Okay, here's something I wrote. I'm pretty sure it's damn long, so yeah. I'm not sure if the end is exactly as I intended it, but I can always revise it.
Arn padded down the metal corridor, taking care to not make a sound. Arn stopped to consider the consequences if he was found here, before shrugging and continuing on his way. People made ‘Restricted Access’ signs for a reason, but Arn often didn’t read signs.
Arn reached a door and tugged on the handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked; perhaps surprisingly, Arn had a way in. Pulling an electro-pick from a pocket on his shirt, he set to work on the lock. It was, in a way, amusing that the people who owned this place were so sure of the first line of defense that all he subsequent ones were weak. Similar to a chocolate and cream egg, Arn supposed, not that they made those anymore. In a few seconds the lock was cracked, and the door was open. Arn slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, for there was no real reason to let go of the stealth now. The room was lined with metallic shelves that in turn held crates that carried…-Well, Arn wasn't really sure what they held, but he was also sure he would find out eventually.
Everything was going according to plan when Arn heard a little snap. Or was it a crack? It was definitely something, and Arn's plans did not include something’s. And then, another crack, louder this time, seeming to come from right behind Arn. He whipped around to lay his eyes upon... nothing. Other than the chests and other various trinkets, there was nothing. Arn let out a quiet hmmm, and turned back around. He couldn't let some random occurrence get in the way of his objective. Not that his objective was of deathly importance, but it was still an objective.
In the next few minutes little more happened, and Arn reached his goal: A large vault door with a rusty, round handle, set into the wall of a corridor. Arn pulled out his electro-pick, expecting to have to work at the lock a bit, when he realized the door was open. Arn gave it a tentative push, and surprise of surprises, it swung open. Why would the last door be open, when all the other various gates and defenses were locked? Had something slipped in front of him, or had there been something in front of him all along, relocking the doors as they went? Was it possible that the last official person who visited this vault forgot to lock it, trusting in all the previous defenses?
But again, as before, Arn stopped his pondering and walked forward into the darkness. He was too close to his goal now to run away just because he found an unlocked door; that fate was for fools.
And thus Arn continued into the vault. It was a small, circular room with a domed ceiling, with a single row of large crates, outsizing any of the previous ones. Arn was creeping towards the left-most crate when a hand shot out of the dark, covering his mouth.
“What’re you doing, boy?!” The voice was rough and gravelly, with the distinct twang that marked a street-dweller. The hand, on the other hand, smelled refreshingly clean, like the smell of a new ComCruiser. The hand was contrasted quite unfairly with the whole ‘muffling and preventing breathing through the mouth’ gig, though. Arn struggled, clawing at the hand, and then the arm which held him around the neck.
“Stop struggling.” This second voice was to the first voice a cloud to a jagged cliff. It was a woman’s voice, and one that had calm, concise assurance, knowing that whatever it wanted would be answered. And yet, it held a mithril edge, an edge that could appear from out behind the peaceful exterior and cut someone’s hand off.
Arn stopped struggling.
Then, almost as if in reward to Arn, the voice showed itself. It was a tall, lithe woman, black hair tied back in a twisting braid and grey eyes flashing. She wore a blue and white one-piece suit, partly covered by a long trench-coat. She was strikingly beautiful, but Arn still noticed that her henchman, presumably, had him in an extremely vulnerable position.
“So, hehe, what would you be doing in this fine room on this fine day…?” Arn attempted to make conversation. It didn’t work.
“Shut up with the sarcasm, boy. The question is, what are you doing here?”
“What sarca-“ The woman’s henchman tightened his grip on Arn’s neck, causing him to gag and choke like a beached fish.
“Oh, what was that? I can’t hear you. The question is, what were you trying to get from here? Do you even know what’s held here?”
Arn coughed once, the arm around his throat releasing a bit of its pressure. He glanced up.
“I assume you do… so I’ll just tell. Several million in platinum credits, perhaps?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “That and something else, fool. You don’t know, do you? You’ve got the image of money in your mind, when something monstrous lurks around the corner…”
Arn blinked. This was intriguing. He frowned and stared back at the woman.
“I am known to fight with monsters and what would this monster be?” At that, the woman laughed and shook her head, before speaking.
“Do you really think we’ll tell you? It’s too precious to do that, to trust one such as you with that, if I was even your ally. But I’m not…” The woman paced closer to him. “It’s something precious, yes, with the ability to do much. But you’ll never know. If we don’t amn-wipe you, you’ll die instead. What will it be, mysterious fool?” She stood next to him and reached out her hand, as to caress his temple.
“You rubbing me is a bit creepy, n-“ Arn was cut off as the woman’s hand made contact with his temple.
All of Arn’s thoughts exploded at once, as if someone had lobbed a flashbang into his brain. A thousand different feelings rushed through his mind, the woman appearing in many of them, as well as a plethora of other characters. It was as if a picture book had been imprinted into his brain and the pages had started flipping, far too quickly. Arn felt paralyzed with feeling, part of him screaming out for release. And yet… it was electrifying, beautiful, wonderful, and more. All of his feelings of love and happiness condensed into one long continuous psychic shock, searing through his conscious and connecting his mind with the woman’s. He forced his eyes open and saw that the woman, too, was staggering backwards, her eyes closed and yet open, her mind hostile and yet like a mother’s sweet embrace.
The woman’s hand left his temple. Both Arn and the woman fell backwards, tired and yet full of excited energy. Arn heard the man utter a confused grunt, but his attention was quickly torn back towards the female. She held her hands to her face, her steely expression gone, nothing but sincere emotion left. And in a blink of an eye, the shield was back again, at least partly. She recovered and advanced towards him, stripping every facet of him bare with her determined gaze. She began to speak.
“No, no, you can’t be the one. How is tha- it can’t. What happened ther- I don’t-who are you?!”
Arn didn’t respond to the woman’s yelling, but as his mind cleared, he realized something. Something within him and been awoken… changed… what was it? There was some kind of current still running through him, similar to the one he had experienced moments before.
Arn looked down at his hands and the man’s hands, all clad in their clean reverie. Arn started as something began to happen, however. His whole conscious was twisting, turning… right before his eyes, Arn saw his hands changing, morphing. ‘What is going on?’ was the question that was revolving around in his head continuously. Right before Arn’s eyes, he saw his hands morph into an exact replica of the hands of the man holding him. He felt himself growing bigger, he man scarcely able to hold him. The woman just stared at him, a half horrified and half concerned expression painted onto her face.
Moaning, Arn broke out of the man’s grasp, staggering away from him. He looked at his hands, his feet, they were all exact copies of his former restrainer. Arn’s prior question evolved into a new one: ‘What am I?’ repeated in his mind like a record track as he turned tail and ran.
And ran.
And ran away from the wonderful nightmare that had happened in the vault, the mental connection and Arn’s display of shape-shifting, all the while asking himself that one question.
‘What am I?’
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Topic: ___/The Writer's Apprenticeship\___ (Read 300859 times)