[Black Noise | Part One - Triptych] by Pundit [clostridia@bigfoot.com]

Legal : The characters in this story are copyright Archie Comics and SEGA, and are used without permission. This story itself may be freely distributed without the consent of the author, provided it remains unmodified. The author asserts his right to be identified as the creator of this work, and therefore its owner.

Note : Hi, this is Pundit, for those of you who are unfamiliar with me. This is the first part in another (hopefully) long series (Shades of Grey was the first). With any luck, it'll be better than the first. Comments/flames/criticism, and other delightful things are encouraged; feel free to send them to <clostridia@bigfoot.com>. And if you haven't noticed, there are no, and there will never be, any fan characters/self inserts/liberties with the continuity/miscellaneous ripoffs of the chaos emeralds in my writing. Admittedly, I did take quite a lot of advantage of Kragok's character last series...

Anywayyyy.... with that I'll leave you to the story. Enjoy it.
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With a sigh, he forced himself to examine his reasons for coming. The bald answer lay close to the surface, mocking him, and yet... did he really wish to do this? And why the sudden interest?

In point of fact, he had no idea why.

He sat, chin supported by both hands, eyes closed, head slightly lowered. His statement was one of quiet, peaceful concentration, perhaps with some melancholic shading if you looked closely enough.

Every now and then, he took a deep breath, savoring the crisp, fresh air of the park; his favorite park, he thought, the one he'd visited so many times, and so regularly. So long ago, he thought, as the familiar sensations washed over him. The place where he'd dated his ex-wife. The memories evoked a flood of recollections of a bygone age, a more clement, forgiving age. When he was half as old; when it seemed absolutely nothing could go wrong.

He opened his eyes.

Around him, the sight of average park visitors - children playing in the fields, adults strolling hand in hand, lovestruck teenagers skipping merrily along. And he marvelled at the resilience of the fabric of society, at the slow but sure way it was returning to normal, even after the tremendous stresses involved in the week past.

His hand brushed the bandage draped around his shoulder, causing the persistant, low-key pain to flare up angrily. Not that it bothered him very much, of course - he was no stranger to pain, physical or otherwise.

***

The needle sliding frictionless into the bottle.

Smoothly, gently, black liquid flowing up the shaft of the syringe.

A soft pop, and tiny droplets splashing on the table.

Pain.

***

He hesitated, and withdrew his outstretched hand. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to read it. His lungs exhaled slowly, and he felt his shoulders droop in response.

Like a covered, horrific wound just begging to be examined, he thought. The sum total of a whole section of his life.

Well. No point putting it off.

He held the device up to his eye, letting the red beam wash over his retina, waiting as it parsed and decoded the triple encrypted video. On the screen, he saw a younger version of himself, speaking into the camera, stating the objectives, methods and means, and the moral justification. Not that he needed to see it, of course. He could recite the speech verbatim; every word was indelibly seared into his brain.

***

White flash.

Musn't think. Cannot think.

Don't think.

White flash.

***

He let his mind wander back through time, recalling the fear he'd tasted in the dream, the agony of indecision he faced, and finally, the decision to let his sense of duty guide him.

Mentally, he checked off all the drugs and devices he'd illicitly accquired from all over the place, tasting the ever present, almost palpable fear of discovery. A mental image of the Conservatory popped into his mind, and he remembered searching the many vaults in it for forgotten technology, like some deranged mouse seeking cheese in the musty corridors, or perhaps a grave robber interested in some long forgotten artifact.

He choked back a cynical snort. Such cruel irony.

***

Pain, dry aching pain, crackling at the ends of his nerves, shooting needles into his spine, his legs, his back.

White pain.

***

Then he wondered what his forefathers would think of his actions, all flying in the face of the creed they'd all sworn to uphold, all contravening the sacred precepts of the society he, and they, protected. Desecrating the sacrifices and the efforts of every one of his ancestors, every single one of them from Edmund down to his father.

He contemplated his grandfather's decision to abandon the legacy he was born into, and wondered at the resolution it must have taken - the force of will, the sacrifice.

***

White flash.

Slumped over table, among the various... things, retching, gagging.

Blurred vision.

White flash.

***

And he knew, though he dared not admit the truth to himself, that he himself was dangerously close to a full and complete rejection of everything his forefathers represented. Oh, he'd thought about it. Bothered to read between the lines, as it were, of the potted history faithfully passed down ancestor to ancestor, and did his own research, which told him about the flip side of the coin.

Nobody told you these things - you always heard it from an enemy, in which case you wouldn't trust the information, or you learned about it from your own research, in which case you'd despise those who kept it from you.

Admittedly, he wasn't very forthcoming himself.

So now, he regretted passing on the, shall we say, sanitised history down to his son. Felt downright angry, in fact.

Not that it showed.

Not yet.

***

White flash.

Low frequency moan, an even, rapid glissando up the scales of pain, blossoming into a full scream of agony.

Pain.

White flash.

***

Speak of the devil.

He shook his head, trying to interrupt the flow of memories.

In the distance, he could make out that familiar, distinct outline of his son, laughing, talking, and larking about with his friends, headed in his direction. He hadn't counted on that.

And in a craven moment, he felt the sudden temptation to simply get up and leg it back to a controlled environment, leaning slightly forward as if in preparation to go.

Slowly, he sank back, and tried to relax, not really succeeding at it.

***

White flash.

Soft panting.

Composure.

White flash.

***

He slid the stylus out of the holder, grimacing as he tapped an item on the screen. There was a cascade of data, in the form of recorded observations, a few flowcharts, and predictions. Predictions of the future, he thought darkly.

He started to mouth the words of the file, harsh scientific terms and inaccessible names cascading over each other in a practiced, familiar waterfall, gushing from the deep resevoir of his brain.

It felt strangely comforting.

'PX-5... neurological function amplifier. Primary effect: stimulation of dendrite growth...

'...automated somatic cell enhancement nanotechnology...'

***

'... recombinant genetics, with chromosome modification by RNA vectors.'

The speaker's voice was precisely modulated, if a little clipped and cold, but undoubtedly precise, every little syllable measured and weighed.

'Well. It's all there, then. You know, I'd have thought we wouldn't ever need to use this, considering how it's not quite our standard method of operation, really. But still...'

His voice trailed off as he surveyed the two slumped in their chairs across the stark, but unmistakably stylish metal desk. Both were young, and both looked vaguely bored, languidly paying some form of attention to his little speech. One of the statements bordered on petulant, as if to say, 'Let me get to it already.'

He decided to sod the speech and let the two handle it. He knew they'd do a good job.

'Make it happen.'

He handed the copies to both of them, a smile of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I love the mass media.

***

He stared into the mug as the speaker held the floor, watching the white swirl revolve around and around in a pinwheel, gradually dissipating into the uniform brownness of the rest of his drink. One eyelid struggled to stay up. Try as he might to stay lucid, he found his mind wandering.

'Really... this society's more unstable than you think.'

'Why would you say that?'

The figure opposite him gave a little sigh, and took a breath in preparation for the answer.

'Consider the political balance of this society - it forms a tripod, with the staunch anti-technologists, whose homes are the ivory towers of society, forming one leg. The second leg is formed by the technologists, otherwise known as the steadily growing minority who view the government as high handed, or unjust. The third and final leg, one that has also been increasing in power, of late, is formed by the oppressed underclass.'

'Recently, escalating violence and unrest perpetuated by this underclass has led to agitation for a slightly, shall we say, less discriminatory society. The successive generations of today's society do not possess the baggage that came with the decision to deny technology - they are apathetically negative towards the restrictive policies of the government. And finally, you do not need to be reminded of that very recent and chaotic large-scale war.'

He suppressed a shudder at that - after all, he'd been one of the hostages in the council building. This sort of thing needed to be seen to be believed. Meanwhile, the figure opposite was getting a little worked up.

'What does this add up to? I'll tell you - it'll take just one more push - doesn't matter from where - just one more push and this whole thing's going to disintegrate and collapse like a brick house without mortar. Everything's going to shake.'

'I'll admit, I'm in a tough spot.'

'You don't say - one of the last of the independents, eh? Good luck to you when the poison starts flying.'

He straightened up, startled, blinking groggily. The mental playback of yesterday's dinner conversation halted in mid-sentence. Well, he thought, it was always good to get someone else's opinion of things, even if that someone was a bitter old self-styled political pundit with a dead end job at the newspaper as an editor.

For now, his awareness belonged to the present, not the dream world.

On the floor, in front of all the councillors, paced a rather large and imposing dingo. What an unfortunate name, he thought with a spasm of desultory amusement. Appropriate, however, for the militant leader of the dingos, of that much he was sure.

At the moment, however, that dingo didn't look very much like a happy camper. He was holding his temper in check - evident in his tightly compressed jaw, the way his hands were jammed behind his back, and his quiet, dangerous voice. The voice he almost never used, the voice which the dumb interpreted as perfectly reasonable, and the smart interpreted as a sign to escape before the imminent eruption.

'It's as simple as this. There have been too many empty promises, and far too much unfairness on your part. Unless something is done to fix that soon, and I'm talking about the very near future, we will be forced to take matters in our own hands, to take control.'

'Please don't force us to.'

He saw the dingo stride out with a rapid step, boots rasping vulgarly on the smooth marble.

Bad. Very bad.

***

"Look. I'm just saying it's not the wisest thing in the world for you two to go through that part of town. It doesn't feel like a good idea.'

She stepped forward, displaying an eloquent roll of the eyes.

'Seriously, what is it with you males anyway? Do you think I need to be protected and coddled like some helpless female weakling? Get real. We're not children; I mean SIXTEEN years old, for goodness sake..'

'Yeah. 'sides, I'm going with her - I'll make sure nothing happens to your sweetheart.'

And the crocodile chose the moment to yawn, exposing the interior of his snout, which was crowded full of teeth. Sharp, lethal, teeth.

'That, ladies and gentlemen, is a grand total of five, say it with me everyone, FIVE tons per square inch.'

'Yeah right. More likely you'll piss someone off and I'll have to save your leathery reptile butt. I mean, anywayyy... be serious - the odds are one in a billion we'll get trouble, and about one in a trillion we can't deal with it.'

And she flopped a hand demurely on her cheek, batting her eyelashes, accquiring an affected air.

'After all, we could get hurt, or worse!'

After a preliminary giggle, she dissolved into laughter, as the crocodile snickered, the two agreeing on something for the first time in their lives.

'Really, you worry too much, man. Later!'

The two of them walked off. In the distance, he could hear them starting to bicker, like they always did.

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. What a long day.

***

The two of them lay in the tall grass, holding hands, hair splayed out behind them. They observed the ethereal, otherworldly beauty of the sunset, and the splendour of nature surrounding them.

He felt an almost otherworldly tranquililty slide over him.

'Locke, did anybody tell you you're a lot more fun than you let on?'

Then he had said, 'Business before pleasure, my fair lady Lara. My duties as a Guardian demand it! Well... that is to say... most of the time.'

And they both laughed, throwing back their heads, facing the deep orange sky.

He looked into her eyes, gazing into the depths that seemed to go on and on, and she gazed back,the two of them quietly contemplating each other in the gradually dimming light.

He began.

'If I may profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this :
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.'

She replied.

'Good pilgrim, you do wrong you hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers kiss.'

And he leaned over, scooping her up in his arms, delivering a long, slow, smouldering kiss. Her eyes widened for an instant, and then she was returning the kiss with no less passion, feeling, touching, holding him. A moment, where the two seemed to fuse into one.

Time seemed to come to a halt; they stayed that way for what seemed like a very long time, and then he gently broke away, carefully lowering her to the ground. Both were panting a little.

His first kiss. Ever.

They got up slowly and started to stroll away, the sun throwing long, lengthening shadows after them.