son) wrote in
genessia2017-08-26 11:27 am
001 | say hello to everything you've left behind
[ ACTION ]
Initially, bleary and only just waking, Shinjiro thought he'd died.
After all, that's what happens when a guy gets shot twice, and then gets to say some pretty cool last words, and then ... dies in the arms of his best friend.
Yeah, that happened. After his mind began to wake, it was the first thing he remembered - the sure, solid knowledge that he had been dying, so, naturally, that must mean he was dead now. Honestly? He was good with that. Shinjiro had meant what he'd said. It was supposed to go down like that, and he was glad he went out doing something, saving someone, rather than ...
A familiar, dry, racking pain seized his lungs, and Shinjiro was forced to his side, clutching the edge of ... whatever he was lying in ... to cough, repeatedly, and unproductively. Like a hundred thousand tiny knives in his throat, that was. Damn it, he hated this, hated what the suppressants were doing to him, hated dying ...
Wait.
Shit.
Shit.
In the back of his mind, in the bottom of what he'd call his soul, he felt a distant, frustrated anger. The feeling of someone denied something, the feeling of someone wanting to be let out, the feeling of wrath and contempt which was all centered on Shinjiro himself.
God-damn-it.
Shinjiro knew he was alive. Somehow, through some magic or feat of science, he was alive.
Coughing spell now past, he shakily rolled onto his back again. Ignoring the box on his chest - setting it to his side for now - he quickly unbuttoned his coat, reached under his turtleneck. His fingers shook, half from the shock of cold, half from disbelief and nerves. There. He had gotten shot, twice, right there, and now beneath his fingertips he could only feel scars. Later, he'd have to get a better look at them, but right now? If he were to judge, he'd say they'd long been healed.
Where the hell was he? When the hell was he? How long had he'd been out?
Calm down, he told himself. No use in working himself up when he didn't know shit and there was nobody to attack. Even if he had a really, really good reason to be worked up and angry. His jaw worked for a moment, grinding his teeth. Castor, within him, shifted; he wanted to be out, as always, and maybe even work out some rage on something which wasn't Shinjiro this time. Well, tough shit.
Breathing deeply, Shinjiro sat up.
... Was this Tartarus?
No, of course not. But that was the first thing Shinjiro's mind reached for, when he registered his weird surroundings. When he got a good look at the damn bed (cocoon?) he had been lying in. What the hell. It wasn't somewhere he knew, either, transformed by the Dark Hour - he knew that instinctively, just as he knew it wasn't Tartarus. The Dark Hour was entirely its own beast, unsettling and wrong and eerie, and no reality would ever replicate it. Plus, if nothing else, the walls weren't bleeding. As they do in, well, anywhere, during the Dark Hour.
So. He wasn't dead. This wasn't during the Dark Hour, and he wasn't anywhere he recognized.
His hand brushed against the box he had hastily set aside earlier. Warily, almost expecting it to ... explode, or something ... he opened it.
***
Some time later, after getting out of the cocoon, after fumbling on the weird necklace (what did it mean real people anyway?), after watching the hologram ...
Shinjiro stood between the arches, not daring to lean up against one.
He tried to think.
***
[ AUDIO ]
[the voice is that of a young man, tone on the low end of tenor. he sounds resigned, almost bored]
Uh. Hey. Other "real" people.
Just how free are these apartments they're givin' us, anyway? What's the catch?

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What am I in for?
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Right. Great.
So how're we gettin normal people away from that shit?
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Hearin the types of shit which goes on here, it sounds like things would go to hell pretty quickly without that.
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Cause the only thing worse than all of 'em working together, is everyone tearin stuff down on their own.
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[ He doesn't think he'd want that, either. ]
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Least you've gotta realistic view of the way things are.
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I'm the last guy who wants anythin sugar-coated, trust me.
I'd rather face an ugly truth than a pretty lie.
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[ Sober tone, now: ] ... Thanks for the info.
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