Things to Run Away From Really Fast

★★★★☆

09/28/10



Killing from the shadows.

I get tied up a lot. I would wonder at the Freudian implications of that, but I'm a little busy right now. What with being tied to a chair, and all. I'm at the center of an empty conference room, surrounded on all sides by bare floor space. It's almost like the huge room, with its fluorescent lights and grey carpet, is supposed to be intimidating or something. The syndicate's second in command swaggers into the room. He's an older man with greying hair, and wearing a business suit. He's confident, and self-assured, and my gods do I want to beat the smirk off of his face. He's walking towards me, and stops three feet away.

Get closer, I dare you.

"How is it," says the man, leaning in, "That you got in here? Our defenses should be impenetrable."

I tilt my head to the side, deliberately widening my eyes. "Should they, really?"

The man scowls. "You should tell us what we want to know. Things might get... unpleasant for you, otherwise."

This is going to be the most cliched interrogation ever.

"Hm," I pretend to think about it. "No."

The man growls. His arm swings back, and suddenly I'm released from my bonds. I surge forward, catching him off balance, and use his arm to throw him to the floor. I'm on top of him in an instant, grabbing him by the sides of the head. I lift up, and I smash his head into the floor. The back of his skull impacts with a dull thud, and the man struggles, feebly. I lift again, smash his skull into the floor until the back of his head is a pulpy, bloody mess.

Well, I feel better.

I exit the room, closing the door behind me. No guards. I sense someone approaching, and I duck into a hallway running across a glass wall. Outside, I can see the city, sparkling in the night. This building is mostly office space, but that's a front for something larger. Hell, the ground floor is actually a mall, teeming with people during the day.

The footsteps are getting closer. The guard rounds the corner next to me. I duck behind him and lock an arm behind his back, and use his momentum to push him into the window. He grunts with the impact, and cracks spiderweb across the glass. Before he can pull himself together, I'm pulling him back, away from the window. With a blast of telekinetic energy, he goes flying. The window breaks, and the man goes tumbling out into the street, several stories below.

I run up a staircase, trying to avoid the patrolling guards. The longer I can hold off the alert, the more time my partner has to find -

The dream is destabilizing. My surroundings are a blur of light blue and white. I feel blinded, fully aware that I won't be able to see the guards before they find me. I'm trying to hold onto the dream, and I sense it. It's a shadow, human-shaped and in the room next to me. One of the guards - his aura is completely black, and I can feel him getting closer. He solidifies as a human shadow -

I strike out at him, hitting him in the temple. Before he has a chance to react, I have him in a full nelson, choking him. He's losing oxygen, starting to pass out.

He doesn't have to die, I could just knock him out. Maybe I should stop killing them. This is their job, they probably have families. No. I'm just too close, physically. I'm feeling his fear. A memory washes across the surface of his mind. He's on a job, on a team with three others. Capturing a girl. They rape her.

I freeze. I almost recoil, but the man's waking up, starting to struggle.

A snarl of rage is coming from me, and I throw him to the ground. I disable his vocal cords with a wave of my hand, and he's inching away, trying to scream for help. I weave a wordless spell in blue, lay it over him.

He's frozen for a moment, as he begins to lift up into the air, gravity losing its effect on him. I'm standing back now, as he starts to tug against invisible bonds. I summon another wave of energy.

Glass shatters into thousands of pieces, and this man, too, goes flying. He's falling up, though, up and up and up, screaming soundlessly, clearing the outcropping near the top of the skyscraper, falling into the sky.

Even if the spell fails before he hits the stratosphere, well. It's a long way down.

Killing in the open.

I'm surrounded. Six mooks in blue, four fighters in red, and the leader, a Djinn. Bald and muscular, covered in shifting blue tattoos, he's easily the most threatening presence in the room.

I wave my hand, sending a wave of kinetic energy at them. Four out of six mooks have their necks snapped, dead before they hit the ground. The remaining combatants have too strong of a will to be taken out of the game so easily.

I need a stronger spell. I call up blue-tinted soul energy, holding it in my right hand, and I rush one of the mooks and force it into his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, one, two, and the energy pulses, entwining with his soul and pulling it out of him.

I'm counting numbers in my head: 20, 24. The numbers seem arbitrary, but they help me keep track of the soul energy. If I hit zero, I'll be powerless.

The Djinn hits me from behind, and I can feel my numbers sink to 17. Snarling, I pull free of his grip and hit him with a pulse of the energy. He's flying backwards and I'm down to 16.

The red-shirts are in my way, and I down two, one with each hand. Their souls pulse out and back into their bodies, frying them. I absorb the excess. 27.

I'm ready this time. I block the Djinn, meeting his attack with a soul shield. The energy sparks dangerously with the impact, and we're both forced back, sliding several feet. 23.

Where are the other guys? The floor is conspicuously empty. Jim Gordon is standing on the sidelines, surrounded by the remaining mooks. They've got his gun.

Cursing, I put up an energy shield as I fry the mooks with soul energy. 7. "Run!" I shout at him, "Get the fuck out of here!"

He's hesitating. Why is he hesitating?

My shield is draining me. I'm blocking an attack by the Djinn. 4. "You have all the evidence we need to shut them down! You need to get out!"

Something in my tone convinces him. He's turning on his heel and running, and I'm turning around to face the Djinn.

"I can take care of things on this end," I say, and I let the shield drop.

Happy endings.

I'm walking through the building at the mall level, a skip in my step. It's daylight, and there are people around. A feeling of contentment is going through me, and I ignore the graves being built near the side entrances of the mall.

I'm a child, and I construct a mother DC out of nothing.

Something is coming to an end, some mystery was solved. It feels like closure.

Scare Factor: 4/10

On second thought, think I may have lost that fight. Djinn in the Supernatural universe "grant wishes" by trapping their victims in a dream world and sucking out their life energy. Happy ending? I don't think so.

I think this deserves another play-through.

(P.S. This has nothing to do with the anime of the same name.)

A wizard violates the laws of nature when he creates human beings from scratch. And then there are zombies.

There's a shabby old farmhouse on the plain, over the crest of the hill. No roads lead to it, because in this time, there are no roads. If there's a hint of civilization in this place, it's what's been carved out of the land by its few inhabitants.



I knock on the door.

The door swings open and a middle-aged man with longish black hair answers it, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile when he realizes who I am.

"Amon." I say, "It's been a while."

He leads me inside, beaming. The inside of the house is bright and warm and filled with people. I notice the eight people in the room, most of whom are cooking and doing various odd jobs around the house. Amon is rushing away to go help with something.

I take an empty seat beside a kid who looks to be in his mid-20s. "I'm Eli," he says, "and the scary-looking guy across from me is Mark."

Mark glares menacingly from across the table.

"So, Eli," I say, "How did you come to be here?"

"Could ask you the same question." Mark interrupts.

Eli continues like he hasn't heard him. "I was a civilian consultant for the military back home. It's a long story, but the same thing that pulled all of us back here somehow pulled me in. So really, I'm from the future," he says happily.

Neat cover story.

"So, when were you from?" asks Eli.

"I need to talk to Amon." I say dismissively, and kick my chair back.

Mark stands up too, his pose threatening. "I don't know who you are," he says, "but you're not one of us. If you try to hurt any of these people, I will kill you."

I turn back to him, considering. "Duly noted."

I catch up to Amon outside. He's leaning against the wood siding of the house, staring up into the sky.

"So," I say, leaning against the wall beside him, "They're self-aware."

Amon pulls away from the wall a bit, turning to face me. "They are." He confirms. His smile becomes wistful. "Aren't they beautiful?"

"Your own perfect little creations." I say, frowning. "You know, there's a reason the creation of human life is considered a forbidden art."

"Those laws don't apply here," says Amon. "And of all people, I thought you would understand why those rules are arbitrary."

"I care little for conventional morality, Amon," I say, warning in my tone, "But this is dangerous. As my student -"

"You taught me to choose my own path," says Amon. He gestures at the door. "This is what I've chosen. These are real people, ---." He lowers his voice. "I won't abandon them."

I can't stop a smile from creeping onto my face.

One of his creations comes outside to tell us that dinner is ready. The man is smiling and holding a bowl of potatoes and a wooden spoon. I try to ignore it, but I can't help but notice that his hands are shaking.

---

Over dinner, I keep an eye on the man with the potatoes. His name is Darryl, and he's a carpenter from the 1950s. At least, he thinks he is. In reality, he's a construct whose artificial soul is straining at the bonds keeping it in place. I'm surprised the others have lasted so long.

Eli keeps trying to draw me into the conversation, but I keep one eye on Darryl throughout the meal. He's getting progressively more pale and shaky, I notice, as Eli introduces me to a pretty woman in a dress, called Solara. She's either from an alternate, apocalyptic future or a rich family in the 19th century. I'm not paying much attention.

Because Darryl is stumbling, backing away from the table into the wall, and as he collapses, a wave of energy pulses outward, knocking over every construct at the table.

I calmly set down my fork, then stand up and walk over to Amon. "I hate to say I told you so," I tell him, "but it's time to go."

"No!" says Amon, knocking my hand away. He staggers back to the other end of the room, looking over the scene with horror. "I have to help them."

"Amon." I say, approaching like I would a wounded animal. "There's nothing you can do. We need to leave before you're affected, too."

"Yes." he says, eyes wild. "Yes, yes, I can't help them," He looks straight at me. "But you can. You can fix them."

"No." I say flatly. "This is a bad idea."

He's already started the process before I can protest further, pulling soul energy from a well deep inside him, gathering it up.

I can't stop him.

"Take care of them, ---," he says, struggling to hold together the colourless swirling energy he's holding in his hands. "Please."



The soul energy hits me at the same time I feel Amon vanish from existence, gone as if he'd never been there. The energy is a rush, but I control it effortlessly, and spin around to confront the automatons that are his legacy.

The thing that was Darryl comes charging at me, and I telekinetically smash it into the wall next to me. Its feet are dangling in the air as I examine it. Gari d'amon ex hadris, I chant in nonsense Latin. I let the body fall, boneless and broken to the floor.

Mark is still half-standing, leaning against a chair for support. He's been watching with the glazed look of a man in horrible pain, but he's still somewhat alert.

I approach him in much the same way I did the zombie, cautious. I nudge him back toward the wall with a tendril of energy, but I don't lift him from the ground or slam him into the wall.

"This is going to hurt," I warn him.

Mark nods and lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed. So assured, I grip Mark's artificial soul, pulling it into a ball from his chest. I twist my wrist, watching his hands clench into fists, and let trickles of the soul-energy I absorbed from Amon sweep into the artificial soul, strenghthening it.

I don't have time for anything more elaborate. I push Mark's soul back into his body, forcing it to slice through his veins in one swift motion, sticking it there. If he could get any breath into his lungs, he would be screaming.

I leave Mark on the floor, stepping over him to the other bodies. This just might work.

In the end, I only manage to save five of them, Eli and Solara among them. The other two, I simply put down, severing their nervous systems and absorbing the very last of their energies. The once cozy farmhouse feels oppressive, haunted by the wild energy that echoes throughout. We need to leave.
"You have water?" I ask a woman, whose name I don't know. She nods silently, looking back over the farmhouse.

"Well?" says Solara, gathering up her skirts and hiking out into the desert, the opposite way I came from. "Let's get going then."

Amused, I follow after her, followed, in turn, by the rest of the group. Mark stays close behind me, though I doubt it's to watch my back. More likely, he just wants to keep an eye on me.

Eli jogs to catch up, panting as he keeps pace with me. "So, what happened back there, exactly?"

"Amon was a necromancer," I say. "He wanted to create life, so he came here. He created you." I keep my eyes on the horizon. "He couldn't sustain himself along with all of you, so he sacrificed the rest of his soul to keep you alive."

Eli blinks. "Okay, that's completely unbelievable."

I look back at him and say without inflection, "The wormhole that brought you back in time dosed you with massive amounts of radiation that was going to turn you into zombies."

"Thank you," says Eli. "Why didn't you just say that the first time?"

Eli tries to catch up to Solara. I turn back to Mark and shrug. What can you do?

I could swear I almost see Mark crack a smile.

---

The next hill brings us the view of a tall, white-panelled manor not too far off. I wonder what could have made it; we're supposed to be in a universe devoid of all sentient life, after all. The rest of the party is just relieved to see a trace of civilization, so I suppose that it's worth the risk.

We trek up the gravel road (another oddity) to the house that shouldn't be there. Eli and Solara are running inside before Mark and I have a chance to check it out - which Mark isn't happy about. We meet them inside. Solara is twirling in circles over the hardwood floor, a smile on her face as she admires the high ceilings.

I'm trying to examine my surroundings on a deeper level, but something is blocking my senses. This place might seem like heaven to Solara, but something is very wrong.

Mark's dividing us into teams. He wants Eli and Solara to stick together on the main floor, watching for any signs of life (anything to keep those two out of trouble). He sends the two nameless constructs - people - off to explore the rest of the main floor while the two of us head upstairs.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't trust me with the others." I say in a low voice, out of earshot from the rest of the group.

"I don't!" says Mark, turning around to face me on the stairs. I calculate a four foot height advantage. "You show up and suddenly, four of us are dead! What the hell do you expect?"

"If I hadn't shown up when I did, all of you would have been dead." I say, meeting his angry gaze.

"Do you remember what I told you, earlier?"

I tilt my head, walk up the last few steps until I'm standing far too close. "You said you'd kill me." I smile, and Mark takes a step back. "Would you like to try?"

We hear a scream from the main floor. Mark is rushing down the stairs toward the sound, shouting "Solara", and I follow behind at a more modest pace.

Solara has collapsed on the floor. Eli is backed up against the counter, faced by a wraith-like creature with rotting skin. Eerie green light seems to flow from its features, making the sunlight streaming in the windows seem colder somehow. Its flowing white dress seems to flutter in a non-existant breeze.

Revenant, my mind supplies me with, as it turns to face Mark. Controls illusions, typically feeds on travellers. It hasn't noticed me yet.

"Do you like my home?" the revenant asks Mark. He starts forward, but it reforms into the shape of a Chinese woman with long dark hair and modern clothing. It's someone he seems to recognize, and he freezes on the spot.

The revenant approaches him, raising one hand to his face -

I attack with a right hook to her jaw. I spin and lash out with a kick. I've left myself open. The revenent strikes with her claws, tearing my throat out. I laugh, the liquid splashing my clothes, and continue to strike at her.

Hang on, that's not fair.

What isn't? It's right on my character sheet; I'm immortal.

You should at least need some time to recuperate.

Nope.

Oh, come on, you get banished to the basement...

I take a moment to adjust to my new surroundings, dark and damp and distinctly underground. I'm in the cellar. I curse revenants in general to hell and back, but I'm not too terribly concerned with the constructs, either. Mark should be able to handle himself for a little while.

I take stock of the food in the basement, a lot of cereal and a working freezer - hey, Neapolitan ice cream. The others will be happy about that. The overhead light starts to flicker and I sigh. I see movement in the corner of the room, feel hairs raising on the back of my neck.

I spin around and catch the revenant by the throat. She's flickering back and forth between her wraith image and her human one, and I force her to the ground, crushing her windpipe. She claws uselessly at my arms, but it's too late, I've got too good of a grip on her. Unfortunately, revenants don't need to breathe, either.

There's a short flight of steps leading back to the kitchen, and I drag her up by the throat, letting her white dress drag over the dusty steps. I step into the kitchen, where the five survivors are standing around in a circle, trying to figure out what to do next.

Mark looks up first. "We thought you were dead." He accuses.

"I don't die." I say.

I throw the revenant onto the floor, where she scrambles back along the tile, surrounded by six very non-human travellers. "Now," I say, tilting my head to the side and smiling down at her, "How do we go about killing you?"

Character Creation. Scare Factor: 3.

There, I'm done. Finally.